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namgyu-not-su · 1 month ago

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We need everyone to sign a petition that all Namgyu fics need to write him pathetic like this

just call my name, i’m yours to tame

→ namgyu x fem!reader

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

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

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

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

nam-gyu.

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

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

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

tonight is different though.

because tonight, you’re not alone.

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

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

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

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

and then the words that make your blood freeze.

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

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

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

too late now. tonight’s the night.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

a phone number.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“he smiled?”

“mhmm.” she smirks. “you’re welcome.”

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

but it’s real.

and now you have his number.

it’s been four days.

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

and somehow… nothing.

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

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

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

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

until your phone buzzes.

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

unknown number:

hey

unknown number:

it’s nam-gyu, from the club?

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

“what? what happened? are you okay?”

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

she blinks. “who?”

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

her mouth drops open. “oh my gosh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

you hesitate. then type.

you:

hey

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

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

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

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

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

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

before you can spiral further, your phone buzzes again.

nam-gyu:

sorry for taking a few days

i wasn’t sure if i should text you

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

“he was nervous,” you whisper.

“called it,” your friend says smugly.

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

you:

i wasn’t sure if you would

but i’m glad you did

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

he replies almost immediately.

nam-gyu:

me too

you free this week?

your jaw drops.

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

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

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

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

you:

yeah i think so

what did you have in mind?

a moment passes. another buzz.

nam-gyu:

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

i promise it’s not a club

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

you:

sounds perfect

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

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

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

and tonight… it’s actually happening.

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

you’ve never hated your closet more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

your phone buzzes.

nam-gyu:

off now

meet me outside the club?

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

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

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

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

you hear the door swing open.

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

you do anyway.

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

and then he smiles. just a little.

“hey,” he says, walking over.

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

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

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

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

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

your heart does a little jump.

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

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

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

he glances at you. “nope.”

you snort. “wow. mysterious.”

“you’ll see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you don’t move. you just smile.

“i do.”

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

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

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

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

and it’s nice.

it’s… calm.

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

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

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

“does anyone else know about it?”

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

“just you.”

you swallow. hard.

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

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

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

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

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

“no. just surprising.”

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

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

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

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

“do you?”

you blink. “do i…?”

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

your heart stutters.

your mouth is dry.

your brain, unhelpfully, decides to blank completely.

“…yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i’m glad you came,” he says finally.

you glance over. “me too.”

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

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

“come here.”

you blink. “where?”

“closer.”

you hesitate, then take it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you bite your lip. “you noticed that?”

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

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

“you still nervous?” he asks quietly.

you nod. “a little.”

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

“don’t be.”

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

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

nam-gyu glances over his shoulder. smirks.

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

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

but he knows.

he definitely knows.

the walk back starts slow.

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

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

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

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

he’s looking.

he doesn’t mean to.

okay, maybe he does.

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

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

it’s subtle. respectful.

but he’s definitely looking.

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

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

you’re pretty.

you’ve always been pretty.

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

you look good.

and worse, he likes that he notices.

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

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

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

you catch it.

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

you raise a brow. “what?”

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

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

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

“sure it was.”

the light turns green and he starts walking again.

you follow.

you bump into his side lightly. “liar.”

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

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

you roll your eyes and shake your head.

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

“i never said i was innocent.”

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

he shrugs. “curious.”

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

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

but your pulse betrays you.

and he can probably hear it.

the rest of the walk is more of the same—

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

he walks you all the way to your door.

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

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

now what?

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

he looks at you, still calm.

“i had fun,” you say softly.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

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

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

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

he doesn’t kiss you.

doesn’t ask to come in.

doesn’t linger too long.

but his eyes say a lot.

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

“goodnight,” he murmurs, voice lower now.

“night,” you whisper back.

and then he’s walking away.

slow. sure. hands in his pockets again.

you don’t go inside right away.

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

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

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

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

but it’s not her.

nam-gyu 🤍

are you still up

fuck

i shouldn’t be texting you

but i can’t sleep

you looked so good tonight it’s driving me crazy

sorry sorry ignore me

unless you’re awake

pls

i feel insane

can you call me

you don’t have to say anything just pick up

i’m losing it here

your lips curl.

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

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

so you call.

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

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

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

you hum. “what’s wrong?”

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

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

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

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

“do what?”

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

you smile, smug but still playing coy.

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

another pause.

then a soft, breathy, “fuck.”

“nam-gyu,” you coax. “say it.”

“…i can’t stop thinking about you.”

“that’s sweet.”

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

you smirk. “maybe.”

