jazz-the-writer - Tumblr blog

jazz-the-writer · 13 days ago

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@emmiesoverthemoon

Omg of all the shit to get wrong. I didn’t even double check the fucking tag💀💀💀

To quote a blog post I read today. Not verbatim cause mama don’t remember the exact words. But the sentiment was…

HOLY SHIT YOU PUT THIS ON HERE AFTER SPENDING ALL THOSE HOURS OF YOUR PERSONAL FREE TIME AND YOU TOOK THE TIME TO WRITE THIS AND PuT IT ON THE INTERNET FOR FREE AND YOU ARE ASKING ME TO TELL YOU I LOVE IT??????

YES I DO AND I SCREENSHOT THE SPECIFIC PART THAT HAD ME FUCKING REELING BECAUSE I STRUGGLED TO GET THROUGH EVERY SENTENCE AFTER THAT LAST PARAGRAPH.

\(//∇//)\\(//∇//)\\(//∇//)\\(//∇//)\\(//∇//)\\(//∇//)\\(//∇//)\\(//∇//)\\(//∇//)\\(//∇//)\\(//∇//)\

THIS .

THIS IS WHY IM HERE ON THIS EARTH. Oh my god. My fingers are numb from me fucking laying in bed on my fucking elbows.

SO HELP ME GOD. PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY.

Someone stop me because, this. This right here. all my resolve? Oh it wouldn’t exist.

Yes, Lee Felix I surrender. I’m all yours and only yours.

I Promise.

You wouldn’t even need to ask.

You want it?

Take it.

It’s yours. You know what it is right????

Ok COOL IM GONNA GO FUCKEN SIT UP CAUSE MY elBOWs are FALLING ASLEEP

I can’t grammar when I am thinking of Lee Felix okay????? Chill. I had to go back and read and edit before posting. It was embarrassing. My elbows are still numb and so are my fingers

i’ll make you lose

pairing: lee felix x reader

word count: 10.6k

summary: you wanted to tease your cute nerdy tutor. how could you not? he looked like he short circuited whenever you both made eye contact. well, as it turns out, untouched nerds do it best.

tags: flustered felix. university au. implied friends to lovers. flirting, teasing. unprotected sex, dry humping, oral (f recieving). enjoy

this is my longest work yet. safe to say i got carried away lol.

You sat at the long, rectangular desk in the lecture hall, your fingers lightly tapping against the surface as the professor’s voice floated in the background. Your mind wandered, the jumble of equations and formulas in front of you blurring into abstract shapes. The announcement that your professor had just made, however, cut through the fog in your thoughts, and it was only then that the full meaning of their words sank in.

Felix. Lee Felix.

He was going to be your tutor. You had heard the rumors. Felix was brilliant. His grades were flawless, and his understanding of the material was unparalleled. He had the kind of intellect that earned him respect from professors and peers alike. The kind of intellect that made people expect perfection from him in everything he did.

But as much as Felix was known for his academic prowess, there was another side to him that never failed to catch your attention. He had this nerdy charm that was impossible to ignore. The way his tousled hair always seemed to fall into his eyes no matter how much he tried to push it back, the way his shy smile made him look both endearing and just a little out of place in the sea of confident university students. He was smart, yes, but there was something almost adorably awkward about him that always made you want to push his buttons.

“Felix will meet you in the library after class,” the professor continued, oblivious to the mischief stirring in your mind. “He is more than capable of helping you grasp these concepts, so please do not hesitate to reach out if you need assistance.”

You had to bite back the grin threatening to spread across your face. Felix would be your tutor? Oh, you could already imagine how it would go. You would be sitting there in the quiet, academic setting of the library, surrounded by endless shelves of books, and all you would need to do was drop a few playful comments and watch him squirm. Felix was too polite, too aware of how smart he was, and you knew that his discomfort would only make him more adorable.

He would try so hard to keep the focus on the subject, to make sure you understood every little detail. But you? You would make it impossible for him to stay composed. You could already hear his voice wavering, see the flush creeping up his neck when your teasing got to him.

You were going to enjoy every second of it.

With a sly grin, you gathered your things and headed out of class. Your mind was already turning, plotting exactly how to push his buttons in all the right ways. He was going to be your tutor, but that didn’t mean you were unallowed have a little fun while you learned, right?

The library was, as usual, a quiet sanctuary, with the scent of paper and ink filling the air as students hunched over their textbooks. Your ears were filled with the distant clicking of keyboard keys as other students desperately attempted to finish their assignments on time. You found an empty table by the window, settled into a chair, and waited. Your heart beat a little faster than usual, not from nerves, but from the anticipation of what was about to unfold. You were going to have Felix all to yourself, and the idea was enough to make you smile to yourself, just a little.

Minutes later, Felix entered, his presence immediately drawing your attention. He had a large backpack slung over one shoulder, and his eyes scanned the room, moving quickly over the rows of tables. When his line of sight finally landed on you, he froze, looking just a little startled, like he hadn’t expected you to be so... ready.

“Hi,” he said, his voice soft and careful as he made his way over. “Sorry I’m late, I—uh—had to finish something for another class.”

You nodded slowly, watching him as he set his things down on the table, arranging them with a precision that made you wonder how long he had spent perfecting the art of being neat. “No problem,” you said, your voice light, casual. “I was just looking forward to some... expert tutoring.”

Felix blinked at you, a faint frown tugging at the corner of his lips. He pushed his glasses up his nose, his fingers fumbling with the straps of his bag. “I—I wouldn’t call myself an expert. I just know the material,” he said quickly, glancing down at his notes, avoiding your sharp eyes.

You leaned forward just slightly, watching him. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Felix. They say you have all the answers.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes flickering nervously as he finally looked at you, a little too long this time. “Well... I try to. But, um... math is... you know, it’s not—uh—difficult once you understand it. It’s not subjective.” He trailed off, almost as if he was trying to convince himself more than you.

You tilted your head, your smile widening just a fraction. “Hmm... so you are saying it is easy for you?”

Felix looked like he might crumble under the weight of your gaze. His fingers twitched, reaching for his pencil as if to busy himself, but his hand stopped just shy of it, his posture growing even more tense. “It’s... I mean, it’s not hard. Once you—”

“Once you focus,” you interrupted, your voice casual, but there was an undercurrent of something more. “And make sure your student focuses too, right?”

Felix cleared his throat, visibly flustered now. He nodded rapidly. “Yes, yes, exactly. If we just focus, it’s really easy to get through it.” His voice wavered slightly, but he quickly recovered, trying to mask the nervousness that was slowly creeping in. “So, um... let’s get started with this first problem. It’s all about understanding the process.”

You rested your chin in your hand, leaning slightly forward again. “Of course. But... I'm curious. What do you do in your free time, Felix? When you’re not, you know, tutoring, being cute, and getting perfect grades?”

Felix blinked, caught off guard by the question. “I... uh...” He hesitated, his face turning a deeper shade of pink. “I just... I like to study more. Or... play some video games. Just to relax.”

You grinned, sensing the opportunity for more teasing. “Video games, huh? That’s... interesting. I would have never pegged you as the type.”

Felix opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly unsure how to respond. His fingers drummed nervously on the desk, and you could see the tiny tremble in his hand. “I—uh—it’s just a hobby,” he said, the words coming out much faster than he intended. “It helps me unwind.”

“Mmm,” you murmured, eyes glinting. “I can imagine. You must get really into it. I bet you lose track of time... just focusing on the game.”

Felix was trying so hard not to react, but it was obvious he was flustered. His shoulders were tight, his cheeks flushed, and he avoided looking at you for a moment. “I mean, yeah... sometimes. But that’s not the point right now,” he mumbled, more to himself than to you.

You leaned back, still smiling. “No, of course not. You’re here to tutor me. I get it.”

But the way his voice cracked slightly when he spoke—that was definitely the point.

Felix took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. His fingers slid over his notebook as he adjusted his glasses again, the motion a bit more frantic this time. The uncertainty was still there, evident in the way his shoulders stiffened as he tried to get his thoughts together. He focused on the material, but it was clear that the presence in front of him made it harder to stay on track.

“Alright,” he began, his voice more confident than before, though there was a slight edge to it. “This problem is about differential equations. First, we isolate the variable—”

You interrupted him, your voice light and teasing. “Mm, sure, but are you sure you want to go straight into all that? I mean, you’re looking awfully cute trying to explain this.”

Felix froze mid-sentence, the words catching in his throat. His hand, still gripping his pencil, trembled slightly. He glanced up at you, flustered. “I... I’m just trying to make sure you get it.” His voice was tight, but there was an unmistakable vulnerability to it, like he was unsure whether you were joking or being serious.

You leaned back in your chair, letting your eyes trace over his flustered expression. “I know, I know. You’re just so diligent,” you said with a smirk, your inspective eyes never leaving his face. “It’s kinda adorable, to be honest.”

Felix’s cheeks turned a shade darker. He cleared his throat, awkwardly glancing at the notebook, his focus now split between the problem in front of him and the teasing grin on your face. “Okay, well,” he stammered, his voice faltering. “Let’s just get through this first part, okay? The first thing you do is... uh, you isolate the variable, and then...”

“You know,” you interrupted again, raising an eyebrow, “you’re really good at this. I don’t even need to take notes. I’ll just watch you talk about math. You’re cute when you get all serious.”

Felix’s eyes darted up to meet yours, then quickly flicked back down, his face growing hotter. “I—uh—I think it’s better if you take notes. You’ll remember it better that way.”

You grinned, enjoying how much you were making him squirm. “Oh, but it’s more fun this way. You’re cute when you’re flustered. Besides,” you leaned forward slightly, “I think I’d rather pay attention to you than whatever’s on the page.”

Felix opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. He swallowed thickly, his fingers nervously tapping the pencil against the desk. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes on the equations now, not when you were looking at him like that. “I... I don’t think that’s the best idea,” he finally managed, his voice sounding almost strained. “We need to focus.”

“Focus, huh?” you mused, eyes sparkling. “Well, I’m sure I could focus... if you weren’t so intriguing.”

He was clearly struggling to maintain his composure. His gaze flickered between his notes and you, like he was unable to decide which was more important. “I—I’m trying to stay on track here,” he said, voice a little more forceful this time, though it was still laced with uncertainty. “But, uh... just, just try to take notes. Please?”

You smiled, leaning back in your chair with a teasing glint in your eye. “Alright, alright, Felix. You’re the boss. But I’ll admit, it’s hard to take notes when my tutor is so... distracting.”

Felix’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling around his pencil. “I—uh—I’m not trying to distract you. I just... I want you to understand this,” he said quickly, his tone a little more defensive now.

You nodded slowly, your expression shifting just enough to let him know you were still in control of the situation. “Sure, Felix. Go ahead,” you said, your voice almost too sweet, too calm. “I’ll listen, I promise.”

But there was no mistaking the underlying amusement in your voice, the way you were watching him with that knowing smile, making it almost impossible for him to keep his focus. Felix’s pencil shook slightly as he attempted to continue, but his words came out stilted and unsure. “Okay, so... when you—uh, when you solve for the variable, you—”

You leaned forward just a little, your voice soft but pointed. “You’re so good at this, Felix. Really. But I’ve got to wonder...” You let the words trail off, watching the way he stiffened under your gaze. “Do you get this flustered all the time? Or is it just me?”

Felix froze, his face turning even redder as he quickly tried to look away. “I’m—uh—I’m not flustered,” he muttered, but his voice was weak, lacking the usual certainty.

For the first time, you saw a flicker of something else in his eyes—an edge, maybe, or a challenge. His hand gripped his pencil more firmly as he looked down at the page, his voice quieter but still undeniably more confident. “I can focus,” he said, his tone sharper than before. “Let’s just... finish this.”

“Alright,” you said, your voice softer now, almost intrigued. “Let’s finish it, then.”

“Okay,” he began again, though his voice was steadier than before, still tinged with that edge of determination. “Let’s go over it again. After we’ve isolated the variable, you need to—”

You interrupted him again, this time leaning forward, just slightly. “Felix,” you said, your tone laced with playful mischief, “do you always look this serious when you’re teaching? I mean, you’re making me think you have a secret life as a super serious tutor.”

Felix blinked, clearly thrown off by the sudden shift in your tone. He adjusted his glasses with a nervous gesture, but this time, the flush creeping up his neck wasn’t as obvious. “I—I’m just trying to make sure you understand,” he said, though there was an almost defensive quality in his voice now. “It’s not easy to explain this stuff if you’re distracted.”

You raised an eyebrow, letting a small smirk play on your lips. “Distracted? Me?” you asked, feigning innocence. “I’m completely focused on you, Felix. But you know, your whole ‘serious tutor’ vibe is... kinda working for me. It’s almost too cute.”

Felix’s eyes flicked to you, then quickly away, a small breath escaping his lips. His hands clenched around the pencil, a slight tremor running through him. “It’s not cute,” he said quickly, his voice sounding a little more forced now. “This is important. I need you to take this seriously.”

“Of course, Felix,” you purred, leaning back in your chair as you watched the way he shifted in his seat. “I am very serious. I’m just wondering... do you always get this uptight when you talk to girls? Or is it just me that gets under your skin?”

Felix’s eyes widened, a flicker of something almost daring in his eye before he quickly looked back down at his notes. The flush deepened in his cheeks, but there was a shift in his posture—a subtle but noticeable one. “I’m not uptight,” he said firmly, though the force behind his words caught you by surprise. “I’m just focused on making sure you understand the content. That’s all.”

You smiled knowingly, pushing your luck a little further. “Hmm, is that what it is? You’re not uptight at all? Because it sure looks like I’m getting to you, Felix.”

Felix’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he might snap at you. But then, he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, his fingers loosening their grip on the pencil. “It’s just that... I know this stuff inside and out,” he said, his tone a little quieter but still confident. “I don’t want you to struggle with it, okay?”

You tilted your head, your smile softer now, though your eyes never left his. “I’m sure you don’t want me to struggle,” you said, your voice low, “but maybe... just maybe... you’re a little more interested in making me struggle in other ways.”

Felix’s face flushed, his expression faltering for a split second before he regained his composure. His gaze flicked to yours again, but this time, it lingered a fraction longer than before. “I... that’s not what I meant,” he stammered, his voice betraying him. “I just... want you to do well. Is that so hard to believe?”

You smirked, enjoying the way he was floundering just a bit. “No, Felix. It’s not hard to believe at all,” you said, your voice dripping with amusement. “I just find it interesting that you’re so focused on me doing well. What about you? You’re doing a great job. I’d say you're pretty good at this whole tutoring thing.”

Felix shifted, clearly flustered. His usual calm demeanor was beginning to crack, and he was no longer avoiding your line of sight. The hesitation was still there, but it was starting to feel like he wasn’t as afraid to face you anymore. “It’s... it’s not about me,” he said, voice still uncertain, but no longer as shy. “It’s about you learning, okay?”

There was a brief moment of silence, and you noticed the change in his posture—how he sat up straighter now, shoulders back, a subtle shift in his body language. His attempt at maintaining composure was no longer about simply getting through the tutoring session—it was about something else, something you couldn’t quite place.

You tilted your head slightly, watching him closely. “Alright, Felix,” you said, your voice softening just a little, “I’ll let you get back to the problem. But I’m starting to think that you’re not just tutoring me anymore. There’s a little something else going on, huh?”

Felix cleared his throat, his staring flicking to his notes for a second before he straightened up, more resolute this time. “Just focus on the material, alright?” His voice had a firmness now, an edge to it that hadn’t been there before. He now carried a commanding energy that you would be lying if you said you hated it.

For the first time, you felt a shift in the dynamic. The shift in the air was palpable—subtle yet undeniable. Felix was no longer just the shy, uncertain tutor, fumbling through every explanation with a nervousness that was, at first, endearing but now seemed out of place. No, there was something different in his demeanor now—something almost challenging. The softness he had shown earlier, the gentle hesitation, was slowly being replaced with a quiet firmness, and you could feel it in the way his eyes met yours. Steady. Calculated. Unwavering.

You couldn’t resist pushing just a little further. It's just so fun!

“So, Felix,” you said, a teasing tone slipping into your voice, “is this how you always talk? All serious, no fun? Because I think you'd be a lot more interesting if you let go a little, you know. Just a thought."

Felix didn't even flinch this time. His gaze held steady, the faintest spark of something deeper hiding behind those eyes. There was an edge to his voice, a subtle, almost imperceptible shift that you had not noticed before. “I can be fun when it matters,” he replied, his tone surprisingly assured. “But I’m not here to entertain you. I’m here to help you get it. If that means I need to stay focused, then so be it.”

You raised an eyebrow, momentarily taken aback by the calm intensity of his words. “Oh, I know,” you said with a feigned innocence, leaning back slightly in your chair. “But it’s funny, don’t you think? How you try so hard to keep it all together. Makes me wonder... if you’re trying to impress someone with all that focus.”

Felix’s posture stiffened, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. His fingers, still gripping the pencil, twitched as if he was about to speak, but instead, he cleared his throat, and a brief silence settled between you.

“I’m not trying to impress anyone,” he said, the words deliberate, slower this time. “I’m here to do my job. To help you. Nothing more.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as you studied him. “Mm. Sure. But I can’t help but wonder, Felix,” you said, leaning in just a little closer, “does all this effort to be so... perfect make you feel better? Or is it just the way you think people expect you to be?”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and you could see Felix’s jaw tighten. His eyes, previously avoiding your peering ones, now locked with them. There was something different in the way he held himself now, something new in the way he stood his ground.

“I’m not perfect,” he said, his voice low but strong, a subtle challenge laced in every syllable. “And I don’t need you to think I am. I’m just doing what I have to do.”

Your gaze softened, the teasing edge still present but now tempered with something else. Felix’s composure was beginning to shift, the walls he had built starting to crack, revealing something more—a strength, a quiet assertiveness that had previously been hidden.

“Alright, Felix,” you said, your tone slipping into something more genuine, less playful. “But I have to admit, this... side of you? Didn’t see it coming. I like it.”

Felix inhaled slowly, his eyes still fixed on you, but now there was a quiet confidence in his aura. He set his pencil down, his movements deliberate, and you watched as he leaned forward just slightly.

“I’m not the nervous guy you think I am,” he said, his voice steady, no longer stumbling over his words. “And I’m not here to let you get away with everything, either.”

