#between outside and inside when we go through the door

[urmum-lovesme]

Bunny (P16)

Rafe Cameron x Maybank!Reader

summary: Struggling to keep her and JJ’s home afloat, Y/N turns to the only option that guarantees fast cash- stripping at a club on the Cut. But when Rafe Cameron catches her in the act, he sees the perfect opportunity to tighten his grip around her life.

a/n: Well well well- guess whose back. Thought I'd do a little surprise drop just for the plot BAHAHAH. Lets see, more drama obviously cause our girl cant catch a break, more domestic bunny and rafe and a little special feature for our girl Naomi cause I've missed her. I love Sarah Cameron. As the end of the series draws nearer I lowkey feel kinda emotional, I feel like nothings ever gonna beat rafe and bunny for me. 1 more chapter after this to go my loves x

warnings: allusions to sex, angst, violence (yelling/arguing) (jj pmo), mentions of past abuse (bruises ect), soft!rafe and Soft!bunny (they're so domestic)

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The soft hum of tires against the road was the only sound cutting through the silence inside the twinkie. Sarah sat up front, leaning her elbow against the open window as her fingers tapped against her thigh. Her eyes flicked between the side mirror and John B’s profile. The brunette boy’s hands were tight on the steering wheel very much mirroring the tense mood in the backseat. Pope sat beside JJ, who was slumped against the wall of the van, head resting back, his phone clutched in his hand like it was the only thing keeping him anchored. JJ’s eyes were trained on the screen, scrolling through the messages he���d sent Y/N-  all left on read.

“I’m sorry I should’ve said something”

“I should’ve stopped him”

“I was just in shock”

“Come home”

“You're still my sister no matter what”

“I love you”

He blinked hard, jaw tightening as he shoved the heel of his palm against his eye, like he could push down the sting building behind it. “C’mon, man,” Pope said quietly, nudging him with his shoulder. 

“You’ve been moping for two days straight.”

“I’m not moping,” JJ muttered.

“You’re definitely moping” 

Sarah piped up from the front seat, not turning around. “You haven’t said a word since we left the Chateau.” “I just…” JJ sighed finally shifting upright, placing his hands into the floor of the van and pushing himself up slightly,

“I don’t get how she could cut us off like this.”

“She’s not thinking like that,” Pope said gently. “She just needs time. After everything with your dad and Rafe-”

“-don’t say his name” 

JJ snapped, a little too quickly. His voice cracked with it and he clenched his jaw and turned his face back toward the window. Pope leaned forward a bit, trying to bridge the gap. 

“Look, we’re gonna grab Sarah’s stuff, then we’ll look for her. Maybe she just… needed space? That doesn’t mean she’s gone forever dude.”

JJ didn’t respond, just glanced back down at his phone, the screen dark now.

No new notifications

No answer from her

The Twinkie came to a slow stop outside the metal gates, the loud rattle of the van’s engine stark against the immaculate house before them. Inside the van, Kiara leaned forward, her eyes fixed on the grand front entrance.

“You still got the key?” 

She asked, glancing at Sarah. The blonde girl pulled her tote bag into her lap and rummaged through it, the jingle of metal briefly filling the space before she held up a single key. 

“Yeah I do.”

“What if he’s changed the locks?”

Cleo raised a brow from the back, arms crossed. Sarah let out an unimpressed scoff, already opening her door. 

“I’d like to think he’s not that petty.”

From the driver’s seat, John B snorted. “Yeah right, you’ve clearly never met him”

Sarah shot him a dry stare as she swung her legs out the door and hopped out. The rest of the group followed- door creaking, feet hitting the pavement, the usual shuffling of trainers on the floor. Once she was facing the tall front gate Sarah paused, then turned, arms folded tight across her chest, scanning the group all lined up behind her.

“You’re all coming?!”

The rest of them exchanged a look, a quick unspoken conversation bouncing between the Pogues like a game of mental ping-pong. Then John B stepped forward with a shrug.

“Uh… yeah?”

Kiara raised a brow, “What, you thought we were gonna just sit in the van like unpaid Uber drivers... ?”

Sarah stood at the tall black gate, her fingers punching in the familiar code on the silver keypad. A faint beep… then a soft click. The gate creaked open slowly, and she gave it a push, slipping through the gap as the others quietly followed behind her one by one. JJ paused just before crossing the threshold, glancing up at the looming house beyond the hedges. He swallowed hard, thumb still brushing the corner of his phone screen inside his pocket.

The six of them walked in a tight, quiet cluster up the long cobblestone driveway. The sound of gravel crunching under their shoes was the only thing breaking the silence. Sarah looked over her shoulder, voice low but firm.

“Okay, just- keep quiet. I don’t know if he’s home.”

Pope turned back slightly toward JJ, who was trailing behind the group, his gaze flicking up toward the house’s tall windows. “You good?” Pope murmured but JJ didn’t answer at first.

It was his fault that all of this had happened. 

His fault Y/N had gone radio silent and disappeared without a word. 

His fault she was even in this mess to begin with.

JJ could feel it- this sharp, burning fury crawling up the back of his throat and settling heavy in his chest just at the thought of him. He swallowed it down, his jaw tight and his fingers twitching with the urge to hit something. 

Anything. 

Him.

His hand clenched briefly, then he gave Pope a stiff nod before looking back to Sarah who was already climbing the few steps to the grand double doors, her fingers gripping the key. She turned back to them one more time.

“Last chance to turn around.”

Cleo gave her a look, “We already broke in- might as well finish the job.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The morning light crept slowly across the living room, golden rays spilling in through the sheer curtains. It stretched across the floorboards and kissed the edge of the couch before it climbed its way up and reached them tangled together in their sleep. Y/N was still curled on Rafe’s chest, her cheek pressed to his bare skin- the slow rise and fall of his breathing lulling her deeper into rest. The blanket they’d pulled over themselves sometime in the night had slipped down to their waists leaving their upper bodies exposed to the warmth of the sun. His hand, large and steady, remained protectively across her back, holding her to him even in sleep.

However their soft morning stillness was soon broken.

Rafe stirred first his brow furrowing as a sound reached him through the haze of sleep; the faint, unmistakable rattle of a door handle being twisted repeatedly, followed by the subtle click of a lock. His eyes snapped open fully now and he sat up slowly, his hand still staying firm against Y/N’s back to support her where she lay curled against him. For a second, he held his breath and listened.

Another click.

Then the quiet creak of the front door swinging open.

Y/N shifted against him at the sudden movement, her lashes fluttering before her voice mumbled groggy with sleep, 

“What’s going on…?”

“I don’t know, I-” Rafe’s voice was still thick with sleep but before he could finish muffled voices echoed from the front of the house, indistinct at first but quickly growing clearer.

“Just shut up guys, c’mon”

“Ow! John B- that’s my foot!” 

“Why are you literally standing on my ass then Kie?”

Y/N went rigid on his chest as she sat up and turned her wide, panicked eyes toward Rafe. All the colour drained from her face. Her voice came out in a frantic whisper, 

“What are they doing here?!”

Rafe was already sitting up, scanning the room with quick eyes the sleepy fog gone in an instant.

“C’mon” 

He hissed under his breath. Y/N sat up fast, clutching the blanket to her chest as her heart thundered in her ribcage. They scrambled, hands, fabric and limbs moving in frantic coordination. She chucked his sweatpants at him as he stood, pulling them on in one rough motion, still shirtless. She whisper-yelled, glancing around in panic.

“Where the fuck did you throw my clothes?!” 

“I don’t know- Jesus, I wasn’t exactly thinking about where I tossed them at the time!” 

Rafe whispered back, eyes sweeping the room. She let out a sharp breath, the blanket still wrapped tight around her like a towel, standing barefoot in the middle of the sudden chaos that their peaceful morning had escalated to. Her bra was nowhere in sight. Her jeans- gone.

And her panties?

She spotted them thrown over the lampshade by the couch. 

Of course

Rafe was halfway across the room, crouched behind the coffee table when the sound of footsteps grew louder before coming to a sudden stop and when Y/N whipped around to look in the direction of the sound,

Sarah was standing there having stopped dead in her tracks.

Her eyes landed on Y/N, wrapped in nothing but a blanket and then flicked to Rafe, shirtless and breathless. Her mouth dropped open.

“Oh my god.”

The room fell so silent you could hear a pin drop. Y/N’s eyes went wide as Sarah blinked unmoving, once then twice like her brain was rebooting. They were all just standing there- frozen in a silence so thick it was becoming suffocating. Y/N’s fingers clenched tighter around the blanket at her chest and Rafe’s shoulders were tense, his jaw locked. Sarah looked like she’d just walked into an alternate universe, eyes flicking between the two of them, lips parted like she didn’t know what to say first. Rafe’s sharp voice broke the silence, 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I- I was just-”

Sarah’s lips moved but no more sound came out. She blinked again as she took a breath to speak but then a voice cut through the tension, whisper echoing in from the hallway with a clueless lilt.

“Hey Sarah, where’d you go…?”

Y/N froze.

No

No no no—

Her heart stopped cold.

She didn’t even have time to react before JJ rounded the corner. His steps slowed the second he saw them, his sister and Rafe; half-dressed, clothes scattered on the floor, the blanket wrapped around her, Rafe shirtless, her bra- right fucking there- thrown over the back of the couch. JJ’s entire body stiffened as his eyes locked on her, then Rafe, then down to the floor and back up again and then his face twisted.

“What the fuck.”

“Jay—” Y/N stepped forward instinctively, her voice breathless as she reached a hand out. 

“It’s not what it looks like-”

“-not what it looks like?” he scoffed.

“Are you serious right now?”

His voice cracked around the edges, a mix of rage and betrayal bleeding through every syllable that left his mouth. His chest rose and fell in quick, angry breaths as he stared at his sister- the one who’d ghosted him for two days, ignored his texts and had his heart breaking- and now had Rafe fucking Cameron standing next to her. “You disappeared,” he spat. 

“You don’t answer me and this is why?”

“JJ-” Rafe warned, stepping forward slightly but JJ’s glare whipped to him like fire catching gasoline.

“Don’t fucking talk to me.”

“Stop it, okay?” 

Y/N suddenly snapped, stepping into the wide space between them before JJ could say anything more. Her voice trembled slightly but there was still sternness in her tone,

“You have no idea what’s going on.”

JJ let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head like she was actually insane. He spoke out, arms outstretched mockingly to gesture between Y/N and the boy standing next to her, his voice dripping in sarcasm. 

“Oh I’m pretty sure I know exactly what’s going on” 

“Excuse me?”

Y/N’s jaw clenched but JJ didn’t seem to hesitate or hold back. He was too angry, too heartbroken, certainly too blindsided by his fury to bite his tongue.

“Looks like what Dad said was right.”

The words hit her like a slap and her breath caught in her throat, the blanket still clutched in her fingers, but looser now. Her lips parted, but she didn’t say anything because she knew exactly what JJ meant. Those words- those vile, disgusting things her father screamed at her before he kicked her out- they were still fresh in her mind, still echoing in her skull on loop. And now JJ, her own brother, was throwing them in her face too? Her chest tightened and the burn started behind her eyes before she could stop it. There was a sudden sound of shuffling growing louder in the hallway, before the rest of the Pogues walked in, their eyes landing on the scene in front of them. Pope slowed confused, and Cleo and Kiara’s brows furrowed. But John B took one look at Y/N’s tear-filled eyes and JJ practically vibrating with rage a few feet opposite her and he muttered under his breath quietly but unmistakably clear-

“Oh shit.”

Rafe’s jaw tightened when he saw her. Y/N’s eyes were glassy, her hand trembling slightly where it clutched the blanket against her chest and her shoulders had drawn in, like she was trying to make herself smaller. She wasn't going to be treated like this, not in front of him under his roof. “Alright,” Rafe muttered stepping forward slowly and dangerously calm, 

“You need to leave.”

“Get the fuck outta my face” 

JJ spat his eyes snapped to Rafe, shoving him back with both hands. Rafe stumbled a step, but the fury that flashed in his eyes was immediate. John B’s voice cut in, trying to de-escalate the sudden storm that had erupted in the room, 

“Okay man, I think we should-”

“No!” JJ barked spinning toward him. 

“NO! I’m not fucking leaving, alright?!”

Then he turned back on his heel to Y/N, stepping toward her with betrayal bleeding out of every pore. He jabbed his finger in her direction angrily,

“I can’t fucking believe you would do this to me! Seriously?! After everything that we’ve- he’s tormented us for years, and now you’re here- what- sucking his dick?!”

Y/N shook her head in disbelief backing away a step, her bare feet quiet against the hardwood. She felt like the wind had been punched out of her lungs. “Hey!” Rafe shouted, stepping between them like a shield. 

“Watch your fucking mouth.”

And then- he shoved JJ, hard. The blonde Pogue stumbled back, his chest still heaving. It looked like he was ready to throw a punch back in the Kook’s direction but then Y/N’s voice cracked through the standoff, pleading and desperate.

“JJ that’s not what this is, I swear- just listen to me please”

Her voice was breaking now, tears slipping down her cheeks despite her best effort to swallow them down. Her eyes bounced between the two boys, panic setting in as it all spiraled out of control. John B took JJ by the arm, yanking him back before anything worse could happen.

“Just chill out.” 

He muttered harshly under his breath, glancing toward the others. Pope was already stepping in too, grabbing JJ’s other side with a firm hand. 

“C’mon calm down.”

But Rafe wasn’t paying attention to them, instead his body was angled blocking Y/N from JJ’s view. His hand gently found her back, trying to ground her as she appeared visibly shook, her breaths short and quick. Sarah stood frozen near the doorway, arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her heart twisted painfully in her chest, this was her fault. She brought them here. She didn’t even think about the possibility of her being here. JJ shrugged both boys off with a rough jerk of his shoulders and suddenly, his voice cracked through the air again like a whip, 

“You’re not a Maybank, you know that?”

Y/N’s brows furrowed, her voice small and cracking, “what… what are you talking about?”

“A Maybank would never betray their own blood” 

JJ’s eyes were glossy now too and Y/N flinched like he’d hit her. Her lips parted trembling, her whole body shivering despite the blanket still clutched around her. 

“Jay I love you, you're still my broth-” 

Her voice broke as small sobs bubbled out of her chest now, no longer hidden. Her throat felt raw. Rafe turned instantly, cupping her cheek and whispering urgently shielding her from the looks of the rest of them.

 “Hey, hey- shh- it’s okay, it’s okay” 

In the back Kiara was already pushing past Pope and John B, her palm landing square on JJ’s chest with force. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” she hissed. “That’s your sister— what the hell are you doing?!” JJ’s jaw was clenched, fists balled at his sides, his eyes bore into Y/N, who was curled slightly into Rafe now, like she was a stranger.

"Guess selling yourself came easier than telling me the truth"

Y/N let out the softest, broken gasp- a wounded sound that barely passed her lips. Rafe stiffened, his entire body went rigid, jaw clenched and he turned on his heel so fast it startled even Cleo.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!” 

Rafe’s voice boomed through the room like thunder. 

“NOW!”

JJ didn’t flinch, he didn’t move either but John B and Pope didn’t wait. They grabbed him- each taking one arm- dragging him back toward the hall as he thrashed back against them, with gritted teeth and burning eyes.

“Let me go- fuck- LET GO OF ME-”

They’d already pulled him out, and his shouting faded into muffled echoes down the corridor. The front door slammed and silence followed. Y/N was shaking in Rafe’s arms, hands fisted in the material of the blanket around her. He just held her tighter, his hand cradling the back of her head, the other rubbing soothing circles down her spine. Behind them, Sarah stood still, guilt choking her. “Rafe,” she said quietly, voice breaking. 

“I didn’t know. I swear- I didn’t know this was going to happen. I didn’t even know she was here- I’m sorry, I-”

Rafe sighed, long and slow, his hand never leaving Y/N’s back. He glanced over his shoulder tired, 

“Sarah… just go.”

Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat, gave one last look at Y/N crumpled against him, then turned and walked out without another word.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rafe’s bedroom was dim and quiet, except for the low hum of the fan overhead and the occasional rustle of sheets as Y/N shifted beneath them. She laid on the large queen-size mattress, an oversized t-shirt of his covering her frame. The door creaked open gently and Rafe stepped in, balancing a mug firmly in his hand. He murmured, setting it down on the bedside table with a soft clink.

“Brought you something,” 

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her head, then he sank onto the bed beside her, laying on his side to face her, his head resting in the palm of his hand, elbow propped up on the cushions. Y/N blinked at him through her lashes before turning to properly look at him, her voice still somewhat hoarse but nevertheless teasing. 

“I didn’t know Rafe Cameron knew how to make tea.”

“Yeah well, I’d learn how to make that weird green drink you like if you wanted.”

Her brow lifted as he gave her a smile.

“Matcha?”

“That thing.” 

He nodded like it was some foreign concept, not that he drank anything outside of black coffee. Her smile cracked through her exhaustion and Rafe watched her carefully for a second before brushing a hand against her arm, fingers sliding up and down the exposed skin, soft to the touch.

“You okay?”

She hesitated, her lips parting as if the answer was trying to form, but never quite managed to get out. “Yeah, I guess I just…” Finally, she let out a sigh.

“I don’t know how I expected him to find out but… that wasn’t it.”

“I’m sorry, baby.”

Rafe’s expression dimmed and he kissed his teeth before letting out a deep breath himself. She shook her head immediately, voice gentle.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Well…. I sorta think it is.”

Y/N shuffled herself closer towards him, propping her own elbow against the pillow, letting her rest her head on her hand. Her eyes met his and she tilted her head a little before humming as though deep in though, 

“Hmmm… that’s a little awkward then”

That pulled a soft laugh out of him, “Yeah, just a bit.”

They laid there like that for a beat before slowly, like he couldn't help himself, he pushed forward and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. His hand came up to cradle her cheek, thumb brushing over the skin just beneath her eye. When he pulled back, his eyes flickered down to the fading bruise along her cheekbone,

"It looks better."

She nodded slowly, lips pressing together, “Mmhmm.” But her eyes were distant, like her mind was still somewhere back in that living room. Rafe stayed close, his hand still holding her face like he was anchoring her to the present. His thumb gently traced over the curve of her jaw.

"You can talk to me" 

He said after a moment. She didn’t respond right away. Just leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering closed as her fingers curled lightly in the fabric of his t-shirt. Then she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper, "He looked at me like I was a stranger." Rafe’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t say anything. Just let her speak, his thumb brushing slowly across her cheek. "It’s not even what he said. Not really. It’s just-" her throat tightened, 

"He meant it."

Silence settled again, thick and aching. Rafe shifted slightly closer, pressing a kiss to her temple as he let out a small sigh,

"He was hurt and angry- not that I'm defending him- but people say dumb shit when they’re angry"

"I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me."

Rafe was quiet, watching the girl as she sat up and brought her hand up to run over the arch of her brow. He sat up on the bed himself, back comfortably against the headboard as he spoke out,

"Then he’s not who you thought he was."

"He’s my baby Rafe."

Her voice was soft and breaking as she spoke, eyes glassed over again as she pulled her knees up, looping her arms around them. "I brought him up. Ever since he was a little blonde-haired toddler. I’ve looked after him, protected him- God, I used to wipe his nose and teach him how to tie his laces. I just..." She dropped her head into her palm, elbow resting against her knee her voice nearly a whisper now,

"I just want my baby back."

Rafe didn’t say anything right away. He just reached over and rested a hand on her back, rubbing slow, steady circles like he was trying to ease an invisible ache he couldn’t fix. "He’s still your baby" he murmured eventually.

"Give him time, he’ll come around."

Her eyes lifted, full of doubt, "And if he doesn’t?" 

"You still have me."

He added the words gently, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he glanced at her. She couldn’t help it, a tiny smile bloomed on her lips too, and she nudged her shoulder into his, their arms brushing. "Well gee," she murmured, tilting her head toward him, 

"Isn’t that an upgrade."

Rafe huffed out a low laugh, his eyebrows raising, "Damn right it is," he shot back with a smirk. 

"I make you tea"

"Oh yeah, the bare minimum. You’re really setting the bar high Rafe."

Rafe smirked, then without a word, slipped his arm around her waist and gently tugged her down with him until she was lying flat against his chest. She let out a soft surprised laugh, the breath leaving her lungs as she landed against him. He looked down at her and pressed a slow, tender kiss to her lips. 

"Only the best for my girl" 

He murmured against her mouth and she giggled softly, her fingers curling in the fabric of his t-shirt. It felt safe, easy even, but then his tone shifted, not necessarily heavy but more serious. "Speaking of that..." Her smile faltered just a little as she pulled back enough to look up at him, brow furrowing slightly.

"What...?"

He paused just for a beat  and she felt the subtle tension in his chest beneath her. "Since you're living with me now..." He trailed off again and she stayed quiet, giving him the space to speak.

"...I need you to do something for me."

She blinked her voice gentle, "Anything you want."

His jaw flexed once, he looked like he was chewing on it,  the words, the timing, the fear of saying the wrong thing to her and fucking it all up again. Finally, he exhaled through his nose and said it voice low but steady:

"I want you to stop working at the strip club."

For a second, she didn't respond. Her brows knit tighter together as she lifted herself a little more, bracing a hand on the bed beside him.

"What...?"

It wasn’t angry. Just quiet and confused. Like it didn’t compute in her mind. She blinked, eyes searching his face like she hadn’t quite heard him right. “Rafe, I—” But he was already shaking his head,

“I know. I know you don’t wanna depend on me.”

He paused, “and I respect that.” His eyes held hers as he continued, “So you can work at the country club. Hell- pick up something else, I’ll help you look. But just…” he swallowed, voice thickening slightly. 

“Please. No more dancing.” 

She sat up fully, still facing him, legs folded under herself now as she looked at him with something close to disbelief. Not irritation, just shock and surprise.

“Are you being serious...?” 

Her voice cracked a little at the end. It wasn’t judgmental, not even hesitant- just stunned. Rafe sat up too, shifting so they were eye to eye. “Yeah.” His voice didn’t waver,

“Let me take care of you.”

Her breath caught as he continued,  “You don’t have to work yourself to the bone just to survive anymore, not with me.” His hand moved to hers, threading his fingers gently with hers like he was afraid she’d pull away.

“I know you’re strong and you’ve always figured it out yourself but…” 

She didn’t say anything right away. Just looked down at their hands, her thumb brushing across his knuckles and then, quietly, almost like a whisper:

“Okay.”

She leaned forward slowly, 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.”

A soft smile tugged at her lips and he let out a quiet breath of relief then leaned in, pressing a warm lingering kiss to her lips, his thumb brushing her jaw. When he pulled back, a small smirk replaced the softness. “But… those cute little sets you’ve got-” His voice dropped an octave, playful now.

“You’ll still wear them for me, right?”

She let out an incredulous laugh, shoving him back against the mattress with both hands on his chest.

“You’re gross Cameron.”

He threw his hands up like he was surrendering, innocent of all charges that she was throwing at him, “What? I’m asking a reasonable question…” She bit back a grin as she swung her leg over his lap, settling comfortably against his thighs before leaning down, “Sure,” she murmured against his lips, kissing him again,

“The little sets are only for you now...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N sat tucked into the corner of a cozy little coffee shop, her fingers curled around a warm latte, although it remained untouched as her eyes kept drifting to the table across from her. A young couple sat there, blissfully unaware of anything but their baby. The mom had the little girl perched on her hip, bouncing her gently while the father reached out, making silly faces. The toddler giggled, tiny hands opening and closing as she made eager little grabby hands toward her dad’s face, like she couldn’t get enough of him. Her childish laughter rose above the soft clinking of dishes and quiet conversation around the cafe, a pure sound that made something ache in Y/N’s chest. She blinked, dragging her eyes back to the steam curling up from her drink just in time to hear a voice behind her:

“Well, well, well… look what the cat dragged in.”

Y/N turned, already smiling before she even saw her. Naomi’s arms were crossed, one hip popped out slightly, oversized sunglasses perched on her head and her long acrylics drumming against her bicep. She looked dead serious, her expression tight.

But then she cracked.

“You bitch.” 

She broke into a grin striding forward, Y/N stood up and was immediately wrapped in a tight, vanilla-scented hug. Naomi squeezed her like she meant it, “Hey, ‘Omi,” Y/N mumbled into her shoulder, suddenly breathless from how much she'd missed her. The girl pulled back, holding her at arm’s length.

“I was this close to filing a missing persons case. You had me picturing you dead in a ditch somewhere.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve just… I’ve been busy.”

Y/N laughed and Naomi raised a brow, sliding into the seat across from her.

“Busy, huh?”

She looked Y/N up and down now, really taking her in; the clean hair, the soft looking oversized sweater, the lack of her brows drawn down in worry like they usually were and she narrowed her eyes slightly, legs crossing at the knee as she folded her arms 

“This better not be 'cause of your little boy toy.”

Y/N went quiet, lips twitching like she was trying not to smile but the attempt didn’t last long. A grin cracked through. Naomi pointed at her triumphantly with a finger, “I knew it. I knewww it.” She tossed her braided hair over her shoulder pridefully,

“I had a feeling, you know, and my feelings are never wrong.”

Y/N laughed under her breath, rubbing a hand over her cheek, the bruise having faded- which she was grateful for as she knew Naomi would be asking questions otherwise.

“Are you mad at me?”

Naomi didn’t answer at first. She reached across the table, slid Y/N’s untouched latte toward herself, and took a slow unbothered sip like it belonged to her. She placed the cup down onto the small plate with a clink and then she looked to her,

“Mad? Why would I be mad at you Bunny?”

“I don’t know… 'cause I just like disappeared without a word?”

Naomi clicked her tongue with a small shake of her head in agreement, “Okay, yeah. I was mad. A little mad.” She held up two fingers, like an inch apart to try to reflect the annoyance she had at the girl, but she quickly waved her hand in Y/N’s direction as she continued, “But I’m not gonna hold it against you girl and besides you’ve seen me mad.” Y/N pressed her lips into a thin line, amused, before speaking out,  

“I’ve seen you drag a man across a bar floor in six-inch heels.”

Naomi sat back, “Mmhmm, so trust me… if I was mad at you, you’d know.”

She picked up the cup again, her fingers wrapping around the warmth of it, took another sip, and gave a little satisfied nod. “Sorry, this is really good.” Y/N watched her, the corners of her eyes crinkling just slightly, that familiar heat blooming behind her ribs. She didn’t realise how much she’d missed this, missed Naomi, until this moment. The way she could cut through all the noise in her head without even trying. Naomi caught her looking and tilted her head.

“Are you gonna drink this or…?”

Y/N shook her head, “It’s all yours.”

Naomi grinned and pulled the cup closer, “Thanks, honey.” She leaned back in her chair with a satisfied sigh, “Sooo…” she started her eyes gleaming like she was bracing for a juicy confession, 

“Did you call me here cause you wanna know the club gossip or-”

“As tempting as that is, no. That’s not why I called you.”

Naomi tilted her head, her earrings catching the light as she gave her a mock squint. “It’s just cause you missed me, right?” Y/N gave her a look and said,

“Mmhmm. Yep. You got me there.”

That earned a full laugh from both of them, loud enough that the couple at the next table gave them a quick glance. A beat passed between them and Naomi took another sip, then glanced down at the cup before saying, “Well... I’ve missed you.” She didn’t say it like a joke, didn’t throw it out there for laughs or deflection. Just said it, quietly like it had been sitting on her chest since the last time they saw each other. Her gaze dropped to the coffee, swirling the liquid around slowly before speaking again.

“You know I don’t do emotions n’shit but... I’ve missed you.”

Y/N felt her throat catch for a second, her fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the table. Her voice was gentler when she finally spoke.

“I’ve missed you too.”

Their eyes met again, and for a moment, there was nothing between them; no neon lights, no heavy music, no mirrors or backstage chaos. Just two girls with a quiet understanding of each other. Naomi gave a soft little sniff, then she straightened up, “Okay, enough of the sappy shit.” Her voice returned to its usual sharpness, but the warmth behind her eyes didn’t fade.

“So what’s up? You coming back and wanna know what time slots are free this week?” 

Y/N gave a soft breath of a laugh, but it was tight around the edges. Her gaze dropped to the table, her fingers beginning to tap out a slow rhythm against the wood grain.

“Yeah, um… it’s actually the opposite of that.”

A pause settled between them, heavy and still and then Naomi’s brows lifted slightly.

“... you’re leaving?”

Y/N didn’t speak at first. She just looked at her and then gave a quiet nod. Naomi leaned back slowly in her chair, jaw shifting like she was working through something. Her lips parted, like she might say something but then closed again.  “Damn.” She tilted her head.

“So boy toy is your sugar daddy now, huh?”

“He’s not my sugar daddy.”

Y/N let out a breath of laughter and rolled her eyes, running a fingertip over the arch of her brow. Naomi narrowed her eyes like a lawyer catching someone in a lie mid case.

“Uh-huh. Does he drive a Range Rover?”

Y/N hesitated a second too long.

“…yes?”

That broke whatever tension was left, both of them bursting into giggles once more, Naomi nearly knocking her elbow on the table as she leaned forward and Y/N hiding her face behind her hands to calm herself down, both their stomachs starting to cramp from the laughter.

“That’s what I thought. Sugar. Daddy.”

“Stop you’re embarrassing me” Y/N laughed, kicking lightly at the girl's ankle under the table. 

“He’s just… good to me. That’s all.”

Naomi tilted her head, gaze softening again- less teasing now like she knew the moment deserved more than just jokes. “Good,” she said, her voice quieter. 

“You deserve better than the club anyway.”

Y/N looked at her, throat suddenly tight, the lump forming so fast it startled her. She swallowed it down with a soft breath, eyes lingering on Naomi’s face. “So do you.” Naomi just shook her head with a slow smile tugging at her lips knowingly. “That place is my home,” she murmured. 

“And you know it.”

Y/N nodded, the motion small but full of understanding. She looked at the girl across from her; sharp-eyed, loud-mouthed, ride-or-die attitude. The one who did her lip liner for her backstage when her hands were shaking, who taught her how to count her cash fast and stand her ground even faster. “Well,” she said, her voice softer now, 

“I’m glad that it managed to lure me in.”

“And why’s that exactly?”

“Otherwise I wouldn’t have met you.”

Y/N gave her a small, watery smile and Naomi groaned and tipped her head back dramatically.

“God, don’t be nice to me right now. I’ll cry all over my fake Gucci.”

Y/N laughed through her sniffle and reached across the table, fingers slipping into Naomi’s, palms pressed warm together on the wood of the table top. The girl didn’t pull away, just looked down at their hands, then up at Y/N. Her voice was softer than Y/N had ever heard it.

“I’m proud of you.”

Y/N smiled, a little tremble in it as she tried, really hard, to keep it together. 

“I love you Omi.”

Naomi batted her lashes, her lips quirking upwards, “I know. I’m very lovable.”

Time passed faster than the girls expected as they sat at the table, one latte having turned to three and before they knew it the sky had started to bleed into an orange hue. Naomi let out a long breath, giving Y/N’s hand one last squeeze before letting go, she spoke out her voice light but eyes serious.

“You better come visit”

“Duh- you won’t be able to get rid of me that easily.”

They both stood, half-laughing, half-lingering, until Naomi finally pulled her into a tight hug, not one of their usual playful ones, but something full and real and grounding. The bell jingled above them as they pushed the door open, the cool breeze brushing against their skin. “Get outta here Bunny,” she spoke waving her hand at Y/N dismissively, 

“Go live your domestic dream.”

“Oh shut up” Y/N said, laughing.

“I’m serious!” Naomi added, “and you tell little mr ‘trust fund’ that if he breaks your heart, I’m showing up with my six-inch heels.”

“He won’t.” Y/N’s voice was soft but certain and Naomi looked at her, then nodded. 

“Yeah. I don’t think he will either.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The late afternoon sun poured in through the wide windows of the country club, casting golden light across the polished marble floor. Outside, golfers milled about on the manicured green, their drinks in hand and voices drifting in through the open terrace doors. Inside, it was still pleasant, the weather having gotten warmer as the month progressed. It was quiet, the lull between lunch and dinner when the bar only saw the occasional regulars. Y/N stood behind it, restocking glasses with practiced ease. The air was soft with the scent of freshly cut lemon slices and citrus gin, the low murmur of conversation from a few older members huddled at a corner table the only background noise. She didn’t hear footsteps, but she felt it shift in the atmosphere when someone’s eyes were fixed on you. She straightened, turned toward the presence with a polite smile already in place. “What can I get you?” And then she saw who it was.

“…Oh.” 

Her smile faltered just slightly. 

“Hi- What can I get you?”

Sarah Cameron stood on the other side of the bar, hair pulled back into a loose pony tail, eyes steady on hers. There was no malice in them, just… something unreadable. For a moment Y/N wondered how Sarah had even managed to get in, she was pretty sure Rafe was the only Cameron with a membership.

“Can we talk?” 

Sarah asked plainly, albeit a quiet sense of nervousness could be heard, and Y/N glanced at the clock on the wall, then back at the mostly empty bar. Only three patrons sat at the far end, half-watching the golf tournament on the mounted TV. “Well,” she said, brushing her hands on a bar towel, 

“I’m kind of on the clock right now… but we can talk here.”

“Here’s fine.”

Y/N nodded once as she reached behind her and poured a glass of water, sliding it across the counter toward Sarah like a peace offering. Y/N reached for a dry towel, wiping it across a damp glass with smooth motion. It gave her something to do with her hands, something to focus on while Sarah settled into the stool opposite her. There was a pause, not awkward but thick with whatever Sarah had come here to say. Finally, the blonde girl across the counter spoke. “I, um…” Sarah cleared her throat, resting her elbows on the bar. 

“I’m sorry. For showing up at the house like that. I wasn’t trying to… interrupt anything.”

Y/N gave a small dry laugh, her eyes still focused on the glass in her hands, “You didn’t interrupt anything.”

“Still,” Sarah pressed gently, “I wasn’t trying to catch you off guard. I didn’t know you and my brother were… you know.”

That made Y/N pause for a second, the rhythm of her hands slowing just slightly. “Yeah uh” she murmured, setting the glass down. 

“It’s… recent.”

Sarah nodded, then twisted her fingers together on the bartop.

“I just— I didn’t mean to cause a thing with you and JJ. I didn’t know about any of that, I swear, and after the fight that night, I just kept thinking, like… if I hadn’t come by, maybe things wouldn’t’ve blown up like they did-”

“-Sarah.”

Y/N finally looked up, her face softening and she shook her head once, firmly.

“It’s fine. It’s not your fault.”

Silence stretched between them for a moment and the hum of the golf announcer on the TV drifted lazily in the background. Y/N busied her hands again, reaching for another glass, wiping it clean. Her voice was gentler now when she spoke again.

“Things were already tense with JJ… you just happened to walk in at the wrong time.”

Sarah’s brow furrowed slightly, guilt still resting behind her eyes, but she nodded slowly.

“I just wanted you to know I didn’t do it on purpose. I really didn’t know.”

Y/N gave her a faint, appreciative smile, “I know you didn’t.”

The quiet settled between them again like an unsure fog. Sarah fidgeted with the edge of a paper napkin from the counter, folding and unfolding it absently. Y/N had gone back to cleaning glasses, her movements smooth but just a touch too focused  like she was trying not to feel the heat of Sarah’s gaze as she suddenly spoke,

"Y/N, my brother... he’s not exactly the type to-"

Y/N let out a short breath and cut in, her voice firm but not harsh, "Look, Sarah. If you're here to lecture me about Rafe, I really—" her eyes flicked up, guarded now, 

"I really don't need that. Okay?"

Sarah opened her mouth like she was going to protest, but Y/N kept going.

"I get it. He’s your brother and you’ve seen him at his worst, but so have I.”

She stopped wiping the glass, placed it carefully on the drying mat, and rested both hands on the edge of the bar. Sarah hesitated, then leaned in just slightly, voice quieter now but still threaded with concern.

"I'm sorry but- it's Rafe. I've known him my whole life and he’s never been the type to help people, not unless there’s something in it for him. I’m just worried that maybe he sees you’re in a rough position and he’s just..." she trailed off not finishing the sentence and Y/N blinked slowly at her, jaw tightening. Then she shook her head. "Stop..." she exhaled, eyes flicking downward. 

"Stop"

Her voice cracked just slightly as she pushed the towel aside and her shoulders dropped a little. “No one has helped me the past few months the way he has. No one.” Her eyes draw away from the counter to meet Sarah’s,  

“He’s been there for me in ways you couldn’t possibly imagine. I wouldn’t even be able to tell you because you wouldn’t believe me.”

Sarah’s expression softened at that and she watched her quietly for a beat, lips parted like she might speak. Then her voice came quieter than before,

“Yes I would...”

Y/N looked at Sarah for a long moment. And all she could see was a girl who was open, understanding. Someone who wanted to know the truth rather than take it away and further spin it into a web of lies. She let out a breath less defensive this time, “I finish my shift at seven today,” she murmured, glancing out the window where the afternoon sun was beginning to lower. 

“Meet me outside by the staff car park and I’ll tell you everything.”

Sarah gave a small nod and Y/N turned, picked up the next glass. 

The cool evening air wrapped around them as they stood outside the club, the faint hum of the island's nightlife carrying in the background. Y/N leaned against the brick wall, the weight of the conversation she was having heavy on her shoulders. Sarah stood beside her, silent, but there was an understanding in her posture now. She was quiet- the whole time. She didn't interrupt once, just listened, waiting for Y/N to speak, to unload everything she had been holding in. 

Y/N took a long drag of her cigarette, the smoke curling into the air as she exhaled slowly. She raised her hand and offered it to Sarah, who smiled politely and shook her head. They stood silent for a moment, the quiet between them thick like the smoke rising from Y/N’s lips, but somehow it was comfortable. “No one knows this,” Y/N continued, her voice barely a whisper now. 

“No one but me and Rafe… and now you.” 

Sarah’s face softened with understanding, her eyes filled with empathy after having listened to Y/N, like a priest at confession. She exhaled slowly her words quiet, 

“JJ is pretty mad at you,” Sarah said her voice careful but not accusatory, “I don’t think he understands why you’d—” 

“-that’s not my problem anymore.” 

Y/N cut her off, her tone sharper than she meant. She sighed, rubbing a hand over her face in frustration before pursing her lips and shaking her head softly, speaking out, 

“You heard what he said… ‘I’m not a Maybank.’ ” 

She repeated the words, as if to remind herself just how much they stung. Sarah looked at her for a long moment, “It’s not that simple, Y/N. He’s hurting. JJ cares about you- more than he lets on. And he doesn’t know how to deal with this. I know it’s not easy, but I think you two need to talk.” 

Y/N shook her head again, almost to herself this time. “I don’t know if I can. It’s not about JJ anymore. I can’t keep trying to fix things with him. I've been doing that for too long- I’ve always made sure he’s happy Sarah, but now… I think I should focus on what’s best for me.” 

Sarah gave a small understanding nod, her eyes flickering down to the cigarette in Y/N’s hand, the older girl noticed, causing her to hold it up to her. Sarah took it, lifting it to her lips and taking a slow pull. The smoke lifting above the two of them like a small cloud.

“I get it. But I think you owe it to yourself to have that conversation with him to tell him what's really going on.” 

Y/N exhaled slowly, sliding down the wall so she was crouching by the floor, tapping the cigarette ash onto the paving on the floor. She wasn’t sure if she was ready for that, but deep down, she knew it was something that needed to happen. 

She owed it to herself 

And to JJ

The quiet between them stretched on, thick with unspoken thoughts and emotions. The last of the cigarette smoke curled up into the night air, disappearing into the sky as if it was never even there. Y/N stared at the glowing ember on the floor beside her, the weight of everything she had just said settling deep inside her.

"I... I love your brother Sarah." 

The words hung in the air as she suddenly spoke out, her voice trembling slightly, as if confessing it out loud to someone else except for him made it more real. Y/N didn’t look up. She couldn’t. Her eyes were fixed somewhere near the dark patch of pavement between her shoes, her heart thrumming beneath her ribs. Sarah’s expression softened, her eyes widening a little in surprise. She had never imagined hearing those words come from Y/N’s lips- not because she didn’t believe it but because she never thought anyone would be brave enough to admit that about him.

Her brother?

