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sillylilsquid · 2 months ago

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𝖔𝖋𝖋 𝖑𝖎𝖒𝖎𝖙𝖘

pairing - nam gyu x reader summary - you loved him when you shouldn't have. he hurt you when he swore he never would. now, after everything—grief, silence, years apart—you're learning how to be near him again. it isn't perfect. it never was. but maybe, just maybe, there's still something here worth holding on to. warnings - afab!reader, age gap, forbidden love/brother's ex-best friend trope, mentions of parent death, grieving, brief mentions of drug use/fighting/usual nam gyu vibes, explicit sexual content, 18+ minors dni!! 18k words

You grew up with Nam Gyu like a shadow in the hallway. He was always there–shoulder to shoulder with your brother, dropping his shoes by the door, raiding the fridge like it was his own. You were the kid in oversized pajamas, trying to blend into the wall just to watch him. Too shy to speak. Too small to matter.

But you remember everything. The way he laughed too loud, cursed too often, smoked behind the shed even when your mom caught him and told him he’d “ruin his lungs and your brother’s future.” You remember the scabs on his knuckles. The choked grin he gave you when he caught you staring. The way he’d ruffle your hair and call you, “lil sis.”

You remember the day he stopped coming. No warning. No goodbye. One week he was there every day, and the next, your brother wouldn’t say his name. Your parents said it in hushed voices. “He got in with the wrong crowd,” your mom murmured. “Drugs. Guns. He’s not welcome here anymore.”

You never saw him…not until that night.

You’re in college now. Still living at home. Still doing everything right. Your classes are going well. Your professors say you’re “gifted.” You paint portraits for extra cash, volunteer at the community center when you’re not studying. You’re a good girl. Your mom tells her friends how proud she is. Your dad gives you curfews like you’re sixteen.

You still have your childhood room. Pink sheets. Sketches taped to the wall. A desk in the corner covered in soft, pretty things. You don’t party. You don’t sneak around. You don’t lie.

Until you do.

It’s late when your class ends. You stayed behind to finish a painting, left campus with paint on your fingers and your brain still half lost in the shade of someone’s eyes. You don’t even think twice when you pull into the convenience store down the street from your campus. Just want a snack. Something sweet before you drive home.

The bell jingles when you walk in. You head straight for the drinks cooler, tug it open with chilled fingertips. You’re crouched by the candy shelf when you hear it. That voice. Rough and low and unmistakably familiar.

“Thought that was you.”

You freeze. Slowly, you turn–and there he is. Nam Gyu. Standing by the counter like a ghost you summoned. Same hooded eyes, same sharp jaw, same dead-serious stare. Only now he’s older. Taller. Built like a man. There’s a scar above his eyebrow. Tattoos you don’t remember. A cigarette tucked behind one ear.

He looks you up and down, slow. Unapologetic. You feel heat crawl down your neck. “You got taller,” he says. Then a smirk, “Finally.”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. He steps closer. Not enough to touch–but enough to make your chest tighten. You don’t know what to say. He looks like a warning sign. A mistake your parents would lose their minds over. But your heart is pounding like he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

“Still got that same look on your face,” he murmurs.

“What look?” you manage, too quiet.

He tilts his head, eyes dark. “Like you’re about to beg me for something.” Your stomach flips. And just like that, your perfect little world starts to crack.

After that night at the convenience store, you told yourself it was nothing. A coincidence. A strange little flicker in your perfect routine. You didn’t give him your number. You didn’t ask to see him again. But then he showed up.

Outside the art building. Leaning on a low wall while you packed up your paints. He didn’t say much, just took a long drag from his vape before blowing the strawberry scented smoke in your face. “Just thought I’d say hi,” he said with a shrug, like he didn’t already know your schedule.

Then he was waiting again a few days later. A different building. Same smirk. “You always walk to your car alone?” You told yourself it was harmless. You told yourself you were being careful.

It kept happening. You’d go to the cafe and find him there, nursing a coffee like he belonged. You’d leave a gallery show and see his motorcycle parked across the street. You never invited him. But you stopped telling him to go.

Sometimes he’d offer you rides. Just to be nice, he said. Other times he just…lingered. Leaning against your passenger door, watching you with those tired, heavy lidded eyes. Always in that same hoodie. Always looking like he hadn’t slept in weeks.

You told yourself you weren’t flirting. You were just being polite. But your body always got warm when he was near. Your voice always went soft. You didn’t tell your parents. You didn’t tell your brother. You just let it happen.

It wasn’t one big moment–it was a hundred little ones. A ride home that ended with him brushing your hair behind your ear. A compliment muttered under his breath that made your stomach twist. A lingering look when you leaned over the console, digging through your bag for gum.

One night, it was late. You’d been driving around for no reason. He was smoking, windows cracked. Your legs were curled up under you in the passenger seat. And he said, quiet, “You always this good, huh?”

You blinked. “Good?”

He nodded once. “Don’t party. Don’t lie. Don’t fuck around.”

You felt that sentence in your spine.

A Few Weeks Later…

You’re fucking him now.

On weekends. After class. In his car, in his bed, once in the bathroom at a shitty bar while music thumped outside. You’re kissing him like you need it to breathe. Letting him spit in your mouth when he says, “Good girls don’t take it like that.”

He’s your secret. Your filthy little addiction.

He picks you up in his car after lectures. Has you ride with your skirt pushed up, panties in his glove box. He buys you drinks with his hand on your thigh under the table. Fucks you dumb and raw and makes you smile at your parents like nothing happened.

You keep him off your social media. Tell your friends he’s just someone from school. Tell your brother nothing.

You lie to everyone. But not to yourself. You like the way he bites your shoulder. You like the way he growls, “Mine,” when you try to leave. You like the way he looks at you like he’d kill for you.

And that terrifies you. Because if your brother knew–if your parents knew–you’d lose everything. And if Nam Gyu ever stops showing up again, you’re not sure you’ll survive it this time.

Your parents left that morning for a weekend trip–anniversary, something fancy. They hugged you, kissed your forehead, reminded you not to let anyone over. You smiled. Promised. Said you’d be panting all weekend.

And now? You’re on your knees in front of Nam Gyu while your favorite candle flickers on your desk. His pants are halfway down his thighs. Your lips are glossy with spit. He’s got his thumb hooked into the corner of your mouth, dragging it down so you can watch your tongue roll over the head of his cock like he owns it.

“God, baby,” he breathes, hand in your hair, rough and praising. “Your mouth’s the fuckin’ prettiest thing in this house.”

You whimper. He grins. The bedroom still looks like it did when you were sixteen. Pink bed sheets. Fairy lights. Your easel in the corner. Drawings on the wall.

Nam Gyu leans back against your pills like he belongs here. “Fuck,” he mutters, “You’d cry if your mom saw you like this, huh?”

You moan around him, cheeks flushed. He grips your jaw, pulls you off slow so strings of spit stretch between your ips and his tip. “Open,” he says. You do.

He smirks, just about to say something else–when the doorbell rings. You freeze. Both of you go still. Nam Gyu blinks, then frowns. “The fuck is that?”

You grab your phone. A text is already lighting up the screen.

Brother👾: you home? came to drop something by

Your heart drops into your stomach. “Fuck–fuck, fuck fuck,” you scramble up off the floor, panic blooming your chest. “It’s my brother. He’s here.”

Nam Gyu’s face goes flat. “I thought he didn’t live here anymore.”

“He doesn’t! He just–he visits, I don’t know, please–” you’re already pulling him up by the wrist, shoving at his chest. “Hide.”

“Hide where?” he hisses. You point to the bed. He gives you the dirtiest look. “You want me to crawl under your fucking bed–”

But you’re already halfway to the door. “I’m stalling him–just do it!”

He curses under his breath–but drops to the floor and disappears under the frame, just as you yank the door open.

“Hey!” you say, breathless. Too cheerful.

Your brother raises an eyebrow. “Why are you out of breath?”

“Uh–yoga. You know. Stretching.”

“You don’t do yoga.”

You laugh. “I do now!” He narrows his eyes. “I, um,” you step aside, heart pounding, “come in. You said you brought something?”

He holds up a brown bag. “Mom forgot her vitamin thing. Figured I’d drop it off.”

You lead him into your room. Your knees are shaking. He takes one step inside. Looks around. Frowns. “Why’s it smell like cologne in here?”

You blink. Your skin goes cold. “I–lit a candle,” you lie quickly. “It’s like…cedarwood or something. Manly. Grounding.”

He doesn’t look convinced. Takes another step inside. You can feel Nam Gyu under the bed. You don’t dare peek. You can barely breathe.

Your brother sighs and drops the bag on your desk. “Still weird being in here. Place hasn’t changed since we were kids.”

You give a weak laugh. “Yeah…nostalgic.”

Then he crouched to pick something off the floor–right by the bed–and your stomach caves in. But it’s just a pencil. He straightens up. Smiles at you. “You good though? You been okay lately?”

Your throat tightens, but you nod. “Yeah. Just…busy.”

“Tell Mom and Dad I dropped by.”

“I will.” He leans over and ruffles your hair like you’re still twelve. Then he leaves. You don’t move until the front door clicks shut.

A long moment of silence. You hear his car start. And then– “Are you fucking kidding me–” Nam Gyu’s voice, low and furious, as he drags himself out from under the bed. His hoodie is dusty, hair messed up. “You made me hide like a goddamn teenager–”

You throw yourself at him before he can even finish. “I’m sorry��I panicked–” His mouth crashes down on yours, fast and rough, and his hands are already shoving you toward the bed.

“You owe me for that shit,” he growls into your mouth. “You fuckin’ owe me.”

You nod, breathless, pulling at your clothes. He flips you onto your stomach. “No lights. No moaning. Be a good little liar and keep quiet for me.” You bury your face in the pillow and prepare to let him ruin you.

Your face hits the pillow as Nam Gyu shoves you forward, hand planted firmly between your shoulder blades.

“Gimme that fucking ass,” he growls behind you, voice dark and low with adrenaline. You can feel the floor dust on his jeans–feel how hard he is through the fabric. “Got me hiding under your bed like some fucking side piece.”

“I’m sorry,” you breathe, cheek pressed into the sheets.

“You’re sorry?” he laughs–sharp, mean. “You let me suck your tits with a stuffed bear watching and you’re sorry?”

His fingers hook into the waistband of your shorts, yanking them down hard. He pauses. “You weren’t even wearing panties when you let me in.”

Your breath stutters. “I–”

He slaps your ass. Hard. “Fucking knew it.” You cry out into the pillow, but he grabs a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back. “Shhh,” he coos mockingly. “What would your brother think if he heard you like this? Bent over your bed. Wet as fuck. For the guy he used to call family.”

He lets your hair go and spits down between your thighs. One hand spreads you open–no teasing, no warning–and then his fingers are inside you, two thick and fast, curling up deep. “Goddamn,” he breathes. “Still so tight. You been keeping this little pussy just for me.”

You nod frantically, dropping into your pillow.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes–yes, I have–just you–”

“Good fucking girl.” He pulls his fingers out and slaps your cunt with them, soaked and loud. Then you feel it–his cock, hot and heavy, dragging through your slick. He nudges the head against your entrance, just enough to make you clench. “You wanna get filled like a dirty little secret?”

“Yes–”

“You gonna keep lying to Mommy and Daddy about where you go at night?”

“Yes–” He pushes in deep. Your back arches, mouth open in a silence cry. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let you breathe. Just ruts into you hard and fast, his hips slapping against your ass, skin on skin loud in the silence.

His hand clamps over your mouth. “Don’t you dare making a fucking sound,” he hisses. “You want them finding out you’re a whore now? Wanna explain to your brother how I stretch you out and fuck you dumb?”

You whimper under his palm. Your legs shake. He shifts his grip to your throat, pulling your upper body back against his chest. One hand choking you, the other slipping between your legs.

“You feel that?” he grits, rubbing your clit fast. “That’s me. That’s all me. Every inch of this sweet little cunt’s mine.”

You’re spiraling. Coming so hard your body jerks in his hold. He fucks you thorugh it–growling, mean, filthy.

“Fucking squeeze me like that again and I’ll make you suck me clean after.” You sob. He bites your shoulder. Sucks a mark into your skin so deep you’ll see it for days. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You–fuck–you–”

“That’s right.”

When Nam Gyu finally cums, it’s with a loud grunt, buried deep, your name spilling from his mouth like a threat and a prayer. He stays inside you for a second–hands still on your hips, breath heavy against your ear.

Then he pulls out slow, the slick sound obscene. You collapse on the bed, boneless, face flushed and eyes glassy. He watches you. Watches his cum drip out of you onto your cute pink sheets. Watches your thighs tremble. Then he leans down, kisses your lower back, and mutters: “Bet your brother wouldn’t believe a sweet girl like you could take dick like that.”

You’re still facedown on your bed. Cheek pressed to the sheets. Legs sprawled. Your breathing is uneven and your thighs are trembling. For a second, neither of you move.

Nam gyu just stands there, his jeans still half down, eyes fixed on the mess he made. Your pussy, swollen and leaking. His cum on your thighs. Your back rising and falling like you just ran a mile. “You okay?” he asks finally, quietly.

You nod, a little dazed. “Mmhm.”

He exhales–then zips himself up and pads toward your door, bare feet creaking on the old floorboards. “Don’t move,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll clean you up.”

A minute later, he’s back–with a warm washcloth from the hall bathroom. His voice is different now, lower. Soothed. He kneels between your legs. The cloth is warm when it touches you. Gentle and careful.

You twitch. “Easy,” he murmurs, one hand on your thigh. “I got you.”

He wipes you clean–slow circles, gentle dabs. No teasing. No filth. Just care. You feel him swipe the cloth through the mess between your legs, wiping up his cum, then toss it to the side. “I was too rough,” he says after a moment. Guilt peeking through.

You peek over your shoulder, cheek squished to the pillow. “I liked it.”

He huffs a breath–smiles, barely–and leans over to kiss your lower back. Soft. A little reverent. Then again. Higher this time. Between your shoulder blades.

You feel his hands under your arms, pulling you up slow, and before you can even fully sit, she’s scooping you into his lap like you’re his. His girl. His baby “C’mon,” he mumbles into your hair. “Shower.”

He carries you to the bathroom room, flicks the light on low. The old shower rattles a little as it starts up. You sit on the counter while he grabs your towel and favorite body wash. He kisses your knees while he waits for the water to heat.

And when you’re both finally inside, under the spray, he washes you like you’re something breakable. Soapy hands across your shoulders. Your back. Down your arms. His fingers slow on your belly, gentle between your legs. No filth now. Just love.

He lets you wear his hoodie after, even though it’s warm outside. And later, curled up in your bed with his arm under your head and his hoodie draped over your bare legs, he holds you so close you can feel his heartbeat in your spine.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

“I never left,” he murmurs. “You just stopped looking.”

The window’s cracked. The summer air slips in slow, thick and sweet, brushing over your skin. Crickets hum somewhere outside. Your childhood neighborhood, still the same–still safe. Still small.

Nam Gyu’s hoodie hangs loose on your body, sleeves bunched at your wrists. Your legs are bare beneath the covers, curled into his. His chest is warm against your back, arm heavy around your waist, holding you like he doesn’t even know he’s doing it.

He takes another drag from his vape. The quiet click of it echoes in the stillness, then a curl of strawberry vapor drifts out the open window. “Babe,” he mumbles sleepily against your shoulder. “I’m gonna get you addicted to this shit.”

You smile faintly. “No, you’re not.”

“You already like it.”

“I like you.”

He huffs a breath. Doesn’t say anything for a second. Just lets it hang there. You’re quiet for a while. Long enough for your heart to settle, long enough that you think maybe he’s fallen asleep.

But then, you ask, “Why’d you stop coming around?” It’s soft, gentle. But it slices through the silence like a blade.

He’s quiet for a long time. You don’t push. You just wait. Eventually, he shifts behind you–pulls the covers tighter around the both of you. His vape clicks again. Then he exhales slowly, and says, “Your brother told me to.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What?”

Nam Gyu lets the words come slow. “It was right after that one summer,” he explains. “The one where I started skipping school. Showing up with bruises and black eyes and shit.” He pauses. “Your parents got worried. Thought I was a bad influence. He didn’t disagree.”

Your heart twists. “He told me if I gave a fuck about you,” Nam Gyu says, no emotion in his voice. “I’d stay away. Said you didn’t need some punk with a death wish hanging around the house anymore.”

You roll over to face him. He doesn’t look at you. Just stares up at the ceiling, eyes half lidded, fingers tugging at a loose thread in your blanket. “I didn’t want to scare you,” he mutters. “Didn’t want you to see what I turned into.”

“You didn’t scare me,” you whisper.

“I do now.” You shake your head. He finally looks at you. His eyes are darker than usual. Not angry. Just hurt. Heavy.

“You were so fucking little,” he mutters, almos to himself. “Used to sit in the grass and draw with sidewalk chalk. Couldn’t even look me in the eyes without blushing.” Your throat tightens.

“And then I got kicked out of school. Started running shit with guys who wouldn’t think twice about putting a bullet in someone’s back. Stopped being your brother’s friend and started being a problem.” He holds his vape up to his lips but doesn’t hit. “You shouldn't even want me in this bed.”

“But I do.” He looks at you. Really looks. And then he tucks your hair behind your ear. Leans forward, slow, like it hurts him, and presses the gentlest kiss to your forehead. “I know.”

He’s still watching you. Eyes darker now. Not with lust–but with something heavier. Something that makes your chest ache. His hand slides under the hem of your hoodie–barely there, just resting on the small of your back. Then– “Get up here,” he murmurs. You stare up at him in confusion. He taps your thigh gently. “C’mere.”

You hesitate for half a second before shifting forward, crawling up his chest until your body lies flush against his–chest to chest, cheek nestled into the dip between his collarbones. You feel his hand curve around your thigh to help you settle, the other resting flat between your shoulder blades.

His warmth sinks into you instantly. “See?” he mumbles into your hair. “Better.”

You hum in agreement, eyes slipping closed. You feel his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back. One slow, endless loop at a time. It makes your whole body feel like it’s floating.

“I used to think about this,” he says softly, after a long pause. “Back when I stopped coming around. Used to imagine what it’d be like…if I had got to see you one more time. If I got to lay with you in my arms.”

You don’t say anything, just tuck your face deeper into his neck, like maybe if you hold him tighter, he won’t disappear again. His breath slows. He keeps talking–quieter now, barely audible. “Didn’t think I’d ever get to touch you again. Let alone have you fall asleep on top of me like this.”

Your heart thuds hard against your ribcage. And then his arms tighten–just slightly. Not possessive, or horny, not even jealous. Just holding. Just having. “Sleep, baby,” he whispers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You try to fight it. But your limbs go heavy. Your breathing softens. And eventually you drift off like that–clinging to him. The only boy who ever made you feel both ruined and safe.

And when you woke up the next morning, he was gone. Not in a left you forever way. Just gone-gone. A scribbled note on your desk: had to run. be back later. lock the door–gyu

You had class anyway. You showered, threw on your usual outfit–something cozy, something simple–and tried not to spend the whole lecture replaying the feel of his hand gripping your hip while you moaned into his throat. When you get out of class, there’s a text waiting for you.

When you get out of class, there’s a text waiting for you.

bby boi🧸: party tonight

bby boi🧸: come

You pause. You’re not a party girl. You’re a homework and chamomile tea and skincare before bed kind of girl. But still, your heart skips.

You send back: you’ll be there??

His response is instant.

bby boi🧸: obviously

bby boi🧸: i’ll pick u up

You try on four different outfits before settling on a soft cream sweater and black leggings. Cute socks. Clean sneakers. A spritz of perfume behind your ears and a hint of gloss on your lips.

You hear his car outside. You grab your bag, check yourself in the mirror one more time, then head out. When you slide into the passenger seat, Nam Gyu looks you up and down–blinks once, then frowns. “Why are you dressed like that?”

Your stomach twists and you freeze up. “What?”

He doesn’t mean it mean. He just gestures vaguely. “All girly.”

You bite your lip. Look down at your outfit. “I thought it was cute.”

He huffs a laugh through his nose. And then–you swear it–his eyes soften. “It is.” And then he drives.

The house party is loud. Music shaking the walls. People crowding the front lawn. The air smells like weed and stale beer and cheap perfume.

The second you step inside, it hits you all at once–flashing lights, bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, girls dancing on tables, guys with bottles in their fists. Someone yells something unintelligible across the kitchen.

You flinch. Nam Gyu doesn’t. He fits in here. Like he was made for it. The tattoos, the lazy confidence, the way his hand wraps around your wrist without thinking as he guides you through the crush of people.

He starts talking to a friend. Someone taller, louder. They laugh, talk about something you can’t follow. A blunt gets passed. A girl slaps Nam Gyu’s arm playfully. You stay quiet. Pressed against his side. A pretty little shadow in a soft sweater, wide eyed and quiet. He doesn’t let go of your hand, but he doesn’t look at you, either.

You can feel the stares. From girls. From guys. You don’t belong here and you know it. But you want to. Because he’s here. And you want to be where he is. Even if it means swallowing the knot in your throat and trying not to look like you’re trembling.

You’re still glued to his side, barely saying a word, when he finally turns to look at you. You don’t know what gives it away. Maybe the way your hand keeps fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. Maybe the way you flinch every time someone brushes past too close. Maybe it’s how you haven’t laughed once tonight–not even a fake little chuckle to make him feel good.

He leans down toward your ear, voice low. “Come with me.”

You nod immediately, clinging to his sleeve as he guides you out of the kitchen. Up a hallway, past a line for the bathroom, through a cracked open door into some random bedroom.

The second the door clicks shut behind you, the noise softens. You can breathe again. Nam Gyu turns to face you. Eyes sharp but not unkind. “You wanna leave?” he asks, arms folding as he leans against the dresser.

Your eyes widen. “No.” You’re too quick to answer. Too eager.

His brow arches. “No?”

“I–” you swallow. “I wanna stay. I just…”

His head tilts. “You just?”

“I wanna stay with you.”

That get a smile. Slow, crooked, dangerous. “You’re not exactly blending in, baby.”

You blush. You look down at your shoes. “I know. I’m not really…” You trail off, unsure how to say it. Not cool. Not edgy. Not the kind of girl who smokes and dances on tables and makes guys stare.

He pushes off the dresser and walks up slowly. The floor creaks beneath his boots. When he’s in front of you, he reaches for the end of your sweater sleeve and tugs it between his fingers. “You wanna drink with me?”

Your lashes flutter. “Right now?”

“Yeah. right now. Or not. Up to you.” You’re quiet, nibbling on your bottom lip. He leans in and murmurs, “You don’t have to, baby. If you’re not comfortable, I’m not gonna make you.”

And maybe it’s how gentle his voice goes. Maybe it’s how patient he is, for once. But it makes something inside you crack open. “I just…” You finally say it. Small and honest. “I just want you to like me.”

The moment hangs in the air like fog. His eyes flicker up to yours. He doesn't laugh. Doesn't tease. He just takes a breath and closes the distance–his hand slipping beneath your jaw to tilt your face toward his. “Are you kidding me?” he asks, voice rough. “You think I don’t like you?”

Your breath catches. “I show up to some stupid party full of assholes I hate just so I can see you in that sweater,” he mutters, thumb grazing your cheek. “You’re the only reason I’m not high off my ass right now.”

You blink up at him. Slowly. And he leans in–kisses the corner of your mouth. Not quite your lips. Not yet. Then he murmurs, “Now sit on the bed and tell me what kinda drink you want.”

She looks up at him from where she’s perched on the edge of the bed, her voice quiet under the bass still thudding from downstairs. “Can I go with you?”

He doesn’t say yes. Doesn’t say anything. Just grabs your wrist and pulls you in close, tucking her under his arm like she’s already his and leading her back down to the chaos.

It’s worse this time. There’s someone passed out hallway up the stairs. A couple making out in the hallway. The music’s louder. Someone’s lighting a blunt in the living room. But Nam Gyu doesn’t let go of you, not even once.

In the kitchen, he shrugs his arm off you just long enough to grab a red cup, filling it up from a big bottle of something clear. He leans his weight into the counter lazily, one arm slung low around your waist again–pulling you back against him.

You go without a fight. Back flush against his broad chest. He takes a sip, smirking into the cup, and then lifts it toward your lips. “Wanna taste?”

You hesitate, then nod. The second it hits your tongue, you choke. “Oh my god,” you sputter, coughing into your sleeve. “That’s awful!”

Nam Gyu lets out a low laugh against your shoulder, that kind of boyish snort he almost never shows. You feel it more than you hear it–the way his chest shakes behind you, the curve of his smile pressing into the side of your neck. “I told you.”

“You didn’t tell me it tasted like nail polish remover.”

He just hums, taking another sip like it’s nothing. You wrinkle your nose, settling back against him, your head resting lightly against his shoulder. The music’s changed–something heavier, the bass vibrating through the floor–and you can’t help it. You start to sway a little. Barely. Just the tiniest movement.

But he feels it. His hand twitches against your hip. And then he coughs once. Clears his throat. You feel his body tense behind you. His voice sounds a little too casual when he talks to the two guys across from you–one of them saying something about a fight that broke out at the last party, something about who got banned from whose place. But Nam Gyu barely responds. His fingers are digging into your sides now. Harder.

“Stop rubbing on my cock,” he mutters in your ear, his voice hoarse and quiet enough that no one else hears, “or I’ll fuck you right here in front of my friends.”

You freeze, it makes you hold your breath. And he just sips his drink like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just say that with his lips brushing the shell of your ear, while your heart’s racing and your thighs are clenching and his arm is tightening around your waist. “You’re so mean,” you whisper breathlessly.

He smiles into your hair. “Yeah, but you like it.”

One of his friends glances over from where he’s grabbing another drink. “Yo, Gyu,” he calls with a grin, “you bringin’ her to to share or are you takin’ her straight to the backseat?”

Nam Gyu doesn’t miss a seat. “Backseat,” he says, cool and sure. “Gonna get my dick sucked before we leave.”

Your hands shoot up to cover your face, lips parted in shock. You’re mortified. He said it like it’s nothing. Like you’re not right there in his arms, practically melting from embarrassment. “Stop,” you whine, shoving lightly at his chest without looking at him. “You can’t just say that–”

“Why not?” he asks, way too smug. “They should know how good you are for me.”

You make a tiny, wounded noise and try to twist away but he just laughs and hugs you tighter from behind. One hand slides up to tilt your chin, making you look at him with that pouty, red faced glare. He hums, “Cute. Didn’t say it wasn’t true.”

His friends chuckle, amused but distracted. The music’s loud. No one really cares. But he’s got you blushing so hard it hurts, hiding your face again in his hoodie as he kisses the side of your neck like you’re his and he wants everyone to know it.

The second the car door opens, it’s like a dam breaks. Nam Gyu pulls you in with both hands, climbing into the backseat, already crowding you against the seats. It smells like him in here–his cologne, his vape, the faintest trace of weed–and it’s warm, private, and dangerous.

“You were so fuckin’ cute tonight,” he mutters, shoving your sweater up to your ribs, fingers skating over your bra, your waist, gripping like he wants to leave fingerprints. “Walkin’ around all shy in your little socks like you didn’t know what the fuck you were doin’ to me.”

You gasp as you watch him unbutton his jeans, tugging them down just far enough for his cock to spring free–already hard, flushed dark, tip leaking. “Gyu–”

“You wanted this.” He cups your chin, thumb dragging over your bottom lip. “Been squirming in my lap all night. You want me in your throat, baby?” You nod, eyes wide. “Then open up. Be a good fuckin’ girl for me.”

You drop to your knees on the floor of the car, wedged between his legs, the driver’s seat digging into your lower back. Your hands wrap around the base of his cock as you lean in, tongue licking a stripe from base to tip. He hisses through his teeth. “Shit–look at you,” he pants. “Good fucking girl.”