The change in his tone caught you off guard. There was no hesitation now, no nervous stammering. Felix, the tutor you had been teasing so relentlessly, was looking at you with the kind of quiet authority that made your pulse race.

Your smile faltered for a second, a small surprise flickering in your chest. “Well,” you said, your voice softer now, “guess I’ve been underestimating you.”

Felix’s deep eyes never wavered, and the corner of his lips curled into the faintest of smirks. “Maybe you should stop,” he said, his tone teasing now, but there was an undeniable edge to it. His voice dropped low, firing quick heat straight to your chest, “You might just find out that I’m not so easy to read.”

You swallowed, your heart picking up its pace at the challenge in his voice. There was a new tension in the air now, a quiet storm brewing between the two of you. And for the first time, you wondered just how far this teasing game could go.

The study session had dragged on, the numbers blurring into a haze that you could no longer focus on. Felix’s voice was a calm cadence, his explanations intricate yet smooth, but your mind had long since wandered. The air between you had thickened, a subtle charge building, lingering just below the surface. You stretched your arms overhead, an exaggerated motion that only further fueled the unspoken tension between you.

“Felix,” you drawled, your voice languid as you settled back into your chair, letting your eyes settle on him. “I think I’ve earned a break, don’t you think?”

Felix glanced up, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes before he smoothed it over with a quick smile. “A break?” he repeated, his tone light but the gleam in his eyes betraying the small flicker of interest. “For what exactly?”

You leaned back, the chair creaking beneath you as you tilted your head, assessing him in that way that made him uncomfortable without him even realising it. “I’ve been listening, Felix. Really listening. And you’ve been talking non-stop about equations. It’s only fair I get a little reward for being so studious.”

Felix’s lips twitched at the corner, but he didn’t break. “Reward? I didn’t realise listening was an activity worthy of prizes.” There was a playful bite to his words now, as if he were starting to realise just how much you were enjoying this.

You let your smile linger. “Oh, but it is,” you replied, leaning forward just enough to close the space between you two. “I’m being patient. I’m being good. And that, Felix, deserves something in return.”

The words came out with just enough sweetness that it almost sounded genuine, though the challenge behind them was unmistakable. Felix blinked once, twice, his brow furrowing as he processed it, before he straightened slightly, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “And what exactly would you want as a reward? Another lecture on algebra?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, rolling your eyes. “Nah, I think I’ve had my fill of that for the evening. Maybe you could entertain me instead?” You let the word entertain hang in the air between you, casual but heavy with implication.

Felix hesitated, a momentary falter before he regained his composure. “Entertain you?” He leaned forward, now more intrigued than flustered. “I think you’re the one who’s been doing the distracting here.”

Your lips quirked at that. “Oh? You think so?” You shifted slightly, your body angling toward him in a way that felt just a touch too close. “I’m just sitting here, Felix. But it seems like you’re the one who can’t quite keep his mind on the equations.”

Felix’s gaze sharpened, though there was a faint flush creeping into his cheeks. He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “I’m focused,” he said, his voice even, though the tension in it was palpable. “And I’m not the one who’s been looking at the clock every five minutes.”

You let out a dramatic sigh. “I’m just trying to learn, Felix. I can’t help it if your genius is just... so distracting.”

His eyes flickered at the word genius, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Distracting, huh?” He paused, then leaned forward, lowering his voice just enough to make your heart race. “Maybe you’re the one who’s distracting me. You’ve been distracting me from the very beginning.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the shift in his tone. Felix wasn’t just playing along anymore. He was starting to push back, and it felt different—more deliberate, more confident.

“Oh really?” you murmured, the words slipping from your lips with a mix of amusement and challenge. “How exactly am I distracting you, Felix?”

Felix’s lips quirked into a half-smile, the self-assurance growing in him like a steady wave. “Well, for one, you won’t stop trying to flirt with me. I’ve been trying to focus on these problems,” he gestured to the scattered equations on the table, “but all I can think about is how much you enjoy messing with me.”

The words were out before you could stop them, a laugh escaping you. “Flirting? Me? I’m just being friendly, Felix.”

“Friendly?” he repeated, eyes narrowing as he leaned closer, so close that you could feel the heat from his body. His voice lowered, edged with something darker. “You’ve been pushing me ever since we started. Don’t act like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

You swallowed, but the smile never left your lips. You weren’t expecting him to bite back this hard, but you liked it. “So, what?” you teased. “Am I a little too much for you?”

Felix didn’t flinch, not this time. He matched your gaze, leaning in just enough to close the gap, his voice a low murmur. “Maybe you are. But maybe I like it that way.”

Your breath caught, his words hanging in the air like a promise you were unsure if you wanted to acknowledge it just yet. Felix, the shy, smart tutor, was not so shy anymore. He was unafraid to meet you head-on, and that shift was more intoxicating than you would like to admit.

“Well,” you said, your voice breathy, the teasing edge still there but softer now, “I’m starting to think you might like the distraction, Felix.”

He paused, and for the first time, you saw the flicker of hesitation in his eyes. Then, with a smirk that was all confidence, he leaned back, his posture changing entirely. “Maybe I do,” he said, his voice even, his gaze still holding yours, “but I’m not sure you’re ready for it. You think you've got me all figured out, hm?”

You couldn’t help the subconcious reaction in you—your smile widened, and the challenge grew thicker in your chest. “Oh, I don’t need to figure you out. I already know what buttons to press. It’s just you're a little more... unpredictable than I thought.”

Felix’s eyes narrowed, his expression now a perfect mixture of amusement and something else—something sharper. “Unpredictable?” he repeated, his tone lowering. “I think you’re the unpredictable one here. You’ve been pushing my buttons from the start. But now...”

His voice took on a teasing, almost dangerous edge. “Now I’m starting to wonder how far you’re willing to push before you realise you might’ve gone too far.”

“You think I’ve gone too far?” you asked, your voice soft and mocking, and not doing very well at disguising how your heart skips beats when his voice drops in the way it has. “I’m just getting started, Felix.”

He leaned even closer, his voice now a near-whisper. “Then you’d better be careful,” he said, the words so close to a challenge that you couldn’t quite tell where the game ended and something else began. “Because if you keep pushing me, I might just let you go too far.”

For a moment, you both stared at each other, the air thick with a tension neither of you seemed willing to break.

“Well,” you said, leaning back, your voice back to that teasing edge, “looks like you’re the one distracting me now, huh?”

Felix smirked, leaning back in his own chair, but there was something in his posture now—something that made you realise he hadn’t been flustered at all. “You’ve been distracting me all this time,” he said, his voice steady. “But I think you’re right about one thing—you’re just getting started.”

You blinked, caught by surprise at the intensity in his voice. You were uncertain what had just shifted, but something between you had changed—Felix wasn’t just the shy, nervous tutor anymore. He was playing the game, and he was playing it well.

You barely made it through another page. Felix had resumed his explanation, something about polynomial division, but your thoughts were no longer tethered to the textbook. They wandered—to the way his fingers drummed lightly against the table, to the slight rasp in his voice when he became too focused to notice. He had not looked flustered since that last retort. In fact, it felt as though you were the one squirming now, each shift in his gaze a little too assured, each silence weighted with implication.

“You done spacing out again?” he asked, lifting his eyes just as yours trailed down the slope of his jaw.

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Was not spacing out. I was contemplating the deeper meaning of poly-whatever division.”

Felix gave a slow nod, the corners of his mouth twitching. “Right. Deep. Like a spiritual experience.”

You exhaled a light laugh, chin propped in your hand. “You know, for someone who spends his nights talking to himself on Discord, you’re getting real confident.”

He blinked. “Wait—how do you know I—”

“I have ears,” you said simply. “And the guys talk. You all aren't exactly quiet.”

Felix stared at you, momentarily thrown. Then, in a move that felt strangely bold, he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Okay. If you’re gonna mock the way I unwind, you’ve gotta at least try one of my games.”

“Try one?”

“Yeah. Come to my place. Pick a game. Let’s see if you’re any good.”

You raised a brow, amused by the casual offer—more amused by the confident glint in his eyes. “Is this a trap?”

“No,” he said, standing and stretching, his shirt riding up just slightly to reveal a sliver of pale skin. “But if you lose, you have to stop pretending you’re not interested.”

“And if I win?”

Felix paused at that, considering you with a gaze that lingered too long to be platonic. Then, with a crooked grin: “You won’t.”

You followed him out, the air charged in that low-simmer kind of way, the silence between you growing more alive with each step. His apartment was only a few minutes’ walk off campus, small and cozy, the kind of place that smelled faintly like cologne, old textbooks, and lavender laundry sheets.

“Shoes off,” he called as he moved toward the living room, kicking his own beside the door. “And no cheating.”

You stepped inside, eyes sweeping the space—books stacked on shelves and windowsills, a mess of cables near the desk, and, of course, a massive monitor glowing faintly in the dim light.

You turned toward him slowly, lips curling. “This is... alarmingly nerdy.”

He handed you a controller. “I know. You gonna keep talking or you gonna lose?”

"Put your money where your mouth is, Felix. Try me and find out."

You sat on the edge of his low couch, controller in hand, your knees drawn close and posture too poised for someone allegedly ready to relax. Felix, in contrast, looked perfectly at home—hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows, one leg tucked under the other as he navigated the menus with muscle memory. His jaw was set, eyes flicking over the screen, the pale glow catching on his cheekbones, that singular beauty which softened every time he forgot to guard it.

“Alright,” he said, voice casual as though he had not just invited you into his domain. “Simple practice match first. No stakes. You just gotta learn the controls.”

“I know what a joystick is,” you replied, shifting beside him, your shoulder brushing against his lightly. “I’m not a caveman.”

“No,” he said, glancing sidelong at you. “Just an academic liability.”

You made a sound of mock offense, elbow nudging his arm. “Wow. The ego on you.”

“I learned from the best.”

“Oh, so I taught you arrogance?”

Felix smirked, his eyes not tearing from the screen. “You’re an excellent role model.”

You were not entirely paying attention to the tutorial. Your fingers moved, but your thoughts trailed elsewhere—the rise and fall of his breath beside you, how his hands moved on the plastic controller with such nimbleness, the way his voice dipped low when explaining something technical, the subtle rasp that crept in the longer he talked.

“Here—hold A and rotate here. Like this.” He shifted, his hand coming over yours before you could react, guiding your fingers carefully. His touch was light, but deliberate, and far too warm.

You glanced at him.

He didn't move away.

“Okay,” you said slowly. “So... this is your master plan? Lure girls into your apartment and seduce them with thumb placement?”

Felix’s ears flushed red immediately. “What? No—no. That is not—”

“Mmhm,” you hummed, feigning deep thought. “Honestly, it is kind of working. But you should pace yourself, you know? Not every girl likes it rough on the joystick.”

He sputtered. Actually sputtered. “That is not—You—God—”

You grinned, victorious.

“I knew you were a menace,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

You tilted your head toward him, gaze lingering. “Still think you can handle tutoring me twice a week?”

Felix exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable now—focused, perhaps, or maybe just attempting not to combust. He turned his attention back to the screen, but not before murmuring under his breath:

“Barely.”

The practice round ticked down to its final seconds, the countdown flashing across the screen like a warning bell. The room around you was thick with warmth and shadow, your shared laughter from earlier settling into something quieter now—something edged.

Felix sat forward with that same focus as before, fingers loose on the controller, brow furrowed, jaw taut with effort. You watched the light flicker across his features—the soft glow of the monitor catching in his lashes, gilding the curve of his cheekbone. He hadn't even noticed how close you were.

But you had.

You tilted your body just enough that your thigh brushed his. “So intense,” you murmured. “Bet your heart rate goes up when your health bar drops.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “You talk too much when you're losing.”

“You're cute when you pretend this game matters.”

He finally looked at you. Not a glance, not a flicker—looked, head turning toward you fully, slow and unreadable.

“I'm cute?” he asked, tone deceptively mild.

You leaned in, feigning casual, letting your lips hover just near his ear. “Adorably so. Like a sweet little overachiever who's never had anyone play dirty with him before.”

Felix’s breath hitched. You felt it more than heard it.

He turned back to the screen, but his voice had shifted—lower now, smoother, each word curling with quiet intent. “Let's make this interesting.”

You tilted your head, eyeing him. “Go on.”

He pressed a button—your character flailed helplessly on-screen.

“If I win…” he said slowly, “you have to tell me exactly what kind of thoughts you have when you look at me, when you listen to me.”

Your grip on the controller tightened and your heart lurched, were you that obvious?

“What do I get if I win?” you asked, trying not to sound too breathless, too flustered.

Felix’s smirk curved like something dangerous. “Then I want to hear the same thing. Just... slower.”

“Alright, fine. But one more warm-up. Need to level the playing field.”

He answered with a chuckle and a soft shake of his head. The 'rematch' button was selected.

Competitive silence hovered in the air longer than it should have.

Your character lay defeated on the screen, the soft flicker of pixelated flames the only movement in the room. Felix had not moved either—still leaned forward, still watching you, though his gaze had shifted. Less playful now. More precise. Like he had studied the moment, found the crack in your composure, and was waiting to press into it.

You shifted where you sat, suddenly aware of the heat in the room, of how close his knee was to yours, how low his voice had gone and how it still echoed in your skin. His eyes dropped—briefly—to your mouth. Then rose again.

“So,” you said, clearing your throat. “That was a warm-up, right?”

His lips curved, slow and wolfish. Not a smile. A promise.

“Practice,” he corrected. “That was just practice.”

And then—he sat back.

Not away from you. Into himself. Like something in him had settled. His posture eased, but his presence intensified, like the air between you had suddenly thickened.

He resumed the game, eyes still on the screen, voice low and smooth. “Ready to actually play?”

You blinked. “What was I doing before?”

He clicked a button. The screen glowed. “Losing. Distracted. Making it too easy.”

“You're—”

“Still winning,” he cut in, and this time the look he gave you was direct, calculated. “But now… now I want to see what you're like when you stop pretending that you 'don't care'.”

You felt your stomach drop and flutter all at once.

Felix shifted again, closer this time—close enough that you could feel the press of his thigh against yours, the heat of him radiating through the minimal space between you. And then his voice came again—just behind your ear, thick as honey and impossible to block out.

“No more practice,” he murmured, the lowness of his voice shooting heat straight to your gut. “Show me how good you really are.”

You exhaled slowly and reset your grip on the controller, forcing your shoulders to loosen, your jaw to unclench. You had teased him first. This was just payback. You could handle it. It was still just a game.

But Felix was no longer playing the same one.

He didn't fill the silence between rounds with jokes or quips anymore. He didn't glance at your screen. He didn't need to.

He stayed close. Still and aware and quiet—except for that voice.

Not even a full sentence. Just fragments, murmured in that devastating octave, as if they slipped out of him without effort. Too casual. Too effective.

“Focus,” he whispered, as your thumb slipped on the analog stick again.

You swallowed hard.

“You're holding your breath,” he said next, voice lilting downward like a slow descent into something dangerous. “Is it me?”

You turned your head toward him—your mistake.

Because his eyes were already on you. Lazy, unreadable, and far too warm. His gaze flicked to your lips for half a second before he leaned in, so close you could feel the shape of his breath against your cheek when he spoke again.

“Tell me what you hear.”

Your pulse kicked hard against your throat.

“My voice,” he murmured, lips barely moving, “or your thoughts?”

You blinked, rapidly turning to look back at the screen, face burning. He had guessed. Or no—known. Felt it in the way you tensed. The way your thighs pressed together, just slightly, when he got close enough to speak low.

He smiled, soft and dangerous. “Thought so.”

You fumbled a combo. He leaned back, hands never leaving his controller, the heat of him still very much present.

“You keep teasing like you want me to lose,” he said. “But I think you want me to win.”

“I do not,” you said too quickly, too sharply, and he laughed—quiet, deep, the sound dragging along your spine.

“Then concentrate,” he said. “You're about to lose again.”

And that would be right, you did.

He paused the screen.

This time, he did not gloat. He set the controller down and turned toward you with a steady, almost clinical curiosity—like you were a riddle he was determined to solve.

“So,” he said, voice gentled back into a hush, “what exactly is it?”

You blinked. “What?”

He leaned in again, this time letting his mouth hover near your ear, not touching, just close enough that your breath hitched.

“The pitch?” he asked. “The rasp? Or is it just knowing I'm using it on purpose?”

You could not answer. Not right away. He waited.

Still.

Quiet.

Patient.

And then, softly—“Tell me everything. You lost the bet. You owe me that much.”

You hesitated—just a moment, but it was enough. The truth sat heavy in your chest, and you could feel it like a secret you had tried to keep hidden. You knew why he made your breath catch. It wasn’t just the voice. It was how it wrapped around you, how it hit those places you tried not to think about.

But now that he had cornered you—his eyes steady, voice calm, as if he knew—you could hardly breathe without him seeing right through you.

You blinked quickly, trying to steady yourself, but it did not work.

“I think,” you started, your voice a little too tight, “I think it’s the way you speak when you’re not... trying.”

Felix’s lips quirked, like a secret he had not expected you to admit.

“You mean when I’m casual?”

“Not casual,” you forced out, your heartbeat picking up. “When you’re—” You tried to think of the word, but it was impossible. “When you’re barely trying at all. Like you're not even aware of how much you're—" You stopped yourself, eyes narrowing. “You're affecting me. You’re just… too good at it.”

Felix leaned back, lips curling in amusement, eyes locked on you like a challenge. He wasn’t going to let you off easy. You were playing this game now.

“So, you like it, then? My voice?”

You shot him a look, half-rolling your eyes. “That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“Mm. But I think you can say it louder.”

“You’re pushing it,” you warned, voice low, but Felix knew—he knew exactly what he was doing. You could see the way he leaned closer, just enough to make your pulse spike, his eyes twinkling like he was the cat and you were the mouse.

And then he spoke again, his voice darker this time—sweeter in its low rumble.

“You like it when I’m casual, right? When I don’t even try to make it sound like I’m saying it for you. That’s the part you’re not telling me, isn’t it?”

You swallowed, trying to look away, but you couldn’t. He had you in his grip now—his voice, his words, everything about the way he knew. And he was right. You couldn’t stop yourself from reacting to it.

But he had no plans of letting up.

