ellyymni

[ellyymni]

I would not have survived in Sinners because if any of these fine ass men asked me to let them inside or come outside and join them I would have done so without thinking twice about it

[ellyymni]

─ ✮⋆˙ 𝑯𝑰𝑻 𝑴𝑬 𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑫 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑺𝑶𝑭𝑻 || 𝑪𝑳𝑨𝑹𝑲 𝑲𝑬𝑵𝑻

MINI NAT’S NOTE: i haven’t stopping thinking about this loser kansas failure man since friday. i literally got out of bed to write this because i can’t sleep. hope y’all love it, mwah!

CW: 18+ SMUT MDNI, fem!reader, rough sex, service top clark, he whimpers cause i said so, sexy uses of x-ray vision, clark kent can FUCK, super stamina yes god, hyperspermia, superman’s super huge dick, belly bulging, porn w.o plot, no use of y/n.

"Clark, please—"

Your voice breaks on his name, swallowed by the sound of the headboard slamming into the way again and again and again.

Your thighs are shaking, pinned wide open by Clark’s hands, his grip near desperate as he ruts into you with a punishing force. It’s not as hard as he could go, you know that he must be biting through his lip trying to control himself. You wish he could go harder, that he could really give it to you. 

He deserves it. He works so hard, he deserves a nice warm hole to pound into after saving the world for the hundredth time—or after turning in another perfect front page piece to Perry.

You’ve brought it up a few times, when Clark was too drunk off the feeling of your lips against his own and the taste of your tongue on his to shy away from the conversation.

You could take it, you’d take anything he gives you with open arms and spread legs and a smile on your face.

Clark’s far too sweet to ever pin you down and just take. He’s a gentleman through and through, he was taught to treat ladies with respect. Superman isn’t an exception to those good farm boy manners of course, no matter how many times you’ve daydreamed about him flying through your window and tossing you on the mattress and using you.

God, you really do love him like this though.

“Sorry,” he pants, forehead pressed to yours, dark curls mussed. “I��m sorry, I can’t—I can’t stop. You feel too good, baby, you’re so good.”

Clark’s voice breaks on the last word like he’s begging you to understand, but the thrust of his hips says otherwise. There's nothing apologetic about the way he’s fucking you—like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. Like his survival depends on it. The bed’s screaming under the weight of his body, your body, his strength.

Your spine arches off the bed as his hips slap against yours hard enough to sting, wet and relentless. “Clark,” you gasp, nails raking down his back uselessly. “Don’t stop. Please—don’t stop.”

His cock splits you open again and again, thick and flushed and incessant, pistoning deep and hard and needy. It’s too much. It always is. Too thick, too long, the fat head of him kissing up against something so deep inside you it shouldn’t be physically possible.

The room smells like sex. Sweat and musk and Clark—rain, ozone, sunlight. The sound of your bodies coming together bounces off the walls, the wet slap of skin on skin. The filthy, slick noises of your pussy sucking his cock deeper makes your ears burn.

You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve come. Clark hasn’t. Of course he hasn’t.

“Five,” he groans, burying his face in the sweaty expanse of your neck. “You’re so sensitive now, baby, I know—I can hear it, your heartbeat skips every time I do this—” he pulls out, just halfway, then slams forward and stays there, his cock so deep your stomach distends a little. “Gosh, look at that.”

You’re soaked, ruined, you know it. You’ve been trembling under him for five rounds, but you love it. Every ragged thrust, every strangled apology he can’t stop moaning, every load he pumps into you like his body has to. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, drag him even deeper, and Clark whines.

“I’m—fuck—I’m gonna come again—please, baby, let me—please—”

He’s come three times already. You can feel the wet, hot mess he’s made of you, dripping down your thighs, soaking the sheets. You’re already so full. You feel full.

The last time he came inside you he barely gave you a minute before he was hard again, aching and apologizing even as he buried himself back in your cunt. His come is still dripping out of you in thick, creamy ropes, and he still hasn’t stopped chasing it. He can’t.

"Yes." Your legs wrap tighter around his waist. You want it. You need it. “Give it to me, Clark.”

That's all it takes for him to lose it again.

His body locks up—hips jerking, mouth falling open with a loud, broken moan.

You cry out as you feel him twitch deep inside you, and then it happens again—hot, endless, thick spurts of come painting your insides, filling you up so full it hurts. Clark’s gasping, his mouth falling open against your shoulder, his whole body trembling. 

His cock doesn’t go soft, it never does. Not when he’s buried in you like this. Not when you keep fluttering around him, squeezing down like you want to milk every last drop from his body.

“Shit, I didn’t mean—‘m sorry—I keep—” His hips stutter and then roll again, like he’s addicted to how you feel around him, like stopping would kill him. “It’s too much—I know, baby—I just—you make me so messy—”

There’s even more come leaking down your thighs in thin streams of white, soaking the sheets, slicking his cock every time he pulls out just to slam back in. You can feel how slippery everything is now, how swollen you are, how stretched. And still—he doesn’t stop.

“You—shit, you take it so good,” he moans. “My good girl—my pretty girl—look at you, look at how much I gave you.”

Clark looks down, a soft groan rips out from somewhere deep in his chest at the sight of his cock punching up inside of you. His eyes go, glassy and unfocused for a moment. That’s the only warning you get before he tilts his hips ever so slightly, and you’re crying out when he hits that spot up inside you perfectly on the next thrust.

That’s a definite perk of dating a metahuman, x-ray vision. You know that even without any special powers he could take you apart until you were a crying, shaking mess. That being said, the MRI eyes help.

Clark has spent hours learning each and every part of your body, inside and out. He’s made a home between your legs and watched your nervous system light up more times than you can count. 

He’s watched the way your dopamine levels spike when he mouths at your clit just right, the way your pulse lights up when his fingers slide deep and curl at just the right angle. He’s studied you like scripture, like a blueprint.

You cry out, screwing your eyes shut as your hands slide down his back. You revel in the feel of him on top of you, the muscles of his back rolling and working under your greedy touch. You’re going to come again, you know you are. The spring inside of you starts coiling tighter and tighter with each thrust.

“Please,” Clark gasps, nearly sobbing it. “Let me—one more time, I promise—please—I know you’re full, baby, I know—just one more.”

“You’re gonna break the bed again,” you gasp, too dumb and lost for words to say anything else.

Clark doesn’t respond—maybe he can’t. Maybe he’s already too far gone to hear anything but the desperate squelch of his own come leaking out of your ruined pussy and down the hard length of his cock.

“I love you—I love you so much," he mutters incoherently, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the meat of your hips as his cock carves a place for itself inside you. "You feel too good—god, you were made for me.”

The mattress jerks violently beneath you with every thrust—you can feel the wood frame groaning, splintering. Not the first time. Probably won’t be the last.

It’ll be worth it.

MINI NAT'S NOTE: anyway this movie changed my life. i started rewatching 70s superman the second i got home. james gunn thank you for making superhero movies with love and whimsy again.

thank you so much for reading, love you!

[ellyymni]

oh great heavens

just call my name, i’m yours to tame

→ namgyu x fem!reader

→ TW! smut (degradation and praise kink, begging, dom!reader, phone sex, riding, nam-gyu is PATHETIC, edging, slight overstim) , no mentions of the games, crazy bsf!!

→ authors note: BRO IVE BEEN UP FOR A DAY STRAIGHT WITH NO SLEEP OVER THIS because i didn’t wanna lose my motivation! anyways im so proud of this ngl and it’s my first squid game fic sooo i hope i did okay. this is kinda inspired by the song “middle of the night” by elley duhé so listen to it!! it’s so good! anyway if yall wanna send some asks over go ahead im actually BEGGING. well, enjoy lovelies hehe

you’re not even halfway through the door before your eyes find him.

same place. same posture. same cool indifference behind the bar like he didn’t just press restart on every nerve in your body.

nam-gyu.

you don’t know what it is about him. maybe it’s the way he looks so devastatingly bored, like the world doesn’t offer anything that could possibly impress him. maybe it’s the way he moves, precise, practiced, but not cocky. like he’s spent a lifetime learning how to be both efficient and impossible to look away from.

all you know is this club, this dim, overpriced, too-loud club, isn’t even your vibe. you started coming here for the music, maybe. but you keep coming for him.

you claim the usual spot at the end of the bar, pretending to scroll your phone. pretending not to stare. pretending that you aren’t mentally scripting every possible line you could say if you ever actually spoke to him. you won’t. you’d rather crawl into traffic in heels.

tonight is different though.

because tonight, you’re not alone.

“is that him?” your friend whispers, leaning way too close and shamelessly eyeing the man you’d barely finished describing on the walk here.

you suck in a breath, feel your whole body lock up. “shut up,” you hiss through a panicked smile.

her eyes widen. “oh my god. you’re in deep. you didn’t say he was hot hot.”

“i did say that,” you mutter, cheeks burning. you try to hide behind your drink, but it’s no use. she’s already grinning like she just uncovered state secrets.

and then the words that make your blood freeze.

“if you don’t talk to him tonight, i will.”

you snap your head toward her so fast it might break your neck. “don’t you dare.”

she only shrugs, already signaling the bartender. him. nam-gyu glances your way, and your soul might as well exit your body.

too late now. tonight’s the night.

you don’t even remember standing up. one second you’re watching nam-gyu walk toward your side of the bar, and the next you’re in the hallway by the bathrooms, gripping the sink like it might float you away from this entire reality.

your heart is a mess. your lip gloss is slightly smudged. and your brain is screaming.

you look at yourself in the mirror and whisper, “you’re a coward.”

still, you don’t move. you give yourself a solid three minutes of silent internal screaming before finally emerging again, heart pounding like you just ran a marathon in heels.

your friend is at the table, looking suspiciously pleased with herself. worse, the bar is one nam-gyu short.

“where is he?” you ask, panic rising in your throat.

she doesn’t answer. she just pushes your drink toward you. your eyes catch something underneath it. folded napkin. black ink. sharp handwriting.

a phone number.

you blink. once. twice. “what… is this?”

your friend sips her drink like she’s been waiting for this moment all night. “you weren’t gonna do it, so i helped.”

you stare at her. “what do you mean, you helped?”

“i told him you think he’s hot and that you’ve been coming here just to see him. and that if he wanted your number, he could have it.”

you make a strangled sound in the back of your throat. “you what?”

“he didn’t say anything at first,” she says with a shrug, “but then he kind of smiled, like, all slow and smug, and just said, ‘tell her i’ll text her later.’ and then he wrote his number down and left.”

your whole body goes stiff. your heart is throwing itself against your ribs like it’s trying to escape.

“he smiled?”

“mhmm.” she smirks. “you’re welcome.”

you look down at the napkin again, like maybe it’ll vanish. like maybe this is some elaborate joke.

but it’s real.

and now you have his number.

it’s been four days.

four days since the club. four days since nam-gyu handed off his number like it wasn’t a nuclear event in your life. four days since your friend practically fed him your entire romantic history while you had a panic attack in the bathroom.

and somehow… nothing.

no text. no call. no vague dm. not even a like on one of your old instagram posts.

so you did what anyone would do. you shoved the entire night into a little box in your brain labeled embarrassing but character-building and moved on.

or at least tried to. today’s just a normal lazy sunday. your friend is over again, laying on your bed while the two of you binge a drama you’re not even really watching. there’s an open bag of chips between you, your feet tangled under a shared blanket, and a familiar quiet comfort in the air.

it’s the kind of day where the light comes through your windows all soft and golden. the kind where nothing feels urgent. nothing feels loud.

until your phone buzzes.

you almost ignore it. but then the screen lights up again. twice.

unknown number:

hey

unknown number:

it’s nam-gyu, from the club?

you sit bolt upright, nearly knocking the bag of chips off the bed. your friend startles.

“what? what happened? are you okay?”

you look at her, wide-eyed. “it’s him.”

she blinks. “who?”

you shove your phone in her face. “him. nam-gyu. he just texted me.”

her mouth drops open. “oh my gosh.”

you’re staring at the screen like it’s going to explode. and maybe it has, in a way. your heart is already thudding hard enough to make your hands shake.

you read it again. and again. it’s short, sure. boring, even. just hey. but it might as well be a love letter at this point.

“okay, what do i say? i need to say something back. but not something lame. oh god, what if it is lame?”

your friend rolls onto her stomach and kicks her feet in the air like she’s thirteen again. “just say hi back. or be cool. like ‘hey, stranger.’”

you make a face. “that sounds like something a forty-year-old divorcée says on tinder.”

she laughs. “okay, okay. then keep it simple. just… ‘hey.’”

you hesitate. then type.

you:

hey

and now you’re just sitting there. palms sweating. heart racing. stomach in knots.

“do you think he’ll reply right away?” you whisper.

your friend shrugs. “he texted you first. he’s obviously been thinking about it.”

you blink at her. “…do you think he just got the courage?”

“oh my god, maybe,” she says, eyes lighting up. “maybe he’s been nervous too. maybe he was gonna text sooner but kept chickening out.”

the thought makes your brain go blank for a second. nam-gyu? nervous?

before you can spiral further, your phone buzzes again.

nam-gyu:

sorry for taking a few days

i wasn’t sure if i should text you

you read that over three times before letting out a soft “oh.”

“he was nervous,” you whisper.

“called it,” your friend says smugly.

you exhale, slowly. fingers hovering over the screen like they’re waiting for permission.

you:

i wasn’t sure if you would

but i’m glad you did

there. honest, but not needy. casual, but with a hint. it’s perfect.

he replies almost immediately.

nam-gyu:

me too

you free this week?

your jaw drops.

“oh my god,” you whisper. “he wants to hang out.”

your friend gasps. “like a date hang out?”

you blink at the message again. is this real? is this happening? is this you?

your thumbs shake a little, but you manage to type:

you:

yeah i think so

what did you have in mind?

a moment passes. another buzz.

nam-gyu:

can i show you my favorite spot after my shift one night?

i promise it’s not a club

you grin, all warm and weightless. you can’t stop smiling.

you:

sounds perfect

your friend squeals and grabs a pillow to scream into. you do the same.

this is real, and it’s only just beginning.

it’s been two days since the text. two days of overthinking, overanalyzing, and over-dramatizing every possible scenario in your head.

and tonight… it’s actually happening.

nam-gyu is meeting you after his shift. he didn’t tell you exactly where he’s taking you. just that it’s somewhere quiet, somewhere he likes. and that he wants you to see it.

you’ve never hated your closet more.

“just wear what you feel good in,” your friend says from the edge of your bed, scrolling through her phone while you hold up a fifth maybe-outfit with a groan.

“i feel good in oversized hoodies and socks that don’t match,” you mutter.

“then wear those,” she deadpans. “he already likes you.”

you give her a look. “i need to look like… i didn’t try too hard, but also like i’m not a total mess.”

she stands up and goes straight to the rack, already knowing what she’s looking for. within seconds, she holds up a plain black fitted tee and a short black skirt with a little slit on the side.

“this,” she says. “simple. cute. a little flirty, but comfy.”

you blink. “…that’s actually perfect.”

“of course it is,” she grins. “and throw on the black leg warmers. make it a whole vibe.”

fifteen minutes later, you’re dressed, hair fixed just right, makeup soft and simple. you glance at yourself in the mirror and… okay, yeah. you feel good. you look like you, but the kind of you who deserves a second look.

your phone buzzes.

nam-gyu:

off now

meet me outside the club?

you stare at the message for a second. then exhale. “it’s time.”

your friend gives you a dramatic hug. “don’t trip. don’t black out. and if he tries to kiss you, lean in.”

you laugh, nerves fluttering like a thousand tiny birds in your chest.

outside the club, it’s quieter than usual. it’s late enough that the line is gone, but early enough that the neon still glows faintly behind the tinted windows. you’re waiting near the corner, arms tucked into yourself even though the night is warm.

you hear the door swing open.

you don’t have to look to know it’s him.

you do anyway.

he’s in a dark jacket, sleeves pushed up, hands in his pockets, hair a little messier than usual. his eyes scan until they find you.

and then he smiles. just a little.

“hey,” he says, walking over.

“hey.” your voice comes out softer than expected.

his eyes flick down, taking in your outfit for a brief second. he doesn’t say anything about it. doesn’t compliment or stare. but something about the way his gaze lingers. quiet and warm and lowkey appreciative, makes your stomach flip anyway.

“you look comfortable,” he says finally. “i like that.”

you laugh, a little breathless. “thanks. i didn’t want to… try too hard.”

“you didn’t have to.” he shrugs. “you look good.”

your heart does a little jump.

he nods toward the street. “come on. it’s not far.”

you fall into step beside him. it’s easy, somehow. the silence between you is soft, not awkward. like you both know the pace. like this was always meant to happen.

“so…” you say after a minute, “are you going to tell me where we’re going, or…?”

he glances at you. “nope.”

you snort. “wow. mysterious.”

“you’ll see.”

the city gets quieter as you walk. less neon, more shadows. more sky. and then finally, after a few more turns, he stops in front of a small tucked-away building.

it’s a rooftop café. not open to the public at this hour, but the side gate creaks open when he pushes it. you follow him up a narrow staircase, past some plants and old patio furniture. and then, the view.

the city skyline is spread out in front of you, glittering and alive but far enough to feel like it belongs to someone else. it’s peaceful. high up. removed.

he looks at you. “this is my favorite place to breathe.”

you don’t speak for a moment. just take it in.

then, quietly, “thank you for showing me.”

he shrugs again, but there’s something shy about it now. “thought you might like it.”

you glance at him, catching the way his fingers twitch slightly by his side, like he wants to reach for something.

you don’t move. you just smile.

“i do.”

you don’t know how long you’ve been up here.

maybe twenty minutes. maybe an hour. it doesn’t really matter. time feels loose around nam-gyu, like it drips slow, stretches, then snaps back all at once.

he doesn’t talk much at first. just sits beside you on the ledge, legs dangling into the warm night air, one hand braced against the concrete between you. he offers you a can of something cold and vaguely citrusy, and you take it without thinking.

he doesn’t look at you right away. he just watches the skyline, the way the lights pulse and flicker, blinking like a heartbeat. you do the same.

and it’s nice.

it’s… calm.

not the kind of silence that begs to be filled, but the kind that gives you room to think.

“you always come here?” you ask eventually, voice soft.

he nods. “when i can. after late shifts. before big ones.”

“does anyone else know about it?”

he glances at you now, and there’s a quiet flicker in his eyes. something unreadable, but not cold.