You swirl your tongue around the head and then take him in slowly, inch by inch, until your lips are brushing your fingers. He’s thick. Heavy. The weight of him presses on your tongue, makes your eyes flutter. You moan.

“Fuck. Don’t tease. Take it.” You do. You pull off, spit thick and glossy between you, then open your mouth wider–letting him slide in deeper. He grabs your hair with one hand, the other bracing on the seat as he starts to thrust.

It’s filthy. Wet. Your eyes start to water almost immediately as he pushes in too far, holding your head down until your nose is buried in the soft of his belly. You choke, gag–but don’t pull away. Your nails dig into his thighs.

“God, baby–fuck yes–take it, just like that,” he grits out. “Look at you. My pretty little slut, takin’ cock in the back of my car like you were made for it.”

You can’t respond. You can only moan around him, eyes blurred, throat tight and aching. Spit’s running down your chin, soaking your sweater. He’s panting now, hips jerking up faster. “You gonna let me cum in that pretty mouth?” he groans. “Huh? You gonna swallow for me, sweetheart?”

You nod as best as you can with him deep in your throat, and that’s all it takes. His breath stutters, his grip tightens. “Fuck, shit, baby–swallow it. Take all of it–”

He spills down your throat with a rough groan, holding your head down while he pulses in your mouth. You whimper, obedient, swallowing everything, lips wrapped around him until he finally lets you go. You pull off with a gasp, coughing a little, tear streaked and flushed and ruined. And he just leans forward, pulls you into his lap, and kisses you slow. “My perfect fuckin’ girl.”

You’re still catching your breath when he reaches up with his sleeve and gently cradles your jaw with his fingers. “Messy girl,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it. He wipes at your mouth first–slow, careful–then tips your chin to swipe at the smudged mascara trailing beneath your eyes.

You blink at him, dazed and pink-cheeked, and he smiles like he wants to kiss you again, like he’s proud of the ruin he made. “C’mon,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you in the front seat before someone calls the cops.”

It makes you giggle. He tucks himself back into his jeans, zips up, helps you climb over the center console. His hand never really leaves you–either steadying your thigh, brushing your hair back, or resting on your knee as he starts the car.

The drive is quiet at first. Warm. The only sound is the hum of the engine and the soft music playing from the radio.

“My parents come back tomorrow,” you whisper, watching the streetlights blur past.

He glances at you. “Yeah?”

You nod, picking at the hem of your sweater. “Means I probably won’t be able to see you as much.”

Nam Gyu exhales, his hand squeezing your knee silently. “I won’t abandon you, baby.” You glance over at him, brows slightly furrowed. He grins. “You’re gonna sneak out like a good girl for me, right?”

You roll your eyes, but you nod. “Yeah.”

“Atta girl.” HIs voice dips low–something teasing and dark curling around the edges. “Keep bein’ good and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Your cheeks burn. There’s a pause for a second, then softer he speaks, “If your brother knew, he’d literally kill me.”

You laugh under your breath. “Yeah. I know.”

He chuckles, tapping the wheel with his thumb. “He always was a hothead.”

Another stretch of silence, then you speak again–quieter this time. “I’m almost done with this semester.”

“Yeah?” he hums. “Proud of you.”

“I don’t know if I’m gonna go back.”

His head turns, eyes flicking toward you for a second. “Why not? You’re great at art.”

“I enjoy it. I do,” you say, staring out the window. “But it’s starting to feel like a chore. Like it’s what they want. Not what I want.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t speak right away. His fingers squeeze your knee again. “You know you don’t have to live for them, right?”

You glance over, surprised at the softness in his voice. He’s still focused on the road, but his jaw’s tight. “You can figure out what you want. Doesn’t have to be what they mapped out for you.”

You nod slowly. “I don’t know what I want yet.”

“That’s okay,” he murmurs. “We’ll figure it out.”

The words hang in the air–we’ll. Like he means to stay. You look at him. The boy who wiped your mouth and kissed your ruined face. Who made you feel both destroyed and protected in the same breath. “Okay,” you whisper.

And when he parks outside your house, he doesn’t kiss you again–not right away. He just brushes hair out of your face and says, “Text me when you’re inside.”

“I will.”

“Good girl.”

It’s been a few weeks since that night in his car, since he murmured “good girl” against your cheek like it meant something more than obedience. Maybe it did. Maybe it didn’t. You haven’t dared ask.

Since then, you’ve been lying with more ease than you ever thought possible. “Studying at Mia’s.” “Group project ran late.” “Just staying at school a little longer.”

Your parents don’t question much, not now–not with finals around the corner and your sketchpad always in hand. You’ve been too busy with your last assignments to sneak away like you want to. You’ve been too busy with your last assignments to sneak away like you want to, but Nam Gyu hasn’t complained. Not once. He still texts you throughout the day: stupid memes, blurry gym selfies, a voice memo once where he told you “I miss your weird little laugh.” You keep replaying it when the ache of not seeing him gets too much.

For your final project, you’re supposed to do a single charcoal portrait: someone real, someone who stirs something in you. You chose him. You don’t tell him, of course. You’ve been working on it in secret, staying up late when the house is quiet and everyone’s asleep. His face is starting to emerge from the paper–sharp, shadowed. The slope of his brow, the mess of his hair. Your fingers stay smudged with graphite. You’ve ruined two pillowcases and a sweatshirt. You don’t care.

It’s almost done when your phone buzzes beside you.

bby boi🧸: come open ur window

Your heart stutters. You’re in bed already, oversized shirt on and bare legs, a little flushed from how often you’ve been thinking of him lately. You tiptoe across your room, crack the window open, and there he is–dark jacket, tousled hair, looking up at you like he’s done it a hundred times.

You help him climb in, trying not to laugh when he bumps his knee on your desk. “Shh,” you whisper, biting your lip. “You’re gonna wake up the whole house.”

He grins, breathless from the climb, and whispers back, “You gotta get a ladder or something. I’m getting too old for this.”

You snort softly and motion for him to sit, but his eyes are already scanning your room–and they land on the sketchbook still open on your desk. He tilts his head. “What’s that?”

You freeze. “Nothing–” But he’s already walking toward it. You’re too slow to stop him. His hand hovers over the page–not touching, not smudging. Just looking.

It’s his face. Almost exactly. You even captured the little scar above his eyebrow. The way his mouth curves when he’s about to tease you. The soft shadows under his cheekbones. It’s him, raw and unfiltered. It’s him how you see him.

When he speaks, it’s quiet. “Is this for school?”

You nod, cheeks burning. “Final. It’s…it’s a portrait unit.”

He’s silent for a long beat. Just staring. Then– “You made me look better than I do in real life.”

You huff. “No I didn’t.”

He finally turns toward you. His voice is rough when he says, “That’s how you see me?”

You nod again, smaller this time. He steps closer. His hand finds your cheek and his thumb brushes a charcoal smudge you didn’t know was there. “You make me look like someone worth something,” he murmurs. “No one’s ever done that before.”

And suddenly your room feels very small. The night very quiet. Your breath caught in your chest.

You whisper, “You are.” His fingers tilt your chin up. And when he kisses you, it’s the softest it’s ever been–like he’s scared he’ll break something if he presses too hard. Like he’s trying to memorize how this moment feels.

You sit cross-legged on your bed, legs warm under the covers, blanket draped across your lap. Nam Gyu’s stretched out beside you, propped against your headboard, jacket sleeves pushed up around his forearms and one leg hanging off the mattress. His hair’s still messy from the wind outside, and he smells faintly like smoke and detergent.

The window’s cracked open behind you for air. A breeze curls in, bruising over your bare arms. He looks at you sideways. His voice holds a bit of a teasing tone. “You gonna hide me forever?”

You smile, pulling your legs up to your chest. “Why? You jealous?”

He scoffs, then shrugs, not denying it. “Maybe. Kinda pathetic, right?”

You giggle, and he leans his head back against your wall like he’s trying not to smile. The sound of your laugh is his favorite thing in the world and you have no idea.

“No,” you admit softly. “I’m not trying to hide you. I’m just…” You trail off, picking at the edge of your blanket.

He doesn’t push, just waits. You finally exhale, voice quieter. “I’m sure I’ll tell them eventually. Just…not right now.”

He nods, like he understands. Like he does understand. There’s a long, gentle pause. And then, just above a whisper, you say, “I know why they don’t like you anymore.”

His jaw twitches, but doesn’t look away. Doesn’t speak. You go on, nervous but honest. “I think it’ll be hard to show them you’ve changed. Especially with, you know…you being twenty-five. And my brother’s ex-best friend.”

Nam Gyu’s gaze drops. His thumb starts tracing a crease in your sheets. “Yeah.”

“They’ll really have a hard time with it,” you add.

“I know.” His voice is so soft it barely reaches you. “But I don’t care about them.” You glance up at him. “I care about you,” he says, finally looking at you again. “That’s it.”

Your heart aches. You try to hold his gaze, but your face heats up too fast, so you look back down at your lap, hiding a shy smile. He shifts closer, knocking your knee with his. “Hey,” he whispers. You look up. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “I’ll sneak through your window for as long as it takes.”

That makes you laugh again, soft and surprised. “You better be careful, my dad’s got a gun.”

“I’m not scared of your dad.”

“You should be,” you tease.

He grins at that, and for a few quiet minutes, you just sit there. Letting it be easy. Letting yourself enjoy him. Then he reaches out, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. “So…you drew me, huh?”

You groan, grabbing a pillow and half heartedly whacking him with it. “Don’t make it weird!”

“I’m not!” He’s laughing, dodging your attack. “It’s just–kinda sweet. That’s all.”

Your cheeks burn again. But you let yourself lean into his side, head resting on his shoulder, legs tangled under the blanket.

Outside the wind rustles the leaves. Inside, you whisper, “I really like you.” And he doesn’t say it back–not yet. But he turns his head and kisses your forehead like he means something more than words ever could.

3 Years Later…

You’re twenty-two now. Not the same girl who used to sneak out at night and crawl into the passenger seat of his beat-up car, trembling and giggling. Not the girl who kept him hidden like a sin. You’ve graduated, moved to Seoul–far away from the suffocating small town and all its long memories. You rent a cozy little apartment above a flower shop, teach art at a nearby school, and on weekends, you lead pottery classes for older women who treat you like their daughter.

You’re happy, or maybe just quiet. It’s not the same thing, but it’s close enough. He stopped reaching out years ago. First, the replies came slower. Then his messages turned from blue to green. You checked his socials–gone. He blocked you. No warning. Just…gone. It left a hole you haven’t really filled.

Your new friend drags you out to this sleek little place tucked into a quiet alley near Itaewon. Good food, expensive drinks, soft jazz humming in the background. It’s a far cry from the smoke filled house parties you used to cling to Nam Gyu in.

You eat. Laugh. Nurse your drink while your friend heads out early, waving goodbye with a wink and a joke about getting some sleep for once. And you’re left in the half dim lighting, swirling your cocktail with the straw, letting the music buzz low in your chest.

That’s when you feel it. A presence. Eyes. You look up. Nam Gyu. Standing near the door, dressed in black, sharp around the edges–just like always. But older. His hair’s a little longer, his build filled out. There’s a woman on his arm, clinging to him like a promise.

And yet–his eyes are locked on you. For a moment, neither of you move. Then he says something to the girl–quiet and low. She nods and walks off without looking back. And he stays. Still staring.

You drop your eyes, suddenly cold all over, pretending you didn’t see him. You focus on your drink, heart pounding in your ears. You should walk away. Leave. But it’s too late.

He’s already walking toward you. He stops at your table, hands in his coat pockets, that same worn-in confidence in his stance. “You grew up.”

You don’t look at him. Not at first. Just blink, stare at the ice melting in your drink. But something in you snaps. You glance up slowly, eyes sharp, voice quiet. “Yeah. That’s what happens when you ghost someone for three years. People change.”

And that hits him. You see it. The flicker in his jaw, the faint squint in his eyes. He pulls the empty chair out and sits without asking. Like he used to. Like no time passed at all.

“You’re still mad.”

“I’m not mad.” You laugh bitterly. “I’m over it. I just…didn’t expect to see you here. In Seoul. With another girl on your arm.”

He leans back in the chair, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to memorize it all over again. “Didn’t think I’d see you either. You’re different.”

“So are you.” You pause, then add, quieter, “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” And neither of you say it–but it’s there. The silence. The grief. The thousand things that were left unsaid.

“You should go.” Your voice is steady, but the hand gripping your glass is trembling slightly. You don’t look at him. You can’t. His presence is a weight across your skin, heavy and electric. “I’ll forget I saw you,” you murmur. “Just go.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t move. “That’s not what you want.”

You swallow hard. Still not looking at him. Your thighs press together under the table on pure instinct–tight and tense. You’re trying to stay composed, but he sees the way your knuckles pale where you hold your glass. “I’m serious.”

“So am I.” He leans forward slightly. Drops his voice. “Come back to my place.”

You scoff, shaking your head once. “What about your girlfriend?”

He lets out a short, amused breath through his nose. “She’s not my girlfriend.” Something shifts. Something cracks. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re standing. You don’t look at him as you walk toward the door. He follows without a word.

The city blurs by outside the windows of the black car. You sit in the back seat beside him, silent. Tension coils in the narrow space between your bodies. His leg brushes yours and you don’t move away.

By the time the elevator door opens to his floor, your heart is pounding in your ears. His apartment is nothing like what you imagined it to be. A luxury penthouse, floor to ceiling windows, expensive furniture. Dark, sleek, masculine.

You step inside slowly, heels clicking against the hardwood. You don’t say anything at first–just walk to the edge of the living room where Seoul glitters beneath you like a galaxy.

“How the hell do you afford this?” you ask, half to yourself.

Behind you, Nam Gyu shrugs off his coat. “I work. I don’t blow it on drugs anymore. Turns out you save a lot of money when you’re not trying to kill yourself.”

You turn around, lips parting–but the words catch in your throat. He’s staring at you. Not just looking. Staring. Like he hasn’t blinked since the second you stepped through the door. You glance down at your dress. Tight. Black, with thin sleeves resting on your shoulder. A slit up the thigh. It clings to all the right places. Your body has changed since he last saw you. Fuller. Softer. More woman than girl now.

You look back up at him. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. He moves. Crosses the space between you in three strides. His hands are on your waist, gripping, pulling. His mouth finds yours–hot, desperate, bruising. He kisses you like it’s been years. Like he hated every day he couldn’t.

Your back hits the window. His hands push down your dress straps roughly, pulling them to your elbows. His mouth is on your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “Fuck,” he breathes against your skin, voice hoarse. “You–fuck, you feel so good now.”

Your fingers are in his hair. His knees hit the hardwood. He doesn’t even hesitate. Not when he sinks down in front of you, palms sliding up the backs of your calves, slow and reverent like he’s praying. Not when his eyes travel up your legs, over the soft swell of your thighs peeking through the slit in your dress. He palms them–big, rough hands gripping tight.

“Fuck,” he whispers, sounding absolutely wrecked. “You got so–” He swallows. “You grew up, baby.” His eyes flash up to yours, pupils blown wide. “Can’t believe you’ve been walking around like this. Looking like this. And I’ve been–” he breaks off, licking his lips. “Dreaming about this body for years.”

Your heart pounds. He pulls your dress up, bunches it around your hips. His hands slide up the backs of your thighs, gripping your ass, squeezing hard–groaning like he’s in pain. His mouth finds the inside of your knee, trailing kisses up, slow and sloppy, as he mumbles against your skin.

“Want you so bad, fuck–lemme taste you please. Just–please, baby, I’ll be so good.”

You stare down at him–this tall, cocky, once detached man–now on his knees, lips at your inner thigh, begging. Begging to worship. “You’re begging now?” you murmur, breathless.

He nods against your skin. “I’ll beg all night. You want me to get on my hands and knees and crawl after you, I fucking will. Just let me have you. Let me taste you.”

You step out of your heels. Then out of your panties. He groans when they slide down your legs, eyes locked to the wet center like it’s the only thing on earth. Like it’s his.

And then he’s buried between your thighs. His tongue is hot and filthy, all open mouthed kisses and greedy flicks. He moans into you–loud, like he doesn’t care who hears. Like he wants the whole goddamn city to know how good you taste. His hands hold your thighs apart, fingers pressing bruises into soft flesh. He eats like he’s drowning in you.

“Fuck, you’re sweet,” he mumbles, lips slippery against your folds. “Missed this pussy. Dreamed about it–”

His tongue drags up and flattens over your clit. You gasp–head falling back against the glass window, body trembling as he sucks, gentle and then hard. He groans like he feels it too, like your pleasure is his pleasure.

“You’re perfect now,” he mutters, breathless. “Full and warm and fuckin’ mine.”

You whimper. “Gyu…”

He pulls back just long enough to look up at you. His chin is wet, lips shiny, eyes wild. “Say you missed me,” he growls.

“I missed you,” you whisper, shaking.

“Say this pussy missed me.”

Your voice breaks this time. “It missed you–fuck–” And then he dives back in like he’s starving. Tongue flicking and curling and fucking into you until your knees buckle. You cry out, grinding down on his mouth, and he lets you–hands under your ass, guiding your hips, moaning as you ride his face.

Your thighs clench around his head. He doesn’t stop. Not until you’re full on sobbing through your orgasm, shaking, slumped against the window. Your dress is a mess. Your hair’s a mess. Your legs won’t stop trembling.

Nam Gyu finally rises–slow, towering over you. He licks his lips, grinning. “Now,” he says, undoing his belt, voice like thunder. “I’m gonna fuck you in front of this window until every bastard in this city knows who you belong to.”

He towers over you–belt undone, pants halfway down his thighs, cock flushed and aching. It’s thick, heavy, twitching against his abs, and he’s panting just from looking at you. “Please, please let me fuck you.” His voice is trembling.

Your breath catches. He’s flushed, hair messy, pupils blown wide with want. He’s not cocky anymore. Not right now. He’s wretched before he’s even really touched you. “Say I can, baby. Say it’s mine.” He pleads with you.

You glance down at his cock, then back up, lips curled into the faintest smirk. “You want it that bad?”

He nods quickly, hands coming up to cup your face. “So bad. You don’t even know–I’ve been dreaming about you, baby. Jerking off to the thought of your tits, your thighs, your voice. I’d do anything. Anything. Let me show you.”

You lean in, brush your lips across his ear. “Then show me.”

He groans, loud, and spins you gently, pressing your front to the window. The glass is cold against your skin, but he’s already tugging your dress up, sliding it over your hips until it’s bunched around your waist.

You hear him behind you. Fumbling, panting, cursing under his breath like he’s in pain. “So pretty,” he breathes, gripping your ass, spreading you open. “Your body…fuck, your body’s perfect. You were beautiful before, but now–” He groans. “Now you’re a fuckin’ dream.”

You whimper when he grinds his cock between your thighs, dragging the length of it over your soaked center. He leans over you, pressing his chest to your back, voice hot and needy in your ear. “Let me in baby. Please. Let me fuck you. Let me make you mine again.”

“Say it,” you whisper, trembling.

He nuzzles your neck. “Please, baby. I need it. Need to feel you again. Need to fuck you until you scream my name.”

You shift your hips back, guiding him to your entrance. “Then take it.” He sinks in with a gasp. His hands fly to your waist–gripping so tight, he might bruise. His hips roll forward, slow at first, savoring the heat, the stretch, the way you take every inch like you were made for him.

“Fuck, fuck, you feel even better than I remembered–tight, hot, wet. You’re perfect. You’re fucking perfect.”

You moan, pressing your palms to the window as his pace builds. Every thrust is deep, smooth, worshipful. He’s fucking you like it’s the last time he ever will–like he’s memorizing your body all over again.

The glass fogs beneath your hands. “Look at you,” he pants, thrusting harder. “Bent over my window, letting me fuck you like a good girl. All these people down there, and you’re just taking it.”

You cry out when he hits that perfect spot–when his hands slide under your dress to grab at your tits, squeezing, groaning at the way they fill his palms. “You got so soft,” he moans. “So full. Your thighs–your ass–your tits–fuck, I could die between them.”

His hips slam into you harder, needier, his voice dissolving into whimpers against your skin. “I’m gonna come,” he gasps. “I’m gonna fucking come. Say it’s mine–say this pussy’s mine–please.”

You tilt your head back, grinding against him, loving every filthy, desperate word. “It’s yours, Gyu. It’s all yours.” That’s all it takes. He breaks. He comes with a guttural moan, hips snapping forward as he spills deep inside you–grinding through it, panting, groaning, hands trembling where they told you.

He doesn’t pull out. Just leans forward, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, whispering between shaky breaths. “I missed you. I missed you so fucking much. Don’t make me go another day without this. Without you.”

You reach back, threading your fingers through his hair. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I’m never letting you go again.”

The lights are dim, casting a soft golden glow across the tiles and the water. The deep porcelain tub stretches wide in his massive bathroom–sleek black counters, warm wood floors, and wall to wall windows that overlook the glittering city.

But right now, all you care about is him.

You sit across from each other, the water nearly up to your shoulders, the scent of sandalwood bubbles curling into the air between you. Your knees poke up from the water, glistening in the low light, and his hands rest lazily on his thighs, head tilted back against the edge of the tube.

He looks soft like this. Damp hair curling slightly at the ends, his strong chest rising and falling slowly. When you stretch your legs out and place your feet in his lap, he looks down–smiles.

You wiggle your toes. Nam Gyu huffs a quiet laugh, one hand sliding along your shin. “You’re such a brat.”

“Say it again,” you murmur, teasing.

He grins. “Brat.”

You stick your tongue out at him. He catches your ankle, presses a kiss just above the bone. It’s stupidly gentle. So is the look in his eyes. “What?” you ask, your voice dipping quiet, almost embarrassed.

His shoulders shrug. “Nothing. You’re just…here. In my bath. With your toes in my lap. I think I used to dream about this.”

That’s what does it. The question slips out before you can stop it–fast, unfiltered. “So who was that girl, if she’s not your girlfriend?” The words echo a bit too sharply in the steam filled room. Your eyes go wide. “Shit–I didn’t mean–”

“It’s fine,” he cuts in gently. “You don’t have to act like it didn’t bother you.”

You look down at the water, heart racing, skin heating in more ways than one. “It didn’t bother me,” you say softly.

Nam Gyu gives a slow, amused sigh. “We work together.”

You glance up. “Work together?” You make air quotes with your fingers, voice skeptical. It makes him smirk.

“You wanna go through my phone?” he offers casually. “Deadass. You can scroll through the whole thing. You won’t find anything. No flirty texts. No hidden apps. Just boring ass group chats and my open tabs of porn with girls that look like you.”

You stare at him wide eyed. “What?”

“I’m not kidding,” he says, holding your gaze. “Same body type. Same thighs. Same tits. Same soft little belly. They all look like you. I haven’t fucked anyone since you. Haven’t wanted to.”

The words dangle in the air, leaving you speechless. He runs his hand up your calf, fingers trailing lazily along your skin. “It’s like I ruined myself,” he says with a small laugh. “Now nothing else works.”

You hold your breath. “Gyu…”

“I don’t say that to pressure you,” he murmurs. “You don’t owe me anything. But I don’t want you wondering where I’ve been or who I’ve been with. It’s only ever been you.”

You slip your foot from his lap, crawling forward through the water, slow and shy. He watches you, still and waiting, until you’re between his legs, your chest pressed lightly to his, water lapping around your waists.

Your fingers slide up to his jaw. You tilt his face to you. “Thank you for telling me,” you whisper.

His eyes flicker to your lips, then back to your eyes. “You gonna kiss me now?”

You lean in, barely brushing your mouth over his. “Maybe.”

He grins, water dripping from his lashes. “I missed you so bad,” he breathes out. You kiss him. Long and deep. The kind that makes your toes curl beneath the bubbles.

His hands find your back, your waist, your thighs under the water. You pull back just an inch, catching your breath, whispering, “You don’t have to ruin yourself anymore.” He looks at you like he’s already been saved.

You’re still curled into him, damp skin pressed against his chest, your nose tucked under his jaw. The bubbles have started to fade, leaving the water silky and warm around you both. His arms rest around you, hands drifting mindlessly over your hips, like he doesn’t want to stop touching you for even a second.

You pull back just enough to look at him. There’s a smile curling at your lip. “So you’re really gonna sit here and tell me,” you murmur, “that you didn’t fuck anyone else in the last three years.”

His brows lift. “That’s what I said.”

You tilt your head. “Not even once?”

“Just me and my hand,” he says without shame.

Your mouth falls open a little. “What the fuck.”

He shrugs, totally unfazed. “I tried. Once. Didn’t work.”

Your eyes narrow in disbelief. “Didn’t work?”

“Couldn’t get it up,” he says bluntly. “She wasn’t you.”

You blink at him, jaw slack. “Wow. Really making me feel special over here.”

“You should,” his eyes drag slowly down your face, your lips, your body beneath the water. “You broke my dick. Congratulations.”

You snort, about to make some sarcastic comment–but then his hand trails down your side andrests on your thigh, spreading gently. Not demanding, just waiting. You breathe in slowly. Then you slide out of his arms. His brow furrows. “What are you–”

“Shhh,” you whisper, slipping lower in the water. His hands twitch like he’s about to reach for you, but then you’re disappearing beneath the surface.

The water distorts everything. His legs, the dimmed lights, the ripples against your arms as you ease forward and settle between his thighs. You press your palms to them gently, guiding him back as he leans against the tub wall.

You glance up, his figure blurred and glowing in golds and blues through the water, and then you wrap your fingers around his half hard cock, stroking slow. Above the water, he groans. His head falls back.

You close your lips around the tip. Heat pulses through the water and through your chest at once. You bob your head slowly, the pressure different down here, warmer, heavier. Your mouth moves with gentle suction, tongue tracing every inch of him you can fit.

You feel the way his hips twitch, his thighs flexing under your hands. You come up only for air–eyes meeting his as you gasp softly, mouth wet and pink and hungry. “You’re really gonna kill me,” he pants.

“I’m making up for three years of you being tragically abstinent,” you tease, voice low and playful.

He grabs the sides of the tub, knuckles white. “You think I won’t drown in this bathtub for you?” he growls.

You grin. Then you go back down. This time, you take him deeper. Let your throat relax, water bubbling softly around you as you move. His hand slips into your wet hair, not pulling, just holding. Like he’s grounding himself.

When you come up again, your lips are slick and swollen, and his whole body's shaking. “Get up here,” he groans, voice wrecked. “Please.”

You blink slowly. Innocent, dangerous. “Why?”

“I need to fuck you.”

You hum, dragging your nails along his thigh. “Thought you liked my mouth?”

His hand wraps tight around your wrist. You think he’s going to pull you into his lap again–but instead, he’s yanking you up, water sluicing down your body, your chest bare and glistening in the low bathroom light. “Get up here,” he growls. “Now.”

You step out of the tub slowly, dripping, trembling–but you don’t get far. He doesn’t wait. The second your foot hits the tile, he grabs your hips, towel falling away, and guides you down to the floor with him. We skin against wet skin. His back hits the side of the tub, and he grabs you right over his lap, one hand fisting your thigh, the other slicking down your waist, squeezing.

“You gonna make me beg again?” he pants, eyes hungry and ruined.

You stare down at him, breath catching, chest heaving. “No,” you whisper. “I want you to feel how much I missed you.” You reach down, guide him to your center, and sink down slow.

His mouth drops open. His eyes flutter shut. His head thuds back against the porcelain. “Fuck–baby–”

You roll your hips gently, slowly, letting him stretch you open, letting him feel every second of it. He’s still wet from the tub, water pooling on the tile beneath you, your thighs soaked and gleaming as you ride him in slow, grounding waves.