Sarah was silent as if trying to find the right words, but Y/N was too focused on the quiet to look at her. It wasn’t until Sarah’s voice broke the stillness that Y/N looked up, her eyes meeting Sarah’s. “I think he loves you too,” Sarah said, 

 “From what I can tell... I think he loves you a lot.”

Y/N finally looked up at that and Sarah pushed off from where she’d been leaning and crouched down besides her, her back against the same wall now, their shoulders a few inches apart. She rested her arms over her bent knees, then looked sideways at Y/N who gave her a small, tired smile and Sarah, after a beat, said gently but plainly,

“But... I know JJ loves you too.”

Y/N’s smile faded, and she stared ahead for a beat, her throat tightening as she let out a breath through her nose. Sarah didn’t say anything after that, almost as though afraid she’d pushed too hard. The older girl whispered, her voice so quiet it was almost lost to in the cool breeze of the evening,

"I don't know if I'm allowed to love them both"

“I think that’s for you to decide…”

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[baekhyunsbestie]

⟢ : AFTERS ★ .ᐟ

req by this qt anonie <3 hehe

“af·tuhrz” (n): 1. the unofficial, post-party gathering—usually at a random house/hotel after a bigger party and/or club, with tooooo much alcohol, moody lighting, and even more questionable decisions. 2. where you accidentally end up fucking baekhyun after his concert.

content: 18+/mdni. ~9.6k+ words. reverie!baekhyun x f!reader. strangers to one-nighters. fluff. smut. aftercare. praise. dry humping. fingering + oral (fem receiving), drunk p in v sex, hotel room hookup, semi-public foreplay, dirty talk, alcohol consumption, mild obsession vibes, overstim, raw juseyo, you’re both a lil unhinged and match each other's freaks lmaoooo

your throat is hoarse from screaming lyrics you didn’t realize you still knew by heart. your skin’s still buzzing, glitter catching on the collar of your top, sweat drying beneath your skirt.

baekhyun’s concert wasn’t just a show—it was an experience. a sensory overload. the kind that settles into your skin and stays there. the way he moved—fluid and precise, every step pulled straight from muscle memory and instinct—was hypnotic. the way he sang, breathless yet effortless. his visuals? unreal. almost unfair. 

and the way he engaged with the crowd? grinning, teasing, soaking up the screams like sunlight—yeah, that wasn’t just performance. that was a man doing exactly what he was born to do. an idol in every sense. and it was obvious—he loves it. he lives for it.

and you—loud, radiant, maybe a little too invested—could’ve sworn he looked right at you during woo. his gaze was sweeping, fluid, made to tease, but just for a second… it paused. 

row ten.

pink sequined skirt.

you froze mid-sway, breath caught somewhere between your ribs and your throat, and you didn’t dare blink.

you told yourself it was wishful thinking. that you were just one face in a sea of thousands. but now, stepping out into the night air—still in that same outfit, skin buzzing like it’s holding onto his falsetto—you’re drunk on something more than just concert adrenaline.

your body still vibrates with the bass, your voice is hoarse from shouting lyrics like they were gospel, and your cheeks ache from smiling too hard for too long.

“oh my godddd, meeks, that was fuckin’ insane,” you pant, nearly breathless, practically levitating as you leave the venue.

your best friend, mika, laughs beside you—influencer, 125k+ on the gram, energy like a triple shot of tequila, dressed like the night owes her something. 

“oh, baby,” she purrs, thumb tapping her phone like she’s conjuring magic, “the night’s just getting started.”

her screen flares to life with a flood of unread dms—club logos, kiss emojis, a string of heart-eyes from guys whose names you don’t recognize but probably should. “should we go clubbing?” she offers, eyes glinting. “wanna hit up gravity?”

you hesitate. gravity always spirals. last time, you ended up in a stranger’s penthouse afterwards with three underground rappers and a girl who swore she was hyunjin from le sserafim’s third cousin twice removed.

but fomo’s coded into your dna, and baekhyun’s voice is still ricocheting through your bones. you told yourself you’d say yes to everything tonight. so you do.

you grin, breath catching with the kind of thrill that tastes like trouble.

“fuck it,” you say, two taps away from ordering the uber. “let’s go.”

the club is a blur of lights and bass. you barely make it past the velvet rope before you’re swept inside by the gravity of mika’s orbit.

she knows everyone. the guy at the door daps her up like they grew up together. the bartender winks and sends over a tray of drinks before you even reach the bar. the DJ in the booth flashes her a grin mid-set and changes the track to her favorite remix.

you don’t wait in lines and you never check prices. you exist outside of time when you’re out with her—just a blur of laughter, glitter, and beat drops that rattle your ribcage.

you dance like your heels don’t hurt.

like you didn’t just scream your lungs out at a concert two hours ago.

your skirt swings with every sway of your hips, sequins catching the light like tiny spotlights made just for you.

you tilt your head back, eyes fluttering shut, drunk on tequila and attention, your friends orbiting you like a constellation of bad choices and even better memories.

you feel pretty—head tilted back, hips swaying, alcohol warming your blood. a random guy tries to flirt and your friend yanks you away with a grin.

“nope,” she says. “we’re keepin’ it mysterious tonight.”

you’re drunk and dizzyo a quarter ‘til midnight when you check your phone and realize you should probably head home.

but then she leans in close and whispers, “wanna hit an afters at the ritz?”

she doesn’t say whose. she never does.

but that’s the thrill of it. the not-knowing. the possibility that tonight hasn’t even peaked yet.

you glance down at your drink—half-melted ice, lipgloss on the rim—and swallow what’s left. you’re sticky with sweat, eyes glassy, lips tingling from salt and lime. 

and yeah, maybe you should go home. but you’re not in the mood to be responsible especially when the night still feels electric.

so you grin, swipe your phone off the table, and say the words you always do when mika’s got that look in her eyes.

the suite looks like it was pulled straight from a luxury travel vlog—sleek, sprawling, and softly lit in golds and shadows.

there’s music playing low—something bassy and expensive, vibrating through marble countertops and plush velvet cushions. a tray of half-finished cocktails glows under the dim, amber light, and bodies are draped across designer furniture like they were born there. heels kicked off. dress shirts half-buttoned. laughter echoing from corners you’re not quite invited into.

you’re crouched near the minibar, pretending to fix the strap of your heel, feigning fascination with the towering bouquet of flowers that probably cost more than your rent, when you spot them—faces you vaguely recognize. not close enough to be certain, but… yeah. you’ve seen them before. maybe at the club earlier tonight. the way they move—relaxed, self-assured, like people who know they’re being watched.

you don’t overthink it. just assume that’s how mika got wind of this afterparty in the first place.

and then—something shifts.

a hum in the atmosphere. like the room just hit pause.

you glance up.

and there he is.

baekhyun.

but not in silk. not in silk or leather or anything made to kill. no stage persona. no spotlight.

just… soft.

he’s near the bar, dressed in an oversized grey hoodie with faded red letters stretched across the front. the collar hangs loose, offering a peek of a plain white tee underneath. a slouchy beanie hugs his head, and strands of bleached blonde hair curl out in fluffy wisps—just messy enough to look real. freshly washed face. no makeup. no filter.

he looks like he just stepped out of a hot shower. glowing, flushed, skin catching the warm golden light like it’s gilding him from within.

he doesn’t see you. not yet. he’s nursing a drink, sleeves pushed to his elbows, shoulders relaxed in that way people get when they’ve finally made it to the other side of a long night.

and then—click.

your eyes flick across the room again. those familiar faces lounging on velvet sectionals, sipping cocktails and laughing like they’ve done this a hundred times before—now you get it.

you hadn’t realized it earlier. hadn’t connected the dots.

but now, with baekhyun standing there—unguarded, undeniably real—it all snaps into place.

this is his afterparty.

those are his people.

you tear your gaze away, forcing your attention to the condensation sliding down a bottle of sparkling water like it suddenly holds the answers to all of life’s questions. anything to keep from staring at the man who just quietly turned your whole night inside out.

you don’t expect him to move—to notice you. definitely not to approach. but he does, of fucking course he does, like the universe just couldn’t resist handing you this plot twist wrapped in cozy grey cotton and freshly washed hair.

“you always this mesmerized by sparkling water?” his voice drifts in from beside you—low, easy, just amused enough to make your pulse trip.

you blink, caught in the act. the bottle suddenly feels like a spotlight. heat crawls up the back of your neck.

“i wasn’t staring,” you blurt, too quick, too defensive—and not at all what he asked.

baekhyun hums, a quiet chuckle under his breath. “didn’t say you were.”

you glance at him—and instantly regret it. he’s even more beautiful up close. skin dewy and flushed from the shower, hoodie soft around his frame, eyes sharp and curious beneath the shadow of his beanie. he smells like detergent and something warmer—clean skin and cologne clinging faintly to the cotton of his hoodie.

“what are you doing at this party, anyway?” you ask, shooting for nonchalant but landing somewhere breathless. “shouldn’t you be off… i don’t know, being famous somewhere?”

he grins—wide and unapologetic. “my team booked out the whole floor,” he says, like it’s the most mundane thing in the world. “so technically, i am where i’m supposed to be.”

you let out a quiet snort. “that’s a little presumptuous, don’t you think?”

he studies you—really studies you—like he’s trying to file you into a box but hasn’t quite found the right label yet.

“you here with someone?” he asks finally, voice still casual, but there’s a hint of curiosity threading through it now.

“my friend got the invite,” you say, keeping your tone even. “i just tagged along. didn’t even realize whose afterparty it was until…” your eyes flick toward him. “well. until i saw you.”

that earns you his full smile—not the rehearsed kind, but something softer, looser at the edges. whatever guarded suspicion he’d been carrying eases, replaced by a flicker of something else. amusement. maybe interest.

“so you’re not here to corner me for a selfie? no skincare interrogation?” he teases, brows lifting.

you huff a laugh. “i mean, the skin is suspiciously clear. but no.”

his grin tugs wider. he tilts his head, studying you a little longer than necessary. “you were at the show, though… right?”

you pause—then nod. “yeah.”

his eyes drop for a second. “thought so,” he murmurs, voice dipping just enough to make your breath stutter. “that pink skirt’s kinda hard to miss.”

your heart stumbles over itself.

“well,” you manage, “you put on a good show.”

“thanks,” he says, smiling like he means it. “wanna sit? it's quieter over there,” he nods toward a closed off corner of the suite—where the music’s softer, the city’s glittering outside the wide floor-to-ceiling window, and a plush couch waits like it’s part of the plan. 

you blink. “with you?”

he grins. “unless you’re still committed to bonding with that water bottle.”

you settle onto the couch, leaving a polite gap between you—respectful, casual, not too eager.

baekhyun drops down beside you a moment later. easy. relaxed. his knees part just enough to ground him, like he’s done this a hundred times, but somehow doesn’t feel rehearsed.

for a beat, he just sits there, sipping from his glass. then, gently, like he’s not sure if it’s too forward:

“so… what’s your name?”

you tell him.

he nods, eyes flicking down for a second like he’s committing it to memory.

a quiet pause.

then he glances over again, one arm resting along the back of the couch. his fingers drum lightly against the cushion, and there’s a flicker of something playful in his voice.

“do you usually show up at strangers’ after parties, or is tonight a special case?”

you let out a soft laugh. “you’re not exactly a stranger. i’ve seen you shirtless before. on a jumbotron.”

he huffs a small, nose-scrunching laugh. “ah, so we’re skipping introductions and going straight to shared history.”

“basically,” you say, lifting your drink. “we're practically close friends.”

he smiles wider, the boyish kind that starts in his cheeks before it reaches his eyes. “great. and here i am looking like i just rolled outta bed.”

your eyes flick over the hoodie and the slouchy beanie barely hanging onto his bleached hair. “you mean your softboy fit?”

“hey,” he says, mock-wounded. “this is premium downtime aesthetic.”

“sure,” you murmur into your glass. “total heartbreak fit.”

he grins, turns his body slightly toward you, eyes crinkling. “don’t say that like it isn’t working.”

you’re smiling before you even realize it. the banter flows easier than you expected—natural, not forced. and the longer he talks, the more you notice things. like how deep and calm his voice is when he’s not performing. how he pauses before answering, like he actually thinks about his words. how his fingers tap lightly against his glass, how he nods when you talk, really listens.

he starts telling you about this tiny bunsikjeom he swears by back home—some blink-and-you-miss-it shop tucked between a laundromat and a vet clinic. he goes on about how their tteokbokki is the best and how the ajumma there hates him, like genuinely scowls whenever he walks in.

“i always order, like, five portions of odeng. just for me,” he says, eyes wide, hands gesturing like this is life-or-death. “and she always yells, like—‘yah! save some for other people!’ but then she gives me extra anyway. she pretends she’s mad, but she totally likes me.”

he grins, ducking his head a little. “i think she worries i don’t eat enough.”

you raise a brow. “you’re ordering five skewers and she still thinks you’re starving?”

“exactly,” he says, mock-offended. 

you ask if fame ever gets lonely. he doesn’t dodge it.

“yeah, sometimes,” he admits. “but i’m used to being alone. i think i’m better at being with people now, though. or... the right people.”

you blink at that. it’s quieter than the rest of the conversation. unpolished. a little vulnerable.

and it hits you—he’s nothing like the stage version of himself. not the flirty idol who winks at cameras or sings with syrup in his voice. he’s calmer. sharper. grounded.

even the way he drinks feels different. slow. deliberate. not for show, just... because he’s thirsty.

you look at him again. really look.

and for a moment, you just sit with it. the quiet between you, the city glowing beyond the glass, the weight of something undeniably real blooming beneath the surface.

you don’t speak. you don’t need to.

because somewhere between the last laugh and the next sip of tequila, time starts to slip. the minutes blur, slow and easy, like the night’s decided not to rush. you’re both tipsy now—flushed, relaxed, limbs loose. the music plays soft in the background, and the suite glows warm and golden, like dusk frozen in place. it feels quiet. suspended. like everything outside of this cozy little corner of the suite has been paused.

he’s charming, but not in the curated way you expected. 

it feels private—like he’s peeling himself back one layer at a time just for you. less idol, more man. his voice is low, his stories surprisingly unfiltered, and he’s funny—actually funny, not just media-trained clever.

you find yourself leaning in before you realize it, pulled toward the gravity of his presence like he’s something your body already knew how to orbit.

he smells like warm skin and sugared spice—notes of something expensive laced with the earthy ache of man. every time he shifts, you catch more of it, and it’s dizzying.

you weren’t prepared for this. for him.

genuine. confident in a way that doesn’t beg for attention. grounded, but just enough ego to be dangerous.

not the distant, idolized version of baekhyun the internet likes to dissect in thinkpieces and fancams.

this version is real. present. and somehow even more disarming.

“so,” he says, glancing sideways, “tell me something that’s not small talk.”

his voice is low, unhurried.

you blink. “what, like… my credit card number?”

you smile, finally letting your shoulders drop a little. “okay, fine. i always cry during the last twenty minutes of ratatouille.”

baekhyun turns to face you more fully, brows lifting. “what gets you? the rat’s speech?”

“no, it wasn’t remy,” you say with a scoff, nudging his knee lightly. “his name is remy, first of all.”

he laughs—really laughs—and the sound curls warm in your chest. “ah, my bad. remy,” he echoes, grinning. “go on.”

you exhale, letting your gaze drift toward the glowing skyline beyond the glass. “it was the critic’s review. that part at the end where he talks about discovering something new, something unexpected, and how the world is always unkind to it.”

your voice softens, eyes fixed somewhere far away. “he says the new needs friends. and i don’t know—it hit something in me.”

baekhyun stays still beside you, his hand curled loosely around his drink, forgotten now.

“sometimes it just feels like... everything’s already been done. like no one’s waiting for what you have to give. and then this bitter old man eats a meal made by a fucking rat and suddenly he’s like—shaken. changed. reminded why he ever cared in the first place.”

you pause, then shrug, barely glancing at him. “i guess it reminded me that you don’t have to be expected to be meaningful. that you don’t have to be someone obvious to matter.”

baekhyun doesn’t say anything right away.

but something shifts in his expression. his jaw ticks, just barely. his lashes dip like he’s trying to hide the flicker of emotion behind his eyes, like he doesn’t want to give himself away.

because yeah—he fucking gets it. way more than you know.

not just the movie. not just the speech. but the whole aching truth of it.

he’s been living that risk lately—leaving the comfort of the company that built him, stepping out with nothing but belief and a dream that people might still show up for him. that what he has to offer—now, as he is—is still worth something.

he hasn’t said it out loud, not to anyone. but hearing you say it—watching you light up over something so honest, so deeply felt—it stirs something in him. makes him see not just the movie differently… but you, too.

you, sitting here in front of him, talking about hope like it’s something fragile and holy.

it makes him feel less alone.

and for the first time tonight, baekhyun forgets about being careful. about being cool.

he just looks at you like he’s seeing something rare.

something that might just change everything.

"you're not what i expected," he says, voice low—almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

you glance over, one brow lifting as you tilt your head. “good unexpected?"

he doesn’t answer right away. just looks at you—really looks—like he’s committing your features to memory one slow blink at a time. eyes scanning the curve of your mouth, the slope of your cheek, the way the light catches the side of your face. and then, finally, he nods. once. small, certain.

you smile, warmth curling beneath your ribs as you lift your drink and finish the last sip. the glass makes a soft sound as you set it down on the coffee table. “funny,” you say, easing back into the cushions. “i was just about to say the same thing.”

his lips twitch, curiosity sparking behind them. “yeah? how so?”

you hesitate for half a beat, choosing your words. “you’re… calmer than i thought you’d be. softer.” your voice dips, gentling. “more real. the version of you on stage is fun—electric—but it’s not this.”

his smile stretches slowly, not wide but genuine, like the words settle somewhere deep in him. like maybe they mean more than you know. “so what you’re saying,” he murmurs, “is that i’m not the guy i pretend to be when everyone’s watching.”

you bump your knee lightly against his, a tiny grin playing at your lips. “exactly.”

his gaze drops, lingers where your thigh presses to his. and when he looks back up, there’s something darker swimming there—something thick with heat.

your breath catches.

a strand of hair sticks to the gloss on your bottom lip, and before you can even lift a hand, his fingers are already there—brushing it away, tucking it behind your ear like it’s second nature. like he’s done it before.

the touch is soft. reverent. but it sets something off inside you, deep and molten. like your body recognizes him before your brain can catch up.

his gaze holds yours, gold and liquid in the warm afterparty lighting, and this time, neither of you look away. there’s no posturing. no pretending. just... him. and you.

he leans in, slow. lips brushing yours—barely there. testing the space between you.

you don’t move.

so he kisses you.

it starts soft. tentative. like he’s asking a question he already knows the answer to. but it doesn’t stay that way for long. it deepens too fast, mouths parting, breaths catching, lips dragging, tongues meeting like they’ve done this before. like they remember.

your knees hook over his thighs without thought, your hips shifting, sliding into his lap like you were meant to be there.

and the second you settle—flush against him—he groans into your mouth, deep and wrecked.

“fuck,” he exhales, breaking the kiss just long enough to breathe, hands curling tight around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. like he needs to hold you steady or he might come undone.

you rock into him slowly, your skirt hitched high, the friction between your soaked panties and the heat straining in his sweats making your thighs tremble. your head tips back, a moan slipping out that you couldn’t hide if you tried.

his lips are on your throat now, jaw, collarbone—anywhere he can reach, desperate to taste more. his hands slide lower, gripping your ass with purpose, grinding you down like he’s starving. like this is the only thing that will satisfy the ache he’s been carrying all night.

“you’re drivin’ me fuckin’ insane,” he mutters, voice shredded, fraying at the seams. “you have no idea.”

you’re seconds from cumming—lips locked, skirt hitched high, his grip on your thighs desperate, like he’s caught between dragging you closer and anchoring himself from completely losing it—when a voice slices through the air like a bucket of ice water dumped on your head.

“uh, babe? you in here?”

you both freeze.

baekhyun’s mouth stalls against your jaw. your lungs forget how to work.

and then—

pure. fucking. chaos.

you scramble off his lap, nearly kneeing him in the balls in the process, tugging your skirt back down your ass like it’ll erase the last ten minutes. baekhyun shifts too, adjusting his sweats with hands that still shake a little. your lips feel kissed raw. your thighs ache. you don’t even want to know what your hair looks like.

mika stands just inside the doorway, one brow cocked, arms folded over her sparkly top like the mom friend she definitely is when necessary. her gaze sweeps over the scene—your smeared lipstick, baekhyun’s rumpled shirt, the space between you two charged and awkward, like the tension hasn’t quite settled. and you—frozen next to the couch like you forgot what to do with your body now that someone else is watching.

“meeks,” you squeak, trying—and failing—to sound casual. “hey.”

“hey yourself,” she says lightly, voice dipped in that syrupy sarcasm only best friends can perfect. “your phone’s dead. figured i’d check you weren’t, y’know…” she pauses, eyes sliding between you and baekhyun, mouth twitching. “kidnapped. or eaten alive.”

baekhyun lets out something between a laugh and a choke. you want the floor to open up and swallow you whole.

and then her gaze settles on him.

his bleached blonde hair is a mess—textbook post-makeout chaos. cheeks flushed, lips kiss-bitten, hoodie wrinkled like it’s been tugged in desperation. her gaze narrows. and you see it: the flicker. the click. the way realization sparks behind her lashes like a struck match. she knows.

of course she knows.

but mika? mika’s been around. she’s danced with indie film heartthrobs and ghosted rappers with stadium tours. she’s navigated VIP lounges and afters where NDAs are practically part of the dress code. she’s seen the famous, the infamous, and the almost-famous. and she’s never once made it weird.

so she doesn’t gasp. doesn’t scream. doesn’t say, “weren’t we just at his concert four hours ago?”

instead, she just raises an eyebrow—subtle, amused, dangerous—and shoots you a look that says i’m going to make you tell me everything.

then she shrugs. uncrosses her arms. casual as ever. “right. well. i’m heading out. you comin’ with or…?”

you look back.

and for the first time, really look.

bare skin—clean and fresh, faint traces of sweat still lingering at his hairline from earlier. his hoodie’s loose around his shoulders, the collar tugged slightly off-center, and his blonde hair sticks up in soft tufts where your fingers must’ve pulled through it.

he looks... manly like this. unstyled. real. almost heartbreakingly so.

and his eyes—they’re not teasing. they’re not flirty. not charming or rehearsed like they were earlier when he made you laugh into your drink. they’re quiet. open. like he’s asking something without saying it out loud.

you’ve never seen that look on him before.

not in music videos. not on stage. not even earlier tonight.

it’s not desire burning behind his gaze—it’s something softer. something closer to hope.

“stay a little longer, yeah?” he says, voice low. steady. like he’s giving you space to say no, but hoping to hell you won’t. “just for a nightcap.”

his thumb strokes your wrist again.

then, quieter—almost like he’s trying to make it casual, as if this isn’t something important—he adds, “i’ve got a charger for your phone you can use too.”

you don’t even realize you’re nodding until mika snorts.

“m’kay, text me when you’re done being ravished by kpop’s finest,” she calls over her shoulder as she turns to leave. “love you, don’t die.”

“mika!”

but she’s already halfway down the hallway, humming something that suspiciously sounds like ‘love shot.’

you glance back at baekhyun, cheeks burning, heart rattling behind your ribs.

he’s still holding your wrist, thumb brushing your pulse like he’s trying to soothe it—or match it. a crooked smile tugs at his lips, sheepish and flushed, whether from being caught mid-makeout or just the aftershock of it all.

like he hadn’t planned on you, but now he doesn’t really want to let you go.

his eyes find yours, soft and searching. there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, but he doesn’t flash it like he does on stage or behind cameras. this one’s smaller. real.

he looks… relieved. maybe even a little stunned. like he’s not used to this—you. not just the kiss, not just the body heat, but the connection.

and there’s a flicker of something else in his expression too. not nerves exactly, but hesitation. like part of him is still processing that this is happening at all.

he rubs the back of his neck before reaching for you, voice low and careful. “i’m glad you stayed,” he murmurs, like it’s not something he says often. like it’s heavier than the words suggest.

his hand finds yours again, fingers brushing tentatively over your knuckles before he gently tugs you closer.

then he pulls you back into his lap, arms sliding around your waist, like it’s second nature—but his touch is more tender now. reverent. like he’s scared if he moves too fast, you might disappear.

you settle into him again, heart thudding, lips still tingling from the last kiss.

he exhales into the crook of your neck, voice barely above a whisper. “i-i don’t usually…” he trails off, his hold tightening slightly.

but he doesn’t need to finish.

you already know. 

and that truth—that rare, quiet truth—makes your chest ache in the best way.

you smile, and before you can say something to break the moment, he’s kissing you again.

but it’s different this time.

still hot, still messy, but it lingers. it asks. his mouth moves with reverence, his hands memorizing you, like he’s been starving for touch but terrified of being fed too well.

“woulda been devastated if you left,” he rasps, his lips brushing your ear as he speaks, voice rough and trembling with restraint.

then he nips—right below it. soft and precise. you jolt, hips twitching instinctively in his lap.

his hand moves like it has a destination. slow, deliberate, up the curve of your thigh, under the hem of your skirt. his fingers trail higher—light and teasing at first, but the moment he reaches the warm heat between your legs, everything sharpens.

you gasp.

his fingers still.

there’s a pause, heavy and humming.

you don’t have to see his face to feel the shift—the tension in his body, the hissed breath through his teeth, the unmistakable clench of his jaw when he realizes—

you’re not wearing anything underneath.

his fingers flex, knuckles barely grazing your slick folds.

“shit,” he breathes, almost to himself. “you’ve been sittin’ on me like this this whole time?”

you don’t answer. can’t. your chest is tight, lungs barely remembering how to fill.

he draws his fingers through your arousal, slow and deliberate, collecting the wetness before withdrawing. he brings his hand up, eyes locked on yours. his fingers glisten in the dim light, your slick catching the golden hue as he lifts them to his mouth.

you watch, helpless, as he slides his middle and ring fingers between his lips and sucks them clean.

his eyelids flutter, then flutter open again—gaze dark and fixed on you like he’s starving.

“where have you been all my fucking life?” he breathes, like it’s hurting him, like your taste is something he might never recover from. 

his cock twitches beneath you, hard and heavy beneath the soft cotton of his sweats, straining for more contact—more of you.

you don’t answer him—not with words.

instead, you take his hand in yours, slow and sure, like it belongs to you now. your fingers wrap tight around his wrist as you guide him back down between your thighs, the same fingers still slick from earlier. you spread wider, shameless, hips tilting forward like your body already knows what it wants.

he groans the moment you press his fingers into your soaked heat again—your cunt so wet and eager that he slides in without resistance. 

your back arches, lashes fluttering, a breathy moan spilling from your parted lips as he starts to move.

once.

twice.

a third time—deep, slow, curling just right, the pads of his fingers dragging against every spot that makes you whimper.

he’s watching you like he’s in a trance. like you’ve crawled out of some decadent, filthy dream with your lipgloss smudged and your hips rolling like you’re possessed by pleasure itself. 

his eyes don’t leave your face.

they can’t.

you keep your hand over his, guiding the pace, the depth—controlling him like a toy you know exactly how to play with. his fingers stretch you just right, knuckles brushing your dripping folds, your slick making a mess on both your hands.

then you whimper. soft. broken. 

it shatters him.

you lean in, your lips brushing his while you take those same fingers—wet and warm and still pulsing from where they were buried—and bring them to your mouth. your eyes lock on his, gaze steady, daring.

you part your lips and wrap them around his fingers slowly, deliberately, letting the gloss that still clings to your mouth coat his skin again. your tongue swirls over the pads, collecting your own taste, savoring him. his rings are cold against your lips—a metallic tease compared to the wet heat of your mouth.

his hips twitch beneath you, jaw clenching so hard you see the muscle tick.

he twitches beneath you. hips jerk. his jaw clenches so tight, you see the muscle flicker.

and you don’t stop.

you keep grinding down on him—slow, steady drags of your soaked pussy against his cock, your clit catching on the thick ridge of him through his boxers. the friction is perfect. devastating. addictive.

his eyes darken. voice drops.

“fuck,” he growls again, this time lower, more dangerous. “that’s it.”

suddenly, his grip tightens on your thighs, guiding you off his lap with shaky urgency. you stumble a little, knees weak, and he stands with you—his hand firm at the small of your back, the other sliding down to grab your wrist like he needs you moving now.

“can’t take it anymore,” he mutters, voice hot against your cheek, his breath a mess against your skin.

“i need you,” he growls, voice thick, fraying at the edges. “need to feel you wrapped around me. need to fuck the sweet, messy heaven you made on my fingers straight outta you.”

you whimper—helpless, already unraveling—and before you even register how fast you’re moving, you’re there. the hallway blurs. your hand is still locked in his, his grip unrelenting, like if he lets go now he might not get you back.

your pulse slams behind your ribs. you’re dizzy with how fast everything is unraveling. you follow him on unsteady legs, hips brushing, feet tripping over each other in the rush to get to the bedroom.

he’s not carrying you. he doesn’t have to. because he’s pulling you through the dark with a grip that says come with me. now. 

he reaches the door to his room, throws it open with one swift motion. his eyes burn when they meet yours—dark, wrecked, entirely gone for you.

the door clicks shut behind you.

baekhyun’s on you in the next breath—hands cupping your jaw, mouth crashing into yours like he’s starving for it, for you. there’s no prelude. no hesitation. just heat and teeth and breath, his lips pressed hard against yours as he walks you backward, blindly, toward the bed. he groans into your mouth, dragging you with him like his hands can’t bear to let you go for a second.

the beanie he had on earlier? abandoned on the couch. long gone. forgotten the moment your sweet mouth touched his. his sweater comes off first, pulled over his head with a grunt and tossed somewhere behind him. then his sweatpants, shoved down with one hand, the other still gripping your hip like you might disappear.

you whimper when your back hits the mattress, but he’s already climbing over you—pressing himself between your legs, kissing you like he’s trying to devour the moans from your throat. and fuck, you're giving them to him. whimpers and gasps and needy little sounds he swallows down like they’re fueling him.

you straddle his lap, feel him hard and hot beneath his boxers, the outline of his cock pressing into your soaked panties. your hands explore in desperate sweeps—his toned stomach, the cut of his hips, the way his muscles twitch when you grind down just right.

his hands are everywhere.

on your ass, kneading.

on your tits, squeezing, thumbs circling your nipples through your top until you’re arching into him, chasing the friction.

every stifled moan from your mouth makes him groan harder. every shift of your hips has him whimpering against your lips like he can’t believe this is happening.

you barely register the moment his hand slides down again. his fingers slip under your panties, push past the mess of slick already dripping for him.

two fingers, knuckle-deep, curling perfectly.

you cry out, hips jerking, grinding against the heel of his palm as his fingers fuck up into you—rhythmic, practiced, devastating. his palm rocks against your clit with every motion, and it’s too much. it’s all too much. he’s kissing you the whole time, tongues tangled, teeth clashing, spit messy between your mouths.

you ride his fingers like they’re his cock. pace quickening, hips stuttering, moans breaking against his lips as your thighs start to tremble.

“baek—fuck, i’m gonna!”

“cum for me,” he breathes, lips dragging down your neck. “cum all over my fingers, baby. wanna feel it.”

and you do—with a sharp gasp and a choked sob, your cunt clenches around him, gushing slick onto his hand. he holds you through it, lets you grind it out, rubs your clit as you shake and shiver above him.

he pulls his fingers out slowly, and you whine from the loss—raw, overstimulated.

but he just smirks, lifts his hand to his mouth, and sucks your release from his fingers like it’s honey. eyes on yours the entire time.

before you can catch your breath, he flips you onto your back and spreads your legs wide.

“need my mouth on you. now.”

you gasp as he drops to his knees, throws your legs over his shoulders, and buries his face in your pussy.

he devours you like a man starved—tongue dragging slow and unrelenting through your folds, lips sealed around your clit like he’s trying to memorize the way you taste. every flick is deliberate. every suck sends sparks skittering down your spine. and when he moans into you—low, guttural, wrecked—it vibrates through your core like a detonator.

his hands are ruthless on your thighs, fingers digging deep, spreading you wider like he owns the view between your legs. like he’s earned this. and maybe he has, the way he fucks you open with his mouth—relentless, greedy, like your pussy’s the only thing tethering him to earth.

you come hard. once. then again. and then again, your vision going white at the edges, your voice splintering around his name like a prayer gone hoarse. he barely gives you a second to breathe before he’s back on you, dragging you higher, refusing to let you fall.

he’s obsessed. addicted.

and he’s not hiding it.

he lifts his head just enough to speak, chin wet, lips swollen, eyes glassy with lust. “fuck,” he rasps, eyes locked on the mess he’s made of you. “you see this? see how you’re drippin’ for me? how the fuck am i supposed to stop now?”

his fingers slide back inside—two, then three—stretching you wide, curling deep. he finds your spot like it’s mapped in his muscle memory, like he’s been waiting his whole life to touch you like this. his mouth returns to your clit, licking with slow precision, sucking hard like he needs it to breathe.

“wanna fuckin’ die down here,” he murmurs against you, voice thick and ragged.

you sob his name, thighs trembling around his head, hips trying to jerk away from the overstimulation—but he groans at that. growls at that. hands dragging you closer, grinding his face deeper into your cunt like he’s chasing your next high through sheer force of will.

you cum again—this one violent, toe-curling, shaking so hard your hands can barely find his shirt. but they do. they grab, fist in the collar, tugging him up with desperation.

his mouth crashes to yours, wet and dirty, your slick still shining on his lips. the kiss is obscene. teeth, tongue, need.

and your hand’s already moving—slipping down between your bodies, palming the thick, aching bulge in his boxers.

“want it,” you gasp against his lips. “wanna feel you. want you inside me.”

his eyes darken, jaw clenched, a twitch of disbelief and desperate restraint cracking through his composure.

he exhales, like the words punch the air out of his lungs.

“how can i say no to you?”

his lips are still on yours when he lines himself up—boxers shoved down to his thighs, your legs draped open for him, panties tossed somewhere in the sheets. he strokes himself once, twice, teasing your entrance with the flushed tip of his cock, gliding it through your soaked folds.

“baby…” he groans, forehead pressing to yours. “fuck, you’re so wet.”

you nod, lips parted, eyes barely open. “please, baek. now.”

he pushes in slow—inch by inch, thick and deliberate—letting you take every bit of him, your walls fluttering from how sensitive you still are.

you cry out, spine arching, nails digging into his biceps. he groans, low and strained, like he’s barely holding himself together.

“oh my god,” he breathes, jaw tight, hips shaking as he bottoms out. “you’re fuckin’ squeezin’ me, baby—”

you whimper beneath him, completely overwhelmed—stretching around him, feeling every inch, the fullness dizzying. he stays still for a second, panting into your neck, like he's trying to pull himself back from the edge.

you clench around him again, needing more. needing movement.

he lets out a choked whine, lips brushing your skin, “fuck—feels like heaven,” he groans, voice wrecked. “you do that again and i swear i’m gonna cum just like that.”

your pussy tightens reflexively, and he moans into your throat—raw, helpless, feral.

you whimper again, your hips starting to move on instinct.

he matches your rhythm, slow at first—sensual, deliberate strokes that grind against every sensitive nerve inside you.

the room is humid with breath and want, skin against skin, the slap of his hips against your thighs growing louder as he fucks deeper, faster.

“such a good girl,” he rasps. “takin’ all of me like you were made for it.”

you fall apart again—loud, messy, clinging to him, heels digging in his lower back as your orgasm rips through you.

he fucks you through it, fingers tangled in your hair, kissing your tears away as you tremble and shiver beneath him.

round two hits different.

you’re pulled from sleep by warmth—his breath on your shoulder, the soft drag of his mouth kissing over your skin. 

you stir, barely, and feel his hand cupping your breast, thumb brushing your nipple.

his other arm’s wrapped tight around your waist, fingertips trailing lazy circles down your stomach, then lower. he’s hard again—thick and pulsing against your ass, and he ruts into the curve of your body without even meaning to.

“awake?” he murmurs against your neck.

you hum. “barely.”

“c’mere,” he whispers, rolling you onto your back.

his face is soft in the low light. it must be five a.m.—still dark, sky a velvety blue beyond the hotel windows.

you reach for him, pull him down by the face, and your mouths meet again—slow, sleepy, sensual. he sinks into you with a groan, no warning, no teasing. just raw, aching need.

you gasp into his mouth. he starts thrusting in long, slow rolls, his pelvis grinding against yours at the perfect angle. every stroke sends heat curling in your belly.

he doesn’t say a word—just exhales against your lips like he’s trying to pour everything he feels into that single breath. like if he kisses you any harder, you’ll know what he can’t put into words.

but it’s not enough.

you want more. need more.

your body moves on instinct—pushing him back against the mattress, crawling into his lap with slow, purposeful grace. your knees settle on either side of his hips, skirt riding up, your cunt slick and aching where it hovers just above the thick line of his cock.

his eyes drink you in like he’s never seen anything more stunning. heavy-lidded, lips parted, throat working around a breath he can’t quite catch.

“you’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he whispers, voice low and reverent, his hands sliding up your thighs—gripping, kneading, tracing your skin like it’s holy.

you don’t answer. just sink down, slow and steady, taking him inch by thick, throbbing inch.

his breath punches out of him in a gasp, head thrown back, fingers digging into your hips. “shit—”

you ride him like you own him. hips rolling, bouncing, grinding down until your skin slaps against his with every thrust. the drag of his cock inside you is devastating—too good. too deep. and not nearly enough.

his moans grow ragged, sharp, the sound filthy in your ears. “fuck, baby—just like that. keep goin’. you feel so good—fuck, i’m gonna lose it.”

your hands brace on his chest, nails raking down the sweat-slick fabric of his shirt, chasing another high as your body trembles from the aftershocks. your pussy flutters around him, milking him greedily, overstimulated and still aching for more.

“cum for me again,” he groans, sitting up just enough to mouth at your tits, tongue dragging over your nipple through your top. “wanna feel you fall apart on my cock. wanna feel you drip down my thighs.”

and you do. again. helplessly. a cry ripping from your throat as you fuck yourself through the release, dizzy from how much he fills you. from how deep you need him. from how much you know this is going to ruin you.

and god—he loves it.

“baek—don’t wanna stop,” you pant, nearly sobbing. “feels too good.”

“then don’t,” he growls, gripping your hips so hard they might bruise. “fuck—ride me, baby, don’t stop.”

he thrusts up into you, losing control. the tempo turns messy, hungry, animalistic.