“just you.”

you swallow. hard.

he looks away again, leans back on his hands, shoulders relaxed in a way you’ve never seen from him on the job.

you’re used to seeing him behind the bar. in the glow of club lights, all sharp cheekbones and calm confidence and quick hands. the guy who moves like he’s already figured out the next five steps before you’ve even blinked.

but up here, he’s softer. unguarded. still a little distant, but not in a cold way. like he’s giving you space to come closer, if you want.

“you’re quieter than i thought you’d be,” you murmur.

he raises a brow. “is that a bad thing?”

“no. just surprising.”

he gives a soft huff of amusement, then sips from his can.

“people say that a lot. guess i give off the wrong impression.”

you shrug. “maybe you give off the kind of impression that makes people want to know more.”

that makes him pause. you think you see his lips twitch, just slightly.

“do you?”

you blink. “do i…?”

he turns his head, looks at you more directly this time. “want to know more?”

your heart stutters.

your mouth is dry.

your brain, unhelpfully, decides to blank completely.

“…yeah.”

he hums, quiet and satisfied, like that’s all he needed to hear. like he already knew.

you sit like that for a while. sipping your drink, trading little glances that feel like too much and not enough.

he tells you about the first time he found this rooftop—some quiet night when he was younger, needing space, needing air. he says it like it’s nothing, but you hear it. the loneliness tucked in between the words. the reason this place matters.

you nod and share something small too. not anything big, not a sob story. just a memory from your own life where you felt like everything was too loud and you needed somewhere to just be.

he listens. really listens. no interruptions, no fidgeting. just steady eyes and steady breathing, like the whole world stopped to make room for what you’re saying.

when you stop talking, he doesn’t rush to fill the silence.

“i’m glad you came,” he says finally.

you glance over. “me too.”

and it’s quiet again, but different now. warmer. heavier, in the way a moment can be when something’s about to shift.

he stands after a while, stretches his arms above his head, then offers you his hand.

“come here.”

you blink. “where?”

“closer.”

you hesitate, then take it.

he pulls you gently, steady, until you’re standing in front of him. not too close. but not far either.

“you were shaking when i texted you,” he says suddenly. not teasing, just matter-of-fact.

you freeze. “wait…how do you know that?”

he smirks, just slightly. “your friend told me. said you almost passed out.”

you groan and bury your face in your hands. “i’m going to kill her.”

he laughs. not loud, but real. warm. and then, gently, he reaches out, brushing your hands down so he can see your face again.

you stare up at him, caught in the space between panic and something dangerously close to butterflies.

“it was kind of cute,” he says, and there’s something softer in his eyes now. “you trying not to look at me. looking anyway.”

you bite your lip. “you noticed that?”

“of course i did.” he says it like it was obvious. like he was watching you just as much as you were watching him.

you want to say something. anything. but you don’t get the chance because he steps just a little closer. not enough to cross a line, but enough to make your breath hitch.

“you still nervous?” he asks quietly.

you nod. “a little.”

he leans in, not touching, not pressing, just near.

“don’t be.”

and with that, he pulls back, lets go of your hand, and turns back toward the ledge. like he didn’t just make your heart crash into your ribs.

you stand there for a second, trying to reboot your entire system.

nam-gyu glances over his shoulder. smirks.

“you coming, or are you gonna keep staring?”

you roll your eyes and follow him back to the ledge, pretending you’re not blushing.

but he knows.

he definitely knows.

the walk back starts slow.

not the kind of slow that means you’re tired or bored, but the kind where neither of you really want it to end.

the streets are emptier now. quieter. just the sound of your footsteps echoing against the sidewalk and the occasional car humming in the distance. the city feels smaller like this, like it’s folding in around the two of you.

you’re talking about nothing in particular. something about bad music at the club, some weird guy who tried to dance behind you once. nam-gyu listens, chuckling under his breath, and you can feel the air between you shifting again. light, but charged.

you’re animated when you speak. hands moving a little when you get into the story, your skirt swaying just enough to catch the corner of his eye.

he’s looking.

he doesn’t mean to.

okay, maybe he does.

but only in quick, stolen glances. when your head’s turned, or when you’re stepping ahead just slightly.

his eyes trace the curve of your waist, the way your shirt clings to your back, the soft movement of your legs as the skirt flutters over the tops of your thighs.

it’s subtle. respectful.

but he’s definitely looking.

you don’t notice. not really. you’re too focused on keeping your voice steady, even though your heart’s been skipping every other beat since you left the rooftop.

at one point, you laugh, tilting your head back, eyes squinting a little, and he swears under his breath, so quietly not even he hears it.

you’re pretty.

you’ve always been pretty.

but now, in the dim streetlights and soft shadows, wearing that outfit like it wasn’t chosen specifically to get his attention (even though it very much was)…

you look good.

and worse, he likes that he notices.

he likes the little flip in his stomach when your fingers brush his by accident.

he likes the heat in his chest when you tilt your head toward him to ask something softly.

you stop walking at a red light, waiting at the corner with your arms folded loosely across your chest. you glance up at him, and for a second, he doesn’t look away in time.

you catch it.

not the whole thing, but just enough. the way his gaze was on your mouth. then your legs. then up again.

you raise a brow. “what?”

he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t act flustered. he just blinks, casually.

“nothing,” he says, voice cool. “you talk a lot with your hands.”

you narrow your eyes slightly, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “that’s not what you were looking at.”

“sure it was.”

the light turns green and he starts walking again.

you follow.

you bump into his side lightly. “liar.”

he smirks. “you gonna punish me for it?”

you go still for half a second, surprised by the casual boldness of it, but he just chuckles, clearly amused by your reaction.

you roll your eyes and shake your head.

“you’re not as quiet as you pretend to be.”

“i never said i was innocent.”

you glance sideways. “and what exactly are you, then?”

he shrugs. “curious.”

the word hangs in the air a little heavier than expected.

you swallow. look away. try not to read into it too much.

but your pulse betrays you.

and he can probably hear it.

the rest of the walk is more of the same—

close, teasing, quiet tension settling in the space between your steps.

he walks you all the way to your door.

doesn’t ask. just does it. like it’s obvious.

you pause when you get there, hand on the knob, heart suddenly slamming against your ribs because…

now what?

you look at him, waiting. hoping. not expecting.

he looks at you, still calm.

“i had fun,” you say softly.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

his gaze flicks down again, one last glance over your frame, slower this time, like he’s letting himself indulge in the view now that the night’s almost over.

then, eyes meeting yours again, he says, “we should do it again.”

you nod, barely breathing. “i’d like that.”

he doesn’t kiss you.

doesn’t ask to come in.

doesn’t linger too long.

but his eyes say a lot.

and the way he leans in, just a little, like he’s memorizing your face before leaving says even more.

“goodnight,” he murmurs, voice lower now.

“night,” you whisper back.

and then he’s walking away.

slow. sure. hands in his pockets again.

you don’t go inside right away.

you wait until he turns the corner. until you can’t see him anymore.

and when you finally do, you lean against the door once it clicks shut, breath catching in your throat.

after a while, you’re fresh out of the shower, damp hair clinging to your shoulders, the warm scent of soap still wrapped around you like steam.

your towel slips slightly lower when you bend to pick up your phone from the sink. you expect a meme. maybe your friend checking in.

but it’s not her.

nam-gyu 🤍

are you still up

fuck

i shouldn’t be texting you

but i can’t sleep

you looked so good tonight it’s driving me crazy

sorry sorry ignore me

unless you’re awake

pls

i feel insane

can you call me

you don’t have to say anything just pick up

i’m losing it here

your lips curl.

you pad barefoot to your bed, still dripping a little, towel tugged tight around your chest.

you glance down at the screen again. he hasn’t messaged since the last one.

so you call.

he picks up like he was waiting for it, voice low and full of static tension. “hello?”

“hey,” you say, soft and slow, settling against your pillows. “you okay?”

he exhales like he’s been holding his breath. “no. i mean…fuck. yes. not really.”

you hum. “what’s wrong?”

a pause. you let it stretch out, just to hear him squirm.

“…nothing. never mind. this was dumb.”

“really?” you tease, feigning innocence. “because those messages didn’t sound like nothing. kinda sounded like you were having a moment.”

he groans, quiet and guttural. “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

“that tone. like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing to me.”

you smile, smug but still playing coy.

“i really don’t. why don’t you tell me?”

another pause.

then a soft, breathy, “fuck.”

“nam-gyu,” you coax. “say it.”

“…i can’t stop thinking about you.”

“that’s sweet.”

“not like that,” he whispers. “not just that. it’s…fuck, it’s your mouth, your thighs, the way you looked at me when you caught me staring. i haven’t been able to stop thinking about your body. you wore that skirt on purpose, didn’t you?”

you smirk. “maybe.”

“jesus,” he mutters. “i’ve been hard since i got home. i tried everything. i even got in the shower, but it didn’t help. it just made it worse. i kept imagining you behind me, sliding your hands down my chest, telling me what to do…”

you hum, dragging your fingers lightly across your thigh.

“what do you want me to do, nam-gyu?”

he hesitates.

then breaks.

“tell me to touch myself. please.”

you lean back against your pillows, satisfied.

“then do it. slow.”

“fuck…”

you hear his hand move, the subtle wet sound of skin on skin, and it sends heat straight through you.

“are you imagining me touching you instead?”

“yes,” he groans. “your hands, your mouth, your voice in my ear just like this.”

“tell me how it feels.”

“so good,” he pants. “hurts, kinda. like i need more. need you.”

your breath catches at that. you squeeze your thighs together but don’t touch yet. not until he earns it.

“you wanna come already?” you murmur.

“no…yes—fuck, i can’t yet.”

“you better not,” you warn. “you don’t come until i say so.”

he moans softly, the sound raw and needy.

“say it.”

he swallows. “i won’t come until you say so.”

“good. now speed up a little.”

you can hear the shift in rhythm. his breathing faster, the slick sound sharper now.

“fuckfuckfuck, please…say something else.”

“you looked so good tonight,” you whisper. “but you were so obvious, nam-gyu. staring at my thighs. my ass. my lips. if you wanted me that badly, you should’ve just begged for it.”

he groans like he’s in pain. “i am begging—please, i need to come—”

“not yet.”

he whimpers. whimpers.

like he’s falling apart at the sound of your voice alone.

you trail a hand down your stomach, finally letting your fingers dip between your legs.

“i’m touching myself now,” you say sweetly. “and you don’t get to come until i do.”

he gasps, desperate, broken. “fuck, that’s not fair—”

“you called me, baby. you don’t get to make the rules.”

you work yourself slowly, deliberately, hips rolling against your hand, and every soft sound you make into the phone has him gasping on the other end.

“you’re gonna make me lose my mind,” he chokes out. “i wanna hear you…please, tell me what you’re doing—”

you moan quietly, just enough to drive him crazy.

“fingers in slow. two of them now. fuck, i’m so wet, nam-gyu. just from listening to you beg.”

his hand speeds up again. you hear him breathing so hard now, voice wrecked.

“can i cum now?” he whimpers. “please. i can’t—I’m so fucking close—”

you grin, voice low.

“you wanna cum, baby?”

“yes—yes, please—i need to—”

you stay silent

“please,” he groans, falling apart. “please let me come. i’ll do anything. i’ll get on my knees for you. i’ll let you tell me what to do forever. just please—”

you arch into your hand, breath catching.

you’re close too now, thighs trembling, heat pulsing with every word out of his mouth.

“come for me,” you whisper. “now.”

and he loses it.

you hear the moan he tries to hold back. sharp, ragged, dragged from deep in his chest. the sound of his hand faltering, breath gasping, curse words spilling between moans like he forgot how to function.

you come right after, pushing yourself over the edge with a sharp gasp, his broken voice in your ear making everything twist tighter, hotter, deeper.

for a few seconds, all you hear is breathing.

deep. shaky.

both of you trying to catch your breath.

“holy fuck,” he finally says.

you smirk, lazily satisfied. “feel better now?”

“…yes. no. i don’t even know.”

you laugh. “you’re lucky i picked up.”

“i’m gonna think about this every night for the rest of my life.”

you stretch across the sheets, smug. “maybe i’ll let you return the favor next time.”

he groans. “don’t tease me like that.”

“i’m not. i mean it.”

you hear him exhale again. softer now.

“…i really like you,” he murmurs.

your heart skips.

but your voice stays smooth.

“i know.”

you wake up to sunlight leaking through your curtains and your phone buzzing quietly against your pillow.

your head is foggy. your mouth dry. your towel… half on, half off, barely clinging to your chest like it gave up sometime in the middle of the night.

you blink at your screen. the call ended.

nam-gyu 🤍

good morningg

you fell asleep on me 

i’m heading to work now, i’ll text you later

…

what.

no follow-up. no voice note. no “wow that was hot” or “you ruined me.”

just a smiley face and casual talk to you later.

as if you didn’t just…

as if he didn’t…

as if you both didn’t literally lose your minds over the phone six hours ago.

you throw the phone across your bed, then scramble to grab it again.

“no no no no”

you do what any normal person would do in a full-blown, post-horny identity crisis:

you call your best friend.

“hello?” she answers, groggy. “why are you calling me before noon? did you die? did you kill someone?”

“i did something worse,” you whisper, completely horrified. “i dommed him.”

“…what?”

“i DOMMED him.”

a beat.

“okay i’m on my way.”

you don’t even hang up.

fifteen minutes later she’s at your door with her hair in a claw clip, iced coffee in hand, wearing pajamas and a look of pure curiosity.

“talk. now.”

you collapse back on your bed, towel still questionably wrapped around you, phone pressed to your chest like it betrayed you.

“he texted me good morning. like we didn’t have a full-on phone sex meltdown last night. i told him what to do. i told him when to come. i called him baby. i was saying shit i didn’t even know i could say.”

your friend blinks. “so you’re telling me… quiet, flustered, crush-on-the-club-boy you… turned into a whole dom goddess last night?”

“i don’t know who that was,” you groan, dragging a pillow over your face. “she possessed me. she used my voice. i’m scared of her.”

she’s already laughing, obnoxiously loud. “did he like it?”

“he begged. like actually said ‘please’ and everything. i think i broke him. or imprinted on him. or both.”

you peek out from under the pillow. “and then this morning he just… went to work. like he didn’t sound like a porn audio come to life last night.”

she grins. “maybe he’s playing it cool.”

“or maybe i traumatized him.” you sit up, flailing slightly. “what if he thinks i’m always like that? i don’t do that. i’ve literally never even…. i don’t command. i’m more of a ‘may i please hold your hand and cry about it’ kind of girl.”

“okay,” she says, sipping her coffee, “first of all, you’re being dramatic. second of all, he clearly loved it. third of all, this is what happens when you repress your crush for too long. it explodes. violently. with orgasms.”

you throw a stuffed animal at her.

“i’m never speaking to him again,” you declare. “i’ll move. change my name. delete all evidence of that phone call. i’ll become a monk.”

“you’ll do none of that and you’ll text him when he gets off work.”

you flop back dramatically. “what if he hates me now?”

“he doesn’t. if anything, he’s probably texting his friends like ‘bro i just got spiritually dommed by the hottest girl alive and i think i’m in love.’”

you stare at the ceiling.

then sigh.

“…do i text him first?”

“hell no. you made him beg. let him sweat.”

“you’re a menace.”

“you’re a dom now. own it.”

you both burst into laughter.

your phone buzzes again.

nam-gyu

hope you’re having a good day

i can’t stop thinking about your voice btw

call me tonight if you want, won’t force you though 

your face goes red.

your friend peeks over your shoulder.

“yeah,” she says smugly. “he’s so into it.”

you’re still holding the phone like it might bite you.

your friend reads over your shoulder again, sipping her coffee with the most annoying grin on her face.

you groan. “how is he acting so normal about it? he literally just dropped ‘i can’t stop thinking about your voice’ like we didn’t verbally destroy each other twelve hours ago.”

“you did destroy him, though. respectfully. i’m proud.”

“i can’t go outside ever again.”

she tosses a pillow at you. “actually… you can. and you will. because we’re going out again.”

you blink. “excuse me?”

“you heard me. we’re going to that same club. tonight.”

“absolutely not.”

“okay but hear me out…yes.”

you sit up, panic rising. “what if he thinks we’re going to do that again? what if he wants more? what if i want more?” your voice gets higher with each sentence.

“then you get more?” she says, completely unbothered. “this is a win-win situation.”

“i can’t just go back there and look him in the eyes after—after last night! i told him what to do! i made him say please! he literally—i literally—ugh!”

she just stares at you, waiting for your little dramatic spiral to burn out. once you’re done flailing and burying your face into the couch, she goes, “text him.”

“no.”

“yes.”

“no!!”

she snatches your phone, types something, then shoves it into your lap.

you look down.

she wrote:

hey are you free sometime soon? wanna see you againnn

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU—”

“press send.”

“i’m going to have a heart attack.”

“press. send.”

your thumb hovers like the phone might explode. your stomach does that flip thing again.

and then…

you press it.

you fling the phone across the room immediately.

your friend cackles. “what are you gonna do if he says yes?”

“i don’t know!! combust?? ascend to the next spiritual plane?? move to a rural village and live among goats??”

you’re pacing now, hands in your hair.

your phone dings.

“no—oh no—he answered! ”

you dive for it.

nam-gyu

yeah i’d really like that 

when are you free?

you sit back down like your knees gave out. “he wants to see me again. after all that. he’s not scared. what if i’m scared?”

your friend pats your head like a proud parent. “you made the man lose his soul and he’s asking for a second round. you’re winning.”

“this is a nightmare.”

“this is romance. now text him back and figure out a day. i’m going to help you pick another dangerously hot outfit.”

you text back with shaky fingers:

what about saturday night?

he replies in under a minute.

nam-gyu

saturday works

should i meet you there again or pick you up?

you’re pretty sure you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

your friend stares at the message and says, without blinking,

“oh yeah. he’s in deep.”

saturday night hits harder than it should.

you’re standing in front of your mirror, holding up outfit option number four, while your best friend lies belly-down on your bed like she’s watching a live fashion show.

“nope,” she says. “not hot enough.”

“i’m not trying to seduce him,” you lie.

she looks at you. “babe. you dommed him over the phone and he asked to see you again. the bar is gone. the tension is built. he’s already halfway seduced.”

you groan, flopping onto the floor.

“you need to look effortlessly hot. like you didn’t try. like you just woke up and accidentally made him lose his mind.”