He looks up at you like he’s never seen anything more perfect. His hands settle on your waist, fingers shaking, thumbs stroking your stomach. “You’re unreal,” he murmurs. “You feel unreal.”

You lean forward, bracing your hands on his shoulders and he leans in just enough to kiss you–sloppy, desperate, soaking wet–moaning into your mouth as you move faster. “I missed you so much,” you gasp.

“I never stopped thinking about you,” he breathes. “Not once.”

And then you’re gasping, trembling, choking his name as your thighs shake and his grip turns bruising–and he fucks up into you like he’s losing his mind, like he’s starving, like he’s going to die here if he doesn’t make you come on his cock one more time.

You’re both still dripping, steam rising from the bath behind you, your bodies tangled on the bathroom floor–no time, no space, just now. Just need.

You’re both a mess–sweaty, soaked, sprawled on the bathroom floor. Water drips from your hair, your thighs still trembling as you lean forward and rest your cheek against his chest. His heart is still pounding beneath your ear, fast and wild like it hasn’t quite caught up yet.

Nam Gyu exhales, arms loosely draped around your back, and murmurs, “Stay.”

You lift your head and look up at him, lips still parted from the kiss you just barely pulled away from. “I can’t.”

“Nooo,” he gorans, throwing his head back dramatically against the floor. “Why not.”

You sit up slowly, reaching for a towel and dabbing at your skin. “Because I have to go back to my place.”

“Why,” he whines, dragging the world out like a child being denied dessert.

You raise your brows at him, smug. “You can text me. I won’t block you.” A pause. “Like you did to me.”

He groans again, but this time it’s more shame than play. He covers his face with his hand. “Low blow.”

You stifle a giggle, drying off as you stand up. “You deserved it.”

He peeks at you through his fingers. “So we fuck and now you’re just…heading out?” He sits up, watching you with narrowed eyes, trying to look offended but the corner of his mouth is twitching. “What are you now, a fuckboy?”

You laugh, tossing the towel at his head. “Please. My cat will literally kill me if I don’t go home and feed him. He’s feral.”

He catches the towel mid-air, chuckling under his breath as he watches you step around him, grabbing your dress. “Your cat’s got an attitude,” he mutters.

“So do I,” you say with a wink, slipping your dress back on. “Maybe that’s why he likes me.”

Nam Gyu is still sitting on the floor, legs stretched out, towel in his lap, just watching you move. Like he still doesn’t quite believe you’re here. Like he’s trying to memorize the curve of your back and the shape of your smile.

“Do you work tomorrow?” you ask, glancing at your reflection in the mirror, adjusting your hair.

He shrugs, like the question is beneath him. “I’ll call in.”

You roll your eyes, but your gin is soft. “Okay, well–once you do that, call me. And we’ll meet up. Okay?”

His eyes warm. He nods. “Okay.”

You lean down, press one last kiss to his lips, and whisper, “I’ll see you soon.”

And as you head for the door, he calls after you, voice lazy and teasing: “Tell your cat I said fuck you.” You laugh all the way to the elevator.

The night air is cool on your cheeks as you walk home alone, heels clicking against the pavement, your head still spinning from everything. From him. His mouth. His hands. The things he said. The way he looked at you like you’d swallowed the stars and spit out light. You smile. You don’t mean to–but it happens.

Your phone is warm in your hand, your fingers brushing over his most recent texts. Let me know you got home safe. i should’ve made you stay. i already miss you…

You tuck it away and swipe to call instead–someone else. Your brother answers on the second ring.

“Yo. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, adjusting the strap of your purse. “I just…guess who I ran into tonight.”

He groans. “If this is one of those ‘you’ll never believe who I saw at the grocery store’ calls, I swear to God–”

“It’s Nam Gyu.”

Silence. Then a sigh, long and familiar. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“Where? And why?” he asks.

You pause. “Out. At this lounge. He was there with someone but then he…he saw me. Came over.”

Your brother mutters something under his breath, probably cursing like he knows your mom doesn’t like. “Stay away from him,” he says. Not a suggestion. A command. “There’s a reason Mom and Dad made him stop coming around back then. You remember that, right?”

You stop at the crosswalk, waiting for the light to change. Your heart beats a little slower than it did earlier. “I know. I just…” You swallow. “He seemed…different. I don’t know. Maybe he’s changed.”

Your brother’s voice is flat. “Yeah. I highly doubt that. People like that don’t change.”

You shift your phone to the other ear, trying not to sound defensive. “Maybe you’re right.”

“Just be careful, okay? Seriously. That guy’s not–he’s not built for soft things.”

You don’t say anything else. You just promise you’ll call later, then hang up as your apartment comes into view. Once inside, your cat is already meowing at the door like you left him for dead. You scoop him up, kissing the top of his head as he purrs against your collarbone. “I know, I know. I was bad. I’ll feed you.”

You change out of your dress, wash the makeup off your face, pull on the ugliest, softest sleep shirt you own. You scroll through your texts again.

Gyu💀: you make the stupidest faces when ur about to cum

Gyu💀: in a good way btw

Gyu💀: text me when ur home

Gyu💀: text me when ur in bed

Gyu💀: text me even if ur not thinking about me. idc i’ll take crumbs

You smile again. Just a little. And type:

you: i’m home. in bed. and thinking about you

you: but i’ll text you in the morning, gyu. goodnight

You don’t expect him to reply–but he does. Almost instantly.

Gyu💀: fuuuck. okay. goodnight baby

You sleep like shit. Even curled under your coziest blanket with your cat tucked behind your knees, all you can think about is the way Nam Gyu looked at you last night–like he wanted to memorize the shape of your body with his hands, like the ache in his voice was real when he said “please.”

You wake up slow, eyes gritty, throat dry. A faint soreness between your legs and something heavier sitting right in your chest. It’s a quiet morning. The city hasn’t quite stirred yet. You make tea. Feed Tofu so he won’t scream at you. Sit cross legged on your couch with your sketchpad and try to lose yourself in a drawing–but your lines are uneven. Unsteady. You flip to a blank page and try again, but halfway through you realize you’re drawing him.

Again.

Same strong brow. Same dark eyes. A mouth you could recognize by feel alone. You drop the pencil, lean back, and just…stare at the paper. You shouldn’t miss him. You shouldn’t. But you do. You pull your phone from the coffee table and scroll back to his last text from last night. You stare at it, thumb hovering. Then you start typing.

you: i think i missed you.

The read receipt pops up almost instantly. A bubble appears. Then it disappears. Then reappears.

Gyu💀: meet me at my club tonight. 7pm.

You: okay

You spend way too long picking out what to wear. It’s stupid. You’ve already had your tongue down his throat and his hands between your thighs and you've literally ridden him on his bathroom floor–but still. You want to look good.

You pull on a long black skirt with a small slit up the side. A soft, oversized cream sweater–that sweater, the one from years ago. The one he used to tease you about for being a blanket. You tuck it in just enough to show off your waist. High-top sneakers, a little scuffed. Hair down. Lips tinted rose.

You keep the makeup minimal. Soft, comfortable, like you. Your phone buzzes with the Uber notification. You give your cat one last kiss on the head. “Don’t wait up,” you mumble.

The club is huge. Loud and packed. The music thrums like a heartbeat in the pavement beneath your feet. The line outside stretches down the block and curls around the corner. You suck in a breath, heart already skipping.

This…is definitely not your speed. But you keep your head down, stay in line, and when you finally reach the front, you dig through your bag for your ID–only for the bouncer to nod at you and open the velvet rope. “Go ahead.”

You look at him confused. “Wait, what–?”

But the guy’s already moved on to the next person. You step inside. The air hits you like a wall: warm, electric, pulsing with music, and sweat, and weed. Neon lights flicker from above, reflecting off mirrored walls and liquor bottles behind the long bar.

People are dancing, drinking, pressed together in corners and booths. It’s chaos. Flashy and expensive. Like something out of someone else’s life. You hover next to the bar, trying not to look too awkward. You pull out your phone and text: i’m here.

You chew your lip. Grip your purse. You feel like you don’t belong, like you’re playing dress up. You wonder where he is–if he’s even here yet. If this was a mistake. Until you feel a hand curl gently around your waist. And hear that familiar voice, low and close to your ear. “Of course you wore that sweater.”

You turn, already smiling. Nam Gyu’s standing there in all black–jeans that fit way too well, a dark t-shirt, and a subtle chain around his neck. He looks good. Too good. And he’s staring at you like you’re the only person in the room.

He leans in a little, fingers still at your waist. “You want a drink?”

You hesitate. “Um…something light?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Light?”

“I have to function, Nam Gyu,” you tease, bumping his arm gently.

That gets a crooked grin out of him. “Got it. Girly. Weak. Possibly pink.”

You roll your eyes but don’t let go of the smile tugging at your lips. “I trust you.”

He waves down the bartender–doesn’t even have to wait. Just murmurs something low and quick, and the guy nods and starts mixing. You blink, impressed. “You really own this place?”

He shrugs. “I helped start it. Now I run most of it.”

The drink slides into your hand moments later. It’s pink. Fizzy. Garnished with a sugared rim and a twist of something citrusy. You raise an eyebrow. “This better not make me black out.”

He laughs. “You’ll be fine.”

You take a sip. It’s sweet, barely any alcohol, and honestly–delicious. “Okay, you win.”

“Say it again,” he murmurs, brushing a knuckle against your hip. “I win.”

You bump him again with your elbow. “Don’t push it.”

Nam Gyu leads you through the maze of people like he’s done it a thousand times. And you guess he has. He knows this place like muscle memory–nodding at staff, sliding past corners and shadows and pulsing light until you’re climbing a narrow set of stairs tucked behind the DJ booth.

The noise dips once you’re up top. Not gone, but softened. The VIP lounge is sleek and expensive. Still crowded, still buzzing–but the music doesn’t rattle in your teeth up here. The lighting’s softer, the drinks fancier, the couches low and plush and wrapped in velvet.

You hover just inside the railing. You can see the whole club from here. The crowd below like moving constellations, all glitter and movement and rhythm. It’s a little surreal. This whole night is.

Nam Gyu presses a warm hand to the small of your back. “You okay?”

You nod, eyes still on the floor below. “It’s just a lot.”

“You’re doing good.” His voice is warm, fond. “You look good, too.” You glance at him, just to see if he means it. He’s already looking. Already caught. You feel heat bloom at the base of your throat. “Still soft,” he murmurs, fingers brushing the edge of your sweater where it tucks into your waistband. “Still my girl in sneakers.”

Your breath catches. You don’t say anything. You just take another sip of your drink and try not to melt under the way he’s watching you.

You take the last sip of your drink, lips brushing the sugared rim one final time. Nam Gyu’s watching you–he hasn’t stopped. Leaning back on the velvet couch, one arm stretched along the back behind you, the other draped over his thigh. Relaxed and cocky. Completely zeroed in on you.

He looks like he owns the room. He catches your glance and tips his head slightly. “What?”

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “You’re staring.”

“Can you blame me?”

You look away, eyes drifting down to the crowd below. Bodies moving together like waves. Hands in the air, heads thrown back, lights slicing through the dark. Music thrumming through the floor, vibrating faintly beneath your shoes.

“Still not your scene?” he asks softly.

You rest your arms on the railing, trying not to fidget. “Not really.”

“But you’re here.”

You bite your lip. “I said I missed you, didn’t I?”

His breath catches. It’s subtle, but you hear it. Feel it. That little hitch of surprise. Or maybe restraint. When you glance back, he’s already closer. Not touching. But closer. His voice dips. “You know, if I were still twenty-five, I probably would’ve pulled you into the bathroom by now.”

Your eyes widen. “You’d pretend you didn’t want it,” he continues, “but you’d be dripping. Just like always.”

Your thighs clench under your skirt. You keep your face turned away, but he sees it–he feels it. You shake your head, forcing a light laugh. “You’re not twenty-five anymore. And I’m not nineteen.”

“No,” he says. “You’re better now.” His hand brushes your leg–barely there. Just the edge of his pinky along your thigh, just above your knee. A touch so light it might’ve been imagined. You press your lips together, pulse ticking fast in your throat. He leans in again, mouth near your ear. “Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you right now.”

You don’t answer. Not out loud. You just watch the floor below, the way the people dance like nothing else matters. Like they’re made for it. And you try to pretend your heart’s not thudding out of rhythm every time Nam Gyu looks at you like that.

The second he unlocks the door to his office and lets you inside, you don’t wait. You barely hear the click of it shutting before you’re pushing him back, slamming your mouth into his. His low grunt stutters in surprise, but he melts into it fast–too fast–his hands already sliding down to your waist like he’s been touch starved.

“Fuck, baby,” he mumbles between kisses, pulling at the hem of your sweater. “Didn’t know you were gonna be the one attacking me tonight.”

You tug him toward the couch, straddling him without another word. His back hits the cushions with a soft thud, and you’re already grinding your hips down into his lap, your long skirt riding up with every roll.

He gasps. Then grins. “Shit. Okay. What do you want me to do?”

Your fingers curl into his shoulder, eyes dark as sin. “Nothing.” You smirk. “Just sit there and be good.”

His breath catches, then he nods fast, wide-eyed and helpless. “Yes ma’am.”

You swear you feel him throb beneath you when he says it. You reach down between you and unbuckle his belt slowly, fingers brushing over the hardness beneath. He’s not just hard–he’s aching. You can tell by the way his head tips back, the way he groans when you palm him through his boxers. “Fuck, you’re gonna kill me.” He mutters again.

You slip your hand under the waistband and wrap around him, warm and solid in your grip. His hips jerk. His fingers clench the edge of the couch. He doesn’t even try to touch you back–just watches you, desperate and ruined, as you work him slowly, teasing.

But then your phone vibrates on the table behind him. You don’t look at it. But it keeps going. Buzz. Buzz.

Nam Gyu blinks up at you. “You can get it, baby–”

You grab it and answer without checking the caller ID. “Hello?”

Your brother’s voice hits your ear, loud and clear. “Hey–did you talk to the lawyer yet? They need the signature for Mom and Dad’s estate paperwork–”

Nam Gyu stiffens beneath you. Your free hand presses to his chest. Stay quiet, don’t move.

You clear your throat and try to keep your voice steady. “Yeah, I got the email, I just haven’t–”

You shift your hips, slowly. Nam Gyu gasps. “F-fuck.”

“Who was that?” your brother snaps. “Is someone with you?”

Your stomach drops. You answer too fast. “Just a friend.”

He goes quiet, then says, “You’re with him, aren’t you?”

You glance down at Nam Gyu. His jaw is clenched, brow furrowed. He doesn’t say a word.

“I knew it. I knew you were lying the second you said you ‘ran into him.’ What the fuck is wrong with you?”

You swallow hard. “I don’t need this right now.”

Your brother’s voice cuts like a blade. “What do you think Mom and Dad would say? Is this your way of grieving? Sleeping with him? Letting him back in? It’s fucked. You need to stop.”

You flinch, like his words reached through the phone and hit you. “Don’t do that,” you whisper. “Don’t throw them at me like that.”

He’s relentless. “Then grow the fuck up. Sign the fucking papers. Get your life together. And don’t come crying to me when he fucks it all up for you again.”

You stare down at Nam Gyu, your hand still curled tight into his shirt. His eyes are locked on yours, unreadable. He doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t try to fix it. He just waits.

You hang up without saying another word. The silence in the office is heavy–tense, electric, raw. You press your hands to your thighs to steady yourself. Then you look him in the eyes, and sink down on his cock in one long, slow, devastating motion.

You fuck the anger out of yourself.

Hands braced on his chest, thighs tight around your hips, you ride Nam Gyu like you own him. Because in this moment–you do.

He looks wrecked beneath you. Face flushed, lips swollen from all the begging he’s done. Hair sticking to his temples, chest heaving. The matching bra and pany set you wore just for him is long forgotten–his greedy hands shoved the cups down, hands full of your tits, moaning about how perfect you are.

Though now, he’s bare beneath you. Arms pinned above his head, wristed held down by your strength, though he could easily break free. His cock buried deep inside you as you ride him hard and mean. “Fuck–please, baby,” he gasps. “I missed you–I missed this–please, let me touch–”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snap, hips grinding down, your cunt clenching just to hear the way he chokes on a moan. “You don’t get to touch unless I say.”

“Y-yes ma’am,” he whimpers.

You lean forward, lips brushing his ear. “You like being used, don’t you?”

His whole body twitches. “God–yes–I fucking love it.”

Your pace grows harsher, your breath ragged as you ride him harder. You feel how close he is–his cock throbbing, his body straining beneath you. You let go of his wrists and grab his face instead, making him look at you. “You gonna beg for it?”

He nods fast, completely gone. “Please let me come, please–please–I’ll do anything–I’ll worship you–”

You’re right on the edge too, hips slapping against his, your body shaking. And then–the door to the office swings open.

“Nam Gyu, I’ve been looking for you–” The voice cuts off. She freezes in the doorway. Her. The girl from dinner. She’s wide-eyed, staring.

Nam Gyu doesn’t even flinch. “Get the fuck out!”

“Jesus–sorry–!” she blurts, scrambling backward and slamming the door behind her.

Silence. Your chest heaves, your palms still splayed across his chest. You’re still seated on his cock–him still pulsing, twitching, begging.

You slowly start grinding again. Nam Gyu gasps like he’s dying. His hands grab your waist, desperate and clumsy. “Please. Please don’t stop. Please. I’ll do anything–just let me come inside you–I’ll die if you stop–”

You smirk, breathless. “Embarrassed, baby?”

He groans. “I don’t care. Let them all hear. I don’t care. Just don’t stop.”

And you fuck him again–merciless and slow–watching him unravel. You ride him until he’s coming undone beneath you, moaning your name like he’s worshiping it, spilling inside you with trembling thighs and bruised lips.

You both slowly start to get dressed, the sticky heat of your bodies cooling in the aftermath. He watches you as you fix your bra and skirt, soft and reverent, like he still can’t believe he got to touch you yet again.

When you’re slipping your sweater back over your head, Nam Gyu clears his throat and goes, “Can I come over tonight?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know, Gyu. If you know where I live and we…don’t work out…”

His jaw flexes, but he nods. “I get it. I do. But I won’t do anything to make you uncomfortable. I swear. I’ll leave if you tell me to. Hell. I’ll sleep on the floor if you want me to.”

Your lips twitch with a reluctant smile. “Okay.”

The drive back to your place is quiet, but not awkward. His fingers rest gently on your knee the entire ride, like he’s grounding himself just by touching you.

When you pull up to your apartment, you glance over shyly. “It’s nothing like your fancy penthouse.”

Nam Gyu lets out a quiet laugh, reaching over to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I used to live on the street, baby girl. Your place is heaven to me.”

You feel your stomach twist at the nickname, the sincerity in his voice, the softness that feels too real. He follows you inside.

A Few Weeks Later

The road stretches ahead in one long, gray ribbon, the sky overcast, heavy like your chest. You sit with your legs pulled up on the passenger seat, sweatshirt sleeves bunched around your fists, the silence between you and Nam Gyu comfortable–but weighted.

He reaches out every once in a while to rest his hand on your thigh, his thumb brushing over the fabric of your jeans in slow, absent circles. It’s been like that for most of the ride–quiet, steady touches. No music. Just the sound of the engine, the tires on the highway, and the occasional soft murmur between you.

After a while, he glances over. “So why are they selling the house now?”

You swallow. “My dad got really sick. About a year ago.”

His expression shifts immediately–brows pulling together, eyes flickering over you.

“He passed away six months ago,” you say, voice quiet. “Mom lasted another three months. I think she just gave up.”

He’s quiet for a long beat. “I’m sorry,” he says finally, his voice low and serious. “I didn’t know.”

You shrug, staring out the window. “It’s fine. It’s just been…a lot. Trying to get everything settled. Especially with my brother.”

Nam Gyu glances at you again. “He’s still giving you a hard time?”

You don’t answer right away. Just lean your head back against the seat and sigh. “He’s angry. About everything. And he’s always been overprotective. So when it comes to you…”

“I don’t care,” Nam Gyu cuts in gently. “Let him be pissed. I’m not letting you do this alone.”

Your glance at him, heart clenching. “You really didn’t have to come.”

He just shrugs, eyes on the road. “Yeah, I did.”

By the time you arrive, your stomach’s tied in knots. The house looks the same. Like it’s been frozen in time. The overgrown bushes. The chipped mailbox. The front door with the faded welcome mat your mom refused to replace. But it doesn’t feel like home anymore.

You spot your brother’s car in the driveway, along with the lawyer’s. The realtor’s already waiting on the front porch, arms folded, clipboard in hand.

Nam Gyu parks behind them and kills the engine. He glances at you. “You okay?”

You nod, jaw set. “Let’s just get it over with.”

You step out of the car together, and the second you and Nam Gyu walk through the front door, you hear it: “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You turn slowly, meeting his glare. He’s standing in the living room with the lawyer and realtor, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tight his neck veins are visible.

You sigh. “Just let me sign the papers and we’ll go.”

His eyes cut to Nam Gyu. “You brought him here? Are you serious?”

“I said drop it,” you snap, already walking past him toward the kitchen where the documents are laid out. “We’re not doing this right now.”

Nam Gyu stays close but quiet, his posture tense. He doesn’t bite back–doesn’t give your brother the satisfaction of a fight. Not yet.

You take the pen the lawyer hands you and sign your name quickly, the sound of your heartbeat thudding in your ears.

Your brother scoffs. “This is such a joke. You always do this. You let trash back into your life and pretend like it’s love.”

You slam the pen down. “I said we’re not doing this.”

He steps forward. “What do you think Mom and Dad would say if they could see you now?”

You open your mouth to respond–but Nam Gyu steps in, voice sharp and low, “Hey. That’s enough.”

Your brother’s gaze cuts to him with a fresh wave of hatred. And you–your hands are trembling slightly, but your face is steel. You just pick up your copy of the signed papers, turn to the realtor, and say flatly, “We’re done here.”

You walk out without another word. Nam Gyu follows, slamming the front door behind him. You’re halfway to the car when the fury claws up your throat like bile. You stop short, heart pounding. Then you spin on your heel.

Nam Gyu calls your name, but you’re already storming back into the house. Your brother’s standing in the living room with his arms crossed, smug like he won whatever argument this was supposed to be.

“Stop making their death about you,” you snap, voice trembling out of anger. “You have done nothing but make this whole process awful for me. I’ve handled everything while you sat in a different country and judged from afar.”

“Oh, please,” your brother scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You didn’t even show up to the funeral. Who are you to talk about grief?”

Your breath catches. Behind you, you hear the soft click of the front door as Nam Gyu steps back inside. He doesn’t say a word–just rests a steadying hand on your shoulder, grounding you.

But you’re shaking. “I hate you,” you whisper at first. Then louder, “I fucking hate you.”

Your brother’s jaw clenches. “Take the money from the house,” you say, venom in every word, “and don’t ever fucking call me again.”

There’s a moment of silence–so quiet you can hear your own heartbeat. And then he laughs. Cold and cruel. “Oh, I see. Gonna run off to Nam Gyu now?” he sneers. “Let him make you feel special again, right? Until you have one minor disagreement and he beats you like he did his ex?”

The world lurches sideways. Your ears ring. You blink at him, stunned. Frozen. You didn’t mishear him. You couldn’t have.

You feel Nam Gyu stiffen behind you–but he doesn’t move. Doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t say a single word. Your brother smirks. “Yeah. Bet he didn’t tell you that part, huh?”

Your mouth opens. But no sound comes out. The only thing you can feel is the blood roaring in your ears, and the warm, heavy pressure of Nam Gyu’s hand still steady on your shoulder.

You turn to him, jaw tight. “Let’s go.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t argue. Doesn’t glance back at your brother. He just follows you out of the house like a shadow.

The car ride is silent. He doesn’t start the engine right away when you both climb in–just sits there, hands limp on the wheel, staring through the windshield.

You cross your arms, sinking into the passenger seat, then say sharper than you mean to, “Can we go to the hotel, please?”

He flinches. But he turns the key. The drive is only ten minutes, but it feels like forever. No music. No words. Just the muted hum of tires on pavement and the ache of something cracking between you.

He parks. You both get out. Check-in is stiff, wordless–he pays, and you trial behind him to the elevator, eyes on the floor.

When you reach the room, he unlocks the door and lets you walk in first. The moment it shuts behind you, you just stand there. Motionless. The room is dim and clean and painfully quiet. It feels sterile. Temporary. A holding place for whatever happens next.

You turn to face him slowly. Nam Gyu’s already watching you. “Go ahead and ask,” he murmurs. His voice is steady, but there’s something hollow behind it–something bracing for impact.

You swallow. Your throat’s dry. “I…don’t know if I want to hear it.”

His jaw flexes. He looks away, then back at you, eyes dark and tired. “That’s fair.”

You stare at him for another beat, your chest rising and falling too fast. The air between you feels thick. Heavy.

“I didn’t hurt her,” he finally says, voice quieter now. “Not like he thinks I did.”

Your heart knocks hard against your ribs. But you don’t speak. Not yet. Because some part of you still isn’t sure which version of him to believe.

You cross your arms tighter across your chest, your nails biting into your sides. “Then tell me,” you say flatly. “I guess.”

Nam Gyu’s eyes search yours for a long, tense moment, like he’s checking for how much you really want to hear it. But then he takes a slow breath and begins. “It was bad between us. Me and her,” he explains quietly. “I was using all the time. Coke. Pills. Anything to get through the day. She wasn’t much better.”

You don’t interrupt. Just wait.

“We fought constantly. Screaming, throwing shit, doors slamming…the cops got called once. She said I grabbed her arm too hard. I probably did.” He shrugs, but it’s bitter, like he hates himself for even trying to sound casual. “I black out half that week. The only reason I remember any of it is because of the court transcript.”

You swallow hard.

“She dropped the charges a month later,” he says, gaze fixed on the floor now. “Said she exaggerated. Said she didn’t want to ruin my life. But the damage was done. I did six months for possession and resisting arrest.”

You stare at him. The hotel room is quiet. The carpet beneath your feet feels like it might give out. You take one step forward. Then another. And then you shove him. Not hard. Just enough that he stumbles back one step back. He blinks at you, stunned.

“Why,” you begin, voice cracking with fury, “do I still fucking love you after that?”

His eyes fly to yours, wide. “Wait…you what–?”

You shove him again. “You’re not a good guy.”

“I know that,” he says quickly, hands open like he’s surrendering, but there’s something desperate in his voice–like he wants you to hit him again, just to feel it.

So you do. Push him harder this time, until he stumbles back onto the edge of the bed, catching himself with his hands. You’re standing over him now, your whole body trembling with rage and confusion and want.

“So why do I love you,” you whisper, “and why do I wanna fuck you right now?”

He’s breathing hard, looking up at you like you’re the only god he’s ever believed in. “I don't know,” he whispers. “But please…do it anyway.”

Nam Gyu looks up at you like he’s already undone. You climb onto his lap without a word, straddling him, grabbing the front of his sweatshirt and dragging it up and off with a force that makes him gasp. Your nails scrape down his chest as you lean in, mouth at his jaw, biting hard.

He groans–loud–grabbing your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. “I missed you,” he pants, “I missed you so fucking much–”

“Shut up.”

You crash your mouth onto his, messy and hot, all teeth and tongue. He’s already hard beneath you, bucking up into your core like he can’t help it. Your hand fumbles at his belt, yanking it open, and he moans like it physically hurts to be touched again by you.

“Fuck, fuck,” he stammers, head tilting back as you reach into his briefs, wrap you fingers around him. “Please, baby–please, I need you–”

You tear off your shirt, your bra, and then stand up just long enough to shimmy out of your pants and panites in one frustrated motion.

“Look at you,” he whispers, nearly breathless. “All for me?”

“Who else?” you snap.