“Or is it something else, hmm?” Felix’s voice lowered even further, an almost unbearable, husky murmur. “Do you like it when I speak just like this? Like I’m giving you everything you don’t want, but you can’t pull away.”

You sucked in a breath, trying to maintain some sense of control. “You really think you know that much about me?”

He grinned, that teasing flicker in his eyes returning. “I do now.”

And then—he did it again. His voice, barely above a whisper—“Focus. You’re still distracted.”

You flinched, shifting uncomfortably, and then—just to push back—you threw him a glance, daring him.

“You know,” you said, voice dropping in challenge, “I think you like knowing how much it gets to me.”

Felix froze, his gaze sharpening. The edge of something dangerous settled between you both.

“Is that so?”

You didn’t flinch this time. You met him, eye for eye. “You’re not the only one who can play this game.”

��Prove it,” he said, his voice lowering to the kind of hunger that made your breath hitch. “Let me hear it. Let me hear what really gets you worked up.”

And that—that was the final challenge.

You leaned in, close enough that your words came out soft, teasing, barely more than a whisper.

“You really want to know?” You paused just a beat. “I think it’s the way you think you have all the answers, but you’re about to lose.”

Felix laughed, dark and quiet, but there was something heavier in it now. His fingers, light and steady, brushed the edge of your knee. “Is that so? Somehow you still think you’ve got the upper hand. That's bold of you.”

You tried—you really tried—to stay focused, to force your eyes on the controller, the animations of the pause window, anything. But every second, Felix’s voice seeped into your skin, his words curling around your senses like smoke. It was intoxicating, heavy, and too much.

You could feel your pulse quicken, the rhythm of your breath growing shallow. His voice, so warm, so rich, pressed against your ear, vibrating through your bones. Each word he murmured was like a wave, pulling you deeper into his orbit.

"Felix," you whispered, barely able to contain the way your breath hitched in your throat. “Stop... teasing."

A grin tugged at his lips. He knew. God, he knew how much he was getting to you. The bastard knew exactly how his words made you tremble inside, the way his voice curled around you, making it impossible to think about anything else.

“I’m not teasing, sweetheart,” he replied, his voice a lazy drawl, thick with satisfaction. “I’m just making sure you’re paying attention.”

You couldn’t deny it. You weren’t focused on the game anymore—not even close. Every syllable that slipped from his lips was a distraction, a pull, a magnet that made your body feel like it was on fire. It was as if his words had their own gravity, pulling you under, drowning you in the sound of him.

“Focus,” he whispered again, his breath ghosting over your ear, making your skin prickle, your whole body flush. He was so close now, too close, and yet it wasn’t enough. You wanted more. You needed more.

You felt his fingers brush over your wrist, light and teasing, sending jolts of electricity shooting up your arm. He knew exactly how to touch you, knew exactly how to get you to react. His fingers were like fire against your skin—deliberate, slow, dragging out the tension.

“You’ve already lost,” Felix murmured, his voice thick with a kind of wicked amusement. The words sank into your chest, heavy and final, but there was something in his tone—something low and dangerous—that made your stomach flip. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

Your throat went dry as the heat in your body intensified. The screen was just a blur now. Your eyes could barely focus on it. Your whole world was Felix—his presence, his scent, his voice dripping with authority. His words, coated in that delicious, teasing edge, twisted in your mind and made your body react before you could even think about it.

And then—finally—you gave in.

“Okay,” you breathed out, voice barely a whisper, but it was enough. “I lost. You won.”

Felix’s breath shuddered out, a soft exhale of satisfaction. He didn’t move right away, didn’t rush to claim his rightful victory. No, he took his time—because he knew, and you knew, he didn’t need to rush. He had you exactly where he wanted you.

His fingers traced the line of your wrist, slow and deliberate, his touch sending shivers across your skin. You couldn’t tear your gaze away from him. The tension in the room was palpable, a heavy weight pressing down on you, and you could feel the heat between you building, curling in your gut.

Felix’s voice dropped even lower, a velvet murmur that practically slid under your skin. “I knew that was coming, I told you you wouldn't win, remember?” he said, his lips close enough that you could feel the breath against your ear. The words were a command, wrapped in satisfaction and something darker—something you weren’t sure you were ready for.

He leaned in closer, his lips brushing over your ear in the most maddening way, his voice practically dripping into your ear. “But it’s not over yet, sweetheart. You’re still here. Still with me.”

You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t think. You were lost in the sound of him, the way his voice felt like a touch, like a caress. You wanted him to stop, wanted him to give you space, but the truth was—you didn’t want him to stop. You didn’t want to fight it anymore. Every inch of you screamed for him to keep going, to make you lose again, because losing meant he’d take more, and you’d give him more.

He took his time, waiting. Watching you squirm. Watching the way your chest rose and fell, the flush on your face. He was savoring this—savoring the way he had you wrapped around his finger without even touching you.

Felix’s lips brushed your ear one last time. “Do you want me to stop?” he murmured, his voice laced with that same wicked teasing. “Or do you want me to make you lose all over again?”

Your body was trembling in desire, the answer so close to your lips that it nearly slipped out on its own, but you were still holding back. You still wanted to fight. But when his fingers brushed down your arm again, slow and deliberate, the touch igniting your skin, you knew.

This was no longer a game. This was something else.

And you were far too gone to turn back.

“Yes,” you breathed, unable to hold back any longer, the word slipping out in a breathless rush. “I want you to win.”

Felix let out a low, satisfied chuckle, the sound dripping with so much pleasure you could barely stand it.

“Good, then let’s see just how much you can handle," Felix chuckled darkly, and in that moment, everything changed. The teasing was gone. The games were over. He moved with purpose, his lips crashed against yours, the kiss hungry and desperate, as if he had been waiting for this moment. His hands gripped your hips, lifting you as he pulled you into his lap, not once breaking away from your lips.

His body was firm, hard, and you felt every inch of him pressed against you, his desire unmistakable. It was like electricity crackling between you, sparking the need, the hunger you’d been trying so desperately to control.

Your thighs bracketed his, your hands gripping his shoulders like a lifeline as you subconciously rocked your hips down against him. The thick, hard length of him pressed up between your legs, and even with both of you still clothed, it felt obscene—too good, too much. Every movement dragged your against your aching core, the rough texture of denim making you gasp, tremble.

Felix’s hands gripped your hips tight, fingers digging in like he needed to ground himself. “Fuck,” he groaned, his voice dark and wrecked, like gravel dragged across velvet. “Do you feel what you’re doing to me?”

You nodded, breathless, hips rolling down again just to hear that sound leave him. His head dropped back against the couch for a moment, jaw clenched, lips parted. You could see how hard he was beneath you, how much effort it took to let you keep control.

But you never really had it—not with the way he looked up at you now, eyes dark, mouth curling into something hungry. “Move for me, baby,” he said, voice dropping even lower, like a secret whispered straight to your spine. “Let me feel you.”

You obeyed without thinking, grinding down against him in slow, aching circles, chasing friction, chasing heat. His breath caught, hands tightening as he guided your rhythm—deliberate, delicious. Every roll of your hips dragged a new sound from him, low and broken, and it made you feel powerful—until he growled.

“Enough teasing,” he muttered, and before you could blink, he sat up, chest flush to yours, arms locking around your waist.

Now it was him rocking up into you, grinding hard enough to make your breath stutter, your back arch. You clung to him, whimpering at the new angle, the intensity.

“You’re gonna make me lose it,” he hissed against your throat, voice cracking with restraint. “Keep grinding like that, and I’ll come just like this. With you on top of me, clothes on, moaning my name.”

He buried his face in your neck, teeth grazing your skin, and you could barely hold on. There was no air, no room, nothing but the heat of him, the way his hips met yours again and again, perfectly, mercilessly.

You were soaked. Shaking. Seconds away from shattering.

He whispered in that wrecked, perfect voice—“I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

You could feel your pulse racing, your body betraying you with each passing second. You wanted more—wanted him to take you, claim you, make you lose all over again. You needed him to show you just how far you could go with him.

“Then take me,” you breathed out, the words slipping from your lips without thought. You wanted him, wanted everything he was offering. “I’m already yours, Felix. Do what you want with me.”

His eyes darkened, a predatory gleam flashing in them as he heard your words. The smirk on his lips deepened, as if he had been waiting for you to finally admit it—to finally give him the green light to take control completely.

Without a word, Felix flipped you both, placing you beneath him with a precision that sent a rush of heat through your body. The world around you seemed to fade into nothingness, leaving only him—his touch, his voice, his body against yours.

He paused, hovering above you for just a moment, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. His eyes searched yours, a silent question in them—one you didn’t need to answer. You had already given him every word he needed in the moment. He was in control now, and you were more than willing to let him have it.

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice a velvet growl that made your skin prickle. His lips crashed down on yours again, this time with an intensity that stole your breath away, the kiss hard, demanding, as if he needed you just as badly as you needed him. After he had stripped you down to your panties, his hands roamed freely, touching you with a hunger that made you ache.

His lips trailed down your neck, nipping at the soft skin there, then trailing down to your chest, where he focused his mouth on your breast, rolling his tongue around your nipple, and his left hand attending to your other breast, kneading the supple skin.

His right hand moved lower, slipping under the waistband of your panties to trace his fingertips ever so lightly through your folds.

"Look at you, so eager. This wet for me, already?" He murmured against your skin, moving away to stare at your pussy, to which he dragged his tongue across his lip. If you weren't embarassed yet, you certainly were by now. "All I've really done is talk to you. You want this that badly? Where did all that biting confidence from this afternoon go, hm?"

You barely managed to muster a reply before his hands fled their posts to lift your hips, to allow for his teeth to catch the elastic of your panties and drag them down to your ankles and tossed to who knows where. He tossed them with his mouth. That image would be engraved in your brain forever.

Wordlessly, he dove straight in.

His tongue moved with a slow, devastating precision—savoring every inch of you as though you were a delicacy he had waited lifetimes to taste. Each stroke was skillful, hungry, and maddeningly thorough, his mouth worshipping you with an unrelenting hunger that bordered on reverence. His hands gripped your thighs, fingers digging into the softness as he spread you wide for him, holding you open as though he couldn't bear to lose a single moment of access.

When he moaned against you—low, rough, trembling with need—it reverberated straight through your core. The sound alone nearly broke you.

You shamelessly let out moans, huffs, and groans as needed, you were helpless beneath the weight of his mouth, and he only smiled proudly against you—tongue flicking over your clit with wicked precision, then sucking hard enough to make your vision go white. You cried out, hips jolting, thighs beginning to close around his head in a desperate, overwhelmed instinct.

You shattered with a sob, your release tearing through you fast and violent, your body trembling as the orgasm overtook you—but he did not stop.

He held you in place, relentless and devoted, licking you through it with obscene focus, tongue fucking you slowly, deeply, while your body broke apart beneath him. You were unraveling in his hands, and still—he kept going until your twitching had slowed to a stop.

When he finally pulled away, his chin was slick, his lips glistening. “You taste like a fucking dream.”

You moaned, your hands clutching at his hoodie before he leant up so he could strip it off, revealing smooth, pale skin stretched over lean muscle, his chest heaving with restraint. His eyes were molten, locked on yours as he tugged your thighs apart with strong hands, settling between them once again like he belonged there—because he did.

You barely had time to catch your breath before his fingers replaced his tongue—two of them sliding deep inside you, curling just right, hitting that perfect spot that made you cry out. He worked you open with smooth, steady strokes, watching you unravel under his touch, his thumb drawing slow, tight circles around your clit while his free hand pushed your shirt up to bare your chest.

"You’ve been so good for me," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "But I want to hear you say it again. I want you to beg me."

Your heart raced, your mind spinning with the control he had over you. You could feel the fire building inside you, your breath shallow and fast as you fought to keep yourself from completely losing it.

“Felix, please,” you gasped, eyes glassy with need. “I want your cock inside me. I need it.”

"That's it, who am I to deny such a pretty plea like that?"

He pulled back, his fingers slipping from you, wet and glistening as he reached down to undo his belt. His cock sprang free, flushed and thick, veins prominent along the shaft. You reached for him, but he caught your wrist, pinning it beside your head.

He lined himself up, nudging at your entrance, dragging the head through your slick folds until you were trembling with anticipation. Then, with one slow, merciless thrust, he filled you.

You gasped, nails digging into his back as your walls stretched to accommodate him, the pressure overwhelming in the best way. He paused only a moment, letting you adjust to the size of him, before drawing his hips back and slamming into you again.

“Relax, breathe,” he murmured, pulling back slightly, only to thrust deeper, his breath ragged against your skin. “I’ve got you.”

He groaned as he buried his face in your neck and set a punishing rhythm, each thrust deeper, harder, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, meeting him thrust for thrust, the angle perfect, the drag of his cock inside you enough to make your vision blur. His hand snaked up to your throat, fingers curling there—not tight, just enough to remind you who was in control.

“You’re mine,” he growled into your ear, biting the lobe. “All of you. Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped. “God, Felix, I’m—”

And when the words finally slipped from your lips, breathless and raw, Felix’s eyes darkened with triumph. “Good girl,” he muttered. “I knew you were mine.”

He shifted, hips grinding against yours as he fucked into you, stroking that sweet, devastating spot again and again until you were sobbing with the need to come. His thumb found your clit again, circling fast and merciless now, pushing you to the brink.

And then you were falling—your body clenching around him, stars exploding behind your eyes as your second orgasm ran through you like fire. Felix didn't stop, chasing his own high, thrusting into you through your climax until his rhythm broke and he spilled inside you with a shudder and a curse.

He collapsed onto you, both of you panting, slick with sweat and trembling from the aftershocks. The tension had finally broken, but you could feel it lingering, the heat between you not quite fading. Felix didn’t seem in a rush to pull away. His gaze lingered on you, and you could see the soft smile tugging at his lips, the same man who had been bold, teasing, and oh so confident moments ago, now softened by the shared intimacy.

“You lost, by the way,” Felix murmured with a playful smile, his fingers tracing over your lips. “And I’m going to make sure you remember that. You were so embarrassed under me.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the one flustering you,” you said softly, voice not quite steady, betraying the remnants of your earlier surrender.

He tilted his head, curls falling over his brow. “You do. Constantly.”

You let out a breathless laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, but you like it now.”

“I liked it before,” he murmured. Then, quieter, as though it startled even him, “I liked you before.”

The air shifted.

You blinked up at him, smile faltering—not in discomfort, but in the way something deep in your chest tugged, slow and aching. “You… mean that?”

Felix looked at you like he had studied you for days, like you were an answer to something he never wanted to say aloud. “I'm not very good at pretending,” he confessed. “Not with you.”

There was no teasing in that. Just truthful, soft, and raw tenderness.

Your hands found his cheeks, thumbs brushing the warmth of his flushed skin. “You really have the worst timing,” you whispered, trying to smile. “Saying stupid sweet things when I'm still technically trying to beat you.”

Felix smiled back—crooked, lopsided, unfairly boyish. “Then lose. Again. On purpose this time.”

You leaned upward, just close enough to feel his breath catch against your lips. “And if I do?”

His eyes dropped to your mouth. “Then let me make it worth your while.”

You kissed him slowly, like the match had burned down, like the game had ended, and only the wanting remained.

guys pls lmk if the long stuff is too much,,,,, i keep getting carried away LOL thx for reading allat

taglist (ask to be added here): @petersasteria @gdinthehouseee @aizshallnotbefound @burlesquerade @floofeh-purpi @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @ttturnitup @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @ricecake9999 @leni111 @scream-queen-25 @spiritualgirly444 @fairyprincesslvr21 @loonybunny1 @uuchii @sherxoo @m-325

#I have no words oh my god this was so fucking beautiful and comforting and so fuckin snarky #I’m that fuckin flustered DUUUUDE I COULDNT TAKE IT #pls tell me there’s more of this 😫🙏🏼#I’m gonna go pass out okay? thanks I neeed a moment to fucken re read this for the next five hours.

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jazz-the-writer · 13 days ago

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NOT ME BEING ON A MISSION TO LOOK FOR A SECOND PART ONLY TO FIND OUT THAT YOU JUST REWLEASED THIS. YOU CANT DO THIS TO ME 😫 NOT HAN NOT THE SWEET DORK WHO SAYS ILOVE YOU AN APOLOGIZES THAT WAY.

I’m so broken 😖 i need to know. I need it to not be true please 😫🙏🏼

I need to know. I NEED TO KNOW.

HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

Like why ? WHY DID

why did he have to go an lie and fucken say some stupid bullshit about “making it” and how “lucky” he is like why did he have to break my heart like that? 😣

BAD.

Han x reader. (s,a)

Synopsis: You’ve always known Han Jisung is trouble—the kind of guy who flirts like it’s breathing and disappears like smoke when things get real. But the more time you spend with him, the deeper you fall—despite knowing he’ll probably break your heart. Again and again. (20,2k words)

Author's note: This fic is based on this song and spoiler alert: Han Jisung is a bad boy here. You've been warned ⚠

You hadn’t meant to go out that night. You were tired, two drinks behind everyone else, and already half-set on ghosting your own friends with a quiet Irish exit. But then you saw him—leaning against the bar like he owned the place, all dark denim and lazy posture, twirling a lime wedge between his fingers like he was bored with the world.

He wasn’t your type. Too cocky. Too casual. Messy dark hair pushed back like he didn’t care how good he looked, a silver chain hanging loose around his neck, and a smirk that looked like it came with a warning label. There was something sharp in his eyes—something dangerous, like he knew exactly how to get what he wanted and had never once been told no. You should’ve known better.

He looked up right as you glanced his way, and he didn’t miss it. That smirk widened just enough to make your stomach flip.

“Hey,” he said, with that deep, velvet-soft voice that felt too smooth for a stranger. “Did it hurt?”

You gave him a look and a low scoff. “Seriously?”

He tilted his head, unfazed. “I mean, falling from heaven? Yeah. But I had to try. You looked like you needed saving.”

You rolled your eyes and turned back to your half-finished drink, determined not to entertain him. Guys like that were a headache. Pretty smiles and pretty lies, and way too much effort for someone who’d already break your heart before you learned his middle name.

However, Han didn’t take silence as rejection—he took it as a challenge. He dropped into the barstool next to you, close enough that you could smell the sharp citrus of his cologne, feel the warmth of his presence even without touching.

“I’m Han,” he said. “And you are…?”