“…how do i do that?”

she grins.

ten minutes later, she hands you the outfit.

simple black spaghetti strap top, low cut just enough to tease but not scream it.

soft denim shorts that technically cover everything, but your thighs are out and they cling when you move.

and a pair of chunky sneakers that make you look like a walking daydream.

you stare at yourself in the mirror.

“…am i about to destroy a man?”

“absolutely,” she says, smug. “you’re welcome.”

you meet nam-gyu outside the club just before ten.

he’s already there, waiting by the wall, hands in his pockets, hoodie half-zipped, hair slightly messy like he just got off shift or maybe fussed with it before coming over.

when he spots you, he freezes.

and stares.

just for a second too long.

his eyes flick down, then back up, and his lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile.

“hey,” he says, voice lower than usual. “you look…”

his words trail off.

you raise a brow, smug now that the tables are turning. “i look…?”

he clears his throat, shaking his head like he’s rebooting. “good. really good.”

“you don’t look too bad yourself,” you reply, trying not to let it show that your heart is tap-dancing in your chest.

inside, the music’s loud but not overwhelming. colored lights pulse against the walls, the kind of place where people move slow and close. the same corner table is open.

he slides into the seat across from you.

and then the tension starts.

his gaze keeps dropping to your legs, then shooting back to your face like he got caught.

you pretend not to notice. mostly.

when you lean forward to sip your drink, his eyes lock on the dip of your collarbone.

when you laugh too hard and touch his arm, he goes quiet for a second too long.

and when your knees bump under the table… he doesn’t move away.

you feel it. that pull. like you’re sitting too far apart and too close all at once.

every brush of skin feels electric. every glance is heavy.

you ask about his week.

he tells you a story about a drunk guy at work who tried to tip him with a gum wrapper.

you laugh and sip your drink, eyes on him the whole time.

his fingers drum the edge of the table like he doesn’t know what else to do with them.

“you okay?” you ask, teasing just a little.

“yeah,” he says quickly. “just… trying not to stare too hard.”

you bite your lip. “why not?”

he smiles, but it’s tight. “because i’m trying to be respectful. and you look like a sin.”

you blink.

okay.

cool.

normal.

heart rate stable. not blushing. at all.

“…you’re not too bad with words when you try,” you murmur.

he leans forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, and the way he looks at you, dark, focused, like you’re the only thing in the room makes you shift in your seat.

“that’s funny,” he says quietly. “because the other night, i couldn’t say anything unless you told me to.”

your breath catches.

his tone is casual. too casual.

you try to cover the sudden spike in your pulse with a smile. “so you didlike that.”

he shrugs, but his jaw tenses. “i haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

you don’t know what to say to that.

not really.

so you sip your drink again. legs crossed just enough to drive him crazy.

by the time you’re both finished, the air between you is practically buzzing.

you walk out together. close. arms brushing.

he doesn’t say anything, but his hand almost reaches for yours once.

then doesn’t.

and somehow, that makes it worse.

by the time you’re outside, your skin is hot, your thoughts are a mess, and you’re definitely not as cool and in control as you were pretending to be.

but he opens the door for you. walks you to your place.

and before you part ways, he looks at you one more time…

and says, “call me when you get home.”

you hesitate for half a second.

just one.

he’s about to turn and leave, head dipping with that soft little smile of his like nothing ever happened between you. like your voice didn’t wreck him over the phone. like he isn’t still aching from how you told him exactly what to do.

you breathe out, 

then say it.

“wait.”

he stops.

turns.

you step forward.

“come inside.”

his brows lift slightly. his expression doesn’t change much, but his body does. shoulders tightening, breath hitching, hands sinking deeper into his jacket pockets like he knows exactly where this is going but doesn’t want to assume.

he swallows.

“you sure?”

his voice is low. cautious. careful.

you nod slowly. “i don’t want to talk on the phone tonight.”

he doesn’t answer right away.

just steps inside when you open the door.

and everything is suddenly so quiet.

he stands in your hallway while you slip off your shoes. you feel his eyes on you—same way he looked at you all night. full of want. full of restraint.

“do you want something to drink?” you ask, pretending like your pulse isn’t hammering in your throat.

“no.”

you turn.

his hands are still in his pockets. his mouth is a tight line. he’s watching you like he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

you do.

you walk straight up to him, close enough that your chests almost touch. your fingers brush the front of his jacket, slowly pushing it open.

he doesn’t stop you. just stands there, tense.

“you’ve been looking at me all night,” you murmur.

his breath stutters.

“you looked at my thighs. my chest. you couldn’t keep your eyes off me.”

his jaw flexes.

but he still says nothing.

“say it.”

he meets your gaze. “you already know.”

you smile a little. “i want to hear you say it anyway.”

a pause.

then…

“yeah. i couldn’t stop looking.”

“why?”

he licks his lips. exhales slowly.

“because i wanted to touch you.”

you hum, fingers sliding beneath the hem of his shirt, letting your nails graze lightly up his stomach. he shivers.

“say what you really want.”

his mouth opens. closes. opens again.

you see the conflict—the push and pull, the need.

and then he cracks.

“…i want you to ruin me.”

your fingers curl into his shirt, dragging him down just enough to whisper into his ear.

“take your shoes off.”

he obeys.

you lead him to your bedroom.

the second the door shuts, the tension breaks. you push him down onto the edge of your bed. he stares up at you, hands clenching the sheets.

you climb into his lap.

his breath catches.

he tries to reach for you. instinctive, needy, but you grab his wrists and pin them to the bed.

“don’t touch me unless i tell you to.”

he groans. his head falls back slightly, chest rising like he’s struggling to breathe.

you press your body flush to his, and he twitches beneath you.

“look at you,” you whisper. “i’ve barely even touched you and you’re already like this.”

he grits his teeth. “i can’t help it.”

“you’re pathetic,” you murmur, voice laced with heat. “so desperate.”

his hips jerk.

“god, you like that?” you tease. “you like being talked down?”

he nods. fast. almost frantic. “yes.”

you lean forward, biting his earlobe gently. “say it.”

“i like it,” he breathes. “i like when you call me pathetic. i like it when you tell me what to do.”

you reach between you and undo his pants, slow, deliberate.

he twitches under your fingers.

you pull him out, and the way he moans, shaky and sharp, goes straight to your core.

“you’re hard already,” you say, mock-sweet. “poor thing. is this what happens when you don’t get to cum for a few days?”

he whimpers. actually whimpers.

“use your words.”

“yes,” he pants. “i can’t stop thinking about you. about your voice. about how you sounded when you told me what to do.”

you kiss him—sudden and rough.

he moans into your mouth, bucking up into your hand, but you pull away just as fast and squeeze his thighs to keep him still.

“don’t move.”

he groans again.

you stroke him slowly. deliberately.

his head drops back. he’s shaking.

“fuck,” he whispers. “please. please let me touch you.”

you smile.

“you want to be good for me?”

“yes.”

“then shut up and take it.”

he moans again. louder this time.

you tease him, keep him on the edge. fast strokes, then slow. lips on his neck. teeth grazing his jaw. he’s trembling under you now, hips lifting off the bed like he’s losing control.

you don’t stop.

not when he gasps. not when he begs.

“you’re close,” you whisper. “aren’t you?”

he nods. “i—I’m gonna…please—”

you stop completely.

his whole body tenses.

“what the fuck—” he starts, breathless.

you tilt his chin up. “you don’t cum unless i say so.”

he groans like it physically hurts.

“i could make you wait,” you murmur. “make you sit here hard and aching all night. would you beg for it again?”

he nods. fast. desperate. “yes. anything.”

you lean in, mouth by his ear.

“then beg.”

he does.

“please. please let me cum. please use me. i want it. i need it. fuck, i need you—”

you slam your mouth against his and finally, finally, sink down onto him.

his entire body arches. the sound he makes is feral.

“fuckfuck—”

you set the pace, grinding down slow, squeezing him tight, your nails dragging down his chest. he’s gasping, hands still clenched in the sheets like if he touches you he’ll explode.

“you feel so good,” you whisper, moaning softly in his ear. “so full. you’re doing so good for me.”

he whines.

you fuck him slow. deep. then fast, grinding, riding, dragging him to the edge and pulling back, again and again.

his face is flushed, mouth open, sweat dripping from his temple. you couldn’t help but admire how hard he was trying to stay quiet, but you both knew he couldn’t. that phone call said a lot about you two, and you loved what you heard. 

you leaned into his ear. “cum,” you whisper.

and he does. loud, shuddering, broken.

you don’t stop.

you fuck him through it, hips slapping, hands pinning his wrists, riding every wave of his orgasm until he’s gasping, twitching, eyes rolling back.

“too much,” he chokes out. “i can’t…please—”

but you’re not done yet.

“you wanted to be ruined,” you murmur. “don’t stop now.”

you watch him unravel under you.

sweat clings to his skin, his jaw slack, pupils blown wide.

his hands are fisted in your sheets, knuckles pale like he’s clinging to sanity by a thread.

and you’re not slowing down. not even a little.

“too much,” he breathes, voice hoarse. “fuck…please, i can’t—”

you tilt your head, hips grinding with slow, deliberate pressure, dragging another helpless moan from him.

“you can,” you murmur. “you can take it. i know you can.”

he whimpers. choked, broken.

and it only makes you wetter.

you ride him hard, fast, then grind slow, watching his eyes flutter. you’re soaked. everything’s slick and hot and messy now. every thrust has his thighs twitching. he’s so sensitive you can feel it. each little spasm that runs through him when your hips slam into his.

“look at you,” you whisper. “you came already and you’re still fucking hard.”

his mouth opens, but nothing comes out except another shaky groan.

“you like being used, don’t you?”

he nods, biting his lip so hard it’s going white.

“say it.”

“yes,” he gasps. “yes, fuck, i love it” he tried to whisper 

you moan softly, leaning forward to wrap a hand around his throat, just enough pressure to keep him in place, to make his breath hitch.

“you want to cum again?”

you grind down slow. full. tight.

his hips buck before he can even answer.

“please,” he gasps.“please, let me i’ll be good, i swear, i’ll do anything—”

you speed up again, hand slipping from his throat to rake down his chest, nails leaving marks behind. he’s trembling, legs spread wide under you, hair sticking to his forehead, neck flushed red from the heat.

you’re close too. so close.

“don’t stop,” he begs. “please, don’t stop…i’m gonna—please—”

you ride him harder, hips snapping, and the noise of skin against skin fills the room, filthy and loud. his moans are getting higher, messier, breath hitching every time you slam back down.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!”

he’s losing it. unraveling. breaking apart under you.

and you don’t stop.

you chase your own high, grinding down with each thrust, tightening around him until you’re gasping, shaking, eyes squeezed shut—

and then it hits.

you cry out, hips stuttering, clenching around him as your orgasm crashes down in hot, pulsing waves.

and he feels it.

“fuck…fuck—” he shouts, and then he’s coming again, thick and messy and deep inside you, hips jerking up into yours like his body’s not even his anymore.

you don’t stop moving until every last tremor is milked from his body. until he’s completely still, completely spent, chest heaving under yours like he just ran a marathon.

you slow down, finally easing your hips to a stop and letting your weight settle on top of him. his arms lift weakly, like he’s trying to hold you, but they drop back to the bed just as fast.

his voice is a whisper now.

“you’re gonna fucking kill me.”

you smile, breathless, lips brushing his jaw.

“you liked it.”

“…i fucking loved it.”

you kiss him. slow this time. gentle. and he melts into it.

his whole body feels boneless now. like you’ve drained every last ounce of tension from him.

and you’re not going to say it out loud, not yet. 

but the way he looks at you right now?

you’re pretty sure he’d let you do this again.

anytime. anywhere. any way you want.

you finally pull yourself out of bed when your legs stop shaking.

the room’s still thick with the heat of what just happened. air warm, sheets tangled, your skin tingling from every place he touched you, kissed you, filled you. you don’t say anything as you slip off the bed. he watches you go, lazily, eyes half-lidded, lips parted like he might say something, but doesn’t.

your steps are slow, careful.

you grab a towel, your sleep shirt, and disappear into the bathroom.

the light is harsh at first, too bright for your still-foggy head, and for a second, you just stand there, staring at yourself in the mirror.

your lips are swollen.

there’s a light bruise on your neck.

your thighs are trembling again and you’re not even moving.

you press a hand to your chest. your heart’s still racing.

you breathe in. out. rinse your face. clean yourself up, slow and steady. you pull on your shirt. brush your teeth. run your fingers through your hair.

your phone is charging next to the sink.

you unplug it, turn it over, open messages. you stare at the screen for a second, then type out one single thing:

you

i did something

you don’t wait for a response.

you slip your phone into your hand and head back to the room.

he’s still there. hasn’t moved. blanket half-kicked off, one arm bent behind his head. he’s looking at you now. quiet. heavy-lidded. like he’s too tired to say much, but still wants to watch you walk.

you crawl back into bed and he shifts without a word, pulls the blanket up around both of you, pulls you into him like instinct.

his hand settles on your hip.

you don’t say anything. neither does he.

his fingers stroke your skin slowly. absentminded. his breath is warm against the back of your neck.

you feel like you should say something.

that was intense. way more intense than you expected.

but instead, you just press your hand over his and squeeze it lightly.

he sighs. long and slow. melts against you like he’s never slept like this before.

and honestly… you haven’t either.

you stare at the wall until your eyelids go heavy.

his arm tightens once.

you fall asleep just like that.

warm.

sore.

and not alone.

you wake up warm. too warm, actually.

something heavy is draped over you, and it takes your barely-awake brain a full few seconds to realize it’s not a blanket. it’s an arm. strong and warm and definitely still clinging to your waist, fingers curled loosely into your shirt like you might disappear if he lets go.

you blink slowly.

sunlight spills through the cracks in your blinds. the room is quiet, filled only with the soft sound of breathing, his, steady and deep, and yours, still shallow and sleepy. your back is pressed to his chest. legs tangled. his nose is tucked into the back of your shoulder, and every time he exhales, it sends a little shiver down your spine.

he’s still asleep.

you don’t move.

you just… lie there.

soaking it in.

his chest rises and falls against your back. every now and then, he shifts a little, adjusting without even waking, like his body already knows it doesn’t want to be anywhere else. and you… god, you didn’t know it could feel like this. warm and safe and so deeply natural to be held like this. like you belong there.

you peek over your shoulder. his lips are parted slightly. his hair’s a total mess. and his face…

he looks soft.

softer than last night. younger. his guard’s down completely.

you let yourself watch him for a while.

and then, instinctively, you reach for your phone.

it’s still lying face-down on the nightstand. when you flip it over, you wince. your screen is blinding after the darkness of the room, and you have about eight missed messages.

from her.

you open them, slowly.

bestie 🤍: ????

bestie 🤍: HELLO?

bestie 🤍: i’m literally going insane

bestie 🤍: i saw you read it don’t even do this to me

bestie 🤍: TELL ME EVERYTHING

bestie 🤍: i swear to god if you leave me on read

bestie 🤍: is he STILL THERE

bestie 🤍: pls i’m begging you i need DETAILS

bestie 🤍: i will call you don’t test me

you stare at your phone for a second, fighting a smile, then glance back at him.

still asleep.

you slowly wiggle around to face him, careful not to wake him, but his eyes flutter open anyway. halfway. heavy-lidded and hazy, like he’s still stuck between sleep and dreaming.

“mm… hey.”

his voice is rough. warm. his hand slides up your waist as he blinks at you, then lets out a soft breath and tugs you in a little closer.

“hi,” you whisper, cheeks warming.

he closes his eyes again like that was all he needed. his arm stays around you, firm and certain.

you lie there for a minute, just listening to his breathing again.

“you’re gonna be late,” you murmur.

“hm?”

“work. it’s—” you check the time. “it’s literally ten.”

he hums lazily. doesn’t even flinch. “so?”

“you can’t just—”

he opens his eyes, just barely, and grins.

“what, you kicking me out already?”

you stare at him. “not that either”

he pulls you in again, slow and deliberate. buries his face into the crook of your neck and exhales hard, like he’s been waiting to do that all morning.

“then it’s fine,” he mumbles. “gimme five more minutes.”

your heart does a thing in your chest. a flutter. a skip. something warm and impossible to ignore.

you let him hold you.

your phone buzzes again in your hand.

bestie 🤍: IF YOU DON’T ANSWER ME I’M SHOWING UP

you snort quietly and type back just one line:

you: i’m busy. he’s still here.

you don’t wait for the inevitable response. you toss your phone gently back on the nightstand and nestle further into his arms.

he shifts again, tucks you tighter.

and there’s something in the way he holds you now, like he means it. like this isn’t just a post-hookup thing. like he’s not just staying for the cuddles or the morning sex or the comfort of the bed.

he’s staying because he wants to.

you close your eyes and let yourself believe it.

minutes pass. you don’t say much. you don’t need to.

eventually, he murmurs against your skin, “you hungry?”

you nod into the pillow.

“wanna order something?”

“yeah… pancakes?”

he lifts his head just enough to look at you, still sleepy-eyed. “you got a favorite place?”

“mmhmm,” you mumble. “it’s in my phone. lemme grab—”

but before you can move, he’s already reaching over you, long arm stretching across the bed to snatch your phone.

you blink at him.

he just smiles, kisses your forehead, and says, “text your friend back. i’ll handle breakfast.”

you stare at him.

he gives you another kiss. this time, on the cheek. soft and sweet.

and then he rolls over, starts tapping through your food apps like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

like you didn’t completely destroy him last night.

like you didn’t see stars on top of him.

like he didn’t want it again, the second you curled up next to him.

you press your face into the pillow to hide your smile.

your heart’s doing that thing again.

and you don’t even try to stop it this time.

you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, stealing bites of syrup-drenched pancakes off a shared paper plate, when there’s a knock at the door.

not just a knock. a pounding.

you freeze, fork halfway to your mouth. he glances up from his seat on the couch, mid-chew.

you both just stare at each other.

another knock. louder.

“HELLO?!”

your stomach sinks.

“is that—?” he starts.

“oh my god,” you groan, dropping your fork into the plate. “she showed up.”

his brow lifts, amused. “your friend?”

“yup.”

you scramble to your feet, nearly tripping over your own leg warmers, and throw him a frantic look. “you—you can’t just be sitting here like this when she…oh my god, she’s going to implode.”

he laughs quietly, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “should i leave?”