He surges forward, mouthing hungrily at your chest, hands roaming your thighs as you push him flat on the bed and straddle him again, dragging his cock through your slick folds.

“Beg for it,” you whisper into his ear.

“Please,” he groans instantly. “Please ride me, baby, I’ll do anything–need you so bad–been so fucking empty without you.”

You sink down in one swift, brutal motion and he chokes, hands flying to your waist like he’s trying to anchor himself. “Holy fuck! You feel–fuck you feel unreal.” He gasps.

You ride himself without rhythm at first, just fast, messy, like you’re tyring to fuck the heartbreak out of yourself. His fingers bruise into your skin, jaw slack as he watches you, completely gone.

“You’re mine,” you growl, voice raw.

“Yes,” he gasps. “Yours, all yours, always–fuck, don’t stop, please–”

You lean down, press your chest to his, fucking him deeper, harder, his name falling form your lips like a curse. Your teeth catch his bottom lip, dragging it before you kiss him again, rough and desperate.

The bed creaks. The headboard hits the wall. His breath is ragged and stuttering beneath you.

“Gonna come,” he whines, completely unguarded. “Fuck–please, can I? Inside you? Please let me…”

“Do it.”

He shatters with a strangled cry, clinging to you like you’re salvation. You don’t stop moving, riding him through it until you come too, a tidal wave breaking as your head falls into the crook of his neck, mouth open in a silent moan.

You collapse together–sticky, panting, clinging.

His voice is hoarse, barely audible. “I love you. Even if you hate me–I love you.”

You’re still catching your breath, chests pressed together and damp with sweat, when Nam Gyu murmurs, voice low against your temple, “Do you love me…or do you just love fucking me?”

You huff a laugh against his neck. “Do I have to only pick one?”

That makes him laugh–deep and breathless, warm in your ear. His arms wrap tight around your waist, pulling you flush against him again. The air between you settles, heavy with heat and history.

“I do love you,” you whisper eventually. “But if you ever do anything to me…I will kill you. That’s not a threat. It’s a promise.”

He leans back just enough to meet your eyes. There’s no trace of amusement left in his face–just the solemn curve of his mouth as he nods. “Oh, trust me,” he says quietly. “I know.”

You giggle a little, even as your chest aches. You curl tighter into him, cheek resting over his heart.

There’s a beat of silence. Then he whispers, “I’m sorry about how today turned out.”

You nod slowly, fingers tracing the faded ink on his ribs. “I’m just…glad to be done with it all, I guess.”

“Yeah,” he says softly. “I get it.”

You swallow thickly. “I really miss them.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t say anything–he just strokes your spine gently with the pads of his fingers, grounding you.

“I hope they can’t see how things turned out,” you admit, barely audible. “They’d be disappointed in my brother and me.”

He exhales. “You’re doing your best. You loved them. That’s what matters.”

You blink up at the ceiling. Your throat is tight, but the tears don’t come. “I don’t think I’ve ever really said goodbye,” you murmur.

Nam Gyu kisses your hair, cradling you like you might slip through his arms. “Then maybe we do that tomorrow.”

You let your eyes fall shut, cheek still resting on his chest. His heartbeat thuds gently beneath your ear, slow now. Safe.

You yawn, voice muffled in his skin. “I didn’t go to their funerals.” Nam Gyu doesn’t say anything, just keeps rubbing your back, waiting. You swallow, then keep going. “Because I didn’t want it to be real. If I didn’t see it…then it wasn’t real.”

He exhales through his nose, presses a kiss to the crown of your head. “I understand,” he murmurs. “They do too.” You close your eyes tighter. “It’s okay to grieve however you need to,” he adds gently.

“I guess my way of grieving,” you whisper, “is fucking a guy who’s no good for me.”

That makes him laugh–quiet and tired, like he knows exactly much weight lives in that sentence. “I’m trying to be good for you,” he says softly.

You shift, pressing your nose to his neck. “I know, Gyu.”

The morning comes with a dim gray sky and a chill in the air. You’re sitting on the edge of the motel bed, tugging on your hoodie, still half asleep. Nam Gyu runs a hand through his messy hair, watching you quietly.

He speaks up, voice rough with sleep. “I could take you to see them. If you want.”

You look up, startled. You hesitate, heart thudding a little faster. “I…I don’t know,” you admit. “I’ve never been. Not even once.”

Nam Gyu stands, walks over to crouch in front of you. “Then maybe it’s time.”

You stare at him for a beat, then nod slowly. “Okay. Yeah…okay.”

The cemetery is still. Wind rustles through the trees, leaves whispering to each other like they’re trying not to disturb the silence. You walk slowly between the rows, your fingers curled tightly into the sleeves of your hoodie, until you see their names etched in stone.

Your knees give a little when you reach them, and you let yourself sink into the grass. It’s cool beneath you, soft and damp. Nam Gyu stays quiet, standing behind you, one of his hands resting gently on your shoulder.

You stare at the headstones. Your lips part, but nothing comes out at first. It takes a moment for your voice to steady. “Hi,” you finally whisper. “I’m here.” You press your hands into your lap, knuckles white. “Sorry it took me so long.”

The air is thick with things unsaid. You look at the flowers someone left–probably your brother. You didn’t bring any. Didn’t think to. You feel stupid about it.

“I didn’t…I didn’t want it to be real,” you say. “I thought if I just kept going, you’d still be out there somewhere. I didn’t want to see this. I didn’t want this to be true.”

You draw in a shaky breath. Nam Gyu’s hand squeezes lightly. “I miss you both so much,” you whisper, your voice breaks a little. “I think I’ve just been pretending that I’m fine. Like maybe if I didn’t cry, I could just keep going. But I’m not okay.”

You look up at the sky. “I’m trying. I don’t know if I’m doing anything right, but I’m trying.”

And then, slowly, you glance over your shoulder. Nam Gyu is still there, hands in his pockets now, watching you with that same unreadable expression that somehow manages to be both calm and full of quiet affection. When your eyes meet, he just offers you a small smile. Gentle. Patient.

That’s all it takes.

The tears come without warning–hot, soundless, unstoppable. They roll down your cheeks like something broken, finally cracking open, something too tightly held for too long.

You turn away quickly, but Nam Gyu kneels beside you. Doesn't say anything. He just wraps an arm around you, pulling you into him, tucking your face into his chest as your shoulders shake.

Still quiet. Still safe.

You cry there, finally, in the open, in front of the only people you ever wanted to be proud of you. And Nam Gyu just holds you, steady and still, like he knows this is what you needed more than anything else.

The takeout containers are scattered across the bed, half empty and grease stained. You’re both sitting cross legged, the TV playing something mindless in the background, the glow of it soft against the hotel room walls. Nam Gyu’s balancing a carton of noodles on his thigh, shoveling them in like he hasn’t eaten in days.

You stab at a dumpling with your chopsticks and laugh when it slips out of your grasp for the third time. “Okay,” you grumble, “I’m gonna sue.”

Nam Gyu snorts. “Sue who? The dumpling?”

“I don’t know,” you say, popping a piece of broccoli into your mouth instead. “Whoever invented chopsticks. My hands are too sweaty for this.”

“You want a fork, baby?” he teases, nudging your side with his elbow.

You roll your eyes, pretending to be offended. “I’m fine. I’m strong. I’m independent.”

“You’re losing a war to steamed vegetables.”

You laugh, that warm, honest kind that makes your stomach flutter a little when you realize how easily he draws it out of you. You let the moment breathe, quiet and soft.

Then, Nam Gyu asks, gentle and unassuming, “How are you feeling?”

You pause, the air in the room suddenly a little heavier. You push a noodle around your carton. “I was fine,” you say, voice light and falsely bright, “until you asked.” You look up at him with a shaky smile, then down again. “I’m okay. Or… I will be. I think.”

Nam Gyu doesn’t press. He just hums quietly, finishes chewing, and reaches for one of the fortune cookies on the nightstand. He tosses one toward you, and it bounces off your chest before landing in your lap. “Open it,” he says. “Let’s see what your fate is.”

You crack it open and read the slip aloud: “Your strength is not loud, but unshakable.”

Nam Gyu grins. “It’s true though. You’re handling all this…better than I ever could.”

You crumple the fortune and toss it toward the trash, missing entirely. “Thanks, I think.”

He leans back on his elbows, watching you with something quieter in his gaze. “You don’t have to be okay right now. You don’t have to be anything for me.”

You make a face and throw a balled up napkin at him. “Okay, stop being sappy. I’m emotionally fragile and your tender little voice is gonna make me cry.”

Nam Gyu snickers, catching the napkin before it hits his chest. “Fine, fine.”

You nudge his leg with your knee. “What does your fortune say?”

He breaks the cookie with a dramatic flourish, unfolds the tiny strip of paper, and squints at it. “Huh.”

“What?” you ask, peering at him.

He looks at you, deadpan. “Says I’ll receive the most mind blowing head tonight.”

You stare at him, horrid for half a second–before you burst into laughter, clutching your stomach and nearly knocking over the soy sauce. “Shut up! No, it doesn’t!”

He’s already cracking up too, shaking his head. “Nah, I’m kidding. It actually says…” He clears his voice and reads it in a mock serious voice. “A long awaited answer will arrive when you least expect it.”

You go quiet for a beat, your laughter trailing off. “That one’s kinda eerie,” you say.

“Yeah,” Nam Gyu murmurs, folding the fortune and slipping into the takeout bag. “Guess we’ll see.”

You smile faintly, then settle in beside him again, letting your fingers brush against his without holding on–just a soft, simple connection. And for a moment, nothing hurts.

The silence stretches, warm and steady. He doesn’t say anything else. Just leans his head back against the wall, eyes half-lidded.

Outside the city hums below you. Inside, everything is still. You think: maybe this is where the worst ends. maybe this is where something new begins.

You don’t know what comes next. But for now, you stay.

a/n - so, so happy to be back posting again! i absolutely loved writing this story...so lmk if anyone would be interested in a part 2 of this! i'm cooking up some more juicy fics!! xoxo, squid

#squid game #squid game x y/n #alternate universe #namgyu squid game #nam gyu squid game #nam gyu x thanos #nam gyu smut #nam gyu x reader #nam gyu #nam gyu x y/n #squid game imagines #squid game fanfic #squid game 2 #squid game season 3 #player 124 #player 124 x reader #player 124 squid game #player 124 smut #roh jae won

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partyven0m · 2 months ago

Note

omg hi i just read ur kris x reader fic and i actually love it sm .. can i req a kris x reader where like. reader has a FAT crush on them and they’re gonna try asking them out to the festival… pleek and tank u👅

'If you meant it'

in which everyone assumes you'd be asking kris to the town festival... everyone except you that is.

a/n!!: tysm 4 the request!! <333 this is def a lot more dramatic and complicated than it needed to be BUT im a sucker for the miscommunication trope and like... what r u gonna do abt it? go find a different kris fic to read? there r none!!! ♡ (jokes aside i PROMISE ill write something thats just pure tooth rotting fluff soon sry!!!)

You were in love with Kris.

And not the normal, passing kind of love, either. Not the kind you could play cool, or nonchalant about.

This was the kind of love where your diary had pages describing the color of their eyes and the curl of their lashes. The kind where you practiced saying their name under your breath on the walk home, baked cookies the night before just because you thought they could use something sweet.

You followed them everywhere. Not in a weird way, but in the way where you just happened to end up wherever they were. And if that meant walking the long way to class or sitting silently next to them during lunch while they stared at the wall, then so be it. You were committed.

“Do you even breathe when you’re around them?” Susie had asked once, voice halfway between teasing and impressed. “You’re like a dog. Like a really… loyal, gross, lovesick dog.”

You hadn’t taken it as an insult. Honestly, you kind of beamed.

It wasn’t like Kris ever told you to go away. They didn’t talk much to begin with, but they let you hang around, let you talk to them, let you hand them little folded notes you spent all class decorating.

They even accepted the lemon bar you brought that one time, though you were pretty sure they didn’t like lemon. You’d drawn a smiley face on the napkin. It had taken you three tries to get the eyes even.

But no matter how many compliments you whispered, or sweet things you did, Kris never really… reacted. Not in the way you hoped they would. They were nice. Kind, even. Sometimes they looked at you with this soft expression that made your heart skip a number of beats. But they never said anything back. Never returned the compliments. Never asked you questions. Never truly engaged.

You told yourself it was just how they were. That maybe, one day, they’d realize how serious you were. That you weren’t just being silly.

That this wasn’t just a phase.

But it was getting harder to believe. Especially when they kept looking at you like they didn’t really believe you. Like maybe, deep down, they thought you’d grow out of it.

You hoped they were wrong. Because you didn’t feel like you were growing out of anything.

If anything, your feelings multiplied every time they looked at you.

And you bet your feelings would still be there by tomorrow, and the day after that, and by the day of the festival, and into the following year.

. . .

The last bell had rung, and the hallways became loud with the sound of chatter.

You clutched the strap of your school bag as you stepped out onto the front steps of the school, letting the autumn breeze ruffle your hair. The sun hung low, soft orange light shined across the school lawn, and there they were.

Kris, Susie, and Noelle walking ahead on the sidewalk like they always did, laughing at some dumb thing Susie had said. You stayed back, hanging near the bike racks, pretending to dig around in your bag like you weren’t watching them out of the corner of your eye.

You didn’t even mean to stare this much. It was as if your eyes automatically locked on them anytime they were in your vicinity or something, dragging you along behind them. You just liked being near them, even from a distance. Hearing their voice. Watching how they walked with their hands in their pockets and their hair being blown by the wind. It made your chest ache in the warmest, softest way.

Susie suddenly elbowed Kris with a smirk, jerking her thumb over her shoulder.

“Your little puppy’s back there again.”

You froze, breath catching in your throat. Not that you hadn’t heard the nickname before, it wasn’t exactly subtle, but still, hearing it like that made your ears burn.

Kris glanced back just briefly. Just for a second. Then looked forward again.

“They’re just going that way.” they mumbled, quiet and clipped. Almost too casual. Brushing it off like it was nothing.

Noelle made a little humming sound. “I think it’s sweet…”

But you weren’t listening anymore. Your hands gripped your bag tighter as something unsure poked at your heart. You turned your eyes down toward the sidewalk and finally started walking in the opposite direction, heart feeling just a little heavier than it had before.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That their obvious disinterest wasn't a big deal.

Not knowing that just a few feet away, Kris was overthinking the interaction just the same.

They walked a few steps behind Susie and Noelle, quiet, hands shoved into their pockets. When Susie had made the joke, they barely even looked up.

A sharp kick sent a pebble tumbling down the street.

It wasn’t fair. The way you followed them around, smiled at everything they did, said things that made their chest ache. The way you looked at them like you meant it.

'Because… you don't.'

Just a phase. A harmless crush.

That’s what they told themself every time you clung to their sleeve or gave them some sweet, silly little gift. Just a phase. You’d get over it. You had to.

Because if you didn’t, if you actually meant it, then… you’d say that… wouldn't you?

This was a problem Kris has always had, ever since they were little. The way people expected them to just know how they felt. To pick up on hints, read between the lines, decipher a look like it was obvious.

Because it never was. Not to them.

They were good at observing, sure. But when it came to feelings, especially feelings about themself, it was like everything became a guessing game. If someone liked them, they expected to be told directly. No guessing. No assuming. No confusion

And you were… the most confusing of them all. And they despised that.

But at the same time, they couldn’t push you away.

Because truth be told, they liked your company. Your gifts, your compliments, your presence as a whole.

So they stayed quiet. Hoping you’d drift away on your own.

And hated how much they didn’t want you to.

. . .

The walk home felt longer than usual.

Maybe it was just the way the sky was starting to gray with clouds, or how the wind blew a little harder, or how you kept staring at the ground even though you weren’t really watching where you stepped. Your hands stayed shoved in your pockets the whole time, thumb brushing the edge of the wrapped candy you had meant to give to Kris after class.

You’d been carrying it around since the day before. It wasn’t anything fancy. Just a little piece of chocolate wrapped in pink foil. You’d folded a small note to go along with it, writing their name on the tag three times, trying to get the letters just right. Just something small. Just something to make them smile.

But it had stayed in your pocket.

You knew they liked sweet things. You knew how they always quietly accepted anything you gave them, even if they didn’t say much. But today, something had felt off. You hadn’t been brave enough. And the way Kris had avoided Susie’s teasing all day, not even glancing your way, had sent your stomach sinking.

Still, you told yourself it was okay.

By the time you reached your street, the wind had picked up and the trees were rustling low and loud. You looked up once then kept walking until you were in front of your house.

Inside, the quiet was deafening.

You removed your shoes carefully, hung your bag on its usual hook, and made your way towards your room.

It welcomed you with it's colors and familiar clutter.

You hesitated before sitting at your desk.

The small note was still crinkled but neat. You set the chocolate down beside your lamp and stared at it for a long time.

It wasn’t the first time you’d brought them something. You did it all the time. You liked seeing their expression (or lack thereof), liked when they took it without saying much but always remembered to eat it later and tell you they liked it. You liked how they didn’t tease you like Susie did, or blink at you all confused like Noelle. Kris just… let you like them.

And you did.

So, so much

So it stung, despite them not having said anything cruel. Because they hadn’t really a said anything at all.

You kept thinking about how easy it was for Kris to laugh with Susie, to talk softly with Noelle. How natural they looked together, how much history and closeness there was between them. You never felt out of place until you saw them all walking side by side and realized you weren’t really part of that picture.

Still, that was okay.

You opened your journal, the one that stayed tucked safely in the drawer under your pens and stickers. You flipped past the pages full of hearts and clumsy doodles of Kris’s smile, the pages filled with sweet little daydreams, like pretending they knew how much you cared, and liked you just as much back.

Tonight’s page was quieter.

You didn’t write much. Just a few honest thoughts. A soft kind of acceptance. Not sadness, not bitterness. Just something like growing up.

Maybe Kris didn’t take you seriously. Maybe they thought it was just a silly crush. And maybe… maybe they were right.

You paused, pen hovering. That part stung.

Because you knew your feelings were real.

You couldn't see a universe in which they weren't.

You loved them. Not just because you were lonely, or because they were cool, or because you were bored. You loved the way you felt around them. It was warm like rays of sunshine, fresh like a field of flowers.

But maybe Kris didn’t see it that way.

Maybe they just thought you were being cute. Harmless. Something to be humored until it passed.

So, you wrote what you could. You didn’t ask the question you’d planned to ask for weeks. You didn’t write about walking together under festival lights or sharing a snack while music played in the distance.

Instead, you wrote about how you hoped they’d have fun. That they’d laugh with Susie and Noelle. That they’d enjoy themselves, because they deserved that. They deserved to have a good time with the people they liked being around.

You smiled at that thought. A little one. Real and small and shaky.

If you really loved someone, you were supposed to want them to be happy.

You slid your notebook shut, carefully, and stood up to shove the foil wrapped candy into your desk drawer.

Tomorrow, maybe you wouldn’t cling to Kris. Maybe you wouldn’t trail after them down the hall. You wouldn’t stop liking them, of course. But maybe you’d stop hoping they liked you back.

Just a little.

You’d still smile at them. You’d still be happy when they were happy. But maybe from a bit farther away.

Because if they were going to the festival… They should go with people they liked. People who made them smile.

And if that wasn’t you, then… That was okay. You’d still root for them.

You pulled your blanket tighter and shut your eyes.

You were going to be fine.

. . .

Something was off.

Kris couldn’t have said why, exactly. Nothing was different. Not really. Susie was loud, Noelle was cheerful, the halls were the same muted beige. But something was off.

They realized what it was when they finally slid into their seat.

You hadn't greeted them.

You didn’t look for them, or smile happily when they walked in. There was no cookie or candy on their desk either, no handwritten sticky note with a tiny heart drawn at the bottom. No compliment. No quiet giggle. No lingering glance.

Just you, already sitting down, doodling half heartedly in your notebook with your head low.

Kris blinked.

They hesitated for a moment before clearing their throat. “…Hey.”

You looked up like you hadn’t expected them to speak. “Hi.”

And then, you smiled. Soft and small.

Polite.

Not the kind of smile that said I’ve been waiting all night just to talk to you again.

It was… normal. So normal it felt odd.

You turned back to your notebook before they could say anything else.

Kris didn’t know what to do with that. So they sat still. Thinking. Watching you from the corner of their eye. You weren’t ignoring them. Not really. You weren’t mad either. You just seemed a little… sad. Like you were trying hard not to be.

Then the realization settled slowly,

You hadn’t said good morning.

You always said good morning.

They couldn’t explain the quiet panic they felt after that. Couldn’t explain why they kept glancing your way the entire class, waiting for something familiar, some smile, a joke, a compliment, anything.

But you stayed quiet. Your head bowed.

And class went on. Peaceful. Normal.

They hated it.

. . .

The cafeteria was loud with the usual lunchtime energy, trays clattering, laughter and happy chatter. Kris sat at one of the tables, half-listening to Noelle ramble about something school-related. They hadn’t touched their sandwich.

Their eyes kept drifting.

You were seated at a far corner of the cafeteria with some of your other friends, quietly eating with your head down, not engaging in their conversation. No greetings. No big smile. You hadn’t even waved at them when you walked past earlier.

It was strange.

“Missing your fan club?”

Kris blinked. Susie was standing beside the table now, an apple in one hand, her tone a little mocking.

Kris raised a brow. “What?”

Susie flopped down across from them, took a bite of her apple, and nodded in your direction. “You’ve been watching them since lunch started. It’s kinda weird without ‘em glued to you, huh?”

Kris shrugged, casual. “Guess they got bored.”

They said it smoothly, like it didn’t matter. Like the way their stomach twisted at the sight of you sitting so far away was just hunger.

Susie paused mid-bite, talking with her mouth still full. “Honestly, I was sure they were gonna ask you to the festival.”

Kris didn’t respond.

She watched you a second longer, then turned her head back towards Kris. “Guess not, though.”

They stayed quiet, shoulders relaxed like nothing was wrong, but they couldn’t stop watching you. Couldn’t ignore the empty space next to them that you used to fill. Couldn’t figure out why it felt like they were missing something they never admitted they wanted.

This should’ve been fine. This was what they’d been waiting for, right?

You getting over it. Moving on. Proving it was just a phase.

So why did it feel so awful?

They looked away again, trying not to sigh.

They should’ve felt relieved.

“…You don’t think they’ll still ask?”

Kris’s voice was low, like the question had slipped out on accident. They didn’t even face Susie when they said it, eyes looking to a random corner of the cafeteria.

Susie blinked. She tilted her head, brow raised slightly, and then it hit her.

After a pause she shrugged, biting into her apple again and backtracking on her words. “Pfft. Probably will. Maybe they’re just having a rough day or whatever. Give it a day or two.”

Kris nodded once, slowly. They had nothing to say to that. Because they didn’t believe it.

If it were just a bad day, you’d be next to them. Whispering complaints. Tugging on their sleeve, and sulking. You wouldn’t be sitting all the way over there, quiet, like they didn’t exist.

This wasn’t just a mood.

Something had changed.

And Kris didn’t know what to do with the part of them that didn’t want it to.

. . .

A day or two she said.

It had been three days.

Three days since you’d stopped walking with them.

Three days since you’d stopped saying good morning.

Three days since you started pretending you weren’t obsessed with them.

And Kris was starting to lose it.

They wouldn’t say that out loud, of course. On the outside, they were still the same, calm, quiet, unreadable. But inside? It was awful. Every morning, they found themself unconsciously slowing down near your locker, waiting for your usual smile, only to be met with silence.

They kept catching themself watching you across any room, wondering if maybe you’d look back. But you never did.

The worst part was how… normal you seemed. Not upset. Not angry. Just distant.

And Kris hated it.

Not because you weren’t being annoying in the usual way. But because it made them feel like they’d imagined all of it, your sweetness, your devotion, your love. They’d been so sure it was just a crush, one you'd get over. But now that they were being proved right...

It hurt.

They leaned against the lockers after class that day, eyes narrowed at the floor, eyes glaring daggers at it. Susie came up beside them, chewing gum and raising an eyebrow.

“Trying to explode the building with your mind? Doesn't work, trust me.”

Kris didn’t answer. Just looked up at her before their eyes drifted to something further away.

Susie followed their gaze and sighed. “Still acting weird, huh?”

A small shake of the head.

"You scare ‘em off or somethin'? Thought they were totally head over heels for you..." She muttered as she continued to look at you.

Kris didn’t reply to that one either.

Because if they did, they might’ve said something like “Me too.”

Or worse. “I wish they still were.”

. . .

You stopped looking for them in the halls. Stopped trying to catch their eye.

It hurt, but what else could you do? They seemed fine. Like your absence hadn’t made a difference. If they’d cared, even a little, they would’ve shown it.

So you smiled when it hurt, stayed quiet when you wanted to speak, and told yourself it was better this way.

Maybe it really had all been one-sided. Maybe they had only ever tolerated you, your compliments, your sweets, your clingy, lovesick puppy crush, because they were a kind person.

But you didn’t let yourself move. Didn’t let yourself cave. Because how could you walk back to someone who had never really wanted you there in the first place?

You glanced across the cafeteria. Kris sat between Susie and Noelle, expression unreadable, as always.

You wished they looked a little less okay. Then maybe this wouldn’t feel so much like rejection.

. . .

But Kris wasn't okay.

It was getting worse. And every time they saw you, ducking your head, walking fast, ignoring them, they wanted to grab you by the wrist and just ask.

What happened?

It made their chest tight. It made them angry. Not at you, never at you, but at the situation. At how bad everything had gotten, and at how helpless they felt to fix it.

They’d spent so long convincing themself your feelings weren’t real. That it was a crush. A game. Something you’d grow out of.

But now that you were gone, they were desperate to have you close again. And it terrified them.

Because if you’d meant it, if you’d really felt something…

Then you’d walked away for a reason.

And Kris wasn’t sure they were ready to hear what that reason was.

. . .

Lunch was loud, as usual.

Susie was halfway through the lunchbox Noelle had packed her, rice stuck to her cheek, mouth full, talking anyway.

“They ask you to the festival yet?” she mumbled around a mouthful of food.

Kris blinked, caught off guard. Their gaze flicked across the cafeteria automatically, searching, like they couldn’t help it.

They shrugged, reaching for their drink, trying to play it cool. “No.”

Susie swallowed, eyeing them for a second. “Huh.”

That was all she said. Just that.

But the second she looked away, Kris’s expression shifted.

They hadn’t realized it until she brought it up.

You hadn’t asked.

You always said weird stuff, bold stuff, over-the-top crush stuff.

And now… nothing.

Kris pushed their food around their tray, appetite gone.

They told themself that it didn’t matter. That it was better this way.

Kris kicked their sneaker against the cafeteria floor.

They didn’t understand.

Wasn’t this what they wanted? For you to grow out of it?

They should’ve felt relieved. But they didn’t.

They needed answers, before their head exploded.

. . .

It started with something small.

They don’t leave the classroom right away when the bell rings, instead lingering near your desk like they’re organizing something in their bag. You glance up once, nervous, and then quickly back down, pretending to fix the straps of your own.

They wait a few seconds longer, like they’re giving you a chance.

A chance to ask them to the festival.

But you say nothing. You don’t even smile.

That night, Kris tells themself it was fine. That maybe you were just tired.

. . .

The day after, they try again.

They take the long way to the cafeteria just so they can pass you in the hall.

Your eyes catch for half a second. You offer a tiny wave.

And Kris says “hey” like it’s no big deal, like they’re not secretly hoping that you’ll stop them, say something, do anything... You don’t.

. . .

By Friday, Kris has almost given up.

They sit at the end of their table at lunch so they’re in your eyeline. They hold the door open for you between breaks.

All while thinking, maybe if I’m just… available, they’ll say it. They’ll ask. And I’ll know.”

But it wasn’t working.