“god, you’re perfect—this pussy, fuck—it’s got me fuckin’ obsessed.”

you throw your head back, mouth open, eyes rolling as he slams up into you.

your cunt flutters around him again—tight, soaked, relentless—and he nearly loses control.

he’s shaking now, jaw locked, muscles flexing under your palms. everything in him winds tighter, like he’s seconds from snapping.

because how the fuck is this real?

he’s never felt like this. never needed someone the way he needs you right now.

he’s obsessed—with the way you smile mid-moan, with the soft whimpers that leave your throat every time he grinds into that perfect spot. your eyes—god, your eyes—rolling back, lashes fluttering like you’re seeing stars. your throat exposed when your head tips back in pleasure, that pretty, vulnerable neck he’s dying to mark up and call his.

it’s too much. too perfect. too you.

and when you fall forward, mouth crashing into his, the kiss is frantic—tongues messy, teeth clashing, like neither of you can get close enough.

your bodies are slick with sweat, pulsing with need, every nerve screaming.

and then he’s cumming. deep, thick, hard. his whole body jerks as he spills into you, hips grinding through the release like he’s trying to brand it into you—his claim, his worship, his fucking downfall.

and in that moment, nothing else exists. just the feel of you around him, shaking and perfect. just the sound of your breath in his ear.

and the quiet, terrifying realization blooming behind his ribs: you’ve already got him.

completely.

the room is quiet now. the only sound is your breathing—shaky, soft, slowing. his, too.

the sheets are kicked halfway down the bed, twisted around your ankles. your body’s still warm, flushed in places, marked in others. the air between you is thick with sweat and sex and something heavier neither of you has named.

baekhyun lies on his side, propped on one elbow. just… watching you. like he can’t not.

he brushes a damp strand of hair off your forehead, knuckles grazing your cheek. your lashes flutter, your lips part like you’re about to say something—maybe something dumb or playful or too honest—but nothing comes out. you just look at him.

and he’s struck silent all over again.

because fuck…

you’re so pretty like this. all wrecked and glowing, skin kissed raw, eyeliner smudged in the corners of your eyes. your lips are swollen from him, your pulse still visible in your neck where the marks are starting to bloom—places he’s already thinking about going back to. again. and again.

it wasn’t supposed to go this far. he was just supposed to party a little. blow off steam. it’s his first solo world tour—he’s been running on fumes and caffeine and pressure for weeks now. last night’s plan was to just fuck around a little, drink, unwind, and then move on to the next city like always.

but then you showed up.

the girl from the tenth row at tonight’s show. the one who danced like she didn’t care who was watching. the same girl he caught standing awkwardly at the bar at his afterparty, trying to act casual like she hadn’t just been screaming his lyrics a few hours earlier.

and now you’re here. in his space.

naked and tangled in his sheets, etched into the quiet of his night like you were always meant to be there. your chest rises and falls beneath blankets he never planned to share, in a city that meant nothing to him yesterday, and now feels like it’ll ache a little every time he thinks of it.

he exhales through his nose, slow and steady, voice soft against the quiet, “you good?”

you nod, lips tugging into a lazy smile, “don’t think i’ll be able to feel my legs for a few days.”

he grins, low and crooked, “yeah, me too. rehearsals are gonna be a bitch tomorrow.”

you both laugh—quiet, breathy, the kind that hums in your chest. and for a while, that’s enough. no words. no pressure to speak.

just stillness. skin against skin.

your fingers drift along the inside of his forearm, lazy and absentminded, like they’re just getting to know the shape of him. his hand rests on your hip like it’s always belonged there, thumb brushing slow circles into your skin—as if he's trying to memorize the curve of you before morning steals this softness away.

then your phone buzzes twice on the nightstand. sharp. insistent. a quiet jolt back to reality.

you glance over and notice the screen lit up, the charging icon glowing in the corner. he must’ve plugged it in for you while you slept.

something about that undoes you a little.

you shift, the weight of the moment settling over your chest. “i should probably go,” you murmur, not really wanting to.

but his hand doesn’t fall away. he just holds you a second longer—fingers tightening at your waist, like he’s still deciding if he’s ready to let you go.

“lemme get you a car home,” he murmurs, still breathless, hand grazing your hip like he’s reluctant to let go.

you nod, rolling onto your back, already feeling the loss of his warmth before he even moves.

he sits up, silent, swinging his legs off the bed and pulling his sweats back on. the soft sound of fabric, the creak of the mattress, the distant hum of the city outside—it all feels louder now.

you slide out of bed, slipping your top back on, fingers fumbling slightly at the hem. your panties are nowhere to be found. your heels are waiting by the door like they knew this was coming.

neither of you speaks as you both dress, the silence not uncomfortable—just full. full of everything unspoken. full of the way your body still aches from him.

you’re slipping your heels on by the door when something soft lands against your back.

you turn just in time to catch it—his hoodie. the same cozy grey one he wore to the afters earlier, still warm from his body.

you blink at him, lips parting, chest already tight with something you can’t name.

the hoodie smells like him—clean skin, faint shampoo, and something unmistakably you clinging to the fabric now. you pull it over your head. it swallows you instantly—the sleeves hanging past your hands, the hem brushing your thighs, heavy with the weight of the night still lingering in every thread.

his eyes follow the movement, lingering as you adjust it over your hips. 

he doesn’t say a word, but there’s a shift in his face—softened at the edges. like something quiet cracked open inside him.

he grabs the suite keycard from the nightstand and slips it into his back pocket like it's second nature. you’re still tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie, swimming in it, heart doing something stupid and fluttery in your chest when he glances back at you.

you follow him toward the door, and your hand just—finds his. like it was always meant to. he doesn’t say anything, just threads his fingers through yours and squeezes once. you don’t need words. not right now.

the hallway is quiet. like 3 a.m. quiet. the kind that makes everything feel softer, heavier. the elevator dings, and you both step inside. you expect silence. maybe a head-tilt goodbye. instead, his mouth is on yours again before the doors even close.

it’s slower this time. deep. his fingers slip into your hair, tug just enough to tilt your face up so he can really kiss you. and god, he does. like he means it. like he’s trying to burn the shape of your mouth into his memory just in case this really is the last time. your hands fist in his tee, your knees go a little weak. you sigh into it, drunk off him again.

there’s so much in this kiss. things neither of you planned. things he’s not saying. things you’re definitely gonna spiral about when you’re home and alone in your bed.

the elevator chimes again. he doesn’t let go immediately. just bites down on your bottom lip—gentle but deliberate—before he finally pulls away, breath still catching in his throat.

he keeps your hand in his as you both walk through the empty lobby. his thumb rubs slow circles over your knuckles, and it’s so stupidly sweet you don’t know what to do with yourself. outside, the air is crisp. the city’s winding down, the sky a soft blur of navy and gold. and the ache in your chest? yeah. that’s definitely real.

there’s a black truck waiting at the curb, engine humming low, windows tinted. you kind of hate how real it makes everything feel.

baekhyun walks you to the car without saying much, still holding your hand like it’s second nature now—like letting go would feel too final. when you reach the door, he opens it for you himself, his palm brushing the small of your back in that quiet, anchoring way. like part of him still isn't sure he wants you to leave.

you’re about to climb in when he pauses.

“i’ve got a couple more shows in the city,” he says, voice low and unreadable. his eyes flick up to meet yours. “if you’re around… and feel like crashing another afters.”

your heart stutters.

you look at him—white tee wrinkled from where you had your fists curled into it in the elevator, blonde hair still messy from your hands, from his own. he looks like no time has passed at all. like he could pull you back upstairs right now and you wouldn’t even hesitate.

you smile. “maybe.”

he nods, once. quiet. like that one word told him everything he needed to hear.

then he helps you into the car, his fingertips grazing your bare thigh as you settle into the seat. a soft touch. a question he doesn’t ask out loud.

he shuts the door gently behind you.

as the truck pulls away, you lean your cheek against the window, breath fogging up the glass. you try not to look back.

but of course you do.

he’s still there.

hands tucked into the pockets of his grey sweats, white hoodie sleeves pushed up, mouth unreadable. watching you go like he’s trying to memorize it—just in case you don’t come back.

your apartment feels too quiet when you walk in. 

not peaceful. not calm.

just quiet in a way that makes the whole night feel like something you imagined. like you’re stepping out of a dream barefoot.

you toe off your heels by the door, ankles aching, thighs sore in the best, most sinful way. your lips are still tender—kiss-swollen, tingling—and you’re swimming in his hoodie. oversized and worn soft, sleeves covering your hands, the hem brushing your upper thighs with every step.

your bag slips from your shoulder and lands somewhere near the kitchen counter. you don’t bother picking it up.

your phone buzzes the second you set it down. the screen lights up with notifications in a neat little stack:

instagram story likes. 

a dm from some guy you danced near at gravity. 

a flurry of messages screaming “YOU WENT TO REVERIE?! SO JEALOUS”

and then, of course—mika.

meeks 🦋

BITCH WHEN U GET HOME I NEED A PLAY-BY-PLAY!!!!! i saw the way he looked at u omfg i am unwell

you laugh under your breath, thumbs hovering over the screen—still unsure how to even begin explaining what the fuck just happened.

but then another notification rolls in from a contact you don’t remember saving.

B.

your brows pinch in confusion. you don’t remember saving that contact. 

you tap it open.

the first thing you see is a photo. a crisp, perfectly lit shot of an all access pass for the next two reverie shows in your city… and a sleek black suite keycard resting beside it on hotel bedsheets you recognize all too well.

beneath it, a message:

thought you might wanna crash again

your stomach flips.

you stare at the image, your thumb hovering over it like it might disappear if you blink too hard.

he must’ve done it—added his number into your phone sometime between kisses, between rounds, when you were half-dozing on his chest, legs tangled in the sheets.

quiet. sneaky. baekhyun.

a laugh escapes—disbelieving, giddy, a little breathless.

you bring the phone to your lips and smile, heart racing all over again. not from the concert. not from the alcohol. 

from this.

from the realization that you almost didn’t go.

you were tired. you were going to call it a night. but mika had to talk you into one more stop—just one more before heading home.

if you’d said no…

if you’d gone to bed like you planned...

you wouldn’t be here now, wearing his hoodie, smelling like his sheets, rereading a text from him.

your fingers hover over the screen for a second longer before tapping the heart on the image. 

you type back:

guess i’m yours for the next two nights then

send.

you sink into the couch, the weight of the night finally settling in your bones. you bury your face in the collar of his hoodie, still warm, still smelling like him—sweet skin and sweat and something that clings.

and for the first time all night, you’re so fucking glad you didn’t go home.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ a/n ꒱ ˎˊ˗ i think i've got my edge back 😭😭😭😭 this one's for my fellow delulu girliez, hope ya enjoyed this as much as i enjoyed writing it hehe <333333333

[ceyanabbiolo]

𝑮𝑹𝑼𝑫𝑮𝑬 | 𝑪𝑯𝑹𝑰𝑺 𝑺𝑻𝑼𝑹𝑵𝑰𝑶𝑳𝑶 [20]

Welcome to Vivianne Hall, in which....

Julianna De Francis is put together, perfect, and everything Christopher Sturniolo isn’t. He’s reckless, cocky, and the one person who’s always gotten under her skin. Raised in the same elite world but constantly at odds, their rivalry turns into something deeper as tension sparks into something neither expected. In a world obsessed with appearances, falling for each other could cost them everything...

Warnings: angst

Chapter 20: Never Felt so Alone

── .✦ CHRISTOPHER

I stood frozen, the sound of her broken sobs still echoing in my ears as she disappeared into the darkness. She didn’t even look back.

My chest tightened.

“I take it you went through with it.”

The voice came from behind me, sharp and familiar. I didn’t need to turn to know it was my father.

I clenched my jaw but said nothing.

“That was the right decision, Chris,” he said calmly, like we were talking business. “You need to keep your head clear. You have a future.”

Slowly, I turned to face him. My eyes burned, not from tears, because I refused to let them fall, but from the weight of what I’d just done. 

“I didn’t really have a choice, did I?” I said bitterly. “You made sure of that.”

He sighed, stepping forward and reaching for my shoulder, like that would somehow make this okay.

“Chris, son—”

I stepped back.

“No.” My voice was low, shaking with anger. “You got what you wanted. I ended it. She’s gone, and you win. So now do me a favor and leave me alone.”

His face darkened, but I didn’t wait for a response. I stormed past him, every step heavier than the last. I didn’t even make it halfway down the hall before I pressed my back against the wall and let my head fall back.

I had done what he asked. 

But it didn’t feel right.  It felt like I’d just ripped out the one thing that made life feel real. And I let her think it was because I didn’t love her actually love her. 

I couldn’t breathe in that place anymore.

The walls felt like they were closing in on me—the lights too bright, the air too thick, the voices too loud. My father’s words still rang in my ears like poison.

I walked out of the hall without looking back.

The cold night air hit me hard as the doors shut behind me, but it didn’t numb the ache in my chest. 

I didn’t even bother calling for the driver. Screw the car, screw the schedule, screw all of it. I just walked.

My footsteps were heavy, each one echoing the weight pressing against my chest. I didn’t know where I was going—didn’t care. Streetlights blurred past as I shoved my hands into the pockets of my blazer, head low, tie loose around my neck like a noose I hadn’t bothered to tighten.

I didn't know where the hell I was.

The streets were quieter on this side of town. Somewhere outside the city’s spotlight. Less polished. Less clean. More real.

My shoes hit the cracked concrete of a worn-out sidewalk, and finally, I saw a narrow, rusted sign buzzing weakly with a flickering red neon that read Buzz. A dive bar tucked between a closed laundromat and a boarded-up corner store.

Exactly what I needed.

I pushed the door open. The smell hit me first—cheap beer, smoke, and something fried. Inside, there were maybe four other people: two old men playing darts, a couple slumped in a booth, and a bartender who barely looked up when I entered.

The place was dim. Worn-down wood paneling lined the walls, and a jukebox in the corner quietly played some '90s rock song I didn’t recognize.

I slid onto the barstool, elbows hitting the sticky wood of the counter. 

The bartender, a guy in his 40s with a salt-and-pepper beard and tired eyes, finally gave me a once-over.

“You look like you need a hell of a drink,” he muttered.

I let out a humorless laugh. “Make it a double.”

He nodded and poured me something dark—whiskey, probably. I didn’t ask.

I downed the first one in seconds. Felt it burn all the way down. And for a moment, that pain was better than everything else clawing at my chest.

“Another?” he asked.

I just nodded.

The second went slower. I sat there, swirling the amber liquid in the glass, staring at the cracked mirror behind the counter like maybe I’d see something useful staring back.

But I didn’t.

Just the same guy who'd ruined everything.

The guy who’d let his father back him into a corner and called it a choice. The guy who had everything and still managed to feel completely empty.

I gripped the edge of the bar with one hand, my knuckles white.

“I didn’t want to hurt her,” I muttered.

The bartender raised an eyebrow. “Girlfriend?”

“Yeah.” I stared at the ice melting in my glass. “Was.”

There was a long silence between us. He didn’t pry. Maybe he saw too many of us walk in with haunted eyes and twisted regrets. Maybe he just knew some things were too broken to fix.

I ordered another.

And another.

By the fourth, my head felt heavy. The world spun just a little when I blinked, but the ache in my chest? Still there. Still loud. Still screaming her name in every beat of my pulse.

I leaned forward, resting my forehead against the bar, fingers curling into fists.

I hated myself.  For letting her go. For looking at her with so much love and still walking away. For knowing she would never understand why I did it, because even I didn’t understand why the hell I let him win. And for a second, I even contemplated giving up on the academy before I even started. 

The bartender walked past me again and muttered something under his breath.

“What was that?” I asked without lifting my head.

“I said,” he repeated, placing a water next to me, “whatever she was, you’re gonna feel this for a long damn time.”

I knew that. 

I also knew she was probably going to hate me. Forever this time. 

And I’ve never felt so alone. 

Flashback [continuation of night before break] 

“Do you have to go?” Jules mumbled, her voice muffled against my skin as she clung to me, arms wrapped tightly around my waist like she didn’t want to let go.

I ran a hand down her back, sighing. “You’re acting like you don’t have to be in a car in a few hours too,” I murmured, voice still thick with sleep.

She nodded lazily against my bare chest, her body warm and soft against mine. Her hair tickled my jaw, and I didn’t want to move either. I didn’t want to let go. Not yet.

“My father apparently wants to talk to me too,” I added, brushing my fingers through her messy strands.

She tilted her head just slightly. “About what?”

I shrugged. “No idea,” I mumbled, kissing the top of her head. “Probably something annoying.”

We lay there in silence for a bit, tangled up in each other. Her fingers traced small, sleepy patterns on my skin, and I felt myself sinking back into the warmth of the moment.

Then—

BZZZ! BZZZZZ! BWAAAAH BWAAAAAAH!

The blaring siren of my alarm shattered the stillness.

“CHRIS!” Jules shot up like she’d been electrocuted, eyes wide in horror. “Why the hell do you have a fire alarm as your alarm clock?!”

I groaned, fumbling on the nightstand for my phone. “Sorry—sorry, it’s the only thing that actually wakes me up.”

“Yeah, and gives me a heart attack,” she muttered, hand on her chest as she glared at me.

I finally silenced the alarm and turned back to her, only to freeze.

The blanket had slipped down her front in all the chaos, exposing her chest completely. Her soft pink nipples stood out against her skin, and for a second, I forgot how to think. Again, cause I had seen them in action, like literally a few hours ago. 

I stared—then quickly looked up at her face.

Her eyes widened as she realized, and she squeaked, yanking the blanket up to cover herself. Her cheeks flared crimson.

“Chris!” she scolded, hiding her face behind the edge of the blanket.

I grinned a little, still caught up in the warmth of the moment. “Sorry,” I murmured, brushing some hair out of her face. “They’re just… too pretty to ignore.”

She rolled her eyes and hid her face in my chest, but I could feel the smile forming on her lips.

We lay there again for a second, but the peace didn’t last long. The ticking clock on the nightstand was too loud now, like it was reminding me I didn’t belong here. Not for long anyway.

I sighed. “I have to go.”

Jules clung tighter to me, burying her face deeper. “Do you really?”

God, I didn’t want to. Everything in me wanted to stay tangled up in her until the world forgot about us.

“Yeah,” I said softly, not really wanting to let go.. 

She made a small noise of protest, and I gently pried her arms from around me.

Her fingers lingered, and mine did too. But eventually, I got up from the bed and started getting dressed, each piece of clothing feeling heavier than the last.

Jules sat up slowly behind me, the sheet wrapped around her body, her hair messy, and her eyes still glazed with sleep.

I glanced back at her, imprinting the image in my mind.

“I’ll text you,” I said, placing a chaste kiss on her lips. 

She nodded silently, and I could tell she didn’t want me to leave as well. 

I picked up my phone, gave her one last look, and walked out the door—every step heavier than the last.

The hallway outside her suite felt cold and unfamiliar, like I’d just walked out of a dream I wasn’t ready to wake up from. I forced myself to keep moving. I had maybe thirty minutes tops to pull myself together—shower, grab my small luggage, and meet the car waiting out front.

The water hit my skin like ice despite the heat. My thoughts were racing. Her scent still clung to me. Her voice. Her skin. That damn look in her eyes when I said goodbye.

I changed into something more comfortable—a grey hoodie, joggers, and my sneakers—then tossed everything else into the duffle without much thought.

By the time I stepped outside the Vivianne Hall boys' dorm entrance, the black car was already waiting. 

 I opened the door and climbed into the backseat. Matt was already inside, scrolling through his phone, earbuds in. Nick was next to him, looking out the window.

Neither of them said much. Just nodded at me. 

The driver pulled away from the curb, and soon the city started to fade behind us.

The first few minutes of the drive were quiet, nothing but the soft hum of the engine and the occasional swipe of Matt’s thumb on his screen.

The driver eased into traffic, and soon the towering skyline melted away behind us, replaced by open roads and dim highway lights flickering against the wet pavement.

For a while, no one spoke. The only sounds were the low purr of the engine and the quiet click every time Matt scrolled on his phone.

I leaned my elbow against the window, resting my head against my knuckles, eyes following the raindrops sliding down the glass. They trailed slowly, curving like they had nowhere to be.

And for a second… I let myself smile.

It was faint, barely there—but it was real. 

Because all I could think about was her.

The softness in her voice. The way she looked when I woke up next to her this morning. The way she clung to me, like she didn’t want me to leave either. 

Last night didn’t feel rushed. Or wrong. Or like something I’d regret.

It felt right.

And for once, that scared the hell out of me less than I thought it would.

“Dude,” Matt muttered beside me, breaking the silence. “You’re literally smiling to yourself like a psycho.”

I let out a soft laugh under my breath, shaking my head but not bothering to defend myself. Matt didn’t need an explanation—he knew me well enough to understand when I wasn’t ready to talk.

By the time the two-hour drive finally ended, the sky had shifted from grey to almost black, a quiet drizzle still clinging to the air. The car slowed as the gates opened, revealing the familiar stone driveway that curved toward the house we grew up in.

Our childhood home looked exactly the same—too big, too polished, too quiet.

As soon as the car came to a stop, one of the staff stepped forward to unload our luggage. He offered a polite nod, already dragging our bags toward the front doors.

Matt and I got out, stretching our legs. Nick was already inside, probably raiding the kitchen or trying to avoid our dad altogether.

When we stepped into the grand foyer, the warm scent of vanilla and something freshly baked filled the air. And there she was—our mom, standing in the middle of it all with that same gentle smile she always wore, her arms wide open.

“There’s my boys,” she beamed.

She wrapped Matt and Nick in a quick hug before turning to me. 

Chris,” she said softly, cupping my face for a second, “Your father’s waiting for you. He wants to speak with you in his office.”

I held her just a little longer than I probably should have. Her perfume smelled like home. 

“I missed you, too,” I murmured before pulling away.

Her hand brushed over my arm as I stepped back.

“Go easy in there, okay?” she said quietly, with a look that told me she already knew whatever was coming wouldn’t be pleasant.

I gave her a nod, jaw tightening slightly as I turned down the hallway.

The walk to my father’s office felt longer than usual, my footsteps echoing through the hall like they didn’t belong. I stopped in front of the heavy oak door, stared at it for a beat, then finally knocked.

“Come in,” came his deep voice from the other side.

I pushed the door open slowly, stepping into the room that smelled like expensive cologne, leather, and power.

He was sitting behind his desk, as expected—dark suit, silver cufflinks, whiskey glass in hand. He didn’t bother standing.

“Close the door,” he said, not looking up.

So I did.

The door shut behind me with a dull thud, sealing me in with the tension that always seemed to live in this room. I stepped forward slowly, my footsteps muffled by the thick carpet.

“I saw your message,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “Is everything good?”

My father finally looked up from his glass, a small, unreadable smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The kind that never quite reached his eyes.

Without a word, he reached into the drawer beside him and pulled out a thick envelope—official-looking, sealed, weighty.

He held it out across the desk like a peace offering. Or maybe a trap.

I hesitated, then picked it up. The weight of it felt significant, even before I knew what was inside.

Tearing it open, I unfolded the first page, my eyes scanning the heading.

“Congratulations, Christopher Owen Sturniolo. You have officially been selected for the National Basketball Association Academy Draft Training Program…”

I froze.

My eyes lifted from the page to meet his.

“This… this is real?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, a slow smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “Top-tier prospects only. They don’t waste their time.”

I stared down at the letter again, rereading it just to make sure I wasn’t imagining things. My heart pounded in my chest, thudding against my ribs with a force I hadn’t felt in years—not since the last time I played for something that mattered. 

“You always had the skill,” my father said, standing now, walking around the desk to face me directly. “It was just a matter of when you’d stop wasting it.”

I clenched the paper in my hand, jaw tightening slightly.

“I wasn’t wasting it,” I muttered. “I just… had other things going on.”

His eyes narrowed, tone sharpening like it always did when he didn’t agree.

“Business will always be there. But this?” he said, tapping the paper in my hand. “This window is short. You either take it now, or you never get another shot.”

I stayed quiet, the letter burning in my grip.

He leaned closer.

“You’ll leave for New York after graduation. Combine training starts right after.”

Everything I’d done—every brutal hour in the gym, every late night, every sacrifice—had been for this moment. And yet, as I stood there with that letter in my hands, my chest wasn’t filled with the adrenaline rush I’d always imagined. It was quiet. Too quiet. A part of me had been waiting for this my whole life… but it didn’t feel the way I thought it would.

“But that’s what I needed to talk to you about,” my father said, his voice calm and even.

I looked up from the letter. “What do you mean?”

He gestured for me to sit. I didn’t move at first, but eventually I dropped into the chair across from his desk.

“I’ve been watching you lately,” he began. “You’ve been… distracted.”

My eyes narrowed. “Distracted?”

“Yes,” he said bluntly. “Your focus. Your discipline. It’s not as sharp as it used to be. And I think I know why.”

I could already feel where this was going. My jaw clenched.

“It’s Jules, isn’t it? Defrancis’s daughter?” he continued. “Ever since she came into the picture, your head’s been somewhere else. You’re not locked in like you used to be. You’ve been skipping practices, dodging calls.  That’s not the son I raised.”

“Don’t do that,” I muttered. “Don’t make this about her.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Chris, I’m not saying she’s a bad person. I’ve known the family for a long time to know that Julianna is a well-rounded girl,” she sighed. “But I’m saying she’s a distraction. You’ve worked too hard to get to this point—do you really want to throw it away because of a girl?”

My blood boiled. I gripped the arms of the chair.

“She’s not just ‘a girl,’” I said coldly.

“She is when she’s standing between you and everything you’ve built.”

“She hasn’t stood in my way. She’s been the only reason I’ve even felt sane lately.”

My father’s mouth thinned. “That’s exactly the problem. Depending on another when you’ve got stuff going on isn’t good.”

Silence fell over the room. The offer letter weighed heavily in my hands, but it was his words that hit hardest. I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

“You’ve been given an opportunity people would kill for,” he added. “Don’t ruin it.”

I stared at him for a moment, longer than I probably should’ve. Then I dropped the letter onto the desk and stood.

“I’m not breaking up with her.”

His expression didn’t even twitch at first. Just this cold, controlled silence that settled between us like a storm brewing.

“You’re not listening,” he finally said, voice low. “This is your future, Chris. Not a high school romance. This is the NBA. The kind of life people dream about. And you’re willing to gamble that for what? Feelings?”

“It’s not a gamble,” I said firmly. “I’ve never felt more sure about anything. I’m not giving her up. Not now. Not ever.”

He stood too, his chair scraping back sharply. “You think love is going to help you when you’re benched? When do you miss your shot? When your numbers fall and the media tears you apart?”

“I think she’s the only person who sees me outside of all this pressure you and everyone else shoved on me,” I snapped. “She’s the only part of my life that’s actually mine.”

He laughed once, cold, bitter. “No. She’s the part that’s going to cost you everything.”

“You don’t know her.”

“Because I don’t need to. I see what she’s doing to you. I see how she’s taken the edge off. You were forced, and now you’re soft.”

My chest rose sharply, my fists tightening at my sides.

“I’m not soft,” I growled. 

His jaw clenched, and for a second, I thought he might throw something.

“You walk out of this room and choose her over your career, don’t expect me to clean up the mess when it falls apart.” 

His voice stopped me again.

“You think this is about love?” he snapped, sharp enough to cut through the air. “This isn’t just about you, Chris. This is about the family. The name. The legacy we built. I’m not letting you ruin that.”

I turned slowly, jaw tight. “Ruin it how?”

“If you slip up, you think that won’t fall back on us? The media doesn’t care about your feelings. They’ll tear the Sturniolo name down brick by brick.”

He stepped closer, pointing a finger at the drafting letter still on the desk. “Do you know how many years I’ve spent putting you in a position for this? The coaches I called? The training I paid for? Do you think that was for fun?”

“I never asked for that,” I said, voice cold. 

“No,” he said, low and dangerous. “But now you owe us. And this—this moment—is where you decide what kind of man you’re going to be.”

I stared him down, my chest tight, but he didn’t flinch.

“You either take this seriously. Cut off distractions and focus. Or you can walk away from everything we built. The name. The money. The connections. I’ll pull your name from every investor’s mouth, and you’ll be just another guy with a good jump shot and no future.” 

My throat felt dry, but I didn’t speak. He wasn’t finished.

“I will not bankroll a scandal if you mess this up. If you stay with her and it costs you your place in the academy, your contract, or so much as a stat drop—I’m done. We’re done. You want love? You better be willing to lose everything for it.” ​

The silence that followed cracked like glass in my ears.

“You’d really throw me away for that?” I said, voice low.

His eyes didn’t soften. “I’d throw away anything that threatens this family’s power.”

And suddenly, I realized something I never wanted to admit: he didn’t want me to succeed for me. He wanted me to succeed for the Sturniolo brand. And Jules? She wasn’t part of that plan.

My stomach turned, and my hands were shaking—but not from fear. From the weight of everything pressing down.

I swallowed hard, my jaw clenched as I stepped closer, my voice low but firm.

“Mom loves Jules,” I said. “And she’d never let you do this to me. She’d never stand by while you try to force me to choose between the girl I love and the future you want.”

His expression flickered—barely—but I saw it. The twitch in his jaw, the way his nostrils flared. He hated it when I brought her up. Because he knew it was true. 

“She understands things you never have,” I went on. “She’d never threaten to cut me off over something like this. You think she'd let you pull everything from me just because I'm not some emotionless machine who follows every rule you have?”

“You think your mother runs this family?” he snapped, the heat returning to his voice. “You think her sentiment is going to save you when your grades drop or you get benched because you’re too busy chasing a Defrancis?” 

I didn’t flinch. “She might not run it, but she sees me. And she'd never be proud of you for doing this to your own son.” 

His eyes darkened. “I don’t care what your mother thinks,” he said coldly. “I’d do the same thing to Matt and Nick if I had to. You boys were raised in this legacy to uphold it, not to tear it down with reckless decisions.”

I felt something in me snap. A quiet, sharp crack—like a warning before the whole structure gives in.

“So what if we all left?” I asked, my voice suddenly eerily calm. “What if Matt, Nick, and I all walked away from this family, the business, and you? What if we left you standing here with nothing?”

For the first time, he hesitated. But only for a second.

“That would never happen,” he said, brushing the idea away like it was dust on his shoulder. “You boys are too smart. You know the taste of money is too much to ever walk away from it.”

I didn’t respond at first. Because the truth was—he wasn’t wrong. We had been raised in this life. It was ingrained in us like muscle memory. It was safe, I’d never actually known a world without it.

And he knew it. That was the worst part.

He stepped forward. “This family doesn’t bend for feelings, Chris. It doesn’t pause for distractions. You’re either all in or you’re out. And if you’re out, you lose everything.”

My fists clenched at my sides.

“You can draft, and you can train. That's how you’ll win championships,” he continued, voice hardening. “But not if you let some girl cloud your judgment. You know I’m right.”

I looked away, jaw tight.

“I’m not losing Jules,” I muttered.

“Then marry her in ten years—when you're settled. When you’ve earned your place.”

I looked up sharply.

He turned back around slowly, his tone cold but composed. “I have nothing against the girl or her family. In fact, if anything, it would be a beneficial marriage in the long run. Defrancis has real estate ties, their press reputation—it would serve us well.” He raised a brow. “But not if you’re out here playing house before you’ve proven yourself. Not if you’re seen prioritizing her over your responsibilities. That’s not love, that’s weakness.”

My teeth clenched. “You really think this is about image?”

He stepped closer, eyes narrowed. “Everything is about image, Christopher. That’s the world we built. What do you think happens when the face of the Sturniolo family starts missing meetings, skipping brand events, and ignoring calls? You think investors won’t talk? You think clients won’t back out?”

I stayed silent, staring him down.

“You want her? Fine. No one’s stopping you from loving who you love. But the moment that feelings threaten this family’s reputation or power—that’s when it becomes a problem.” His voice sharpened. “So, wait and do it properly, because right now, you’re dragging both of you down.”

He paused in the doorway, glancing over his shoulder one last time. His expression was unreadable—stone cold, lips tight, voice calm in a way that made it all feel worse.

“My words are final, Christopher.”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.

He nodded once, like he’d already made peace with it. “You can be angry. You can sulk. But it won’t change what needs to be done.”

And with that, he stepped out and shut the door behind him—quiet, controlled, like the conversation hadn’t just ripped something out of me.

He said, final. Like I had no say in my life. Like Jules was a problem he’d already decided how to solve.

And I was just expected to fall in line.

READ ALL RELEASED PARTS HERE!

[a/n: I loved reading all of your crashout comments in the last chapter lmaoo, anyway... ALSO I have no idea how the hell you get drafted for the NBA, so I sort of improvised, teehee! Like and reblog! mwah i love you] - ceyana

tags: @chynapleasehavemercy @sweetheartsturn @mattspillowprincess @oopsiedaisydeer @chriss-slutt @sturnsflirt @idkwhatthisis2009 @fmg05 @enviedparty101 @malox12 @chrissturniolodailysluts @ribbonlovergirl @kitty-meow-meow44 @jaybirdie34 @mattscore @mattsfrenchtoast @sturnsobsessed21 @kingofeverythingmb @courta13 @slvtf0rchr1s @mattspillowprincess @thewizardfall @sturnsfluff @ifamils @le4hsblog @carrielovesmatt @mattysmrwrinkleton @sturnsplatter @idkwhatimdoinghereeeeeee @ellssturn @meatballlover10 @sagesturns @kiarasmaybank @malox12 @mattsdivaa @wesj11 @headzgonewest @ilovesamgoldencoch @rlstarfiire @charmersturns @eden1217 @pair-of-pantaloons @beardedbernard @lilianasturnsz @tropicfessed @spookysturnz @matchaandmattlovi

Comment taglist on this post to be added!

[countrychipcookie]

Okay, now.... how about... how they'll react if we got badly sick, not a simple sickness, like, we coughing blood ? For the cookies : Shadow Milk, Pure Vanilla, Wind Archer and Caramel arrow cookies please !!

Hehehe I do love angst. Sorry in advance to the Wind Archer and Caramel Arrow fans

Their Reaction to You Being Sick

Shadow Milk, Pure Vanilla, Wind Archer, Caramel Arrow

TW: Major character death, injury, sickness

Shadow Milk

In all the years eons he’d been alive, Shadow Milk can’t remember a moment he was more terrified. The night you woke him up with a knock on his door, saying something about pain and cold. When he had touched your cheek and instead he felt his fingertips burn. How you had collapsed in his arms.

Now here he was, hovering close to your bed as his minions tended to you. He was rigid, observing like a solder. Nothing could go wrong.

Some time between sleeping and treatment, you had turned your head to look at him. “Are you okay?”

He scoffed at the ridiculous question. “Why are you asking me that? You’re the one who’s dying.”

As soon as the word left his mouth, his eyes widened. Dying. He hadn’t meant to say it. He should have never spoken his fears out loud. You don’t seem too phased with a weak shake of your head. “I won’t die.”

“I know.” He mumbled, fiddling with his sleeves before looking up. The doubt in his eyes was visible. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” You said, mostly to comfort him. A small smile graced your lips. “I can’t leave you alone after all.”

As much as he wanted to take comfort in your words, he felt the pit of dread grow. There was a chance you could leave him alone. He’d been alone for centuries. He’d never admit it, but he was terrified of ending up that way again.

“You’re hurting.” You continued, ever observant. “I can see it.”

A bitter smile tugged at his lips and he let out a huffed breath. “You shouldn’t be worried about me, love.”

“But I am.” Your voice is stern as you reach out for his hand. He took it without question. “I know you hide behind a facade of being perfectly, morbidly happy. But I know what you really feel. You hate being lonely. You’re struggling.”

“Damn you.” He muttered, turning his face away. “I’m supposed to be the greatest liar in the universe. Why can you see through them?”

I shrugged, squeezing his hand. “Maybe I’m more powerful than you think I am.”

“You better be. And use some of that power to heal, okay?”

You nodded, pulling your hand away to rest it under your cheek. Your eyes fluttered shut as sleep room over once more. Shadow Milk didn’t move an inch. He waited until you were asleep to say what he was really feeling.

“Get better, okay? Because you’re right. I can’t lose you. You’re the only one holding me together.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Pure Vanilla

Ever since the cake monster attacks had increased on their crumbling little refuge, Pure Vanilla hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep. It seemed like every minute another villager was injured or sick. A line had started to form outside of his tent for the more minor injuries and a room stuffed full of patients were waiting on him, bedridden. There was no time for rest.

Pure Vanilla was known for his placidity and unwavering composure, but he was beginning to crack. He managed to keep a smile and a hopeful gleam in his eye, but he couldn’t deny the frustration that was building inside of him. Not at the sick and injured, no. Never at his subjects. However the situation they were in managed to irl him in just the slightest.

He had felt himself beginning to waver the day you were brought back to camp by Black Raisin Cookie. The two of you had been fending off monsters in the nearby area, protecting the camp with all of your strength. That day you had been distracted. It was his fault.

Your divided attention caused your movements to slow, allowing an opening for an ambush. The cake monsters, commanded by Dark Enchantress herself, managed to overwhelm you until Black Raisin was able to come to your aid.

The weight on Pure Vanilla’s shoulders felt heavier. He was the reason you were distracted. It was his fault.

Earlier that day, you had found his staff unwrapped. You had seen that one eyed staff in paintings. The Ancient hero, Pure Vanilla’s staff. So how was it that your dear healer had managed to find it?

You had confronted him later and with enough push, managed to find the truth. Part of you had always known your healer was special, but you had never imagined it would be to this degree. You had simply run out of the tent in shock. That was the last he has seen of you until you weaker back injured.

With a soft breath, he pushed himself off of the stool he had been sitting on. He was going to check on the more severe cases. He was going to check on you.

He made his way to the makeshift infirmary and sat by your side. His had found yours rather quickly, and he closed his eyes, willing his last bits of energy to heal you. But before he could, he felt your hand leave his.

“Don’t.” Your voice was hoarse and you forced your eyes to stay open. “Don’t use it on me.”

Pure Vanilla’s brow furrowed, a frown tugging at his lips. “Why not? I can heal you.”

“If you heal me now, you won’t be able to heal the others.” You coughed, your face screwing up in pain. “Please, focus on them first.”

“You are no less important than they are. Please let me heal you.” He pleaded, reaching for your hand once more. “It’s the least I can do for keeping my secret.”

But you simply shook your head. “I pledged my life to protect these people. They are the priority, even with healing. And what do you mean about your secret?”

“You could’ve told the camp who I truly am. You could’ve told them that I’ve been… holding out on them.” Pure Vanilla looked down, the weariness showing in his eyes for the first time.

“You haven’t been holding out on anyone.” You squeezed his hand. “Even heroes have their limits. And I believe you kept your identity a secret for good reason. I trust you.”

“You are too good.” He smiled softly, bringing your hand to his lips. “And yet you refuse to let me help you.”

“You can heal me once the other are save. I beg of you to help them first.”

As much as he was tempted to inform your pleas and heal you right then and there, Pure Vanilla respected you too much to do so. Besides, you were strong. Strong enough to survive this injury. He nodded, lowering your hand and moving up to kiss your forehead instead. “As you wish.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Wind Archer

It was another day that Pomegranate Cookie had crossed into the forest. Somehow, she always sensed when he was at his worst. Like always, she had tracked him down and spoken to him about joining their forces. Joining Dark Enchantress Cookie.

He would be lying if he had said the words weren’t getting to him. She promised a world where the forest could flourish without other kingdoms around to destroy it. For many months, his forest had been plagued by pollution from those other kingdom, poisoning everything he loved. One of those things was you.

When Wind Archer stepped through the door, he set down his bow and searched for you. Somewhere deep inside him dared to hope you’d be walking about outside, but the rational part of him knew that wasn’t the case. You had been sick for nearly a month with no sign of improvement. You, a spirit of the forest, were tied to every living plant and animal. You were also tied to their pain.

You were lying in bed, looking deathly pale. Dark veins crawled over your skin like you had been poisoned, which technically you had. Wind Archer sat down next to you, brushing your hair away from your face before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“How are you feeling, Sunflower?” He murmured, lying down next to you so he could tuck himself into your side. This close to you, he could hear you struggling to breathe. That alone nearly sent him back to Pomegranate Cookie who was surely still lurking.

“My love.” The words came out painfully as you did your best to turn and look at him. “It’s getting worse.”

He felt a pant in his chest, pushing himself up to him elbow to look at you better. “Worse?”

“I don’t know how much lo-.”

“No.” He cut you off immediately, his face hardening. “I promised you I’d find a way to heal you, remember?”

You could only nod, too weak to argue. Wind Archer pulled you closer, burying his face into your hair. His mind wandered back to Pomegranate Cookie’s offer. He had dedicated his whole life to purifying the darkness. Could he truly become it instead?

When he looked back down, you had already fallen back into a restless sleep. Your eyes were screwed shut in pain. You looked anything but peaceful.

Becoming darkness could save you…

But he knew what you would say. You’d urge him not to give in to the tempting offers of Dark Enchantress Cookie. You had always defended all life, including the lives of those who were killing you now. If he turned to save you, would you ever forgive him?

So with a shake of his head, he decided to listen to you and keep fighting for the light. Even if it meant finding another way to heal you.

Weeks passed by with no good news. You seemed to get worse by the second, but Wind Archer refused to give up. He had sworn on the light in his soul to find a cure for you.

He was making his rounds through the woods, keeping a sharp eye out for anything irregular. He noticed the footsteps immediately. It had been a few weeks since he had heard those steps, but they were familiar nonetheless. Wind Archer turned, his bow ready. “Pomegranate Cookie.”

Pomegranate Cookie immersed from the shadows, as calm and collected as ever. She studied his weary demeanor and dull eyes with a ghost of a smile one her lips.

“What do you want?” Wind Archer tightened his grip on his bow. “Do you truly think I will give in so easily.”