“no! i mean..no, just… stay here. i’ll handle her.”

you don’t even make it to the door in time.

the knob jiggles and click! she lets herself in.

“okay first of all,” she says as she steps inside, “rude to leave me on read all night—”

she stops cold.

eyes lock on the table. the empty plates. the second cup of coffee. the man on your couch, still barefoot, still in yesterday’s hoodie, sipping from your mug like he lives here.

“no.”

you say nothing.

“NO.”

you wince. “hey…”

“OH MY GOD?!” she shrieks, already flinging her bag to the ground and rushing past you. “you didn’t! you actually did not, wait. did you?”

you close the door behind her slowly, cheeks burning. “can you not yell—”

“do you want to explain,” she says, spinning around to face him like a prosecutor, “or should she?”

he just raises an eyebrow and lifts the mug to his lips again, barely hiding the grin curling at the edges. “you must be the best friend.”

“you’re still here?!”

“looks like it.”

“like… still still? like slept over still? like pancakes and pillow talk and lazy morning sex still?”

you groan into your hands. “we did not have morning sex.”

she gasps. “so you did have night sex?!”

“oh my god.”

“no no no no, you don’t get to oh-my-god me! you texted me i did something and then ghosted me like a coward and now you’re telling me you actually slept with him and he’s just here? like? in the daylight?!”

he waves at her lazily.

“hi,” he says, absolutely unbothered.

she waves back, still in stunned disbelief.

“so like,” she mutters, dropping onto the floor, “are you guys dating now? or are we pretending this is casual? because he looks very not-casual in your favorite mug.”

you shoot her a look. “can you not make this weird?”

“i’m not making it weird. you made it weird by acting like you were too scared to say hi to him a week ago and now you’re out here doing god knows what in leg warmers!”

“what—”

“i’m just saying,” she says, eyes wide, “the character development is insane. like, i blinked and you went from blushing in the corner of the club to domming him over the phone and then riding him unconscious im guessing. what’s next, marriage?!”

he chokes a little on his coffee.

you slap her arm. “shut up!”

he sets his cup down, eyes flicking between you two, still grinning.

“so,” he says casually, “how long does she usually do this?”

you glare. “don’t encourage her.”

your friend was gasping through her laughter. “i like him. keep him. lock him down.”

you shake your head and lean back against the wall, cheeks aching from how hard you’re trying not to laugh.

your friend quiets for a moment. then she just smiles, soft and warm.

“you’re glowing,” she says, like she can’t help it.

you look down.

she’s right.

you kind of are.

you glance at him, and he’s watching you again, like he has been all morning. slow. easy. a little amazed.

and for once, it doesn’t make you nervous.

it just makes you want to keep looking back.

hehe i love my pathetic baby

[ellyymni]

oh great heavens

just call my name, i’m yours to tame

→ namgyu x fem!reader

→ TW! smut (degradation and praise kink, begging, dom!reader, phone sex, riding, nam-gyu is PATHETIC, edging, slight overstim) , no mentions of the games, crazy bsf!!

→ authors note: BRO IVE BEEN UP FOR A DAY STRAIGHT WITH NO SLEEP OVER THIS because i didn’t wanna lose my motivation! anyways im so proud of this ngl and it’s my first squid game fic sooo i hope i did okay. this is kinda inspired by the song “middle of the night” by elley duhé so listen to it!! it’s so good! anyway if yall wanna send some asks over go ahead im actually BEGGING. well, enjoy lovelies hehe

you’re not even halfway through the door before your eyes find him.

same place. same posture. same cool indifference behind the bar like he didn’t just press restart on every nerve in your body.

nam-gyu.

you don’t know what it is about him. maybe it’s the way he looks so devastatingly bored, like the world doesn’t offer anything that could possibly impress him. maybe it’s the way he moves, precise, practiced, but not cocky. like he’s spent a lifetime learning how to be both efficient and impossible to look away from.

all you know is this club, this dim, overpriced, too-loud club, isn’t even your vibe. you started coming here for the music, maybe. but you keep coming for him.

you claim the usual spot at the end of the bar, pretending to scroll your phone. pretending not to stare. pretending that you aren’t mentally scripting every possible line you could say if you ever actually spoke to him. you won’t. you’d rather crawl into traffic in heels.

tonight is different though.

because tonight, you’re not alone.

“is that him?” your friend whispers, leaning way too close and shamelessly eyeing the man you’d barely finished describing on the walk here.

you suck in a breath, feel your whole body lock up. “shut up,” you hiss through a panicked smile.

her eyes widen. “oh my god. you’re in deep. you didn’t say he was hot hot.”

“i did say that,” you mutter, cheeks burning. you try to hide behind your drink, but it’s no use. she’s already grinning like she just uncovered state secrets.

and then the words that make your blood freeze.

“if you don’t talk to him tonight, i will.”

you snap your head toward her so fast it might break your neck. “don’t you dare.”

she only shrugs, already signaling the bartender. him. nam-gyu glances your way, and your soul might as well exit your body.

too late now. tonight’s the night.

you don’t even remember standing up. one second you’re watching nam-gyu walk toward your side of the bar, and the next you’re in the hallway by the bathrooms, gripping the sink like it might float you away from this entire reality.

your heart is a mess. your lip gloss is slightly smudged. and your brain is screaming.

you look at yourself in the mirror and whisper, “you’re a coward.”

still, you don’t move. you give yourself a solid three minutes of silent internal screaming before finally emerging again, heart pounding like you just ran a marathon in heels.

your friend is at the table, looking suspiciously pleased with herself. worse, the bar is one nam-gyu short.

“where is he?” you ask, panic rising in your throat.

she doesn’t answer. she just pushes your drink toward you. your eyes catch something underneath it. folded napkin. black ink. sharp handwriting.

a phone number.

you blink. once. twice. “what… is this?”

your friend sips her drink like she’s been waiting for this moment all night. “you weren’t gonna do it, so i helped.”

you stare at her. “what do you mean, you helped?”

“i told him you think he’s hot and that you’ve been coming here just to see him. and that if he wanted your number, he could have it.”

you make a strangled sound in the back of your throat. “you what?”

“he didn’t say anything at first,” she says with a shrug, “but then he kind of smiled, like, all slow and smug, and just said, ‘tell her i’ll text her later.’ and then he wrote his number down and left.”

your whole body goes stiff. your heart is throwing itself against your ribs like it’s trying to escape.

“he smiled?”

“mhmm.” she smirks. “you’re welcome.”

you look down at the napkin again, like maybe it’ll vanish. like maybe this is some elaborate joke.

but it’s real.

and now you have his number.

it’s been four days.

four days since the club. four days since nam-gyu handed off his number like it wasn’t a nuclear event in your life. four days since your friend practically fed him your entire romantic history while you had a panic attack in the bathroom.

and somehow… nothing.

no text. no call. no vague dm. not even a like on one of your old instagram posts.

so you did what anyone would do. you shoved the entire night into a little box in your brain labeled embarrassing but character-building and moved on.

or at least tried to. today’s just a normal lazy sunday. your friend is over again, laying on your bed while the two of you binge a drama you’re not even really watching. there’s an open bag of chips between you, your feet tangled under a shared blanket, and a familiar quiet comfort in the air.

it’s the kind of day where the light comes through your windows all soft and golden. the kind where nothing feels urgent. nothing feels loud.

until your phone buzzes.

you almost ignore it. but then the screen lights up again. twice.

unknown number:

hey

unknown number:

it’s nam-gyu, from the club?

you sit bolt upright, nearly knocking the bag of chips off the bed. your friend startles.

“what? what happened? are you okay?”

you look at her, wide-eyed. “it’s him.”

she blinks. “who?”

you shove your phone in her face. “him. nam-gyu. he just texted me.”

her mouth drops open. “oh my gosh.”

you’re staring at the screen like it’s going to explode. and maybe it has, in a way. your heart is already thudding hard enough to make your hands shake.

you read it again. and again. it’s short, sure. boring, even. just hey. but it might as well be a love letter at this point.

“okay, what do i say? i need to say something back. but not something lame. oh god, what if it is lame?”

your friend rolls onto her stomach and kicks her feet in the air like she’s thirteen again. “just say hi back. or be cool. like ‘hey, stranger.’”

you make a face. “that sounds like something a forty-year-old divorcée says on tinder.”

she laughs. “okay, okay. then keep it simple. just… ‘hey.’”

you hesitate. then type.

you:

hey

and now you’re just sitting there. palms sweating. heart racing. stomach in knots.

“do you think he’ll reply right away?” you whisper.

your friend shrugs. “he texted you first. he’s obviously been thinking about it.”

you blink at her. “…do you think he just got the courage?”

“oh my god, maybe,” she says, eyes lighting up. “maybe he’s been nervous too. maybe he was gonna text sooner but kept chickening out.”

the thought makes your brain go blank for a second. nam-gyu? nervous?

before you can spiral further, your phone buzzes again.

nam-gyu:

sorry for taking a few days

i wasn’t sure if i should text you

you read that over three times before letting out a soft “oh.”

“he was nervous,” you whisper.

“called it,” your friend says smugly.

you exhale, slowly. fingers hovering over the screen like they’re waiting for permission.

you:

i wasn’t sure if you would

but i’m glad you did

there. honest, but not needy. casual, but with a hint. it’s perfect.

he replies almost immediately.

nam-gyu:

me too

you free this week?

your jaw drops.

“oh my god,” you whisper. “he wants to hang out.”

your friend gasps. “like a date hang out?”

you blink at the message again. is this real? is this happening? is this you?

your thumbs shake a little, but you manage to type:

you:

yeah i think so

what did you have in mind?

a moment passes. another buzz.

nam-gyu:

can i show you my favorite spot after my shift one night?

i promise it’s not a club

you grin, all warm and weightless. you can’t stop smiling.

you:

sounds perfect

your friend squeals and grabs a pillow to scream into. you do the same.

this is real, and it’s only just beginning.

it’s been two days since the text. two days of overthinking, overanalyzing, and over-dramatizing every possible scenario in your head.

and tonight… it’s actually happening.

nam-gyu is meeting you after his shift. he didn’t tell you exactly where he’s taking you. just that it’s somewhere quiet, somewhere he likes. and that he wants you to see it.

you’ve never hated your closet more.

“just wear what you feel good in,” your friend says from the edge of your bed, scrolling through her phone while you hold up a fifth maybe-outfit with a groan.

“i feel good in oversized hoodies and socks that don’t match,” you mutter.

“then wear those,” she deadpans. “he already likes you.”

you give her a look. “i need to look like… i didn’t try too hard, but also like i’m not a total mess.”

she stands up and goes straight to the rack, already knowing what she’s looking for. within seconds, she holds up a plain black fitted tee and a short black skirt with a little slit on the side.

“this,” she says. “simple. cute. a little flirty, but comfy.”

you blink. “…that’s actually perfect.”

“of course it is,” she grins. “and throw on the black leg warmers. make it a whole vibe.”

fifteen minutes later, you’re dressed, hair fixed just right, makeup soft and simple. you glance at yourself in the mirror and… okay, yeah. you feel good. you look like you, but the kind of you who deserves a second look.

your phone buzzes.

nam-gyu:

off now

meet me outside the club?

you stare at the message for a second. then exhale. “it’s time.”

your friend gives you a dramatic hug. “don’t trip. don’t black out. and if he tries to kiss you, lean in.”

you laugh, nerves fluttering like a thousand tiny birds in your chest.

outside the club, it’s quieter than usual. it’s late enough that the line is gone, but early enough that the neon still glows faintly behind the tinted windows. you’re waiting near the corner, arms tucked into yourself even though the night is warm.

you hear the door swing open.

you don’t have to look to know it’s him.

you do anyway.

he’s in a dark jacket, sleeves pushed up, hands in his pockets, hair a little messier than usual. his eyes scan until they find you.

and then he smiles. just a little.

“hey,” he says, walking over.

“hey.” your voice comes out softer than expected.

his eyes flick down, taking in your outfit for a brief second. he doesn’t say anything about it. doesn’t compliment or stare. but something about the way his gaze lingers. quiet and warm and lowkey appreciative, makes your stomach flip anyway.

“you look comfortable,” he says finally. “i like that.”

you laugh, a little breathless. “thanks. i didn’t want to… try too hard.”

“you didn’t have to.” he shrugs. “you look good.”

your heart does a little jump.

he nods toward the street. “come on. it’s not far.”

you fall into step beside him. it’s easy, somehow. the silence between you is soft, not awkward. like you both know the pace. like this was always meant to happen.

“so…” you say after a minute, “are you going to tell me where we’re going, or…?”

he glances at you. “nope.”

you snort. “wow. mysterious.”

“you’ll see.”

the city gets quieter as you walk. less neon, more shadows. more sky. and then finally, after a few more turns, he stops in front of a small tucked-away building.

it’s a rooftop café. not open to the public at this hour, but the side gate creaks open when he pushes it. you follow him up a narrow staircase, past some plants and old patio furniture. and then, the view.

the city skyline is spread out in front of you, glittering and alive but far enough to feel like it belongs to someone else. it’s peaceful. high up. removed.

he looks at you. “this is my favorite place to breathe.”

you don’t speak for a moment. just take it in.

then, quietly, “thank you for showing me.”

he shrugs again, but there’s something shy about it now. “thought you might like it.”

you glance at him, catching the way his fingers twitch slightly by his side, like he wants to reach for something.

you don’t move. you just smile.

“i do.”

you don’t know how long you’ve been up here.

maybe twenty minutes. maybe an hour. it doesn’t really matter. time feels loose around nam-gyu, like it drips slow, stretches, then snaps back all at once.

he doesn’t talk much at first. just sits beside you on the ledge, legs dangling into the warm night air, one hand braced against the concrete between you. he offers you a can of something cold and vaguely citrusy, and you take it without thinking.

he doesn’t look at you right away. he just watches the skyline, the way the lights pulse and flicker, blinking like a heartbeat. you do the same.

and it’s nice.

it’s… calm.

not the kind of silence that begs to be filled, but the kind that gives you room to think.

“you always come here?” you ask eventually, voice soft.

he nods. “when i can. after late shifts. before big ones.”

“does anyone else know about it?”

he glances at you now, and there’s a quiet flicker in his eyes. something unreadable, but not cold.

“just you.”

you swallow. hard.

he looks away again, leans back on his hands, shoulders relaxed in a way you’ve never seen from him on the job.

you’re used to seeing him behind the bar. in the glow of club lights, all sharp cheekbones and calm confidence and quick hands. the guy who moves like he’s already figured out the next five steps before you’ve even blinked.

but up here, he’s softer. unguarded. still a little distant, but not in a cold way. like he’s giving you space to come closer, if you want.

“you’re quieter than i thought you’d be,” you murmur.

he raises a brow. “is that a bad thing?”

“no. just surprising.”

he gives a soft huff of amusement, then sips from his can.

“people say that a lot. guess i give off the wrong impression.”

you shrug. “maybe you give off the kind of impression that makes people want to know more.”

that makes him pause. you think you see his lips twitch, just slightly.

“do you?”

you blink. “do i…?”

he turns his head, looks at you more directly this time. “want to know more?”

your heart stutters.

your mouth is dry.

your brain, unhelpfully, decides to blank completely.

“…yeah.”

he hums, quiet and satisfied, like that’s all he needed to hear. like he already knew.

you sit like that for a while. sipping your drink, trading little glances that feel like too much and not enough.

he tells you about the first time he found this rooftop—some quiet night when he was younger, needing space, needing air. he says it like it’s nothing, but you hear it. the loneliness tucked in between the words. the reason this place matters.

you nod and share something small too. not anything big, not a sob story. just a memory from your own life where you felt like everything was too loud and you needed somewhere to just be.

he listens. really listens. no interruptions, no fidgeting. just steady eyes and steady breathing, like the whole world stopped to make room for what you’re saying.

when you stop talking, he doesn’t rush to fill the silence.

“i’m glad you came,” he says finally.

you glance over. “me too.”

and it’s quiet again, but different now. warmer. heavier, in the way a moment can be when something’s about to shift.

he stands after a while, stretches his arms above his head, then offers you his hand.

“come here.”

you blink. “where?”

“closer.”

you hesitate, then take it.

he pulls you gently, steady, until you’re standing in front of him. not too close. but not far either.

“you were shaking when i texted you,” he says suddenly. not teasing, just matter-of-fact.

you freeze. “wait…how do you know that?”

he smirks, just slightly. “your friend told me. said you almost passed out.”

you groan and bury your face in your hands. “i’m going to kill her.”

he laughs. not loud, but real. warm. and then, gently, he reaches out, brushing your hands down so he can see your face again.

you stare up at him, caught in the space between panic and something dangerously close to butterflies.

“it was kind of cute,” he says, and there’s something softer in his eyes now. “you trying not to look at me. looking anyway.”

you bite your lip. “you noticed that?”

“of course i did.” he says it like it was obvious. like he was watching you just as much as you were watching him.

you want to say something. anything. but you don’t get the chance because he steps just a little closer. not enough to cross a line, but enough to make your breath hitch.

“you still nervous?” he asks quietly.

you nod. “a little.”

he leans in, not touching, not pressing, just near.

“don’t be.”

and with that, he pulls back, lets go of your hand, and turns back toward the ledge. like he didn’t just make your heart crash into your ribs.

you stand there for a second, trying to reboot your entire system.

nam-gyu glances over his shoulder. smirks.

“you coming, or are you gonna keep staring?”

you roll your eyes and follow him back to the ledge, pretending you’re not blushing.

but he knows.

he definitely knows.

the walk back starts slow.

not the kind of slow that means you’re tired or bored, but the kind where neither of you really want it to end.

the streets are emptier now. quieter. just the sound of your footsteps echoing against the sidewalk and the occasional car humming in the distance. the city feels smaller like this, like it’s folding in around the two of you.

you’re talking about nothing in particular. something about bad music at the club, some weird guy who tried to dance behind you once. nam-gyu listens, chuckling under his breath, and you can feel the air between you shifting again. light, but charged.

you’re animated when you speak. hands moving a little when you get into the story, your skirt swaying just enough to catch the corner of his eye.

he’s looking.

he doesn’t mean to.

okay, maybe he does.

but only in quick, stolen glances. when your head’s turned, or when you’re stepping ahead just slightly.

his eyes trace the curve of your waist, the way your shirt clings to your back, the soft movement of your legs as the skirt flutters over the tops of your thighs.

it’s subtle. respectful.

but he’s definitely looking.

you don’t notice. not really. you’re too focused on keeping your voice steady, even though your heart’s been skipping every other beat since you left the rooftop.

at one point, you laugh, tilting your head back, eyes squinting a little, and he swears under his breath, so quietly not even he hears it.

you’re pretty.

you’ve always been pretty.

but now, in the dim streetlights and soft shadows, wearing that outfit like it wasn’t chosen specifically to get his attention (even though it very much was)…

you look good.

and worse, he likes that he notices.

he likes the little flip in his stomach when your fingers brush his by accident.

he likes the heat in his chest when you tilt your head toward him to ask something softly.

you stop walking at a red light, waiting at the corner with your arms folded loosely across your chest. you glance up at him, and for a second, he doesn’t look away in time.

you catch it.

not the whole thing, but just enough. the way his gaze was on your mouth. then your legs. then up again.

you raise a brow. “what?”

he doesn’t flinch. doesn’t act flustered. he just blinks, casually.