And with every passing day of you not asking, their patience wears thinner. The confusion deepens. They tell themselves your crush was fake. That you’re over it. That they should be happy about that.

But it doesn’t feel like relief.

It feels like the worst news they've ever heard, thoughts strong enough to split their brain in two.

Kris didn’t hear the end of whatever Susie was saying.

Not after they caught a glimpse of you out of the corner of their eye, slipping out of the cafeteria with your tray barely touched. Head down. Shoulders sagging.

They were standing before they even thought about it, the lunch table loud against the floor. The edge of their tray caught their sleeve and nearly clattered to the ground, but they really couldn't care less.

Susie blinked. “Yo? Where are you–”

But Kris was already walking. Fast.

They didn’t know what they were going to say.

They just knew they couldn’t take it anymore.

They found you just outside the cafeteria doors, halfway to the stairs, and called out without meaning to,

“Why haven’t you asked me?”

You turned slowly, confused.

“What…?”

Kris stopped in their tracks, brows furrowed.

“The festival.” they said, voice tight, just barely keeping itself together. “You haven’t asked me.”

Your mouth opened, then closed again.

“I waited.” they went on, frustration in their voice. “I gave you time. I thought you building up to it– or– I don’t know. But every day you don’t say anything it’s just–”

They made a noise of exasperation and looked away.

“Why aren't you pretending to like me anymore?” they muttered finally.

You stared at them, stunned.

“Pretending…?”

You echoed, like you hadn’t heard right. Your voice came out smaller than you meant it to.

“I wasn’t pretending?”

They didn’t look at you, jaw clenched tight.

“All the nice things I said. All the time I spent with you. I just really liked being around you.”

You looked down. “Maybe too much.”

"Every time I followed you around like, like some loser.” You continued, trying to laugh, but it broke halfway out.

“I really liked you. I still like you. But you–” your voice caught, “you never looked like you believed me. Like you wanted me around at all.”

You looked down at your shoes, blinking fast.

“So I stopped trying. That’s all.”

There was a pause before,

“If you liked me,” they started slowly “then why didn’t you just say so?”

You blinked. “I… I thought I did.”

Kris looked at you, eyes narrowing slightly.

“You were always around. You… brought me stuff. Smiled at me. Said I looked nice. I just… I didn’t know if any of that meant anything.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

“People do things like that all the time,” they continued, their words coming out faster with each passing second. “Sometimes just to be nice. Or to mess around. I didn’t want to assume… So I kept waiting.” they said, voice even softer now.

“For you to just say it. That you liked me.”

You swallowed, hands twisting in the hem of your sleeves.

“I thought you knew,” you said, barely above a whisper. “I really thought… I was being obvious.”

Your voice cracked a little at the end, and you looked down. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I didn’t want to push too hard. So I just… I tried to show you.”

You looked up again. “I thought I was showing you every day.”

Kris didn’t answer right away.

And for a second, you panicked, worried you’d said too much, or not enough, or the wrong thing completely.

But then their expression shifted. .

“…You did.” they said finally. Quiet, almost like they were admitting it to themself more than to you. “I just didn’t know how to… read it.”

Another pause.

You shifted, a little nervous under their gaze. “I… I really do like you, you know. I wasn’t pretending.”

Kris looked away, scratching the back of their neck. “Yeah. I… I get that now.”

A beat passed.

“I didn’t mean to act like it didn’t matter,” they mumbled. “It did. I was just– I don’t know. Kinda stupid about it.”

You let out a tiny laugh. “Well. I was stupid too.”

Kris glanced back at you, and for the first time all week, you both looked a little less tense.

You swallowed. “I know it’s late, and I probably ruined everything by waiting but… do you still wanna go to the festival?”

Kris blinked.

Then, slowly, they closed their eyes and let out this big, shaky exhale. Shoulders sagging with relief. And when they looked up at you again, it was with the goofiest, most grateful smile you’d ever seen on their face.

“…Yeah.” they said, almost laughing. “Yeah. I do.”

You let out a breath too, full of disbelief and shaky nerves. “Okay. Yeah. Cool. Coolcoolcool.”

The two of you stayed quiet after that, goofy silly smiles reflecting each other as relief washed over you.

. . .

a/n2: sry for the sudden ending! I felt like i was dragging it ( ;´ - `;) BUT I DO RLLY LIKE THISSS even tho it took me like 4 daysUGH I NEED TO WRITE MORE SELF-DOUBTING KRIS LIKE IDKY BUT SOMETHING ABT CHARACTERIZING THEM LIKE THIS IS JUST SOOO FUNNNN.... would u guys still love me if i wrote them as a stalker....... loser kris who has simply given up on ever confessing their feelings so they stalk and get jealous of anyone able to freely talk to u instead... someone sedate me.

bye.

#GAHH THIS WAS SO LONG #TY AGAINN <3333 #how do i make my posts prettier...#deltarune x reader #deltarooone #kris dreemurr x reader #kris x reader #deltarune #kris deltarune #kris dreemurr

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cutehoons02 · 3 months ago

Text

Make be mine

*pairing: frat emo-boy hybrid deer Heeseug x popolar girl

*trope: Roomates to hates to lovers

*synopsis: When you, a bright but impulsive student, agree to share the apartment with a dark-eyed and gloomy-looking hybrid deer, Heeseung, you know it’s going to be an intense experience. But you can’t imagine how. He is introverted, controlled, with an animal instinct that desperately tries to keep at bay. You're the opposite: human, daring, stubborn… and curiously attracted by that mysterious aura that Hee carries with her. Between daily squabbles, shared nights, growing jealousies and an imprinting that risks to bind them forever, the boundary between play and desire becomes ever thinner.

*tags: A lot of tension, the protagonist is curious and cheeky with Heeseung, they have to share the bed, Heeseung is an innocent fake a little shy and grumpy at first, fluffy moments, lots of kisses, pacifiers, fingering, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) First time Heeseung knot, statement, pet names (small) (Hee, good boy) +18

(English is not my native language)

12.2k (🦌)

'You’ll be sharing the room with a human.'

Hee had squinted when they’d told him that at the admin office. He’d thought it was a joke. Or a mistake. Why on earth would they put a hybrid—a deer, no less—in the same room as a human girl?

But the housing clerk hadn’t even looked up from her papers. She just shrugged.

'There’s a shortage of single rooms. It’s temporary. Deal with it.'

So he’d dealt with it. More or less.

He had arrived the night before, tossed a hoodie on the bed (yes, just one bed), and put his headphones on, staring at the ceiling, thinking of the ridiculous number of things that could go wrong.

But he hadn’t expected you.

You, bursting through the door all theatrical, mouth already forming a complaint, eyes sweeping dramatically across the room, widening as you spotted the single bed.

And then—bam. You bumped right into him.

The contact. Your scent. Your warm skin.

He looked down at you. Liquid, mischievous eyes. Furrowed brows, soft lips, backpack still slung over one shoulder, and a suitcase bigger than you. And an expression... confused, but intrigued.

She’s cute, was his first thought. Cute in that dangerous way. The kind of girl who looks innocent, but knows exactly what she’s doing.

You looked up at him and froze, like you’d just seen some rare, beautiful animal. Which, technically, was true.

“Oh. Sorry. I... I didn’t see you.”

Hee gave a small nod, already feeling the heat rising to his ears. Those damn spotted ears always gave him away.

“It’s fine. Uh... there’s only one bed, but I’ll get another this week. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Didn’t mean to make myself uncomfortable either, he thought. But it’s too late now.

You nodded, but seemed more interested in him than in the logistics. And when you kept staring—too long—he exhaled through his nose and turned to face you.

“Want a photo?”

Your little smirk was a knife disguised as a caress. “Nah. Don’t need one. I’ll see you every day anyway, right?”

He dropped onto the beanbag with a what-kind-of-human-did-I-get expression and started chewing on his hoodie string—a nervous habit that kicked in whenever he tried to play it cool.

And as he watched you, he realized he’d been right: there was nothing innocent about you.

The way you looked at him. The way you moved. The way you smiled with just one side of your mouth.

There was something about you... shameless, but well-disguised. And that drove him crazy.

“If you’ve got questions, just ask. I can read expressions—even human ones. And yours... is full of question marks.”

You pretended not to hear, adjusting the beanbag like you weren’t mentally jumping on him. Then, suddenly, you spun around, dramatic as ever:

“I’ve decided. I want to ask five questions!”

He laughed quietly, from the gut. And felt the knot of tension loosen a little.

There was something so ridiculous and funny about you that, for the first time, he almost felt... comfortable.

“You didn’t have any questions a second ago.”

“White lie. For a good cause.”

He sank deeper into the beanbag, one leg bent, the other stretched out. Hoodie string still between his teeth, faking nonchalance, eyes sharp and alert. Then he motioned with his hand.

“Go on. Shoot.”

"How do those ears stay upright? Are you controlling them right now?" you asked, staring at the white-and-brown-speckled ears.

Hee narrowed his eyes. “They’re muscles. And no, I’m not. They’re on natural alert.”

"So are you, like, wild in the woods, or do you feel okay around humans?" you asked, watching him chew on the hoodie string, thinking he looked pretty uncomfortable, or maybe just not used to human spaces.

“Depends. Around certain humans... I’m starting to relax.”

"Earlier, were you staring because you were looking for flaws or because you liked what you saw?"

Heeseung’s eyes widened. Silence. Long silence. Then:

“I was staring because you seemed dangerous. And I’m not very disciplined when it comes to dangerous things.”

Your heart did a messy little somersault. You no longer knew if you wanted to test him... or just let him bite you.

He went back to chewing the string. Slower now. But still watching you.

You’re the kind of trouble I’ve always avoided, Hee thought. But if you’re my mistake... I might just let it happen.

It had only been two days.

Two. Days and Heeseung already felt at his limit. You were… too much.

Too bold, too loud, too unpredictable.

A miniature storm, a human creature seemingly born to irritate him to perfection.

She doesn’t do anything like the others.She doesn’t walk—she floats. She doesn’t talk—she teases. And she looks at me like she already knows everything, like she can read beneath my skin.

And then there were your habits. Tidying up the bathroom while he was still in it. Humming quietly while reading your obscene novels. Eating strawberries on the bed with your fingers, leaving them sticky.

And at night? You moved like you were dancing in the sheets. Your scent—soft, feminine, dangerous—clung to the pillow. He’d slept with a hoodie over his head just to block you out. This room is a minefield with pink walls and the scent of peach and vanilla.

That evening, he went out to play basketball just to let off steam.

He ran harder than usual, sweated more than necessary, and pushed his breath until his thoughts finally shut up.

He came back with damp temples, a soaked shirt, and jumped straight into a hot shower. He needed to calm down.

Water. Silence. No sexy, chaotic girl one meter away and that’s exactly when it happened.

While he was pulling on his grey sweatpants—boxers still visible, skin still damp—the door clicked open.

“Hey, have you seen my—”

You. Standing in the doorway. Hair a mess and curious eyes.

“What the—!” Heeseung barked, jumping to the side, heart racing. His tail shot straight up, then froze in a weirdly stiff position.

His ears? Total alert mode.

“ARE YOU SERIOUS RIGHT NOW?!” he growled, covering his chest in a mechanical, panicked gesture.

You raised your eyebrows and stared at him like you were watching a particularly interesting scene from a movie you didn’t want to pause.

Golden abs. Sculpted lines. Warm, still-damp skin. Black boxers just peeking above his waistband. A necklace stuck to the hollow of his chest.

And that tail? A perfect mix of tenderness and disaster.

Delightfully awkward. But so sexy, my knees are shaking.

“Do humans not knock anymore? That is something they teach at school, right?” he snapped, his voice rough and a bit unsteady.

You feigned innocence, with that familiar glint of mischief that drove him crazy.

“I just needed one thing. My skincare. Chill.”

You walked past him slowly, deliberately, and while you grabbed the bottle from the shelf, you leaned in. Way too close on purpose.

You inhaled quietly, almost silently—but he noticed. Oh, he definitely noticed.

“Mmmh… you smell like musk, amber, and… rain.” Your eyes sparkled. “Animalistic and sweet. Like you stepped out of a wild fairytale.”

Heeseung froze.

Your voice was low. Your gaze locked on his a flash of a predator disguised as a good girl.

“Out,” he said sharply. But his red ears, frozen tail, and eyes drifting toward your lips told a very different story.

You winked. “Sure, boss.”And giggled on your way out.

Half an hour later.

Heeseung left the room in silence. He had changed—but it was too composed. Too controlled. The problem was, he wasn’t calm at all.

This makes no sense. She’s human. She’s not even my type. But… the way she looks at me. The way she moves. The way she breathes.

She touches me without ever touching me. She’s like a scent that gets into my brain and won’t leave.

And then he saw you. Sitting on the bed, legs crossed, striped pink shorts. Short. Too short and oversized sleep shirt, but it lifted slightly at the sides, revealing smooth skin underneath. And in your hands? A book. One of those pastel-covered ones with scandalous titles.

No. No. No. You’re ruining me, Hee thought. And I’m already falling apart.

You looked up from your book. And caught him instantly, the way you looked at him. Like you were reading him, not the pages. Like you knew exactly how much you were driving him insane.

The room was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of a desk lamp left on.

The bed was just big enough for two people pretending they didn’t want each other.

You were leaning back against the headboard, The Deal open in your lap, bare legs stretched out—one bent carelessly, causing your sleep shirt to ride up just enough to reveal the soft curve of your hip.

Heeseung was lying beside you, wearing nothing but a wrinkled black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. His hair still damp from the shower, ears drooping a little from exhaustion, tail relaxed… but alert.

He couldn’t take it anymore, it had only been two days. Two, but this girl was chaos incarnate and that morning… that cursed moment in the bathroom…

Flashback.

He’d just finished his shower, towel over his head, boxers under gray sweats. He’d left the mirror fogged, feeling oddly vulnerable but strangely calm, when the door clicked open innocently.

It was you.

Your eyes locked on his still-wet abs, the droplets sliding down his chest.

Your gaze drifted down the golden skin, the waistband of his sweats hinting at Calvin Klein boxers underneath, and his tail frozen mid-lift.

He shot you a glare.

“Did no one ever teach you to knock? Or are you straight out of the Middle Ages?!”

“I just needed my night cream,” you answered, unfazed. “Also… oh my God, Hee. You smell like musk and rain. I swear, you could bottle that scent and sell it.”

You stepped closer. Brushed your fingers along his arm. Inhaled, softly.

Then, with a playful giggle: “Very… bedroom animal.”

Heeseung froze.

Was she flirting? Or is she just a completely unfiltered menace?

Why is my tail trembling?

Why did I dream of her curled up against me last night?

Back to now.

Hee couldn’t even focus on his phone. Your voice always distracted him—but tonight, especially…

“So, The Deal, huh?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

He was scrolling through TikTok, but every spicy fan art he saw made his brows furrow.

“You know it?”

“Saw it on the feed. Says it has… like, eight spicy chapters?”

“At least,” you answered proudly. “Wanna read it with me?”

“No thanks. I prefer sports anatomy textbooks.”

You laughed.

“You’ve already got the muscles, baby deer. Now you just need the emotional intelligence.”

He stared at you.

“Did you just say… baby deer?”

“Does it offend you?”

Hee nervously bit down on his hoodie string. A reflex. His thing.

Baby deer?! Who does she think she is? And yet… he didn’t move away. If anything, he shifted closer, onto his side.

“Show me those fanarts. People really post that online?”

You scrolled until you found one—an overly passionate illustration.

The couple tangled on a bed. Hands everywhere. Half-dressed. Eyes closed, tongues—

Hee frowned.

“Their… tongues. Are out. What exactly do you like about this?!”

“Everything. The contact, the tension, the repressed desire… the things left unsaid.”

“You’re all insane.” You moved even closer, book in hand.

“Want me to read you a part?”

“No.” You did it anyway. Your voice was a slow whisper. Hypnotic.

“He kissed her with a hunger that couldn’t be hidden. His body, all muscle and want, pressed into hers as his hands lifted her. Their mouths fit together like keys and locks.”

Heeseung blushed, he sat up, shooting you a sharp look.

“This isn’t healthy. Reading stuff like that isn’t healthy.”

“And yet you like it. I can see it. Your tail’s giving you away.”

He turned away, muttering something under his breath. You giggled and, in a velvet-soft voice:

“Want me to tie you up, Hee?”

Time stopped. He spun around, eyes wide. His tail thumped against the mattress. Ears alert.

“WHAT?!”

“You heard me. You. Me. Knot.” Silence. A deep breath.

“You’re not my type.” You clutched your chest dramatically.

“Oh no. My ego. Shattered. A divine creature with pointy ears just broke my heart.” You flopped back with a theatrical sigh.

He glanced at you sideways—and in his eyes, a flicker. A crack in the armor.

She’s not my type. But when she talks like that… when she looks at me like that… why does it feel like I’m already hers?

He moved closer. Slowly. Positioned himself over you, arms bracing his weight. His knees on either side of your hips. His eyes locked on yours.

“You want to be tied up?”

“Only if you do it.”

His hands settled on your waist.

“You’re… soft,” he whispered.

“Wanna touch more?”

“…Yeah.”

He only realized he’d said it out loud after the words slipped. He leaned down. Nuzzled into your neck. A slow inhale. A gentle lick. His hips pressed to yours.

“You smell like peaches. And… danger.”

You laughed softly. “And you smell like: I’m losing control but pretending I’m fine.”

Hee buried his face in your neck, his hair tickling your skin.

If you tease me one more time… I’m not responsible for what happens.

It had been almost two months since classes started.

Two months of sharing a room with Heeseung — the moodiest, messiest, and unintentionally sexy deer hybrid on campus.

Two beds. One fate.

The second bed had arrived after a week.

You’d argued, like literal children, over which one was “your” bed.

You insisted on keeping the one you’d shared during the first nights.

Heeseung had growled through clenched teeth (a ridiculous sound for a half-deer, honestly), and ended up dragging himself to the new bed, shooting you a dark glare as he curled up under the covers.

“You’re insane. Sleep over there. Don’t invade my side tonight.”

And yet… he slept.

You didn’t, six nights out of seven, you waited until his breathing slowed.

Then you’d sneak into his bed, cold legs sliding under his. Curling up and in his sleep… he’d always pull you close.

Of course, mornings came with consequences.

“This is a full-on violation of personal space,” he’d grumble, trying to peel your arm off him.

“Do you think I’m your personal heating pad just because I’m half-cervid?!” And while you got up with a smug little smile, he’d add, grumpily:

“You claim to be independent. Pretend to be a femme fatale. But at night, you cling like some overly affectionate leech.”

You’d laugh. Always. You loved teasing him. All day long: you tickled him with your pencil during study sessions, hid his beloved emo rings, and stole his oversized hoodies just to force him to stay in a t-shirt while you blatantly stared at those golden abs that never got to touch you.

Why not? Why didn’t he touch you? He’d said you weren’t his type.

That phrase had lodged itself in your brain like a pushpin.

But you knew you were the right type for anyone with a pulse.

Even for an emo deer-boy who gnawed on his hoodie strings and acted too cool for spicy books.

So that night, you had a plan. If Hee wouldn’t look at you the way you deserved, then you’d make sure he had no choice but to look.

You’d been in the bathroom for over an hour. Perfume. Light makeup.

That tiny black skirt barely brushing your thighs, a white camisole with a little bow — sweet enough, but just suggestive enough. A cropped leather jacket that framed your shoulders.

Shiny black boots. Hair long. Perfect.

When you opened the door, Hee was sitting at the desk. A muscle anatomy textbook was open in front of him. Glasses on. Ears drooped. Tail still. But as soon as the scent of cherries and amber filled the air, he froze.

His nose twitched. Nostrils flared. A subtle shiver ran down his spine.

God. That perfume. The one she wears when… she wants attention. And I… I’m a damn fool because I love it.

When he turned around, he saw you. Admiring yourself in the mirror by the door, adjusting the hem of your skirt. You were a vision. Sensual, free, in complete control. You caught his gaze for a second. Eyes locked. That wicked little smile.

“Well? Do I look good?”

Hee blinked. Mumbled something.

“Hmm? Didn’t hear you, Hee.” He dropped his eyes.

“I said… You look like a fanfiction protagonist. The kind who always ends up heartbroken.”

You laughed — delightfully bold.

“Oh, really? And here I was, heading out on a date.”

He stiffened. Slowly turned from his chair. His tail—motionless a second ago — started wagging. Gently. Then harder. You bit your lip. Perfect.

“With whom?”

His voice was flat. Too flat.

“A guy from the swim team.”

Heeseung scoffed and turned back to his book.

“Wow. How original. One of those puffed-up pecs, zero-braincell types.”

A pause. Then: “Have fun.”

“Oh, I will.” You stepped toward the door. “And don’t wait up. I might not come back tonight.”

Silence. Then, a sharp grunt. Low. Animal. Frustrated. As the door clicked shut behind you, Hee slammed the book closed, ran a hand down his face, and muttered through clenched teeth:

“Stupid… tease… with that tiny little skirt… if anyone puts their hands on her, I swear I’ll—” His tail was still wagging—a chaotic, jealous, panicked mess.

She’s not my type… so why do I dream of her every night? Why do I reach for her when she’s not there? Why do I miss her scent before she’s even gone?

Heeseung was still awake.

He was “studying,” at least on paper.

In reality, he’d spent the past two hours chewing on his hoodie string, those oversized glasses slipping down his nose, sweatshirt sleeves pulled over his hands, killing evil creatures online with Jake and Jungwon.

The only things filling the room were curses and the occasional burst of laughter and, every now and then, those too-long silences, when Hee would stare blankly into space, fingers resting on the controller, your scent still burned into his brain.

Cherry. And amber. Damn it.

Where the hell did you think you were going, dressed like that?

When you’d said “I might not come back tonight,” he’d laughed.

A little.

Faked it.

Now it was 1:30 a.m. and you still weren’t back. He’d cracked. Looked you up on Instagram. Just one story. A mediocre dish, a corner of the Han River, and then… You. Sitting, eyes downcast. Too beautiful. Too close to that idiot with the damp hair, trying to look sporty.

Did he touch her? Put a hand on her thigh? Try to kiss her?

He bit his cheek. Hard enough to taste blood.

Then — finally — the door opened and that scent came back.

Sweet. Intoxicating.

You.

He pretended not to notice. Kept laughing with Jake. Scoffed a half-hearted, “Come on, just hit him in the head, Jungwon,” even though he wasn’t even looking at the screen.

You saw him instantly. Legs crossed on the swivel chair, oversized hoodie, giant headphones, half-eaten ramen by the keyboard. Eyes sparkling, like nothing was wrong.

Pfft. Still awake. And then he lectures me, huh.

You walked over, arms crossed. Tired smile, sharp gaze.

“Not in bed yet?” you asked, tilting your head.

He didn’t answer.

Without warning, you pulled off his headphones — way too big for his deer-like head. Hee flinched, looked at you… and in those eyes was that mix of anxiety, relief, irritation — and something much deeper.

“What are you doing here?” he asked quietly.

You stared back. One brow raised.

Arms crossed, standing just inches from him.

“Does this look like the time to still be livestreaming while your brain cells evaporate? You know what’ll happen if you sleep through anatomy again tomorrow? More notes on your record. And I won’t let you copy mine.”

Jake and Jungwon chuckled through the headphones.

Hee mumbled something, but he wasn’t really listening to you.

He leaned in a little.

Too close. Too quiet. Then, barely brushing your ear:

“You stink.” You whipped your head toward him, face close, eyebrow raised, voice like a blade:

“Excuse me? Want to say that again?”

He smiled. That classic fake-innocent smile, the faint dimple, eyes lowering to hide how intense they were. He brought a hand to his nose. Inhaled. Slowly.

“You smell like something that isn’t you.”

A sudden, razor-sharp silence. Jake and Jungwon went quiet a click, like someone turned the emotional volume of the room all the way down.

Heeseung turned fully toward you, eyes glistening. Dark.

“Did he touch you?”

Your eyes widened. Disbelief.

“Sorry, what?”

“That swimmer guy.” His voice was commanding, but cracked with insecurity. “Did he touch you?” You didn’t answer. You just looked at him. Caught between confusion and something deeper.

And then he stood. Slowly. Not all the way, but just enough to seem taller, heavier, more… predatory. He leaned in slightly and in a low, guttural voice, almost a growl:

“Go change. Now.”

“…Excuse me?”

“I don’t want to smell that anymore. Not on you. Not in this room. Not in that bed. Got it?”

For the first time, you felt small.

Not weak — but diminished. Dwarfed by something bigger. Raw tension, feral and unfiltered. That tail that wasn’t wagging anymore. Dilated pupils. Tight jaw.

You swallowed. Slowly. Then turned, a sly smirk curling your lips.

“Mmh. What’s wrong, Hee? I’m not your type… but my scent only bothers you when it’s mixed with someone else’s?”

He bit his lip but said nothing because yeah — he’d just marked you.

With words.

Without even realizing it.

Or maybe, finally… on purpose.

He had won.

You admitted it with a dramatic sigh as you tossed your clothes into the washing machine and slipped into your pajamas.

The light tank top — the one that clung just enough to your chest.

The tiny shorts — barely there and then… his wrinkled grey shirt, still holding the scent of his pillow and the softness of too many nights spent sleeping too close.

If he’d won… why did it still feel like you were holding all the cards?

When you stepped out, bare feet on the wooden floor, the room was half-dark, lit only by the glow of the monitor. Hee was still turned toward the screen, headphones hanging around his neck, eyes dark and unfocused.

You approached. Gently rotated his chair and when he saw you — wearing his shirt, your scent beneath his, your bare legs, your gaze calm but daring...He shook his head.

Serious. Almost angry his voice low and rough: “Go. To. Bed.”

You smiled. Fearless and started walking… toward his bed. Slow, theatrical steps he didn’t react right away but as soon as your knee touched the sheets, he stopped you. His hand wrapped around your arm — instinctively.

“Your bed.” His voice was tenser now. Controlled. But fragile.

You giggled. His touch was light, but it burned on your skin.

“Oh, come on, Hee…” you whispered, a teasing smile on your lips.

You turned to face him, eyes wide and gleaming.

“You know I haven’t undressed for another guy in months, right?”

He clenched his jaw.

Let you go. But stayed there, standing, like you were some kind of threat.

“I… still feel everything.”

The words came out barely audible — a confession laced with frustration and truth.You raised an eyebrow.

“What’s wrong, Bambi?” you teased. “Jealous?” That one word: Jealous.

It was enough, Heeseung took a step toward you then another. Now he was too close, towering over you — tall, broad-shouldered, ears alert, tail still. He leaned down, his face inches from yours.

“Stop acting like a brat,” he murmured. The tone was sharp but his eyes… were chaos. You looked up at him. rose to your tiptoes.

Your hands slid under the hem of his hoodie.

“Then stop me.”

And before he could even process it, you pulled him toward you and kissed him. At first, it was just a touch. Your lips on his — soft, tentative a game but then…You felt him freeze.

Then give in.

His hands found your waist, his mouth trembled for a second then, slowly, moved with yours. His lips were soft, but uncertain you gave his lower lip a gentle nibble and he let out a low, muffled sound — almost a growl.

Then finally…His tongue he kissed you for real a deep, slow, consuming kiss. His hands slid just beneath the shirt — his shirt — and you could feel it: he was there.

Fully. Completely. Lost. You played with each other. You pulled him even closer. He pinned you against the edge of the bed, tongues exploring, testing, tangling like they never wanted to let go and then…He pulled away.

Stayed there. Breathing hard. Lips damp. Eyes dark as midnight.

“Don’t sleep with me,” he said, quietly.

You looked at him. Still breathless. Hands trembling.

“Heeseung…”

“Don’t sleep with me tonight.”

He said it, looking straight into your eyes, like an open wound he didn’t know how to hide.