Unlike the other times she had visited, Pomegranate Cookie did not start preaching in Dark Enchantress’s name. She simply looked at him with veiled emotion, but her eyes sparkled like she had already won. “You should go check your home.”

Wind Archer barely registered his bow falling from his hand. He hardly noticed the wind lifting him and racing toward his home. He didn’t even stop to think until he was through the door and standing at the foot of your bed.

You looked as pale and sick as ever, but something was different. Your eyes were open and glazed over. Wind Archer was shocked you even noticed his presence. Your fave twisted in pain and guilt and you managed to utter a single apology.

“I’m sorry.”

He shook his head and rushed to your side, grabbing your hand tightly in his own. “No, my love. No-.”

“Everything hurts.” You mumble, looong up at him with pleading eyes. “You promised you’d find a crude. Have you?”

He didn’t have the heart to say no. He simply pulled you into his arms and held you tightly, muttering a string of apologies. “Forgive me.”

It wasn’t long before you stopped breathing. He felt your body go limp in his arms. The unbearable agony that gripped at his heart nearly made him crumble on the spot. You were gone.

The next few days went by on a blur. He only remembered flashes of burying you, of the words he spoke at your grave, of the small crowd of wildlife that had gathered to witness it all. But he remembered the burning fire in his heart. How it consumed him completely.

He had dedicated his life to purifying the darkness. To bringing light to the world. But the light had died. There was nothing left but darkness.

So with the weight of the world on his shoulders, he approached Pomegranate Cookie. She wasn’t surprised to see him there. Her sinister eyes met his lifeless ones as he kneeled before her. If only he had done so earlier, you could’ve been saved. He had to save what was left of the forest in the way he couldn’t save you.

“I will join. Turn me to darkness.”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Caramel Arrow

It had only been a few days since the fog had descended on the city. An odd white fog made of flour. It stung the eyes and got caught in the lungs, but most of the Dark Cacao kingdom citizens thought nothing of it. They had battled back the monsters of the licorice sea for decades. A little fog couldn’t stop them.

But then the sickness started. Cookies were waking up with the tips of their fingers white as snow. Flour. It would spread until the afflicted vanished into the fog with a smile on their face, and an unnatural peace in their heart. The Pale Ailment, they called it.

The infirmary had begun to overflow with patients, dozens of cookies becoming infected every day. The healers were working day and night, on the brink of total exhaustion. But they had yet to save even one life from this mysterious sickness. Once you caught it, you were as good as dead.

So when Caramel Arrow received word that you were in the infirmary, your hands and arms turning white with flour, she couldn’t believe it. Just the day prior, the two of you had been patrolling together. You seemed fine! How could this have happened?

No. It had to be a mistake. There was no way you had caught the incurable disease. You couldn’t have.

She raced to the infirmary as fast as she could, nearly breaking down the doors as she entered. A healer came up to her, placing his hand on her shoulder and mumbling something about ‘calming down’ and ‘scaring the patients’. But Caramel Arrow wasn’t listening. She looked past the healer, desperately searching for your face. She prayed to the witches she wouldn’t see it. Not here.

But no such luck was on her side. She spotted you in a corner, your face pale with flour. She shoved the healer aside and dashed toward your bed, taking your hand in hers as she shook her head.

“No.” Her voice was weak with shock. “No no no, not you!”

You turned your head, blinking slowly as you saw her beside you. “Caramel Arrow…”

“You can’t be sick! Tell me it isn’t so!” She squeezed your hand so tightly it nearly made you wince. You let out a shaky breath, your voice hoarse from the flour in your throat. “You weren’t supposed to know.”

“Wh- no. What do you mean?!”

“I didn’t want you to know I was dying.” You coughed and the bead side turns dusty with the flour from your lungs. “You should be out there fighting like you always do. Not worrying about me.”

“So you were just going to die and let me find out later?!”

You looked away, unable to meet her devastated gaze. “I don’t know.”

“You’re not going to die. You won’t.” Her voice cracked as she rests her forehead on the back of your hand. “You can’t.”

“This is for the better, you know.”

Caramel Arrow froze, going completely ridged. Her eyes widened in horror and betrayal like you had just struck her with her own arrow. Her eyes narrow. “Don’t. Don’t you dare say that.”

You sighed and closed your eyes. “You don’t understand.”

“Of course I don’t!”

“I will finally be at peace when I return to flour. All will finally be well.”

Caramel Arrow dropped your hand and stands up, knocking her chair over in the process. “All will be well?! Do you even hear yourself?! You’re okay with dying?! With leaving me???”

You winced at her voice, never seeing her so angry and desperate before. But she had a point.

“No.” You mumbled, coughing once more. “Leaving you is the part that hurts me.”

She took in a short breath, her will to yell and scream at you disintegrating. She had wanted to grab you by the shoulders and shake you until you fought to live once more, but she couldn’t do it.

You reached for her hand once more, giving it a gentle squeeze. “You’re the only reason I don’t want to give in to this peace completely. So please… will you stay?”

She nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat. Without a word, she slid next to you in the cot, holding you tightly. She stayed like that for hours until you both had fallen asleep.

And in the morning, she had woken up with nothing but flour in her arms.

[yoyneversawmehere]

"7 Mintues In Heaven"

♡Modern! College au! Hermes x Fem! Reader

♡ Description: you play 7 minutes of heaven at a dionysius frat party

♡Content: Suggesting themes, mentions of drinking, dry humping, tit kissing, frat party, situationship lowkey.

♡Author's note: I had to get away from writing about Telemachus so I can write about my beautiful, sexy, amazing, pretty, stunning, handsome, astounding king. Also, it's like 1 am rn and I'm mad tired, so pls excuse my writing if there are any mistakes.

You were invited to one of Dionysius' frat parties, though it was a weeknight, Circe had convinced you it would be fun, though it would be best to refrain from heavy drinking, though, of course, no one had heeded that warning.

You sat down next to Circe along with a few others, creating a circle on the floor, a bottle lying inside the circle. Someone had suggested playing 7 minutes in heaven, and every drunkard in the building said yes, you included.

Giggles and slurred words engulfed the room; it seemed like no one was sober, but what more would you expect from a Dionysian party? Hermes sat directly in front of you, sending a wink your way as he placed his fingers on the bottle, a huge smile consuming his extremely flushed face, showing off his cute little tooth gap.

You and Hermes weren't dating, yet it would feel wrong to say he was just a friend also. You both normally find yourselves hooking out and going on "dates," though the relationship never amounted to anything official.

He twists his hand to spin the bottle, and everyone watches it with slight intensity, focusing as the bottle slows in pace and stops to point at you and Hermes. A collection of "O's" followed as Hermes got up off the floor and moved towards you. He extends a hand towards you and helps you up before you both head to the closet, everyone following behind the two of you.

"Okay, when the door closes, we're gonna start the timer, okay?" Aphrodite said, giggling slightly. You could hear the sea of giggles behind her as well.

"Yeah, yeah." You respond as the door of the closet starts to move.

It was dark now, only you and Hermes in the space. He looks down at you, his face somewhat unreadable. "We don't have to do anything if you don't want to." He whispered, though the desire in his voice betrayed him.

You move closer to him, closing the small distance that stood between the two of you, feeling the heat radiating from his body. With a gentle yet confident motion, you wrap your arms around his neck, your fingers brushing against the soft curls at the nape of his head. He responds instinctively, his strong hands encircling your waist, pulling you in closer as if the world around you has vanished.

Both of your gazes drop low, locked in an intimate stare, "Stop acting so righteous; I already know what you're like," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath, your lips tantalizingly close to his, sharing the warmth of your words.

You could smell the wine and alcohol on him, though it doesn't throw you off; in fact, it draws you in more. His breath hitches slightly, an almost small gasp escaping him before he leans in for a kiss. It's hungry and sloopy, but filled with urgency and need, and you match his intensity as you kiss him back with equal fervour. The world outside fades further as you tangle your fingers in his thick curly hair, tugging gently to draw him deeper into the moment.

Deliberately, he lets his hand slide up your body, fingertips brushing against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. He finds your chin, tilting your head back to grant him better access, and you bite your lip, anticipation surging through you. As your kisses trail from his mouth to the sensitive skin of his neck, leaving soft bites with each kiss, your lips grazing against him, eliciting a low, contented sigh that escapes his lips. His head rolls back as he exhales softly, his breathing becoming more unsteady, filled with desire.

His hands venture under your shirt, exploring your skin with lingering touches, groping you softly yet possessively. You moan softly on his skin, causing him to groan softly.

"You sound so sweet, baby," a breathless chuckle leaving his lips.

You both start to slide down the wall, hitting the cold floor under you. You climb onto his lap, looking at him as if you can see through his soul. He tugs at your waist, pulling you closer to his body as he takes a turn on your skin, giving it the same treatment you gave his, though his lips reach further, lifting your shirt and kissing your chest, his hot breath giving you goose bumps. Your heart is racing, and your breath is haggard. Your body moves impulsively, grinding yourself against him and letting out small moans. Suddenly, a voice rings from beyond the closet door.

"Times up~"

You immediately pull down your shirt as the door swings open, catching you on top of Hermes with his hand holding on your hips, faces flushed, and beads of sweat on your skin. You both snap your heads to look at the crowd staring at you.

Each pair of eyes widens, drinking up the scene in front of them.

"Looks like you two had fun," Apollo smirked, absolutely amused by the sight, wrapping his arm around his lover, Hyacinth.

"Damn, right, we did." Smiled big, looking like an absolute idiot.

You moved off of Hermes and cleared your throat, trying to play off the situation you were in. Hermes got up soon after, bending down to your ear to whisper something.

"We should finish this later."

Thanks for reading♡

[shadowbends]

If this sounds familiar to you but you don't have ADHD, poor object permanence is an issue that affects people with Autism as well.

[heesmiles]

OPERATION: HOW NOT TO GET THE GIRL L.HS

SYNOPSIS ⦂ You've never fit in. That much was true. Always feeling like the odd one out in your friend group. But when you're told to your face, well everything becomes more clear. Suddenly, every sidelong glance, every pity laugh, every party invitation that felt like a mistake, makes a little more sense. But it still stings. Especially when it comes to Soobin; sweet, soft-spoken, out-of-your-league Soobin, who doesn’t even know you exist beyond the orbit of your prettier friends. Enter Heeseung: campus golden boy, effortlessly charming, dangerously smug. He’s the type of guy who knows exactly how attractive he is — and how to use it. When he overhears your predicament (okay, maybe you yell about it a little too loudly in the hallway), he makes you an offer: he’ll help you reinvent yourself, rewrite your story, and finally get Soobin’s attention. In exchange? You’ll tutor him through senior lit, a class he's on the verge of flunking. You agree, of course. What could possibly go wrong?

PAIRINGS: heeseung x fem!reader

WARNINGS: smut mdni, virginity loss, jealousy, alcohol use, mean girls, talk of toxic beauty standards, college setting, ft Dani (katseye), Sakura (le sserafim), Soobin (txt), jay, sunghoon, jake, beomgyu (txt), wonyoung (ive), angst, slight miscommunication + more i’m probably forgetting.

WORD COUNT: 28K

RAIN'S MIC IS ON ࿐ haiii this is based on the movie "the duff" i wanted to give this a fun and very like early 2000s rom-comy vibes!! I do want to note especially that i do not support the toxic mindset that makeup and no glasses and dressing slutty automatically makes you more visually appealing, i think that's a mindset we should be letting go of but for the sake of fiction, it will be playing a part in this. Just a reminder that everyone is beautiful no matter what you wear or what you look like. Wear makeup if you want, or don't. Glasses do not equal ugly and nerdy. Also in this, i shortened “DUFF” to “DUF” because even in fiction i don’t feel comfortable saying “fat” so in my version it just means “designated ugly friend” which is still eh, but again for the sake of fiction it will have to do, Please remember those standards are out dated. Love you all hope you have fun with this like i did (: thank you so much to my love @yeonmuse for helping make the banner, she’s so talented check her out guys.

You’re not sure why you came. 

The music pulses like a second heartbeat as you linger in the doorway of the house, the bass reverberating through your ribcage. Inside, it’s packed wall-to-wall with bodies moving in a chaotic kind of harmony, shoulders brushing, drinks sloshing, laughter climbing over music like ivy. You follow the familiar trail of your best friends, Dani and Sakura, as they dive headfirst into the party’s epicenter. They're already laughing with someone, effortlessly folding themselves into a circle of golden-lit conversation. You’re left in the doorway like static caught on the edge of a signal, half-there, mostly invisible. You try to speak, to jump into the flow, but your voice is swallowed by the noise.

Dani’s turning her head too fast, Sakura’s already moving on to a new story. It’s not their fault. They love you. They try; they always do. But in places like this, where charisma is currency and the loudest person wins, you always come up short. You’re the comma in their sentence. The pause between moments.

Eventually, Dani hooks her arm through yours and grins. “Come on. Let’s get some air.” You let them lead you outside, where the music softens behind glass doors and the cool night air brushes against your skin. The wooden deck is lit by string lights and scented faintly of smoke and expensive cologne. And that’s when you see them; The it boys on campus, Leaning against the railing like some untouchable constellation: Heeseung, Beomgyu, Sunghoon, Jay, and Jake. Each one a caricature of cool in different flavors. Beomgyu’s laughing with his head thrown back. Jake is draped over the deck chair like he owns it. Sunghoon and Jay are mid-story. And then there’s Heeseung, casual arrogance wrapped in black denim and a hoodie pushed halfway up his forearms. 

The moment the girls approach, everyone shifts to accommodate them, the circle expanding like ripples on water. You find yourself next to Heeseung, who throws you a brief glance that feels like an assessment. His gaze dips for a second to your glasses and lingers. You know that look. You’ve seen it before in classrooms and locker-lined hallways. The look that decides exactly who you are in the span of two seconds and four syllables: nerd. Unworthy of any and all social interaction beside incandescent teasing. How comical that was. “You guys,” Heeseung says, in that smooth, drawling voice that makes everything he says sound vaguely amused, “Mr. Yoon was on my ass today. Said if I bomb this next lit paper, he’s yanking my scholarship. Like, sorry I don’t care about symbolism in 18th-century poetry, man.” 

Sakura perks up, turning to look at you. “Wait She’s amazing at lit! Like, scary good.” 

“She tutors people all the time,” Dani adds, nudging you playfully. You blink, caught mid-sip of something lukewarm in a red cup, and find five pairs of curious eyes settling on you. Including his.

Heeseung’s lip quirks. “Oh, I’m sure she is.”

You narrow your eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He gestures loosely toward your face, vaguely circling your glasses. “Nothing. Just, you’ve got that whole bookish prodigy vibe. You know. Brainiac chic.” 

“Brainiac chic?” You raise an eyebrow. “That’s your insult? Do you even have a GPA?” His friends snicker. Jake lets out a low “oooh,” and Beomgyu slaps Heeseung on the back like he’s just taken a hit.

Heeseung, unfazed, smiles lazily. “Touché. Though, I’m not the one who just quoted my GPA like it’s a flex.” You can’t help the way your lip twitches. You shouldn’t enjoy this. You do. Heeseung is irritating. Arrogant. Infuriatingly pretty. But he’s listening. He’s bantering back. In this weird, warped little moment, you almost feel like you matter. 

And then he walks up. Soobin. You spot him from the corner of your eye, tall and soft around the edges, dressed in an oversized hoodie that somehow still makes him look like a dream. His hair’s a little messy like he ran his hands through it too many times, and his smile; God, his smile, curls up slow when he sees your group. He says something to Jake, who waves him over, and then he’s standing in your circle, next to you, and your brain short-circuits. You try to say hi, but it comes out as a hiccuped squeak. Your voice cracks in three different places, and as if fate hadn’t humiliated you enough, you flinch backward and knock your elbow straight into the flimsy drink table behind you. The cup in your hand slips, spins midair, and splashes all over your shirt in one mortifying arc. 

Soobin blinks. Heeseung stares. You feel the heat crawl up your neck like a flame eating paper. Someone offers you a napkin, Dani, maybe — but it doesn’t matter. You’re already backing away. “I—I’m gonna go,” you mumble. “I’ll see you guys later.” You turn before anyone can say anything else, your heartbeat thudding in your ears, the deck already blurry with shame. Behind you, the laughter starts again, soft, harmless, not mean, not really; but it doesn't matter. You’re already gone. And you have no idea how this mess is only just beginning. 

The next morning arrives not like a promise, but like a punishment. The sun is too bright, the sky too smugly blue, like even the weather knows what happened last night. You drag yourself across campus wrapped in oversized layers, hoodie strings pulled tight around your face like armor. You haven't checked your phone since the party. Not because it hasn’t lit up — it has, but because you can’t bear to face the missed calls and texts blinking like tiny sirens across the screen. Dani: “hey, are you okay?” Sakura: “babe, call us pls.” A voicemail you didn’t dare open. It’s all waiting for you like unopened letters from a version of yourself that doesn’t exist anymore. 

Because last night, you crumbled in front of Soobin. You keep replaying it like a cursed tape in your head: the way your voice cracked, the look of gentle confusion on his face, the splash of cheap punch soaking through your shirt like a scarlet stamp of shame. You can still feel the sting of it; hot, sticky, humiliating. You picture the exact moment his eyes met yours and how quickly you broke, like a window catching a stone at the wrong angle. You didn’t even say goodbye to Dani or Sakura. Just ran. Just let the night swallow you whole. And now, in the cruel light of day, everything feels worse. 

Your footsteps echo a little too loudly on the concrete path through campus. You keep your head down, gaze locked on your shoes as the crowds blur around you in streaks of motion and color. But you feel them; eyes. Not direct. Not obvious. Just there. Flicking toward you. Lingering. Someone lets out a muffled laugh as you pass. You tell yourself it has nothing to do with you, but the way your stomach clenches betrays you. It’s a peculiar kind of spotlight, being noticed for all the wrong reasons. You’re used to being invisible, not mocked. You never asked for attention, never needed a stage. But now you’re walking through campus like a meme brought to life, like the punchline of a joke you didn’t know you were telling. You pass a group of students lounging on the lawn. One nudges the other. Another whispers something behind a hand. Laughter. It could be about anything. It could be nothing. But you flinch like it’s a slap to the face. So you keep walking, keep shrinking.

Your classroom isn’t far, but the distance feels endless. Like the stretch of hallway in a nightmare where your legs move but you never get anywhere. When you finally reach the door, your hands tremble as you pull it open, slipping inside with all the urgency of someone trying to outrun their own shadow. The air inside is still and cold, the hum of fluorescents a dull buzz in your ears. You’re too wrapped in your own spiral to notice where your feet take you. The room is already half full, students murmuring over open laptops, pens clicking like insects in early spring. You move on autopilot, slipping into the first empty seat you see near the back, hoping the distance from the front will buy you some much-needed invisibility.

But the moment you set your bag down and glance to your left, the universe decides to play its favorite game, humiliation, round two. Because there he is. Lee Heeseung. Slouched in his chair with all the grace of someone who’s never had to try too hard, hoodie sleeves pushed up again like it’s a personal brand, one knee bouncing lazily. His arm’s draped over the back of the chair, dangerously close to yours, and he’s already looking at you when you meet his eyes, eyebrow raised, lips curled in that signature smirk that could make a mirror blush. “Well, well,” he says, low and smug. “Couldn’t get enough of me, could you?” You blink, brain short-circuiting for half a second before the sarcasm kicks in like muscle memory.

“Oh, absolutely,” you say, your voice dry as dust. “I just had to sit next to the guy who thinks MLA formatting is a type of sandwich.” Heeseung whistles through his teeth, hand pressed to his heart like you wounded him. “Wow. Vicious. No wonder you’re single.”

Without missing a beat, you smile sweetly, and flip him off. And that’s what does it. Heeseung bursts out laughing. Not a scoff. Not a half-chuckle. A full-bodied, belly-deep laugh that shakes his shoulders and lights up his whole stupidly handsome face. It’s loud, too; sharp enough to draw a few curious glances from the rows in front of you. Someone turns around. Another student raises an eyebrow. But Heeseung just throws his head back and laughs, like you’re the funniest thing to ever happen to 9 a.m. lit. And somehow, against your will, a laugh bubbles out of you, too. 

Just a snort at first, barely more than breath. But it grows, because you can’t help it, because it was kind of funny, because maybe you’re so bone-tired from crying that anything even slightly absurd feels like a lifeline. You laugh into your palm, trying to hide it, but that only makes Heeseung grin wider. “See?” he says, nudging your arm with his elbow. “I knew you liked me.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re delusional.”

“And yet,” he hums, “here you are.”You shake your head, biting back another smile—and for a second, just a second, you don’t care that people are still glancing at the two of you. You don’t care that your shirt from last night is crumpled in your laundry basket or that the video of you spilling punch may or may not be circling the group chat. You don’t care that your friends probably think you’re ghosting them. Because for this one moment, there’s no spotlight. No pressure.

The rest of the class unfolds in a quiet, uninterrupted hum. The professor drones on about motifs and metaphor, and your pen finally scratches to life again. Heeseung doesn’t speak after that, not really, but you can feel the lingering heat of his presence beside you, like a low flame that won’t go out. You catch yourself glancing his way more than once. He catches you every time. 

Class ends in a quiet unraveling. You gather your things slowly, letting the rows of students trickle out ahead of you like a stream smoothing stone. Heeseung’s already up, stretching his arms over his head in that effortless way that shouldn't be allowed this early in the day. He tosses you a wink as he moves toward the door, and you pretend to roll your eyes, even as something traitorous inside you flutters like a curtain caught in wind. You follow the flow of students into the hallway, hoping to blend in. Hoping, maybe foolishly, that today might end on a quieter note.

But fate has sharp teeth. 

A manicured hand taps your shoulder just as you pass beneath the atrium light, and when you turn, you’re met with a smile so sugar-slick and venom-laced it makes your spine stiffen on instinct. Jang Wonyoung. She’s standing in front of you like a statue carved from polished ambition, long legs, glossy hair, not a flaw in sight. Her clothes are designer without needing to scream it, her lip gloss a shade too pink to be innocent. She oozes confidence, curated and sharpened to a point. And you know who she is — everyone does. She’s not just the most popular girl on campus, she’s the one people orbit around. She’s the center of gravity in every room she enters. You’ve never spoken to her before. 

“You’re friends with Dani and Sakura, right?” she says sweetly, voice as light as powdered sugar.

You blink, caught off guard. “Uh… yeah,” you answer, nodding a little too quickly, nerves flaring. “I am.” Her smile doesn’t change, but something behind her eyes hardens. Shifts. It’s like watching a rose bloom only to realize the thorns are still sharper than the petals. She tilts her head slightly, and for a moment, you almost wonder if this is some kind of polite small talk. But then she leans in just enough for her perfume to ghost past your cheek; something expensive and calculated, and her voice drops to a murmur, low and cruel. 

“Don’t think for one second you have a chance with Heeseung.” She blinks, lashes fluttering like knives. “DUF.” You freeze. The letters don’t click at first. They hang there in the air between you, meaningless and jagged. You open your mouth, confusion spilling out in a quiet stammer. “Wait — what’s a DUF?” 

Wonyoung’s smile stretches wider, and it’s not a smile at all now. It’s the curve of something about to cut. “DUF isn’t a name. It’s what you are,” she purrs. “Designated Ugly Friend.” You stare, the words crashing into you like sleet against glass. You don’t even flinch; not yet. You’re too stunned, too caught between disbelief and dawning horror to react. Your throat tightens. Her words burrow under your skin, cold and gleaming. “You’re always with Dani and Sakura,” she continues, still smiling like this is all just a casual observation, like she’s not peeling your dignity apart with her manicured fingers. “They’re hot. Like, objectively. You’re just… there. To make them look better. That’s your role. Know your place.” 

You open your mouth again, breath hitching in protest. “My name is—” But she cuts you off, voice turning sharper, all pretense abandoned.

“DUF,” she repeats, slow and deliberate. “And Heeseung? He’s out of your league. So do everyone a favor, babe, and stay away from him.” She gives you one last look; final, dismissive, like you were never really worth seeing at all, and then she’s turning on her heel, walking away like she just dropped a bomb and is already bored of the smoke. And you — you just stand there. Your heartbeat thuds in your ears like a drum played out of rhythm. Your feet feel rooted to the tile, your hands limp at your sides, notebook barely clutched in your grip. It’s as if the world has narrowed to a single hallway, a single moment, and Wonyoung’s words are etched on the walls around you. DUF. 

You’ve never heard it before. Not like that. Not named. But now that it’s been said, now that it’s out in the open, it echoes. It colors everything. It twists last night into a sick joke, replays every photo you’ve stood in between Dani and Sakura, every party where you stood off to the side. You see yourself through Wonyoung’s eyes, and the reflection stings. You don’t cry. Not yet. The tears are waiting, crouched behind your ribs, but you won’t let them win. Not in this hallway. Not here. You just swallow hard, lower your head, and walk, each step heavier than the last, as if you’re trying to carry the weight of someone else’s cruelty on your shoulders. And all the while, her words stay with you like a brand: Know your place.

You don’t remember how you got there. One moment you were frozen in that hallway, still tasting Wonyoung’s words on the back of your tongue like something spoiled and sour. The next, you’re seated at the farthest computer in the campus lab, shoulders hunched, the too-bright monitor casting a cold glow across your face. Around you, students move in hushed clicks and muted coughs, the clatter of keyboards filling the silence like light rain. No one looks your way. No one ever does. It’s what you wanted, right? To disappear? To be invisible? But not like this. Your fingers tremble as they hover over the keyboard, uncertain, like they already know what you’re about to unearth. You type DUF first, because that’s what she said. That’s what she called you. The letters feel clunky and unfamiliar, like a language you were never meant to understand. When nothing pops up, you frown, your pulse quickening. 

And then, like the knife finally finding skin, it hits you. And the world splits open. The page fills with links, slang dictionaries, gossip forums, teen advice articles, old Reddit threads dissecting high school hierarchies like scientific taxonomy. You click the first video out of instinct, and a girl on the screen, barely older than you, leans into the camera with a sad smile and says, “The DUF is the Designated Ugly Friend. You’re the least attractive in your friend group, the approachable one, the funny one, the one guys talk to only to get to your prettier friends.” You freeze. Her voice continues, but it becomes background noise to the storm inside your chest. Your heartbeat hammers against your ribs like it wants to escape, and suddenly your body feels far too small for what you’re carrying.

Your fingers move on their own, clicking through link after link like each one might offer a different definition, something softer, something kind. But they don’t. They all echo the same gutting truth. The DUF is the one who fills the empty space. The background character in her own life. The girl who exists not for herself, but as contrast, to make her friends shine brighter by comparison. You feel it like a bruise blooming across your entire being. Memories rise unbidden, like film reels unspooling behind your eyes. The nights out where you stood at the edge of a circle, holding jackets and drinks while Dani and Sakura danced with boys who barely spared you a glance. The time a guy asked you for Sakura’s number while you were still in the middle of a sentence. The photos you’d be cropped out of, the stories you weren’t included in, the parties where you stood on the periphery like a shadow no one noticed. 

You thought it was just how things were. You thought maybe you were just quieter. Shyer. Less hungry for attention. But now the pieces fit. Too well. And what guts you, what truly guts you, is the realization that maybe — just maybe — they knew. Dani and Sakura. Your best friends. Did they know what DUF meant? Had they heard it tossed around and just… never told you? Had they laughed about it with others, let it live in whispers while you smiled beside them, oblivious? Were you some inside joke dressed in loyalty? Did they ever look at you and feel sorry? Or worse, did they agree? 

The nausea coils in your stomach like a slow-moving wave, threatening to rise. You press your palm to your chest, as if you can keep yourself from unraveling entirely. Your vision swims. The sterile blue of the lab feels too bright, too loud, too full of all the wrong kinds of silence. You’re still staring at the glowing screen, that same sentence blinking back at you like a taunt: “The DUFF is the one nobody notices until they need something.” Your throat tightens. You don’t want to be in this body. In this moment. In this story.

You slam the laptop shut without ceremony. The sharp clap of it draws a glance from a boy a few chairs down, but you don’t care. You’re already yanking your bag from the floor, stuffing your notebook inside with shaking hands. Your fingers are clumsy, rushed, like you’re trying to outrun a tidal wave that’s already crashing through you. You need air. You need to move. You need to not be here, not be seen. The walk out of the lab is a blur of cold tiles and humming machines. Your steps echo like betrayal. Like every footfall might draw more eyes, more whispers, more invisible hands pointing in your direction. You don’t even realize you’re crying until you taste salt.

Not the loud, sobbing kind of cry. No, this is something quieter. A leak in the dam. A silent surrender. The kind of crying that happens when the weight of the world doesn’t come crashing down in one dramatic moment; but seeps in, slow and steady, drop by drop, until you’re drowning. You step outside, wind slicing at your face, the sky too wide, too open. You feel small in a way you can’t describe. Not just physically, existentially. Like someone cracked your reflection and you’re left staring at the pieces wondering if any of it was ever real. And in the back of your mind, like a cruel echo still clinging to the walls of your skull, her voice repeats: Know your place, DUF. 

The first thing you do after leaving the computer lab is search. You needed to see Dani and Sakura. You find them exactly where you knew they’d be. The C building’s hallway is packed, echoing with the end-of-period rush. Footsteps slap against the floors in every direction. Lockers clang open and shut, laughter weaves in and out of the noise like a skipping stone. The scent of dry erase markers, mint gum, and cheap coffee lingers in the air. But it all feels distant to you, muted, irrelevant. Like you’re underwater, moving through the crowd on instinct, not thought. And then, through the blur of motion and sound, you see them. Dani and Sakura.

The two girls you’ve called your best friends since freshman year. The ones who’ve seen you through breakups, panic attacks, late-night cramming sessions and slow, sleepy Sunday brunches. The ones who claimed to love you. They’re standing outside their chemistry lecture, laughing at something; Sakura’s head thrown back, Dani’s hip nudging hers. It’s such a familiar picture that for a split second, you hesitate. For a split second, your brain lies to you.  Maybe they don’t know. Maybe Wonyoung was wrong. Maybe everything was just some cruel misunderstanding. But your heart knows better.  You push through the crowd with the desperation of someone chasing the truth, and the second your voice cuts through the air, they turn to you, your hair wild from the wind, breath ragged from running, eyes rimmed with something between fury and heartbreak. “Did you guys know?”

The words tumble out too fast, ragged at the edges, raw like a wound. They both blink at you, confusion washing over their faces like clouds across sunlight. “Know what?” Sakura asks slowly, brow furrowing. Dani’s already stepping forward, hand brushing your arm gently, like she’s afraid you might shatter on contact. “What are you talking about?”

And then you say it; louder than you meant to, louder than you ever thought you’d say anything in public. “Did you know I’m your fucking DUF?” The hallway doesn’t go silent, but it feels like it does. Their faces freeze, and you see it instantly, the flicker of recognition in Sakura’s eyes, the tightness in Dani’s jaw. It’s not confusion now. It’s not disbelief. It’s guilt. Guilt. They look at each other. It’s barely a glance, half a heartbeat, but it’s all the confirmation you need. Something in your chest gives, a sickening drop that feels like the floor vanishing beneath your feet. 

Your voice splinters when you speak again. “What? Are you just friends with me because you feel bad for me?” Your words hang in the air like smoke, heavy and choking. Dani’s eyes widen, her mouth opening like she’s about to say something, anything but you see the panic settle across her face. She wasn’t ready for this. They never expected you to find out. They never thought you’d ask.

“That’s not—” Sakura starts, then stops.

Dani shakes her head fast, her voice stumbling over itself. “That’s not true. Don’t say that.”

“Then why?” you ask, louder now, pain bubbling up from somewhere deep and long-buried. “Why did you always brush me off when I said I liked Soobin? Why did you laugh when I said I thought he might like me back? Why did you look at me like I was crazy?” They don't answer. Not really. They just look at you with wide eyes and silence thick between them.

“You didn’t think I was pretty enough,” you say, and your voice cracks right down the middle. Dani swallows. Her hands are wringing the strap of her backpack like she doesn’t know what to do with them. She steps closer again, gentler this time, quieter. “We don’t think you’re ugly,” she says, the words coming slowly, like they hurt her to say. “It’s just… you could try a little harder, you know? Like, you don’t really… put effort in.” The air leaves your lungs in a rush.

You feel it physically, like someone just knocked the wind out of you, punched a hole in your chest and left it gaping open for everyone to see. The people around you are still moving, still living their lives, but all you can hear is the echo of those words: try harder. As if your entire existence hasn’t been one long effort to be enough. And before you can respond, Sakura adds, “You’re just… not Soobin’s type, that’s all.” You blink. Your mind blanks. Your heart is already in pieces, but that line cracks the rest of you open. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” you ask, your voice trembling, not with fear, but with something deeper, more dangerous. Rage wrapped in heartbreak. Sakura falters. She opens her mouth, but no answer comes out. Dani shifts uncomfortably beside her. Their faces are pale now, eyes darting around, noticing for the first time how many people are starting to look. How many are pretending not to listen. You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to undo every moment of vulnerability you ever gave them. But more than anything, you want to run. Because staying here, standing in this hallway, heart bared like a wound while the people you loved carve you apart, hurts more than anything you’ve ever felt. You shake your head slowly, backing away from them as the tears begin to fall in earnest. “I thought you were my friends,” you whisper, and then louder, “I trusted you.” Dani reaches out again, but this time you pull back. You don’t want her comfort. You don’t want her pity. You don’t want to hear another word. So you turn. And you walk.

You don’t care that people are watching. You don’t care that your shoulders are shaking, that your tears are spilling freely now, or that your bag keeps slipping down your arm. You walk faster, pushing through the crowd until the voices blur behind you, until the memory of their faces fades into the roar of everything breaking apart. And as you go, the thought haunts you, echoing over and over in your skull: They knew. They knew. They knew. And they never told you. 

The doors to the C building groan shut behind you, sealing away the voices, the stares, the wreckage. But the damage doesn’t stay inside. It clings to you, stitched into your skin like frostbite; cold, deep, and invisible to everyone else. The sting of betrayal coils inside your chest, twisting tighter with every step you take. Your breathing’s uneven. Not quite sobbing, but close. That awful in-between sound, caught in your throat like a scream that refuses to come out. The air outside is biting, too cold for early fall, but you hardly notice. It brushes your cheeks like ghost hands, cuts through your sweater, lifts the ends of your hair, nothing reaches you. Not really. You're numb in a way that feels permanent, like someone turned the volume of the world all the way down and you forgot how to turn it back up.

People pass by, some look, some don’t. A few recognize you, eyes flickering with half-curiosity, half-concern, but no one says anything. And thank god for that, because if anyone did, if even one person tried to ask if you were okay, you think you'd crumble. Right there on the sidewalk. Crumple like paper and never get back up again. The walk from the C building to your dorm stretches impossibly long. Every step is heavier than the last, as if the weight of Dani and Sakura’s words is dragging behind you, chained to your ankles. You replay it all, the glances, the hesitations, the way Dani looked away when you asked if they knew, the way Sakura's voice sounded too rehearsed, like she’d already decided what version of the truth you were allowed to hear.

“You could try harder.”

“You’re just not his type.”

Those words circle you like vultures. You can’t outrun them. You can’t out-walk what’s inside your chest. By the time you reach the dorm building, you’re shaking. Not from the cold, but from everything else. Rage. Shame. Heartbreak. All of it, bottled and clinking against your ribs like glass ready to shatter. Your key slips once in the door before you finally shove it in and turn, stumbling down the hall to your room like you’ve just escaped a storm only to find another waiting inside. You push the door open and don’t bother turning on the lights. You don’t take your shoes off. You don’t put your bag down. You don’t think. You just collapse.

Straight onto your bed, face-first, like gravity’s been waiting all day for you to break. The mattress groans under the weight of your body, the quiet rustle of blankets the only sound in the room. But even that silence feels loud. And then — finally — you scream. It’s muffled into your pillow, soaked into the cotton and foam, but it rips through you like it’s been building for years. A scream made of all the things you couldn’t say in that hallway. All the pain you swallowed down so no one would see you break. All the confusion, all the loneliness, all the self-doubt bubbling up into one long, raw, aching sound.

You scream because you thought they were your people. You scream because you believed, deeply, that you were loved. You scream because you didn’t know you were being pitied.

And when your voice finally gives out, when your throat goes raw and your breathing hitches in the dark, you don’t move. You just lie there, curled into yourself like something wounded, like you could shrink so small the world might forget you were ever here. Your pillow is damp now, tears soaking through it, hot and angry. You clutch it tighter like it might hold you together. For the first time in a long time, you feel completely and utterly alone. And the scariest part? You're not even sure who you can talk to anymore. Who’s left. Who actually sees you. Because the people you trusted the most already proved they never did.

The morning light is a pale, washed-out gray, soft and dull like an old photograph, like something that’s been wrung out of color and left to dry. You move through campus like a ghost, every step stiff and heavy, your limbs still echoing with the ache of yesterday’s unraveling. Sleep had barely kissed you the night before. It lingered at the edges of your consciousness but never quite arrived, chased away by looping memories, sharp-edged phrases, and the hollow ache in your chest where trust used to live. You’ve walked this path to Literature 204 a hundred times, maybe more. But today it feels different. The air around you feels thicker somehow, like it knows what happened, like the whole campus has been whispering about you while your back was turned. You keep your head low, hands shoved deep into the sleeves of your hoodie, as if retreating into yourself will make you smaller, less visible, less whatever-the-hell-you-are-now. The DUF. The outcast. The joke.

When you finally step into the lecture hall, it’s mostly empty, the way it always is ten minutes before class starts. The lights are half-dimmed, flickering in patches as if still waking up themselves. A few early birds have already staked their seats, nose-deep in books, airpods in, sipping lukewarm coffee out of dented thermoses. And then, of course, there’s him. Heeseung. You spot him near the front, standing beside Mr. Yoon’s desk. They’re speaking in hushed tones, but the words carry in this room where the ceilings are too high and silence feels sacred. You hadn’t meant to listen, you weren’t trying to eavesdrop, but your ears catch on the tension in their voices, the frustration curling at the edges of Heeseung’s sentences. You hear fragments. Tutor. Flunk. Drop out. Phrases that sound too final, too heavy for someone who always seemed so effortless. 

You tell yourself not to care. You’ve got your own storm to navigate. You slide into your usual seat halfway up the rows, far enough to disappear, close enough to hear, and drop your bag beside you with a sigh. Your heart still feels raw, your stomach still tied in knots. You’re exhausted in a way that no amount of sleep can fix. And then you hear his footsteps. Heeseung doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t scan the room for alternatives. He just makes a beeline straight for you and drops into the seat beside yours like it’s his god-given right. His presence is large, like it always is, broad shoulders draped in a hoodie two sizes too big, the scent of citrus cologne and coffee trailing behind him like something you could trip on. Usually, there’s a quip on his lips, something smug and irritating and just a little too charming. But today he’s quiet. And so are you.

For a long moment, nothing passes between you but breath. The quiet around you folds in like a cocoon, the only sounds the low murmur of Mr. Yoon gathering his notes and the soft click of someone’s mechanical pencil two rows back. And then, Heeseung leans back with a sigh and says, “Quite the spectacle you had going for you yesterday.”

You groan before you can stop yourself, dragging a hand over your face like you could scrub the memory out of existence. Your eyes narrow as you turn to him, voice sharp with lingering humiliation. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He’s already grinning, his mouth tilted up in that signature way that makes you want to slap him and kiss him at the same time, not that you’d ever admit that out loud. “Relax,” he says, stretching his arms lazily over his head. “I just mean, you, Sakura, and Dani? Everyone’s talking about it. It was, like, the hallway soap opera of the year.”

Your cheeks burn. You can feel the blood rising in your face like fire licking at your skin. Of course people were talking. Of course the entire goddamn campus probably had a front-row seat to your implosion. “Great,” you mutter, crossing your arms over your chest, “exactly what I needed, public humiliation on top of personal betrayal.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal, like it isn’t your entire world unraveling. But then, out of nowhere, he asks, “How long have you had a thing for Soobin?”