“nothing,” he says, voice cool. “you talk a lot with your hands.”

you narrow your eyes slightly, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips. “that’s not what you were looking at.”

“sure it was.”

the light turns green and he starts walking again.

you follow.

you bump into his side lightly. “liar.”

he smirks. “you gonna punish me for it?”

you go still for half a second, surprised by the casual boldness of it, but he just chuckles, clearly amused by your reaction.

you roll your eyes and shake your head.

“you’re not as quiet as you pretend to be.”

“i never said i was innocent.”

you glance sideways. “and what exactly are you, then?”

he shrugs. “curious.”

the word hangs in the air a little heavier than expected.

you swallow. look away. try not to read into it too much.

but your pulse betrays you.

and he can probably hear it.

the rest of the walk is more of the same—

close, teasing, quiet tension settling in the space between your steps.

he walks you all the way to your door.

doesn’t ask. just does it. like it’s obvious.

you pause when you get there, hand on the knob, heart suddenly slamming against your ribs because…

now what?

you look at him, waiting. hoping. not expecting.

he looks at you, still calm.

“i had fun,��� you say softly.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

his gaze flicks down again, one last glance over your frame, slower this time, like he’s letting himself indulge in the view now that the night’s almost over.

then, eyes meeting yours again, he says, “we should do it again.”

you nod, barely breathing. “i’d like that.”

he doesn’t kiss you.

doesn’t ask to come in.

doesn’t linger too long.

but his eyes say a lot.

and the way he leans in, just a little, like he’s memorizing your face before leaving says even more.

“goodnight,” he murmurs, voice lower now.

“night,” you whisper back.

and then he’s walking away.

slow. sure. hands in his pockets again.

you don’t go inside right away.

you wait until he turns the corner. until you can’t see him anymore.

and when you finally do, you lean against the door once it clicks shut, breath catching in your throat.

after a while, you’re fresh out of the shower, damp hair clinging to your shoulders, the warm scent of soap still wrapped around you like steam.

your towel slips slightly lower when you bend to pick up your phone from the sink. you expect a meme. maybe your friend checking in.

but it’s not her.

nam-gyu 🤍

are you still up

fuck

i shouldn’t be texting you

but i can’t sleep

you looked so good tonight it’s driving me crazy

sorry sorry ignore me

unless you’re awake

pls

i feel insane

can you call me

you don’t have to say anything just pick up

i’m losing it here

your lips curl.

you pad barefoot to your bed, still dripping a little, towel tugged tight around your chest.

you glance down at the screen again. he hasn’t messaged since the last one.

so you call.

he picks up like he was waiting for it, voice low and full of static tension. “hello?”

“hey,” you say, soft and slow, settling against your pillows. “you okay?”

he exhales like he’s been holding his breath. “no. i mean…fuck. yes. not really.”

you hum. “what’s wrong?”

a pause. you let it stretch out, just to hear him squirm.

“…nothing. never mind. this was dumb.”

“really?” you tease, feigning innocence. “because those messages didn’t sound like nothing. kinda sounded like you were having a moment.”

he groans, quiet and guttural. “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

“that tone. like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing to me.”

you smile, smug but still playing coy.

“i really don’t. why don’t you tell me?”

another pause.

then a soft, breathy, “fuck.”

“nam-gyu,” you coax. “say it.”

“…i can’t stop thinking about you.”

“that’s sweet.”

“not like that,” he whispers. “not just that. it’s…fuck, it’s your mouth, your thighs, the way you looked at me when you caught me staring. i haven’t been able to stop thinking about your body. you wore that skirt on purpose, didn’t you?”

you smirk. “maybe.”

“jesus,” he mutters. “i’ve been hard since i got home. i tried everything. i even got in the shower, but it didn’t help. it just made it worse. i kept imagining you behind me, sliding your hands down my chest, telling me what to do…”

you hum, dragging your fingers lightly across your thigh.

“what do you want me to do, nam-gyu?”

he hesitates.

then breaks.

“tell me to touch myself. please.”

you lean back against your pillows, satisfied.

“then do it. slow.”

“fuck…”

you hear his hand move, the subtle wet sound of skin on skin, and it sends heat straight through you.

“are you imagining me touching you instead?”

“yes,” he groans. “your hands, your mouth, your voice in my ear just like this.”

“tell me how it feels.”

“so good,” he pants. “hurts, kinda. like i need more. need you.”

your breath catches at that. you squeeze your thighs together but don’t touch yet. not until he earns it.

“you wanna come already?” you murmur.

“no…yes—fuck, i can’t yet.”

“you better not,” you warn. “you don’t come until i say so.”

he moans softly, the sound raw and needy.

“say it.”

he swallows. “i won’t come until you say so.”

“good. now speed up a little.”

you can hear the shift in rhythm. his breathing faster, the slick sound sharper now.

“fuckfuckfuck, please…say something else.”

“you looked so good tonight,” you whisper. “but you were so obvious, nam-gyu. staring at my thighs. my ass. my lips. if you wanted me that badly, you should’ve just begged for it.”

he groans like he’s in pain. “i am begging—please, i need to come—”

“not yet.”

he whimpers. whimpers.

like he’s falling apart at the sound of your voice alone.

you trail a hand down your stomach, finally letting your fingers dip between your legs.

“i’m touching myself now,” you say sweetly. “and you don’t get to come until i do.”

he gasps, desperate, broken. “fuck, that’s not fair—”

“you called me, baby. you don’t get to make the rules.”

you work yourself slowly, deliberately, hips rolling against your hand, and every soft sound you make into the phone has him gasping on the other end.

“you’re gonna make me lose my mind,” he chokes out. “i wanna hear you…please, tell me what you’re doing—”

you moan quietly, just enough to drive him crazy.

“fingers in slow. two of them now. fuck, i’m so wet, nam-gyu. just from listening to you beg.”

his hand speeds up again. you hear him breathing so hard now, voice wrecked.

“can i cum now?” he whimpers. “please. i can’t—I’m so fucking close—”

you grin, voice low.

“you wanna cum, baby?”

“yes—yes, please—i need to—”

you stay silent

“please,” he groans, falling apart. “please let me come. i’ll do anything. i’ll get on my knees for you. i’ll let you tell me what to do forever. just please—”

you arch into your hand, breath catching.

you’re close too now, thighs trembling, heat pulsing with every word out of his mouth.

“come for me,” you whisper. “now.”

and he loses it.

you hear the moan he tries to hold back. sharp, ragged, dragged from deep in his chest. the sound of his hand faltering, breath gasping, curse words spilling between moans like he forgot how to function.

you come right after, pushing yourself over the edge with a sharp gasp, his broken voice in your ear making everything twist tighter, hotter, deeper.

for a few seconds, all you hear is breathing.

deep. shaky.

both of you trying to catch your breath.

“holy fuck,” he finally says.

you smirk, lazily satisfied. “feel better now?”

“…yes. no. i don’t even know.”

you laugh. “you’re lucky i picked up.”

“i’m gonna think about this every night for the rest of my life.”

you stretch across the sheets, smug. “maybe i’ll let you return the favor next time.”

he groans. “don’t tease me like that.”

“i’m not. i mean it.”

you hear him exhale again. softer now.

“…i really like you,” he murmurs.

your heart skips.

but your voice stays smooth.

“i know.”

you wake up to sunlight leaking through your curtains and your phone buzzing quietly against your pillow.

your head is foggy. your mouth dry. your towel… half on, half off, barely clinging to your chest like it gave up sometime in the middle of the night.

you blink at your screen. the call ended.

nam-gyu 🤍

good morningg

you fell asleep on me 

i’m heading to work now, i’ll text you later

…

what.

no follow-up. no voice note. no “wow that was hot” or “you ruined me.”

just a smiley face and casual talk to you later.

as if you didn’t just…

as if he didn’t…

as if you both didn’t literally lose your minds over the phone six hours ago.

you throw the phone across your bed, then scramble to grab it again.

“no no no no”

you do what any normal person would do in a full-blown, post-horny identity crisis:

you call your best friend.

“hello?” she answers, groggy. “why are you calling me before noon? did you die? did you kill someone?”

“i did something worse,” you whisper, completely horrified. “i dommed him.”

“…what?”

“i DOMMED him.”

a beat.

“okay i’m on my way.”

you don’t even hang up.

fifteen minutes later she’s at your door with her hair in a claw clip, iced coffee in hand, wearing pajamas and a look of pure curiosity.

“talk. now.”

you collapse back on your bed, towel still questionably wrapped around you, phone pressed to your chest like it betrayed you.

“he texted me good morning. like we didn’t have a full-on phone sex meltdown last night. i told him what to do. i told him when to come. i called him baby. i was saying shit i didn’t even know i could say.”

your friend blinks. “so you’re telling me… quiet, flustered, crush-on-the-club-boy you… turned into a whole dom goddess last night?”

“i don’t know who that was,” you groan, dragging a pillow over your face. “she possessed me. she used my voice. i’m scared of her.”

she’s already laughing, obnoxiously loud. “did he like it?”

“he begged. like actually said ‘please’ and everything. i think i broke him. or imprinted on him. or both.”

you peek out from under the pillow. “and then this morning he just… went to work. like he didn’t sound like a porn audio come to life last night.”

she grins. “maybe he’s playing it cool.”

“or maybe i traumatized him.” you sit up, flailing slightly. “what if he thinks i’m always like that? i don’t do that. i’ve literally never even…. i don’t command. i’m more of a ‘may i please hold your hand and cry about it’ kind of girl.”

“okay,” she says, sipping her coffee, “first of all, you’re being dramatic. second of all, he clearly loved it. third of all, this is what happens when you repress your crush for too long. it explodes. violently. with orgasms.”

you throw a stuffed animal at her.

“i’m never speaking to him again,” you declare. “i’ll move. change my name. delete all evidence of that phone call. i’ll become a monk.”

“you’ll do none of that and you’ll text him when he gets off work.”

you flop back dramatically. “what if he hates me now?”

“he doesn’t. if anything, he’s probably texting his friends like ‘bro i just got spiritually dommed by the hottest girl alive and i think i’m in love.’”

you stare at the ceiling.

then sigh.

“…do i text him first?”

“hell no. you made him beg. let him sweat.”

“you’re a menace.”

“you’re a dom now. own it.”

you both burst into laughter.

your phone buzzes again.

nam-gyu

hope you’re having a good day

i can’t stop thinking about your voice btw

call me tonight if you want, won’t force you though 

your face goes red.

your friend peeks over your shoulder.

“yeah,” she says smugly. “he’s so into it.”

you’re still holding the phone like it might bite you.

your friend reads over your shoulder again, sipping her coffee with the most annoying grin on her face.

you groan. “how is he acting so normal about it? he literally just dropped ‘i can’t stop thinking about your voice’ like we didn’t verbally destroy each other twelve hours ago.”

“you did destroy him, though. respectfully. i’m proud.”

“i can’t go outside ever again.”

she tosses a pillow at you. “actually… you can. and you will. because we’re going out again.”

you blink. “excuse me?”

“you heard me. we’re going to that same club. tonight.”

“absolutely not.”

“okay but hear me out…yes.”

you sit up, panic rising. “what if he thinks we’re going to do that again? what if he wants more? what if i want more?” your voice gets higher with each sentence.

“then you get more?” she says, completely unbothered. “this is a win-win situation.”

“i can’t just go back there and look him in the eyes after—after last night! i told him what to do! i made him say please! he literally—i literally—ugh!”

she just stares at you, waiting for your little dramatic spiral to burn out. once you’re done flailing and burying your face into the couch, she goes, “text him.”

“no.”

“yes.”

“no!!”

she snatches your phone, types something, then shoves it into your lap.

you look down.

she wrote:

hey are you free sometime soon? wanna see you againnn

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU—”

“press send.”

“i’m going to have a heart attack.”

“press. send.”

your thumb hovers like the phone might explode. your stomach does that flip thing again.

and then…

you press it.

you fling the phone across the room immediately.

your friend cackles. “what are you gonna do if he says yes?”

“i don’t know!! combust?? ascend to the next spiritual plane?? move to a rural village and live among goats??”

you’re pacing now, hands in your hair.

your phone dings.

“no—oh no—he answered! ”

you dive for it.

nam-gyu

yeah i’d really like that 

when are you free?

you sit back down like your knees gave out. “he wants to see me again. after all that. he’s not scared. what if i’m scared?”

your friend pats your head like a proud parent. “you made the man lose his soul and he’s asking for a second round. you’re winning.”

“this is a nightmare.”

“this is romance. now text him back and figure out a day. i’m going to help you pick another dangerously hot outfit.”

you text back with shaky fingers:

what about saturday night?

he replies in under a minute.

nam-gyu

saturday works

should i meet you there again or pick you up?

you’re pretty sure you’ve forgotten how to breathe.

your friend stares at the message and says, without blinking,

“oh yeah. he’s in deep.”

saturday night hits harder than it should.

you’re standing in front of your mirror, holding up outfit option number four, while your best friend lies belly-down on your bed like she’s watching a live fashion show.

“nope,” she says. “not hot enough.”

“i’m not trying to seduce him,” you lie.

she looks at you. “babe. you dommed him over the phone and he asked to see you again. the bar is gone. the tension is built. he’s already halfway seduced.”

you groan, flopping onto the floor.

“you need to look effortlessly hot. like you didn’t try. like you just woke up and accidentally made him lose his mind.”

“…how do i do that?”

she grins.

ten minutes later, she hands you the outfit.

simple black spaghetti strap top, low cut just enough to tease but not scream it.

soft denim shorts that technically cover everything, but your thighs are out and they cling when you move.

and a pair of chunky sneakers that make you look like a walking daydream.

you stare at yourself in the mirror.

“…am i about to destroy a man?”

“absolutely,” she says, smug. “you’re welcome.”

you meet nam-gyu outside the club just before ten.

he’s already there, waiting by the wall, hands in his pockets, hoodie half-zipped, hair slightly messy like he just got off shift or maybe fussed with it before coming over.

when he spots you, he freezes.

and stares.

just for a second too long.

his eyes flick down, then back up, and his lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile.

“hey,” he says, voice lower than usual. “you look…”

his words trail off.

you raise a brow, smug now that the tables are turning. “i look…?”

he clears his throat, shaking his head like he’s rebooting. “good. really good.”

“you don’t look too bad yourself,” you reply, trying not to let it show that your heart is tap-dancing in your chest.

inside, the music’s loud but not overwhelming. colored lights pulse against the walls, the kind of place where people move slow and close. the same corner table is open.

he slides into the seat across from you.

and then the tension starts.

his gaze keeps dropping to your legs, then shooting back to your face like he got caught.

you pretend not to notice. mostly.

when you lean forward to sip your drink, his eyes lock on the dip of your collarbone.

when you laugh too hard and touch his arm, he goes quiet for a second too long.

and when your knees bump under the table… he doesn’t move away.

you feel it. that pull. like you’re sitting too far apart and too close all at once.

every brush of skin feels electric. every glance is heavy.

you ask about his week.

he tells you a story about a drunk guy at work who tried to tip him with a gum wrapper.

you laugh and sip your drink, eyes on him the whole time.

his fingers drum the edge of the table like he doesn’t know what else to do with them.

“you okay?” you ask, teasing just a little.

“yeah,” he says quickly. “just… trying not to stare too hard.”

you bite your lip. “why not?”

he smiles, but it’s tight. “because i’m trying to be respectful. and you look like a sin.”

you blink.

okay.

cool.

normal.

heart rate stable. not blushing. at all.

“…you’re not too bad with words when you try,” you murmur.

he leans forward slightly, elbows resting on the table, and the way he looks at you, dark, focused, like you’re the only thing in the room makes you shift in your seat.

“that’s funny,” he says quietly. “because the other night, i couldn’t say anything unless you told me to.”

your breath catches.

his tone is casual. too casual.

you try to cover the sudden spike in your pulse with a smile. “so you didlike that.”

he shrugs, but his jaw tenses. “i haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

you don’t know what to say to that.

not really.

so you sip your drink again. legs crossed just enough to drive him crazy.

by the time you’re both finished, the air between you is practically buzzing.

you walk out together. close. arms brushing.

he doesn’t say anything, but his hand almost reaches for yours once.

then doesn’t.

and somehow, that makes it worse.

by the time you’re outside, your skin is hot, your thoughts are a mess, and you’re definitely not as cool and in control as you were pretending to be.

but he opens the door for you. walks you to your place.

and before you part ways, he looks at you one more time…

and says, “call me when you get home.”

you hesitate for half a second.

just one.

he’s about to turn and leave, head dipping with that soft little smile of his like nothing ever happened between you. like your voice didn’t wreck him over the phone. like he isn’t still aching from how you told him exactly what to do.

you breathe out, 

then say it.

“wait.”

he stops.

turns.

you step forward.

“come inside.”

his brows lift slightly. his expression doesn’t change much, but his body does. shoulders tightening, breath hitching, hands sinking deeper into his jacket pockets like he knows exactly where this is going but doesn’t want to assume.

he swallows.

“you sure?”

his voice is low. cautious. careful.

you nod slowly. “i don’t want to talk on the phone tonight.”

he doesn’t answer right away.

just steps inside when you open the door.

and everything is suddenly so quiet.

he stands in your hallway while you slip off your shoes. you feel his eyes on you—same way he looked at you all night. full of want. full of restraint.

“do you want something to drink?” you ask, pretending like your pulse isn’t hammering in your throat.