Then, he turned away, switched off the light and you were left there.

Heart pounding.

Wearing his shirt.

And waiting for all the answers… that still wouldn’t come.

You were sitting on a blanket under a wooden gazebo on campus.

A cup of herbal tea in your hand, legs crossed, and the cool afternoon air carrying the scent of freshly cut grass.

T/l had her hair pinned up messily, a strawberry lollipop in her mouth, an oversized sweater that showed off her bare shoulders, a white skirt, and the faint scent of Sunghoon that somehow you could almost smell too.

“So you’re telling me… he hasn’t looked at her in a week?” she asked with a laugh.

You nodded, frustrated. “Nada. Not even a single insult about the human race or a passive-aggressive jab. He’s ice cold.”

T/l licked her lollipop. “Classic. He kissed you, so now he’s panicking.”

“But why? He likes me, it’s obvious. And anyway… it was a kiss, not a lifetime contract.”

She looked at you over the rim of her cup. Then lowered her voice:

“For a hybrid, it can be.”

Your eyebrow rose. You leaned in a little. “Wait. Explain. What’s this imprinting thing?”

T/l gave a softer smile. “Imprinting is… how to put it… the moment a hybrid’s body recognizes someone as theirs. Usually it happens between hybrids, because there’s instinctive compatibility. But sometimes… rarely, it happens with humans too.”

“And if it happens with a human?”

“It’s a mess. But also beautiful. Sunghoon imprinted on me.”

She showed you her wrist: a faint mark, like a pink shadow. “It’s like their body saying: this one is mine, I can’t ignore her anymore. And when it happens, often… comes the knotting.”

You swallowed slowly. “Okay. T/l. Now you have to explain this knotting thing properly.”

She laughed, then blushed a little. “I thought you’d heard about it from someone…”

“Never. Go all in. No mercy.”

She bit her candy and got comfortable, lowering her voice.

“Knotting is… a biological mechanism some hybrids have, especially those with stronger instincts. During sex, if the emotional bond is strong… and the instinct takes over… the hybrid’s penis can swell at the base, forming a knot. It’s meant to mark their partner. And to literally hold her together with him. You can’t separate for minutes. Sometimes for half an hour.”

Your legs involuntarily stuck together.

“You and Hoon…?”

She nodded, a bit embarrassed but smiling. “More than once. When it happens… it’s not like normal sex. It’s rougher. More intense. You hear the sounds, feel the vibrations in your chest, the need to stay inside even after it’s all over. It’s… like their bodies are repeating mine, mine, mine.”

You touched your lips, both uneasy and fascinated.

“Does it hurt?”

“The first time can sting a bit. But the body adapts in a weird way. Hybrids secrete a kind of natural lubricant during knotting. It’s a mix of pleasure and dizziness. You feel invaded. But you never want it to stop. Ever.”

“And them?”

“For them it’s a need. When they imprint… and knot… it’s like a drug. If you deny it, they suffer. But if you give in… they get addicted.”

“Wow.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. The thought of Heeseung in that situation hit you like a punch in the stomach.

“So if he knots me… I’m his.”

T/l looked at you seriously. “Yeah. Not just in bed. In your heart, too. You couldn’t touch anyone else. Not even he could. It would be like betraying each other physically. It’s primitive, but… it’s beautiful, if you trust him.”

Then she smiled again.

“Anyway… practical advice.”

“Tell me everything.”

“If you don’t want to end up with a mini-deer to take care of in nine months… take the anti-hybrid pill.”

You burst out laughing. “That’s a real thing?!”

“Oh yes. And trust me, it works. Hoon’s obsessed with knotting every chance he gets. I’m basically his human sedative.”

“Holy hell…” you sighed.

She laughed, then grabbed your hand.

“But if it scares you… don’t do it. Knotting isn’t a joke. If Heeseung did it, it’d be instinct. But also because he’s already decided you’re his.”

You stayed quiet for a moment.

Then whispered:

“I think I want it. But… I’m scared.”

T/l winked at you. “Then you’re already in trouble, sister.”

The rain drummed against the windows like nervous fingers. The thunder sounded like the beating of a heart too strong to stay in its place. You had just dried your hair and put on that gray hoodie of Heeseung’s—the one that smelled exactly like him: cherries, musk, skin, and something rough, primal.

When you came out of the bathroom, you found him there: hunched over the desk, pencil strokes sharp and restless. He was still studying muscles—a recent obsession—and had his glasses slid down his nose, hair falling to partly cover his speckled ears.

“Hey,” you said softly.

“Mhm. Hey,” he mumbled without turning around.

You bit your lip. There was a whole world you wanted to tell him, but you held back. It wasn’t the night for teasing. Or maybe it was, but not the way you usually did.

You settled on your bed, legs tucked under you, looking for something to watch, but your eyes kept drifting back to him every couple of minutes. To his broad back, the way his shoulder blades moved under his black hoodie, as if they held some restrained anger.

Then, without warning, you heard a “Fuck.”

Not too loud, but loaded.

You watched him get up, the chair scraping the floor. He went to the bathroom, washed his face—you could hear it—and came back. When he stepped out, his eyes fell on you. Or rather, on that hoodie.

“You’re officially stealing my entire wardrobe, huh?” he commented sarcastically, rubbing his neck.

You smiled faintly. “I like your style. And I love your scent… you stubborn hybrid.”

Heeseung grimaced but said nothing. He took a few steps, as if to head to his own bed, but stopped. That “fuck” still hovered on his lips, like he was battling something inside.

Then he turned and came to you.

He threw himself onto your bed.

Yours.

His hands gripped your thighs with confidence, spreading them with a single, natural, firm motion. He placed one of your legs on each side of his body, then let himself fall, his head resting on your belly, warm and heavy, as if it were his home. He set his laptop on your lower abdomen and opened Netflix.

You didn’t breathe for a few seconds. Your thighs were open, his face between your belly button and your chest, and his body stretched between your legs like it was the most natural thing in the world. He said nothing. But his tail—that damned tail—tapped softly, happily.

Like a moth, your hand moved. You touched his hair. Smooth, dark. Then his speckled ears, soft, trembling under your touch. You felt him relax beneath your fingers.

“Keep going,” he murmured, his voice muffled in his chest.

“You think I’m a mobile massage parlor now?” you teased him with a sweet, almost lullaby tone.

He laughed. A light, thin, human laugh. Then he moved up even closer, his face near your heart. One hand scratching the nape of his neck, the other caressing his cheek.

His skin was warm. Too warm.

For a moment, you thought he had fallen asleep, but his tail moved, alive, and his chest trembled when he spoke.

“I’m scared.”

Your hand froze. “Of what?” you asked softly.

A heartbeat of silence.

“Of myself. Of my hybrid side. Of you.”

Your eyes widened. “Of me?”

“Of your scent. It lingers on me. Burns my chest. And every night… every damn night… I just want to…” he stopped, clenching his jaw.

You brushed his ear with your nose, whispering: “Want to what, Hee?”

He lifted his face, his doe-like eyes dark and shiny. “I want to forget that you’re not one of us. That you’re human. That if I knot you… I’ll lose you. Or ruin you.”

Thunder exploded outside. But inside the room, the only things that echoed were your breath and his.

And you, with your head spinning and your belly warm, answered him with nothing more than a soft kiss on the forehead.

Heeseung looked confused. Sitting between your legs, his chest rising and falling too fast, his ears trembling forward, tense, and his tail moving frantically jerky behind him. He stared at you as if you were shining, as if he could not decide whether to adore you or run away. But then he took a step. Literal. He knelt between your hips and leaned over you, his nose touching your skin, and began to smell you. Plane. Hungry.

"Hee… What are you doing?" you whispered, with a smile. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, his face getting lost in your neck.

"I remember you. I hear you everywhere … on the neck, between the thighs, you are… you're so hot…" He kissed you softly under the ear, then further down, along the collarbone.

"Do you have any idea how crazy you are driving me? I hear everything. Even your smell changes when you get excited… " His hands rested trembling on your thighs, but it was his body that betrayed him: the veins under the skin, the nails little sharper, the muscles tense under that puppy shyness.

You shoved your fingers through his hair, and his ears lowered slowly, trembling. "You have no idea, right?" murmur. "Than you are when you're good … but also when you seem to be on the verge of losing control."

He stiffened. He looked at you with those dark, shiny eyes. "I never… knotted. Never made love like that. But with you, I hear things I don't understand. I want… I want to be inside you. But not only that. I want to let myself in, brand you with my perfume. Make you mine."

The tone was deeper. Crude. Wild. You gasped. He was talking to you in that rough voice that came from an instinct rather than a technique. You grabbed his sweatshirt and lifted it a little, letting a glimpse of the pale skin of his belly. "And what are you waiting for?" you murmur.

"Make me yours. Brand me. Fill me up, Hee. I want to be your first … and your favorite." He almost moaned, his tail wagged. He made you lie down with firm pressure on your belly, then he put himself on top of you, one knee sticking between your already hot legs. His sweatshirt still covered you, but you felt his erection press against you. His hands trembled, but he managed to slip under the fabric and meet your bare breasts. His fingers were cold, a contrast that made you wince.

"Fuck … even without a bra… these are all for me?" he whispered, his voice cracked. Then he stared into your eyes, more authoritarian. "Raise your arms. And no whims." You obeyed, giggling. "But how much you like to command, Hee…"

"Shut up." He took off your sweatshirt, sniffed it before throwing it away. "I want to hear from you tomorrow. You and your smell … mix with mine. No one else can touch you. Never."

Then he ducked. The tongue settled on your breast, the muzzle rubbed like a puppy seeking comfort and desire simultaneously. He began to suck you, lick you, play with his nipples with a rough tongue and delicate teeth, alternating worship and light bites. You grabbed him by the ears — soft, vibrating- and pulled them slowly, making him emit a downward, almost a gentle growl. "Still…" whisper. "Show me how much you want me, Hee."

Heeseung kept kissing your breasts with increasing hunger. He licked, sucked, nibbled at your turgid nipples as if they were nectar for him, while his hands caressed your hips with almost desperate impatience. His breathing became more labored, and every now and then he let out a choked groan, a downward, throaty sound — an animal sound, vibrating directly from his ribs. You instinctively rubbed against his knee, seeking clutch, and that gesture made him growl. Literally. A low, rough, deep sound that made his chest vibrate against yours.

"Little doe in heat…" he hissed, and his eyes became darker, shinier. "Do you know how cheeky you are? I don't know if it turns me on or if I want to put you in your place." "Why not both?" you giggled, and looked at him from below up, his eyes defiant. "It's so good to see you lose control…"

He bit his lip, his ears lowered with desire, his tail waving furiously behind him. His vehement, veinous hands slipped on your sides and squeezed you hard, as if to punish you. Then he ducked down, pulled down your pajama pants, and made a theatrical pout. "Panties already wet?" he laughed softly.

"Then, while pretending to look at the PC… were you thinking of me? Huh? Maybe already ready for my knot…" "Hee!" you admonished him, but the tone trembled, too excited to be credible. "Shut up…" he whispered, and with a firm gesture, he pulled off your panties, holding them for a moment between his fingers before throwing them aside. Then he lowered his face between your thighs. Its odoriferous glands, hidden behind your neck and near your temples-activated as soon as you smell your natural scent. That pure, excited smell of yours drove him crazy. A low sound escaped him, like a starving verse. His hands opened your legs, and he dived on you with his tongue as if he had found the center of his world.

"Mmmh… You're sweet…" he muttered between licks. "I want you… all…" His tongue became more precise, sharper. He sucked your clit hard, with rhythm. You screamed, arching your back as his hair tickled your belly and inner thighs, while her hot breath drove you as crazy as her lips.

"Hee! Oh God, yes… more! Want… I want more!" He barely lifted, his lips moist, his ears flickering. "You want everything? You want me to get bored?" He looked at you with that scary, sweet intensity. "Then get ready. You have to take my fingers. If you can… then maybe you can take my knot too. And become mine. Mine." You nodded, breathless, and spread your legs even more. When you felt his first finger come in, hot and thick, you moaned loudly. He looked at you as if you were revealing a secret, his mouth ajar, while his finger explored you slowly, and then with more pace.

"Feel how tight you are…" he whispered in a low, dark tone. "God, you are perfect. So wet for me…" He added a second finger and then began to pump into you with deep and decisive movements. You clung to the sheet, screaming his name as the pleasure overwhelmed you. And he degraded you with animalistic sweetness, kissing you between the legs and whispering to you: "Be good… I want to see you all shake before I give you everything. I want to hear you squeeze me, suck me inside you. Are you ready for me, baby?"

Without saying anything, he pushed a third finger into you. The enlargement was intense, his hot and thick fingers filled you with firm pressure that made you moan loudly. Your body instinctively arched, your thighs trembling under the growing pleasure. " I'm coming!" you gasped, clutching the sheet between your fingers. He giggled, lowering his face between your legs again. "Let me see. I want to watch you come for me. I want to feel your essence on my tongue…"

With his tongue, he began to lick you greedily, then gently bit your clitoris, making you wince. You grabbed his hair, pulling it, but he did not stop. He kept sucking on you, pushing his fingers inside you, until your body stretched all over and you moaned loudly, trembling as you came between his lips.

He did not stop even then. He licked you as if he wanted to dry you up, savor you to the last drop, his nose sunk against you, his ears trembling with pleasure. When he finally retracted, he slid his fingers out of your cunt and looked at them, wet, shiny.

He slowly brought them to your mouth, tasting you with a deep sigh. "God … you are my favorite flavor." You stared at him with wide eyes, still panting, while he picked up a handkerchief, and you both cleaned up with small, thoughtful gestures. Then, with almost tender attention, he put his pajama pants back on you, his fingers touching your skin with respect, and you threw a questioning, somewhat spoiled look at him.

"Not tonight …" he muttered, his voice broken by a thousand emotions. "I don't want to hurt you. I want to get to know you better. Inside, outside. Every part." "Hee … you look like a good boy now," you teased him sweetly, with a smile. He just laughed and hugged you from behind. He wrapped you with strong arms and then took off his sweatshirt, letting you feel the heat of his naked body against your back. His chest was solid, the warm breath caressing the nape of your neck. A shudder passed through you.

"I want you. Always, " he whispered. "But if I annoy you… I won't be able to stop anymore. I'm not a good guy. I'm just a guy who wants to protect you from himself." Then he began to move slowly against you. His pelvis rubbed your butt in a slow, painful petting. His hands gripped your hips with force, holding you still as his breathing became heavier, almost animalistic.

"Do you feel it?" he murmured in your ear, pressing his groin against you. Its member, hard and pulsating, pressed against your thin pants. "This is my control. But it's ending. And when that happens, you'll be mine." You giggled, barely turning your face to brush his cheek with your lips. "Then train yourself to lose it, Hee. Because I want you to take… all of me." His groan was smothered against your shoulder, and for a moment he trembled. The tail wagged loudly behind him, as he continued to move against you with maddening slowness.

It had been a few weeks since you had discovered each other. Since you had stopped holding back your desire. Now, every evening ended with the two of you wrapped up in the same comforter, with Hee curling up against your back, his tail occasionally brushing your thigh as he slept. Sometimes he would wake up in the middle of the night and hold you tighter, whispering things half-asleep. And you would smile, even in your sleep.

One evening, with soft light filling your room and a fine rain tapping against the windows, he looked at you with a different kind of attention. Quiet. Then, as if facing a small fear of his own, he stood up and transformed.

His figure became leaner, muscles more elongated, his skin dappled with pale spots, ears larger, eyes even deeper and sweeter. And that tail... soft, alive, trembling.

"You're... beautiful," you whispered. "You look like something out of a poem. Something that shouldn't even exist. And yet here you are. With me."

Hee lowered his ears a little, as if shy. "I've never shown this to anyone like this... not for this long. I was always afraid of looking too different."

"But you are different… and that’s what makes you special," you replied, moving closer to caress his cheek, tracing the pattern of his spots with a finger. "And besides... I’m different too. Maybe too outspoken sometimes. Spoiled. But..."

You sat down next to him, legs crossed, eyes lowered. "Sometimes I act that way because... I didn’t get much love. Not at home, not anywhere. It’s easier to be loud than to let myself be seen as fragile."

He didn’t answer right away. He took your hand in his, fingers knotted and full of rings you had come to know well, and placed it over his chest.

"I, on the other hand, received a lot of love. A big, loud, affectionate family. But also full of expectations. They wanted me to stay an animal more often. They wanted me... wilder. But I wanted to try living like humans. I wanted to know what it’s like to have friends, to play, to study, to laugh."

He paused, then smiled. "And I’m glad I did. Because that’s how I met Jake, Hoon, Jay, Jungwon, Sunoo, Ni-Ki… and you."

Your throat tightened, but in a good way. You looked at him tenderly.

"Do you remember our first date?" you asked, breaking the emotion with a sly little smile.

He laughed, his ears twitching slightly. "The ramen by the Han River? And you burning your tongue on the first bite?"

"And you ordering extra spicy and then crying silently for five minutes!" you shot back, laughing.

"I wasn’t crying… they were controlled tears!" he said in a mock-serious tone, but then he laughed too.

"And then you taught me to play basketball..." you continued, raising an eyebrow. "If you can call it ‘teaching’ to throw a ball at the hoop while I clung to your arm laughing like a maniac."

"I knew you were a lost cause," he murmured, leaning in to brush your lips with a tender kiss. "But you were so happy that... I wanted to teach you just to see you laugh."

He held you tightly in his arms. You stayed there, in the silence of the moment, with the sound of rain and the beating of your hearts.

"You’re good for me, Hee," you whispered. "You make me feel like, for the first time… I’m truly seen."

"And you... make me feel free to be who I am. Whether that’s an awkward deer... or a boy who wants you so much, he’s afraid he won’t know how to stop."

You were there, in front of the mirror, the warm light of the room caressing your skin. A black skirt that hugged your hips, a white top that highlighted your curves, your usual brown leather jacket draped over your shoulders, and boots that softly clicked on the floor with every step. You snapped a few photos with your phone, partly for fun, partly to tease him.

Behind you, Hee was sitting on the bed. An oversized black hoodie with some unreadable writing, loose jeans hanging on his hips in that way only he could pull off, messy hair, and shiny rings on his fingers. He looked up at you with those long, glossy eyes—like a lovestruck and frustrated fawn.

“Are you… taking pictures of yourself for me?” he asked, half ironic, half serious. “I’m documenting how irresistible I am,” you replied, winking at him. “Because tonight, Hee, we’re going to our first university party. And you’re coming with me.”

He got up slowly, letting out a half-exasperated sigh. He went to his chair, grabbed a black coat with some emo details, and twisted it between his hands. “You know I’m embarrassed… there will be other hybrids. And humans. Who will be looking at you.”

“It’s just a party,” you murmured, fixing your hair. “And besides… you’ll be there. There’s nothing to look at that isn’t already yours.” That’s when he came closer to you. His hands slid behind you, slipping under your skirt, pressing firmly on your buttocks. He pulled you against him, his pelvis already hard, warm, nervous.

“I’d have much more fun… if we stayed home,” he whispered against your neck, his voice hoarse. “Just you and me. No other eyes on you.” You could feel him vibrating. His ears trembled slightly, his tail flicking behind. He was tense, sweet and sharp pheromones starting to wrap around you like an invisible veil.

“You’re so territorial, Hee…” you whispered, barely turning your head to look at him. “And you haven’t even knotted me yet.” He growled softly, just a little, against your skin. “Not yet. But I want everyone to know you’re mine.”

Then he pushed you against the wall next to the mirror. His hands grabbed you firmly, and he kissed you. A long, warm, open, hungry kiss. His tongue searching for yours, his teeth gently nibbling your lip with an animalistic delicacy.

“Mmh… I want more attention, Hee. I want tongue. I want those kisses of yours that make me forget where I am,” you whispered between breaths, with a bold tone. “Bold,” he muttered, burying his face in your neck. He licked you gently, then bit you right at the most sensitive spot, marking you with firm pressure. He couldn’t mark you with his scent from the knot… yet, but he still wanted everyone to know. You almost laughed, excited. “Are you afraid someone else will ask me before you do?” “I’m just… protecting what’s mine.”

You looked at him with a smirk. “Then do it well. Put me in my place, if you can.” He stared at you with those eyes that seemed darker, almost feral, but the blush on his cheeks betrayed him. He wasn’t ready to push you all the way yet, but he wanted it with all his being. “You’re driving me crazy, you know that?” he murmured, stroking your inner thigh. “When I knot you… it won’t be for fun. It will be to keep you mine. Forever.”

The music pulsed through the walls of the house, a sensual electronic mix that made the floor vibrate. The strobe lights reflected off the glasses and the slightly tipsy smiles of the students. You, stunning in your little skirt and white top that accentuated your curves, were dancing with Hoon’s girlfriend, who was already swaying lightly with you, laughing and sipping from a plastic cup.

On the opposite side of the room, Hee stood with his hands in his pockets, his dark hoodie a bit too warm for the crowded space, his deer ears trembling faintly.

Sunghoon watched him from above the rim of his glass, then raised an eyebrow. 'Brother… if you keep looking at her that way, you’ll tie her up with your gaze.'

Hee didn’t laugh. “It’s not funny.”

'Oh, but it is.' Sunghoon patted his shoulder. 'Look at my girl. Bored with me, but knotted. No idiot can try anything. But you…' He turned to stare at the dance floor. 'You left the door wide open. It’s obvious some other curious male wants to come in.'

Hee growled softly but said nothing.

Meanwhile, a boy approached you. Tall, with feline eyes—a hybrid, probably wolf or tiger. His scent was spicy, different from Hee’s sweet and woody perfume.

-Are you new around here?- he asked, coming close enough for you to feel the heat of his breath.

You smiled politely. “No, just not very interested in parties.”

-Well, then it’s lucky you’re here tonight. You know… you’re incredibly beautiful. You have a special energy. I can’t take my eyes off you.- He leaned in, his mouth a breath away from your ear. -I’d like to find out if beneath that good-girl act there’s someone who knows how to have fun… even off the dance floor.-

You were about to reply with a sharp comment when you felt something familiar: a firm hand pressing on your lower back, cold with rings. A second later, your body was yanked back against a warm, tense chest.

Heeseung.

His scent enveloped you immediately—sweet, musky, intense, with an animal undertone that made your head spin. His breath was deep, tense.

“She’s mine,” he said quietly, without even looking at the other boy. His eyes were only for you. The other hybrid took a half-step back, hands raised.

-Hey… okay. Chill, bro.- He disappeared right after.

You turned, still with your hands on Hee’s chest. “Hey,” you gently scolded. “What’s all this?”

“Stop acting like a brat.” His ears twitched slightly, and his tail flicked.

“Brat? I was just dancing. He was the one flirting with me.”

“And the only guy allowed to flirt with you… is me.”

You looked him straight in the eyes. “But you don’t know how to flirt with me, Hee.”

He frowned. “What?”

“You don’t know how to tease me. You don’t know how to play. You’re just a jealous deer.”

His face stiffened, then he turned abruptly. “Then watch and learn.”

He took a step toward a group of girls, but you didn’t give him even a second. You grabbed his wrist and pulled him back hard. Then you kissed him.

It wasn’t a sweet kiss. It was yours. Tongue, teeth, hands in hair. His breath caught against your mouth, and you heard him moan softly, trembling under your fingers.

His pheromones exploded like an invisible wave, mixing with yours. Some people turned to look. Sunghoon, from afar, raised his hands as if to say “finally.”

When you broke apart, your eyes sought his, your forehead against his.

“I kissed you in front of everyone,” you whispered. “That means I’m yours. And you’re mine.”

Hee looked shaken, his mouth reddened, ears lowered. He looked at you as if he couldn’t believe he had you.

Then you added, in a softer voice against his ear: “And I want to be knotted. By you.”

It was like flipping a switch. The low, animalistic growl that came from his chest made your legs tremble. His fingers squeezed your hips as his breathing became more uneven.

“Let’s go home,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

“I want to go home too,” you replied.

He grabbed your wrist urgently, never taking his eyes off you. And without another word, you left the party behind, amid glances and whispers.

When you returned home, the door hadn’t even closed behind you.

Hee gently but firmly pushed you against the wall. His hands, ringed and strong, grabbed your hips as if he needed to make sure you were real, that you were there—his. His breath was warm, restless, his forehead pressed against yours.

“It’s your fault,” he growled in a low, rough tone that almost vibrated in his throat. His deer ears trembled slightly, and his tail flicked nervously behind him. His pheromones were everywhere, enveloping, thick in the air. “My aura... my hybrid part... is exploding. And there you are, all perfect, with your little red panties, like a cheeky brat...”

You lightly pulled his hair, lifting your chin, eyes sparkling, voice cheeky. “Are you really sure that’s a problem?”

“Stop it...” he whispered, but it wasn’t a real warning. It was a plea.

His hand quickly slid under your skirt and stopped just beneath the waistband of your panties. He could feel how wet you were. His gaze darkened, deepened. He smiled crookedly, dangerously.

“So fragile down here, and so cheeky with your mouth...” he murmured.

He yanked your skirt off, ignoring your fake protests. When he saw the red lingerie set, his eyes widened and he whispered as if discovering a secret: “You wore this for me, didn’t you? You know red drives me crazy…”

He knelt before you, his nose just inches from your warm skin, and his face rested against the fabric of your panties. He took a deep, slow breath, like an animal that found its place. His scent glands pulsed against your bare thighs, and he trembled slightly.

“God, your scent... it destroys me. It’s only yours and mine now. No one else’s.”

With his teeth, he took the edge of your panties and slowly slid them down, with almost ferocious patience. He kissed your inner thigh, leaving small bites, occasionally murmuring something that sounded like half a prayer, half a threat.

He stroked you lightly with one finger, just on your clitoris, and you looked at him, moaning softly, grabbing your top and pulling it down yourself, revealing the matching bra.

“Good girl...” he whispered. “You’re all mine tonight. Actually, from now on.”

He picked you up in his arms, with a strength you’d never felt from him before, and carried you to the bed. He laid you down, his knees on either side of your thighs. His tongue made slow fiery circles on your body. When he reached your center, his fingers moved with confident patience.

“You’re so hot... so ready. And I...” He raised his gaze, his ears trembling wildly. “...I can’t stop anymore.”

“Hee...” you gasped. “Keep going...”

“You deserve it... every inch of my control you’re destroying.”

He penetrated you with two fingers, strong and slow, while licking you fiercely and attentively. Your hips moved on their own against him, and every time you moaned, he moaned with you.

His breath was warm, rough, and when he rose over you, finally shirtless, bringing your forehead to his, he whispered against your lips:

“I want you... I want you madly. I want to sink inside you. Tie you. Fill you. Make you mine in every way. Inside. Outside. Forever.”

You grabbed his hips, naked beneath him, looking at him with watery eyes and short breath. And you whispered:

“Then do it. Take me. Tie me. Make me yours.”

And that’s when Hee stopped holding back.

He moaned loudly, biting his lip, as his hybrid form fully manifested—trembling ears, wild tail, and a primal desire pushing him closer and closer to losing control.

You pulled down his pants, then his boxers, leaving him naked and hard, his erection taut and throbbing. You looked at him as if savoring the most anticipated feast of your life.

“Are you ready, Hee?” you whispered in a sweet but sharp tone. “Ready to get dirty for me? To lose control? Because I’m ready to take all of you.”

He ran a hand through his hair, visibly nervous but no longer awkward. It was as if he was standing at the edge of a cliff he wanted to jump off.

“This is the first time that… that I want to tie someone,” he said softly. “And the first time that… I feel like I can’t hold back. Did you take the anti-hybrid pill?”

You nodded, looking him straight in the eyes. “Yes. And I want you to do it. All of it.”

He trembled visibly. His gaze flickered between adoration and need. But he still didn’t move, as if he needed one last confirmation, or maybe… reassurance.