Your heart skips. Not in a cute, rom-com way. In a fuck, how does he know that kind of way. You blink, caught off guard, mouth fumbling for a denial that won’t sound like a lie. “I don’t, what are you even talking about?” He just smirks, eyes glinting with quiet mischief. “Come on. I’m not an idiot. The way you looked at him at that party? Like he was your last meal. It was kinda cute.” 

Your stomach turns, part mortification, part defensiveness. “Why do you even care?” Heeseung shrugs again, but this time there’s something more calculated behind his gaze. “Because I think I can help you.”

You raise a brow. “Help me?” 

“You like Soobin. Soobin doesn’t even know your name. I know what guys like him want, hell, I am guys like him,” he says, voice dipped in arrogance that somehow still doesn’t feel entirely cruel. “I could get you there. Make him see you. Want you.” You let out a sharp laugh, humorless and jagged. “Yeah, no thanks. I’m not really in the mood to turn myself into a Barbie doll just to impress a guy.”

“Suit yourself,” Heeseung says easily, turning back toward the front of the room like he couldn’t care less. “But when Soobin’s off making out with someone like Yunjin behind the gym, don’t come crying to me.” That line strikes like lightning, quick, bright, and unmistakably true. Because you have seen Soobin talking to Yunjin lately. Smiling. Laughing. He held the door open for her last week and you felt like your heart was trying to crawl out of your throat. And now the thought of him kissing her, or anyone, while you’re still sitting on the sidelines hoping for a miracle? It makes something sharp twist in your chest. 

You chew on the inside of your cheek, arms crossed tighter now, and Heeseung must sense your hesitation because he glances sideways again. “I’m just saying,” he murmurs, this time softer. “You help me pass lit, I help you not be invisible. Easy.” It’s insane. It’s humiliating. It’s kind of insulting, if you think about it long enough. But it’s also… tempting. Because what other option do you have? Soobin doesn’t know you exist. Your friends, the ones who were supposed to build you up, have already torn you down. And Heeseung, for all his cockiness, sees you. Maybe not the way you want to be seen. But still. 

Slowly, you turn your palm upward between you. He grins, all teeth and trouble, and slides his hand into yours. You shake. And just like that, the deal is struck. 

The evening sun sinks past the dorm window like a sigh, casting the whole room in the soft gold of a day exhaling. You’re curled up on your bed in an oversized hoodie, legs crossed, a nearly-empty takeout container of bulgogi balanced dangerously on your thigh. The smell of garlic and soy sauce clings to the air like a second blanket, and you don’t care. You’ve earned this. You’ve survived this week, barely, and now you’re self-soothing with salty meat and zero regrets. Your phone buzzes once against the sheets beside you. You ignore it at first. Probably Dani or Sakura again. Their texts have been coming in slow waves all day; apologies, explanations, questions that aren’t really questions. You’ve left them on read, unread, ignored altogether. You’re not ready. You don’t know when you will be. But the phone buzzes again. And then again. Finally, with a huff, you set your chopsticks down and snatch the device up. It’s not a contact you recognize, just a random number. But the message?

[Unknown Number]

what are you doing tomorrow?

You blink. Narrow your eyes. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, halfway to typing who is this when another text lands: 

[ heeseung ]

it’s heeseung

Duh. 

And wow. Of course he wouldn’t lead with an introduction. Or an ounce of normal human decorum. You don’t even remember giving him your number; maybe it was one of those group projects last semester or maybe he’s just unsettlingly resourceful. Either way, you're already rolling your eyes. You type back, begrudgingly.

[ you ] 

nothing. why? 

There’s barely a pause before the dots start dancing again. 

[ heeseung ] 

i’m taking you shopping and then we’re going to a party, you’ll wear what we buy and pretend to be hot for once. You nearly drop your phone into your bulgogi. You stare at the screen for a second too long, as if the sheer arrogance of his words might combust it in your hands. Shopping? Party? Pretend to be hot?

[ you ] 

what the hell does “pretend to be hot” mean???

[ heeseung ] 

it means we’re working with what we got. you’ll be fine. trust the process. 

You audibly groan and collapse backwards onto your pillow, phone pressed against your forehead as if it might somehow absorb the stress and return with divine wisdom. This was the deal, you remind yourself. You help him pass lit, he helps you with... what? Popularity? Style? Winning Soobin's attention through sorcery and strategic eyeliner? 

[ you ] 

i’m not “pretending” to be hot just to impress soobin. i have standards , and pride and a favorite hoodie that smells like detergent and self pity

[ heeseung ] 

noted. wear something that’s easy to take off tomorrow.

[ you ] 

HEY. phrasing.

[ heeseung ] 

relax. for the fitting room, nerd. I’ll be at your dorm at 1. and yes, soobin’s going to be at the party ;)

You stare at that last line for a beat too long. Something flutters, just faintly, in your stomach, uninvited.

[ you ] 

Fine. but if this party ends with me throwing up in a bush i’m holding you personally responsible.

[ heeseung ] 

deal. i’ll even hold your hair back. I'm generous like that.

You throw your phone onto the bed, face-down, like it’s suddenly on fire. You don’t know why you agreed. Maybe it’s the part of you that still wants Soobin to notice. Maybe it’s pride, or maybe it’s just the sheer inevitability of Heeseung’s energy, like trying to argue with a hurricane wearing a smug smirk. Whatever the reason, you’re already mentally preparing for tomorrow. Shopping. With Heeseung.  A party. With Soobin.  A new outfit. A new you. A new mistake waiting to happen. You look down at your empty bulgogi container, sigh, and mutter to no one: “…this is gonna be a disaster.”

The knock on your door comes precisely at 1PM. Not a second early, not a second late. You open it with one shoe half-on, your hoodie sleeve caught in the zipper of your jacket, and your face still half-moisturized. Heeseung is standing there, leaned casually against the doorframe like a page out of a campus fashion catalogue, black jeans, leather jacket, sunglasses perched on his head like he’s just so effortlessly cool it hurts. His hair is slightly tousled, like he either woke up like this or spent an hour pretending he did. “Took you long enough,” he says, not bothering to hide his smirk. 

You scowl and step out, slamming the door behind you. “I said ‘one second’ in the text.”

“Yeah, and I translated that from Girl to Human Time. So twenty minutes.” You roll your eyes, but you follow him anyway, because the deal has officially begun. Operation: Get Soobin to Notice You is in motion. Your dignity is already halfway out the window. Heeseung’s car is just what you expect, black, sleek, a little too clean, and filled with the faint scent of cologne, mint gum, and chaos. You barely get your seatbelt clicked in before he revs the engine and peels out of the dorm parking lot like he's in a race you didn’t know you entered. 

“Oh my god, slow down!” you yelp, clutching the side handle like it might keep your soul tethered to your body.

“Relax,” he says, one hand lazily gripping the wheel, the other already reaching for the radio. “You’re acting like I don’t drive this road every day.” 

“You drive it like you’re being chased, Heeseung.” He only grins in response, eyes still on the road, the picture of reckless confidence. “Maybe I like living on the edge.”

You’re about to fire back another sarcastic quip when the car fills, suddenly, gloriously, with the unmistakable sound of Taylor Swift. Specifically: Cruel Summer. And not the background kind of playing. The volume is up. Way up. Your eyes immediately dart to Heeseung, whose mouth is already moving, quietly at first, almost unconsciously, as he taps the steering wheel to the beat. “I’m drunk in the back of the car… and I cried like a baby coming home from the bar…” Your jaw drops slightly. Because he’s not just mouthing the words. He’s singing. And not in a “ha-ha this song is funny” way. In a felt that in his soul, this is on his heartbreak playlist, probably posted a breakup selfie to this in 2021 kind of way. You try. You really try to stifle the laugh bubbling in your throat. You press your lips together, you bite the inside of your cheek, you turn to the window in dramatic fashion. But it slips out anyway, a full, helpless giggle, light and sudden. 

Heeseung cuts his eyes toward you, still softly singing, and raises a brow. “What’s so funny?”

You blink at him innocently. “You like Taylor Swift?” There’s a moment, a beautiful, brief, perfectly humiliating pause, where Heeseung seems to glitch. His mouth opens, then closes, then he looks back at the road like he’s searching for an exit from this conversation. 

“I — well, I mean —” he clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “She’s… I mean, it’s just a good song, alright?”

Your laugh doubles, slipping out like sunlight through cracked blinds. “Cruel Summer, though?”

“She’s a lyrical genius,” he mutters, half-defensive, half-sincere. “That bridge? That’s literature.” 

You raise your brows, lips twitching. “Quoting T-Swift now? Is this what my tutoring is doing to you?” Heeseung flips you off with absolutely no hesitation, but there’s no heat behind it. He’s laughing now too, eyes squinting as he turns into the mall parking lot with a slightly-too-aggressive swerve.

“Fuck off,” he grins. “You wish you had taste this good.” You hold up your hands in surrender, still giggling. “Okay, okay. I’m not judging.”

“You are judging,” he says, putting the car in park. “But I’ll allow it. Because you’re clearly not emotionally evolved enough to appreciate her catalog yet.”

“Oh my god. Shut up.”

“Nope. We’re listening to Lover next. You’ve brought this upon yourself.” 

The mall greets you with its usual blend of too-loud pop music, screaming children, and the sweet, seductive scent of cinnamon pretzels. It’s packed with people, mothers pushing strollers, bored teenagers clinging to oversized shopping bags, couples holding hands like it’s an Olympic sport. You trail behind Heeseung, your feet already regretting your choice of shoes and your soul regretting this entire arrangement. “So what’s first?” you ask, trying not to bump into a mannequin dressed in denim overalls and heartbreak.

Heeseung doesn’t answer right away. He just keeps walking, purposeful, smug, like he’s on a mission from god. Then he abruptly turns left into a store that is suspiciously sleek and minimal. You blink. “Wait—this is…”

“An eyeglass store,” Heeseung finishes for you, already heading toward the back. “But more importantly, contact central.” You halt, crossing your arms. “Excuse me?”

“You’re getting contacts,” he says, matter-of-fact. “The glasses gotta go.”

You look genuinely scandalized. “Hey! I’ll have you know — I love my glasses.” He stops mid-step and slowly turns to face you, one brow arched so high it’s practically touching heaven. “Yes,” he says, voice dry. “Very librarian core. Sexy in a please return your books on time or I’ll gently scold you in a whisper kind of way.” 

You roll your eyes so hard you practically see your ancestors. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, here you are. Following me into Lens & Style like it’s the promised land.” You’re about to argue more, but the woman behind the counter greets you both with a professional smile, and suddenly you’re being ushered into a little fitting room with sterile lighting and a mirror that shows way too much. A few minutes later, you’re handed a trial pair of contacts and instructed, gently, but firmly, to put them in. It’s harder than it looks. “What do you mean I can’t blink? My entire personality is blinking under pressure!” 

Outside the door, Heeseung snorts. “You’re being dramatic.”

“You’re being annoying,” you grumble, poking yourself in the eye again.

After a full five minutes of internal screaming, finger fumbling, and probably some divine intervention, you finally get them in. You blink a few times, adjusting. The world sharpens around the edges. For the first time in forever, you can actually see without the weight of frames perched on your nose. You step out slowly, unsure, blinking into the bright lights of the shop. Heeseung looks up from his phone, his gaze flicking to yours. And then — He freezes. His smirk falters for the briefest of seconds. You see it. You feel it. 

“Huh,” he says, slower now. “They… actually look good.”

You raise a brow, tentative. “Yeah?” He shrugs, but there’s something unreadable in his expression now, something softer, quieter. “They make your eyes stand out more.” He pauses, then adds with zero fanfare: “You’ve got nice eyes.” It lands like a piano dropped from ten stories. Simple, direct, and impossible to ignore. You blink, stunned; not just by the words, but by the way he said them. Like it wasn’t a joke. Like he meant it. Before you can formulate an actual response, Heeseung clears his throat and looks away. “Alright, let’s go,” he says, already walking toward the exit. “You can thank me later when Soobin gets whiplash tonight.” 

It takes you a beat to follow. Just one. But it’s enough to register that your cheeks are suddenly warm. That your stomach did a weird, traitorous flip. That you hate how a single compliment from Lee freaking Heeseung just turned your brain into a puddle. You push the thought aside and jog to catch up, voice light. “You know, for someone who thinks I look like a librarian, you sure stare a lot.”

He doesn’t look at you, but his mouth twitches into a grin. “You wish.” You do not dignify that with an answer. Mostly because your brain is still back at You’ve got nice eyes. And just like that, with one step out of the eyeglass store and into the fluorescent madness of the mall, the first layer of the old you is left behind.

You’ve barely had time to blink, or process the fact that you’re now navigating the mall with 20/20 vision and a slightly compromised emotional state, when Heeseung is dragging you again. His grip on your wrist is light, but determined, like he’s got an agenda and you’re just a reluctant passenger in the Heeseung Express. You stumble to keep up. “Where are we going now? I need emotional closure before the next attack on my personality.”

He doesn’t even turn around. “Hair.”

“Hair what?”

“Hair cut. Hair styling. Hair lesson. Hair magic. Come on, keep up.” You dig your heels into the tile floor and jerk your arm back. “Heeseung, wait — I did not agree to this. My hair is fine!” 

He finally turns, a single amused brow arched in classic Heeseung fashion. “Fine,” he echoes flatly. “That’s the bar now? Fine?”

You cross your arms. “It’s my head.” He takes a step closer, voice dipping into that maddening blend of mockery and charm. He laughs — laughs, the audacity of him, and says, “Relax. It’s just a trim. Maybe some layers. She’s gonna show you how to actually style it too. You know, so it doesn’t look like you were electrocuted every morning before class.”

You gasp in betrayal. “I’m sorry?!”

“Respectfully,” he adds, as if that softens the blow, then gestures for you to follow. “Come on. She doesn’t bite.” You eye the interior of the salon like you’re being led to an altar, but against your better judgment, and possibly because you’re too tired to argue anymore, you follow him. 

The girl waiting for you is already at her station, brushing her long, glossy black hair behind one ear. She’s tall, unfairly pretty, and wearing jeans that should be illegal. Her name tag reads “Yuri” in bubble-letter cursive. She sees Heeseung and her entire face lights up like a rom-com montage in reverse. “Heeseung!” she squeals, standing to give him a hug. It’s the kind of hug that lasts exactly one second too long to be casual. “You didn’t say you were coming in today!”

“I didn’t,” he says coolly, his hand barely grazing her back. “Brought a friend.”

You watch the interaction with narrowed eyes. It doesn’t take a genius, or even a whole brain cell, to figure out that these two have history. Whether it was a one-night stand, a few steamy study sessions, or something more dangerous like feelings, you’re not sure. But based on the way Yuri’s eyes immediately slide past you and lock on Heeseung like you’re the invisible girl in the background of her fantasy novel? Yeah. They’ve definitely seen each other naked. 

“She’s gonna need a trim and a crash course in how not to commit hair crimes.” Heeseung says, throwing a smirk her way. You open your mouth to protest, again but suddenly Yuri’s hands are in your hair and you’re being guided toward a chair like it’s your fate and destiny. “Don’t worry,” she hums. “I’ll take care of her.” 

“She’s fragile,” Heeseung calls after her with a smirk as he saunters toward the waiting bench. “Mentally and emotionally.”

“I will throw a brush at you!” you yell back as he flops onto the bench with his phone. Yuri laughs under her breath and begins to run her fingers through your hair. Her nails are long, her movements graceful, and despite your stubbornness, something about the way she works is oddly calming. For the next half hour, you sit there as she snips and styles and explains how to curl and blow out and not look like you just woke up five minutes ago. 

“You’ve got good hair,” she says at one point, combing through a section with reverence. “You just don’t do anything with it.” You shrug in the mirror. “That’s kind of my thing.”

Yuri gets to work with practiced ease, fingers threading through your hair, sectioning, snipping. She hums to herself as she teaches you how to twist certain pieces, how to round-brush volume into your roots, how to flick the straightener just so to create an effortless bend. It’s overwhelming, but oddly empowering. Like you’re being handed the controls to your own spaceship. And somewhere beneath all the bitchy undertones, Yuri’s… actually pretty good at this. You glance toward the waiting bench. Heeseung is slouched with his legs sprawled out, scrolling on his phone like he’s not the reason this spiral of makeovers and feelings is happening at all. Every few minutes he glances up; quick, unassuming, but you catch him watching.

Finally, Yuri steps back. “Alright,” she says, tugging off the cape with a flourish. “Moment of truth.” You turn slowly toward the mirror. And okay, fine. You look… kind of amazing. Your hair isn’t drastically different, just sleeker. Softer around the edges. Effortlessly polished in that “I woke up like this but with money and a personal stylist” kind of way. It frames your face, brings out your eyes, makes you look like someone who chose to be seen instead of hiding behind glass and sarcasm. You stand, still a little dazed, and make your way over to Heeseung. He looks up just as you reach him, and something flickers in his eyes. He doesn’t say anything right away. 

But then — He grins. That slow, crooked, effortlessly smug grin. “She’s a miracle worker,” he says to Yuri, standing and pulling out his wallet. “Put it on my card.”

Yuri takes it with a wink. “You’re welcome.”

“Thanks, Yuri. I’ll call you.” He says, with the offer a wink in her direction. 

She swoons. “You better.”

Once you’re outside, you finally say it, because someone has to. “You’re not going to call her.”

“Nope,” he replies, the ‘p’ popping off his lips like punctuation. 

You shake your head in disbelief. “You are such a menace.”

“I prefer charming rascal,” he says, holding the door open for you like a true gentleman-shaped disaster. “Besides, she’s into guys who ghost her. Keeps the fantasy alive.”

You groan. “You’re actually insane.” He only shrugs, hands in his pockets, strolling beside you with the ease of someone who has never questioned his place in the world. 

The moment your feet hit the tile floor of the clothing store, you know this is going to be a disaster. The air is thick with overpriced perfume and the walls are lined with mannequins posed like they’re judging you. Bright lights buzz overhead, harsh and clinical, and the racks seem to stretch into infinity, each one more chaotic than the last. There are sequin jackets tangled with pastel blouses, jeans with more holes than fabric, and crop tops that look like they were designed for dolls, not human beings. You glance around, disoriented. “There is… absolutely nothing here I’d wear.” 

Heeseung, of course, looks completely in his element. He’s already moving through the racks like a man on a mission, pulling shirts and skirts and things that glitter ominously. “That’s the point,” he says over his shoulder, tossing a fringed jacket onto the growing pile in his arms. “You’re not supposed to wear what you’d wear. We’re evolving.”

“Into what? A disco ball?” 

“No,” he replies seriously, “into the kind of girl Soobin stares at across the room and forgets how to blink.” You roll your eyes and reach for a flannel shirt, your comfort zone. Heeseung is there in half a second, gently slapping your hand away. “Nope. Absolutely not.”

“But—”

He points toward the dressing room. “Try these first. And don’t come out until you’ve mentally committed to the bit.” You sigh, arms loaded with fabrics you didn’t even know existed. The dressing room is small and slightly claustrophobic, and the first outfit you try on feels like something a pop star would wear to confuse the paparazzi. You step out hesitantly, tugging at the edges of the bright green top that’s two sizes too tight. Heeseung blinks.

Then he bursts out laughing. “You look like a glow stick in crisis.”

You snort, your face burning. “Okay, rude.” The next outfit is worse: a ruffled floral monstrosity that looks like it belongs in an 1800s romance novel, if that novel had a comedic twist.

Heeseung cackles. “You’re one bonnet away from becoming Pride and Prejudice’s chaotic cousin.” You both descend into full-blown laughter, the kind that makes your stomach hurt and your eyes water. It's ridiculous, how quickly the walls fall between you when you're in this bubble of absurdity, trying on outfits and exchanging insults like secrets. He calls you a fashion war crime. You call him a menace with too much confidence. He claims he’s got the eye of a stylist. You tell him that eye is clearly blind. But somewhere along the way, the laughter shifts. It softens. Somewhere in the middle of the chaos, he starts watching you differently.

You don’t notice it at first, not until you slip into the last dress. It’s simple. No sequins, no plunging neckline, no look-at-me theatrics. Just soft black silk that clings gently to your frame, the neckline a graceful square that highlights your collarbones, the hem brushing just above your knees. You stare at yourself in the mirror for a moment, surprised. It’s not flashy. It’s not dramatic. But it feels like you, the version of you that’s always been hiding underneath. You take a breath, then step out of the dressing room.

Heeseung is on the bench, scrolling through his phone, completely unprepared. He glances up, probably ready with another quip, but the second he sees you, he stops. His phone lowers slowly in his hand. His mouth parts. And he just… stares. For the first time since this entire makeover madness began, Lee Heeseung is speechless. You shift awkwardly under his gaze, tugging at the hem of the dress. “Is it—do I look weird? Be honest.” He doesn’t answer.

You take a hesitant step forward, heart thudding. “Heeseung?”

He blinks, like you pulled him from a dream, and then, because he’s Heeseung, he smirks and shrugs. “That’ll do for tonight, I suppose.” 

You scoff and roll your eyes, but the flush on your cheeks betrays you. “Wow. High praise. I’m overwhelmed.” He grins, leaning back and resting one arm behind his head. “Don’t let it get to your head. We’re going for hot, not heart attack-inducing.”

You disappear back into the dressing room before he can see the stupid smile tugging at your lips. Your heart feels like it’s doing somersaults, and not because of Soobin. You shake the thought from your head, firmly, stubbornly, and change back into your jeans and hoodie. A few minutes later, you’re at the register, watching the cashier ring up the pile of clothes that feel like pieces of someone new. Someone a little braver. A little shinier. A little less invisible. Heeseung stands beside you, smug and satisfied, like he just built you in a lab. 

The cashier announces the total, and before you can even reach for your wallet, Heeseung slides his card across the counter. “On me.”

Your head snaps toward him. “Heeseung, what?”

He just winks. “Don’t worry. I’ll bill you in character development. The cashier bags the clothes, and you step back into the mall with your arms full of potential and your brain full of questions. 

After the last store spits you out, bags in hand, Heeseung’s wallet lighter, your soul slightly transformed, Heeseung glances at the clock on his phone and says, “Okay. Next stop: food court. I need carbs before I collapse.” 

You blink at him, momentarily stunned. “You eat pizza like the rest of us?”

He shoots you a look. “ I don’t just eat pizza. I inhale it. Come on.” Your stomach growls before your feet can move, and suddenly you realize that in all the chaos, makeup, mirrors, the emotionally unsettling event of someone finding you attractive, you forgot to eat. Now that he’s mentioned it, you’re starving. Practically feral. You follow him past vendors and kiosks, the scent of fried food and cinnamon sugar swirling through the air. The food court is loud and crowded, but there’s something strangely comforting about it, the normalcy of it, the fluorescent lights and orange booths, the chatter of families and teenagers and friends grabbing greasy comfort.

Heeseung gets in line beside you at the pizza place, his arms still casually swinging at his sides like this is just another day. “What’s your poison?”

You glance at the menu. “Uh… pepperoni. And a soda.” He nods and orders for you both, without asking, like he’s already memorized the way you talk, the things you like. You’re about to protest, but then he’s paying with that same black card he flashed earlier and nudging you toward a table like it’s no big deal. You settle into a booth across from him, the tray between you bearing two steaming slices and a pair of plastic cups filled to the brim with soda. The first bite is practically a religious experience, greasy, cheesy, absolutely glorious.

Heeseung watches you with mild amusement. “You eat like you’ve just returned from war.”

“I have,” you say, voice muffled around a bite. “Battlefield: retail.”

He snorts and takes a sip of his drink. Then, after a pause, his expression shifts. “So… have you ever actually spoken to Soobin?”

You freeze mid-bite, the cheese stretching between your lips and the slice. You blink. “Define spoken.”

He raises a brow. “Words. Sentences. Preferably involving two-way communication.”

You swallow and clear your throat. “I, uh, once held the computer lab door open for him.” He’s already laughing. You roll your eyes, cheeks flaming. “He said thank you!” 

Heeseung grins, eyes crinkling. “Wow. A whole conversation. Do you guys have an anniversary for that?”

You smack his arm lightly across the table. “Shut up.”

He rubs the spot like you wounded him. “Abuse. I’m calling my lawyer.” You giggle despite yourself, hiding it behind your soda. There’s something so stupidly easy about sitting here with him. You forget you’re supposed to be awkward and invisible. You forget that you’re the DUF. You’re just… you. Which is why the next thing he says nearly gives you whiplash. “Alright,” he declares, brushing crumbs off his hands. “I dare you to flirt with that guy and get his number.”

You nearly choke on your drink. “Excuse me?” He gestures with a nod to a guy sitting alone across the food court, mid-twenties, dark hair, nose in his phone, clearly minding his own business.

“No way,” you say immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on. This is training. You want Soobin, don’t you?” 

“Yes, but—”

“Then get off the bench and into the game.”

You narrow your eyes. “Easy for you to say. You flirt like it’s breathing.”

He smirks. “Because it is.”

And then — he stands up. Before you can even form a sentence, Heeseung is already strolling toward a girl seated at a table nearby, casual and charming, like this is something he does between errands. You watch, jaw slack, as he leans in and says something that makes her smile, tilt her head, laugh. He gestures to his phone, and she takes it without hesitation, tapping her number in and handing it back with a wink. Heeseung returns, smug as a cat, holding his phone out to you like a trophy. “See?” he says, displaying the fresh new contact with flourish. “Easy peasy.”

You stare at him like he’s grown a second head. “I hate you.”

He just shrugs. “Hate me from over there,” he says, pointing again at the guy with the phone. “Go on. Play dumb, but not that dumb. Guys love that shit.”

“I am dumb,” you hiss. “There is no playing.” 

“Perfect. Just be your beautiful, awkward self.” Muttering every curse you know, you stand up and start toward the guy. It’s awful. You clear your throat. He doesn’t look up.

You fidget, then say, “Hi!”

He blinks, surprised. “Um. Hi.”

You force a smile. “I like your… phone.” He blinks again. You want to die. “I mean — I like your case! It’s… very rectangular. Classic. Minimalist.”

He looks mildly alarmed. “Thanks?” You attempt a laugh that comes out sounding like a cough. “Sooo, um, are you… single?”

His eyes dart nervously around. “I… I have a boyfriend.”

“OH!” you blurt. “Oh, my bad. I totally support that. I’m not… you know. Homophobic. Or anything.” You want to crawl into a vent and disappear. He offers a small, polite smile. “Have a good day.” And he’s gone, up and out, food tray abandoned. You turn slowly, walking back to the table where Heeseung is laughing so hard he’s red in the face, wheezing into his pizza slice like it’s keeping him alive.

You slump into the seat. “That was a hate crime.”

“That,” he says between snorts, “was the best thing I’ve ever seen. Ever.”

You glare at him. “I hope your soda spills on your lap.” Still grinning, he slides your tray toward you and raises his cup. “To improvement.” You clink your soda against his without smiling. But your heart’s laughing anyway. 

When Heeseung pulls up to your dorm, it’s with a dramatic screech of tires and the kind of recklessly confident parking job that screams I’ve never paid a meter in my life. He leans over the center console, smirking at you as you gather your bags of shopping and your still-wobbly self-esteem from the floor of his car. “Alright,” he says, eyes scanning the bags. “You have everything you need to socially destroy the night.”

You roll your eyes. “Thanks, fairy godmother.”

He winks. “I’m hotter than a fairy godmother. And taller.” You snort, slamming the car door behind you and flipping him off over your shoulder. He cackles, the sound following you up the stairs of your dorm and into the echoing silence of your room. Once you’re inside, the weight of the next few hours settles in your stomach like a boulder. You place the shopping bags carefully on your bed, smoothing the edges of the tissue paper like they might calm your nerves. Heeseung said he’d be back at 9 p.m. sharp to pick you up, which gives you a little over three hours to get ready. Three hours to transform. Three hours to convince yourself that you’re not the DUF anymore.

You spend the first half-hour just staring at yourself in the mirror. No makeup, hair messy, hoodie baggy and beloved. You look… like you. Regular. Quiet. Familiar.

You text Heeseung: “Okay so do I have to wear the mini skirt???”

His reply is instant. “Yes. And send pics. I’m the boss, remember?” You grumble, but slip into the skirt anyway and pair it with a halter top he claimed made your arms look “objectively illegal.” You take a mirror selfie, looking reluctant, and send it off. Within seconds, he replies: “Too ‘I work at a bar and hate my life.’”

You snort, throw the top across the room, and try again. Next outfit: jeans and a crop top. You pose. Click. Send “Cute. But it’s giving ‘we’re just friends.’” You flip him off through text “Try the dress. You know the one.”

You hesitate. That dress. The black silk one, the one that made his words stutter and his eyes flicker. The one that didn’t feel like you were trying to be anyone else, just a bolder version of yourself. You pull it out carefully, fingers gliding across the fabric like it might whisper back. Slowly, you slip it on. It fits like it did in the store. Soft, secure, like a secret. You stare at yourself in the mirror, and for a second… you see it. You see her. The girl who could walk into a party and turn heads. The girl who could maybe, just maybe, make Soobin notice. You send the picture. 

Heeseung replies: “Jesus.” Then, seconds later: “That’s the one.”

No teasing. No jokes. Just those three words that knock your heart off-balance. You set your phone down, exhale slowly. Then, the routine begins. You do your makeup with trembling hands, lashes curled, liner precise, lips tinted a soft rose. Your hair falls the way Yuri taught you, soft waves that frame your face and catch the light. You spray perfume on your wrists, your collarbones, the backs of your knees. A whisper of vanilla and hope. You put on your jewelry, simple earrings, the necklace that sits perfectly in the hollow of your throat. You take one last look in the mirror. You don’t recognize her, but you like her.

Then, your phone rings. The name “Heeseung 💀” flashes on the screen. You answer, voice caught somewhere between a smile and a scream. “Hello?”

“Hey,” he says, casual and breezy like this isn’t the first time he’s hearing your voice dressed like this. “I’m outside.” Your stomach flips.

You grab your bag, give yourself one more desperate glance in the mirror, and whisper to your reflection, “Don’t trip. Don’t choke. Don’t die.” Then you’re out the door, the echo of your footsteps ringing down the hall, your heart doing somersaults in your chest.

The car is sleek and stupidly shiny, purring low like it knows it’s hot. You spot it the moment you step outside your dorm building, standing at the edge of the sidewalk like you’re on the brink of a red carpet. And standing against it, leaning like he was born to be the poster child for a Calvin Klein fragrance, is Heeseung. He looks up as you approach, and even in the dim lighting of campus streetlamps, his smile flickers into something that nearly knocks you over. He’s wearing all black, ripped jeans, a bomber jacket, his signature messy hair that probably took way too long to make look that effortless. You don’t want to say he looks good, because that feels too generous. He looks... unfair. Rude. And worse? He knows it. He gives you a once-over, slow and obvious. “Damn,” he says, like he’s complimenting you and mocking you in the same breath. “You clean up alright.” 

You roll your eyes, clutching your purse a little tighter. “You’re not so bad yourself. For a menace.”

He smirks and pops open the passenger door for you with an exaggerated flourish. “M’lady.” You roll your eyes again, but your heart skips a beat anyway as you slide into the seat, the cool leather against your thighs making you realize just how very real this is. You’re on your way to the party. With Lee Heeseung. In a black silk dress and mascara that took you 45 minutes to get right. Breathe. The drive is short, just a few blocks away in one of those off-campus houses you’ve only ever seen through the haze of Instagram stories and hearsay. But your nerves are anything but short. They’ve curled into your stomach, wound tight around your ribs, pressed against the back of your throat. You grip the strap of your bag like it’s a lifeline.

You’ve been to parties before, sure. But never without Dani and Sakura. Without their protective, familiar presence to anchor you in the sea of bodies and music and beer breath. Without their shared eye-rolls and whispered commentary and midnight giggles on the walk home. And now… now you don’t even know if they’ll be there. Scratch that. You know they will. You just don’t want to see them. Not tonight. Not when you're dressed like this. Not when you're trying so hard to become someone new.

You barely realize the car’s stopped until Heeseung throws it into park. You’re frozen, staring out the window at the glittering string lights draped across the porch, the thump of bass already vibrating through the concrete. There are people everywhere, laughing, shouting, spilling out onto the lawn like they’ve never had a quiet thought in their lives. You’re going to puke. Heeseung glances over, and; because he’s Heeseung, he notices immediately. “You good?” he asks, casual but careful. “You look like you’re about to get drafted into war.”

You force a laugh, but it’s brittle. “I’m fine.”

“Liar.” You glance at him, cheeks hot. “Okay, I’m just… nervous.”

He nods like he gets it, and maybe he does. Maybe he doesn’t. But his voice is soft when he says, “Hey. Look at me.” You do. “Everything’s gonna be cool,” he says, with a cocky grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You look insane, by the way. Like, criminal levels of hot. If Soobin doesn’t fold tonight, he’s legally blind.”

That earns a weak laugh from you, and he nudges your shoulder gently. “Just remember who got you here when you’re famous on campus by Monday.”

You snort. “You mean when they put me in GroupMe memes for tripping over my heels and knocking over a keg?”

Heeseung grins. “Even better. Instant legend status.” You breathe out, shaky but a little more stable now. “Okay,” you whisper. “Let’s do this.”

“You sure?”

“No.”

He laughs, throwing open the door. “That’s the spirit.”

You step out onto the curb, your heels clicking against the pavement like you’re a contestant on America’s Next Nervous Breakdown. But still, you stand up straighter. Shoulders back. Head high. You smooth the hem of your dress and tell yourself this is what you came here for. To show them. To show yourself. Heeseung falls into step beside you, his hand brushing against yours, not quite touching, but close enough to anchor you. Together, you walk toward the house, the music growing louder with every step. Somewhere behind the front door, the party waits. Soobin waits. They might be waiting too. But for now; it’s just you. And Heeseung. And the version of you that’s ready to finally be seen.

The moment the front door swings open, you’re hit with a wall of noise and heat, thick and heady like you’ve just stepped into the center of a beating heart. The bass is thudding through the floorboards, lights pulsing with every drop of the music, and bodies are everywhere, moving, swaying, tangled up in each other, laughter and shouting and the occasional high-pitched squeal blending together like some chaotic symphony of college nightlife. It’s not your first party, not technically, but it’s your first this kind of party, this kind of entrance. Not as a background extra or the girl carrying everyone’s phones. No hoodie, no glasses, no fading into the wallpaper. 

Tonight, you’re a main character. And Heeseung is your entrance music. He walks in first, easy and smooth, like the world shifts to make room for him. His presence is magnetic, and it pulls eyes toward the doorway like gravity. The second you step through behind him, heels tapping softly, dress swishing around your thighs like smoke, there’s a ripple. You feel it. Heads turning. Conversations pausing. The hush of recognition so subtle you might miss it, if your nerves weren’t already on fire. 

You try not to look around too much. You try to look confident. Poised. Detached, even. You tilt your chin up like you belong, even though your hands are clammy and your stomach is doing Olympic-level gymnastics. You’re hyper-aware of everything: the way the strap of your dress slides against your shoulder, the way your perfume clings to the heat of your skin, the soft creak of your heels on the hardwood floor. You catch flashes of recognition from familiar faces, faces that used to glance right through you, now blinking, staring, mouths parted, whispering behind their solo cups. And you? You just keep walking. Heeseung’s friends spot him in the far corner of the room, near a low couch littered with bags of chips and someone’s half-eaten box of pizza. The greetings are instant, shoulder claps, finger guns, head nods and booming “Yo!”s that feel like something out of a movie. Sunghoon practically lunges forward, clapping Heeseung on the back like he’s just returned from war. Beomgyu pulls him into one of those half-hugs that somehow involve three back slaps and an awkward shoulder bump. Jay and Jake both pipe up at once about someone from class asking for him earlier, their voices fighting over the music. And for a second, you’re forgotten. 

You stand a little off to the side, hands awkwardly clasped in front of you, smile hovering uncertainly on your lips. You’re not mad, they haven’t seen each other in a bit, and the reunion energy is real, but the awkward ache settles in your chest anyway, that old too-familiar feeling of being adjacent to the fun but not quite in it. Until Sunghoon finally turns toward you, and freezes. His eyebrows shoot up so far they practically disappear into his hairline. His eyes flick over you, slow and not particularly subtle, dragging from the hem of your dress to the curve of your collarbone to your lips like he’s trying to solve a riddle with his eyeballs. “Uh… who’s this?” 

Beomgyu leans in, squinting in your direction like he’s staring directly into the sun. “Wait. Are you new? Like, transfer student new? Heeseung, bro, you didn’t say you were bringing someone.” Heeseung, who is somehow already sipping a drink he didn’t have two seconds ago, sighs and smacks Beomgyu lightly on the back of the head.

“She’s not new,” Heeseung says casually. “You guys know her.”

Jay looks genuinely confused. “We do?”

ake leans sideways to get a better look at you. “Hold on…” Heeseung glances at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Then, with perfect comedic timing and just enough pride to make your knees wobble, he says your name like it was obvious. To them, it was not and for some reason that twisted you up inside. 

There is a silence. Then, chaos. “NO FREAKING WAY.” Sunghoon’s voice actually cracks. “Shut up. Shut UP.” Beomgyu’s mouth falls open. “You’re lying. This is not hoodie-and-sweatpants Y/N. This is, like — TikTok viral-level hot girl Y/N. You’re telling me it’s the same person?” You’re half-laughing, half-dying inside. You glance away, cheeks burning, unsure what to do with your hands or your face or your entire existence. This wasn’t supposed to feel like a scene from a teen makeover movie, but, well. Here you are.

“She’s always looked like this,” Heeseung says coolly, giving them a look that says don’t push it. “You just never paid attention.” The group stumbles over themselves with backpedaling compliments, Sunghoon muttering something about your eyes, Jake saying you look “like a star,” and Beomgyu still acting like he just saw a unicorn. You’re saved from having to respond by Heeseung, who, clearly reading your overwhelmed expression, tosses out casually, “You guys seen Soobin?” 

Jay shakes his head. “Not yet. Might be outside?” Heeseung nods, and without another word, he reaches down and grabs your hand like it’s the most normal thing in the world. And maybe it is. Maybe it isn’t. Either way, the contact is sudden and warm and firm, and you don’t even think, you just let him pull you through the crowd, dodging plastic cups and tangled limbs as he weaves toward the kitchen. Your hand stays in his the whole way. You don’t ask why. You don’t let yourself hope. When you reach the drink table, he finally lets go, only to pour you something in a red cup and hand it to you like a bartender with a mission. 

“You alive?” he teases, raising an eyebrow.

You take the cup, roll your eyes, and murmur, “Barely.”

Heeseung clinks his cup against yours, grin widening. “You’re killing it.”

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, voice just loud enough to cut through the bass thumping behind you. It’s gentler than you expect, free of teasing or sarcasm.

You nod automatically. “Yeah, I’m—”

“Y/N?!” The sound of your name rips through the music like a siren. You freeze. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is. You’d know those voices anywhere. They’re carved into your memory, every syllable, every cadence, familiar and aching in the way only ex-best friends can be. Still, you turn.

Dani and Sakura are standing there, half in disbelief, half in judgment. Their eyes rake down your body, from the sleek dress hugging your frame to the careful curls in your hair. Their mouths are parted like they can’t decide whether to gasp or laugh. Sakura tilts her head. “What… are you doing here?”

Dani crosses her arms. “And with him?” 

You glance back at Heeseung for half a second, who hasn’t said a word yet, just watching them with a slight furrow between his brows. Your stomach flips. You force a breath out of your nose and turn back to the girls, your grip tightening around your drink. You let out a laugh. It’s sharp and hollow and lined with every quiet insult they’ve ever made sound like a joke. “What?” you say, voice laced in dry amusement. “Surprised someone like Heeseung would want to hang out with me?” They flinch, barely, but you catch it. Dani opens her mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You don’t wait.

You take a step closer, letting your voice drop, cold and brittle like breaking glass. “Why do you guys even care? Huh? You didn’t seem to care when you were calling me the DUF behind my back.”

Sakura’s expression twists. “We never—”

“This isn’t you, Y/N,” Dani cuts in, voice brittle. “The dress. The makeup. Hanging out with Heeseung? This isn’t who you are.” Your jaw clenches. The words burn, not because they’re true, but because they’re not. Because they’re laced with that same tired condescension, the same kind of backhanded care that always kept you two steps behind, like they wanted you close but never quite caught up. But before you can speak, a sudden warmth settles across your shoulders. Heeseung. His arm slips over you with ease, casual but claiming, protective but not possessive. His fingers brush the edge of your shoulder, and his voice is laced with syrupy sarcasm. 