“no.”

you turn.

his hands are still in his pockets. his mouth is a tight line. he’s watching you like he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

you do.

you walk straight up to him, close enough that your chests almost touch. your fingers brush the front of his jacket, slowly pushing it open.

he doesn’t stop you. just stands there, tense.

“you’ve been looking at me all night,” you murmur.

his breath stutters.

“you looked at my thighs. my chest. you couldn’t keep your eyes off me.”

his jaw flexes.

but he still says nothing.

“say it.”

he meets your gaze. “you already know.”

you smile a little. “i want to hear you say it anyway.”

a pause.

then…

“yeah. i couldn’t stop looking.”

“why?”

he licks his lips. exhales slowly.

“because i wanted to touch you.”

you hum, fingers sliding beneath the hem of his shirt, letting your nails graze lightly up his stomach. he shivers.

“say what you really want.”

his mouth opens. closes. opens again.

you see the conflict—the push and pull, the need.

and then he cracks.

“…i want you to ruin me.”

your fingers curl into his shirt, dragging him down just enough to whisper into his ear.

“take your shoes off.”

he obeys.

you lead him to your bedroom.

the second the door shuts, the tension breaks. you push him down onto the edge of your bed. he stares up at you, hands clenching the sheets.

you climb into his lap.

his breath catches.

he tries to reach for you. instinctive, needy, but you grab his wrists and pin them to the bed.

“don’t touch me unless i tell you to.”

he groans. his head falls back slightly, chest rising like he’s struggling to breathe.

you press your body flush to his, and he twitches beneath you.

“look at you,” you whisper. “i’ve barely even touched you and you’re already like this.”

he grits his teeth. “i can’t help it.”

“you’re pathetic,” you murmur, voice laced with heat. “so desperate.”

his hips jerk.

“god, you like that?” you tease. “you like being talked down?”

he nods. fast. almost frantic. “yes.”

you lean forward, biting his earlobe gently. “say it.”

“i like it,” he breathes. “i like when you call me pathetic. i like it when you tell me what to do.”

you reach between you and undo his pants, slow, deliberate.

he twitches under your fingers.

you pull him out, and the way he moans, shaky and sharp, goes straight to your core.

“you’re hard already,” you say, mock-sweet. “poor thing. is this what happens when you don’t get to cum for a few days?”

he whimpers. actually whimpers.

“use your words.”

“yes,” he pants. “i can’t stop thinking about you. about your voice. about how you sounded when you told me what to do.”

you kiss him—sudden and rough.

he moans into your mouth, bucking up into your hand, but you pull away just as fast and squeeze his thighs to keep him still.

“don’t move.”

he groans again.

you stroke him slowly. deliberately.

his head drops back. he’s shaking.

“fuck,” he whispers. “please. please let me touch you.”

you smile.

“you want to be good for me?”

“yes.”

“then shut up and take it.”

he moans again. louder this time.

you tease him, keep him on the edge. fast strokes, then slow. lips on his neck. teeth grazing his jaw. he’s trembling under you now, hips lifting off the bed like he’s losing control.

you don’t stop.

not when he gasps. not when he begs.

“you’re close,” you whisper. “aren’t you?”

he nods. “i—I’m gonna…please—”

you stop completely.

his whole body tenses.

“what the fuck—” he starts, breathless.

you tilt his chin up. “you don’t cum unless i say so.”

he groans like it physically hurts.

“i could make you wait,” you murmur. “make you sit here hard and aching all night. would you beg for it again?”

he nods. fast. desperate. “yes. anything.”

you lean in, mouth by his ear.

“then beg.”

he does.

“please. please let me cum. please use me. i want it. i need it. fuck, i need you—”

you slam your mouth against his and finally, finally, sink down onto him.

his entire body arches. the sound he makes is feral.

“fuckfuck—”

you set the pace, grinding down slow, squeezing him tight, your nails dragging down his chest. he’s gasping, hands still clenched in the sheets like if he touches you he’ll explode.

“you feel so good,” you whisper, moaning softly in his ear. “so full. you’re doing so good for me.”

he whines.

you fuck him slow. deep. then fast, grinding, riding, dragging him to the edge and pulling back, again and again.

his face is flushed, mouth open, sweat dripping from his temple. you couldn’t help but admire how hard he was trying to stay quiet, but you both knew he couldn’t. that phone call said a lot about you two, and you loved what you heard. 

you leaned into his ear. “cum,” you whisper.

and he does. loud, shuddering, broken.

you don’t stop.

you fuck him through it, hips slapping, hands pinning his wrists, riding every wave of his orgasm until he’s gasping, twitching, eyes rolling back.

“too much,” he chokes out. “i can’t…please—”

but you’re not done yet.

“you wanted to be ruined,” you murmur. “don’t stop now.”

you watch him unravel under you.

sweat clings to his skin, his jaw slack, pupils blown wide.

his hands are fisted in your sheets, knuckles pale like he’s clinging to sanity by a thread.

and you’re not slowing down. not even a little.

“too much,” he breathes, voice hoarse. “fuck…please, i can’t—”

you tilt your head, hips grinding with slow, deliberate pressure, dragging another helpless moan from him.

“you can,” you murmur. “you can take it. i know you can.”

he whimpers. choked, broken.

and it only makes you wetter.

you ride him hard, fast, then grind slow, watching his eyes flutter. you’re soaked. everything’s slick and hot and messy now. every thrust has his thighs twitching. he’s so sensitive you can feel it. each little spasm that runs through him when your hips slam into his.

“look at you,” you whisper. “you came already and you’re still fucking hard.”

his mouth opens, but nothing comes out except another shaky groan.

“you like being used, don’t you?”

he nods, biting his lip so hard it’s going white.

“say it.”

“yes,” he gasps. “yes, fuck, i love it” he tried to whisper 

you moan softly, leaning forward to wrap a hand around his throat, just enough pressure to keep him in place, to make his breath hitch.

“you want to cum again?”

you grind down slow. full. tight.

his hips buck before he can even answer.

“please,” he gasps.“please, let me i’ll be good, i swear, i’ll do anything—”

you speed up again, hand slipping from his throat to rake down his chest, nails leaving marks behind. he’s trembling, legs spread wide under you, hair sticking to his forehead, neck flushed red from the heat.

you’re close too. so close.

“don’t stop,” he begs. “please, don’t stop…i’m gonna—please—”

you ride him harder, hips snapping, and the noise of skin against skin fills the room, filthy and loud. his moans are getting higher, messier, breath hitching every time you slam back down.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!”

he’s losing it. unraveling. breaking apart under you.

and you don’t stop.

you chase your own high, grinding down with each thrust, tightening around him until you’re gasping, shaking, eyes squeezed shut—

and then it hits.

you cry out, hips stuttering, clenching around him as your orgasm crashes down in hot, pulsing waves.

and he feels it.

“fuck…fuck—” he shouts, and then he’s coming again, thick and messy and deep inside you, hips jerking up into yours like his body’s not even his anymore.

you don’t stop moving until every last tremor is milked from his body. until he’s completely still, completely spent, chest heaving under yours like he just ran a marathon.

you slow down, finally easing your hips to a stop and letting your weight settle on top of him. his arms lift weakly, like he’s trying to hold you, but they drop back to the bed just as fast.

his voice is a whisper now.

“you’re gonna fucking kill me.”

you smile, breathless, lips brushing his jaw.

“you liked it.”

“…i fucking loved it.”

you kiss him. slow this time. gentle. and he melts into it.

his whole body feels boneless now. like you’ve drained every last ounce of tension from him.

and you’re not going to say it out loud, not yet. 

but the way he looks at you right now?

you’re pretty sure he’d let you do this again.

anytime. anywhere. any way you want.

you finally pull yourself out of bed when your legs stop shaking.

the room’s still thick with the heat of what just happened. air warm, sheets tangled, your skin tingling from every place he touched you, kissed you, filled you. you don’t say anything as you slip off the bed. he watches you go, lazily, eyes half-lidded, lips parted like he might say something, but doesn’t.

your steps are slow, careful.

you grab a towel, your sleep shirt, and disappear into the bathroom.

the light is harsh at first, too bright for your still-foggy head, and for a second, you just stand there, staring at yourself in the mirror.

your lips are swollen.

there’s a light bruise on your neck.

your thighs are trembling again and you’re not even moving.

you press a hand to your chest. your heart’s still racing.

you breathe in. out. rinse your face. clean yourself up, slow and steady. you pull on your shirt. brush your teeth. run your fingers through your hair.

your phone is charging next to the sink.

you unplug it, turn it over, open messages. you stare at the screen for a second, then type out one single thing:

you

i did something

you don’t wait for a response.

you slip your phone into your hand and head back to the room.

he’s still there. hasn’t moved. blanket half-kicked off, one arm bent behind his head. he’s looking at you now. quiet. heavy-lidded. like he’s too tired to say much, but still wants to watch you walk.

you crawl back into bed and he shifts without a word, pulls the blanket up around both of you, pulls you into him like instinct.

his hand settles on your hip.

you don’t say anything. neither does he.

his fingers stroke your skin slowly. absentminded. his breath is warm against the back of your neck.

you feel like you should say something.

that was intense. way more intense than you expected.

but instead, you just press your hand over his and squeeze it lightly.

he sighs. long and slow. melts against you like he’s never slept like this before.

and honestly… you haven’t either.

you stare at the wall until your eyelids go heavy.

his arm tightens once.

you fall asleep just like that.

warm.

sore.

and not alone.

you wake up warm. too warm, actually.

something heavy is draped over you, and it takes your barely-awake brain a full few seconds to realize it’s not a blanket. it’s an arm. strong and warm and definitely still clinging to your waist, fingers curled loosely into your shirt like you might disappear if he lets go.

you blink slowly.

sunlight spills through the cracks in your blinds. the room is quiet, filled only with the soft sound of breathing, his, steady and deep, and yours, still shallow and sleepy. your back is pressed to his chest. legs tangled. his nose is tucked into the back of your shoulder, and every time he exhales, it sends a little shiver down your spine.

he’s still asleep.

you don’t move.

you just… lie there.

soaking it in.

his chest rises and falls against your back. every now and then, he shifts a little, adjusting without even waking, like his body already knows it doesn’t want to be anywhere else. and you… god, you didn’t know it could feel like this. warm and safe and so deeply natural to be held like this. like you belong there.

you peek over your shoulder. his lips are parted slightly. his hair’s a total mess. and his face…

he looks soft.

softer than last night. younger. his guard’s down completely.

you let yourself watch him for a while.

and then, instinctively, you reach for your phone.

it’s still lying face-down on the nightstand. when you flip it over, you wince. your screen is blinding after the darkness of the room, and you have about eight missed messages.

from her.

you open them, slowly.

bestie 🤍: ????

bestie 🤍: HELLO?

bestie 🤍: i’m literally going insane

bestie 🤍: i saw you read it don’t even do this to me

bestie 🤍: TELL ME EVERYTHING

bestie 🤍: i swear to god if you leave me on read

bestie 🤍: is he STILL THERE

bestie 🤍: pls i’m begging you i need DETAILS

bestie 🤍: i will call you don’t test me

you stare at your phone for a second, fighting a smile, then glance back at him.

still asleep.

you slowly wiggle around to face him, careful not to wake him, but his eyes flutter open anyway. halfway. heavy-lidded and hazy, like he’s still stuck between sleep and dreaming.

“mm… hey.”

his voice is rough. warm. his hand slides up your waist as he blinks at you, then lets out a soft breath and tugs you in a little closer.

“hi,” you whisper, cheeks warming.

he closes his eyes again like that was all he needed. his arm stays around you, firm and certain.

you lie there for a minute, just listening to his breathing again.

“you’re gonna be late,” you murmur.

“hm?”

“work. it’s—” you check the time. “it’s literally ten.”

he hums lazily. doesn’t even flinch. “so?”

“you can’t just—”

he opens his eyes, just barely, and grins.

“what, you kicking me out already?”

you stare at him. “not that either”

he pulls you in again, slow and deliberate. buries his face into the crook of your neck and exhales hard, like he’s been waiting to do that all morning.

“then it’s fine,” he mumbles. “gimme five more minutes.”

your heart does a thing in your chest. a flutter. a skip. something warm and impossible to ignore.

you let him hold you.

your phone buzzes again in your hand.

bestie 🤍: IF YOU DON’T ANSWER ME I’M SHOWING UP

you snort quietly and type back just one line:

you: i’m busy. he’s still here.

you don’t wait for the inevitable response. you toss your phone gently back on the nightstand and nestle further into his arms.

he shifts again, tucks you tighter.

and there’s something in the way he holds you now, like he means it. like this isn’t just a post-hookup thing. like he’s not just staying for the cuddles or the morning sex or the comfort of the bed.

he’s staying because he wants to.

you close your eyes and let yourself believe it.

minutes pass. you don’t say much. you don’t need to.

eventually, he murmurs against your skin, “you hungry?”

you nod into the pillow.

“wanna order something?”

“yeah… pancakes?”

he lifts his head just enough to look at you, still sleepy-eyed. “you got a favorite place?”

“mmhmm,” you mumble. “it’s in my phone. lemme grab—”

but before you can move, he’s already reaching over you, long arm stretching across the bed to snatch your phone.

you blink at him.

he just smiles, kisses your forehead, and says, “text your friend back. i’ll handle breakfast.”

you stare at him.

he gives you another kiss. this time, on the cheek. soft and sweet.

and then he rolls over, starts tapping through your food apps like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

like you didn’t completely destroy him last night.

like you didn’t see stars on top of him.

like he didn’t want it again, the second you curled up next to him.

you press your face into the pillow to hide your smile.

your heart’s doing that thing again.

and you don’t even try to stop it this time.

you’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, stealing bites of syrup-drenched pancakes off a shared paper plate, when there’s a knock at the door.

not just a knock. a pounding.

you freeze, fork halfway to your mouth. he glances up from his seat on the couch, mid-chew.

you both just stare at each other.

another knock. louder.

“HELLO?!”

your stomach sinks.

“is that—?” he starts.

“oh my god,” you groan, dropping your fork into the plate. “she showed up.”

his brow lifts, amused. “your friend?”

“yup.”

you scramble to your feet, nearly tripping over your own leg warmers, and throw him a frantic look. “you—you can’t just be sitting here like this when she…oh my god, she’s going to implode.”

he laughs quietly, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “should i leave?”

“no! i mean..no, just… stay here. i’ll handle her.”

you don’t even make it to the door in time.

the knob jiggles and click! she lets herself in.

“okay first of all,” she says as she steps inside, “rude to leave me on read all night—”

she stops cold.

eyes lock on the table. the empty plates. the second cup of coffee. the man on your couch, still barefoot, still in yesterday’s hoodie, sipping from your mug like he lives here.

“no.”

you say nothing.

“NO.”

you wince. “hey…”

“OH MY GOD?!” she shrieks, already flinging her bag to the ground and rushing past you. “you didn’t! you actually did not, wait. did you?”

you close the door behind her slowly, cheeks burning. “can you not yell—”

“do you want to explain,” she says, spinning around to face him like a prosecutor, “or should she?”

he just raises an eyebrow and lifts the mug to his lips again, barely hiding the grin curling at the edges. “you must be the best friend.”

“you’re still here?!”

“looks like it.”

“like… still still? like slept over still? like pancakes and pillow talk and lazy morning sex still?”

you groan into your hands. “we did not have morning sex.”

she gasps. “so you did have night sex?!”

“oh my god.”

“no no no no, you don’t get to oh-my-god me! you texted me i did something and then ghosted me like a coward and now you’re telling me you actually slept with him and he’s just here? like? in the daylight?!”

he waves at her lazily.

“hi,” he says, absolutely unbothered.

she waves back, still in stunned disbelief.

“so like,” she mutters, dropping onto the floor, “are you guys dating now? or are we pretending this is casual? because he looks very not-casual in your favorite mug.”

you shoot her a look. “can you not make this weird?”

“i’m not making it weird. you made it weird by acting like you were too scared to say hi to him a week ago and now you’re out here doing god knows what in leg warmers!”

“what—”

“i’m just saying,” she says, eyes wide, “the character development is insane. like, i blinked and you went from blushing in the corner of the club to domming him over the phone and then riding him unconscious im guessing. what’s next, marriage?!”

he chokes a little on his coffee.

you slap her arm. “shut up!”

he sets his cup down, eyes flicking between you two, still grinning.

“so,” he says casually, “how long does she usually do this?”

you glare. “don’t encourage her.”

your friend was gasping through her laughter. “i like him. keep him. lock him down.”

you shake your head and lean back against the wall, cheeks aching from how hard you’re trying not to laugh.

your friend quiets for a moment. then she just smiles, soft and warm.

“you’re glowing,” she says, like she can’t help it.

you look down.

she’s right.

you kind of are.

you glance at him, and he’s watching you again, like he has been all morning. slow. easy. a little amazed.

and for once, it doesn’t make you nervous.

it just makes you want to keep looking back.

hehe i love my pathetic baby

[ellyymni]

#girlboss

[ellyymni]

best part of KPop Demon Hunters is all the ridiculous faces the girls make

[ellyymni]

someone should write a story/game about a horror squid game where the mc is exploring the abandoned place and encounters the spirits of the players. imagine a vengeful spirit of hyunju, a wailing ghost of junhee trying to find her baby and a shaman chasing you 👀👀!!