Still, you stayed quiet.

“Alright,” he said with a lazy grin. “Mystery girl. I like it. But just so you know, I’ve got, like, five minutes before I charm you.”

You hated the way your lips twitched at that. Hated that he was already chipping away at your resolve with nothing but a few words and a well-timed smile.

You should’ve walked away. You should’ve finished your drink and left without looking back. But instead, you turned to him and said, “Alright, Han. Five minutes starts now.”

Han grinned like he’d just won something. He leaned his elbow on the bar, gaze flicking down to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “So,” he said, swirling the ice in his glass. “Are you always this hard to read, or am I just off my game tonight?”

“I don’t know,” you said coolly, lifting your drink. “Is this your game?”

He laughed—low and boyish, the kind of sound that made it too easy to forget he was probably trouble. “God, you’re fun. Most girls just giggle and fall right into it.”

“Maybe you’re not my type.”

Han raised an eyebrow, like that was a challenge. “Then what is your type?”

You didn’t answer, but you didn’t look away either. That was enough to make his grin stretch wider, all teeth and charm and a little too pleased with himself. He glanced across the bar and nodded toward the dartboard in the corner. “Wanna make this interesting?”

“I don’t play games,” you said, setting down your glass.

“Lucky for you, I do.” He was already halfway off his stool. “Come on. You beat me, I buy you a drink. I beat you, you give me your number.”

You snorted. “What makes you think I’d want to give you my number even if I lost?”

He shrugged, holding out a hand like a dare. “Because deep down, you kinda want to.”

You scoffed at his audacity and stared at him for a beat too long, then you took his hand.

The dartboard was tucked in a quieter corner of the bar, just dim enough to blur the line between friendly competition and flirtation. Han let you go first, leaning against the wall with a drink in hand, watching you like he was trying to memorize your moves. You missed your first shot by an embarrassing margin.

Han chuckled. “Okay, maybe we should change the bet. You give me your number now, and if I lose, I’ll delete it.”

You shot him a glare, but it didn’t land. Not when he looked at you like that—like you were the most interesting person in the room.

“You’re annoying,” you muttered.

“And yet,” he said, stepping up behind you, his voice brushing your ear, “you haven’t walked away.”

You told yourself it was just a game. Just a drink. Just one night. But when Han’s hand brushed yours as he passed you the next dart, you didn’t pull away.

And when he whispered, “Careful. You’re starting to like me,”

you laughed, because he was right.

You don’t remember how many rounds of darts you played after that. Or how many drinks. Just that the more the night stretched on, the more dangerous Han started to feel.

He was easy to talk to—too easy. Every sentence laced with flirtation, every smile a silent promise. He leaned in when he spoke, laughed too loudly at your jokes, and somehow always found a reason to touch you—his hand brushing your wrist, fingers grazing your back as he passed behind you, knuckles tapping your knee under the table like a secret rhythm only the two of you understood.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. You weren’t drunk. Just warm. Buzzed and comfortable and a little too aware of the way his knee kept knocking into yours, the way his eyes kept dropping to your lips.

“I’m trying to be good,” he murmured once, after your third drink.

You looked at him over the rim of your glass. “Are you?”

He seductively smiled. “Trying. Failing.”

He leaned in then—slow, testing the waters—but you turned your head at the last second, pretending to laugh at something on the TV above the bar.

“Mm. Cold,” he said, sitting back with a grin.

“You’ll live,” you casually respond with a sly smile.

Another drink later, you were having your drink facing the counter and Han was standing behind you, his chest pressed firmly against your back and one of his arms wrapped around your waist. You could feel the weight of his gaze as you peacefully sipping your drink.

“You’re still thinking about kissing me,” he whispered right into your ear, like it was a fact, not a guess.

You ignored the way his hot breath brushes your skin as you raised an eyebrow and said, “You’re very confident.”

He shrugged, eyes dropping to your mouth again. “You keep looking at mine. I’m just connecting dots.”

When you turned your head to the side, he leaned in close enough until his lips made the slightest contact with yours, intentionally or not. But you made him work for it, you leaned in and when he was about to capture your lips, you pulled back with a smug.

“You're persistent,” you said, though your voice wasn’t as steady as it had been.

He only smiled triumphantly, taking your words as a compliment and it seemed to only give him motivation to keep trying. One hand held your face by your chin, holding your head still as he leaned in again. He brushed your nose with his before finally aiming for your lips.

You stopped him by putting your fingers over his small mouth. “Not tonight.”

He exhaled, slow, like he was trying not to push. “Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll behave.”

He didn’t. Not really. Because later—when the bar was emptying out and the city felt quieter than it should’ve—he walked you outside, his hand brushing yours, barely touching but somehow lighting your whole arm on fire. He asked if you wanted a cab. You said you’d walk.

“I’ll walk you, then,” he offered with his charming gummy smile.

Two blocks into the walk, you turned down a quieter street. The air was cool, but you felt warm under your jacket. Han walked close, so close you could feel the swing of his arm next to yours, hear the way he slowed his steps to match yours exactly.

When you stopped at the corner, he stopped too. He looked at you, staring into your eyes and briefly glanced at your lips, tempting, inviting. And you, you looked at him with the glow of the streetlights created a halo on his dark hair, hesitating, considering.

Should I? You asked yourself. You figured out the answer as he leaned in and you didn’t move away. You felt his breath against your mouth first—hoping, waiting. When your lips parted just slightly, like an invitation… He kissed you. Soft, at first. Careful. Then again, firmer—like he’d been holding back all night and finally got permission.

You let yourself fall into it for a moment too long. Just long enough to forget that he wasn’t your type. That guys like Han never stopped at one kiss. And that deep down, you already knew—this wasn’t going to end well.

One moment, Han had you pinned against the door, fingers tangled in your hair, his kiss rougher and more urgent, like he’d been waiting all night for this. In the next one, you ended up on your bed, feeling the press of his mouth against yours and his hands mapped your sides like he was trying to memorize every inch of you. And then, he was everywhere.

Your back hit the mattress with a soft thud, and Han followed, lips trailing down your jaw, his breath hot against your skin. He kissed like he meant it—deep and consuming, like he wanted to swallow the sound of your sighs. His hands were firm on your hips, but not greedy—like he could take his time, like he wanted to take his time.

Suddenly, he slowed. He pulled back just enough to look at you, chest rising and falling, lips red and swollen from the kiss. His gaze lingered on yours, asking a silent question—one you didn’t need to answer aloud because you were already reaching for him.

He sat back on his knees, his hands gripping the hem of his black t-shirt. In one fluid motion, he pulled it over his head and tossed it aside. Your breath caught at the sight. His body was lean but toned—defined in that way that made you want to reach out and trace every line. Broad shoulders and small waist. And there, on his right shoulder, was a black ink tattoo: sharp edges, elegant curves, something that looked both dangerous and deeply personal. The other one ran down his side in a smooth line, disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans, teasing your imagination and making you wonder where does the tattoo ends.

You sat up slowly, eyes dragging across his chest, down to the subtle V of his hips.

He looked like sin wrapped in skin. He knew it, too. That stupid, perfect smirk curved at the edge of his mouth as he caught you staring.

“What?” he asked, voice low, a little smug.

You swallowed. “You’re just…”

“Hot?” he offered with a wink.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah,” you admitted quietly, your voice soft as your fingers brushed over the tattoo on his shoulder. “You really are.”

Han leaned down, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “Careful,” he whispered, “you’re making it very hard to behave.”

You didn’t tell him to stop because even though you knew better… you didn’t want him to.

Han leaned and hovered over you, lips brushing against yours in slow, languid kisses that made your breath catch. His hand moved with a practiced ease—fingertips grazing the zipper at the back of your dress, a silent question in the way he tugged, lips still coaxing you deeper into him.

You didn’t say a word. You let him. Then you heard the sound of the zipper cutting through the silence in the room. The fabric slipped down your shoulders, warm air brushing over newly exposed skin. He pulled the dress down until it's off of you and you were bare except for the matching underwear you were wearing.

His gaze dropped, jaw tightening just slightly, like the sight of you like this did something to him he couldn’t put into words. “You’re unreal,” he whispered, kissing your collarbone, then lower, down the center of your chest.

He buried his mouth in between your soft mounds and drinks in your natural scent. “What kind of spell are you putting on me?” He murmured with his lips against your skin.

You let out a soft laugh, but it caught in your throat when his lips found your stomach, then the curve of your hip. His hands smoothed along your sides, slow and reverent, like he wanted to worship every inch of you.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured between kisses. “So fucking perfect.”

He came back up to kiss you again—deeper this time, his mouth claiming yours like he couldn’t get close enough. Your hands gripped his shoulders, felt the heat of his skin under your palms, the sharp inhale he took as your fingers trailed along the tattoo on his ribs.

And then— Something shifted. It happened all at once. A flicker of hesitation in your chest, the way your body stilled beneath his, the sudden tightness in your throat that you couldn’t quite explain. His kiss slowed, but your hands had already gone slack at your sides. The fire was still there—but your heart wasn’t in it anymore.

Han noticed immediately. He pulled back, just enough to look you in the eyes. His brows furrowed, voice softer now, careful. “Hey… you okay?”

You hesitated for a second, trying to find the right words. “I—” You bit your lip, avoiding his gaze. “I think I’m changing my mind.”

His weight shifted off you a little more. “Yeah?”

You nodded, cheeks hot. “I don’t want to do this. At least… not tonight.”

There was a pause. Not heavy—just quiet. And then Han gave the smallest, most genuine smile. “Okay.”

You anxiously clutched the sheet under you. “You’re… okay with that?”

“Of course I am,” he said, brushing your hair gently behind your ear. “You think I’m gonna get mad because you're being a decent human with boundaries? Please.”

The relief hit you like a wave. You leaned up and gave him a soft peck on the lips, more grateful than anything. “Thank you, Han.”

He laid down beside you, still shirtless, arm behind his head as he looked at the ceiling like it was no big deal. Like you hadn’t just hit pause on something you both clearly wanted.

“You’re really sweet,” you said quietly.

He smirked. “Don’t ruin my reputation like that. I’ve got a bad boy image to maintain.”

You laughed as your head fell back onto the pillow, finally relaxing again. “Sorry. You’re so dangerous and mysterious.”

“That’s better,” he said with a wink. “Now c’mere. I wanna cuddle and sulk dramatically about being denied.”

You rolled your eyes but moved closer, letting his arm wrap around your waist, your head finding the space between his neck and shoulder. He was warm. He smelled like cologne and the night and something that already felt too familiar.

The air in the room had shifted—less charged, more peaceful. You weren’t sure how long you’d been lying there in silence, his arm still wrapped around your waist, your head tucked into the crook of his neck. His fingertips were brushing soft, aimless patterns along your side when his gaze drifted across the shelves by your bed.

“You’ve got a lot of books,” he murmured.

You smiled against his skin. “Yeah. I like to collect them even when I don’t have time to read.”

Han tilted his head, scanning the spines. “The Song of Achilles,” he said, pointing. “That one wrecked me.”

Your brows lifted. “You’ve read it?”

“Twice,” he said proudly. “And cried like a loser both times.”

You laughed, shifting slightly so you could see him. “You don’t strike me as the Greek tragedy type.”

He grinned. “I’m full of surprises.”

The conversation spilled easily from there—first about the book, then about other favorites, stories that moved you, characters you felt too much for. You didn’t realize how natural it felt until you noticed the hour on your phone and blinked.

“Wait… it’s almost four?”

Han chuckled, voice gravelly now from the lateness. “Guess you’re just too interesting.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile was soft. “I don’t remember the last time I stayed up all night just… talking.”

He looked at you, expression gentler than usual. “Me neither.”

There was a pause. Then, maybe without meaning to, you spoke.

“I think…” you began, voice low, almost unsure. “I think that’s why I hesitated earlier.”

Han stayed quiet, just watching you.

Your voice small as you kept going. “It’s not you. It’s me. I’ve never felt really… confident. About my body. I’ve had a few… not-so-great experiences, and sometimes it just gets in my head, you know?”

Han didn’t interrupt. He didn’t rush to fix it or brush it off. He just listened.

“Sometimes I feel like if someone sees too much of me, they’ll change their mind.”

His fingers tightened slightly around your waist—not in a harsh way, just grounding. Reassuring. “You know what I see when I look at you?” he said quietly.

You looked up at him, throat tightening.

“I see someone brave enough to set boundaries. Someone smart and kind and way, way too good at darts. I see someone who didn’t have to let me in—but did anyway.”

Your chest ached in the best way, not expecting the talk turns this personal when you only have met this person merely hours ago.

“You don’t have to earn being wanted,” he added. “You just are.”

You blinked fast, trying not to let the sting behind your eyes win. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

He shrugged, a teasing smile returning. “I’m trying to impress you. My shirt’s already off, and you said no, so I had to resort to personality.”

A laugh broke out of you, honest and full. You nudged his shoulder. “It’s working.”

The warmth between you softened into something tender—quiet and still and when you turned your head to look at him again, you found him already watching you. Something shifted in that moment. Something slow, sweet, inevitable.

Without overthinking it, you leaned in and this time, the kiss was gentle. No rush. No heat. Just a quiet surrender to the connection already blooming between you.

The kiss deepened naturally, without hesitation this time—just the slow, steady build of heat that had been simmering between you all night. Han’s hands rested on your waist, anchoring you to him as your mouth moved with his, the closeness buzzing with electricity.

You shifted, gently pushing him back against the pillows as you moved to straddle him. His hands slid down your sides, his eyes fixed on you now, wide and dark with something more than lust—something softer, deeper.

“You’re…” His voice was low, almost reverent. “God, you’re beautiful.”

The words landed right where your insecurities had been moments before, like he somehow knew exactly what to say to quiet them. His admiration wasn’t just in his voice—it was in the way he looked at you, like he was seeing something rare. Something precious.

It gave you a surge of something bold. A confidence you hadn’t felt in a long time. Your fingers moved behind your back, unclasping your bra. You let it fall between you, leaving you completely bare before him.

For a moment, Han just stared—lips parted slightly, eyes drinking you in like he didn’t want to miss a single detail. “I must be dead,” he said, voice still thick with awe. “Because there’s no way I’m this lucky and still breathing.”

You laughed—soft and real, your body finally relaxing as the tension slipped away. “Shut up,” you said while covering his mouth with your hand, even though the corners of your mouth were still curled in a smile.

“I’m just saying,” he added with a smirk, hands sliding up your thighs, slow and steady. “How am I not blind after seeing that?”

Your heart fluttered, warmth blooming in your chest and between your ribs, in all the quiet spaces where doubt used to live. There was something about being seen like this—not just touched, not just wanted, but seen. And even more than that… adored.

You leaned down again, brushing your lips against his. The kiss was softer now, but no less full of promise. In that moment, you let yourself believe—for just a little while—that this thing between you might be more than a night.

Han sat up slowly, eyes still fixed on you, the sheets rumpled around his waist as you remained straddling him. The way he looked at you made your skin tingle—as if you were the only thing that matters in this world.

He reached up, cupping the side of your neck with one hand, his thumb brushing just below your jaw. Then he leaned in and kissed you again—deeper, slower, savoring the way your lips moved with his.

His hand trailed downward, fingertips gliding over your collarbone, then lower, tracing the curve of your chest with a delicate touch that made you inhale sharply against his mouth. He hummed softly into the kiss, the sound low and pleased, like your reaction was exactly what he hoped for.

His other arm slipped around your waist, pulling you flush against him until there wasn’t a single inch of space left between your bodies. Skin to skin, warmth to warmth, heartbeats syncing into something that felt more intimate than you expected.

In the next moment, the kiss growing needier, more consuming with every second. Your hands tangled in his hair, nails grazing the back of his neck as his lips claimed you again and again, with no sign of stopping. It felt like you were falling—into him, into this and you didn’t want to stop it.

Han dragged his lips down the slope of your neck, slow and heated, making your breath catch in your throat. You tipped your head back as a low moan escaped you, helpless against the way his mouth explored your skin—biting softly, then soothing the sting with warm kisses that made your spine curve and your fingers grip his shoulders tighter.

When he reached your sternum, he paused—just long enough to look up at you with a wicked glint in his eyes—before burying his face in the valley between your breasts. His kisses were open-mouthed, and lingering, lips moving with reverence as he worshipped every inch of your soft mounds. And then he took your breast into his mouth, hot and wet, the sudden suction making you gasp.

“Han—” you breathed out, nearly a whimper as he rolled your nipple against his tongue, then sucked harder—hard enough to make you yelp in surprised pleasure.

The sting was sharp, but the heat it sent rushing through your core was sharper. Your hips shifted beneath him instinctively, your body already responding faster than your mind could catch up.

When he looked up at you again, his lips glistened, and that smug little smirk you were starting to know too well curved at the corner of his mouth. “You sound so pretty,” he murmured, voice heavy with desire. “Don’t hold back.”

And then his mouth was on you again—trailing fluttering kisses down your stomach while enjoying the way your body arched into his. You barely had time to catch your breath before he shifted, his hands finding your hips, and with one smooth motion, he flipped you onto your back, slipping easily between your legs.

You gasped, a mix of surprise and heat curling inside you as he looked down at you—his pupils blown wide, his hair a mess, and his mouth already back on your skin.

His kisses continued down your front, warm and teasing, until his lips hovered at the edge of your underwear. He pressed a slow, deliberate kiss right against the thin fabric, eyes flicking up to meet yours just as you gasped—your hips twitching in response. You moaned, unable to stop the sound, your body trembling slightly under his touch.

Han smirked against you. “Still doing okay?” he asked, voice thick, dark, and laced with mischief.

You could only nod, breathless, your fingers threading through his hair again. Without giving you a moment, Han places an open-mouthed kiss on your clothed core, ignoring the way the fabric already damp with your arousal. Even with a layer of barrier, you felt his tongue tracing your bundle on nerves and continuously circling on it.

Han pulls away with a smirk. His fingers curled around the band of your underwear, his touch is unhurried like he was giving you every chance to change your mind. But you didn’t. You just watched him, heart pounding as he pulled the fabric down your legs, inch by inch, until you were bare beneath him.