You brushed his side gently, then placed a light kiss on his swollen, warm, pulsing “grip.” “Everything will be fine, Hee. I want you just as you are. Wild, tender, dirty. Mine.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply. “I don’t want to hurt you…”

“You won’t. I want to feel you inside me. I want you to lose control, with me. You don’t have to hold back.”

His body trembled with emotion, but his gaze was steady, intense. He moved closer to you, aligning his body with yours, and for a moment you stayed there, skin against skin, hearts beating like tribal drums.

“Then let me… lose myself in you.”

Your fingers wrapped around his hard, throbbing member, guiding it slowly toward your wet center. You dragged it just over your clitoris, rubbing it with slow, deliberate strokes. He moaned softly the moment he felt it, breath broken, ears trembling. The heat of your skin was burning him.

“Tease my lips… slowly…” you murmured, eyes fixed on his.

Hee obeyed, pushing only the mushroom tip between your vaginal lips, brushing against you, letting his pearly fluid mix with your already warm juices. Then he made small thrusts, brief but loaded with tension, as if every movement was a whispered prayer through clenched teeth.

“Ah… Hee…” you gasped, your hands rising to grab his chubby, sensitive ears. You tugged them gently.

He moaned but immediately warned you with a muffled growl: “Stop it, or I’ll show you how dangerous a deer can be.”

His voice was hoarse, dark, a thread of control about to snap. But you didn’t stop. You smiled mischievously, and it was that smile that made him lose balance.

With one fluid, hungry motion, he pushed fully inside you.

You screamed, pleasure crashing over you like a sudden warm wave. Your legs tightened around his hips, as if never wanting to let him go.

“Hee... you’re… all in…” you gasped, your head falling back.

You felt him swollen, hard, warm, already filling you with his pulsing excitement inside your pussy. It was so deep you could feel yourself trembling inside. He gasped with his forehead resting against your neck.

“You’re so tight…” he murmured, voice broken by ecstasy. “My beautiful girl... you’re all mine, right?”

You nodded, scratching the nape of his neck with your nails. “All yours. Move inside me. I want to feel every part of you.”

At first, he moved slowly, with short, shy thrusts, as if making sure you were okay.

“Is everything okay?” he asked, voice thin and tense.

“No… I want more,” you whispered, then louder: “Give me everything, Hee. Push hard. I want to come again. Tie me. Break me.”

Something in him ignited. His ears pricked up, tail whipped fast, sharp. His eyes darkened, and in an instant he was no longer the clumsy, shy deer. He was a hybrid—feromones and instinct, flesh and desire.

He grabbed your hips and started thrusting hard, pounding into you, hitting deep, deeper and deeper.

“Yes… yes… fuck, Hee, there…” you screamed, voice broken, strangled. “You’re driving me crazy… you’re filling me up, damn it, don’t stop…”

He moaned with every thrust, breath ragged, animalistic, as he leaned over you, hips smashing into yours with growing force.

“You’re so hot…” he growled, “so wet… I’m losing it… I want to fill you, tie myself inside you, want no one else to ever have you…”

And then—with a deeper thrust than the others—he hit your G-spot. You screamed his name, trembling, eyes wide open.

“Yes… there… Hee… there! I’m… I’m gonna—fuck, yes!”

“What’s this, my good girl feeling heat inside, hmm?” he whispered with an emo-boy smirk, voice thick, as he kept pounding you with slow but powerful strokes. “Can’t think anymore, huh? Did I melt your brain, baby?”

“Yes… yes, damn it… you melted me completely. Keep going. Never stop.”

The heat you felt inside wasn’t just desire: it was something primal. Alive. Pulsing. It was Hee’s body heat claiming you, inch by inch, as if he was writing his name inside you with every thrust.

“Do you feel it?” he murmured, his hoarse voice in your ear. “It’s my heat… my cock making you mine.”

And you felt it. You felt his member sliding deeper and deeper, as if it would never end. You felt your belly react, stretching slightly with every hit, every thrust that hit you full on. And then you felt it: the knot. That living, sensitive mass swelling slowly, at first like a gentle pressure, then increasingly invasive, visceral.

“Hee…” you gasped, breath broken. “I-it’s happening… I feel it… it’s swelling…”

“Shh… let it in,” he whispered with that fake bad boy tone, just cracked by a tremor of animal emotion. “Let me tie every part of you.”

His thrusts grew faster, deeper. His hips hammered you with growing force, and as he moved, he degraded you in that way only he could: sweet voice but loaded with lust, sharp as a thin blade.

“Look how you take it… so tight. A good girl, but with a pussy begging to be filled. What is it, do you like being so full?”

You stammered, heat rising to your throat. “It’s… too much… it’s hot, Hee, you’re… you’re stretching me… inside…”

“Oh, we’re not done yet,” he murmured, taking one of your legs and placing it on his shoulder. Deeper now, tighter.

“Let’s see if you really can be… my good girl,” he growled softly, “the one who takes it all, even the knot. All the way in.”

You felt his knot pulse more and more firmly, alive inside you. It was locking you, nailing you, binding you. And his cock kept filling you, slow but relentless, in a gesture that meant more possession than sex.

Then he took your hand in his and brought it to your belly. The skin tight. Warm. Vibrant.

“Do you feel it?” he whispered with a small smirk. “It’s right there inside. My knot. It’s binding you to me… and you want it, you want it bad.”

“Yes…” you almost shouted, breath broken by rising pleasure. “I want to come… I want to come with you inside… I want to come on your cock…”

He looked at you with dark, feverish eyes. And that crooked emo boy smile spread across his lips.

“Look how you’re trembling. You’re so beautiful when you lose control. So good when you let me fuck you.”

Then he lowered his free hand, and with his thumb he started torturing your clitoris, slow but firm circles, wet with your own juices. His hip thrusts grew rougher, hungrier, while the knot swelled more and more.

“Come for me, damn it. I want to feel you gush on my cock. Fill me, baby. Dirty the sheets for me.”

It was too much. You melted against him with a scream that almost emptied your lungs. Your juices flowed hot and liquid around his cock trapped inside you, and you felt every contraction, every spasm, as his knot pulsed, swollen inside your belly. He was binding you, marking you, loving you in the most animal and true way.

Hee trembled, panting over you, then looked at you as if he couldn’t believe what he was experiencing.

“You’re amazing… so full…” he murmured, kissing you fiercely. “Your belly is swelling thanks to me. You’re mine.”

His thrusts, initially chaotic, grew slower… but so deep they tore a broken moan from you. It was as if Hee was learning your body step by step, discovering where to press, how to sink in to make you truly tremble.

“It’s too much…” you gasped, clutching him, “…but I want to feel full of you.”

He lowered his gaze, dark eyes framed by long lashes, and smiled with that typical fake-innocent look. Then he shook his head, scattering your thoughts with a few softly whispered words:

“So good when you beg. You’re my dirty girl, the one who knows what she wants… and now she wants me.”

He cupped your face in his hands, looking at you with a tenderness that only fueled your excitement more. But behind that sweetness, there was a wild desire breaking every dam. He leaned toward you, voice hoarse:

“You don’t know how much I dreamed of seeing you like this. Open for me, ready to take everything… even my wildest side.”

His thrusts grew hungrier, breath heavier. And when he slid one of your legs over his shoulder, you felt completely exposed, vulnerable and powerful at the same time. He moaned softly, almost choking on his words:

“I want you… all of you. I can’t hold back anymore.”

Then, with a decisive movement, he pushed all the way in. A low moan escaped his lips as his body trembled and the knot locked inside you, filling you completely. You moaned, your head thrown back, while a warm wave coursed through your entire belly.

It was as if he was writing his name inside you.

Hee bent over you, his sweaty forehead brushing yours, and whispered, voice breaking:

“You’re… incredible. So tight… so mine. I never want to let you go.”

Your body trembled, skin on fire, and you couldn’t hold back anymore. You clung to him, to his shoulders, to his voice.

“Hee… you’re tying me to you… I can feel it… inside.”

“You are,” he whispered, kissing you through your gasps of pleasure. “And you couldn’t be more beautiful.”

He stayed there, still inside you, while the knot pulsed slowly, marking every beat of his bond with you. His forehead rested on your shoulder, and he kissed your collarbone with adoration. No rush. No distance. Just the two of you, entwined in a silence that said everything.

Then, when his breath steadied and the knot slowly loosened, he stroked the inside of your thigh gently, almost worshipfully. He looked at you, pupils still dilated, and whispered in a soft voice:

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever touched.”

He smiled tiredly, eyes sweet but still burning.

“Now sleep, love. I’ll take care of you.”

And as he held you tight, you truly felt there was nothing to fear. He was there. With you. For you. And, for the first time, completely yours.

The morning light filtered through the poorly drawn curtains, and it was the gentle tickle of his nose against your neck that fully woke you up. Hee was curled up against your back, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist as if he truly feared you might disappear at any moment.

His deer ears trembled softly against the pillow, still sensitive and damp from that hybrid part that had exploded in intensity the night before. You could feel his warm, close breath. And when you slowly turned around, with a small smile on your still-tired lips, you found his eyes waiting for you.

Big, liquid eyes, with that shy Bambi-like reflection — but inside shone something more: adoration. And a little fear.

His cheeks immediately flushed red, as if the perfectionist Hee had returned — the one who remade the bed twice and blushed from a prolonged look. But you ruffled his hair gently, and he pouted adorably, shrugging.

“How are you?” he asked in a low voice, almost a whisper.

You giggled, still nestled under his arm. “I’m good... actually, great. It was wonderful to see you like that... lost. So yours. Feeling your knot inside me that... kept tightening more and more...”

The look you gave him made him almost moan from embarrassment, but also from the memory that phrase had awakened in his senses.

Hee held you tighter, if possible, and sighed. “Maybe the administration was right to pair us for the dorm.”

You turned, eyes half-closed and one eyebrow raised. “Really? Because, excuse me, you hated me at first.”

He lowered his gaze, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “You were cheeky. Curious. Always in the middle of my things...”

“But?”

“But now...” He bit his lip, his ears trembling again. “...deep down, I love you.”

You were momentarily speechless, then poked him with a finger on his bare chest. “Hey, are you serious?”

“Yes.” Hee’s voice was more confident, deeper. He was letting go of the more courageous part of himself. “And you? Do you feel something for me, or were you just curious to... test a hybrid?”

“Ah!” you burst out laughing. “That time I went out with that guy? It was just to make you jealous. It worked. But then... little by little, I fell in love with you. With your pout. Your trembling ears. How you blushed if someone said something dirty to you...”

He laughed softly, ran a hand through his messy hair, and teased you: “So you’re a manipulator. A good girl with the soul of a sentimental criminal.”

“Maybe.” You leaned in and kissed him at the base of his neck, where the night before you had left more than one mark. “But now I’m your manipulator, right?”

Hee sniffed the air near you, with that hybrid instinct he still couldn’t fully control. He looked at you with slow, glossy eyes, his voice lower, rougher, almost primal:

“It’s nice... to feel my scent on your body.”

The way he said it, with animal innocence but a possessive tone, made you squeeze your thighs a little from the shiver that ran down your spine.

You smiled. “And you... you’re so sweet when you become wild. You can’t hide anymore, Hee. You’re mine.”

He blushed again, but instead of answering, he slid slowly on top of you, his fingers already curious on your side. But that... was another story. Or maybe, another morning.

OMG, I hope you like it :) Only Ni-Ki and Sunoo are left to complete this series of Enhypen as hybrids!! I don’t know when I’ll have time for the others because I’ll have university exams, so I won’t have much time to post two one-shots a week :(

Enhypen hybird series!

taglist: @ourshin @7789995323567322 @tunafishyfishylike @kkamismom12 @stwrlightt @hearts4cheol @lovenha7 @in-somnias-world @heeseungxo @luvyeni @jayjw16enxp @jvngwni @jooniesbears-blog @gguk-n @cloudykim @enhaverse713586 @stormy1408 @jakesw82 @misssparklyprincess @bamguetismee @jaylajakey @arclviie @strxwbloody @steddie-steddie @jungwoosbaey @laurenmia65 @tasnemluvs @lovellydisaster @simj4k3 @numnommz @sspidermanss @vixialuvs @smlbch @xylatox @ikeulove @nishikio soulreaper05-blog

#enhypen x reader #enha x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen fanfic #enhypen drabbles #heeseung x reader #heeseung imagines #lee heeseung #lee heesung smut #lee heesung x reader #lee heeseung imagines #enhypen heeseung #enhypen smut #enhypen hyung line #enhypen hard hours #enhypen headcanons

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whorelaud · 4 months ago

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WRONG NUMBER, LOSER – rafe cameron (1)

a rafe cameron mini smau series

summary Rafe gets tangled in a complex love-hate relationship when shooting his shot at a party, merely for him to end up with the wrong number instead, leading to a new beginning, or so he assumed, unaware of who really was behind the screen; his next door neighbor, whom he'd define his sworn enemy. contains neighbor!reader, enemies (?) to lovers, wrong number trope, mostly texts, sexual jokes, shameless flirting, loser!rafe, lots of tension, attempt at humor

NAVIGATION. main masterlist; 01 ¡ 02

Unknown Number: Hello there, I don't know if you remember but I asked for your number earlier

Unknown Number: I know I’m moving rather fast, but I couldn't help myself you’re too pretty ;)

Unknown Number: I was wondering if I could take you out to dinner. Only if you're down of course ❤️

You: im sorry who?

You: oh that red heart you must rlly like her

Unknown Number: What? What do you mean?

Unknown Number: Is this not Brian?

You: this aint no brian

You: no way did brian turn you down

You: Wowwww very low of her im so sorry king

Unknown Number: You don't know that

Unknown Number: She probably mistyped one of the digits by accident

You: Dawgggg ☠️☠️

You: no way you believe that

You: she told you her name was brian what did you expect

Unknown Number: Hey what’s wrong with that

Unknown Number: My dad’s name is Brian

You: woahhh :o

You: is it actually

Unknown Number: No I made that up

You: Haha Very Funny.

Unknown Number: This sucks

Unknown Number: Why am I even talking to you

Unknown Number: I thought what we had was real wow I’m offended

Unknown Number: Who would even think of rejecting me

You: smb get this guy’s phone before i beat his ass ☠️☠️

Unknown Number: Bruh

Unknown Number: I’m already going through enough can’t you at least be nice

You: the audacity of you to say that after disturbing MY peace

You: you got the wrong number loser

You: i'm no brian, i think ive made that clear. im sorry some girl rejected you, im sure she had her reasons, as ive seen enough!!! but yeah, i think now’s a good time to delete my number and never contact me again 👍

Unknown Number: This is my cellular device

Unknown Number: I’ll do what I want

You: … ermmm 😅

You: is this your way of hinting you still wanna talk to me?

Unknown Number: Maybe

You: damn

You: youre one clingy bitch

You: I see Why Sh e rejected You.

Unknown Number: She didn't reject me.

You: And I didn't fail my calculus exam.

Unknown Number: What? That doesn't even make sense

You: wah wah cry me a river

You: youre really annoying has anyone ever told you that

Unknown Number: Plenty actually

You: love a self aware king

Unknown Number: Why do you keep assuming im a man

You: no woman texts like you

Unknown Number: Is that supposed to hurt my feelings

You: take it as you will

Unknown Number: Ah man

Unknown Number: What should I refer to you as

You: that shouldn't be any of your concerns???

You: who said im contacting you after this.

Unknown Number: Me.

You: nah fuck that im blocking you

You: dealing with a lousy bitch of a neighbor has alr done numbers on me i do not want to associate with you in any way or form.

Unknown Number: WHAT DONT BLOCK ME

Unknown Number: I am in no way or form associated with your lousy bitch of a neighbor. Do not block me please.

You: How do you Know That.

You: You Seem Just as Annoying as Him.

Unknown Number: I just noticed

Unknown Number: Are you mocking me?

You: ?? why would you Assume That

Unknown Number: You are

Unknown Number: See you did it just now

You: Nahhhh this fool is crazy We Assuming things Now?

Unknown Number: Bruh

Unknown Number: You’re so mean

You: glad you noticed that

Unknown Number: im into it

You: what

You: pardon me

You: am i seeing things

Unknown Number: Definitely

You: bye

You: im done

You: i no longer want to be apart of this conversation

Unknown Number: Ugh

You: ugh??? UGH???????

Unknown Number: Whatever 🙄 can you just tell me your name at least?

You: no

Unknown Number: Why

You: im not telling a random stranger online what my name is

Unknown Number: That’s just not a good reason

Unknown Number: Fine I’ll come up with something to call you then

You: uhh??? i never agreed to any of this

Unknown Number: Sugar is cute

You: what the fuck

You: that is diabolical (get it cause its sugar) don't you dare fucking call me that

Unknown Number: Sugar it is then

You: stop

You: STOP.

You: NO

You: how did that even come to mind

Unknown Number: Cause you’re as sweet as sugar, baby ;)

You: youre doing this on purpose aren't you

You: including you in my suicide note

Unknown Number: Have fun doing that

Unknown Number: You don't even know my name sugar

You: Dtop It.

You: It feels like You're flirtinf With Me.

You: I Do Not like That.

Unknown Number: Deal with it.

You: no

You: is this you admitting you're head over heels in love with me

Unknown Number: Definitely

You: im leaving

Unknown Number: Joking hahah haba Ha ha

You: i actually have to leave

You: i own a needy cat who demands my attention

Unknown Number: Oh okay

Unknown Number: Have fun with your cat

You: thanks boo

You: it was (not) fun chatting with you i guess…

Unknown Number: It was a pleasure chatting with you sugar

Unknown Number: I look forward to more in the future

You: die

You: it feels like youre mocking me.

Unknown Number: I am not you.

You: hey whats wrong w me…

Unknown Number hearted your message!

a/n hi!!! hehehe lmk what u think this was so much fun 2 write! dk if im making a taglist or not but we'll see, this is chapter one for now :p i also wanna make a masterlist but idk GRRAHH well see

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron smut #drew starkey #rafe cameron smau #obx social media au #rafe cameron fic #rafe smau #rafe cameron social media au #rafe obx #outer banks

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ninguitar · 1 month ago

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　　　꣑ৎ　　　　𝓛OVE YOU ANYWAY　♱.　MM.B 　　　────　i'll keep your picture upon the wall 𓈒𓈒𓈒

🦇　( 𝓢 ) ﹕ 　word flew by through your school almost immediately that it girl manon bannerman—also your reclaimed public number one enemy—was publicly cheated on, making her world take a nosedive. using her popularity as leverage, she ropes you into a fake relationship to avoid any more public humiliation. at least, just for a few weeks. originally. who knew manon was in love with you and your sharp tongue?

𝓹airing. popular girl!meret manon bannerman x hockey player!reader　genre. ⓘ. fluff. rich kids au. fake dating trope. skinship ✦ 7547wc 　　notes 📼 ! 　 inspo. tatbilb series & the oc. hello… i finally locked in enough for this fic💔💔 if this is butt sorry love u guys (MASTERLIST)

now playing ⋆ i'm not in love by 10cc / crush by ethel cain / sugar! honey! love! by kali uchis / super rich kids by frank ocean / p.u.n.k. girl by heavenly / somethin' stupid by frank sinatra

THE RULES WERE AS SIMPLE AS THEY COULD BE to sell the lie and to make it convincing enough. no kissing (unless needed), no snitching on one-another, inside jokes, learning the little details that real couples would know of each other—all that stuff. most importantly, you have to attend all her parties and gala events, and she has to attend all your games.

"so, deal or no deal, yn?" manon barely glances up at you, tilting her head to the side. she watches you with a bored expression, sighing dramatically to taunt you, "time's ticking."

in the last two years of attending the same academy never has manon ever willingly talked to you, or spared you a glance in any way; it was the rare occasions where you two were grouped together for a class work assignment. and even then, she barely acknowledged you, merely passing snide remarks about you to her friends in the hallways. you had your world, and she had hers.

she didn't belong in your world for a myriad of reasons. hers consisted of oceans of bodies, with girls in bikinis, guys in linen, plaid shirts; everyone sun-kissed and high off of god-knows-what; rich-kids wrapped in luxury, diamonds, and joy rides in daddy's jaguar; and bodies bruised by designer clothing. bad decisions and ivy leagues were what her world revolves around, but that was just the life she was born into—super rich kids with nothing but loose ends. always the life of the party, always taking a new guy or girl home.

you shoot her a glare, finding it frustrating how overly-casual she was, especially when this new arrangement meant having to see each other daily for the next few weeks.

the same girl who, while at your first party, recorded and posted you vomiting your guts out from the spiked booze on one of the biggest school gossip accounts, wanted you to be her fake girlfriend? and all because she wanted to recover from being publicly humiliated, in her words.

you cross your arms and set your jaw, eyes narrowing, as you slightly grimace at picturing all the ways you'd waste your time with manon as her fake girlfriend. "what would i even get from this?" you eye her down, indignation rushing to the surface.

"you would be seen with me, and we both know how much that would help you," she mutters, almost like it was the most obvious thing in the world. you thought her arrogance was beyond insane, especially when she was the one who had to corner you to get you to talk to her.

"no," you mutter, crossing your arms against your chest.

"excuse me?"

"i'm not being your fake girlfriend."

manon's jaw clenches slightly, an incredulous expression washing over her features, "seriously? you're rejecting me?" she scoffs, shaking her head.

"you should be honored i was even asking you—not everybody gets to be my arm candy." she barely spares you a glance, as she adjusts her diamond bracelet.

and it wasn't like she was wrong necessarily; walking into a room with manon bannerman on your arm alone earns whispers, envy, and definitely more than a few stares.

you roll your eyes, collecting your books from the benches you two sat on, before her hand brushes over your wrist, preventing you from getting up. she quickly mutters out, "please, you're the only person who i wouldn't be so-disgusted to be seen with." and truth be told, manon was serious; she had her friends search for anybody who she could date that would piss her ex off.

"i need to find someone who pisses my ex off asap," manon declared, as she laid down on the lawn chair, sunglasses crooked on her face. she exhaled towards the sky, placing the glass of lemonade onto the table.

"if that helps you move on from him, sure," lara joked, leaning back in her lawn chair. she sighed, her gaze flickering to manon's face for a fleeting moment, "oh shit, you're serious about this?"

"i am not letting myself be played by that asshole," manon groaned out, rubbing her temple.

the smile on lara's face faltered due to disbelief, "don't you think that's too much? i mean, maybe your break up was a sign to take a break off dating. you can't really be with someone until you can be by yourself."

"i can be by myself if i wanted to," manon argued, rolling her eyes, "i just can't be humiliated by a man like that."

"so what, you already have somebody in mind? and don't tell me it's one of the guys on the basketball team."

"ew, no!" the ghanaian girl grimaced, "none of them are even tolerable, not even a little bit. way to ruin my mood, lara. plus, it has to be a girl."

a cunning smile tugged the corners of lara's face, "you could try the girl's hockey team. i know the captain."

dumbfounded, manon muttered, "we have a hockey team?" she lifted the prada sunglasses onto the top of her head, looking to her side. "hockey, really?" the ghanaian girl mumbled under her breath.

"give it a chance, some of them are cute," lara shrugged, "keyword though, some. a lot of them are uptight."

manon groaned, "only because it's my last resort." she grabbed her phone from the coffee table, swiping through the girls hockey team's instagram. her perfectly manicured fingers trailed through, her teeth gritted, "what about player 4?"

the indian girl glared at manon, her eyebrows furrowing slightly, as she peeked over at the latter's phone, "that's the girl you recorded vomiting," she mumbled through her teeth. lara tapped the tagged user, scrolling through your posts, the tapping of her nails audible. "i doubt she would forget that."

"oh, i will make sure she forgets it."

"fine."

manon's eyes practically bulge out of her eye sockets, "really?"

you huff out a bit of air, "yes, really. just don't expect me to go all out for your black-tie events." she gives you a pointed look, and you glare at her back, making her sigh.

"cool, works for me." manon watches you collect your books from the bench, strutting away from her. and oddly enough, she watches your figure become farther and farther away, her gaze fixated on you.

lararaj: girl that was quick

manonbannerman: i'm js a girl who knows what she wants and gets it.

meganskiendiel: shes kinda cute tbh

manonbannerman: whatever. u can have her when im done w her.

lararaj: jealous much

"you so owe me for this, bannerman."

tonight was your debut—well, your debut as manon bannerman's girlfriend.

manon sends you a glare, as she quickly file her nails down, her reflection scrutinized under the flickering lights of the limo. "oh, please," she drawls, rolling her eyes, "you clean up better than i thought you would."

you scoff, straightening your tie, "how sweet." you flash a faux, exaggerated smile at the ghanaian girl, before it falters quickly at the sight of the grand ballroom. "jesus christ," you mumble under your breath.

the moment you stepped into it, the air shifts; chandeliers glow above the crowd of only california's most elite, their conversations growing quieter, as they take in the sight of manon bannerman… and you?

you hoped for this to simple, for you to just smile, hold her close to you, and to charm the rest of her friends to stay in their good graces. and you thought it could go your way, but it doesn't—not when manon's arms slip around your neck almost perfectly, locking her eyes with yours. a gentle yet faux smile tugs the corners of her lips during the first waltz, and she leans in, her lips brushing against your ear.

"i didn't think you'd suck this badly at the waltz," she teases, a tinge of affection laced in her tone. and really, in the back of her mind—far, far back—she wanted to tell you that you looked good tonight.

and luckily for manon, you don't notice the way her touch lingers slightly more than it should, the way her gaze is almost always drawn to your lips unconsciously, or the way her hand settles on the back of your neck, more naturally than it should.

this was just a game, she thought—a ploy to make her ex pissed off.

she was effortlessly graceful with the way she laughs at your horrible dad-jokes, her head tilting, and making sure every eye was on you two. only for a fleeting moment does manon remember her ex, noticing the way he watched from across the room, jaw clenched, and drinking swirling in his hand.

"go fetch me a drink, yeah?" she murmurs, her lips mere inches away from yours, and you reluctantly oblige, finding your way to the mini-bar. her gaze lingers on you a little too long, watching you try to avoid the questions from other guests bombarded in your face.

ordering two glasses of club soda, you tap your foot against the ground, leaning against the counter. you try to suppress a groan when you immediately spot lara skipping over, a grin on her face.

"you and manon."

lara's voice breaks through the loud, blaring chatter of the crowd, your head snapping towards her. you raise your eyebrow, as she repeats with a cheeky raise of her brows.

"lara." you mutter, knowing how much snarky remarks would fall from her lips, despite her being the most cordial with you out of manon's clique. tilting your head, you ask flatly, "what about manon and i?"

"dating, right?" she asks playfully.

your face grimaces slightly at the mention, and 'no, ew' parts your lips before you suddenly remember that you two were technically dating. a sigh falls from your lips shortly at her words, as you nod, clutching the two glasses of club soda in your hands tightly.

"yes," you mutter through your lips tightly, "we are dating."

"well, you don't seem so happy you two are," the dark-headed girl quips, a chuckle escaping her breath. she raises a brow, watching you tense slightly.

"i was just joking. lighten up." she playfully shoves past you, walking to the restroom.

you roll your eyes before walking away, finding your way back to manon like a puppy on a leash. you smile a bit as you approach the girl, handing her glass to her. and god does your smile make the ghanaian girl's heart pick up slightly. get a fucking grip.

she sets the glasses down onto a nearby table, grinning widely, and musing, "you sure took a while. hope you didn't hook up with someone in the mean time." her arm slips around your neck, while her other hand intertwines with yours.

you shoot manon a mocking look, as you raise your brows, "what, you jealous?"

"ew! no, you wish, freak."

"come on, not even a little?" your hand pokes her side to emphasize your words.