“We’d love to stay and chit-chat,” he drawls, flashing the girls a lazy grin, “but we’ve got somewhere to be.” And just like that, he doesn’t give them another second. He tugs you away gently, steering you through the party with surprising precision, hand resting firmly on your upper back as he guides you toward the back of the house. You don’t look back. You don’t want to see their faces. You’re too stunned, too angry, too relieved. Your heart is racing and your pulse is pounding and your vision is a little too bright. He opens the back door, and the cooler night air hits you like a blessing. You step out onto the porch, the noise of the party muffled behind the closed door. Fairy lights are strung across the railing, casting a soft gold glow over the wooden planks and the few potted plants half-dead in their corners. It’s quieter here. Private. 

You suck in a breath and finally speak. “Thank you.”

Heeseung leans against the porch railing, glancing sideways at you. “For what?”

You give him a look. “For that. For getting me out of there.”

He shrugs, eyes flicking away. “It’s no big deal.”

You watch him for a moment, heart still unsteady. “It is, though.” He finally meets your gaze again, and for a moment, the cocky smile slips away. His eyes are dark and unreadable, but his voice is soft when he says, “They don’t get to make you feel like that. No one does.” You feel something twist in your chest. Something warm. Something dangerous. For a second, the two of you just… stand there. The silence stretches out, thick and humming with unspoken things. Heeseung’s hand is still in his pocket, but his shoulder is just barely touching yours now. Not quite close enough to be a statement, but close enough to feel like a promise.

The quiet of the back porch doesn’t last long. It breaks like glass, sharp and immediate, at the sound of stilettos clacking against the wood. You feel the shift before you see it. A cool draft. A wrongness. And then, the syrupy sweet voice that makes your spine stiffen and your heart drop. “Well, isn’t this cozy?” 

Wonyoung stood there, draped in a skin-tight red dress that clings like a threat, hair curled into perfect waves, and lips painted a venomous shade of cherry. She walks like the world’s her stage, and you’re just an extra lucky to be in the background. Her smile is the kind that cuts, sharp and gleaming, like she knows something you don’t. Your heart sinks because you remember. You remember her words last time: “Stay away from Heeseung.” You didn’t listen. Maybe you thought she wouldn’t notice. Maybe a part of you hoped she didn’t mean it. But she’s here now, and she’s looking at you like a hunter cornering something helpless. Heeseung straightens beside you, his entire body going taut like a wire pulled too tight. “What do you want, Wonyoung?” he says, voice clipped. 

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she saunters closer and, without warning, nudges you aside with the ease of someone who’s always taken up too much space. Her hand slides onto Heeseung’s shoulder like she owns it, like she’s done it a thousand times before. But Heeseung jerks away instantly, his jaw clenching as he shrugs her off like her touch burned. Still, Wonyoung smiles. “Hee… I miss you.” He doesn’t answer. Not at first. He just glances at you. And the look in his eyes, God, it’s something between apology and warning and please just trust me. But you don’t know how to read it, not really. Not when your stomach is twisting in knots and your voice is caught in your throat. 

“Hey, Wonyoung…” you manage, your tone so high and squeaky you want to slap yourself. Wonyoung turns, slow as a villain in a teen drama, and actually groans, like your existence is somehow the inconvenience of the century. She eyes you up and down with obvious disdain before deadpanning, “What do you want?” 

You blink, caught off guard. “Uh—I was just—” But she’s already looking away, like you don’t matter. Like you’re nothing more than a gnat buzzing in her ear. It’s humiliating. It’s infuriating. But you don’t say anything. You just shrink a little smaller.

She turns back to Heeseung, pressing forward again like she hasn’t just made you feel two inches tall. “We’re playing spin the bottle,” she says brightly, batting her lashes. “Wanna join?”

Heeseung lets out a dry laugh. “What are we, high schoolers?” His voice is full of disbelief. “Isn’t that a kids game?”

Wonyoung just shrugs, undeterred. “Still works.”

Before he can argue again, she latches her fingers around his wrist and tugs. You don’t know if it’s the surprise or the fact that he’s clearly outnumbered, but he lets her drag him halfway across the porch. You don’t even realize you’re following until you’re inside again, the noise swallowing you whole. The crowd’s shifted, coalescing into a rough circle on the living room floor. The center of attention now: an empty bottle spinning slowly on the wood, the air buzzing with half-drunken laughter and anticipation. You spot Dani and Sakura immediately. They’re sitting between Jake and Sunghoon, giggling, whispering, stealing glances at you. But there’s something different now. Not amusement. Not judgment. Pity. It glimmers on their faces like a sheen of sweat, and it makes something cold spark in your chest. You hate it. You’d rather be ignored than pitied. You tear your gaze away. 

“Finally you’re here! Join us!” Wonyoung’s voice rings out, shrill and triumphant. Soobin. He was here, oh god. Your heart lurches at the sight of him. He’s dressed in a white tee and a leather jacket, hair falling perfectly across his forehead, the picture of cool detachment. He smiles slightly as he joins the circle, settling next to Beomgyu without much fanfare. He hasn’t even seen you yet. But suddenly the air in the room is thinner. The lights are harsher. Every breath feels like an effort. This is what you came for, isn’t it? The moment you’ve been chasing. The whole reason you let Heeseung drag you to the mall, to the salon, through an identity transformation that’s still barely settled on your shoulders. You should be thrilled. But instead, all you can feel is this strange, gnawing pressure. You glance at Heeseung, who’s already watching Soobin, something unreadable flickering across his features. Then his gaze shifts to you. There’s tension there. Tight. Heavy. Loaded. And it hits you: the game has started. And you’re no longer sure whose rules you’re playing by.

You watch as people had their turns with the bottle, watching as the glass spun round and round giving someone their fate for the night and finally after countless spins — it was your turn. The bottle spun with a nervous flick of your fingers, clinking softly against the scratched wood floor as it twirled, and you felt your stomach turn with it. Around you, drunken laughter swirled like smoke, the heat of the crowded living room pressing in from all sides. Someone let out a whistle, another person shouted encouragement, and Wonyoung was watching you with narrowed eyes, her arms crossed like she was waiting for you to fall flat on your face. But none of that mattered right now. None of it mattered because that damned bottle had chosen a direction, and it was pointing straight at Soobin. You could barely breathe.

Soobin tilted his head, the corners of his mouth tugging up into a soft, almost apologetic smile, the kind that made your lungs feel like they were filled with helium. His gaze was kind, nonjudgmental. Gentle, even. As if to say “It’s okay if you say no. I won’t be mad.” And God, did that make it worse. Because now the ball was in your court. Your palms were sweating. Your heart pounded so loudly you couldn’t hear the party anymore. Just the roar of blood in your ears. You’d dreamed of this. Fantasized about this exact moment for years. The idea of kissing Soobin had always seemed like something that belonged to a different version of you, a cooler, prettier, worthier version. And yet here you were. Inches from it. One lean forward and you'd touch lips. And still, panic dug into you like claws. 

Your mind spiraled in frantic loops. What if I mess it up? What if I bump noses with him? What if my breath smells like the pizza from earlier? What if my lipstick smudges? What if I suck at it and he tells everyone? And more than anything; do I even want my first kiss to be like this? In front of Wonyoung, Dani, Sakura, and twenty semi-drunk strangers? But before you could finish the spiral, Heeseung’s hand gently curled around your wrist. His fingers were warm, grounding. You turned your head slightly, and he leaned in, his voice brushing against the shell of your ear, low and sincere. “You don’t have to do this,” he murmured. “We can leave. Right now.” 

You paused. That offer, so casual, so safe, it nearly undid you. You looked at him, and for a brief second the noise of the party dropped away. Just Heeseung and his eyes, steady and unreadable. Ready to walk you out of this chaos with zero judgment. But then your gaze flicked across the circle and found Wonyoung, her arms crossed, her expression unreadable but unmistakably sharp. You couldn’t back down. Not now. Not in front of her. “I’m fine,” you whispered, offering Heeseung the tiniest smile, even if it felt wobbly and weak. “I got this.” Reluctantly, he let your wrist go. And so, heart pounding like a drumline, you leaned in. Soobin did too.

Your faces were so close now you could feel the warmth of his breath, smell the faint citrus of his cologne. You were trying not to close your eyes too soon, but you didn’t know the rules. Were there rules? Were you supposed to count to three? Tilt your head? Your brain screamed at you to stop, to run, to — “COPS!” The word cracked through the house like a gunshot.

In an instant, the entire room exploded. Screams. Shouting. Feet slamming against hardwood. Red solo cups hitting the floor and rolling away. Someone knocked over a lamp, plunging half the room into shadow. The panic was immediate and real, like someone had hit a switch that turned this party into a stampede. You didn’t even get a second to blink before Heeseung was yanking you to your feet. “Come on!” he yelled, wrapping his fingers around yours and hauling you after him through the chaos.

You barely had time to register what was happening before you were stumbling through the living room, dodging people vaulting over furniture and crawling through open windows. The entire party had turned feral. Shouting echoed off the walls, red and blue lights flickered from the front yard, and someone shouted something about hiding in the attic. Heeseung didn’t slow. His hand tightened on yours as he dragged you through the kitchen, shouldering past people, and out the back door. The backyard was even more chaotic. Students were climbing fences, squeezing through hedges, and ducking behind trash cans. You stared at the wooden fence in front of you, at least six feet high, and made a sound somewhere between a groan and a gasp. 

“You want me to jump that?” you cried.

“Unless you want your mugshot posted in tomorrow’s student newsletter — yes!” With an ungraceful huff, you hiked up your dress and clambered over the fence, scraping your knee on the way down and landing hard in someone’s overgrown backyard. Heeseung followed right after, barely phased, landing beside you with an effortless thud.

“This way!” so you ran. Breath tearing out of your lungs, dress flapping around your legs, adrenaline pounding through your veins, you ran like your life depended on it. You didn’t stop until Heeseung’s car was in view, parked two blocks down. You practically dove into the passenger seat as he slid behind the wheel and slammed the door shut. He turned the key, the engine roared to life, and the tires screamed against the pavement as he peeled off into the street like a getaway driver in a movie.

You didn’t even speak for the first few seconds, just sat there panting, adrenaline still racing through your bloodstream, chest heaving as the lights and shouting faded behind you. Then, you looked at each other. And burst out laughing. Full, uncontrollable, hysterical laughter. The kind that curled your stomach and left tears in your eyes. You laughed until your lungs hurt. Heeseung clutched the steering wheel with one hand, his other wiping tears from his face. “I almost kissed Soobin,” you gasped out between wheezes.

“And then almost got arrested,” he choked out. “Honestly? 10/10 night.”

You threw your head back, still laughing. “That was insane.”

He grinned at you, cheeks flushed, hair a mess from the mad dash. “You’re kinda fun when you’re not busy hating me, you know that?”

You smiled, your heart slowing in your chest. Outside, the streets blurred past your window. Inside, something was starting to settle. Shift. Change. “I don’t hate you.” You whisper.  You were supposed to kiss Soobin tonight. Instead… you ran away with Heeseung. The laughter between you and Heeseung had started to quiet, settling into the thick silence that sometimes follows a shared moment, like the tide pulling back after a crash of waves. It lingered in the air, warm and easy, the kind of laughter that left your chest aching in the best way. You wiped at the corners of your eyes, breath still uneven from giggling so hard, and turned to look at Heeseung.

He was already watching you. His eyes sparkled under the dim glow of the car’s interior lights, lips curled into a half-smile, like he was still amused by the chaos you both narrowly escaped. Then, he tilted his head, that boyish grin deepening. “You were really going to kiss Soobin just now,” he said, like he still couldn’t believe it. You tried to smile back, to laugh it off, but something in your chest twisted unexpectedly. The corners of your mouth dipped, your gaze fell to your lap, and your fingers began nervously toying with your fingers.

Heeseung noticed immediately. The smile on his face slipped, eyes narrowing just slightly—not in annoyance, but concern. “Hey,” he said softly, leaning just a bit closer. “What’s wrong? I thought this is what you wanted?” You swallowed. The words caught in your throat, all scrambled and fragile. You didn’t want to say it. You hadn’t said it out loud to anyone. It was too revealing, too… vulnerable. But something about Heeseung, the steadiness in his gaze, the quiet way he was looking at you now like you mattered, made you trust him in a way that startled you. So you said it. 

“I’ve never kissed anyone before.” It came out softer than you intended. Barely above a whisper. But it landed between you with the weight of something unspoken for too long. Heeseung didn’t react right away. He didn’t laugh or make a teasing comment. Instead, he just looked at you. His eyes searched yours for something, you weren’t sure what, maybe the why of it, or maybe just the simple truth. But whatever it was, he found it, because after a moment, he nodded, his voice quiet and sincere. “I can teach you.”

You blinked. “What?” 

He nodded again, slower this time. No smirk. No hint of mischief. Just quiet seriousness. “I can teach you,” he repeated, “so you’re not inexperienced when you finally get Soobin.” The words felt… strange. Like something cold and sharp and warm all at once. You weren’t sure what to say, your heart skipping beats like it couldn’t keep up. “You’d really do that?” you asked, voice barely audible.

Heeseung leaned back just enough to look at you fully. “Yeah,” he said. “If you want.” And you did. You didn’t know why. You didn’t know what it meant. But you wanted to. So you nodded. “Okay.” He leaned over the center console, his arm brushing against yours, and suddenly the space between you shrank to something small and intimate. You felt the electricity buzz in the air like static clinging to skin, your pulse racing louder than your thoughts.

You swallowed. “What if I’m bad at it?”

He smiled softly, not in a mocking way but like someone offering reassurance. “That’s why I’m teaching you,” he said. Then, his hand lifted, slow and steady, brushing your hair away from your face and tucking it behind your ear. His touch was featherlight, the pad of his thumb just grazing your cheek. “You want to set the tone,” he murmured. “Don’t just dive right in.” You nodded, breath caught somewhere between your chest and lips, and then — He kissed you. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t rough or overwhelming. It was soft. Intentional. Like he was holding the moment between his hands and molding it into something gentle. His lips were warm, firm but cautious, and he kissed you like he was afraid to scare you off. Like you were something rare. Precious. Fragile.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your hand lifting without thinking to rest gently against his arm. You melted, leaned into him. The world slowed down. The roar in your head dulled to a soft hum. The nervous energy in your chest unwound, slowly replaced by a kind of comfort that made your skin hum. When he pulled away, it was only by inches. His forehead almost rested against yours. His breathing matched yours, shaky and a little uneven. His voice was barely a whisper. “Did you learn anything?”

You blinked at him, dazed, lips still tingling. “I  —I think I need another lesson.” He grinned, something sparking behind his eyes, and then nodded. “I think so too.” The second kiss was different. Gone was the careful, tentative pace. This time, his mouth found yours with a hunger that startled you, like he’d been waiting for permission and now that he had it, he wasn’t going to waste a second. His hand slid to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair. Your hands, unsure at first, found their way to his shoulders, gripping lightly as your lips moved against his. It was fire and silk and all-consuming. His mouth moved with confidence, coaxing you, guiding you, his kiss deeper now, filled with something unspoken. You kissed him back with everything you had, wanting, needing, trying to remember everything, to feel everything.

When he finally pulled away, both of you were breathless. The windows were fogged, your hearts thundering. He looked at you with wide eyes and a half-laugh in his voice. “Let’s get you back to the dorms before I forget this is supposed to be educational.” You blinked at him, flustered and floating somewhere between disbelief and bliss. You nodded, cheeks burning, and didn’t say a word.

The morning sun crept in through the slats of your blinds like a quiet promise, painting golden stripes across your sheets and the cluttered floor of your dorm. You stirred slowly, a little dazed, blinking against the light and the memory of last night that came flooding back all at once. Lee Heeseung kissed you. Correction: you kissed Lee Heeseung. Twice, you never thought you would see the day. Your cheeks burned as you sat up, the remnants of sleep falling off your body like petals, replaced with a rush of electricity that made you want to scream into your pillow. It wasn’t just that it was your first kiss, it was the way it happened. Soft. Gentle. Focused. Like he’d been waiting to kiss you and didn’t know it until the moment your lips touched. You padded across the dorm floor, slipping into your morning routine with a weird sort of buzz in your chest. Toothbrush. Face wash. Outfit. Breakfast bar you didn’t feel like eating. But everything felt brighter. Softer around the edges. You were still you, but something inside of you had shifted just a little to the left. Your phone buzzed.

[ heeseung ] 

Studying tonight? Meet me at the campus cafe. 6pm sharp.

Your breath caught, and for the briefest second you just stared at the screen, heart kicking up a beat like it remembered the feeling of his mouth on yours.

[ You: ] 

Is this a date or is Mr. Yoon threatening your scholarship again?

Three dots danced on your screen before his reply popped up: 

[ heeseung ] 

Can’t it be both? 😏

You let out a snort and shook your head, fingers tapping against the glass.

[ You ] 

Fine. But I’m only coming for the lattes. And the pity.

 [ Heeseung ]  

You love me for my academic desperation.

The audacity of how quickly your fingers typed out “maybe I do” and how fast you deleted it made your heart skip. You settled on a safer: 

[ You ] 

6pm sharp. Don’t be late, loser.

He didn’t respond right away, and that was probably for the best. Your head was still spinning with thoughts you didn’t know what to do with. Because despite the fact that this whole arrangement started as a carefully crafted plan to get Soobin to notice you, Heeseung had crept under your skin in a way you hadn’t expected. You were supposed to tutor him, he was supposed to help you get a makeover and gain confidence. You were not supposed to like the way he looked at you. Or the way he laughed at your jokes, like they were the funniest thing he’d heard all day. Or the way he kissed you like kissing you was something he’d been waiting to do forever. And yet…You shook your head and tried to push the thoughts down as you threw your backpack over your shoulder. There wasn’t time to obsess. You had a class to get to and a very smug, stupidly attractive boy to study with tonight. Still, as you stepped out into the cool morning breeze, you caught yourself smiling. That soft, barely-there kind of smile that made your cheeks warm and your chest float.

The clock on the café wall ticked toward six with the dramatics of a heartbeat, each second heavier than the last. You stood outside the door for a moment longer than necessary, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. It was just a study session. Nothing more. Just like it had been every time you’d met with him to talk about literature, syntax, metaphor, only now, every word he spoke felt double-edged. Heeseung had kissed you. Twice. You had kissed him back. And now here you were, stepping into the soft glow of the campus café, with your heart tucked somewhere beneath your collarbone and trying desperately not to show itself. Heeseung was already there, lounging in the corner booth like it was made for him. One long leg stretched out in front of him, a cup of iced coffee sweating on the table beside a half-opened notebook. His face lit up when he saw you, that easy grin sliding onto his lips as if it belonged there. You hated how your stomach flipped.

“You’re late,” he teased, gesturing at the seat across from him.

You scoffed, sliding into the booth and unzipping your bag. “It’s 5:59. Maybe your watch is just as bad as your syntax.”

He let out a sharp laugh, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Touché.” You started with the basics, flipping through your annotated copy of Frankenstein, pointing out literary devices with the kind of precision you were proud of. Heeseung listened. Really listened. His brow furrowed when he was concentrating, and his eyes flicked back and forth between you and the book like he was trying to stitch your words to the page in real time. He asked questions, good ones, and when he got something right, his grin was so smug you almost threw your pencil at him. But then, somewhere between explaining tragic irony and discussing the gothic atmosphere, his focus started to slip. You were mid-sentence when you felt it, his fingers poking at your side, soft and quick like a spark.

You jumped, letting out a startled laugh. “What the hell?”

Heeseung smirked, clearly proud of himself. “You were monologuing. I had to bring you back to earth.”

“You’re such a child.” You quip. 

“A cute child,” he said, wiggling his brows. You rolled your eyes, shoving him lightly with your foot under the table, but there was no bite behind it. There never was anymore. Then, he leaned back in the booth, his voice lowering just enough to signal a shift. “I have an idea, by the way. About how you can actually talk to Soobin.”

You blinked, momentarily derailed. “You mean… like a conversation that doesn’t involve holding a door open and whispering thanks?”

He smirked. “Exactly like that.”

 “Well? I’m listening.” Heeseung’s gaze flicked over your face before he continued. “Sunghoon’s hosting a get-together tomorrow night. It’s not a huge thing, more like a casual hangout. Pizza, soda, football on the TV, the works. Soobin’s gonna be there.”

You hesitated, twirling your pen between your fingers. “I mean, yeah, that sounds okay but…” You tilted your head. “Is it going to be weird if I’m the only girl there?” Heeseung paused. That pause said more than he probably meant it to. He scratched the back of his neck, like he was bracing himself. 

You narrowed your eyes. “What? What is it?”

He sighed. “Sakura, Dani, and… Wonyoung are going to be there too.” Your heart dropped straight to your feet. You leaned back against the booth, head tilted toward the ceiling in a dramatic groan. “Of course they are.”

“I get it if you don’t want to come,” he said quickly. “I wouldn’t blame you.”

But you shook your head, jaw tightening with something that tasted like defiance. “No. I’m going.”

Heeseung blinked. “Really?” his shock, palpable. 

“Yeah,” you said, voice sharper than you meant it to be. “I’m not going to let them ruin this. I’m not going to let her ruin this.” You didn’t have to say her name. He knew. Still, you couldn’t help yourself from asking, quieter now. “Why is Wonyoung even going to something like that? I thought you two were… done.”

“We are,” he said. “But she’s still friends with the guys. She shows up to stuff. It’s… whatever.” It wasn’t whatever to you, but you nodded anyway. Because you knew if you let your thoughts go too far, you’d unravel right there over your half-drunk latte. Heeseung shifted again, this time leaning in closer. “Hey. If anything happens, if anyone says something, or makes you uncomfortable, I’ve got you. Okay?”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and for a moment the din of the café faded behind the weight of that promise. “Okay,” you said. And just like that, it was settled. Tomorrow night, you’d walk into a room where your ex-best friends and your accidental nemesis would be seated on one side, your crush would be on the other, and Heeseung would be somewhere in between. You had no idea what would happen. But you weren’t going to back down.

It was barely past six when you heard the knock on your dorm doo, three quick raps followed by a familiar “Let’s go, loser” muffled through the wood. You smoothed down your shirt, did a quick breath check (because you were just being cautious, not because you were thinking about kissing him again), and opened the door. Heeseung stood there, smug as ever, but there was something different in his eyes, an excitement that made him bounce a little on the balls of his feet. “You’re early,” you said, raising a brow.

“I’m prompt,” he corrected with a wink. “Besides, I couldn’t wait to show you this.”

He brought his hands out from behind his back, and there, held like a treasure map or some kind of sacred scroll, was a single sheet of paper. You blinked, confused, until your eyes scanned the header and the bold black print across the middle. Literature 206 – Midterm Grade: 85% Your gasp was dramatic, theatrical, the kind of sound that would’ve made someone down the hall poke their head out in concern if it hadn’t immediately been followed by your delighted squeal.

“Shut. Up!” you shouted, grabbing the paper from his hands and spinning to look at it closer. “Heeseung, you passed! You didn’t just pass; you did amazing!” He grinned like a fool, the kind of smile that made your chest feel too tight, and before you could even think about it, you launched yourself forward and hugged him. Your arms wrapped around his neck, and his arms instinctively caught you around the waist, the paper crushed between your bodies. He laughed, that soft, deep sound you were starting to crave more than you should. And when you pulled back, just barely, your faces were close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.

“Told you I was a genius,” he murmured. You rolled your eyes, still beaming. “No. I’m the genius. You’re just the pretty face riding my coattails.”

He shrugged, smug. “Well, now that I’m officially a scholar,” he plucked the paper from your hand, “it’s time to cash in on your prize.”

You tilted your head. “Prize?” He held the door open for you, gesturing dramatically. “Tonight, you talk to Soobin. It’s finally your moment, superstar.” Your smile faltered, just a hair. Because somewhere, buried beneath all your excited nerves and fresh lip gloss, there it was. That voice. Small. Soft. Inconvenient. What if I don’t want Soobin anymore? You blinked, shoved it down. Laughed, even, like it wasn’t true. But it was. Or at least…it was becoming true. Every second you spent with Heeseung, that voice got louder. The boy who was once just a cocky annoyance was now a constant in your thoughts. He made you laugh. Made you feel seen. Kissed you like you were the only girl in the universe.

But you didn’t say any of that. Instead, you slipped past him into the hallway and said, “Well, let’s not keep my prize waiting.” The drive to Sunghoon’s house was familiar now, the same twisty roads and flashing streetlights. Heeseung’s music was loud, upbeat, something with too much bass and a beat that rattled your bones, but you didn’t mind. He drummed his fingers on the wheel, occasionally tapping along to lyrics, and every so often he’d glance at you out of the corner of his eye and smirk like he knew something you didn’t.

Maybe he did. You watched the world blur outside the window, trying not to think too hard about anything. Not the party. Not Soobin. Not the fact that Heeseung’s cologne was now recognizable by scent alone, or the way your hands had fit so naturally around the nape of his neck just moments ago. When he pulled into Sunghoon’s driveway, the house was already glowing, warm lights, windows open, the soft buzz of voices filtering out to the street. You took a breath.

“Ready?” he asked, not moving to get out just yet. You turned to look at him, heart thudding somewhere between nervous and expectant. “Let’s do it,” you said.

You weren’t sure when your heart had started beating so hard, only that you could feel it in the soles of your feet and the tips of your ears. From the moment you stepped out of Heeseung’s car and followed him to Sunghoon’s front door, your nerves had been steadily building, like pressure in a shaken soda can. The lights inside were warm, the sounds of chatter and clinking glasses casual, but nothing about this night felt easy. You stepped through the threshold like you owned the place, chin high, spine straight, masking your spiraling thoughts with the practiced poise of someone who’d watched one too many confidence tutorials on YouTube. Heeseung’s hand hovered protectively at the small of your back, just barely touching, but grounding you all the same. That slight pressure said, I’m here, and for a moment, you could almost breathe.

The living room was full already. Jake sat cross-legged on the floor, waving a slice of pizza around mid-story, while Jay and Beomgyu were in the middle of a mock argument about what toppings were superior. Sunghoon looked up from where he was grabbing drinks and offered a casual grin. And then, your eyes caught them. Dani and Sakura, tucked on one side of the couch, their laughter too forced, their eyes on you too long. But, Wonyoung. She didn’t say anything at first. Just stared. Her gaze zeroed in on Heeseung’s hand still lingering on your back like it was a personal offense, her perfectly glossed lips curling into something sour. “What is she doing here?” she said finally, her voice louder than it needed to be, slicing through the room like a knife dressed in perfume. You froze, but Heeseung didn’t. 

“She’s here because I want her here,” he said smoothly, not even looking at her. His tone was so offhand it made Wonyoung’s eye twitch. She scoffed, turning back to Jay with an exaggerated sigh, tossing her hair like she hadn’t just tried to publicly shame you. You swallowed hard. The room shifted again, the center of gravity pulling you straight toward the boy you hadn’t seen since the party. Soobin. He was seated on the couch, drink in hand, wearing a simple hoodie and jeans, his soft smile as warm as you remembered. He looked up when you approached, a flash of recognition lighting his expression. 

“Hey — Y/N, right?” he asked, voice gentle.

You nodded, tucking hair behind your ear. “Yeah, that’s me.” He patted the cushion next to him, and you sat, acutely aware of the way Dani and Sakura were watching, and more intensely, the weight of Heeseung’s eyes on the side of your face. But for a moment, none of that mattered. You and Soobin fell into conversation like it was the most natural thing in the world. He asked about your classes, your major, if you were enjoying campus life. His smile never left his face, and yours slowly returned to yours. You laughed at something he said, something dorky and sweet about how he got locked out of his dorm last week, and your hand brushed his arm without thinking. And then your eyes darted up, Heeseung, across the room, sprawled in a chair like he wasn’t watching. But you could feel his attention. Like it was tethered to your pulse.

Before you could dwell too long, a sharp clink of a glass brought everyone’s attention back to the group. Wonyoung, placing her drink with a flourish, said, “We should definitely play Never Have I Ever.” Heeseung groaned immediately. “Are we really doing every high school game in the book this week?”

She shrugged, all innocent smile and lethal intentions. “Come on, it’ll be fun.” A chorus of agreement echoed around the room, and you knew, there was no getting out of this one. Someone dimmed the lights slightly as everyone started moving toward the center of the room, sitting in a loose circle with half-finished pizza slices and soda cans in hand. You sat between Soobin and Heeseung, though the space between you and the latter felt a little too electric, like if you moved even an inch, you might get burned. The game began light, as they always do.

The circle had started off innocent enough, plastic soda bottles sweating on the table, crusted pizza boxes pushed aside, the living room heavy with the low hum of music and the occasional pop of laughter. Someone asked something dumb about stealing candy from a gas station. Another person confessed to cheating on a test in tenth grade. It was stupid, harmless, the kind of thing you could brush off with a smirk and a sip of your drink. But there was something in Wonyoung’s gaze that made the back of your neck prickle before she even opened her mouth. She was perched on the edge of the couch like a queen on her throne, manicured fingers curled delicately around her cup, eyes glittering with something sharp and venomous. She turned her head slowly, deliberately, and locked her eyes on you with a smile that didn’t touch her lips.

“Never have I ever…” she began, the silence prickling around her, “been a loser virgin that no man wants to touch.” The room froze. The words landed like shrapnel, hot and slicing through whatever warmth had existed just moments before. Your chest constricted instantly, the oxygen leaving your lungs in one swift rush. You could feel every pair of eyes in the room shift to you, some wide with shock, others downcast, uncomfortable. You sat rigid, your cup trembling in your fingers, your pulse thudding like thunder in your ears. And then Wonyoung, as if to twist the knife, tilted her head and said, sweetly venomous, “Y/N, that means you have to put your hand up.” Your throat tightened so fast it hurt. You blinked quickly, trying to swallow it down, trying to pretend you hadn’t heard her right. But Heeseung stood up then, voice sharp and cold in a way you’d never heard from him before. “Knock it off, Wonyoung.”

She gave a lighthearted shrug, still smiling like this was all some twisted joke. “I mean…it’s just a game, Heeseung. No need to get snappy.”

Dani scoffed, disgust heavy in her voice. “You know exactly what you’re doing. Cut it out.”

But the damage had already been done. Your vision blurred as a tear slipped down your cheek without permission, hot with embarrassment, with shame, with the kind of humiliation that clings to your skin like ash. The silence was worse than the laughter could’ve been, everyone staring, no one speaking. Just the sound of your shaky breath and the trembling rattle of your heart in your chest. You couldn’t stay. You wouldn’t. Without a word, you stood up on wobbly legs, grabbing your bag with clumsy fingers and bolting for the front door. You didn’t hear who called your name, didn’t wait to see who stood or who stayed behind. You just ran, your face burning and your lungs struggling to catch up to your heartbreak. Outside, the air was cold and biting, but not cold enough to numb the pain in your chest. You didn’t get far before you felt a hand gently catch your wrist, not rough, not demanding. Just there. Just him.

“Hey; hey, look at me,” Heeseung said softly, turning you to face him. The night was quiet except for your breaths, short and uneven. He reached up, brushing your tear-streaked cheek with his thumb, the gesture so tender you nearly fell apart all over again. “Don’t listen to her,” he whispered. “She’s miserable and she wanted to take it out on someone. That’s all this is.”

“I’m fine,” you choked out, even though you weren’t.

“No, you’re not.” His voice cracked slightly, and he gave a soft shake of his head. “And I should’ve never brought you here. I knew she was going to be here. That’s on me.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you whispered, your voice raw. “You’re not the one who humiliated me.” Still, his face was drawn with guilt, his brow furrowed. He opened the car door for you and you slid in, heart still pounding, nerves buzzing beneath your skin. He got in after you, but didn’t start the engine right away. The silence filled the cabin again, but this time it wasn’t awkward, it was heavy. Dense with something unspoken.

You stared at your lap, thinking of Wonyoung’s words again. Loser virgin. No man wants to touch you. It echoed in your head, bouncing around until it started to stick. Was she right? Was that why Soobin had never looked at you twice? Why you were always the girl just outside the circle? Before you could overthink it, before the voice of doubt could talk you down, you turned to Heeseung.  “I want you to take my virginity.”

He blinked like he hadn’t heard you. “What?” You met his eyes this time, steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you to take my virginity.” The silence was immediate. Then sharp. His eyes widened, lips parting, trying to find something to say, some script, some defense. But nothing came. Just silence and the sound of your breath coming quicker than before. “I just…” you began, fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. “What Wonyoung said. Maybe she’s right. Maybe Soobin wouldn’t want someone like me. Someone who’s never—” 

“That’s not true—”

“Please.” Your voice cracked then, raw and soft, but full of something else too. Desperation, maybe. Maybe hope. Heeseung looked at you then, really looked. And something shifted in his gaze, his expression folding into something more serious, more solemn. There wasn’t any cocky grin, no teasing smirk. Just… sincerity.

“Okay,” he said quietly.

You blinked. “Yeah?”

He nodded once. “Yeah.” Relief washed over you slowly, curling around the fear that had taken root in your belly. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, something like gratitude spilling from your chest.

“Tonight?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t hesitate. “Tonight.”

And then he turned the key in the ignition, the engine humming to life as the two of you slipped into the dark, quiet night, no longer running away, but heading toward something that neither of you could quite name yet. But you could feel it, in the beat of your heart, the warmth in your chest, and the hand that rested gently over yours on the console.

The streets outside were washed in amber, the streetlights spilling honey-colored light onto the hood of Heeseung’s car as he pulled up to the quiet curb outside a low-rise campus apartment building. You recognized it, vaguely,  though you’d never had a reason to be this far from your dorm before. He eased the car into park, the soft click of the gear shift cutting through the otherwise silent cabin. For a moment, neither of you moved. You were both suspended in this fragile, private space, like the world outside had hit pause just to give you this breath of stillness. He turned to you, one hand still on the steering wheel, the other reaching across the console like he might take your hand but thinking better of it. His gaze flickered to your face, warm and searching, not demanding. Not expectant. Just careful. Just him.

“You sure about this?” he asked, voice low but steady. And you nodded. Without hesitation. Without the voice of Wonyoung echoing in your ears. Without thinking about Soobin or the plan or the stupid game that led you here. You nodded because it was Heeseung and somehow, in the softest, strangest way, you’d never been more certain about anything in your life.

“Yeah,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sure.” That was all it took. Heeseung stepped out of the car, jogged around to your side, and opened the door for you, offering a hand as you slid out. The air between you pulsed with unspoken tension, not the bad kind, not the kind that makes you want to flee, but the kind that hums beneath your skin like a quiet, rising tide. Neither of you spoke on the short walk to the building. You could feel the beat of your own pulse in your throat, your palms, your knees. Every footstep up the stairwell echoed like a question you were still answering with every breath. When he unlocked the door to the apartment, you stepped into a place that somehow felt like him , even if it wasn’t entirely his. The living room was tidy but lived-in: a half-empty water bottle on the counter, a sweatshirt slung over the back of the couch, a flickering neon sign in the shape of a guitar hanging above the TV. There was a faint scent of cologne and fabric softener in the air , something warm and clean and utterly disarming.

You glanced around, instinctively nervous. “Are you sure no one’s—?”

“I live with Jake,” Heeseung said, gently tugging you further inside. “But he’s out for the weekend. Swear.” Jake was obviously still at Sunghoon’s house. So, you nodded, cheeks warm as he guided you toward the hallway. Every step felt louder now, your heartbeat echoing in your ears. You could feel the shift happening between you,  something solemn, something sacred as he led you into his bedroom. The door clicked shut behind you. His room was dimly lit, the overhead light off, only the glow from a desk lamp in the corner casting soft shadows along the walls. Posters of concerts and bands you half-recognized were pinned above his bed. His guitar leaned against the corner, pick still nestled in the strings. The bed was made, barely and a hoodie lay crumpled on the chair by his desk. You turned to him again, breath caught somewhere in your chest. Heeseung was standing just a few feet away now, hands at his sides, gaze never leaving yours.

“Are you still sure?” he asked again, quiet and reverent. And again, you said yes. The word had barely left your mouth before he was stepping toward you, not fast, never fast , just sure, just gentle. His hand reached up to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing your cheek like he couldn’t believe you were real. Then he was kissing you, slow and careful, lips warm and familiar now. The kiss wasn’t like the one in the car, not teasing, not frantic. This one was patient, intentional. Like he was asking permission with every soft press of his mouth, like he was trying to memorize the shape of your yes. 

The rest happened slowly. Clothes were shed like old skins, your nerves still there, still fluttering like moths in your stomach, but softened by the way he touched you. Every brush of his fingers was careful, every motion deliberate. He wasn’t rushing, wasn’t teasing. He just was warm and present, grounding you with the weight of his hands and the way he whispered your name like it was something sacred. He kissed your shoulder. Your collarbone. The hollow behind your ear. He held you like you were something breakable and beautiful. When it finally happened, he was looking into your eyes, his hand laced with yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles to calm you. It hurt at first, of course it did, but it wasn’t scary. Not with him. And eventually the pain faded into something else entirely, something you couldn’t name, only feel.

His hands caressed your body like you were made of porcelain. His breathing hard groans falling from his lips with the severance of a melody you’d never want to forget. “Fuck” He grunted, his hips meetings yours. His forehead sheen with sweat fell against your naked shoulder, lining the skin with searing hot kisses. 

“You feel so good.” His grip on your hips tightened as he allowed himself to go faster, rougher. The sound of skin, mixing with your breathy moans and Heeseung groans were the only sound in the room. 

“Harder.” You choked, letting your head fall against the pillow, your hair creating a halo on the satin pillow case. “Please, Heeseung, harder.” You were begging, pleading for me. It felt too good, better than anything you’ve ever experienced and you just couldn’t get enough. 

Heeseung groaned, a low groan that rumbled deep within his belly all the way up his throat. “You want it harder?” He asks, His eyes locked onto yours as you send him a frantic nod. 

“Yes!” Your voice was almost shrill. “Please.” Your hands found his back, racking your nails up and down the skin — certainly leaving red marks in their wake. Heeseung’s hips pushed harder, the force of his thirst sending your body jerking upwards. 

“Oh my god.” You hissed. “Oh my fucking–” Your voice was cut off with his lips falling to yours, his mouth swallowing the sound of your pleasure. He broke away from the kiss with a low moan and a shaky breath. Your breath caught as you tilted your head back, overwhelmed and undone in the best way. Heeseung murmured quiet things into your skin, not jokes, not one-liners, just your name. Just reassurance. Just closeness. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t fireworks. It was better than that. It was real. 

When it was over, he didn’t roll away or laugh or ask how it was. He just stayed there beside you, your bodies tangled beneath his sheets, his thumb brushing lazy circles against your hipbone. You rested your cheek on his shoulder, skin still tingling, your heart finally slowing. And for a long time, neither of you said a word. You didn’t need to. Soon, you got up — put your clothing back on and thank Heeseung for all he did that night. You went to your dorm with an even bigger smile on your face. 

Morning sunlight seeps through the cracks in your dorm blinds, painting golden stripes across your duvet and the delicate curve of your shoulder. You stir slowly, not with the usual groggy resistance of a school day, but with something like ease, something light. Your limbs feel loose beneath your sheets, your chest warm, your lips tingling with memories. Last night plays on a soft reel behind your eyelids: Heeseung’s hands, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing worth seeing, the way his voice trembled when he asked if you were sure. You smile before your eyes are even open. It wasn’t just physical , it was something else entirely. Something safe. Something soft. You don’t know what it means yet, or what it should mean,  but right now, that doesn’t matter. What matters is the way you feel in this moment. Like maybe, for once, you’re not the DUF. Maybe, for once, you’re the girl someone actually wanted.

You get dressed slowly, pulling on your favorite jeans and a simple top that fits you right, a new confidence buzzing just beneath your skin. Your fingers hover over your phone more than once, tempted to text him, something casual, something teasing, but you stop yourself. You’ll see him in Lit anyway. And God, you can’t even begin to guess what that’s going to be like now. The walk to class is a blur of humming thoughts and overplayed memories, your heart skipping each time you think about him. You wonder if he’ll say something. You wonder if you should. You wonder if this is the start of something... more.