His gaze didn’t waver. If anything, it softened. He lifted your leg by the back of your knee and leaned down, pressing light, fluttering kisses to the inside of your thigh—so delicate they felt like sparks dancing over your skin. The closer his mouth got to your center, the harder it became to breathe. Your body reacted on instinct, legs trying to snap shut from the overwhelming vulnerability of it all.

He looked up at you, eyes full of patience as he waited for you to open yourself to him.

“I—” you started, voice barely a whisper, “I just… it might take me a while... to come.”

There was no judgment in the way he looked at you. No hesitation. Instead, he smiled—soft, a little amused, endlessly kind. “You’re not in a hurry, right?”

And then, with that signature glint in his eye, he added, “Should I get you a book? Something to keep you busy while I work my mouth on you?”

You let out a startled laugh, your nerves cracking open into something lighter, easier. “You’re such an idiot,” you mumbled, smiling despite yourself.

“Mm, but I’m your idiot tonight.” He leaned up and pressed a kiss to your lips—slow, grounding, warm. “Just relax,” he murmured. “Let me take care of you.”

With that, he moved back down, settling between your thighs like he belonged there. His arms curved under your legs and his hands resting on your abdomen, anchoring your hips gently.

The first contact of his mouth on your bare sex was gentle at first—exploring you with soft, unhurried licks between your folds that made your entire body tense and then melt into the mattress. He was careful, attentive, like he was learning every part of you with his lips and tongue, every little sound you made guiding him deeper into the rhythm that left you trembling.

You gasped and moaned, your fingers clutching at the sheets, legs trembling on either side of his shoulders. But then—his hands reached for yours. You felt his fingers lace through yours and pull them down to rest flat on your stomach. The unexpected intimacy of it made your chest swell with something tender. Even while he was driving you completely wild, he was grounding you—keeping you connected to him, reminding you that he was here, with you, for you.

Your back arched as his tongue found that perfect spot again and again, moving with a precision that made your breath stutter and your hips buck toward his mouth. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. He just tightened his hold on your hands and kept going, lips and tongue working you over until you were gasping his name, your moans a helpless melody echoing off the walls of your bedroom.

You were undone—squirming under him, your body drawn tight with every wave of pleasure building inside you, held steady only by the feel of his hands wrapped around yours and the determined, reverent way he worshipped you with his mouth.

You felt it cresting—slow and intense, like a wave building higher and higher until it crashed through you all at once. Your body arched, a helpless moan tearing from your throat as the pleasure hit, all-consuming and warm, unraveling every thread of restraint you had left. Your fingers tightened around his, your thighs trembling around his head as you came apart under his mouth.

Han didn’t stop right away. He eased you through it with soft, fluttering kisses along your inner thigh, then up your abdomen, tender and patient as you slowly came down from the high, your breathing ragged and your skin still buzzing.

“You were perfect,” he murmured against your stomach. “So damn good for me.”

You let your eyes flutter open, dazed and breathless, and found him already looking at you. A teasing smile tugged at the corners of his lips—his mouth and chin glistening with the evidence of what he'd just done to you. He didn’t wipe it away. He licked his bottom lip instead with his eyes never leaving yours.

Then he leaned in, kissing you deep and slow, his tongue sliding against yours, letting you taste yourself on him. It was intimate, almost possessive—like he wanted you to feel everything, to know exactly how much he’d enjoyed every second of you. Your hands slid around his shoulders, pulling him closer as your heart pounded against your ribcage.

Han didn’t rush you. He laid beside you, propped on one elbow, his other hand lazily trailing up and down your side. Featherlight touches. Just enough to make you shiver, even now.

“You’re kinda quiet,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “Did I break you a little?”

You turned your head and gave him a weak glare, but your smile betrayed you. “A little. Yeah.”

He chuckled under his breath, the sound low and smug as he nuzzled against the side of your neck. “Not a bad first impression then.”

You huffed a laugh, still catching your breath but that didn't stop him from kissing you again, his lips dragging over your cheek and then down to your collarbone. Each one lingered just long enough to keep your skin tingling.

“I could get used to this,” he murmured, his fingers brushing against the curve of your waist, slipping lower for just a second before rising again. “You... under me. Breathing like that. Looking at me like I just rewrote your nervous system.”

“Cocky much?” You said with a raised eyebrow.

He smirked against your skin. “Only because you’re not denying it.”

You rolled your eyes and before you could fire back, he caught your lips in another kiss . It was gentler now—slow, drawn-out. His tongue moved lazily with yours, coaxing you back into that hazy warmth you were just coming down from. All the while, his hand never stopped moving—light strokes over your ribs, the underside of your breast, the dip of your waist. Not pushing. Not asking. Just... building. Again.

“You good?” he whispered when he pulled back, his voice all gravel and honey now, his eyes searching yours like he really meant it.

You nodded, already feeling the ache of wanting him again as his body pressed flush to yours. You answered him by kissing him. Your fingers curling into the nape of his neck.

Without breaking the kiss, he took your hand in his and slowly guided it down his chest, over the smooth lines of his torso. Your breath hitched, unsure of where he was leading you—but then, just when you thought he was going to push your hand lower, he slid it around to the back of him instead. Your palm met the firm muscle of his ass, and he grinned against your mouth.

“Go on,” he murmured, his voice thick and teasing. “Tell me that’s not the finest ass you’ve ever touched.”

A surprised laugh escaped you, and you gave it a playful squeeze. “I mean… I’ve touched worse.”

“Ouch,” he gasped dramatically, feigning offense. “After all I’ve done for you tonight? That’s the best I get?”

You giggled, rolling your eyes. “Okay, fine. You’ve got a great ass, Han.”

“There it is.” He beamed proudly, his voice smug and affectionate. “You’re so good at flattering me. I should keep you around for morale.”

You gave it another squeeze just to mess with him, and he let out a low laugh, burying his face in your neck for a second before pulling back to look at you—really look at you.

In that moment, between the laughter and the heat, something softer flickered in his eyes. He didn’t say anything about it. He just leaned in to kiss you again, and you let yourself fall into it, warm and breathless and beginning to wonder how someone could be this addictive after only one night.

He let your hand linger where he’d placed it, his own hand coming up to cup your jaw as he kissed you slowly, deeply, addictive. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, his body pressed against yours, every inch of him alive with tension and need.

So you took initiative by sliding your hand down with clear intent, and he groaned softly into your mouth as your fingers wrapped around his swollen cock. The way he responded—jaw tightening, breath catching—only encouraged you, but you kept your pace slow, teasing him the way he’d teased you earlier. Your thumb rubbed over the crest and applied gentle pressures on it, then you began slowly stroking it.

His hand eventually joined yours, fingers curling around yours as he guided the motion with a rhythm he liked, each stroke making him pulse harder in your hand. Together, you pumped his cock in slow, steady motion. His forehead pressed to yours, and his eyes fluttered shut as the pleasure rippled through him.

“You’re really testing here,” he murmured, voice ragged.

You only smiled, tightening your hold around his length, feeling him twitch with growing need.

Before things could blur too far, Han’s hand paused yours. “Wait—condom?”

You nodded toward the drawer on the bedside table. “Inside. Right side. There’s a box.”

He reached over without fully detaching from you, retrieving one and giving you a look that was somehow both focused and teasing as he tore it open with his teeth. He rolled it on carefully, his eyes flicking to you every few seconds—watching you watch him.

When he was done, he raised an eyebrow. “So... how’s my form? Did I pass the test?”

You gave him a smirk and a playful nod. “A+ in safety and presentation.”

“Good.” He leaned in, brushing his lips against yours. “Now let’s see if I can get extra credit.”

With that, his mouth was on yours again, harder, deeper yet more certain. The anticipation hung thick in the air between your bodies as he pressed closer, your legs parting to welcome him in, the heat between you impossible to ignore.

Han moved slowly, his body flush against yours as he guided his cock into your entrance with care. He ran his length between your folds, drenched it with your arousal, giving your clit enough stimulations for what’s coming next.

When he began pushing his tip into you, his eyes never left your face, watching you, searching for any sign of hesitation. He kept going, eyebrows furrowed as he penetrated you with utmost care and carefulness.

The second his cock buried to the hilt inside you, you gasped—not from pain, but from the overwhelming closeness—he kissed you softly as if he tried to make up for the unpleasantness.

“Good?” he whispered, his voice breathless but gentle.

You nodded, fingers curling into his shoulders. “Mm-hmm… I’m good.”

He stayed like that for a moment, fully buried in you but still, giving it a moment for your bodies to adjust to each other's. When he finally moved, he moved in slow, measured thrusts that made your body tremble with each drag of his cock against your tight walls.

In the heat of the moment, his mouth found yours again, kissing you through every shift in rhythm, as if he wanted to share every part of it with you. “You feel amazing,” he murmured into your skin, a quiet confession between kisses on your neck, your collarbone, your lips. “Like you were made for me.”

His hands cradled your waist, keeping you close, and every so often, he paused just to glance down to where your bodies joined, where you took all of his cock inside you and wrapped tightly around him. He kissed you again and again before picking up the pace.

The tension between you grew hotter, sharper, but the tenderness never left his touch. He wasn’t just trying to make you feel good—he was trying to imprint every second of this in the back of his mind.

The way your bodies moved together was effortless, like some rhythm you'd always known and with every breath, every breathless moan escaped your lips, Han was right there—present, connected, real. You clung to him, and he to you, as though the moment might vanish if you didn’t hold on.

And when it finally crested—your body arching into his, tightening and fluttering around him, making Han coming soon after, groaning your name as he held you through the aftershocks, not once letting go. He went still for a moment as he released, filled the condom with his seed.

For a while, neither of you said a word. The room was filled with the sound of your mingled breaths, soft and slowing, hearts still racing under flushed skin. He was the first to move, gently pulling you into his chest, his arms wrapping securely around you.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, voice low and tender against your hair.

You nodded, your cheek resting just over his heart. “Yeah… Okay.”

His arm stayed snug around your waist, the other trailing lazy fingers up and down your back as your breathing slowly returned to normal. Then, in the quiet hum of the room, he tilted his head down toward you and murmured, “So... would now be a bad time to ask for a Yelp review?”

You let out a small, breathless laugh, your body still buzzing. “Right now?”

“I just think it’s important to gather feedback,” he said, grinning smugly. “You know, for quality assurance.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too. “Five stars for effort. Four and a half for the bad jokes.”

Han gasped dramatically. “Excuse you—my jokes are premium content.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered, snuggling closer to him.

“I know,” he said, and kissed the top of your head like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You softly exhaled, eyes fluttering shut in drowsiness as his lips continued placing little kisses on your skin, reverent and steady, with a quiet devotion that left you feeling like you were falling—into something deeper than lust, something dangerously close to trust.

Sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, warming your bare shoulders, gently waking you up from your slumber. You stirred, stretching out a hand to the other side of the bed—only to find it empty and cold.

Of course. You muttered in your head as you heart sank a little. You let out a quiet sigh and rolled onto your back, staring at the ceiling. You should’ve known better. One night, a little charm, and then gone by morning. Classic. Still, you couldn’t help the flicker of disappointment curling in your chest. Because, as much as you tried not to… you liked Han.

And then—there it was. The unmistakable clatter of something in the kitchen, followed by a low curse.

Pulling on whatever piece of clothing from the floor, you padded out of the bedroom and found him in the kitchen.

Han was shirtless and under the pale sunlight, his tattoos were contrast to his honey skin, his hair messily tousled, standing in front of your coffee machine with a deep frown on his face. His fingers were poking at buttons like they personally offended him. He looked up the moment he sensed you and broke into a sheepish grin.

“Morning. So, I may or may not be losing a fight to this highly complicated coffee machine.”

You squinted, walking closer to assess the issue. “Did you… plug it in?”

He paused and then he checked the back of the machine, finding the unplugged cord hanging limply beside the counter.

“Ah.” He scratched the back of his head while sheepishly chuckling. “That explains the lack of coffee. I was just about to blame capitalism.”

You chuckled despite yourself, shaking your head as you plugged it in. “Are you always this charming in the morning?”

“24/7 actually,” he said, watching you with that same lopsided grin.

As the coffee started brewing, the warm scent beginning to fill the kitchen, you turned toward the fridge. “I’ll make breakfast.”

Han leaned back against the counter, arms crossed over his bare chest as he watched you. “Are you sure? I mean, I was planning to impress you with my gourmet bowl of cereal.”

You rolled your eyes and reached for the eggs. “How about you handle coffee duty, Chef Cereal and I’ll take care of the rest?”

“Copy that, Kitchen Commando,” he said, reaching for two mugs with a mock salute.

The two of you moved around each other in quiet rhythm, filling the kitchen with soft clinks and sizzling sounds. No awkwardness. No morning-after weirdness. Just warmth, quiet laughter, and the smell of coffee and toast. It was… easy, strangely easy and you couldn’t remember the last time something felt like that.

The two of you sat across from each other at the small kitchen table, plates filled with scrambled eggs and toast between you, steaming mugs in hand. He took a bite, chewed, and gave you an impressed nod. You held the urge to chuckle at the way his cheeks puffed as he chewed on his food.

“Okay, chef,” he said with a grin. “This is actually good. I had low expectations after seeing your coffee machine situation.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You mean your coffee machine situation?”

He pointed at you with his fork. “Fair.”

Between bites and sips of coffee, the conversation drifted into something lighter. Easier.

“So, what do you do?” you asked, wiping a crumb off your lip.

Han leaned back a little, stretching his legs under the table. “I work at a music studio. Mostly sound engineering. Some producing. It depends on who’s asking.” He smirked. “But yeah, I help make people sound better than they actually are.”

You laughed. “Do you enjoy it?”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “Long hours, weird clients, but music’s kind of the only thing I ever wanted to do. Even when I was a kid.”

There was a flicker of something sincere in his eyes, and for a moment, it made your chest warm.

He tilted his head. “What about you?”

“I co-own a vintage clothing store with a friend,” you said, reaching for your coffee. “We do a lot of curating, reselling, sometimes minor alterations. I’m there most days.”

Han perked up. “Wait, so you’re telling me I know someone with taste and access to cool jackets?”

You smirked. “Maybe.”

“Do I get a discount if I come shop there?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“That depends. Do you plan on plugging in the coffee machine next time?”

He let out a laugh and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “Harsh but fair.”

The rest of the morning passed in a blur of coffee refills, inside jokes already forming, and conversations that slipped from playful to surprisingly thoughtful with ease. It felt oddly natural—like the two of you had known each other long enough to tease and jab without hesitation.

And maybe that was what made it so dangerous.Han, with his charm and his grin and his casual warmth—he was the kind of trouble that came wrapped in comfort.

When it was time for him to go, you followed him to the front door, your sweater sleeves pulled down over your hands, fingers gripping the hem to keep yourself from reaching for him. He crouched slightly to put on his sneakers, and a strange heaviness pressed on your chest—the kind that came with goodbyes, especially the ones you didn’t want to say out loud.

This is it, you thought. A fun night. A morning after. And then he disappears like they always do.

But just as he finished lacing up his shoes, Han straightened and turned to face you again. His eyes flicked across your features, lingering in that way that made it feel like he was seeing more of you than he should.

“So,” he said slowly, almost cautiously, “can I see you again?”

Your breath hitched—just for a second. “Well... You know where to find me.”

A smirk crept onto his lips, cocky and triumphant, like he’d just won a game you didn’t realize you were playing. “That I do.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you stretched taut with something unspoken. His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, and when he stepped forward, it was deliberate.

Han reached up, his fingers gentle as they found your chin and tipped your head slightly toward him. He leaned in slowly—so slowly—and pressed a soft kiss to your lips. It wasn’t lustful or teasing this time. It was tender, like a promise.

When he pulled away, his voice was lower than before. “I’ll see you soon.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to say it back, but you barely got the words out before he leaned in again and kissed you deeper this time, stealing the air from your lungs. It left your head swimming, your hands balled into the fabric of your sweater to keep yourself from holding onto him. And then he stepped back, letting go of your chin with frustrating gentleness. You almost frowned at the absence of his touch but caught yourself, painting a smile on instead.

Han turned toward the door, opened it, and paused—just for a beat. His eyes found yours again, like he was trying to burn the image of you into memory, then he stepped out.

You stood frozen for a moment after the door shut, the silence of your apartment suddenly deafening, and without meaning to, you were already counting the seconds until you saw him again.

The bell above the door jingled as someone left, the fading sound echoing in the stillness of the vintage shop. You barely looked up from where you sat behind the counter, chin resting in your hand, watching the second hand tick around the clock mounted on the wall.

Five days. Not a text. Not a call. Not even a stupid emoji. You hated how often you found yourself checking your phone, hoping for a notification from Han. Even more, you hated that your heart still fluttered at the thought of him—even now, after all the silence.

Your friend, Morgan, appeared from the back room with a new rack of denim jackets and gave you a knowing look. “Still nothing?”

You shook your head, sighing dramatically as you slumped over the counter. “Maybe he died.”

Morgan snorted. “If he’s dead, the universe just did you a favor.”

You groaned, burying your face into the crook of your elbow. “Don’t say that. What if he’s just…busy?”

She shot you a flat look, raising an eyebrow. “Busy? Please. That boy is a smooth-talking, fine-ass ghoster, and you know it. You're not the first girl he made promises to with his shirt off and that dumb pretty smile.”

You sat back up, whining like a child being told no. “I know, okay? I know. You’re right. He’s just a typical fuckboy. I just…” Your voice softened. “It didn’t feel like that.”

Morgan sighed and leaned on the counter next to you. “That’s how they get you. They make you feel like you’re the one exception to their pattern. That you’re the one they actually mean it with.”

You stared down at your hands, fiddling with a loose thread on your sleeve. “It’s just,” you muttered, “my heart’s being stupid. I know he’s not coming back. I know that night probably meant nothing to him. But…”

“But it meant something to you,” Morgan finished your sentence with a fed-up sigh.

You nodded, lips pressing together in a hard line.

Morgan gave your shoulder a squeeze. “It sucks. And I hate seeing you like this. But you’ve gotta stop feeding the fantasy. He ghosted you, babe. Whether it was deliberate or not, you deserve better than that.”

You swallowed hard, forcing the bitterness of the truth down your throat. “Yeah.”

“And I mean—look at you.” She gestured at your outfit. “You’re a catch. Hot, smart, funny. And you run a kickass vintage store. You think he's the only guy who’s gonna notice that?”

You managed a laugh, weak and watery. “He better not be.”