"god, i really did choose the wrong person to be in a fake relationship with," she glares at you, her lips pressed into a thin line. letting out an exasperated groan, she pinches your side playfully.

"shut up," you snap, unable to stop the look of irritation on your face, "and for the record, i only agreed because i felt bad for you."

her voice takes on a teasing tone, "really?" her eyes narrow, a grin forming on her lips. "so am i hearing that you like me?" she drawls, leaning lazily against you.

you blink at her, caught off guard, "no way, bannerman."

"whatever you say then," a faint smirk ghosts manon's lips, "just don't fall in love with me now, yn." her hand curls around the back of your neck, while the other slightly tugs on your collar, as if to challenge you.

"as if."

hongseunghan: when tf was yn dating manon hongseunghan: im so lost?

zhouxinyu: WDYM YN TAPPED A BAD BITCH BEFORE ME

ln-yn: how do u guys even know wtf

choijisung: girl vids and pics of u w manon r all around the skls ig ???

hongseunghan: i didnt even know ur type was snobby rich kids dude

zhouxinyu: i thought wbk that… her fav character from gossip girl was blair 💔💔

ln-yn: ur so funny xinyu. watch ur back at 11:59 pm july 9th 2025.

choijisung: didnt manon film u vomiting freshman year LOL major aura loss there

zhouxinyu: that was her?? and ur still dating manon yn??

ln-yn: shes changed. i promise. ln-yn: i wouldnt have dated her if she didnt

hongseunghan: dickriding this hard 😭

"you know that kid, sunghoon, in our calc class," xinyu whistles, "crashed his jaguar." her gaze narrows, as she glares at the crowd surrounding the former. she rolls her eyes, whispering incoherent curses under her breath.

you snort, "daddy's jaguar, wasn't it?"

a chuckle falls shortly from seunghan's lips, as he hums in agreement, "he went to court to have the judge give him access to the jaguar early."

"you could do that?" you ask, shoving your books into your own locker. then you mutter, "god, i'd kill for that life."

xinyu shrugs before groaning against her locker, "yeah, but then you'd have to surround yourself with them, and become friends with them. that leaves me with nobody to mock," she dramatically groans.

you scoff, slowly drowning out xinyu's and seunghan's voices, as your eyes follow the movement of a certain dark-headed girl near sunghoon: manon. you bite down hard on your lower lip, trying to focus on your friends' conversation.

though, seunghan notices, shoving you with his elbow, which only earns a groan from you. "manon's cool 'n all, but i'd avoid getting sucked into that." he shrugs.

you roll your eyes, shoving the korean boy back, "sucked into what?"

"into… well, all that," xinyu teases, moving her head towards manon's direction.

before you could protest, the bell chimes throughout the hallway, and the two of them giggle, patting your shoulder, and waving good-bye. you huff, watching them leave, as you stuff everything into your locker. while they had class, you had a free period today.

bang! manon's hand hits the metal of your locker harshly, somewhat caging you in, with her other arm folded against her chest. you slightly shudder, your gaze darting to the other girl. your eyes slightly narrow in frustration.

"you couldn't have been normal and said hi?" you retort, heat slightly spreading to your cheeks. you nudge her shoulder playfully, swinging your backpack over your shoulder. she scoffs, and you roll your eyes, your own eyes betraying you, as they unconsciously trace over the ghanaian girl's features filtered in the sunlight from the windows.

she ignores your quip, "you didn't tell me you had a game tonight." a faux sense of annoyance washes over her features, her lips pressed into a thin line.

"i didn't know you wanted to go to my games in the first place," you tease, a half-smile curbing your lips. you lean against your locker, unconsciously leaning in closer towards manon.

shooting you a lethal glare, she shakes her head, muttering tightly through her lips, "it's just a part of our deal."

you sigh, giving her the same glance she gave you, "so you are coming?"

manon sucks in her teeth dramatically, "unfortunately i am. and you better win." her voice rings through your ear, and she shoots you a swift wink. you whistle playfully before she shoves past you playfully—thankfully, not too harsh. you smile just a bit at the gesture, and something in your heart flutters.

you exhale a soft response, as she turns to the corner, clearly not meant to be this late to class, "yeah." leaning against the wall, waiting for your free period to end, a strangled sigh falls shortly from your lips. you close your eyes, and a curse escapes from under your breath. get it together.

you swear up and down this isn't you, and that you were truly just mixing up bitter resentment for affection. heart fluttering more than usual, palms sweaty, hands rubbing nervously over your knees—you were too far lost.

the fact that a girl had made you feel this way was juvenile, considering it was manon bannerman—the most infuriating girl to ever face earth. getting into a fake relationship with her was, by far, the worst idea you ever engaged in.

the ice-glassed rink was alight with the excitement from the current game—almost every seat filled to the brink; you would have never expected packed bleachers for girl's hockey. clapping hands accompanied by roars of cheers were only a few out of many sounds that registered in your ears.

and manon, as expected, was in the crowd. your gaze lands on the ghanaian girl, eyes slightly widening. her arms were crossed, blank expression, and eyes narrowed, as if she was calculating your every move. you notice the way her jaw clenches when the opponent team gets a goal. the sound of hockey sticks scraping against the ice makes manon cringe, her eyes crinkling at the sight of you barely dodging the goalie. she watches the enemy team slam into the glass, causing a shake in the bleachers, the sound loud and jarring.

then your head tilts, and you see her friends, too. cool, cool, cool, cool, your fake girlfriend and her friends are watching you intensely, probably waiting for you to mess up any second now. though, corner of manon's mouth twitches enough to feel like a secret, like something meant only for you.

manon's and her friend's conversation is cut short by the last goal of the night from your team, as the score changes, from 1-2 to 1-3. the last swift shot solidifies your team's win, and cheers erupt. while your team finished celebrating, you made your way to manon, helmet still loosely fitted on your head.

"you came."

"it was a part of our deal," manon reiterates, her perfectly manicured hands tugging on your helmet. "and you won," she murmurs tightly through her lips. you unconsciously lean against the ghanaian girl, a sleazy, ear-to-ear grin tugging your lips.

you chuckle, your eyes twinkling with amusement, "you said i better win."

she inhales sharply, shoving you lightly, before lifting your helmet off, "because it would be embarrassing for me to date a loser." the other girl tilts her head to the right, eyes narrowing, and you'd think that she was plotting your murder—but no, her hand gently cups your face, her thumb swiping over your cheek, and 'wiping' some dirt off your face.

"what?" manon feigns innocence, and that wide grin on her face only sparks something unwelcoming in your chest. her arms rest on your shoulders, and you try to ignore the warmth of her body, but the feeling lingers. you tell yourself that this was all for show, that neither meret manon bannerman nor you actually enjoyed this arrangement.

"nothing," you brush it off, and you push your feelings down. you weren't going to let a girl as materialistic and demanding as manon to make you feel this way. but then you watch her laugh, carefree and strangely vulnerable; it catches you off guard, because it was real. too real that your gaze softens, and that you have to attempt to suppress the smile that nonetheless ghosts your lips.

she shoots you a glare before relenting, "you still taking me on that date?" her hands fully wrap themselves around your neck now, while yours instinctively rest on her waist.

you raise a brow, huffing with mock irritation, "date? who said anything about one?"

"when i found out your teammates were gonna be hosting a party for your guys' win. tomorrow night, pick me up at seven sharp."

lararaj: manon caught in 4k all over her new gf😭 lararaj: attachment: 1 image

manonbannerman: funny. manonbannerman: she js won a game, that's it.

meganskiendiel: so u decide to bombard that poor girl??

manonbannerman: she should be grateful that i'm even giving her attention

zhouxinyu: yn after fumbling a bad bitch who, MIND YOU, came to her game wearing the team colors

ln-yn: why am i always catching strays now??? i did NOT fumble her wtf

hongseunghan: the videos say smth different 😂😂

ln-yn: ur catching this fade at 12am dont play w me ln-yn: u too jisung.

choijisung: I DIDNT EVEN SAY ANYTHING??

you thought you absolutely hated how demanding she was—so why were you outside her house, in your father's pristine lexus, half an hour early—with a bouquet of flowers clutched in your arms, too?

ln-yn: im here wya

and you were already a fool, for thinking that manon didn't have her clique over at her house, helping her get ready, and apparently 'sending her off,' in their words. you lean against the passenger side of the car, hands now tucked in your pockets. the golden streaks of the setting sun highlights the faint awkward smile on your face, as you shift around.

while you waited, manon and her clique were sprawled out in manon's walk-in closet, grabbing hangers after hangers. the ghanaian girl sat down on the ottoman, as lara and megan went through the options for an outfit.

"you don't have to try this hard to impress her," megan says without looking away from the piles of clothes laid out on manon's bed. "i'm sure she wouldn't mind just a plain top."

lara interjects, "except manz' practically in love with yn." she moves towards manon from her spot, nudging the other girl with her elbow. manon sends a glare in the indian girl's direction, as she exhales, dropping her head into her lap.

"not—i am not in love with yn, and i never will be," she asserts, making sure to enunciate her words, as she watches the two other girls throw dresses into the maybe pile.

"i could've sworn you fell asleep on call with her," the chinese girl chimes in, holding up a sequined top. "what made you buy this?" her face contorts into a grimace, dropping the top into the no pile.

"you fell asleep on call with yn, and you didn't bother to tell me?" lara gasps as if scandalized. she begins to croon, tilting her head in the ghanaian girl's direction, "you've got it bad, manon."

manon rubs her temples, scoffing, "she- we just needed to talk about the technicalities for this arrangement, and somewhere in between, she just kept talking on and on about the upcoming superman movie." she sighs dramatically, acting as if she wasn't the same one who tried everything in her power to keep her eyes open that night—as if she wasn't the one who pretended to not care about the movie.

the two other girls roll their eyes, giving the ghanaian girl a knowing look. though, they continue to pull out clothes from her closet, while manon begrudgingly tries on each clothing piece she was given. the moment she settles on a black, v-line halter top, both megan and lara fall silent.

lara and megan interject:

"that is definitely the one."

"she won't know what hit her!"

manon rolls her eyes, laughter bubbling in her chest, as she checks her phone, noticing the notifications sent from you. "she's here," she mutters, as she hastily 'fixes' herself, looking at herself through the mirror.

ln-yn: bro wya dont stand me up rn💔

manonbannerman: ive told you to stop calling me bro before manonbannerman: ill let u in rq im not done getting ready yet

the moment the girls open the front door, your breath catches at the sight of manon leaning against the wall. with a playful shove from megan, manon slightly stumbles, walking towards you. you wave briefly at the two other girls before straightening and meeting the ghanaian girl's gaze.

instead of a greeting, however, she mutters, "you don't look half as bad as what i expected." and you raise your eyebrows, an incredulous look washing over your features. before she continues, her gaze settles on the bouquet of flowers clutched in your arms, and a smile appears on her face,

"turns out you aren't just a stupid jock," she teases, but there's no bite behind her words, like there should be.

you roll your eyes, letting manon take the bouquet into her hands, and her unoccupied hand curls around your wrist, before you accept her hand—your hand interlocked with hers. her friends briefly say bye to manon, whispering something to her, which causes a grimace on the ghanaian girl's face. you wave at them too, watching them leave the driveway, only for them to circle back, and shout:

"she thinks slow dancing is cheesy but likes it anyway!"

the scorching heat practically eats you up limb by limb, as you lean against the the edge of the ghanaian girl's bed, checking your watch every few seconds. for somebody as well-off as manon, you expected that her air conditioner wasn't busted in the middle of a heatwave. you watch her come in and out of the bathroom attached to the room, each time complaining about something you could barely notice a change in.

she finally seems pleased with herself, as she leans over the mirror, touching up on her make-up, and spritzing her neck and wrists with perfume. "are you just gonna stand there and stare?" manon scoffs, giving you a twirl.

you mutter a curse under your breath inaudibly. as you walk towards manon, leaning against the dresser, you swear there's the faintest smirk on her face.

you quickly shove down the spiral threatening to start, and in response, you roll your eyes, crossing your arms against your chest, "you didn't even let me get a word out when i arrived. what do you expect? you spent all this time getting ready!" you look at her with faux disdain, but she reads right through you, grinning.

"well i'm sorry that i need to make sure i look good for this party," she nudges you, grabbing her purse from her bed, "and you will be introducing me to your friends."

"you are, by far, the most high-maintenance person i've ever met," you retaliate, grabbing your car keys from your pocket.

"you like it."

the sun was high in the sky, casting streaks over the bodies of people, and the sounds of waves crashing is disrupted by the blaring music from inside the beach house. you saunter in, your hand hooked with manon's.

the ghanaian girl could practically feel the worry emanating off of you, a grin on her lips. she turns around to face you, hands curling around your wrists to tuck them around her waist. "you haven't even told me how good i look tonight," she coaxes, looking up at you through her heavy-lidded eyes.

you swallow, and your chest tightens. "the top really suits you."

she's barely able to hold back a giggle, a wide smile replacing that previous stupid, stupid grin, and she nudges your shoulder. "that's all? you could do better, couldn't you?" the ghanaian girl lets her manicured nails trail down your arm.

"now you just want attention," you retort, and you watch her lips annoyingly curl,

"as if i didn't want it before."

the opening notes of somethin' stupid by frank sinatra fill the beach house. around you, couples swaying against each-other, and for a brief second, you hesitate.

but then, the ghanaian girl's hands find your waist, gentle and sure, pulling you in just enough for your lips to be mere inches away. your arms snake around her shoulder like second nature, fingertips brushing against the nape of her neck.

you swallow hard, trying to let yourself sink into this moment.

"do you want me to actually show you how to do this—so you don't hurt yourself and possibly others?" manon whispers against your ear, letting out a soft chuckle, as she watches you struggle to keep up with her footwork.

you nod, "good call."

she pulls you in closer, one hand intertwined with yours, the other resting on your side. you suck in a breath from her touch, trying to blink away the sudden warmth spreading at your chest. you shouldn't be doing this, not here, and certainly not with manon.

you try to ignore everything, focusing on the ghanaian girl's steps to distract yourself from the way your pulse betrays you. her lips curl into a smile, her eyes watching your eyebrows crease together as you try to immerse yourself. your gaze wander back to her face, and you notice something undeniably fond washing across her face.

your heartbeat goes haywire, and you pray that the other girl doesn't feel the way it practically pounds out your chest.

a second passes. then another.

you clear your throat, "you look crazy beautiful tonight—not that you always don't."

"i know," manon muses, humming in agreement. you snort, shoving her shoulder playfully. she rolls her eyes, but her grin doesn't waver—it only becomes wider. she lets her hands trail lazily over your torso, "i wanted to match you."

you halt your movements, brow raising, and heartbeat picking up rapidly. "you did?"

"it's our first party together, excluding the galas," she nods, leaning in just a little, breath warm against your ear. "and besides, i couldn't let a loser like you out-dress me." you wanted to believe she was serious, that there was actual venom laced in her tone, but there isn't—instead something akin to affection is there, and your knees almost go weak.

fortunately for you, though, frank sinatra stops playing, and it transitions back into electronic-dance music.

and instead of staying glued to one-another, manon had flitted away from your side the first moment she got, disappearing into the throng of the rich and wealthy. so now here you were, stuck getting high-fives from your teammates for 'scoring' a girl as gorgeous as manon. each time, your lips part in an attempt to mutter out 'she's not my girlfriend,' only to push down that thought.

the odor of beer and lavish cologne waffle through the beach house, as you walk through the crowd, trying not to trip over the students drinking on any possible surface. though, you give up the moment you see the ghanaian girl up against the wall, red solo-cup in her hand, as she watched her friends' hollow-headed boyfriends play beer pong.

you sigh, teeth biting the rim of your cup. "you're prancing around with your new girlfriend now?" you turn your head to the side, and you're met by xinyu. you roll your eyes, and you shove the chinese girl.

"i'm just saying! i've never seen you… this invested in someone like manon," she argues with a whine, rubbing her shoulder dramatically. you glance at her with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "hell, you even introduced her to seunghan. you never even introduced your last girlfriend to him."

you snicker softly, straightening your back, "she's just different, that's all." you cross your arms against your chest, hoping that your friend would just drop the topic altogether. xinyu shrugs, sighing, before leaning against you.

you sip your drink to push the bitter words down, "she just knows what she wants, and gets it." you pause before continuing, "and you know, there's really no one else's opinion i care more about than hers." there's sincerity laced in your tone, your ears slightly burning at your own admission.

the chinese girl beside you scoffs, and a chuckle slips past her lips. "whatever you say," she whistles, her hand reaching to your collar to flatten it. "you couldn't have at least fixed your collar for this so-called date with her?" she teases.

"fair enough," you relent, and you let your gaze slip to manon, the corners of her lips tugged into an ear-to-ear smile, with her eyes crinkled into crescents. though, you tear your gaze off of the ghanaian girl, now facing xinyu completely.

"if she's changed, then she's changed," the chinese girl mutters, and then she sighs, "maybe you're right. just be careful. promise me that you won't let her step all over you." you roll your eyes, but your pinky-finger still intertwines itself with xinyu's, pinky-promising her.

amidst the crowd though stood a jaw-clenched, eyes-narrowed manon sending glares to the back of your head. she tries and tries to distract herself from the image of you and another girl, but her gaze almost always wanders back to you. she swirls her drink in her hand miserably, watching her friends and their boyfriends play pool horrendously.

she couldn't hear what either you or xinyu were saying over the blaring music, but she curses herself for noticing the genuine smile on your lips and the laugh the chinese girl elicits from you. she shouldn't feel this way—not when she thought you were a nuisance to her life, something to keep her reputation at bay.

every time she talked to you, she felt a sense of annoyance radiating off of herself, yet she found herself tolerating you. everything you did was harmless payback—the snide remarks you made, to the relentless flirting, meant to keep manon on her toes. you drove her utterly insane—yet sometimes, she notices the way the warmth in her chest spreads just a little whenever you try to get on her nerves.

she shouldn't feel like this. this shouldn't feel real.

"what's got your panties in a bunch, manon?" one of her friends tease, and then another whines, "help us finish these shots, won't you?"

"it's just one shot! what damage could that do?" another grins, clicking their glass against her drink cup. she rolls her eyes, and her grip on the cup becomes overbearing. she crushes the plastic cup, her drink spilling onto the ground.

manon shakes her head, muttering through gritted teeth "maybe next time." she turns her heel, and makes way upstairs, which was certainly off-limits to party guests, but she nonetheless enters.

you're still leaned against the wall, nodding your head at whatever xinyu was rambling on about, only for her to interrupt herself and jerk her head. "your girlfriend's headin' up, you should check on her." you whip your head in her direction, eyes narrowing, as you trace manon's figure through the dim lighting; the ghanaian girl's lips were pressed into a thin line, her eyebrows etched together.

"definitely," you mutter, waving the chinese girl good-bye hurriedly, and immediately rushing through the crowd. you barely manage to dodge a stray elbow in the sea of bodies. you finally catch up to manon on the second floor, in some vacant throwaway room's balcony. her back was turned against the door, and you pause in your movements.

then, you speak up, "glad i found where the rejects were." you lean against the door, and it wasn't difficult for manon to deduce it was you. a slight pout juts her lips, as she turns her head in your direction. she doesn't expect you to apologize for your words, but you do anyway, a quiet 'sorry' escaping from your lips.

"what's up with you tonight?" you murmur, as you slowly walk towards the other girl who settled on leaning against the balcony's railing. "not that you aren't always moody, but you're literally brooding right now." her gaze flickers to meet yours, her eyes slightly hooded and narrow, before you playfully raise your hands to gesture surrender.

"i'm just saying. you seemed happy earlier to be here, like when you were teaching me how to waltz." you explain.

she doesn't muster up the strength to say anything, barely sparing you a glance. your hand instinctively reaches for hers, and it felt like muscle memory, holding her hand whenever you two were in public, to pretend to be the perfect couple—except this time, you held her hand like you meant it. your thumb brushes over her knuckles repeatedly, and she tenses slightly.

silence.

you use the beat of silence to your advantage, completely fixating your gaze on her, and your eyes catch the way her shoulders were slump, the natural confidence she exuded now gone, and her jaw clenched. you sigh, staring out into dusk eating away at the light streaks that were previously in the sky, and the trees leaves rustling. you were about to give up on her, until she leans against your body unconsciously, lips quirked into a slight smile, before she quickly suppresses it.

"you know you can't ignore me forever, right? sooner or later, you have to talk to me. we both know you couldn't bear the pain of not talking to me." a gentle smile replaces the previous shit-eating grin on your lips. usually, that would elicit a playful shove and a venom-laced quip from manon, but tonight she only stills in her movements, refusing to answer.

she relents, though, and her hand that you were once drawing patterns on, reaches for your hand. your gaze darts to your guys' intertwined hands, and it was shameful how easy it was for the ghanaian girl to make heat tint your cheeks. her eyebrows flatten from a crease, and her nose scrunches.

you wished that it wasn't so easy for manon to make you break, to make you putty in her hands. the warmth in your chest spreads just a little, and you shift slightly. get a grip on yourself. you hated her stupidly perfect side-profile, the way her lips part just before she drags her nails down your hand.

your breath hitches, and she notices.

everything fades into the background; the world spins around you and manon. her gaze droops down to your lips for a fleeting moment. and then she realizes, you've always looked at her—waiting, watching, as if you needed the right time to come by. her hand rests on top of yours, wanting to reach for you even more. then it trails up to your shoulder, and she properly faces you now.

"why are you looking at me like that?" manon suddenly speaks up, voice quivering. you freeze, your gaze still on her lips. your fingers tug her closer almost instinctively. though, your hands were loose enough for her to slip away, but she doesn't. why won't she?

"like what?"

"like you tolerate me, like you actually like me." she answers.

"what, i can't find you tolerable all of the sudden?" you try to play it off, a faux grin on your lips, as you try to ease the tension.

"you know what i mean."

you want to bite back, to downplay it, but it was no use. it was futile, considering that the ghanaian girl could practically bend you to her every beck and call. you swallow, and you meet her gaze.

then your heart twists.

"so what if i do look at you like that?"

"don't say that," manon immediately cuts in, her voice barely a whisper. "you— we can't. this isn't real." she gestures the space between you two, eyebrows knitted together. her hands reach up to your chest, pushing you away. your fingers curl into fists. and you swallow, hard. you're unable to mutter anything out, hands now stuck at your side.

your face falls, and manon couldn't bring herself to look at you. but she continues, her words meant to sting—meant to intentionally hurt you, meant to force you to walk away. "this wasn't meant to escalate into anything real; this was an accident, yn." her voice trembles, and she tries to believe her own words; but everything is like a punch to the gut for the both of you.

her skin burns at your gaze, and her breathing gets heavy. you stare at her, lips pressed into a thin-line, and your lips part in an attempt to argue. you want to tell her it's not like that, at least for you, because up until now, everything felt real to you, the lines blurring. it was real, and it was sharp, and it was cruel—the way manon filled every hollow space in your heart.

"why?" you search her eyes, and finally do hers meet with yours. it was a look—fleeting and bruised.

the ghanaian girl's throat runs dry, and it gets harder to pretend. she knows, deep in her bones, that you're right. then one of her hands trail down to your waist, almost as if she was attempting to memorize every inch of you. you take it as a cue to speak.

"i didn't want to care about the girl who recorded me throwing up in freshman year. but i did—i do," you swallow, "and now, i'm here, in this fake relationship with you. and somewhere in between the playful fights and pretending to be actual girlfriends in front of people, i realized i wasn't faking it."

manon feels the guilt in her chest, like she was being squeezed from inside out. the thoughts in her head discombobulate, and she wants to tell you to stop talking, and to forget all about it.

she doesn't say anything, and your stomach twists into knots. her arm moves on its own, and it slings around your neck, her thumb lingering on your cheek for far too long.

"i'm in love with you," she finally whispers, and she exhales. the two of you fall quiet again. and her body moves autonomously, her hand twitching before tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

then, you lean in towards her, voice breathy, "can i?"

she doesn't respond immediately, staring at you like you were delicate, afraid that one haste, frantic touch from her would break you. you swallow, waiting for her response, and before you could apologize—

she leans in, too—her lips on yours frantically.

it happens fast.

her hair tickles the side of your face, and your body shivers. your nose bumps against hers, while her hand entangles itself in your hair, somehow pulling you even closer. your arms instinctively snake around manon's waist, keeping her stabilized. you pull away slightly to regain your breath, only for her to pull you back in for a kiss fervently.

your hand slightly fists into her dress, and you know that if you two weren't already kissing, she'd scold you for 'ruining' her dress. she nips lightly at your lower lip, and you could taste the bitter sensation of spiked punch on her lips. you exhale sharply, and you both finally pull away—both breathless and flushed.

"that wasn't bad at all," a smile ghosts over manon's lips, as her thumb wipes off the lipgloss residue from the corner of your lips.

you shove her playfully, "not bad? how flattering to hear." you bite back, your hands moving to flatten out manon's dress after you bunched it up.

"for someone who's so sloppy at dancing a waltz," she chuckles softly, her eyes still lingering in your lips. her hands find your shoulders, resting on them. "and for someone who messed up my dress."

you roll your eyes, leaning in once more, and you kiss her again—this time, slower, drawing it out, like you wanted to memorize how she felt against you, to reassure yourself that this was all real.

"you were right, and i'm sorry for being too stubborn to even notice that i care about you, a lot," she murmurs against your lips, the soft look in her eyes making your heart flutter and your knees buckle slightly. her voice slightly falters, and a small, broken laugh escapes her lips.

"i thought this was a silly phase," the ghanaian girl admits, "the calling you up in the middle of the night thing, listening to you ramble about superman, and- and actually enjoying your presence, even when you're just, so dead-set on pushing my buttons every second."

she exhales, taking your hand into hers, and a smile ghosts her lips. then, she presses a kiss against your jaw, and at that point, you think you would be more than content to die in her arms right now.

"you push my buttons even more," you manage to mutter out, and your voice cracks. "and even then, you're everything i've ever wanted." your hand trembles against hers, and you try to discern her expression. her thumb draws circles on your knuckles, as a way to calm you down—the same way you did before.

her lips curl into a smile, and she cranks her head down to plant a kiss onto one of your knuckles. "so are you gonna ask the million-dollar question?" she drawls out, that familiar smug lilt present.

you sigh exasperatedly, rolling your eyes. but you clear your voice, "will you, meret manon bannerman, be my girlfriend?" your heart almost pounds out of your chest at your own words.

manon nods teasingly, eyes crinkling into crescent moons, "only if you agree to be my personal chauffeur." you nudge her shoulder, scoffing in response.

"fine."

one simple word, and she was already all over you.

lararaj: manon wya lararaj: hello??

meganskiendiel: do u think she bagged yn

lararaj: perchance perchance…

meganskiendiel: a girl could only hope… and pray

manonbannerman: so why do u guys have absolutely no hope in me❓❓

lararaj: i said perchance not a solid no!!!

zhouxinyu: bro yn done ditched me at a party last night

hongseunghan: thats #friendshipgoals💝

choijisung: hg ditched u for her gf LMFAOAO

ln-yn: BRO xinyu told me to follow manon WDYM ditched❓

day i met you babe, freed me from my fear,

you put the blood back to my heart.

current 𝓽aglist : ( open. ♱ 2 be added, read this post. )

@kisshae @sed7ction @beomniiz @yeetaberry127 @vrtualstar @jellaaa @jaythegirlkisser @falling-intoo-deep @c-yerim @bulgik @gtfoiydlyj @rinapomu @meganskiendielsbtc

#fics 　.#kpop imagines #kpop x reader #katseye x reader #katseye imagines #katseye manon #katseye manon bannerman #katseye manon x reader #katseye manon bannerman x reader #manon bannerman x reader #manon x reader #manon bannerman angst #katseye angst #katseye x reader angst #wlw

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