When you arrive at the building, the usual crowd of students loiters by the lecture hall, but your eyes find him immediately. Heeseung is leaning against the wall near the door, black hoodie pulled over his head despite the early morning sun, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. He’s looking down at his shoes, but as if sensing you, his head lifts, and there it is. That smile. Soft and crooked and just for you. “Look who finally made it,” you call as you approach, your tone light and teasing, the banter slipping into place like a well-worn jacket. “Didn’t think I’d see your face again after last night.”

Heeseung chuckles, pushing off the wall and falling into step beside you. “Please. You think you’d get rid of me that easy?” 

You roll your eyes, a grin curling at your mouth. “You’re relentless.”

“Persistent,” he corrects with a grin of his own. “There’s a difference.” The air between you hums with something more than your usual back-and-forth, a soft awareness, a shared secret, the ghost of his hands still lingering on your waist. Heeseung’s eyes flick over your face for a moment longer than they usually would, like he’s trying to memorize something. Then, as you’re about to reach for the classroom door, he says your name, softly, tentatively. You pause, looking up at him. His expression has shifted, and it’s not teasing now. It’s serious. Vulnerable, almost. Like there’s a weight on his chest and he’s finally ready to let it tumble out.

“Hey, I—” Heeseung starts, but he doesn’t get far.

“HEESEUNG!” Beomgyu’s voice barrels down the hallway like a wrecking ball, all volume and chaos, and before either of you can react, an arm is slung around Heeseung’s shoulder. “Dude! Party tonight. Sunghoon’s place again. It’s gonna be chill this time, no cops, I swear. You’re coming, right? And you,” Beomgyu points to you with a grin, “you better come too. You’re the new fan favorite.” You let out a laugh, caught off guard, but Heeseung just gives Beomgyu a playful shove. “Yeah, alright. We’ll be there.”

“We?” Beomgyu raises an eyebrow, smirking as he wiggles his brows. “Noted.”

And just like that, Beomgyu is disappearing down the hallway, already off to deliver his invite to the next unsuspecting soul. You glance back at Heeseung, your brows furrowed just slightly. “What were you gonna say? Before Beomgyu... you know.”

Heeseung looks at you for a beat, quiet. And in that silence, something shifts again, but this time it doesn’t rise to the surface. Instead, he just shrugs, sliding his hands back into his pockets. “Nothing,” he says casually, a smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. “Forgot what I was gonna say.”

You want to press,  there’s something in the way he says it, the way his eyes flick away from yours for half a second too long, but you don’t. Not here, not now. So instead, you just nod, falling into step beside him as you both walk into the lecture hall. You’re still smiling. But this time, your heart is wrapped a little tighter in wonder. 

The air tonight feels heavier, not unpleasant, just weightier, charged in a way that isn’t quite like the other parties. The crowd buzzes with the usual electricity, the low thump of bass vibrating through the floorboards, bodies weaving and pressing in rhythm to a beat no one truly hears. But you do. You feel it in your bones, in your blood, in the skin of your arms where goosebumps rise as you and Heeseung step through the doorway into Sunghoon’s house. He walks beside you, shoulder brushing yours, laughter spilling from his lips as he says something teasing about your outfit. It’s familiar, the way he leans in a little closer than necessary, the way he always seems to find something to comment on, from the way you wear your hair to how your drink tastes like battery acid. He’s still the same. But you’re not. Not exactly. 

Because now you know what his breath sounds like when it trembles. You know how he looks when he’s above you, eyes full of questions and reverence like you were a poem he wasn’t sure he was allowed to read. You know what it’s like to be wanted,  not by anyone, but by him. And that knowledge sits in your chest like a small fire, curling smoke and heat into your thoughts as you walk beside him. You make your way to the drink table where Beomgyu and Jay are pouring vodka into plastic cups with reckless enthusiasm, laughing at something Jake said. It’s all easy, the familiar chaos of a college party,  but something inside you feels less swayed by the glitter of it now. Like you’ve seen what matters more, in the quiet hush of a dorm room when all the noise falls away and someone holds you like you're worth the wait. 

You glance toward Heeseung, catching sight of him joining in a game of beer pong with Sunghoon. His laugh is loud, tilted back in his throat, his hair flopping into his eyes as he lines up a shot. He’s magnetic like this, full of life, a little too much, and always just enough. You don’t even notice the tap on your shoulder until you feel it. You turn around to see Soobin. Your stomach doesn’t flutter. Your pulse doesn’t spike. You don’t feel weak in the knees or dizzy in the way you once imagined you would. All you feel is... calm.

His smile is soft, almost sheepish, like he’s approaching a wounded animal. “Hey,” he says, voice raised slightly over the music. “I wanted to say… I’m sorry. For what happened the other night. Wonyoung was out of line, and honestly? Everyone knew it.” You blink at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. He rubs the back of his neck, eyes dipping away as if afraid to meet yours fully.

“That… that does make me feel better,” you say after a pause, offering him a genuine smile. It’s small but sincere, the kind of smile you give someone when you’ve outgrown the pedestal they used to stand on. He brightens at that. “Good. You didn’t deserve that.” The conversation unfolds easily, light, harmless. He asks about class, about your professor’s weird rant last week, and you laugh with him, grateful that it’s not awkward or strange. For a few minutes, it’s like nothing ever changed. But every now and then, your gaze slides across the room, to where Heeseung is, to the way his hand gestures wildly in the air after making a perfect shot, the way his eyes scan the crowd and catch on you. You feel it each time, that invisible thread tugging between you both, fragile but undeniable.

Soobin leans closer, tipping his head toward you. “Hey, the music’s kind of loud down here. Do you wanna go upstairs to talk?” You hesitate, only for a moment. This is what you’d wanted, wasn’t it? Alone time with Soobin. This moment; the intimacy, the possibility of something real with him, it used to be the end goal. It was the prize at the finish line. You look back toward the beer pong table. Heeseung isn’t there anymore. You swallow, forcing a smile as you nod. “Sure. Upstairs sounds good.” Soobin leads the way, and you follow,  but there’s a hollow tug in your chest, a low ache that whispers: something’s different now. Something’s shifted. And you can’t quite tell if you’re walking toward what you want… or away from it.

The upstairs hall is quieter, hushed like a cathedral built out of creaking floorboards and dim lighting. Soobin’s footsteps are steady ahead of you, confident, calm. You follow him down the hallway, the thump of bass from the party below now muffled by layers of drywall and closed doors. He opens one at the end, someone’s bedroom, likely Sunghoon’s spare guest room and steps inside without hesitation. You enter, arms crossing over your chest instinctively. The room is sparsely decorated: a bed, a desk, a dresser with a dusty mirror. A single lamp glows faintly in the corner, casting everything in warm amber light. The kind of soft hue that makes everything feel a little too intimate. 

You sit down on the edge of the bed, hands fidgeting in your lap. Soobin stands near the dresser, one hand running through his hair like he’s searching for the right words, the right entry point into something he’s been building toward. You try not to think about how your heartbeat doesn’t pick up like it used to. How your stomach doesn’t flutter. How the moment you used to dream about, you and Soobin alone in a room, about to have that talk, feels just a little off-center now. He turns to you, expression unreadable. “Can I ask you something?” You nod.

He gives a breathy laugh, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Do you… have a crush on me?”

The question hits you like cold water to the face. You blink. “What?”

“I mean,” he shrugs, “you’re here with me. Alone. Talking like this. And I’ve noticed you kind of… watching me sometimes. Not in a bad way, I just — I figured maybe you liked me.”

Your mouth opens, but no words come out right away. You weren’t expecting this — not so directly, not right now. But wasn’t this the whole plan? The makeover, the party, the studying with Heeseung, the kiss that didn’t happen, wasn’t this what you’d wanted from the beginning? So you say it. Quietly, like you’re repeating a line in a play. “Yes. I think I do.” Soobin smiles softly, like that was the answer he expected. He walks over, taking the spot next to you on the bed. There’s a small silence, not quite awkward but definitely unsure. Then, without another word, he leans in. And kisses you. It’s gentle. Thoughtful. His lips press to yours with an easy kind of care. But instead of feeling sparks or butterflies or that dizzy, swept-away sensation you thought would come,  all you feel is stillness. Like kissing someone underwater. The moment suspended. Weightless. Hollow.

You don’t know how long it lasts, but eventually, your hand moves to his chest and you pull away, slow and apologetic. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, eyes avoiding his. Your heart pounds for all the wrong reasons. “I… I don’t think I feel what I thought I felt.”

Soobin tilts his head slightly, studying your face. “What do you mean?” You look down at your hands, twisting your fingers in your lap. “I thought I liked you. I really did. But it doesn’t feel… right. Not like I thought it would. Not like…” You trail off, not daring to finish the sentence. Soobin hums thoughtfully, like he’s already solved the puzzle. 

“Ah,” he says, nodding once. “I get it.”

Your eyes lift, hopeful. “You do?”

A soft chuckle escapes him. “You like Heeseung.” It’s not a question. It’s a truth laid bare between you. You pause, breath catching in your throat. Then you nod. Slowly. “I think I’m in love with him.” There’s a moment of quiet. Not heavy. Not tense. Just the shared acknowledgment of something that’s been true for a while now,  you just hadn’t let yourself name it. 

To your surprise, Soobin smiles. Not bitter or wounded, just warm. Maybe even relieved. “I think you should tell him,” he says.

You swallow. “You think I should?” He nods, leaning back on his hands. “I think you’d regret it if you didn’t.”

Your heart flutters with something different this time,  not nerves, not fear. Hope. You stand up, legs shaky beneath you, but your decision anchors you. As you move toward the door, Soobin calls out softly, just before your hand touches the knob. “He loves you back, you know.”

You turn your head, eyes wide. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he says, simple and sure. You nod once, lips parting just slightly. “I hope you’re right.” And then you step into the hallway, closing the door quietly behind you. The music is still thudding below. The party still rages. But you’ve never felt more clear. Never more certain of who, or what, you want. It’s not about proving anything anymore. Not about being experienced or wanted by anyone. It’s about him. And tonight, you’re going to tell him.

You step down the creaky stairs, the bass from the party still thumping like a distant pulse beneath your skin. Your breath catches, a subtle panic fluttering in your chest as you scan the crowded living room for Heeseung’s familiar face. Your eyes dart past groups of laughing friends, clusters of conversations, and neon lights that blur faces into hazy outlines. But he’s nowhere to be found. Heart pounding in your throat, you veer toward the kitchen, hoping for some sign, a whisper, a clue. There, leaning casually against the counter, is Jake. His usual smirk falters when he notices your searching gaze. “Hey,” you say, voice barely steady. “Have you seen Heeseung?”

Jake shrugs, tossing a grape into his mouth. “Last I saw, he was in the living room with a bunch of people. Why? You looking for him?” You nod and push past him, a fragile thread of hope knitting itself between your ribs. The living room comes into view, and your steps slow, the air thickening in your lungs like smoke. And then you see him. There, framed by a cluster of familiar faces, is Heeseung. But he isn’t alone. Wonyoung stands close beside him, her body pressed against his in a way that twists something cold and sharp through your heart. His arm snakes possessively around her waist, fingers resting lightly but surely on the curve of her hip. She leans in, lips ghosting across his neck and jaw, a soft, intoxicating murmur escaping her mouth as he whispers back.

The scene unfolds like a cruel play, one you wish you could close your eyes to, but you can’t look away. Your chest caves inward, a hollow ache blossoming beneath your ribs. Your stomach churns, bile rising bitterly as you struggle to breathe through the sudden swell of nausea and heartbreak. You try to wrench your gaze away, but the sight sears into your vision, branding itself onto your soul. You can’t watch. Turning on your heel, you stumble toward the door, desperate to escape the cruel tableau. The room blurs around you, faces, laughter, music,  all fading behind the tight clamour of your ragged breaths and pounding heartbeat. Tears spill unbidden from your eyes, tracing warm, salty rivers down your cheeks. Each step away from the party feels heavier than the last, like you’re sinking deeper into a pool of your own shattered dreams.

You reach the night air, the cold biting at your skin but failing to soothe the ache inside. Pulling your phone from your pocket with trembling fingers, you summon an Uber. The glow of the screen feels alien in your hands, like a lifeline thrown across an endless chasm. Inside the car, the world outside dissolves into a blur of streetlights and shadows, but your tears keep falling, a steady cascade that no driver’s small talk or cityscape can interrupt. Your hands grip the seat, knuckles white, as the distance between you and the party grows with every passing mile. You are utterly broken. Stupid, you think bitterly. Stupid for believing, even for a moment, that someone like Lee Heeseung, with his easy charm and dazzling smile, could fall for someone like you. The DUF. The girl who blends into the background. The girl no one notices, the girl no one wants. You were chasing a dream painted in stardust and whispered promises, but it was always just that, a dream. And now, all that’s left is the ache of reality settling cold and hard in your chest.

The days bleed into each other like a slow, endless ache. You find yourself cocooned in your dorm, wrapped in the faded threads of your favorite hoodie, the one that swallows you whole and carries the scent of safety and solitude. The glasses sit perched on your nose, a barrier between the world and the girl who once believed she could be someone else. The weight of silence presses down, heavier than the thick blankets you pull up to your chin. Your phone lies discarded across the bed, buzzing and blinking with countless unanswered texts and missed calls from Heeseung, each one a fresh pang of regret and confusion you’re too scared to confront. You don’t know how to face him. How to face the truth that your heart still aches for the boy who chose someone else, who wrapped his arms around Wonyoung like you were a ghost in the room. You feel like you’ve been stripped bare, every hope unraveling thread by fragile thread. The girl who dreamed of being seen, of being wanted, it’s hard to find her beneath the rubble of broken promises and whispered lies.

Night falls again, the shadows gathering in the corners of your room as if to hold you close in your loneliness. The quiet hum of the city outside is distant and indifferent. You lie there, heart heavy, tears tracing silent rivers down your cheeks, when suddenly there’s a knock at your door. Sharp. Insistent. You don’t want to move, but something in the rhythm of that knock stirs you, a fragile hope tangled with dread. With aching limbs, you pull yourself from the bed, the cold floor a harsh reminder of the world beyond your blankets. You open the door slowly, and there he is, Heeseung. His presence fills the doorway, that familiar, impossible beauty that twists your heart in the best and worst ways. It makes your head spin, your breath catch in your throat.

His eyes search yours, deep pools filled with worry and something you can’t quite name. “Why haven’t you been answering?” he asks softly, voice low, as if afraid to break the fragile silence. “I saw you go upstairs with Soobin the night of the party…” Your throat tightens, the words choking you before you can even think. You take a shaky breath, then whisper, “The deal’s off. You don’t need to worry about making me ‘hot and popular’ anymore.”

His brow furrows, concern deepening. “What happened? Did Soobin hurt you?”

You shake your head, voice trembling but firm. “No. Just… go, Heeseung. Please.”

You reach out, beginning to close the door, but before it shuts, his foot slides gently into the frame, stopping it with quiet insistence. The space between you is charged, a fragile tension stretched thin. His voice is almost a plea. “What’s going on?” The walls you’ve built so carefully around your heart begin to crumble. You swallow hard, biting back the tears that burn your eyes, and say the words you’ve been holding in for too long. “I’m tired. Tired of pretending to be someone I’m not. Tired of playing a role, like I can be that girl, the one everyone notices, the one guys actually want.”

Your voice falters, breaking with raw, aching honesty. “Guys don’t want me. Not really. Not like I am. This was an experiment... and it worked for you, but it didn’t work for me. So… can you just go?” The silence hangs between you like a thick fog. You hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears, loud and ragged. This time, your hand moves with quiet finality, closing the door with a definitive click. The sound echoes in the sudden, crushing emptiness of your room. And then, the floodgates break.

You lean back against the door, knees buckling as the tears you held back spill free. The sobs come unbidden, shaking your body, hot and wrenching and real. Each tear a silent confession of heartbreak, loneliness, and the aching desire to be seen, not as a mask, but as the fragile, imperfect soul beneath. In this moment, the girl you tried so hard to hide is raw and vulnerable and fiercely alive. And though it hurts more than words can say, it’s the first step toward something real, toward healing, toward finding the strength to be exactly who you are.

The morning light feels colder somehow, less forgiving as you step out of your dorm room and into the brisk hum of campus life. Today, you wear your armor: a soft, oversized hoodie pulled low over your frame, the familiar weight of your glasses perched on your nose, and leggings that carry no pretense, no flash, no glamour, just you. The girl who sought to dazzle and command attention has quietly slipped away, replaced by someone quieter, more raw, but undeniably real. As you make your way across campus, the chatter and footsteps of other students blur into a dull roar, a soundtrack to your internal storm. The air is thick with the ghosts of last night’s heartache, the sting of broken trust still simmering just beneath your skin. You tell yourself it’s fine. You tell yourself you’re okay. You’ve got this.

The lecture hall door creaks open, and you slip inside, hoping to be invisible, hoping to blend into the shadowy back rows where no one will notice your retreat from the world. But no one really goes unnoticed, especially not in a room charged with unspoken tensions. And then, just as your foot finds the seat furthest from the usual spot beside Heeseung, you hear it, a snide, low comment slicing through the hum of settling students Wonyoung’s voice, sharp and dripping with that familiar edge, echoes just enough for you to catch it. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s aimed right at you. But this time, something’s different. The bite of her words doesn’t sting. The heat of embarrassment doesn’t flush your cheeks. You simply keep walking, your stride steady and unyielding, heart quietly defiant beneath the soft fabric of your hoodie. 

You settle into your seat at the very back, far away from the usual orbit of Heeseung’s presence. And yet, even from there, you feel the weight of his gaze, like a hawk circling above, watching, waiting. His eyes flicker toward you in stolen moments, cautious and curious, as if trying to read the new lines etched into your silence. But you refuse to meet his gaze. You bury yourself deeper into your solitude, the words of the lecture washing over you like distant thunder, barely registered by a mind that’s a million miles away. Minutes stretch on, the clock ticking with relentless indifference. You notice the way Heeseung’s fingers tap lightly against the notebook in his lap, his eyes darting toward you in quick, nervous glances. It’s as if he’s searching for a way back in, a crack in the armor you’ve so carefully constructed. But today, you are a fortress, quiet and impenetrable.

When the final bell rings, a sharp and liberating sound, you rise without hesitation, stuffing your books into your bag with brisk efficiency. Heeseung’s voice trails behind you, soft, hopeful, “Hey, wait—Y/n!” but you don’t stop. You don’t turn. The hall swallows your footsteps as you push through the doors, leaving the echoes of his call behind you.

The evening wrapped itself around your dorm room like a velvet shroud, the dim light casting soft shadows over your tangled sheets and the quiet ache that clung to your chest. You lay there, cocooned in your own solitude, the weight of recent nights pressing down like a relentless tide. The world felt heavy and distant, and the thought of moving, speaking, or facing anything at all felt like a mountain too steep to climb. Then, a sharp knock echoed through the silence, jolting you from your quiet reverie. “Please go away, Heeseung,” you mutter, voice thick with exhaustion and guarded pain, already bracing yourself for the storm you didn’t want to weather again.

But the voice that answered wasn’t his. Soft, hesitant, and tinged with something almost vulnerable, Dani’s words floated through the door: “It’s not Heeseung… please, just open up.” Your heart stutters, surprise and a flicker of warmth breaking through the cold shell you’d built. With a weary sigh, you push yourself up, the weight of days pressing down on your limbs, and unlock the door. There, standing in the dim hallway, were Dani and Sakura, faces soft, eyes sincere, their usual confident air replaced with something tender and remorseful. They step inside without hesitation, their presence gentle like a balm, the space between you shrinking as they settle beside your bed.

“We’re so sorry,” Dani begins, voice low and earnest. “For everything. For not being better friends, for not being there when you needed us.” Sakura nods, her eyes shimmering with an unspoken apology. “We love you, Y/n. We do. And we’re sorry for making you feel anything less than amazing.”

Their words settle over you like a gentle rain, the unexpected kindness dissolving some of the walls you didn’t even realize you’d built so high. They smile, shy but genuine, and Dani confesses, “Sometimes, we’re even jealous of you. You make everything seem so effortless, being smart, funny, just... you. We try so hard, but you just shine naturally.” A quiet laugh escapes you, the sound rusty but honest. You joke back, teasing them for their dramatic flattery, and in the warmth of shared laughter, the tension unravels. The three of you fold into a comforting embrace, a hug woven with forgiveness and the promise of mended bonds.

After the moment lingers, Sakura’s voice breaks through, gentle but curious. “So, what about Heeseung? What’s really going on?” Your chest tightens as you recount the complicated arrangement, the late-night talks, and then, the confession that trembles on your lips. “I lost my virginity to him,” you say quietly, the words both heavy and liberating. “And in all of that... I fell in love with him.”

Their faces flicker between surprise and understanding. Sakura’s eyes soften as she speaks, “The way he looks at you... he loves you too, Y/n.” You shake your head, doubt gnawing at you like a silent ache. “But Wonyoung—”

Dani cuts in gently, firm and unwavering. “He doesn’t care about her anymore. And he never looked at Wonyoung the way he looks at you.” For the first time in what feels like forever, you want to believe them. You nod slowly, the weight of hope settling lightly in your chest. They urge you to hear Heeseung out, to let him speak and show you what’s truly there. But before the conversation can spiral further, they shift the mood, inviting you to a get-together at Sunghoon’s happening just minutes away.

At first, you hesitate, the memory of Heeseung and Wonyoung still stinging fresh. “Heeseung and Wonyoung—” you begin. Sakura cuts you off with a firm shake of her head. “They won’t be there. We promise.” That promise, fragile and shimmering with possibility, nudges you forward. You breathe in, steadying your heart, and then you say yes. Together, the three of you leave your room, stepping out into the night with tentative smiles and the fragile threads of renewed friendship and maybe, just maybe, a second chance at love waiting to bloom.

When you pull up to Sunghoon’s house that night, you’re half-expecting the pit in your stomach to grow teeth and chew you alive. But instead, you’re met with the warm, familiar glow of porch lights, the echo of laughter spilling from inside, and the voices of boys you’ve somehow come to know like brothers. Sunghoon, Jake, Jay, and Beomgyu greet you at the door like you’re royalty, like nothing in the world is out of place. They offer you sodas and cheesy jokes, Beomgyu pulling you into a dramatic bow while Jake salutes like you're being welcomed home from war. And for a flicker of a second, you forget it all, the ache, the shame, the heartbreak. You laugh. You actually laugh. You let your shoulders drop. You exist again.

Sakura appears at your side like she’s always belonged there and gives you a little nudge. “Hey,” she says, smiling with all her teeth, “Can you go grab the extra cooler outside? It’s on the deck.”

You squint at her. “You have legs.”

“Yes,” she says sweetly, “but you have main character energy tonight. So scoot.” You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, pushing through the backdoor into the backyard. And that’s when it happens.

Twinkling fairy lights string above you like constellations pulled down from the sky, wrapped through the branches of Sunghoon’s backyard trees. They blink softly around the bonfire, flames low and lazy, casting shadows across the grass. And there, seated on a log bench near the fire, is Heeseung. His head is bowed, fingers locked together like he’s praying or maybe bracing himself from falling apart. The moment he hears your footsteps, his head jerks up. His eyes meet yours, wide and uncertain. Time hiccups. You stare. He stares. And then, slowly, shakily, he stands.

“I’ve been trying to figure out what I was going to say to you when I saw you again,” he says, voice low but trembling with everything he’s been holding in. “And now… now that you’re actually here, looking like that…”

You blink. “Looking like what? Like a girl who’s no longer hot?” He shakes his head so fast and so fiercely that a laugh escapes your throat without permission. 

“No,” he says, stepping toward you. “Looking like you. Just — you. Glasses, hoodie, stubborn scowl and all. You're beautiful.” Your breath stutters. The world sways. You try to speak, to make a joke, to do anything, but your lips don’t work. He fills the silence. “You’re so beautiful,” he says again, his voice stronger now. “And I love you.” You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You’re too stunned. Too overwhelmed. So he continues, and thank God he does.

“When I saw you go upstairs with Soobin that night… I thought I was gonna be sick. I’ve never felt anything like that. Not anger. Not sadness. Jealousy. Like I was losing something that wasn’t even mine to lose.” Your chest aches. You take a step closer, barely breathing. “Wonyoung came up to me after that,” he says, voice rougher now. “Told me she heard you and Soobin hooking up. She tried to kiss me. Said I should get over it. But I didn’t care what she said. Even if you were with Soobin, I didn’t want her. I wanted you. I’ve always wanted you.” 

You want to cry. You want to melt. But mostly, you want to run to him.

“I was never going to get in the way of you and him if that’s what you really wanted,” Heeseung continues. “But then, when you told me outside your dorm that it wasn’t going to work out… I knew. I had to tell you how I felt.” His eyes lock on yours with full, unwavering honesty.

“I love you. Just the way you are. And I think I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you at Sunghoon’s party. When you insulted my G.P.A and spilled that drink all over yourself.”  He laughs, almost breathless. “That’s when I knew I was doomed.”

A laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it, wet and cracked but real. You take one step closer, then another, until the distance is gone. “I kissed Soobin,” you whisper, eyes locked on his. “Upstairs, that night. And it was... fine. But while it was happening, all I could think about was you. That stupid smile of yours, your dumb little jokes, the way you hold the steering wheel with one hand like you're in an action movie... I realized something.” 

Heeseung holds his breath.

“I realized that I love you. Your charm, your goofiness, the way you never let me walk on the outside of the sidewalk. I love you, even the parts I think I hate, because it’s you. And I want you.” His mouth opens like he might say something witty, but he doesn't. He just crashes forward and kisses you, fierce, certain, heart-shaking. His hands come to your face, cradling you like you’re something sacred. It’s not gentle, not this time. It’s messy and passionate and breathless, like a whole novel written in one kiss. Like everything unspoken finally found its voice.

When you finally part, foreheads touching, breath mingling, he murmurs, “You’re it for me, Y/n.” You smile, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“And you’re the dumbest genius I’ve ever met,” you say softly, kissing him again.

Somewhere behind you, from the house, you hear Beomgyu shout, “ARE THEY FINALLY MAKING OUT?!” And then Jake yells, “SUNGHOON OWES ME FIFTY BUCKS!”

You both break apart laughing, and Heeseung groans. “God, they’re never gonna let us live this down.” 

You grin, cheeks flushed. “Worth it.” Because it is. It always was.

(♬) - @beomiracles @biteyoubiteme @hyukascampfire @dawngyu @izzyy-stuff @1-800-jewon @xylatox @firstclassjaylee @teddybeartaetae @hoonjayke @princesstiti14 @seokjinthescientist @lillotus17 @yeonmuse @hoonieyun @s1rawb3rry

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Dog Tags

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> Bucky is looking for his Dog Tags, and you just so happen to have them.

Disclaimer: Mostly fluff and fun, kinda enemies/rivals to lovers vibes, open ended kinda, reader is mentioned to own a knife. Not Proof Read.

Bucky had been looking for them for weeks. 

His dog tags. His identity. His attachment to a life long forgotten. 

They’d been with him on his last mission; he was sure of it. He remembered clasping them in his hand before laying them under his uniform. And he never took them off unless…did he? 

“Buck. You’ve already looked in here. Twice.”

Sam’s eyes tracked Bucky around the room as if he was the madman’s doctor. Bucky wasn’t paying attention and nearly ran into Sam’s legs that were resting on the coffee table. 

“Dude.”

“They’ve got to be here,” Bucky kept muttering to himself. “They have to be.”

“Buck, I will get you a new set.”

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t want another set.”

Sam stood with a sigh, placing his bookmark in his book. “For all we know, they’ve been trampled into the mud on our last mission.”

“I would have noticed them. I never saw them.”

Sam watched as Bucky looked in every cupboard in the kitchen. He sighed, again. “Have you asked Y/n?”

Bucky scowled. “She doesn’t have them.”

“And you know this because…”

“I’ve already checked.”

Sam watched Bucky. “Did you ask? You know, before you ransacked her room.”

“I didn’t ransack her room.”

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two recently. It’s like you’ve gone from agreed silence to sworn enemies, but maybe you should just ask her. She might know.”

“I’ll ask Wanda.”

“Y/n’s better.”

Bucky looked over his shoulder to Sam as he opened another cupboard. “But Wanda is my friend.”

Sam sighed before walking into the kitchen and shutting every door Bucky had left open. 

“Buck-“

“I’m gonna look outside.”

“Bucky!”

He wasn’t listening. But you were. 

“You know, all he’s gotta do is ask.”

Sam looked over his shoulder at you as you leaned by the main entrance. Bucky had left through the back. 

“Do you know where they are?”

You tried to hide your smile and shrugged. “I might do.”

Sam turned around. “Y/n.”

You gave in and walked inside. “Oh, come on, Sam. He kept my knife from me for, like, three months.”

That had been true. It was your favourite one. You’d lost it after being pulled away by Yelena for some ‘Kate Bishop’ emergency. Bucky had found it in the training room and kept it from you for three months. 

It wasn’t until you were both on a mission that you saw him flip it through his fingers before using it. He’d just chuckled when you called him an Ass. 

“Gotta be more careful next time, doll.”

You could have punched him in the face. 

So, when you found his dog tags on the ground, you made a decision. 

Originally, you were going to give them to him. But when you pulled your knife from your holster back on the jet, you were reminded of what he’d done. 

It was simply payback. 

“You know, he’s not gonna be happy when he finds out.”

You shrugged. “S’only fair.”

“Where are you even keeping them? He probably turned your entire room upside down.”

You nodded, “Oh, he did. But he’s never gonna find them.”

From under your clothes, you pulled out the military issued dog tags. Embossed on the metal was Bucky’s name, birthdate and blood type. On the second was his regiment. 

Sam gave you a slightly judgmental look but you could see the pride he was trying to hide. 

“You’ve gotta tell him eventually.”

“You’re not gonna tell him?”

Sam shrugged as he passed you and picked up his book. “I knew he had your knife. I didn’t help you, I’m not helping him.”

You gave a small gasp, “I knew it!”

Sam just laughed his way down the hallway. 

Meanwhile, you looked back at the dog tags with a light smile, your thumb brushing over his name. 

You’d give them back soon. But a little just desserts would do no harm to the super annoying, massive pain in the ass, super soldier. 

Bucky looked for two more weeks. His dog tags were lost forever. He had a feeling Sam know something since he’d suddenly changed his tune on issuing him some fresh dog tags. 

“Just hold out. Maybe they’ll show.”

“Who told you that?”

Sam shrugged, “I went to a psychic.”

Bucky rolled his eyes before trudging over and sitting beside his friend. He’d hold out for one more week, then he was gonna issue them himself. 

You could feel Bucky’s eyes still on you. He was practically searing a hole into the side of your face. 

He’d been like that for three days. Watching you. Staring. 

“You know something,” he said when he finally cornered you. 

You acted as if you didn’t know what he was talking about. “I know nothing.”

“Where are they?”

“Where are what?”

“Stop acting dumb,” Bucky told you. 

“Ever considered I’m not acting, Barnes.”

Bucky chuckled a little. “Every day.”

You walked into that one. 

“But I know there’s a small part of you that’s a lot smarter than you’re letting on. So, I’ll ask again. Where are they?”

“Please.”

Bucky leaned back a little. “What?”

You clasped your hands behind your back and leaned forward a little, practically bouncing on your feet. “Where are they, please?”

Bucky stared at you before groaning. “Where are they…please?”

You stood tall and shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Quit lying.”

“I’m not lying.”

Bucky sighed. “Do you really enjoy this?”

“Enjoy what, Bucky?”

You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. “You’ve been nothing but a thorn in my side from day one.”

Your gaze hardened on him as you stepped closer. “And you’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass. Look, don’t you think if I’d taken them, I’d have kept them safe? Safer than being hidden in my room? I know what they mean to you, Bucky.” 

You stepped back before you could let your mind wander to places further than just standing inches from Bucky in an empty hallway. 

“Kinda like my knife.”

Before you disappeared down the corridor, that last sentence only added fuel to Bucky’s fire. You had them. They were safe. But if they weren’t in your room, where the hell were they? 

It took him ten days to realise. And when he finally did, he hadn’t been thinking about them.

It had been just before he closed his eyes. It hit him. The safest place from him, was you. They’d been on your person the whole time. They had to be. 

And, despite the clock beside his bed telling him it was almost 23:00, he knew where you’d be. 

You hadn’t been sleeping much for the last few months. He knew because of how tired you seemed to move. A little slower, a little more distant. 

Zipping up his grey jacket, he padded his way down towards the training room. 

You hadn’t spotted Bucky standing against the wall, grey sweatshirt, white tee and darker pajama pants. If you had, you would have made some kind of comment about wearing plaid in Spring. 

“I figured it out,” Bucky called out calmly as he watched you. 

You ducked your head as if you’d just avoided a bullet. “What the- James.” You gave a huff. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Bucky just smiled casually and pushed himself from the wall. “I figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” You asked, a little breathless. You’d been in the training room, alone, for the last two hours. 

“Where you’ve been keeping my dog tags.”

“Really? Who says I have them?”

“You and I both know you’ve had them since the beginning.”

You just watched him, studied him. A slight smirk broke out on your face. “I don’t know who took them, Buck. But I’d say it’s Just Desserts, wouldn’t you?”

“For stealing your knife?”

You nodded. “I’d say so, yeah.”

“Wanna know how I figured it out?”

“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me anyway.”

Bucky shrugged. “You knew I’d find out it was you. But you also know I avoid you as much as I can. And I know you’ve done the same with me. That’s how I kept hold of your knife for so long.”

That much was true. It was just safer to avoid each other than it was to deal with the potential ramifications of being left alone together longer than ten minutes. 

You let Bucky continue as he walked closer to you. You remained fixed in place, just watching him. He looked so…domestic. Slightly bed ridden hair, freshly showered, relaxed. Cosy.

“So, the best place to keep my dog tags safe would be with you, at all times. All day. All night.”

“Really?”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah.”

“And what makes you so sure I have them on me now?”

Bucky took a final step forward and looked you over. His body was in chest from you. 

“May I?”

You nodded, realising where his eyeline had fallen. Silently, his fingers reached out. Ignoring the way his touch felt against your skin, you watched as he pulled his tags from under your shirt. 

He examined them. 

“Found ‘em.”

You looked up at him with a knowing smile. “Seems we have a winner. I must say though, I can see why you get so attached. There’s something…familiar about having them with you all the time.”

Bucky nodded. But he seemed to be thinking. Then he smiled before tucking them back into your shirt. 

You were confused. “Don’t you want them back?”

He nodded. “One day. But, for now, you should keep them safe. They look good on you.”

You looked down, mostly to avoid his blue gaze.

There had been a few moments like this over the last few years. Moments where the ten minutes ran out and it was just you and Bucky, alone, barely inches from each other. All the while, comments passed between you both which made you think that, deep down, you didn’t hate him. 

And that he didn’t hate you. 

Part Two

[strangerexee]

ꜱɪʀ, ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴛᴏᴏ ꜰɪɴᴇ | ʙᴏ ᴄʜᴏᴡ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Set in 1932 Reader x Bo Chow (Smut | NSFW | 18+ | Kissing | Light Choking —barely | F!Receiving) ᴡᴄ : 4ᴋ Masterlist

The bell over the door gave a tired little jingle when you pushed it open, stepping in from the heat and dust of the street.

𝓑𝓸 𝓒𝓱𝓸𝔀 & 𝓒𝓸 𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐓𝐀 ɢʀᴏᴄᴇʀʏ & ᴍᴀʀᴋᴇᴛ Your shoes were worn thin. Your dress was simple cotton, sticking to the back of your knees.

And you were tired, bone-tired, from chasing one dead-end job after another across this godforsaken town.

You needed work. Or a miracle. Or both.

The store smelled like tobacco and dry wood, with a hint of something sweeter, maybe the candy in the jar by the counter, or the bright bruised apples piled up in baskets.

Shelves lined the walls, packed with everything from flour sacks to pistol rounds. It was the kind of place where a man could buy a loaf of bread, a hammer, and a coffin without walking more than twenty feet.

You adjusted your bag on your shoulder, wiping sweat from your forehead, trying not to look as desperate as you felt. It was quiet inside, but not empty.

There, behind the counter, sleeves rolled up over strong forearms, stood a man.

And Lord Almighty. You almost forgot how to breathe.

He was fine. Broad through the shoulders, lean through the waist, and the worn suspenders crossing his chest did nothing to hide it. Dark hair, a little mussed like he'd run his fingers through it a hundred times that morning already.

Sharp jaw. Sleeves pushed up. And a cigarette dangling careless between his lips.

He watched you over the top of the ledger he was scribbling in, one eyebrow tilting up slow, like he wasn't quite sure if you were real or a heat mirage rolling in off the road.

"You lost, darlin'?" His voice was rough, low. Not unfriendly. But not soft, either.

You swallowed. Your cheeks burned hotter than the sun outside.

"No, sir," you managed, clearing your throat. "I'm lookin' for work.”

He tilted his head a little. The cigarette bobbed between his fingers as he tapped ash into a tin. There was a long, heavy pause, stretching thin between you like taffy pulled too far.

He leaned forward, arms braced on the counter, and you caught the faint scar along the side of his throat, a rough, pale line disappearing beneath his shirt.

He smelled like leather and, something familiar you couldn’t name.

"Ain't much work left 'round here," he said finally."Dust's got more jobs than we do."

Your heart sank. You started to thank him anyway, ready to turn, ready to leave with your pride shriveled up tight inside you. But then he said, almost too casual:

"You know how to tally numbers? Take stock? Keep folks from stealin' when I ain't lookin'?"

You blinked up at him. Nodded fast.

"Yes sir. I can read, write, count. And I can run a register." (You prayed you didn’t sound as breathless as you felt.)

Bo Chow smiled then, real slow, real lazy. Like maybe he hadn't smiled all day until now. Maybe longer.

And damn if it didn’t feel like that smile was just for you.

"Might have somethin' for you after all," he said, nodding toward the back room. "Mornings, couple hours. Pay ain't much, but it's clean work. And you get first pick if any more fruit comes in."

You tried to smile back, tried not to look like a fool.

"I'd be grateful," you said. "Truly."

"Name's Bo Chow," he said, holding out a calloused hand across the counter. "Most folks just call me Bo."

You put your hand in his, and he squeezed it firm, just enough to make your stomach flip once, twice. His skin was warm. Rough in the right way.

Your name felt small and clumsy on your tongue when you said it.

He repeated it once under his breath, tasting it, like he was putting it away somewhere safe.

You heard boots scuffing behind you, a couple old-timers coming in, hats low over their faces, and Bo dropped your hand slow, like he hated letting go.

"Be here six sharp tomorrow," he said, voice dropping a little lower. "Don't make me come hunt you down."

And Lord, the way he said it, like it was a promise, like it was a threat, like maybe he wouldn't mind hunting you down at all.

You walked out of that store with your heart rattling around in your ribs, a stupid grin tugging at your mouth. The dust hit your boots. The sun hit your eyes. But you hardly felt it.

All you could think about was him. About the man named Bo chow, the cigarette smoke curling around his smile. About how maybe you’d found something, or someone, worth staying for.

The next morning, you showed up just before six, hair pinned back, boots polished best you could manage, apron folded under your arm.

The sun wasn’t even fully up yet, just a pale silver smear over the flat line of the fields.

The streets were empty except for a stray dog.

You hesitated at the door, heart hammering. What if he changed his mind? What if he realized you weren’t worth the trouble?

But the second you pushed inside, the warm smell of tobacco and cedar wrapped around you like an old blanket, and there he was.

Bo Chow.

Behind the counter, sleeves rolled again over those damn forearms, shirt tucked messy into dark trousers, suspenders hanging low on his hips like he hadn’t bothered to fix them yet. He was counting cash, cigarette stuck lazy between his teeth, the smoke curling up in slow silver ribbons.

He glanced up when he heard the door, and you swear, you swear, for a half second he smiled. A real one. That soft kind, just at the corner of his mouth. Just for you.