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

you hum, dragging your fingers lightly across your thigh.

“what do you want me to do, nam-gyu?”

he hesitates.

then breaks.

“tell me to touch myself. please.”

you lean back against your pillows, satisfied.

“then do it. slow.”

“fuck…”

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

“are you imagining me touching you instead?”

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

“tell me how it feels.”

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

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

“you wanna come already?” you murmur.

“no…yes—fuck, i can’t yet.”

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

he moans softly, the sound raw and needy.

“say it.”

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

“good. now speed up a little.”

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

“fuckfuckfuck, please…say something else.”

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

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

“not yet.”

he whimpers. whimpers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you moan quietly, just enough to drive him crazy.

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

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

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

you grin, voice low.

“you wanna cum, baby?”

“yes—yes, please—i need to—”

you stay silent

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

you arch into your hand, breath catching.

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

“come for me,” you whisper. “now.”

and he loses it.

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

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

for a few seconds, all you hear is breathing.

deep. shaky.

both of you trying to catch your breath.

“holy fuck,” he finally says.

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

“…yes. no. i don’t even know.”

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

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

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

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

“i’m not. i mean it.”

you hear him exhale again. softer now.

“…i really like you,” he murmurs.

your heart skips.

but your voice stays smooth.

“i know.”

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

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

you blink at your screen. the call ended.

nam-gyu 🤍

good morningg

you fell asleep on me

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

…

what.

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

just a smiley face and casual talk to you later.

as if you didn’t just…

as if he didn’t…

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

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

“no no no no”

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

you call your best friend.

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

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

“…what?”

“i DOMMED him.”

a beat.

“okay i’m on my way.”

you don’t even hang up.

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

“talk. now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you throw a stuffed animal at her.

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

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

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

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

you stare at the ceiling.

then sigh.

“…do i text him first?”

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

“you’re a menace.”

“you’re a dom now. own it.”

you both burst into laughter.

your phone buzzes again.

nam-gyu

hope you’re having a good day

i can’t stop thinking about your voice btw

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

your face goes red.

your friend peeks over your shoulder.

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

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

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

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

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

“i can’t go outside ever again.”

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

you blink. “excuse me?”

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

“absolutely not.”

“okay but hear me out…yes.”

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

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

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

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

“no.”

“yes.”

“no!!”

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

you look down.

she wrote:

hey are you free sometime soon? wanna see you againnn

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU—”

“press send.”

“i’m going to have a heart attack.”

“press. send.”

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

and then…

you press it.

you fling the phone across the room immediately.

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

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

you’re pacing now, hands in your hair.

your phone dings.

“no—oh no—he answered! ”

you dive for it.

nam-gyu

yeah i’d really like that

when are you free?

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

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

“this is a nightmare.”

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

you text back with shaky fingers:

what about saturday night?

he replies in under a minute.

nam-gyu

saturday works

should i meet you there again or pick you up?

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

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

“oh yeah. he’s in deep.”

saturday night hits harder than it should.

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

“nope,” she says. “not hot enough.”

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

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

you groan, flopping onto the floor.

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

“…how do i do that?”

she grins.

ten minutes later, she hands you the outfit.

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

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

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

you stare at yourself in the mirror.

“…am i about to destroy a man?”

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

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

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

when he spots you, he freezes.

and stares.

just for a second too long.

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

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

his words trail off.

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

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

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

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

he slides into the seat across from you.

and then the tension starts.

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

you pretend not to notice. mostly.

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

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

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

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

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

you ask about his week.

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

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

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

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

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

you bite your lip. “why not?”

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

you blink.

okay.

cool.

normal.

heart rate stable. not blushing. at all.

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

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

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

your breath catches.

his tone is casual. too casual.

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

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

you don’t know what to say to that.

not really.

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

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

you walk out together. close. arms brushing.

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

then doesn’t.

and somehow, that makes it worse.

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

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

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

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

you hesitate for half a second.

just one.

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

you breathe out,

then say it.

“wait.”

he stops.

turns.

you step forward.

“come inside.”

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

he swallows.

“you sure?”

his voice is low. cautious. careful.

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

he doesn’t answer right away.

just steps inside when you open the door.

and everything is suddenly so quiet.

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

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

“no.”

you turn.

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

you do.

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

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

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

his breath stutters.

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

his jaw flexes.

but he still says nothing.

“say it.”

he meets your gaze. “you already know.”

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

a pause.

then…

“yeah. i couldn’t stop looking.”

“why?”

he licks his lips. exhales slowly.

“because i wanted to touch you.”