“There she is.” Morgan grinned. “Now, go fix that rack of leather jackets and start forgetting about that doe-eyed, tattooed piece of—”

The bell above the door jingled again and you both turned to look. Your heart nearly stopped only for some customers coming into the store.

“Better put my focus on work,” you sighed in defeat as you grabbed the rack of leather jackets and hauled it.

Morgan gives you an encouraging slap on the butt. “Atta girl!”

Rearranging a rack of vintage coats did help distracting you from thinking about Han and how a part of you still hoping that your phone chime with a message from him. It worked until a familiar voice sliced through the low hum of the store.

“What do you think?” he said. “Is this totally my color, or am I giving discount magician vibes?”

That voice. That joking, cocky, annoyingly charming voice. You turned slowly, fingers still clutching a velvet blazer, and there he was—Han—standing under the warm light of the shop’s interior, holding up a glittery gold button-down shirt with a grin that was clearly meant to disarm you.

“Or should I add this?” he asked, grabbing a feathered boa and wrapped it around his neck.

Your heart kicked up painfully in your chest, but your face remained neutral. “Can I help you?” you asked flatly, like you would with any other customer.

Han’s smile faltered. He let the shirt fall against his chest, his eyes searching yours. “I—uh. Okay. I deserve that,” he admitted, stepping closer. “I’m sorry. I know I should’ve called. Texted. Something. I’ve just… things got complicated.”

You didn’t say anything, you just moved on to the next rack, slipping hangers back in place like you hadn’t heard him.

He followed behind, undeterred. “I’m not trying to make excuses. I just got overwhelmed with work. Studio stuff’s been nonstop. I kept meaning to reach out, but it felt like the longer I waited, the worse it would seem.”

You paused, glanced at him, and then kept walking. He was doing it again—smooth talking, saying all the right things, making you almost want to believe him.

From behind him, Morgan stood at the counter, arms crossed, and as soon as your eyes met, she silently pointed at Han and mouthed: Bad news.

You sucked in a breath and walked past Han, heading toward another rack of clothes. He caught up with you and gently grabbed your elbows, halting your steps.

“Please,” he said, voice softer now. “I’m really sorry. I’ve been thinking about you. About that night. A lot. I didn’t mean to disappear. I just—I handled it badly.”

You looked up at him, heart racing. His eyes were wide and vulnerable, but you couldn’t tell if it was genuine or just an act to win you over. His grip on you wasn’t forceful, but there was something desperate in the way he held you there—like he needed to fix this, needed to make you hear him.

However, your head was swimming. You couldn’t trust your instincts around him. Not when your chest still ached from pathetically waiting for a text from him.

So you gently pulled your arms free and walked toward the counter. “Morgan, can you help this customer?” you asked, barely looking back.

Without waiting for an answer, you gave him the cold shoulder and pushed open the backroom door. You stayed there and only came out after Morgan texted you that Han has left.

When it came to close the shop, you and Morgan worked together to tidy up the store. You turned the keys repeatedly and pulled the door to make sure it was securely locked before dropping the keys into your bag.

As you were about to turn away, Morgan tapped your shoulder and you turned just as she tilted her head toward the street. “Behind you,” she murmured.

You followed her gaze—and there he was. Han, sitting on the hood of his car like some hopeless romantic cliché, bundled in his jacket, arms crossed, breath visible in the cold night air. He’d been waiting.

Morgan sighed, already exhausted with him. “You want me to scare him away?”

You shook your head. “It's okay. I got it.”

She hesitated, watching your face with that same mix of concern and curiosity, before stepping back with a parting, “Text me.”

Then you were alone with the sound of distant traffic and your footsteps clicking against the pavement as you approached.

Han stood up when he saw you. Despite the chill, he smiled. “Hey.”

You raised a brow. “You’re still here.”

“Well,” he said with a shrug, stepping closer. “I’m not leaving until you forgive me.”

You crossed your arms, trying to keep your expression unreadable. “You really think freezing your ass off is going to make up for ghosting me for five days?”

He grinned. “I mean... it’s a start.”

You tried to hold back, but then he added, “And next time, I’ll remember to plug in the coffee machine.”

A laugh escaped before you could stop it. Your resolve, carefully built up over days of annoyance and disappointment, began to crumble.

He grinned wider, gently reaching for your hand. His fingers were cold, but his touch was careful, like he wasn’t sure you’d let him hold on. “I really am sorry,” he said, quieter this time. “I messed up. I didn’t mean to disappear. I just got in my own head.”

You looked at him, and despite everything, part of you softened. He wasn’t pushing. He wasn’t charming his way out. He just looked... sincere.

You sighed, lips twitching. “You’re forgiven… if you wear that glittery gold button-down shirt. With the feathered boa.”

He blinked, then burst out laughing. “Okay. Go on, unlock the shop. I’ll wear it for you right now. Right here. Right now. I’ll even strut.”

You laughed too, finally, fully and the last bit of tension eased from your chest.

“I’d rock it,” he added, his voice cocky and bright. “I’d look amazing. I just know it.”

That made you burst into laughter, and Han looked at you like he’d already won the lottery, like he knew, somehow, this was the start of something… complicated. Messy, even. But it was a start.

It’s been three months now, and somehow, Han Jisung still looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

The months slip by in a blur of warmth and laughter, and if someone told you this was all a dream, you might believe them. Because dating Han feels exactly like that—like you’re floating through something too good to be real.

You remember slow mornings when he kisses your forehead before you're fully awake, the scent of coffee already filling your apartment because he learned how to use the machine properly—though he still jokes about nearly short-circuiting it every time. You eat pancakes in bed, syrup sticking to your fingers, and Han kisses the corner of your mouth like it's a reward for just being there.

There are late-night grocery runs when you both pretend you’re on a secret mission. You race down the snack aisle, Han hiding behind displays and jumping out to make you laugh. Once, he wore a banana costume he found in clearance and asked you to take him seriously. You couldn't.

There are cozy nights in, wrapped in blankets, a record playing low in the background as he hums along and runs his fingers through your hair. He reads to you sometimes— the lyrics he wrote on his journal, silly memes from his phone, even the tag on the cereal box—just to make you laugh at the way he over-dramatizes it.

He holds your hand in public like it’s second nature, like he can’t imagine a world where it wouldn’t be. He tells you you’re beautiful at the most random times—mid-bite at dinner, when you're makeup-free in sweats, when you're annoyed and pacing the room ranting about work. Always. Like it’s a fact of life.

Sometimes, you catch him just staring at you, soft-eyed and completely gone, and when you ask what he’s thinking, he shrugs and says, “Just wondering how I got so lucky.”

He surprises you with sticky notes stuck to your fridge door. Some have compliments, others doodles of the two of you. One just said, You make the world less scary.

And the fights? They happen, sure. But he never lets them last long. He listens. He apologizes. He makes an effort. Every single time.

Your life with Han isn’t perfect—but it’s golden. It’s honest. It’s filled with laughter, affection, and a kind of safety you didn’t know you’d been missing until he gave it to you.

You’re not sure where it’s all headed, but right now? You’re exactly where you want to be.

“... And then she had the audacity to tell me our vintage pieces were overpriced, like ma’am, it’s literally a 70s designer coat—what do you want, a time machine discount?”

You wipe your hands on a dish towel, still fuming from your earlier encounter at the shop. You glance toward the living room, expecting some kind of sympathetic sound from Han—but he’s sitting on the sofa, phone in hand, thumbs moving with casual focus.

Your rant comes to a halt, your mouth forming a small pout. Seriously?

You storm over with exaggerated drama, snatch his phone from his hands, and toss it onto the cushion beside him. Without missing a beat, you plop down onto his lap, straddling him with a huff.

“I was talking,” you say, pouting deeper. “And you were scrolling.”

Han grins up at you, arms already winding around your waist like it’s the most natural place for them to be. He tilts his head back slightly to look at you, eyes gleaming with fond mischief.

“I was listening. Something about a demon woman who tried to steal a sacred relic from your temple of vintage fashion.” He raises his brows, then he runs his hand through your hair. “Want me to kill her for you?”

You laugh, cooing at his ridiculousness. “How romantic of you,” you murmur, leaning in for a kiss.

His lips meet yours eagerly, his hold on you tightening like he’s anchoring himself. When you pull away just enough to tease him, his mouth chases after yours, making you giggle.

His hands travel down your sides, settling on the curve of your ass, and he hums against your jaw. “I gotta head back to the studio tonight,” he says, his voice apologetic as he presses a kiss under your ear. “I’m almost done with the track, just need a few more hours.”

You pout again as you look into his dark, doe eyes. “You've been pulling so many overnights lately. I’m starting to think your real relationship is with your audio software.”

Han chuckles, his hand rubbing at the round of your ass. “I promise, it’s just a fling. You’re the one I’m making all this extra time for. More finished tracks now, more time with you later.”

You know he’s right, but you still pout and scrunch your nose at him. “Still unfair.”

“So punish me,” he says with a playful smirk.

You grin, catching both his hands and guiding them above his head, pinning them to the back of the sofa. “Okay. Punishment starts now.”

Han gasps, mock offended. “Oh, no. Punishment.”

“I'm going to make you suffer,” You lean in, just brushing your lips against his, tempting him to kiss you and when he tries to capture your lips, you immediately pull your head back.

He’s already craning his neck, desperate for more. “Oh, I’m so scared.”

You laugh as you kiss him like you're about to swallow his small mouth whole, slow and indulgent, like you’re trying to make up for the hours you’ll miss tonight.

His hands eventually break free and finding their way back to your waist. Your world narrows to the warmth of his touch, the softness of his lips, and the knowledge that you’ll still be here when he comes home.

When you walk through the door after a long day at work, you immediately catch the comforting aroma of something warm and savory. You kick off your shoes, set your bag down, and round the corner to find Han standing in the kitchen, wearing one of your aprons—badly tied—and grinning like a mischievous schoolboy.

"Welcome home, babe," he says, arms stretched wide as if he really did just prepare a Michelin-star meal. The dining table is set: candles lit, plates ready, and takeout containers expertly hidden behind the serving dishes.

You smile wide but with an eyebrow raised at him. “You made dinner?”

He nods like he deserves a trophy. “As a good boyfriend, I sure did.”

You walk straight to him, wrap your arms around his neck, and pull him into a long, slow kiss. Your fingers slide through his hair, and his hands settle naturally on your waist as he kisses you back like he’s missed you all day.

When you finally break away just enough to speak, you whisper against his lips, “Thank you.”

“Full disclosure… I didn’t exactly cook it. I may have… ordered takeout,” he admits between kisses, “plated it really nicely… lit a few candles… made it look like I cooked.”

You laugh softly and nuzzle his nose. “I knew it. You can’t cook without triggering the smoke detector.”

He pulls back with a mock-offended gasp. “You know me too well.”

You kiss him again, and it deepens fast—too fast—because the next thing you know, you’re backed up against the counter, his hands warm against your sides, lips unrelenting. Teeth and tongue clashing in your mouth. It’s only when your stomach lets out a very loud, very real growl that you pull away with a sheepish grin.

“I’d love to keep doing this,” you murmur, breathless, “but I’m really hungry right now.”

Han chuckles, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Dinner first, make-out session after?”

“Deal,” you say, stealing one more quick kiss before heading toward the table.

And just like that, another ordinary night with Han feels like something out of a rom-com.

Later that night, you're propped up against the headboard, legs stretched beneath the comforter, a book resting open in your hands. The soft glow from the bedside lamp casts a cozy light over the room, and you're already halfway through a chapter when Han climbs onto the bed with a quiet, dramatic sigh. He crawls over to you like a lazy cat, warm and sleepy, and settles his head right on your chest, his arms loosely wrapping around your waist.

"I thought we're going to make out," he mumbles, burying his nose in the crook of your neck.

Without looking away, you turn a page and say, "But I'm just getting to the juicy part."

"Read it to me then," he mumbles again and this time, he's nuzzling into your shirt. "I wanna hear your juicy voice."

You smile and shift slightly to accommodate him, brushing your fingers gently through his hair. "You sure? You always fall asleep halfway through."

"Then you better make it good," he teases, voice muffled against you.

So you start reading, voice low and soothing, the pages turning slowly as your fingers play through his soft strands. He listens, surprisingly still, until a few lines in, you feel the brush of his lips against your collarbone. You keep reading, even as he kisses higher—your neck, your jaw—and you falter just slightly when his lips find yours.

You chuckle between sentences, breath catching. “Are you even listening?”

“Mhm,” he hums against your mouth, kissing you again. “Every word.”

The kisses deepen, slow and warm, his hand sliding up your side as the book tilts to the mattress, forgotten. He shifts so he’s hovering over you, his smile lazy, eyes half-lidded with affection. “I knew this was better than reading,” he whispers.

Before you can reply, his mouth finds yours again, and the words on the page dissolve into soft sighs and tangled sheets. His hand reaches for yours, taking your book and you feel his smirk against your lips when he tosses the book away.

"Hey, I was reading that," you grumble against his kiss.

He playfully tugs your lower lip between his teeth and then lets it go. "Admit it, this is way more fun," he murmurs followed by a haste kiss on your lips.

The room soon filled with the smooching sounds and the sighs that slipped out of your mouth in between as Han kisses you again and again. His hands are roaming around your body, touching, worshiping, he's slipping them under your night dress to feel the softness. His body is pressing on you until his body heat seeps into you and your bodies mold into one.

No matter how much you enjoyed it though, your body can't fight the fatigue anymore. You slowly pull away from his kiss, lips brushing his as you murmur, “It’s been such a long day… I can barely keep my eyes open.”

Han gives you a soft smile, the kind that makes your chest ache in the best way. He nods, understanding without a hint of complaint, and places a tender peck on your lips. “To be continued?”

You smile and nod. "To be continued."

"Now, come here," he whispers, lifting his arm and offering it to you.

You immediately nestle into his side, your head resting against his chest, arms wrapping around his torso like a blanket of your own. He shifts just enough to pull the comforter over both of you, his body warm and solid beside yours.

“Goodnight,” you mumble into his shirt, your voice already thick with sleep.

“Goodnight, baby,” he murmurs back, and then you feel the gentle flutter of his lips across your face—your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose.

His hand strokes slowly up and down your back, a quiet, calming rhythm that lulls you further. With his kisses still tingling on your skin and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, sleep takes you easily.

However, you stir in the middle of the night, disoriented by the emptiness beside you. Your hand reaches out instinctively, brushing over cool sheets where Han should be. The absence tugs gently at your sleep-heavy mind, and just as you're about to drift off again, you catch the faint sound of water running in the bathroom. You figure he’s probably just using the bathroom. Nothing unusual.

But then, layered beneath the soft rush of water, you hear the muffled sound of his voice. It’s faint—just the low, indistinct hum of someone speaking quietly on the phone. You strain to make out what he’s saying, but the faucet masks everything, leaving you with only your curiosity.

A minute later, the water stops, and the door clicks open. Han steps back into the darkened room, lit only by the sliver of moonlight coming through the curtain. He’s shirtless, his hair a little tousled, and he climbs back into bed as if nothing happened.

You blink up at him sleepily. “Hey... Who were you talking to?”

He settles in beside you, pulling the blanket back over both of you. “Just a guy from the studio. He needed something about the track we’re finishing. Did wake you, baby? I'm sorry.”

You hum in response, not pressing further. It sounds believable and it’s late, too late to overthink. So you curl into him, letting his arms wrap around you. His warmth is comforting, familiar. His hand finds its way to your back again, rubbing in slow circles the same way he did earlier until you're asleep again, nestled in the space you know best—his arms.

You stir to the feeling of gentle kisses being pressed to your bare shoulder—slow, warm, and lingering. One lands on your neck, then your cheek, then your forehead, until your entire face is dotted with affection. You groan softly and turn over, squinting your eyes open to find Han lying next to you, propped up on one elbow with his messy hair and that irresistible lopsided grin.

“Morning, sunshine,” he murmurs, voice low and sweet.

“Mm,” you hum sleepily, offering your lips, which he kisses with a soft, closed-mouth kiss that melts into a smile. His hand gently rubs up and down your arm, slow and reassuring.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks, still dotting little kisses along your temple.

You peek one eye open and stretch, a lazy grin on your face. “Like a baby. Probably because I wasn’t sleeping with my boyfriend who hogs the blanket like it’s a survival tool.”

Han gasps, dramatically clutching at his chest. “How dare you slander me first thing in the morning.”

You laugh against his shoulder. “Just stating facts.”

“Well,” he says, brightening again, “at least your boyfriend doesn’t hog your breakfast.”

He reaches over the side of the bed and lifts a brown paper bag triumphantly. The smell of fresh croissants and cinnamon rolls instantly fills the room, and your stomach lets out the most telling growl.

Han grins like he’s won the lottery. “I come bearing peace offerings.”

“And caffeine?” you ask hopefully.

He holds up two to-go coffee cups like it’s a trophy. “Double-shot latte for you. Because I like living.”

The two of you sit up in bed, pillows behind your backs, breakfast between you. You each pick at the warm pastries, sipping coffee in between bites. It's one of those rare slow mornings where everything feels just right.

Between mouthfuls, Han nods toward you. “By the way, the studio’s throwing a party tonight. Just a small thing. The team and a few other musicians.”

You raise your brows and tear a piece of croissant with your teeth. “You want me to come?”

Han looks at you like the answer is obvious. “Of course. I want to show you off. Also… moral support, because I might have to socialize with people I’ve only ever emailed.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” you playfully coo before letting out a chuckle.

He nudges you playfully with his knee. “You’ll come though, right?”

You grin over the rim of your coffee cup. “If you promise not to make bad jokes around me.”

Han smirks before pulling you for a sweet kiss and he pulls away just to mutter against your lips, “No promises.”

It’s chaotic in the best way—hairbrushes and makeup scattered across the vanity, clothes strewn over the bed, the laundry basket half-dumped as you scramble to find the perfect outfit for the party. Your hair is half-done, one eye fully made up while the other still waits for mascara. You’re digging through the laundry basket, looking for that dark top you swore you washed,when you accidentally lift Han’s jeans and something falls out of the back pocket. You pull them out—and with them, two ticket stubs. You glance at the date. Two days ago.