[ellyymni]

season 3 namgyu fucking the shit out of you in one of the knives and keys rooms

[ellyymni]

honestly...i feel the same jinu-

[ellyymni]

It’s the way that jinu managed to come up the whole boy group into that concept will never not be funny. did he researched and come up with bts “idol” mv? imagine the saja boys debuting at 2016 with some heavy eyeliners and weird hairstyles 😭

[ellyymni]

I hate when a tiny stupid thing pushes you over the edge and makes you freak the fuck out because it makes you look like a completely irrational tar pit of a human being. Like no I promise this is warranted just maybe not about that specifically I swear I'm well adjusted. Come closer stick your fingers in my cage

[ellyymni]

huge shout out to this little kid for writing my favorite poem

[ellyymni]

hey so uhm... I’m waiting for the eric campbell fics💔💔

[ellyymni]

She placebo on my effect til I feel like something happened

[ellyymni]

wake up

deny yourself

4. phone in bed

[ellyymni]

dabi and hawks and perfomance and mask and

[ellyymni]

warnings: NSFW🔞, heavy somnophilia, non con, age gap (nanami is 40, reader is 22) poor nanami :3 this is a long one~

coming home from college to surprise your mom sounds like a great idea until her boyfriend, nanami, mistakes you for her and shoves his dick in you.

it’s not your fault you dozed off in her bed, waiting for her to come home from work. she’d never mentioned her late nights, and you never thought to ask. maybe if you hadn’t slipped into one of the oversized, decidedly masculine shirts and baggy sweatpants from her closet, it wouldn’t have been so easy for someone to mistake you for her. but honestly, that’s not your fault either. your mom had packed up your old clothes from your childhood room ages ago so you figured she wouldn’t mind if you put on some of her clothes after being on the nasty train all day. and it’s not like you asked for the gene that makes you look enough like her from behind for it to be a problem—especially when they’re drunk enough to not tell the difference.

your first real mistake, the one that’s entirely on you, is never being able to sleep on your back. you’re a side sleeper through and through—so used to the position that you didn’t even stir when nanami stumbled in, muttering half-forgotten lyrics to an old jazz song, sighing deeply in that heavy, drunk way older men do every now and then. he tossed his clothes off, carelessly flinging them toward the hamper.

it’s definitely your fault for suggesting your mom get this high-quality mattress, telling her, ‘you’re getting older, gotta take care of yourself.’ it’s so comfortable that you can’t help but drool in peace when nanami collapses onto the bed, pressing fully into your backside as he slurs, “heeey, honey— look at you, all wrapped up in my clothes? did you— hiccup— miss me?”

it’s barely your fault that the feeling of a warm, hard muscled, naked full grown man wrapping his heavy arms around you leaves you undisturbed. even when he starts grinding something mean against your upper back thigh and licking at the shell of your ear, it’s on you for not coming to.

even as nanami’s rough hand, that he had washed before crawling into bed despite being drunk off of his ass—pressed against the lower half of your face, you only stirred slightly.

“let’s get it on, baby. ‘m sorry for what i said earlier, i don’t wanna fight. gonna do you real good like you want me to. read so many— hiccup— articles,” he slurs lowly into your ear with hot, whiskey breath as his thumb rubs your cheekbone soothingly.

you have to give yourself some credit though, your subconscious had almost woken you up when he shoved a hand into your sweatpants. he brushes the tips of his middle fingers against the gusset of your panties with a, “ohh, there she is.” the first half of his two long fingers take up the entirety of your labia, if you were awake maybe you’d even feel the way an experienced nanami found your clit before even feeling around for it first.

you can’t fault nanami too much, a small alert in the back of his wasted head went off when your thinly covered labia felt a little shorter in length than he had remembered. but poor nanami figured he’s just drunk, that and he hasn’t touched his girlfriend or been touched by her in quite a while. he can’t even pinpoint the last time his oppressed balls were emptied.

his movements are nice and slow, rotating between sensual circles and soft strokes from the top of where your inner lips start and down to the bottom where your hole is starting to wake up before you even do. his touch isn’t fast and rushed like all of the college boys you’re used to who are driven purely by raging hormones.

rather, nanamis rubbing on your pussy is enjoyable for him, his eyes are closed in bliss as he noses at your neck and hair. your pussy is warm, the heat is rapidly escalating in temperature with every stimulating touch. he basks in the feeling of slowly coaxing your clit to start thumping against his fingers when he pushes against the hood covering it in two short pressing nudges, using your panties to soften the sensation.

he coos an appreciative hum when your leg muscles twitch in response and your hands jerk softly as you sleep. it didn’t take long for your clit to go from subtle thumps to needy throbbing. “i know, i knoow— don’t say it— hiccup— you want me to be more rough with you. but, still needa get you wet for an easy slide into this honeypot.”

if you were awake, you’d fucking laugh at the old man term for pussy— then again maybe you wouldn’t because he’s starting to move his fingers back and forth with forceful pressure to wedge your panties between your outer lips. he nibbles on your neck as you let out a sleepy whimper. your nipples and lower abdomen ripple in a wave of tingles as his fingers use the fabric to produce a delicious friction. it’s akin to a paper towel being set down on a puddle of water, the way your gusset soaks up the abundance of leaking arousal the second he wedges the cloth in, making a dark patch.

that dark patch is balmy and sticky, aiding in a nice slip and slide for his massage. “fuck,” he grunts into the side of your head, “got so sticky wet so fast. see?— hiccup— you do enjoy when i’m soft on you, baby.”

the way he emphasizes the word ‘do’ is as if he’s made this point before. if you were awake, you’d probably be able to connect the dots that he and your mom are having intimacy issues but who are you kidding, you’d be too distracted with the way he’s rubbing you in a relentlessly sweet way that he’s enjoying as much as your body is.

your pussy has been adequately prepped for minutes now, but he figures since you’re sleeping, you can’t make him hurry up and stick it in you like his girlfriend always rushes him to do. he can do what he pleases right now, thats what nanami thinks your mom’s argument was anyways, for him to do get a little greedy.

truthfully, he’s acting out of bitterness, upset that your mother told him she’s no longer attracted to him because of how soft and kind he is. his way of ‘getting back at her’ is by taking his time to touch and play with what he thinks is her pussy until he wishes to stop. nanami’s instincts when he’s upset is usually to comfort and cherish, not hurt and destroy, he genuinely thinks he’s in the wrong right now by taking all the time he wants to play with your pussy.

to hear a ‘squelch’ everytime he prods at your clothed cunt is diabolical. one would think the cloth would prohibit any kind of ‘chu’ noises but even when drunk, nanami is too skilled, he’s teasing you expertly by simply relying on his own desires to do so.

nanami is lost in the act, addicted to your twitching clit and the clench he feels your hole make every time he brushes against the entrance of it. even your reproductive organs are anticipating some kind of penetration. but the sound of a muffled, sleepy cry against his palm snaps him out of it. he chuckles and peppers kisses against your shivering neck, uttering apologies between every kiss. his fingers transition to apply pressure to the entirety of your labia in attempt hold you over for just a moment, aware of the silent plea of your body yearning for penetration.

“okay, okay, i feel it. i know. shh,” he coos into your ear as your legs and abdomen jerk due to the pressure to your sensitive cunt, “need something to milk, hmm? you’re in luck, my cock needs milking, you— uh— slut.”

nanami’s trying his very best, using all of his drunk brain power to think back to that article titled ‘seven ways to spice up your sex life and please your unsatisfied woman! (intense, hard sex for beginners).’

1. be dominant— check. he hopes playing with your pussy from behind with a hard hand over your mouth the entire time counts. a subsection of this said to ‘take what you want!’ and he certainly has so far, subjecting your unconscious body to torturous fondling. he thinks he’s doing alright.

2. mean dirty talk— check. calling you a slut once, although very poorly, counts.. right?

3. consensual non-consensual play— check. he had to put on his reading glasses to read the definition on a site called ‘urban dictionary’ to understand what the fuck somnophilia was after your mom had said it as if it were an insult, that he ‘hasn’t even tried that’ on her, in their little argument. that’s what led him down the private online browser black hole to find this article in the first place.

already three down and a few more to go, nanami’s feeling confident as he shoves your sweatpants and soaked panties down until they’re at your knees. hazy eyes flit down to coordinate his movements as much as his drunk ass can, all while murmuring, “lets get these— hiccup— off of you. sorry, just gonna—yeah— shove ‘em down.”

is there any excuse for not waking up by now that makes more sense than to say you’re exhausted from midterms? a nice, wet dream where someone with a deep voice is holding you, playing with your cunt, and whispering sweet nothings into your ear is just too inviting for a college student who’s only possible relief is a two-pump frat boy who spreads a rumor that you suck in bed after.

nanami uses one hand to press on your lower tummy to jut your butt out towards him before using the same hand to grip the base of his hard cock. he shivers as his fingers, slick and sticky with your fluid, graze against his dick, his focused, squinted eyes locked on your arched ass as he aims himself.

“ready?” he mutters to you, more a question to himself than anything, as his tip brushes softly against the outside of your entrance.

“three, two,” he slurs as he counts down, hand on your mouth tightening as he pushes your head back into his chest to prepare for your awakening. he pauses for much longer between two and one, gulping to himself. he’s applying enough tension with his hips so that his tip presses to the outside of your cunt without having to hold it there, so he can use his free hand to gently pull one of your lips away as to expose your silky, toasty insides for better access.

“one,” he breathes out with eyes blinking, a long pause delaying any movement despite one being the number he’s supposed to penetrate you on.

this feels wrong, your body, who he believes is your moms, is blissfully asleep and still. it’s as if he’s waiting for you to give him a little encouragement, a muffled whimper or something, but you don’t. he wonders what you’re dreaming about, if it’s him or if it’s that guy who your mom boast’s about with a flush to her cheeks at the work parties he brings him to. that infuriating thought leads him into the thought that maybe he’s who your mom will leave him for, maybe he knows how to be rough with her the way she years so badly for. maybe that guy wouldn’t second guess himself when he’s about to shove his unforgiving cock into her soft body.

the irritating thought spiral makes the vein in his forehead pop and his jaw clench. he moves his eyes up from your arched back and leans down to your ear to breathe heavy into it. his hand subconsciously tightens around your lower face as his jealousy grows, making your brows twitch into a pout briefly in your sleep as one of your hands slides a few inches against the sheets in a jerking reaction.

the build up to this moment happened in twelve frames per second, choppy and fragmented, similar to the way his drunk mind is operating right now. but when nanami finally makes a move, everything turns into a sudden burst of force, like a sneaky wave that slams into the back of your head and pushes you off of your feet and equilibrium as all of your senses turn from serene beach noise to a loud sloshing that fills your ears and lungs.

one mean, rough snap of his lower body, motivated by so many conflicting factors within nanami’s head, and he’s mounted all the way inside of your body.

“biiig stretch,” nanami growls deeply into your ear before sinking his teeth into your neck, eyes rolling into the back of his skull as his toes twitch and his legs push against yours.

4. leave a mark— check. he can feel your soft skin giving in to his teeth, no doubt you’ll be dealing with that reminder for weeks after this. he doesn’t even feel bad when the thought of your mom’s work ‘friend’ seeing the evidence of her very exciting personal life.

everything that happens to your body when he infiltrates happens all at once—your wide eyes shoot open, nostrils flare with a big inhale, back arches, one hand flies behind you to dig your nails into the muscley ass of whatever is penetrating you while the other claws at the hand over your mouth, legs extend straight out, toes curl, and pussy flutters.

if nanami wasn’t so drunk and riled up by his own thoughts, he would absolutely notice the difference in sensations within your cunt. although it’s been more than a while since he’s felt the inside of your mothers body, its agonizingly clear that this one he just forced into feels different. if he didn’t use so much strength initially to slam in, he would have had to practically pry his way in. when his cock head nudged at the little folds where your hymen is located, in less than a split second, mid thrust, he felt a resistance that made him engage more core strength to get past it.

that’s not the only thing thats different, what he’s used to with his girlfriend is a cute, subtle flutter around his cock when he gets inside but, the flesh surrounding him right now is choking his fucking dick every half second like it’s panicking, like it’s crying out that it’s not used to this.

the consistency of these walls are gooey, bumpy like any pussy is, but really the only accurate word to use is gummy. its like he’s being strangled by a sticky gelatin candy that’s alive and breathing. even drunk nanami is surprised by how wet you are inside, its making him think back to when he played with your pussy and wonder if he had lost track of time and done it for longer than he thought because what his cock is used to with your mom is a slightly dry consistency. he knows he hadn’t prepped you that long at all, maybe twenty minutes and you’re gushing as if he’s been fingering you for three hours nonstop.

but even if nanami wasn’t inebriated, his primal instinct to give in to the tight hug of this pussy he’s entered is too strong for logical thinking and it’s much too strong for him to get a better look at who’s actually connected to this cunt.

he briefly detaches his teeth to let out a euphoric ‘ooowh’ as his hand that was holding your pussy lip moves to rest against your lower tummy where he can feel his own fucking bulge inside. he quickly rebinds his teeth into your neck after— an almost subconscious way to cope with your tight body.

now fully awake, you quickly notice the hand over your mouth prohibiting you from gasping and crying out through it the way you need to, the large warmth of a man enveloping the entirety of the back of your body, the sharp teeth locked onto your neck, and the monster cock stretching you out painfully all at once in a way you’ve never felt before.

you immediately start to squirm, rotating from pushing against his hip, hitting at it weakly, and sinking your nails into it to cope with his unyielding presence seated within your cunt, unmoving and forcing you to deal with it.

one of your eyes twitch in sync with your muscles in the hand on his hip when the sharp pain of nanami detaching his teeth from your neck shoots through your nerves.

“good—” nanami hums, basically purring as he laps a slow few licks at the indents, making you shiver and flinch, “—morning.”

the shock subsides enough for you to begin thinking through what the fuck is happening. you’re clearly not in your dorm. the nightstand beside you holds an open scrapbook with your baby pictures, a reminder of when you were looking through it earlier. it all floods back—how you came home to surprise your mother and ended up falling asleep while waiting.

immediately, you assume whoever is behind you is a stranger who broke into her home and you start squirming harder than before, trying to get out of his grasp.

“hey, hey— calm down,” he’s speaking directly into your ear, drawing out the phrase in attempt to soothe you as his hand on your lower tummy begins to rub in comfortingly slow circles, right over his protrusion.

you whimper and try to shake your head harshly as to refuse his request. you’re using your hands to push as hard as you can against his hand on your mouth and his hip, which isn’t very hard since his third arm has rendered you limp and useless. you don’t push his warm hand away from your tummy though, because perverted intruder or not, it actually is easing some discomfort.

5. restrain yourself or her— check. apart from the fact that he’s had a hard hand clamped on your mouth this whole time, he’s quite effortlessly keeping your writhing body restrained against him as well.

“it’s just me, honey,” nanami quickly says, in a reassuring tone with a bit of humor in it and a kiss to your ear. “—your very, very mean, rough boyfriend.”

the way he’s playfully cooing that he’s a mean, rough boyfriend makes you blink and your resisting hands falter a bit. your eyes flick to the dresser: a bottle of expensive cologne, hair gel, designer watch, a plain leather wallet, the large shirt you’re wearing and the XL sweatpants that are sloppily hanging onto your knees.

you realize as quickly as you squeal in horror under his palm that this has to be your moms boyfriend that she obviously never wanted to tell you about. and clearly, she never told nanami about you. or maybe she did, but since you thought it’d be a good idea not to tell her you were coming, you’re now cock warming your mom’s secret boyfriend who thinks you’re her. the butterfly affect in action.

drunk nanami clearly perceives your squeal of horrifying realization as one of excitement because he chuckles and nuzzles the side of your face. “mmmhm— see? this ‘doormat’ of a man can be greedy too,” he lets out a deep slow breath against your face, “played with your— ahem— pussy for twenty minutes before you woke up.”

clearly, your mother had called him a doormat at some point. the way he says ‘pussy’ is like he’s not familiar with the word. it’s obvious he’s trying to make a point by telling you about his twenty minute handling of your cunt, to prove that he’s capable of acting on his own desires, without being mister nice guy and always catering to his girlfriend’s wishes.

panicked by his ‘twenty minute’ confession, you begin to kick weakly at his calves, but you quickly waver in your attempt when it feels good. the both of you groan into each other—you into his palm and he into your ear, your eyes flutter, and your back arches because the kicking inadvertently sparks some deep, oscillating friction of your connected parts.

“fucking god-damnit,” nanami grunts and lets out a deep breath, “you feel so tight, honey. good god.”

your eyes clench shut at his mortifying compliment but your hands pushing at his hip and his hand weaken to a gentle lingering. he’s not even thrusting and you’re already exhausted, growing dizzy even. attempting to cope with intrusion that’s much too large for your smaller body, trying to escape his unfathomable strength, and the emotional turmoil of the situation— it’s all too much for you to continue to resist so adamantly.

nanami is about to whisper into your ear for permission to begin fucking your body with all of his might but he stops himself and huffs, reminding himself of your mothers cruel words before— ‘sometimes a woman just wants to be taken, kento. i want to feel like you desire me so much that you can’t control yourself but you’re too busy asking me for fucking consent!’

your eyes bulge and you cry out under his palm as nanami suddenly launches his hips into a vicious pace with no warning, your ass is rippling and your body is jerking like a fucking doll with every jackhammer. the power behind these ruts would fuck you right off the bed if he wasn’t pushing your lower tummy and face into him. every ram comes with a deep grunt, a drag of his cock against your panicking walls, and a collision to your cervix.

6. thrust roughly— check. ‘fast and hard is the name of the game,’ nanami remembers reading. he’s familiar with soft love making, being attentive of the woman’s every reaction as to be careful and kind. he’s only ever lost a sliver of control when he’s about to cum, unable to hold his harder thrusts back during that time, but it’s never as rough as he’s being right now.

your hands fly out, one dragging on the bed before grabbing at anything within reach while the other is being forced to replace his hand on your lower tunmy before closing his palm on top of yours to keep it there and to steady you.

“can you— shit!— feel that?” nanami growls, his voice unsteady due to the harsh fucking his delivering to you, “this is what you fucking wanted, right?”

you shake your head, hard, with clenched watery eyes, letting out muffled ‘mmm!’s against his hand. despite the fact that you’re shaking your head ‘no,’ answering nanami’s rhetorical question at all only goes to show how fucked out already you are. nanami’s strength behind every single thrust is knocking any sense or logic from your brain.

“let me take you,” nanami breaths out in a quick pant, “let me take you— fuck!— let me take you. give in— shh— give in to me and this fucking cock.”

nanami can hardly believe the words coming out of his own mouth, words he’s only heard when he was a teenager, rolling his eyes at the locker room talk the other boys were engaging in.

the pathetic moan you let strangle out of you and muffle into his palm because of his deprived dirty talk is diabolically immoral. he’s panting and repeating himself like a wild animal, like he’s losing all control as he pries you open and then lets your pussy close up again, over and over and over. it happens so fast, four thrusts in the span of half a second— which you’d think would be too quick to have any power behind it but it does, it’s powerful and it’s swift.

then, every one of your defenses are falling, with no other option or choice, he feels the subtle shift of you pushing your ass into him to meet his hips, the interlocking of your fingers with his on your tummy, and your other hand moving from his on your mouth to the back of his head to rake your nails through his hair. you’ll deal with everything else later, all you can think about now is how to make him wedge deeper so you can get off on his cock.