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

“say what you really want.”

his mouth opens. closes. opens again.

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

and then he cracks.

“…i want you to ruin me.”

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

“take your shoes off.”

he obeys.

you lead him to your bedroom.

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

you climb into his lap.

his breath catches.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

his hips jerk.

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

he nods. fast. almost frantic. “yes.”

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

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

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

he twitches under your fingers.

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

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

he whimpers. actually whimpers.

“use your words.”

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

you kiss him—sudden and rough.

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

“don’t move.”

he groans again.

you stroke him slowly. deliberately.

his head drops back. he’s shaking.

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

you smile.

“you want to be good for me?”

“yes.”

“then shut up and take it.”

he moans again. louder this time.

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

you don’t stop.

not when he gasps. not when he begs.

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

he nods. “i—I’m gonna…please—”

you stop completely.

his whole body tenses.

“what the fuck—” he starts, breathless.

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

he groans like it physically hurts.

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

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

you lean in, mouth by his ear.

“then beg.”

he does.

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

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

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

“fuckfuck—”

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

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

he whines.

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

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

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

and he does. loud, shuddering, broken.

you don’t stop.

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

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

but you’re not done yet.

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

you watch him unravel under you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

he whimpers. choked, broken.

and it only makes you wetter.

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

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

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

“you like being used, don’t you?”

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

“say it.”

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

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

“you want to cum again?”

you grind down slow. full. tight.

his hips buck before he can even answer.

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

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

you’re close too. so close.

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

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

“fuck, fuck, fuck!”

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

and you don’t stop.

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

and then it hits.

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

and he feels it.

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

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

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

his voice is a whisper now.

“you’re gonna fucking kill me.”

you smile, breathless, lips brushing his jaw.

“you liked it.”

“…i fucking loved it.”

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

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

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

but the way he looks at you right now?

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

anytime. anywhere. any way you want.

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

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

your steps are slow, careful.

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

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

your lips are swollen.

there’s a light bruise on your neck.

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

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

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

your phone is charging next to the sink.

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

you

i did something

you don’t wait for a response.

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

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

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

his hand settles on your hip.

you don’t say anything. neither does he.

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

you feel like you should say something.

that was intense. way more intense than you expected.

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

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

and honestly… you haven’t either.

you stare at the wall until your eyelids go heavy.

his arm tightens once.

you fall asleep just like that.

warm.

sore.

and not alone.

you wake up warm. too warm, actually.

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

you blink slowly.

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

he’s still asleep.

you don’t move.

you just… lie there.

soaking it in.

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

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

he looks soft.

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

you let yourself watch him for a while.

and then, instinctively, you reach for your phone.

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

from her.

you open them, slowly.

bestie 🤍: ????

bestie 🤍: HELLO?

bestie 🤍: i’m literally going insane

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

bestie 🤍: TELL ME EVERYTHING

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

bestie 🤍: is he STILL THERE

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

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

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

still asleep.

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

“mm… hey.”

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

“hi,” you whisper, cheeks warming.

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

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

“you’re gonna be late,” you murmur.

“hm?”

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

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

“you can’t just—”

he opens his eyes, just barely, and grins.

“what, you kicking me out already?”

you stare at him. “not that either”

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

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

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

you let him hold you.

your phone buzzes again in your hand.

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

you snort quietly and type back just one line:

you: i’m busy. he’s still here.

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

he shifts again, tucks you tighter.

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

he’s staying because he wants to.

you close your eyes and let yourself believe it.

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

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

you nod into the pillow.

“wanna order something?”

“yeah… pancakes?”

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

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

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

you blink at him.

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

you stare at him.

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

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

like you didn’t completely destroy him last night.

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

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

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

your heart’s doing that thing again.

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

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

not just a knock. a pounding.

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

you both just stare at each other.

another knock. louder.

“HELLO?!”

your stomach sinks.

“is that—?” he starts.

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

his brow lifts, amused. “your friend?”

“yup.”

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

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

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

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

the knob jiggles and click! she lets herself in.

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

she stops cold.

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

“no.”

you say nothing.

“NO.”

you wince. “hey…”

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

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

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

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

“you’re still here?!”

“looks like it.”

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

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

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

“oh my god.”

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

he waves at her lazily.

“hi,” he says, absolutely unbothered.

she waves back, still in stunned disbelief.

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

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

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

“what—”

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

he chokes a little on his coffee.

you slap her arm. “shut up!”

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

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

you glare. “don’t encourage her.”

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

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

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

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

you look down.

she’s right.

you kind of are.