Your brows furrow as you read them again. Movie tickets. You carry them with you to the bedroom where Han is lying on his back, one hand under his head and the other holding his phone, lazily scrolling. You hold the stubs up and show them to him. “Babe?”

He looks up, raises a brow. “Yeah?”

You tilt your head, keeping your voice casual. “These were in your jeans. You saw a movie?”

Han pushes his phone aside and sits up slightly. “Oh, yeah. I got comp tickets from the studio. Luca and I went after work.”

You sit on the edge of the bed, still holding the stubs. “I thought we were going to see this one together.”

He grimaces apologetically and rests a hand on your thigh. “I know. But it wasn’t even that good, honestly. You didn’t miss much.”

Before you can respond, his eyes trail down to your outfit—or what exists of it right now. You’re in a black miniskirt and just your bra, still trying to decide on a top.

He lets out a low whistle. “Wait. Is this what you’re wearing to the party?”

You roll your eyes but the smile curling your lips betrayed you. “I haven’t even finished getting dressed yet.”

Han leans back on his elbows, grinning lazily. “God. Do you want me to cream my pants before we even leave the house?”

You feel your cheeks heat at the way he’s looking at you. A little flustered, a little smug, you climb onto the bed, straddling him with a smirk. “Maybe,” you seductively whisper, leaning in.

Your lips meet in a kiss that deepens quickly, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you closer. You try to pull back, breathless, but he won’t let you, chasing your mouth with another kiss.

“Han,” you murmur between kisses, “if we keep doing this, we’re going to be late.”

“I don’t care,” he breathes, before capturing your lips again.

In one smooth motion, he flips you onto your back, his body pressing down on yours, his mouth trailing slower, deeper kisses. You laugh against his lips, fingers weaving into his hair, momentarily surrendering to him—just a little longer before the party. Or maybe a little more as he roughly pulls your bra down until your breasts spilled out and he takes it into his mouth.

The studio party is already buzzing when you and Han arrive. Music pulses through the speakers, lights shifting from soft ambers to bold purples, casting shadows that dance across the walls. The room is filled with familiar faces from Han’s world—producers, engineers, interns, and artists, all with drinks in hand and stories spilling from their mouths.

Han thrives in it. He walks the room like it belongs to him, charming every person he speaks to, his laughter easy and infectious. With one hand comfortably resting at the small of your back, he introduces you proudly. “This is my girl,” he says more than once, eyes lighting up each time.

You smile, laugh along, answer polite questions. It’s warm, fun, easy. For a moment, everything feels perfect. Then you excuse yourself to get a drink, giving his arm a gentle squeeze before disappearing into the pantry-turned-bar.

You’re mixing a splash of something fizzy into your cup when a familiar voice speaks behind you. “Need a real bartender?”

You turn and find Luca—Han’s co-worker and longtime friend—grinning as he pours himself something from a bottle.

“Hey,” you say, friendly. “Yeah, I actually looking for the good stuff.”

“Don’t worry. I got you,” Luca smiles as he grabs a bottle of liquor from the bottom cabinet and pours it generously into your cup.

“Thank,” you say, slightly raising your cup his way. “Han told me you two saw a movie together a couple nights ago. Was it really as bad as he said?”

Luca’s expression shifts almost instantly. Confused. Cautious. “What movie?”

Your smile falters almost immediately. “The one you watched two days ago.”

Luca’s brow furrows and then he shrugs. “I haven’t seen a movie with Han in… weeks, I think? Maybe months.”

You blink, trying to keep your expression neutral, even though your stomach sinks a little. “Oh,” you manage. “I must’ve misunderstood.”

Luca offers a half-smile, oblivious to the storm forming behind your eyes. “He probably went with someone else from the studio.”

You nod slowly, staring down into your drink as the ice clinks against the glass. “Yeah. Probably.”

But that’s the moment the night shifts. Just slightly. Just enough to feel it.

The car ride home is thick with silence.

Han tries to reach for your hand, the way he always does when he senses you drifting. But you pull yours away without a word, placing it in your lap and staring out the window. The silence grows louder, pressing into your ears. He doesn’t say anything after that, but you can feel his eyes on you the whole way home.

When you step into the apartment, you don’t bother taking off your heels. You head straight to the bedroom, the weight of your earrings tugging at your lobes as you rip them off one by one. At the vanity, you grab a cotton pad and start scrubbing off your makeup—too harsh, too fast. The skin around your eyes burns, but you don’t stop.

Behind you, Han sits on the edge of the bed, watching you. “You okay?” he asks, careful, as if he’s walking on thin ice.

You don’t answer. You keep your eyes locked on the mirror, your jaw tight.

He tries again, adding a chuckle to lighten the mood. “Oh, no. Did I happen to make bad jokes around you?”

The sound of his laugh—so misplaced, so oblivious—makes your stomach twist. You whirl around. “Why did you lie?” you snap, eyes locked on his.

His smile falters as his eyes widen. “What are you talking about?”

You hold up the movie stubs. “You told me you went with Luca.”

He blinks. A beat too long. “I—I did, didn’t I—?”

“No,” you cut him off, your voice sharp. “I talked to him. He said he never went. So why lie?”

He exhales, like deflating, and stands. “Okay. Okay. I watched it… with someone else. My boss. He made me go with him. It was for work.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it. You turn back to the mirror, your hand gripping the cotton pad again. “Do you even hear yourself?” you mutter. “You lied because what? You thought I wouldn’t understand?”

“I thought you’d get the wrong idea,” he says quickly, taking a step closer. “It was stupid. I know it was. I’m sorry.”

You don’t respond. You don’t even flinch as he walks up behind you, wraps his arms slowly around your waist, rests his chin against your shoulder like everything is still okay.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs again. His lips press to your bare shoulder, then to your neck. A trail of kisses, light and apologetic.

“Let me make it up to you,” he whispers, voice warm against your skin. “Let me get you on the bed and show you how sorry I am.”

That’s when you freeze and when you still don’t move, he feels it. You gently shrug his hands off you and step away. “Don’t,” you say quietly. “Don’t touch me right now.”

He looks stunned. “Babe—”

You turn to him, your voice tight. “You lied to me. Not once. You kept lying until you got caught. Do you even know why I’m angry?”

He’s quiet and you take a breath to calm yourself down but it doesn’t help. “It’s not just the lie. It’s that you hid something so small like this—so what else are you hiding?”

Han reaches for you again, desperation in his voice. “It didn’t mean anything. I swear. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“You did,” you snap. “You made it worse.”

With that, you storm into the bathroom and slam the door behind you, locking it with a click that echoes in the silence he left behind.

The hot water cascades down your body, a comforting blanket against the heaviness weighing on your chest. You close your eyes, lean your forehead against the tiled wall, and try to breathe it all out—the frustration, the anger, the ache of being disappointed by someone you love.

You hear the bathroom door creak open. You don’t need to look to know it’s him.

“Please, leave me alone,” you murmur, a quiet warning laced with exhaustion.

However, Han is already stepping in, already moving behind you like he belongs there—and he does, doesn’t he? That’s the hardest part. You feel his presence before you feel his touch, a warmth radiating just behind you, his chest nearly brushing your back.

When you try to move away, to escape the softness he always uses to reel you back in, his arms slide around your waist and hold you firm. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice low and sincere against the rush of the water.

You don’t answer. You don’t look at him. You can’t. You’ve seen those eyes before—those shimmering, sorry eyes that he knows how to use like weapons. So you stare straight ahead, hoping the steam in the room can hide the way your resolve is already unraveling.

“I know I messed up,” he continues, voice breaking just slightly. “I panicked. I didn’t want to screw this up, didn’t want to give you a reason to walk away.”

His arms tighten around you and presses his mouth the crook of your neck. “Don’t do this to me. Please.”

It’s unfair, the way his touch feels so familiar. So safe. So warm. The way his skin melts into yours like you were carved to fit him and when he presses a kiss to your wet shoulder—just a soft, lingering kiss—you finally turn to face him. He looks at you like you’re everything he’s ever wanted to keep, making your heart thuds.

When he kisses you, it’s slow at first. Sweet. Apologetic. But it deepens quickly, his desperation seeping into every brush of his lips against yours. His hands slide along your back, down your sides, pulling you impossibly closer until there’s no space left between you, just heat and skin and the soft sound of breath catching between kisses. His mouth leaves yours only to find your jaw, your neck, his lips mapping the path of forgiveness across your skin. You feel yourself sigh into him, your fingers threading through his wet hair without even realizing it, and then he lowers himself.

You open your eyes to find him kneeling in front of you, the water cascading over both of you like a curtain. His hands rest on your hips, his eyes lifted to meet yours with a look that steals the air right out of your lungs.

Han leans in, presses a kiss just below your navel, his breath warm against your skin. Another kiss follows, then another—fluttering and soft as he trails his mouth down the inside of your thigh. Eventually, he buries his mouth in your delicate flesh, tongue teasing between the folds.

Without detaching his mouth, his hand glides down your leg and swiftly, he lifts it and puts it over his shoulder, allowing him access to bury his mouth deeper in your wetness. He presses his tongue on your clit, flicking his tongue over it repeatedly before sucking on it, hard.

Your head falls back against the wall, your hand finding his shoulder as he pulls you even closer, his mouth devout in its worship, burying himself deeper in your sweet, wet cunt.

You know what he’s doing and you let him, because with Han, resistance is temporary. But surrender is always inevitable.

So instead of resisting it, you give in. Your fingers thread into his damp hair, tugging at it as a way to guide him to where you need him most. You tilt his head with a gentle tug, and he groans into your skin in response, eager and relentless in the way he works you over, like he’s trying to apologize with every motion, every kiss, every flick of his tongue on your clit

If this is his way of apologizing, then you have to make sure that he does it right. So you move your hips begin, following the instinct of your body and chasing the rising heat that coils tighter with each second. Han doesn’t stop—he never does. He holds you firmly in place, completely attuned to the way your body pulses under his mouth. The next thing you know, you’re riding his mouth and he's letting you take what you need from him without hesitation.

When you finally shatter, your legs are trembling and your breath is ragged, he doesn't let go right away. He places soft, featherlight kisses on your inner thighs, on your hipbone, on the curve of your stomach—like he’s trying to soothe every frayed nerve and worship every inch of you.

Still on his knees, he wraps his arms around your waist and presses his cheek against your belly, holding you close. Then he looks up at you, hair wet and sticking to his forehead, eyes wide and honest.

“I love you,” he says.

It’s quiet, but it knocks the air right out of you. You stare at him, heart stuttering, lips parted—but no words come. Just a soft, overwhelmed sound as you drop to your knees, right there with him, letting him catch you in his arms. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, your body still humming with the aftershocks of everything—what he did, what he said, what you feel.

And even though your mind is still a storm, your heart has already chosen. You're his. Just like this.

The first thing you register is the smell—something warm and sweet and just slightly burnt. Then comes the sound of shuffling feet and a soft clang of dishes, followed by the familiar weight dipping the mattress beside you.

“Rise and shine, my sleepy baby,” Han says in a singsong voice.

You groan, burying your face deeper into the pillow. “Too early. Try again in an hour.”

Han laughs and slides a hand gently over your back, rubbing slow, lazy circles. “It’s not that early. And I come bearing food. And flowers. And celebration. And possibly an overcooked pancake or two.”

You peek one eye open, and there he is—messy-haired, bare-faced, grinning like he just won a prize. He’s holding a breakfast tray that’s definitely too full for its size: a tower of lopsided heart-shaped pancakes, a bowl of strawberries, a mug of your favorite coffee, and a handful of slightly wilted sunflowers sticking out of a mason jar.

You sit up with a sleepy smile. “You raided the entire kitchen for this?”

“Only the parts I didn’t set on fire,” he says proudly, handing over the tray. “Go on. Try it. I didn’t even Google anything this time.”

You cut into one of the pancakes and take a bite—and it’s honestly not bad. “Okay,” you say, impressed, “this is dangerously close to being edible.”

Han gasps. “Dangerously close? I slaved over a hot stove for this!”

“You used the pancake mix that only needs water.”

“Exactly! And I stirred it myself.”

You giggle as he crawls onto the bed beside you, settling under the covers and wrapping an arm around your waist. He rests his head against your shoulder, watching you eat with far too much fascination.

After a few moments, he looks up at you and murmurs, “You know, dating you has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

You glance down at him, amused. “Because I let you sleep in my bed and steal my shampoo?”

“Well, yes,” he nods with mock seriousness. “But also… because you make even the boring days feel good. Because you’re kind, and smart, and weird in the exact same way I’m weird. And you always call me out when I’m being stupid, but somehow still manage to make me feel loved.”

Your chewing slows, and your chest fills with warmth as you meet his eyes. He continues, more softly now, “I used to wonder how long it would take for someone to get tired of me. But with you? I just keep thinking how lucky I am that you’re still here.”

You blink away the prickle behind your eyes and try to lighten the mood. “Well, I was going to break up with you after six months, but you made pretty decent pancakes today, so I guess you get to stay.”

Han gasps again, feigning betrayal. “I knew it. I knew I was on probation this whole time.”

You giggle, but he leans in and kisses you before you can say anything else—a long, slow, kiss that melts every joke off your lips. His hand curls against your side, grounding you there with him. When he pulls away, he whispers, “One year, baby. We made it.”

You sit there for a moment, holding your coffee, the pancakes cooling on your lap, his warmth soaking into your side. Your gaze trails toward the window, soft light pooling into the room, and you think about everything the two of you have been through—every messy fight, every soft reconciliation, every stolen kiss in quiet places, every night you fell asleep tangled in each other, and every morning you woke up just like this.

Despite everything, you're still here. Together. One whole year and there'll only be more of this. More love. More "us". Just as it should be.

It's a slow afternoon in the shop and you’re folding a stack of graphic tees near the counter, a subtle smile playing on your lips as you hum under your breath—completely unable to hide your good mood.

Morgan glances up from organizing a rack of skirts. “Okay, you’ve been smiling like a love-struck idiot all day. Spill.”

You grin, hugging a folded shirt to your chest. “Han’s taking me out tonight. It’s our one-year anniversary.”

Morgan lifts an eyebrow, hand pausing mid-hanger. “One year? Damn. Color me shocked.”

You laugh, used to her sarcasm by now. “Thanks for the confidence, my dear friend.”

“No, seriously,” she says, walking over and leaning against the counter. “I didn’t think you guys would crash and burn or anything, but Han Jisung has serious ‘heartbreaker’ energy. I'm impressed you’ve tamed the beast.”

“Tamed?” You snort. “I’d say I’m just as wild. We work because we both know how to keep up.”

Morgan smirks. “Yeah, okay, that’s cute. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” You tilt your head. “Now help me pick a dress.”

“Ooh—here we go. Closet raid time?”

You nod enthusiastically and follow her toward the back racks, where the newest arrivals are still tagged and barely touched. Morgan rifles through the options like a woman on a mission.

“Okay, what’s the vibe?” she asks. “Sweet and romantic? Sexy and mysterious? Or full femme fatale with a side of heartbreak?”

You pretend to think. “Somewhere between ‘look how lucky my boyfriend is’ and ‘he better treat me right or I’ll break his heart in heels.’”

Morgan cackles. “Say no more.”

She starts pulling dresses off the rack—a silky red slip, a flirty off-shoulder white mini, and a classic little black dress with a daring back cut-out.

You hold them up one by one in front of the mirror, Morgan circling around you with a critical eye. “Try the red one first.”

You grin as you head to the fitting room, heart already fluttering at the thought of Han seeing you tonight. This evening is going to be perfect—you can feel it.

The midday rush is thinning out as you and Morgan step out of the shop, the spring sun warming your shoulders as the two of you stroll down the block. Your steps light despite the fatigue in your feet from working around the shop for hours. You glance at Morgan beside you, her sunglasses pushed up into her hair, phone in one hand.

“I was honestly skeptical at first, you know,” you say, tugging your jacket closed. “About me and Han. I didn’t think it’d last.”

Morgan lets out a dry laugh. “Gee, I wonder why. Maybe because you forgive him every time he screws up?”

You shoot her a look and pout. “That’s not—okay, maybe once. But he’s been different these past few months. He’s been... good. Like, really good. He shows up. He listens. He makes time even when he’s buried in the studio. He tells me he loves me, Morgan.”

She doesn’t reply right away. Just lets out a long, quiet sigh that seems to stretch across the sidewalk.

You frown because you know it's not nothing. “What?”

Morgan shakes her head, changing the subject. “What do you want for lunch?”

You glance around. “I want that bagel from the coffee shop at the end of the block. The one with the poppy seeds.”

Morgan’s brows knitted in confusion. “Didn’t you already have that this morning with Han?”

Your steps falter. “Huh? What?”

Morgan stops too, confused. “The bagel. You and Han were there this morning, right? I saw you through the window.”

“No,” you say slowly as your smile falters. “Han brought me breakfast in bed. I never left the house.”

Morgan blinks. “Huh? Are you sure?”

You turn to her fully now, something cold crawling up your spine. “What exactly did you see?”

She’s quiet for a second, eyes darting over your face before she says, more carefully now, “I saw Han. At the window. Sitting across from someone. A girl. I only caught a glance. I just... assumed it was you.”

It’s like something inside you cracks in half and collapses. The hope, the trust, the naïve belief that he had changed—it all falls apart in an instant. You turn away from her, one hand rising to your mouth as the tears start to come, hot and fast.

Morgan steps forward without hesitation, wrapping you in a hug, holding you tight against her chest. “Oh, no. He did it again,” she sighs, already knowing the answer without having to ask for a confirmation.

Morgan’s arms stay around you while the world tilts under your feet, and all you can think is how stupid you were for believing he wouldn’t. For believing that this time, it would be different.

You’re curled up on the bed, hugging your knees to your chest, the soft fabric of the blanket clutched tightly in your fists. The room is dim, the sun casting a warm orange glow through the curtains, but all you can focus on is the tight ache in your chest. You don’t even look up when the front door clicks open.

Han’s footsteps are light at first, then grow quicker as he walks in. “Babe?” he calls gently. “Aren’t you getting ready for dinner?”

You say nothing. Your back stays turned toward him.

A beat of silence. Then, “Are you feeling okay?”

Getting no response, you hear him sigh, then the bed dips beside you. He slides in close behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist, his front flush to your back. He doesn’t say anything right away—just holds you, his breath warm against the back of your neck.