“god yes,” nanami coos in appreciation, a wave of affection coming over him to join the toe curling pleasure and he finally feels like he’s won you over through your cunt, “there we go, that’s my girl. atta fucking girl— oowh—never felt so goddamn strangled in my life.”

strangling him, you are. he feels it and you can feel it, your pussy is holding onto him like it’s yearning to conjoin your genitals together for eternity.

your eyes roll back as your tits bounce painfully. if you weren’t completely consumed by the most euphoric orgasm of your life—starting in your shaky legs and surging upward until your vision clouds white and your mind blanks—you might notice his shift in tone. the sudden, effortless stream of filthy words spilling from him is a clear sign of his own climax drawing near.

nanami wants to get even deeper when he feels your orgasming cunt squeeze him harder than ever, so he kicks your knee up with his until his leg is nudged between yours and your leg is resting on top of his. you both shudder at how much deeper he’s able to penetrate now. you can feel his swollen balls slap against your overwhelmingly sensitive clit as his grip on your face and tummy turns painful.

“gonna cum,” he grits out directly into your ear before smearing his face into the side of your head like he’s losing control, “‘m gonna blow my fucking load right into your pussy.”

nanami lets out a drawn out, deep disgruntled groan that sounds almost like, ‘wwhuuaah,’ reminiscent of a middle aged man in porn, as his balls rise and begin to twitch in eager preparation. he’s clearly not familiar with the feeling of a twenty two year olds body and moral nanami had never thought about it before anyways.

he sucks in a sharp breath of air with eyes clenched shut before slamming his hips into you once more, all the way up until your flustered cervix and his smiling tip nuzzle together with affection. it’s as if they have a spirit of their own, more than happy to hug and kiss and get familiar with one another in such a sweet way.

when nanami moves his hand away from your mouth, mid jizz, you inhale a large breath of air as if you had been suffocating the entire time. before you can even shout at him to get off of you or not to cum inside of you and then move to the other side of the room and proceed to explain that you are not your mother in a very loud, horrified way as you pull the sweatpants up your shaking legs— you don’t get to do any of that. nanami instead, grips your jaw and yanks you towards his face before sloppily connecting your lips and shoving his tongue all the way into your mouth that at one point, you swear he reached your throat, muffling any shouts you might have had ready.

your eyes are wide as your pupils race back and forth from each of his clenched shut eyes, frozen with your mouth open wide as he tongues it. your free hand that isn’t trapped under his on your tummy falls from his head and spasms mid air as you feel that first aggressive spurt of cum connect to your cooing cervix.

he grunts and groans into your mouth through his orgasm, rocking his hips in a gyration while not pulling out even a little.

suddenly, just when you think it’s all over, you squeal as he slowly but surely pushes you down with his own body weight until you’re flat on your stomach and he’s on top of you, still completely seated inside of you. your mouths disconnect along the way and he falls completely limp against you as the last of his cum spills from him.

you’re gasping for air, aggressively attempting to catch your breath— partly due to his body crushing you and partially because of the absolutely diabolical sex he’s just inflicted on you.

he hisses into your ear as your pussy goes through the involuntary process of pulsing after your orgasm, effectively milking him of the cum he has already given to you. his arms wrap around your midsection and he cuddles into your back.. “wow, fucking wow. that was amazing,” he breathes out as he too attempts to catch his breath, refusing to pull out despite the overstimulation.

nanami is blissfully unaware as he falls into a deep sleep, the only thing on his hazy mind is the happiness that he’s finally shown his ‘girlfriend’ that he can satisfy her.

once you catch your much needed breath, you immediately start to squirm under him as to push him off. you’re completely trapped under him.

“g-get off!” you shout effectively for the first time all night with a scratchy voice, due to all of the moaning and screaming you were doing, “hello? hey asshole! wake up! you’re still— ngh!— inside of me!”

maybe it was the fifth glass of whiskey nanami had drank a few hours ago at the bar with haibara, satoru, suguru, and shoko but he’s already snoring in an old man way that he has no right to be doing at his age of forty. you quickly realize he’s not going to wake up after slapping the man as hard as you can and you go through all the stages of grief until you land on acceptance.

“stupid old man,” you grumble to yourself, a bit bitter about how relaxed your body feels because of the incredible orgasm he’s gifted you. you can’t bring yourself to admit anything past the fact that college boys simply don’t stand a chance in hell after this experience.

you reach around the sheets as much as possible to search for your phone but you can’t find it since it’s somewhere on the floor after being knocked off by nanami’s jackhammering.

you try your hardest to stay awake because imagining your mother coming home to see her boyfriend lying on top of her daughter with his semi hard dick plugging her slippery cunt as they sleep together in her bed sounds more horrifying than if you’re awake when it happens.

but even though you try your hardest to stay awake, a few hours pass and the exhaustion gets to you.

~

when you wake up, that crushing weight on top of you is gone and your sore pussy is empty, though you can still feel that echo of what was once molding the inside.

you cautiously take in the sight of the neatly made bed under you and the sun lit room around it that you grew up identifying as your mom and dads room before rubbing your sleepy eyes harshly. your phone is plugged in on the nightstand beside the clock that reads seven am, and you know for a fact that your mother’s shift ends right about now. that gives you thirty minutes to get the fuck out of her bed.

turning over to lie on your back, you wince at the ache in between your legs. taking a deep breath, you sit up and blink down at your covered legs. you’re wearing a new pair of large sweatpants and the same big shirt that belongs to your moms boyfriend.

you peak into the hem of the sweatpants with a cocked brow and blink at your labia that looks a bit too clean after all the cum that was inserted into it last night.

questioning why the sheets have been somehow changed without waking you up, why your phone is plugged in, l why your sweatpants are changed, or why your pussy is lacking cum is pushed all the way to the back of your mind to keep your priority on getting out of this bed. sure, it seems innocent if your mom comes home and finds you here, likely happy to see you surprise her with your presence, but that happiness won’t last long when she starts questioning where her boyfriend slept if you slept in their bed and all the questions that follow that.

you pull the covers back and stand on jelly legs, wincing once again as your pussy silently cries out. you take your phone and shove it into your pocket and grumble as you limp over to the door. you take a deep breath before peaking your head out and looking both ways down the hall guardedly. the coast seems clear, so you race as quiet as you can over to your childhood room before slipping inside.

you avoid the boxes of paperwork your mom stored in here over the years you’ve been gone and enter the connected bathroom to take a shower. you take the opportunity to find some evidence that you didn’t just dream up a man pummeling into you. you cringe as you stick two fingers inside of your sore, sensitive hole just to be met with strings of cum racing down your knuckles as you hold them in front of your face.

you have no option but to slip back into the same clothes you woke up in. you quickly ruffle up your bed as to make it look like you had slept in it before nodding to yourself and entering the living room.

you halt the second you see the back of a large, neatly gelled blonde man seated at the kitchen island. you remember that blonde hair, but it was much messier when you were scraping your nails through it last night.

the scent of breakfast food is vivid and you can hear the quiet sound of him sipping on something.

you’re frozen, unsure of what to do as you just stand in the archway of the entrance to the kitchen/living room.

nanami’s eyes trail up aimlessly and land on the microwave as he sips his coffee. he does a double take at the reflection of you in it and chokes on the hot liquid before setting it down as to not spill. he almost trips over himself as he stands and faces you, wiping his mouth and clearing his throat after he catches his breath.

you’re expecting an ugly, old man when he faces you since you didn’t get a good look last night, but you’re wrong.

you gulp as you take in how handsome the tall middle aged man is, thin reading glasses on his face and he clearly showered this morning, but he has heavy eye bags that expose his hangover and soft wrinkles that expose his older age. he’s wearing an ironed button up shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, an expensive watch to accentuate his veiny, massive hands, and slacks for bottoms with socks. you immediately get the impression that he doesn’t often wear comfort clothing like the ones you’re wearing of his right now, he’s pristine.

but what catches your eye most is the clear look of guilt on his face and panic brimming just below the surface.

you should feel grossed out by him, but now that you’ve had a very good nights rest after the best orgasm of your life and you’re laying eyes on one of the most beautiful men in town, any anger or discomfort you felt last night has dissipated greatly. you can’t help but let your eyes lag on his clothed cock, which he notices of course, but it only seems to make his mortification grow along with a red blush to his cheeks.

nanami’s taking you in as well, the first thing he notices is the harsh bruising indents of teeth on your neck— his teeth and he immediately wants to repent to a priest. you’re also much smaller than he is, making him mentally curse at himself remembering just how rough he was with you. and of course, he notices how beautiful you are, but in a normal situation where you—a young girl—meets him— an older man— he’d appreciate that you were beautiful for half a second and it would never cross his mind again. but because this isn’t a normal situation at all, your face reminds him of how it felt to hold your mouth closed as he forced himself into your small body, over and over.

a moment passes where you both seem to wait for the other to break the silence. his mouth opens and closes a few times, and your head tilts slightly, watching him with quiet curiosity.

“u-uh hello,” nanami awkwardly greets, clearly unsure of what to do with his hands as they hang on either side of his body, “would you like some.. breakfast?”

nanami’s gaze shifts briefly to the kitchen island before returning to you, prompting you to follow his line of sight. there, three plates of breakfast sit waiting. one is clearly his—half-eaten, with a newspaper folded neatly beside it and a mug that reads, ‘best adoptive dad ever!’ the other two, you assume, are for you and your mother.

you blink at it and then at him before accidentally letting out a snort at the absurdity of the situation, like your mouth had a mind of its own for a second. your hand immediately snaps up to cover your lips as a grimace flickers across nanami’s face, embarrassed with himself for opening the conversation with an offer for bacon, eggs, and pancakes.

nanami mutters a ‘goddamnit’ under his breath, his eyes briefly closing as he tilts his head toward the ceiling, fists clenched at his sides. when he looks back at you, his brows are faintly pinched, his expression heavy with quiet, dutiful sympathy.

“i cannot tell you how sorry i am, i don’t even know what to say—”

“—got any syrup?” you interrupt him casually, walking, well, limping over to the kitchen island where you take a seat in front of one of the plates.

a long beat of silence passes as you take a bite out of the bacon and nanami stands there, stunned.

when you look up at him expectantly, he blinks rapidly, snapping out of his daze. he starts toward the fridge but abruptly changes direction, as if forgetting where things are in his own kitchen. “oh—uh—yes, i believe we do. let me just—” he says, before opening the fridge. his brows knit in concentration as he searches for the syrup.

you watch his tense demeanor with a flicker of an amused twitch to the corner of your lips as you chew, bacon still in hand.

he turns with two options in hand and you hum, considering your options, maybe a bit more leisurely than you should, before you nod at the right one.

he sets the other back into the fridge before placing the one you chose beside your plate, now facing you, standing on the other side of the counter.

you don’t even glance at him as he watches you cautiously, a hint of bafflement in his gaze, like he’s waiting for a pin to drop. instead, you casually pour an obscene amount of syrup onto your pancakes, acting as if last night never happened. the only reminders of his sin are the dark, bruised impressions of his teeth on the side of your neck, the slight limp in your step, and the rag he used to clean your cum stained labia.

his mouth opens and then closes a few times like hes unsure of what to do or say as you take your time eating, all without looking up at him once.

just as he’s about to try speaking again, you look up to gain eye contact and cut him off.

“you fucked me,” you say matter of factly before returning your attention to your pancakes to shove a piece into your mouth and nanami’s face drains of blood, “like, straight up shoved your dick into me while i was sleeping.”

in a regular situation, nanami would never accept this language from a young woman like yourself. but he has to hold himself back from correcting you, you hold all of the cards right now.

“i— i know—” nanami begins with a shaky, terribly serious, apologetic tone but you cut him off again.

“this morning, did you wipe your cum off of my pu—”

now nanami is the one who interrupts you, unable to resist the urge to keep you from saying such a deprived word, “yes— ahem— i did.”

you hum nonchalantly, as if you already assumed so.

a beat of silence.

“and the change of sweatpants?”

he nods and lets out a shaky sigh. “yes, i hope you don’t mind.”

you snicker loudly, which makes his brows furrow in confusion. “you hope i don’t mind if you changed my sweatpants?”

“um— yes,” he says it in a slightly questioning tone, not understanding what you’re getting at.

“i came on your dick and you think i mind if you change my sweatpants?” you laugh, making him blink at you like you’ve just told him he’s terminally ill. nanami hadn’t known what to expect from you, but a young woman who has a dirty mouth that could rival toji’s was not it.

he’s too stunned to tell you that he’s just trying to be polite by saying he hopes you don’t mind, that it’s simply a way of speaking with respect.

another beat of silence as you eat and he manually closes his shocked, parted lips.

“oh, i appreciate the whole foreplay thing, rubbing my clit for— how long did you say?” your brows furrow like you’re thinking back to what he had said last night, “oh yeah, twenty minutes. least you could do before you destroyed my guts— i mean jeez, you’re one strong old man.” you point your fork at him with a snicker when you say the last part.

nanami is surprised he hasn’t collapsed to his knees, his body limp with shock, horror, and utter mortification—every emotion hitting like a theatrical gut punch. your blunt words drive the final nail into the coffin of any fleeting hope that maybe, just maybe, this was all some alcohol-induced nightmare.

he had went in for a good morning kiss upon waking this morning and jumped back with a horror he’s never felt before when he realized the snug warmth he’s buried inside isn’t his girlfriend at all—it’s a much younger woman who bares enough resemblance to her to come to the conclusion that you’re her daughter. the flutter of pleasure when sliding out of your gushy pussy after that realization will haunt him for eternity.

“you know you came inside me, right?” you continue and he isn’t even sure if you had been talking this whole time or not but these words snap him back to reality.

“oh fuck.” nanami’s head spins as his hand flies to clutch his mouth, like he’s about to throw up.

“yeah, oh fuck,” you repeat, chewing and swallowing before a flicker of some kind of realization flashes on your face, “ohhh— you creampied because mom had that hysterectomy, i was wondering why it was so easy for you to just fill me up like that without much thought.”

nanami blinks at you, barely able to process your words and you snort at the flicker of a question on his face when you utter the phrase ‘creampie.’

“damn, how old are you? cream. pie.” you space the words out obviously as to make him connect the dots, “it’s pretty straightforward. you creamed my pie.”

nanami cringes at the phrase and then takes a deep breath, attempting desperately not to pass out.

“a-are you on..?” nanami manages to grit out, pathetically and he feels like a dirty, old man who’s just committed a grave sin that will follow him forever.

you huff a laugh and shrug, “on what?”smiling in utter amusement when his face drops and he braces against the edge of the counter like he’s trying not to fall to the floor with his head tucked down.

you burst out giggling and he looks up at you slowly with slowly blinking eyes as he attempts to make sense of how the fuck it’s funny that he might have just impregnated you.

“i’m fucking with you, old man. i’m on birth control, relax.”

nanami lets out a long sigh of relief with eyes closed before leaning down to rest his elbows on the marble counter with his hands clasped together in front of his face, not in the way someone does when they pray, but more like he’s attempting to cope.

after a long moment of you eating your food pleasantly while nanami’s life and job flashes before his eyes, he gulps at the thought of what comes next and stands up once again. “y-your mother, are you going to—”

before nanami can ask you the terrifying question of if you’re going to tell your mother about this, which he knows you have every right to do so, he’s interrupted by the front door opening.

you mutter a quiet “speak of the devil,” just as the sound of your mother’s keys and the door mask it. nanami straightens up quickly and faces her, his movements so sharp that it’s clear he feels like he’s been caught, even though he’s only standing there while you eat.

“ugh, work was so long,” your mother says as she closes the door, but she pauses mid-sentence, her expression shifting to one of happy surprise as she turns to see you. “honey! oh my! when did you get here?”

you give her a smile back as you stand and give her a hug.

you explain to your mom that you arrived last night, noticing the brief flash of panic on nanami’s face. but as you continue, telling her you fell asleep in your bed, in your old room, waiting for her to come home, nanami visibly relaxes and lets out a quiet, relieved sigh.

your mother’s basically beaming at you, bashfully apologizing for not introducing you to her boyfriend sooner as she guides you to the dinner table. nanami trails behind you both, looking as though he’s lost in a dream. they take their seats side by side across from you.

you brush it off and shrug, making her give you a grateful smile.

you may be skilled at acting nonchalant but nanami has never really had reason to lie in his life, not that he’s even speaking much. he’s pale and stiff, and if he’s not avoiding eye contact with you, he’s staring into your soul as you speak as if to anticipate you exposing what happened between you at any second. your mother notices the odd vibe coming from him and gives him a weird look before returning her gaze to you.

“have you guys met before?”

nanami basically chokes on air, coughing into his hand as he attempts to catch his breath.

“before today, no,” nanami says quickly as he’s still in the midst of clearing his throat, “last night i was just— so tired that i damn near broke the bed— ahem— from, you know, falling into it and going to sleep. so i didn’t have the pleasure of meeting her until this morning.”

your mother blinks at him curiously before you speak up.

“wait,” you blink at him with furrowed concentrated brows, “you do look familiar.. we have met.”

nanami’s eyes flicker wide before moving back and forth from you to your mother and he lets out a deep older man laugh that doesn’t reach his eyes. “huh? no, we haven’t.”

you squint at him like you’re trying to place him before your face lights up, “yeah— wait! haven’t you taught at my school?”

“s-school?” he stutters out loudly, “you’re in highschool?!”

your mother laughs with a confused tilt to her brows as she regards him with a hand to his shoulder, “college, honey. shes too old to be in high school still.”

your mother must not have told him that you existed at all since he didn’t know you were in college. it makes you wonder what he thought your old childhood room was for.

he lets out a huge breath of relief and it’s clear to the two of you that you’re deriving much amusement from making him sweat and he figures he probably deserves it— that, and eternal damnation.

nanami tells himself that if he can just get through today and wait until you’re back on the train to college, he can manage this. but when you smile and casually tell your mom you’re thinking of staying for the entire summer—your eyes discretely flicker to him as you add, “if that’s okay with you guys?”

he feels something good and wholesome weaken inside of his soul as his cock jumps.

“of course you can stay, honey! stay as long as you’d like, right kento?” your mother squeezes his knee in a sweet, wholesome way and his heart drops down to his ass when he feels your socked foot brush against the inside of his calf.

nanami gulps and nods at you, “o-of course— as long as you’d like.”

7. start secretly fucking your girlfriends controversially young daughter all summer long— check.

—

brb gonna act like i’m sleeping so he fucks me too