“Talk to me,” he whispers finally. “What’s going on?”

You sniffle, your voice barely there. “Morgan saw you this morning.”

Han frowns in confusion. “Saw me?”

“At the coffee shop. With some girl.”

He exhales slowly. Not annoyed. Not defensive. Just tired. “I bumped into an old friend from college. We talked for a bit. It was nothing.”

You go quiet, the guilt hitting you like a wave. Your fingers curl into the sheets.

Han doesn’t press. Instead, he leans in and places a soft kiss against the curve of your neck. Then another, lingering a little longer this time.

“Morgan probably only saw like what... five minutes of me talking to a girl and that makes you thought I was with someone else?” he asks quietly.

You don’t answer, but it gets you thinking.

He doesn’t scold, doesn’t tease. He just presses his lips to your temple and murmurs, “There’s no one else. There’s only you. Always you.”

His hand cups your chin, tilting your face toward him, and his lips meet yours in a long, slow kiss—steady and unshakable. A kiss that tells you everything he hasn’t said yet. You melt into it, the tension seeping out of your muscles, the pain in your chest softening until it vanishes altogether.

When he pulls back, he smiles at the look in your eyes. “I was gonna give you this later,” he says, reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, “but now feels like the right time.”

He pulls out a small velvet box and flips it open to reveal a delicate bracelet, thin gold with a tiny charm in the shape of a sunflower and your lips part slightly in surprise.

“Want me to put it on?” he asks.

You nod silently, still stunned.

He takes the bracelet from the box and gently clasps it around your wrist, then finishes with a soft kiss to the inside of it. “Do you like it?”

You nod again.

“I can’t hear you,” he says, teasing now, the warmth returning to his voice.

“I like it,” you whisper hoarsely.

That makes him smile wide and he pulls you into another kiss, gentle yet deeper, his hand sliding along your jaw, and you let yourself fall right into him—into his warmth, into the love that, despite everything, still wraps around you like a shield.

Han pulls away from the kiss, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath still warm on your lips. “So…” he whispers, brushing your hair gently out of your face, “do you still wanna go out for dinner?”

You sniffle, your voice quiet and slightly hoarse. “I don’t wanna go out looking like this… my eyes are all swollen.”

He lets out a soft chuckle, brushing the pad of his thumb under your eye. “You still look cute with swollen eyes,” he teases, his tone warm and full of affection. “Like a little chipmunk who’s been crying.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “Shut up.”

“I mean it. Cutest emotional chipmunk I’ve ever seen.”

You laugh under your breath, then settle your head on his chest. “Can we just… have dinner at home instead?”

“Of course,” he says without hesitation, already reaching for his phone. “Anything for my emotionally unstable chipmunk.”

You elbow him lightly and he laughs again.

“What do you feel like eating?” he asks, scrolling through the apps with his arm still around you. “Korean? Italian? Ooh, sushi?”

The two of you go back and forth for a while, debating between comfort food and something fancier, never quite landing on a decision but laughing and arguing playfully like you always do. Eventually, Han puts the phone down for a second and wraps both arms around you, pulling you in even tighter.

“Dinner or no dinner,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “this right here’s already my favorite part of the night.”

The food arrives just as the sun dips low, casting golden light through the windows of the apartment. You both get up from the bed, reluctantly separating from the cocoon of warmth, and agree — if you’re going to celebrate your first anniversary at home, you’re still going to do it right. You head to the bathroom, freshen up, and slip into the dress you spent your entire morning picking out with Morgan — the one you couldn’t stop holding against your body in the mirror, imagining tonight.

When you walk out, Han’s still pulling a button-down shirt over his head, barefoot and messy-haired, the exact kind of handsome that makes your stomach flutter. But the moment his eyes land on you, he freezes.

“Whoa,” he breathes, eyes roaming from your shoulders down to the hem of your dress. He takes a step back as if he needs distance to take it all in. “You… seriously wore that just for me?”

You shrug, acting casual. “Told you I had a plan for tonight.”

He walks over slowly, dramatically, hands in his pockets. “I think I need to sit down,” he says, overly serious.

You laugh, shoving him lightly on the shoulder. “Shut up.”

He grins, grabbing your hand to pull you into a quick, sweet kiss. “You’re stunning. Like, dangerously stunning. Like, if we weren’t eating soon I’d be tempted to ruin your makeup again.”

“Down, boy,” you tease, and he barks a fake warning growl that makes you burst out laughing.

You both take your dinner and set up a little space on the carpeted floor in the living room, with throw pillows, a blanket, and the ambient glow from a nearby lamp. It’s simple, cozy, romantic in a way that fits the two of you perfectly.

You eat slowly, feet tangled together under the blanket, pausing between bites to talk about everything from his favorite songs to what your childhood dream jobs were. You talk about your families, your fears, your worst dates, and your favorite memories together.

Between stories, Han keeps leaning over for kisses — quick ones, lingering ones, ones that barely brush but feel like whispers across your lips. His hand rests on your knee or your thigh, his thumb tracing small circles, absent-minded and tender.

“Can I tell you something kinda dumb?” he says after a while, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

“Aren’t you always telling me something dumb?” You tease.

He pinches your waist before continue talking. “I used to think one year didn’t really mean that much. Like, it was just… the first checkpoint, you know? But with you, it feels huge. Like, we made it. We went through shit, and we’re here. Still choosing each other.”

You reach for his hand, squeezing it. “That’s not dumb.”

He smiles, then cups your cheek. “I’m really glad you didn’t give up on me.”

Your heart tightens a little — not painfully, but in that overwhelming, too-full kind of way. You lean forward, pressing your forehead against his. “I’m glad you gave me reasons to stay.”

The silence between you is full, warm, and deep. He kisses you again — longer this time, slow and full of everything he can’t say out loud — and you think, as his fingers slide up to tuck your hair behind your ear, that this is a moment you’ll carry forever.

The plates are pushed aside now, the empty boxes stacked in the corner of the room. The lights are low, and soft music hums through the speakers — something slow, something gentle. Han offers you his hand with a crooked smile and a playful bow.

“May I have this dance?” he says, his voice low, teasing.

You roll your eyes, but your heart flutters as you slip your fingers into his. “Only if you promise not to step on my feet.”

“No promises,” he grins, pulling you close.

Your bodies sway to the rhythm, the kind of dance that doesn’t need choreography — just the soft shuffle of bare feet on carpet, your hands looped behind his neck, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist. The song fades into the background as the warmth of him fills your senses — the smell of his cologne, the brush of his breath near your ear, the slow thud of his heart against your chest.

When you look up, Han’s already gazing at you — his eyes soft, adoring, a little playful, a little undone.

“Hey,” you murmur, voice barely above a whisper, “I love you.”

His smile shifts — gentler now, touched by something deeper.

“I love you,” you repeat, because the words are thick on your tongue, desperate to be said. “More than I thought I could. And I need you to know… I’m scared. Of how much this means to me. Of what it would do to me if you ever broke my heart.”

His expression falters — just a little — and then he leans in, his forehead touching yours. “I won’t,” he whispers. “I swear. I won’t break your heart.”

You feel the sincerity in his voice like a current running through you, and when he kisses you — a soft, chaste kiss that lingers, steady and true — it’s not flashy or heated. It’s a promise. A vow sealed between two people still learning, still growing, but trying, again and again, to meet each other in the middle.

The music continues, but you no longer notice it. It’s just the two of you, wrapped in a slow dance under the quiet lights — holding on, hearts full, hoping love is enough.

The room is quiet except for the soft rustle of sheets and the low thrum of music still playing in the background. Han sits back against the headboard, shirt slightly rumpled, lips pink and parted as he watches you crawl over to him, eyes darkening with anticipation.

“You look so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, eyes locked on you. “So hot. You’re driving me insane.”

With the way he looks at you, you don't feel the slightest bit of shy being naked in front of him. If anything, you feel admired and loved. You slowly settle onto his lap, straddling him, your wetness meets his hot, pulsating member. You settle his length between your cleft and begin gliding it between your folds.

“You’re ruining me already, baby,” he sighs as he looks down, watching his cock is getting slick with your arousal.

When you deem both of you are wet enough for each other, you lift your hips just slightly, you wrap your hand around his cock and align it to your entrance. Slowly and deliberately, you ease yourself down on him.

“Fuck, baby,” his hands find your hips instantly, gripping them as he lets out a groan.

You seductively mewl as you take him, you stop for a second to adjust yourself to him before taking him more and more until he's fully disappeared inside you.

Han lets out a sigh of pleasure, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment and they find you in the next second, staring at your face. His hands reaching for you, framing your face, pushing the strands of hair away. “How are you always taking me, mmh?”

You let out a low giggle. Your hands catch his and bringing them lower, making him cupping your breasts because you love how they fit in his hands like they were made just for them.

Han is more than eager to do it for you, palming them, rolling the nipples between his fingers and pinches on it just to earn a whine out of you. You lean in, brushing your lips against his just to tease, and he catches you right away — one arm wrapped tightly around your waist, the other slipping up your back as he kisses you deep, urgent, like he can’t get close enough.

His hips begin to move under you, answering every motion of yours with increasing intensity, and you gasp into his mouth. The way he moves, the way he holds you — it's overwhelming. You’re already dizzy from the way he makes you feel, but yet he doesn't slow down.

You bite onto his lower lip and grumble against his lips. “Not yet, baby.”

He smirks like he knows he's the one having control so you grab his chin, using your index and middle fingers, you pry open his mouth and shove them into it. His lips wrapped around them almost immediately, you can feel his slick, hot tongue swirling around in his mouth.

“Keep it open,” you order as you pull your fingers out.

He obeys, keeping his mouth open with his tongue slightly sticking out. You prop one hand against the mattress and the other hand guiding your breast into his mouth. Again, he's more than eager to take it in his mouth, his tongue circling the areola before finally sucking at it. Hard. Mercilessly.

As if that isn't enough, he continues bucking his hips from under you. One arm snaking around your back and the other around your neck, keeping you close as he pushes his cock deeper and deeper into you.

The second you feel like you're getting too close to the edge, you pull back and straddling him again. You give yourself a moment to draw yourself back a little but Han is the ever relentless, he continues bucking his hips against you.

Your hands fly to his, uselessly trying to stop him but his grip on your hips is way too strong. His hips moving, sending you bouncing on his cock without you're intending to, tethering you to the edge.

When you finally tip over, you hastily claw at his chest and let out a brief, high-pitched scream with eyes screwed shut. All the while, Han lets out a soft laugh, enjoying the way the pleasure washes over you.

You open your eyes and see a crooked grin painted his face. “You’re enjoying this,” you whine as you put all of your hair away from your face.

An easy smile stays on his lips as he lays his hand flat on your sternum and glides it down to your abdomen. “Can’t help it, baby. You're so cute when you come around me like that.”

Hearing that shouldn't make you flustered but you do, you feel shy in a way because he sees every little thing about you. You lean down, propping your hands against the mattress to hover above him.

However, this position only allows him to easily take your breasts in his mouth. His hands taking handful of your soft flesh, fondling on them and pushes them to the middle so he can take them at once.

“Mmh, yeah, you're definitely enjoying this,” you murmur with eyes closed.

He hums with his mouth full of you and the vibration only adds to the pleasure. Then his arm glides down your spine and rests it on the arch of your back, holding you down as he begins thrusting into your from under.

You catch on his intention right away. “No, baby. No, I'm just coming,” you whine while struggling to handle how hard his mouth latches onto your breast and his cock drilling into you.

“What should I do?” You breathlessly murmurs with eyes shut. “I'm about to come again.”

With hus mouth full of you, he can't answer but he does it with actions as he sucks on your nipple harder and thrusts into you faster. The combination of stimulations get you to your high almost instantly and this time is more intense than the previous. You don’t even stop yourself from collapsing on top of him.

Han lets out another soft laugh, being the one having fun on making you come twice already and can't help himself but putting on a cocky grin. He kisses the valley of your breasts and continues the trail of kisses to your shoulder, then down the length of your arm. When his mouth reaches your hand, he takes it and kisses every single finger like he means it.

“How are you so cute when you come around me like that, mmh?” he murmurs before pressing a kiss to the inside of your hand.

You don't— you can't answer when your whole body is still floating in cloud nine and still needing time to come down. So he holds you close, putting his arms around you and kisses every inch of skin that is within the reach of his small, greedy mouth.

After a moment, he presses his mouth close to your ear and whispers, “Want to switch?”

Still unable to compute words, you nod and without further questions, he swiftly turns you over, lying you gently on the bed as he hovers above you now. He props an elbow next to your head, getting a good look at your face with a hand gently brushing your hair to the side.

“Tell me how did I get so lucky, mmh?” He asks, brushing his nose against yours. “How did I get so lucky to have you as my girlfriend?”

You smile under his gaze and he immediately catches that smile with a kiss. When he begins moving, you wrap your legs around his small waist, pulling him close until your breasts squashed between the chests.

“Are you going to come for me now?” You murmur, brushing his hair away from his forehead and then kiss it.

He doesn't answer with words. Instead, he kisses you and quickens the pace. He chases his high with fierce determination, mouth hot against your skin, your name falling from his lips in between breathless moans and praises.

You glide your hands down his back, nails scraping the skin as you grip his waist and push, asking for more of him, more of that intense, deep thrusts. You can tell from the way his cock keeps engorging inside you, he's close.

“Come for me, baby,” you murmur into his ear with a hot, heavy kiss to his neck.

Two, three thrusts later, he finally lets go, he pulls you tight, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he scatters soft, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, murmuring your name like a prayer. Then he lifts his head, gently cradling your face in both hands, his thumbs brushing along your cheeks as he holds your gaze.

“I love you,” he whispers, eyes searching yours and when he kisses you again, it’s deep, tender, meaningful. The kind of kiss that lingers long after it ends.

You stay like that, wrapped up in each other, your heart still racing, your skin still warm from the touch of him. As you lay your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, something swells in your chest — something soft and quiet and full of hope. You don’t say it out loud, but the thought is there, clear and certain: This feels like forever.

And for the first time in a long time, you believe it might actually be true.

In the middle of the night, you wake with a start, disoriented for a second before realizing Han’s side of the bed is empty again. The sheets are still warm, but he’s not there.

You sit up slightly, your eyes adjusting to the dark, then you hear the faint hiss of running water coming from the bathroom. You know the sound too well now. The faucet, turned on not because he’s brushing his teeth or washing his hands, but because he’s hiding something.

Quietly, you slip out of bed and pad toward the bathroom. The door is shut, locked. Another habit. You pause in front of it, barely breathing, and lean your head close. Through the rush of water, you hear his voice. Soft, smooth, laced with laughter. The same tone he uses with you when he’s being sweet, when he’s trying to make you feel special.

It’s too familiar. Too intimate. You don’t wait to hear more. You back away, return to bed with your pulse pounding in your ears. You lie down and face the wall, your back to the bathroom, and you stare at nothing.

This isn’t the first time.

It hits you like a tidal wave, how many times you’ve caught glimpses of this. The movie tickets. The odd excuses. The calls with the faucet on. The locked doors. The silent phone when you tried to reach him. You let each of them go. Rationalized them. Told yourself he would never do that. Because he’s good to you. He makes you breakfast in bed. He kisses you like he means it. He tells you he loves you, again and again.

And yet, the weight of it crashes down on you all at once — not just the betrayal, but the dawning truth that you let yourself believe in the illusion. That you wanted it so badly, you ignored all the signs.

You barely move when the bathroom door clicks open. You hear his steps as he walks back in, the soft rustle of blankets as he slides into bed. He doesn’t say anything at first, just wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you close against him, spooning you like he always does. His body fits perfectly against yours, warm and familiar. And that’s what hurts the most, because even now, even after everything, he still feels like home.

Morning light spills through the curtains when you wake. Well, you haven't been sleeping ever since you caught him in the bathroom but Han is still asleep beside you, his features soft and unbothered, like he’s living a dream instead of lying next to the person he’s been betraying.

You move quietly, slipping out from under the covers without stirring him. His phone rests on the nightstand. You hesitate—just for a second—but your fingers wrap around it with practiced steadiness.

You take it with you to the kitchen. Your hands move fast as you unlock it and check his call history. There it is—last night, just past midnight. A number labeled with a generic male name. Smart. Too smart.

You press call to make sure and it rings once. Twice. Then, “It’s only seven, Han. Did you miss me already or—”

You hang up immediately as you have enough to identify the voice. Sweet. Light. Too familiar. Too comfortable. And obviously belongs to a girl.

The coffee machine gurgles behind you as the first drops begin to pour. You stare at it blankly, phone clutched in your hand like it might shatter.

“I have to leave him,” you whisper to yourself.

It sounds easy when you say it. Obvious. Clean. Like a final punctuation to a sentence already long overdue, but something clings. The memories, his laughter, the way he comfort you and makes you feel safe, the whispered I love yous—

The bedroom door opens behind you and your hear his footsteps coming toward you. You don’t— you can't look at him even as you feel the warmth of his arms sliding around your waist from behind.

He groans, his voice rough with sleep. “You didn’t wake me up...”

You don’t answer and he doesn’t notice because he thinks he hides it well.

“Morning, baby,” he murmurs with a soft kiss on the top of your head and he stays like that, holding you like you're the only one he does it to.

The truth sits heavy in your chest—he couldn’t have loved you better. Not on the surface. He did everything right. Sweet kisses, warm hands, soft apologies. He made love feel like a safe place, until you realized he kept the doors open behind your back. Now you’re left staring at the wreckage of something beautiful.

Maybe if he treated you worse, it would be easier to walk away. Maybe if he yelled, if he hit, if he broke things—then you’d know how to hate him. But instead, he kissed you like a promise and lied with the same mouth.

You still don’t know how this ends—whether you’ll walk away or let him wrap you in another apology, another kiss, another lie. For now, you just sit in the quiet, nursing the ache in your chest, caught between the love that was and the truth you can’t unsee. You press your fingertips to your temple, whispering the thought that has wrapped itself around your ribs: I wish you would have been treated me bad.

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#you didn’t have to break my heart like that #but it’s okay #I should remember that in real life things hurt more #God this fic ruined me #you made me fall so fucking hard for him even when I knew what he was going to end up doing all along #WHY TF DID HE SAY ALL THAT BULLSHIT FOR THOUGH??? FUCKING LIAR MAN

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