"You're early," he said, voice rough with sleep. "Good."

You nodded, setting your things down behind the counter.

Your hands shook a little, but you kept busy, dusting, sweeping, checking the register like he told you. He didn’t hover. Just gave quiet instructions here and there, moving around the store slow and easy, like he had all the time in the world.

And it was the little things. God, it was the little things, that drove you a little crazy.

You noticed it first when he leaned down to pull a crate from under the counter—how his shirt stretched tight over his back, fabric pull against muscle.

How a lock of dark hair fell over his brow and he huffed it out of the way without even noticing.

You caught yourself staring. Snapped your head down fast, pretending to reorganize the fruits and vegetables.

Then it was the way he stood, shoulders wide, hips cocked lazy, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you figure out how to load the till.

There was something about the way he moved, no wasted steps, no fidgeting,like he didn’t have to try to own the space around him. He just did.

And Lord, when he laughed. Low, and unexpected, a real rough chuckle that rumbled from his chest when you nearly dropped the glass candy jar and caught it at the last second. God, you felt it down to your toes.

"Careful, sunshine," he drawled. "Ain't but one of you, and glass is expensive."

You ducked your head, face burning. But you couldn’t help smiling.

Around mid-morning, after he nailed up a new shelf in the back, Bo wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

You offered him the water you packed, nervous, feeling silly. He took it with a little nod, mouth brushing the rim where yours had been without hesitation. Y’all just practically kissed right there.

And when he handed it back, his fingers brushed yours. Calloused. Warm.

You felt it like a jolt of lightning, sharp and sweet under your skin.

"You doin' alright?" he asked, voice low. "Ain't scarin' you off yet?"

You shook your head fast.

"No, sir."

That slow smile again, like he was proud of you, somehow. It made your chest ache.

The rest of the day passed in slow, golden hours.

He showed you how to track inventory, how to read the order forms, how to spot the difference between good grain sacks and ones chewed through by mice.

And every little thing, the way he squinted against the sun when he stepped outside, the way he twirled the pencil between his fingers when he thought, the way he touched the brim of his hat polite to the older ladies who passed by, every little thing made you fall harder.

You were a fool. You knew that. But God help you, you couldn’t stop.

Near closing time, when the shadows stretched long across the floorboards, Bo lit the oil lamps and turned the sign to CLOSED.

The town settled into quiet outside, the cicadas starting up their low hum.

You packed up your things, heart heavy. You didn’t want to leave.

He leaned back against the counter, cigarette smoke curling around his head like a halo, watching you with that unreadable look.

Not smiling. Not frowning. Just watching.

And before you left, just as you reached the door, he said:

"You did good today."

You turned, surprised.

He flicked ash into a tin, voice casual, almost too casual:

"Could use someone steady around here. Someone like you." "If you want it, job’s yours."

You tried to speak, tried to say yes, of course, yes, thank you, yes, but all that came out was a breathless little whisper.

"I'd like that."

Bo nodded slow, eyes never leaving yours.

"Good," he said. "Real good."

You just huffed and left the store.

You showed up early again the next morning. Couldn’t help yourself.

You barely slept, just laid in your bed all night staring at the ceiling, heart banging around your ribs like a fist.

You kept seeing him, that rough smile, that lazy slouch against the counter, the way his hands moved, big and calloused and sure, like he could tear the whole damn world down if he wanted, but he didn’t. He was gentle with you.

You dressed careful, simple skirt, neat tucked-in blouse, hair tied back. Nothing fancy. But you caught yourself smoothing it down a dozen times on the walk to the store.

You weren’t scared of work. You weren’t scared of Bo, either. Not really.

What scared you, if you were honest, was how badly you wanted him to look at you again the way he had yesterday. Like he saw you.

The bell over the door jingled when you pushed inside, and there he was.

Bo Chow.

Good Lord.

You almost had to grab the doorframe to keep from sliding down it.

Today he had the vest on, rich brown canvas, snug over his shoulders and chest, shirt rolled at the sleeves again, forearms out, tan skin dusted with faint scars like old stories he never bothered to tell. Trousers fit firm around his slutty waist, boots scuffed from work.

He looked up from stocking the shelves, and when he saw you, a flash of something warm crossed his face. Almost hidden. Almost.

"Mornin’, sunshine," he said, voice low and gravelly. "Thought you might show."

You swallowed hard, managed a nod.

He stood up slow, dusting his hands off on a rag.

That damn vest hugged him in all the right places. Made your stomach flip and knot in ways that felt dangerous.

You got to work without being told, moving behind the counter, checking the inventory list. Trying to pretend like your heart wasn’t about to explode out your chest.

It didn’t help that Bo kept brushing close, not on purpose, not really, but every time you turned around he was there.

At one point, you bent to grab a crate from under the counter, and when you stood up, you bumped right into him.

Hard, solid chest, vest scratchy and warm against your back, his hand catching your waist automatically to steady you.

Big palm. Firm grip. Fingers splaying wide before he yanked them back like he touched a hot stove.

You both froze.

For one wild second, the whole store was silent, just the sound of the clock ticking on the wall, his breath brushing the back of your neck.

Then he cleared his throat, stepping back.

"Easy, now," he said rough, almost scolding. "Ain't tryna bust that pretty nose, are ya?”

You flushed so hot you thought you might catch fire. Mumbled something, you didn’t even know what, and ducked your head fast.

Later, you were coming out of the storage closet, arms full of ledgers, right as Bo was striding in.

Instead of waiting, instead of shrinking back, you moved right past him. Real smooth. Real bold.

Except, the space was too damn narrow.

Your hip brushed his thigh, your shoulder scraped his chest, and your ass, oh, Lord, your ass skimmed right up against his front when you slid by.

You felt him go still, felt his hand twitch at his side like he had to physically stop himself from grabbing you.

You didn’t dare look up. You just kept moving, pretending you didn’t notice, pretending your whole body wasn’t screaming at you.

Behind you, you swore you heard him swear low under his breath. Real soft. Real dangerous.

You bit your lip so hard it hurt just to keep from smiling.

By noon, the air inside the store was thick and heavy with heat.

Bo shed the vest finally, slinging it over a hook near the door. You caught a glimpse of the way his shirt clung to him, the long line of his back, the strong slope of his shoulders.

You caught yourself staring again, caught yourself wanting, and forced yourself to look away.

But Bo must’ve noticed, because a minute later he drifted close, reached past you for something on the shelf, his hand landing light on your waist to move you out the way.

He didn’t even think about it. Just did it. Like you were his already.

Your breath hitched so fast you nearly dropped the jar in your hands.

"‘Scuse me, sunshine’," he said, real soft in your ear. "You’re in the way."

You stood there dumb, blinking, as he brushed past, close enough to smell the salt and sun and cigarette smoke on him.

It wasn’t until later, after closing, when you were wiping down the counters and Bo was locking the door, that he spoke again.

"You work good," he said, voice low and thick. "Real good. Smarter than most the men that come through here."

You turned, heart hammering.

Bo was leaning back against the door, arms crossed, watching you. Face unreadable. Eyes dark.

You opened your mouth, to thank him, maybe, but he cut you off.

"How old are you, anyway?"

You stiffened. You knew what he was asking. Knew why he was asking it. You met his eyes steady, chin tilting up just a little.

"Turned eighteen last month," you said. "I'm grown, sir."

For a second, just a breath, something flickered across his face. Something hungry and dangerous and real.

Then it was gone, shuttered behind that calm mask he wore like a second skin.

He nodded once. Slow. Like he was making peace with something ugly inside himself.

"Alright, sunshine," he said rough. "Long as you know what you’re doin’."

You smiled, small and sweet and secret, because you did. You really, really did.

And Lord help you, you weren't planning on stopping.

The day dragged in slow, hot and heavy, same as always, but you didn’t mind.

Not when you got to watch him. Bo moved like he wasn’t even trying. Stacking crates, counting stock, slouching against counters, and all you could do was sneak glances every chance you got.

The way his sleeves were pushed up to his elbows as always, showing off strong forearms, tan and scarred, veins running beneath the skin like little rivers. The way the muscles flexed under the fabric when he lifted something heavy.

His hands, god, his hands. Big and rough, palms calloused from years of work. Knuckles scarred like he’d been in more fights than he’d ever admit.

You imagined what they’d feel like, skimming your skin, wrapping around your throat, curling in your hair. It got harder and harder to focus on anything else.

You were wiping down the counter again, pretending to clean when you were really just looking at him, when you realized:

No customers. None. Just you and Bo. Alone. Heat swirling between you like smoke.

Your heartbeat picked up a bit.

And before you could talk yourself out of it, before you could remember to be scared or shy or good, You moved.

Not too fast, a normal shaky pace.

You crossed the space between you in a few quick steps, grabbed his hand, and tugged him toward the back.

He let you. No questions. No hesitation. Just a soft grunt, a half-smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he followed.

"What’s this, sunshine?" His voice was rough, curious, amused. "You stealin' me?"

You didn’t answer. You just pulled him through the narrow back door, into the storeroom, dim and warm and empty, and shoved him back against the wall.

You stood there, breathing hard. Heart hammering so loud you swore he could hear it.

Bo looked down at you, those dark eyes burning, and for a second you thought maybe he’d laugh, maybe he’d brush you off, maybe he’d tell you to run along like the little girl you weren’t anymore.

But he didn’t.

He tipped his chin down, lips brushing yours, and said low:

"You sure, sunshine?"

You nodded. Didn’t trust your voice.

That was all he needed.

He kissed you like he’d been waiting for it. Hard. Hungry. Hands grabbing your hips, dragging you against him.

Your head spun. The world tilted.

His mouth was hot and rough, teeth scraping your lower lip just enough to make you whimper, and God, the sound you made must’ve lit him on fire because he growled low in his chest, cupped your face with both hands, and kissed you harder.

You clutched at him, hands fisting in his shirt, dragging him closer, and he let you, let you crawl all over him, like he was starving for it.

Like he’d die if you stopped.

At one point, you stumbled, tried to pull back to catch your breath, but he chased you, mouth claiming yours again, hands framing your face so careful, so tender even with how rough the kiss was.

You were dizzy with it, with him, with the feel of his body pressed against yours, all hard heat and steady muscle.

And then, You did it.

Hands shaking, you grabbed his wrist, guided it up, placed his big, rough hand around your throat. Gently. Like a question.

Like a please.

Bo froze. For one hot, crackling second, everything in the room stopped moving.

His thumb brushed the side of your throat, slow, thoughtful. Not squeezing, just holding, just letting you feel the strength there, the weight of him.

He pulled back just enough to look you dead in the eye, something dangerous and filthy gleaming behind his gaze. And he grinned, slow, wicked, all teeth and bad intentions.

"You into that shit, sunshine?" His voice was dark velvet, wrapping around you, making you shiver.

You nodded, breathless, grinding your hips against him like you couldn’t help it. (You couldn’t.)

His fingers flexed slightly, tightening just a fraction, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you who was bigger, stronger, in charge.

You whimpered, so soft, so needy, and he laughed, low and rough, like you were the best damn thing he’d ever seen.

"Goddamn," he muttered, voice rough and reverent. "You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me."

Then he kissed you again, deeper, dirtier, hand still cradling your throat, the other roaming down your spine to pull you flush against him.

You melted into him, opened for him, let him take whatever he wanted.

Bo’s hand stayed loose around your throat a moment longer, thumb brushing the edge of your jaw, his breath ragged against your mouth, before he finally let go.

Not because he wanted to stop touching you, nah. Because he wanted more.

He gave you a rough, breathless little grin, one you could feel in your knees, then reached down and grabbed you by the waist like you weighed nothing. Lifted you right up.

Set you down on the nearest wooden stool, still warm from the heat of the barn outside, a little unsteady, but solid enough.

Your hands grabbed the edge of the stool instinctively, steadying yourself, eyes wide, heart pounding so hard you could barely hear.

Bo leaned back a half-step, just enough to drink you in.

The way your dress rode up, baring the soft skin of your thighs. The way you sat there all breathless, pupils blown wide, lips kiss-swollen and desperate for him.

He dragged a hand down his face, as if trying to keep himself together, and then just said low, almost to himself:

"Christ, you're pretty."

You didn’t even realize you were doing it, but your eyes kept dropping. To his hands. Those big, rough, dangerous hands, scarred and calloused and strong.

You could feel the strength of them from here. Could imagine them wrapped around your hips, your waist, your throat again, holding you down, holding you up, whatever he damn well pleased.

Your mouth went dry. And Bo noticed. His mouth curled into a wicked, knowing smirk.

"Yeah?" he rasped, voice dropping. "You like the look of my hands, sunshine?" Like he didn’t already know that.

You swallowed hard, nodded. You didn't even try to hide it.

And that was all he needed. Bo stepped between your knees, crowding you close, body heat washing over you like a furnace, and ducked his head down.

Started kissing along your jaw, slow, wet, open-mouthed kisses trailing lower and lower. You gasped when he found the spot just under your ear, sucked there hard enough to leave a mark, and he grinned against your skin when you tilted your head for him, helpless and wanting.

"Good girl," he muttered into your neck. "So pretty ‘fa me."

You could’ve melted right then and there. Could’ve died.

His hands were everywhere, roaming up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts, dragging along the soft curves of your waist like he was memorizing you.

You arched into him, not even tryna to play coy anymore.

You wanted him. All of him.

And Bo, he was starving for you. Before you could blink, he dropped to his knees.

Big, broad body sinking down in front of you, spreading your knees wider apart with those strong hands, pulling your panties down — looking up at you with something almost feral in his eyes.

"Gotta taste you, baby," he rasped, voice half-broken with need. "Been fuckin' dying for it."

You whimpered, hand flying to his hair instinctively, fisting in the thick dark strands as he shoved your dress up higher, higher, exposing you.

No hesitation. Bo dove in like a man half out of his mind.

The first press of his mouth against you made you cry out sharp and sweet hips bucking up without you meaning to.

Bo groaned, like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted and grabbed your thighs, holding you down, forcing you to stay right there for him.

His mouth was hungry, lips and tongue working you open, devouring you like you were his last meal.

Messy. Loud. Absolutely, devastatingly good.

You tried to pull away once, overwhelmed, shaking, breath hitching in your throat, but he only groaned and pulled you back down harder.

"Nah, baby." "You take it." "You let me eat this pretty little pussy just like this." "You fuckin’ taste how bad I want you."

You sobbed his name, it was pathetic, really. Hips grinding helplessly against his mouth, and Bo just groaned again, deeper, like he could come from this alone.

The wet slide of his tongue. The scrape of his teeth just barely grazing. The way he sucked your clit into his mouth and held it there until you were shaking.

He licked you like he owned you. Like he wasn’t gonna let you walk outta this storeroom until you knew exactly who you belonged to.

And when you finally came, loud and desperate, thighs clamping around his head.

Bo just kept going. Didn’t stop. Didn’t let up. Made you ride it out, every shudder, every whimper, every sweet little broken cry.

When you finally slumped forward, boneless and ruined, hands still fisting in his hair.

Bo looked up at you, mouth slick with you, eyes dark and wild, and said, low and rough:

"Ain’t done with you yet, sunshine." "Not even close."

And you believed him. You wanted him. God help you, you wanted everything Bo Chow was about to give you.

A/N: LAWDDDD — I love me some Bo Chow...

[barbieandkento]

₍^. .^₎⟆ synopsis: you're missing. and as your bodyguard, it's up to nanami to scour through tokyo to track you down. and maybe, fix a broken heart along the way. (bodyguard AU; gojo being a lovable idiot) word count: 3k

nanami should've known that taking his annual leave on the week of your birthday was a big mistake.

because not even half an hour after arriving at haneda airport, suitcase packed and his polo shirt pressed, he gets a phone call to his personal phone.

not his work phone.

his personal phone.

from none other than gojo satoru.

"nanami, i can't find her." gojo's panicked voice rings out from the other side, and judging by the clashing sounds of rushing cars and loud chatter in the background, gojo is wandering around a busy station somewhere in tokyo.

rubbing his forehead in an attempt to control his anger, nanami forces his tone to remain even and leveled whilst speaking to his (younger and less experienced) colleague.

"and just how did you lose her within the 30 minutes i left the compound and arrive at the airport?"

gojo sputters on the receiving end as if it's obvious.

"she said she wanted privacy to take a 'hot girl bath' so i was just waiting outside the bathroom-"

ah, of course. nanami thinks. the old "i want to take a bath" trick.

"but when she wasn't responding to what i was saying, i picked the lock on the door and the tub was empty!" nanami can hear gojo apologise to someone mid-sentence, seemingly having run into someone whilst rushing through the streets. "nanami, she left her spare phone on speaker, playing sounds of running water. she's an evil genius for fuck's sake!!!"

signalling to the boarding agent that he will no longer be boarding the flight, he turns on his heel towards the exit, already beginning to narrow down the list of places you could be in his mind.

"and let me guess, you can't track her phone?"

"well toji is trying, but apparently there's some bug on her phone that's screwing up the tracking mechanisms linked to the main computer? i don't know, a lot of computer jargon-"

flagging down a taxi, nanami lets out a curt sigh.

"alright. well, considering it's 9pm I'd say we have a solid hour and a half before she could be half-way across tokyo or half-way across the world."

"h-half away across the world?" gojo squeaks, already imagining how mad your father (his boss) is going to be. "oh my god, i'm gonna get fired."

nanami would feel bad for him if he wasn't so pissed off.

"not if we find her in the next 90 minutes. i'm on my way back, meet me at the compound."

"okay, okay. and uh... nanami?"

"yes?"

there's a moment of silence on the other end, as if gojo is carefully rethinking his words while nanami turns on his work phone to pull up his list of trusted contacts.

"thank you. so much. i-i owe you."

"you do." is all nanami says before he hangs up.

===================

given that gojo was the one working security detail when you went missing - his name on the call sheet and everything - nanami has no choice but to let him trail behind whilst he tears up half of tokyo trying to look for you.

his attention is squarely divided between looking at his work phone every few minutes (having texted every club owner, club hostess, and hotel bartender he knows of whether you've been seen at their establishment) and quietly dodging his way through crowds of people to locate you.

the first place nanami goes is your favorite club in downtown tokyo. gojo looks like a fish out of water there, his eyes nearly popping out of his head at all the attractive girls lining up to enter that nanami has to drag him by the collar to get him inside. his eyes immediately dart towards the vip booth (your usual spot) and the bar where you'd usually be seen ordering shots for your friends, but you're nowhere to be seen. the owner cuts in to say that she hasn't seen you all night.

jaw clenching, nanami has no choice but to thank the club employees and swiftly exit to save time.

the second place he tries to find you at is the total opposite. a quiet, izakaya sushi spot that only takes ten people at a time and takes months to reserve. gojo keeps trying to steal the sushi being prepared on people's plates as nanami questions (or interrogates, as gojo later complains) the chefs to your whereabouts.

apparently, the last time you were there was two weeks ago.

another bust.

then it's a fifteen minute cab ride to check out your favorite bar. nothing. a ten minute walk to your second favorite bar. still nothing. nanami's starting to get desparate, dragging gojo to the most absurd spots that you could be: an hermes store in ginza for a late night shopping spree. the okonomiyaki place that opens till 3am that you always eat at after a hangover. the art museum that does late night exhibitions on saturdays.

it's as if you're a ghost, impossible to see.

tokyo at 10pm is a blend of bright lights and fast moving cars, people bumping into each other with little regard as nanami presses himself against the brick wall of a closed down cafe, fingers trembling as he calls your best friend.

"hello?" shoko picks up almost immediately, much to his relief.

"hi, this is nanami."

"i know whose number this is, nanami. i've known you for five years."

he doesn't have the time for her sass today, letting the comment fly past him.

"listen, it's urgent. are you with (y/n) right now?"

"(y/n)?" she seems surprised at the question. "no. in fact, i asked her if she wanted to hang out today and she said she wasn't feeling well."

that surprises nanami. one, because you never do anything without her, and two, because for all accounts you were nowhere near sick when you waved him goodbye just a few hours ago.

"is something wrong?" she asks, voice tinged with concern. nanami suppresses a sharp sigh, smiling through the pain.

"nothing's wrong, just... let me know if she calls, okay?"

"o-okay. i'll let you know if she calls. promise."

"thank you."

gojo's been staring at nanami intently for the whole three minute conversation, fingers twitching nervously by his sides.

"she's not with shoko?" he knows the answer, but still asks.

"nope."

"oh my god i'm gonna get fired." gojo whispers in despair, pulling at his hair. nanami's only half listening, shutting off gojo's desperate whines as he plans out their next move. "oh my god i didn't think this would happen to me. i didn't think she'd run out, i just thought she was a little bit upset and needed time to cool off-"

nanami stops pacing around at that, head whipping around to look straight at his colleague

"what did you just say?"

gojo freezes.

"that i'm gonna get fired?!"

"no, before that. she was upset?"

gojo blinks at him, confused as to why he's being grilled on this particular point.

"well... yeah. her dad came into her room after you left and announced that he'd be flying to see his girlfriend in london for a few weeks."

realization washes over nanami like a tidal wave as his expression loosens, lips thinning in a contemplative manner. this, combined with shoko's comments of you faking sick, means there's only one place you could be at this hour.

"why's that important?" the younger man questions, still confused.

"i know where she is." nanami coughs, pocketing his phone into his suit jacket.

"great!" gojo brightens up at that, clapping his hands together. "where are we going to find her?"

"... this is a solo mission now, gojo."

gojo pouts at that, genuinely upset at nanami's refusal.

"what?! that's not fair! is this because i was the one who lost her? look, i already said sorry a million times-"

nanami raises his hand, shutting off gojo's ramblings.

"it's not about that, gojo. it's just... as her bodyguard of five years, i know when i need to approach her alone." he looks up at gojo, silently pleading with his eyes. "and i need to do this alone."

gojo opens his mouth, as if to argue again, but the words die in his mouth when he notices how serious nanami looks.

because it's not the usual, "professional and stern" type of serious nanami exudes.

instead, there's a mix of worry and sadness swimming in his irises.

===================

you love yoyogi park during this time of day.

there's not many people out, it being far too dark and cold for most people to want to hang out with friends or walk their dogs.

but that's what you like about being here this late.

to sit near the small fountain in the dark, stare at the ripples of water as the ducks drift by. the only sounds around you being the night breeze rustling through the trees and the twinkling of water.

here, you're alone. truly alone. no dad criticizing you underneath his breath, eyes full of discontent and frustration. no random junior employee trying to suck up to you to get a promotion at your father's company. and no bodyguard (or bodyguards, more accurately) tracking your every move.

you'd climbed out the bathroom window in just your t-shirt, sleep shorts and a light cardigan. you regret that decision now as you shiver, hugging the cardigan closer to your body.

then, suddenly, warmth envelopes you as someone's jacket is placed squarely on your shoulders.

"there you are." nanami's voice rings out in the dark.

surprisingly, you think, he doesn't sound angry (not fully, at least).

instead, he sounds tired, worried, and slightly pissed off (all at once).

"i don't need your jacket." you quip, as he sits down on the grass next to you.

the moment the lie leaves your lips, you're shivering, which doesn't go unnoticed by him.

"i'd rather you not get pneumonia and become bed-ridden for 3 weeks." he deadpans, making you turn around and lightly shove his shoulder.

"hey!" you pout, a sight which nanami finds adorable. "that was only once. and two years ago."

he hums, unconvinced.

"sure. but your father never let us live it down."

the mention of your father makes your smile drop, your mouth immediately souring at the thought.

"well who cares what he thinks." your tone is venomous, and with the way your shoulders suddenly tense up, nanami knows he's hit a sore spot. he lets the tense silence hang in the air, knowing that it's important to choose his next words carefully.

"what happened to your nightly bath?" an innocent, light question. a subtle reminder that you broke the rules by abandoning your assigned bodyguard.

you scoff, digging your heels into the dirt.

"well, that went out the window the moment my father told me he'd be leaving me - hell, the whole country - to go see his new twenty something girlfriend in london for a month."

"he's gonna miss your birthday?"

you scoff.

"yeah. but when does he not? i was stupid for thinking this year would be an exception. i guess i got my hopes up because-" your voice slightly breaks, and nanami has to fight his urge to hug you then and there. "because i'd done everything he asked me to do the past year. i went to the stylists he picked out. accepted a job at a company he approved of. smiled my way through every awful 'arranged date' with a wealthy man."

nanami's heart twists with jealousy at the mention of these dates, but he doesn't dare interrupt your rant.

"i thought i was actually living up to the family name. that maybe, if i'd sacrificed everything to make him happy, say no to that job abroad in germany to stay in tokyo and be the perfect heir, he'd...." your gaze travels downward, your hands nervously fiddling with the hem of his suit jacket. "he'd stay. this time."

nanami shifts closer to you, carefully extending his right arm to curl against your shoulder. he pulls you against him and you melt against his touch, his body like a furnace protecting you from the cold night.

he doesn't say anything, only rubbing reassuring circles onto your skin. it's your favorite place in the world to be in - in his arms, feeling his touch. you feel safe as you hum in appreciation, a quiet but sullen recognition of the depressing truth.

"you scared gojo to death, you know." nanami mumbles. "poor kid kept on panicking about how he was going to get fired because he lost his boss' kid not even a month into his job."

you let out a short chuckle at that, head unmoving from where it rests on nanami's shoulder.

"you're partially to blame for that."

"am i?" he quips, smirking.

"well, you planned your annual leave on the week of my birthday."

it comes out more resentful than you mean it to. more resentful than you're allowed to be, at least, given that he's just your bodyguard. a very close friend, a confidant at best.

but you'd taken it personally, him going on vacation during a week special to you. and your father's sudden announcement had been the last straw.

you can feel nanami stiffen at your comment, his head twisting down to look at you. even in the darkness, you can make out the contours of his face, how his lips pull down in a frown and his eyebrows furrow in worry creating a dimple on his forehead.

"have i upset you with the change of dates for my annual leave?" he questions. unlike your father, when you disagree with him, nanami is calm and caring. "i know i usually don't take it this time of the year."

"it's stupid. i know. but..." you pull away from him slightly to look up straight at him. "you've been there for all my other birthdays. so i wanted you to be there for this one too."

his heart breaks at your confession. he knows you've been finding work life in tokyo difficult. your father's overbearing and tempermental, his expectations of you crushing, your colleagues always doubting your abilities due to your father's wealth and connections. nanami's also seen all of your breakdowns behind closed doors, the hours of fake smiling at social events, the sleepless nights where you wouldn't be able to sleep unless nanami was holding your hand.

guilt is gnawing at his sides and he chastises himself for not thinking through the consequences of how you'd feel about the change.

"i'm so sorry, angel." he gathers your hands in his, kissing your knuckles. "i didn't think enough about how you'd feel before i changed my dates of annual leave."

"thanks, nanami. but... i mean, you shouldn't have to worry about me anyways." you try and shrug it off, but he interrupts you.

"nonesense. i always worry about you." is his earnest response, and you know you have to deflect with humor to still your irregularly beating heart.

"i get it, i'm difficult." you tease, poking his chest.

his expression remains serious, earnest even.

"difficult isn't the word i'd use to describe you. not even close."

"really? then what is?"

that seems to set something off in him, because he drops your hands, instead opting to maintain eye contact with you as he speaks slowly.

"you're kind. caring. hardworking. you care about the people around you. you're always seeing the best in people, even when they might not deserve it. and you're one of the most incredible people i've ever met in my life."

you blink at him a few times, surprised by the sudden admission.

"and you're so, so..." he cradles your face in his hands, his gaze never wavering from your face. "beautiful."

"oh."

your small reaction awakes something in him, his hands suddenly ripping away from your face as he abruptly stands up - face flushing red and his eyes looking anywhere but you.

"sorry, that was unprofessional." he coughs, straightening his collar in an attempt to stop his hands from shaking. "we should, uh, head back."

"wha- nanami!"

you have to run after him with how quickly he's starting to walk away from you, not even sparing a glance back to see if you're following him as he nearly sprints down the dirt paths.

"nanami, stop."

he slows down, but doesn't stop in his tracks. stubborn bastard.

"stop. that's an order."

he has to stop then, which you know.

jaw clenched and shoulders slightly raised - he turns around obediently, waiting for your response.

he half expects you to let him down. to say that you've appreciated his company and advice over the last five years, but that you don't see him in a romantic light.

or maybe, you'll fire him on the spot in fear of your father's reaction. he can't imagine how your father would react at the news of your top bodyguard professing his attraction to you.

instead, you crash into him, lips connecting first as nanami places his arms around your waist to avoid toppling over. it takes his brain a few seconds to register what is happening, your body warm and soft against his touch, before he's eagerly returning the kiss. you taste like peppermint on his lips, and at this proximity, he can smell how sweet your shampoo is.

when you pull away first, he's still dazed, mind fuzzy with love as he surveys how swollen your lips have become from the kiss. his left hand comes up to cup your cheek again, fingertips brushing against your skin when you smile cheekily.

"who's the unprofessional one now?" you tease, lips hovering a few centimeters away from his.

you mean it as a cute comment, but nanami immediately shifts back into his professional tone, lips pursing in annoyance.

"definitely gojo. honey, he lost you in the middle of his shift!"

a/n: ayyy a short little oneshot whilst i work on pt 2 to my husband!nanami with memory loss fic!!! basically my brain was itching to write and post something today but i need more time on the second part. also, i've been obsessed with the idea of bodyguard!nanami, i just think he'd be so protective and sweet. anyways. wrote this in like 2 hours so sorry if it's bad :(

ᯓ★ likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated! ᯓ★

[fleurenese]

ㅤㅤRING RiNG?ㅤ─── TONGUE-TiED ㅤ&' TANGLED

ㅤ⋆ ㅤfratboy! chris ㅤpaired withㅤ ◞ㅤ doe! readerv ❜⠀⠀۟⠀ “JUST A LITTLE MORE, BABY…”ㅤㅤ. . .ㅤ!

✿ ´ㅤ ── WARNiNG ;ㅤsmut,⠀pnv,⠀mild praise kink, ⠀cockwarming to sex and more...

ㅤㅤShy reader squirms in Chris’s lap, scared his brothers might walk in, as he slowly stuffed her full, begging and cumming deep like he can’t stop.

“You said we were gonna watch the movie.”

Your voice is small, pressed somewhere near the collar of his hoodie, muffled by nerves and the heat of everything between you. The room’s dim, the laptop screen flickering weakly from the nightstand, and the low hum of the movie score is barely enough to distract from the fact that you’re sitting on Chris’s cock.

His arms are curled around you, legs stretched out and tangled with yours beneath the throw blanket that barely hides what you’re doing. Your back is arched into him, hands buried in the folds of his sweatshirt like you’re holding on for dear life. Because in a way, you are.

He’s not moving. Not really. Not yet.

Chris breathes against your neck, lips brushing the soft spot just below your ear. His voice is rough, voice still warm from the beer he finished earlier. He smells like cheap body wash and dryer sheets, and that cologne he pretends he doesn’t actually like but always wears around you.

“I am watching,” he murmurs, lazily. “Watching you sit there bein’ real cute....fuck”

You flinch a little when he shifts — even just that subtle roll of his hips beneath you has you clenching without meaning to, and his cock twitches in response, still thick and snug inside you.

“You’re heavy,” you whisper back, trying to breathe through it. “It’s… a lot.”

“I’m not even doin’ anything,” he laughs, the sound low and raspy. “Just keepin’ warm. You said you wanted to cuddle.”, “I didn’t say this kind of cuddling...” Chris groans softly as you shift in his lap. His fingers instinctively tighten on your hips, keeping you planted.

“Shit, bunny. Don’t squirm...”

“You’re… you’re hard–” you stammer, voice feather-light.

“And you’re so fuckin’ tight, ma” he mumbles against your cheek, his breath hot and shallow. “Squeezin’ me like that even when you’re tryin’ not to...”

You feel heat crawl up your chest, your arms, your cheeks. You try to hide your face further in the curve of his neck, but his hands stay steady on your waist, not possessive– just grounding. Keeping you flush, full.

Everything’s slow. Muffled. The tension has a softness to it, all breath and pulse and too-warm skin.

You shift again, nervously, and he gasps, hips hitching upward just the slightest bit.

“Chris– ” you start, but he cuts you off, voice thin.

“Don’t move...! Please, please... You feel...soo good. I’m tryna be good... baby.”

His forehead drops against your temple as his chest rises in heavy breaths. You can feel the restraint in him — the way his thighs twitch, the way his grip shakes slightly like he’s trying not to ruin the whole thing by needing too much.

Then you glance at the door, heart climbing into your throat. “Chris, what if one of your brothers walks in?” you whisper, panic lacing your voice now.

He hums again, calm and lazy, like your fear doesn’t reach him.

“Door’s locked,” he mumbles. “Swear I checked...”

“You always say that—”

“And I always mean it,” he cuts in, a sleepy smile brushing your jaw. “They won’t come in...ma,”

You go still, cheeks flushed. His cock pulses again deep inside you — your walls still fluttering around him, soaked and stretched, not used to just sitting like this.

“I just wanted to hang out,” you say softly, unsure if you’re reminding him or yourself.

Chris doesn’t miss a beat.

“We are hangin’ out,” he breathes, lifting his head just enough to kiss behind your ear. “This is hangin’ out... Just with your pussy wrapped around me...”

You go red.

Your hands tighten in his hoodie, thighs trembling a little where they press outside his. He’s so warm beneath you, so content, like this is his favorite version of cuddling and he’s not planning to move at all. Just your heat, your softness, and his cock inside you, not even fucking — just fitting.

And then, slow and unhurried, he shifts.

His hips roll up. Barely.

You gasp, and he groans into your shoulder.

“I’ll be good,” he whispers, voice straining now. “Just let me… just need a little more.” You squirm, panicked. “Ch- chris, I can’t– s- someone might hear–”

“I’ll be quiet...” he says, kissing your neck again. “Promise. Won’t even breathe loud.”

He does it again — pulls back slow, drags his cock almost out, then pushes in deeper. The pressure makes your legs shake.

Your voice breaks. “You said—”

“Just one...–” he pleads, rocking up again. “One little grind... J- just wanna cum, baby... You feel so good, fuckfuck–”

His rhythm stays slow, deep. He’s not even chasing it yet. Just dragging you over him in soft, heavy strokes, fucking you with the kind of care that feels worse than roughness. Every thrust makes you feel fuller, hotter, like your whole body’s molded to him.

“Feels good, hm?” he whispers, kissing your hair now. “You always take it sooo good...”

Your lips part, trying not to moan.

Then his hand slides between your thighs, palming the soft spot where you're dripping down his cock, thumb brushing lazily at your clit.

“There..” he whispers. “There she goes…” Your legs twitch. You squeeze down. He groans, loud enough that you flinch. “Shhh!” you hush, “Chris, stop...ngh- you’re gonna–”

“I- i know..” he pants, hips starting to stutter. “But I’m not stoppin’....You let me in, baby– I gotta f- fill you now...”

Your hands claw into his chest.

He fucks up one more time, slow but deep, and you feel him twitch, then pulse–inside you, thick and warm and needy as he cums with a shaky whine into your shoulder, whispering curses and your name over and over.

He doesn’t pull out.

Doesn’t even move. Just holds you tighter, breath hot in your ear.

“…you wanna watch the rest like this?”

ㅤ⠀ㅤㅤ⊹ㅤ⠀© RENESSAㅤㅤ⠀࣭ ㅤㅤ do not steal nor copy!wanna be on the taglist? comment!

[bsturnzmtts]

Off limits p. 1 - Matt Sturniolo

Part 2 here

Pairing: older sisters bf!Matt x innocent!reader

Summary: You’ve always had a small crush on your sister’s boyfriend. But you never acted on it, not until this summer, after you found out some things that changed everything.

Warnings: long plot?, cheating (I don’t condone cheating this is all fiction), teasing, age gap (Matt is 22 reader 18), virgin!reader, oral, lowkey mean!sister, kissing, first orgasm, fingering, pet names, almost caught.

A/n: idk why this took to long sorryy, I hope you guys like it! There will be a part 2! Maybe a bit more spicy…

Word count: 4209

You’ve always had a small crush on Matt Sturniolo. Not in a serious way, just one of those quiet, innocent feelings you keep to yourself. He’s your sister’s boyfriend, after all. Off limits. But still, he’s the only one who’s ever really paid attention to you. He remembers the little things, asks how your day is going, actually listens. Your sister barely does any of that. She’s distant, cold, always annoyed, with you, with him, with everything. So yeah, maybe deep down, you wished Matt was yours.

You’re heading to the cabin early just you, your sister, and Matt. Your parents won’t be arriving for a few more days, so it’ll just be the three of you for a while. It’s supposed to be a relaxing start to summer, until you find out something you weren’t supposed to.

A few nights before the trip, you overheard your sister on the phone where she mentioned she cheated on Matt. She doesn’t know you heard. And Matt still has no clue. Since then, you haven’t been able to act the same around Matt. Everything feels different and confusing.

Later

The cabin is quiet, the only sounds coming from the chirping birds outside and the gentle rustling of leaves. You're sitting on the porch swing, watching Matt carry in the last of the bags from the car. He looks up and catches your eye, giving you a warm smile that makes your heart flutter.

Matt walks over to you, and sets down the bags. "Hey," he says softly, sitting down next to you on the swing. "You okay? You've been quiet since we got here." He nudges your shoulder gently with his own.

Your sister walks out onto the porch just then, overhearing Matt's question to you. She rolls her eyes and interrupts before you can answer. "She's fine, she's always quiet, Matt. Get used to it."

Matt looks between you and your sister, a faint frown on his face. He seems a bit taken aback by her dismissive tone.

“Yeah… yeah I’m fine, just a bit car sick.” You try to brush it off, not wanting to cause any tension. “I’ll go set up my room” You stand up and leave.

You head inside, the cabin still smells like old wood and summer air. You walk down the short hallway to the room you always stay in.

You set your bag down on the bed and sink into the mattress, letting out a slow breath.

You’re not even sure why you lied. You’re not car sick. You just can’t look Matt in the eyes right now.

Not when you know what you know.

Not when he’s still smiling at your sister like she deserves him.

After a few hours, you get hungry and decide to head to the kitchen.

You open your door quietly, stepping into the hallway.

Just as you do, Matt walks out of the bathroom, fresh from the shower, hair damp, a towel slung low around his hips. You freeze mid-step.

He notices you and pauses, a little surprised. “Hey,” he says, a small smile on his face.

Matt's towel is wrapped around his waist, but beads of water are still dripping down his chest and abs. He runs a hand through his wet hair, leaving it slightly messy.

Your heart races as you take in the sight of him. The way the towel barely covers his hips, the muscles of his chest and arms on full display. You feel a warmth spread through your body, a feeling you've never experienced before. You swallow hard, trying to find your voice.

"Uh..." You stammer, your face turning red. You quickly avert your eyes, not wanting him to see the sudden flush on your cheeks or the way your heart is pounding in your chest. "I was just gonna get something to eat."

Matt chuckles softly, seeming to find your reaction adorable. "Help yourself," he says, continuing to walk down the hall towards the bedroom he shares with your sister.

As he walks away, you can't help but steal one last glance at his back and the way the towel hangs low on his hips. You let out a shaky breath and quickly make your way to the kitchen, your mind racing with thoughts you shouldn't be having about your sister's boyfriend.

You grab a soda from the fridge and some chips from the cabinet, trying to focus on anything other than the image of Matt half-naked. You sit down at the kitchen table, taking a big gulp of your soda. Suddenly, you hear some screaming from the bedroom.

The screaming is followed by loud arguing voices - your sister's high-pitched shrill and Matt's deep, frustrated tone. You tense up, recognizing the signs of another one of their fights. This has been happening more frequently lately.

You sit there for a few minutes, listening to the argument escalate. Suddenly, there's silence. And Matt comes out of the bedroom, now dressed, with a pillow in his hand and shuts the door behind.

He sees you sitting at the table and pauses briefly before walking over to the couch. He throws himself down on it, running his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"You okay?" You ask softly, genuinely concerned. The argument was loud and intense. Matt looks over at you, his expression tired and annoyed. "I'm fine," he snaps, but there's no real anger in his voice, just frustration. He lays back on the couch, staring at the ceiling.

You hesitate for a moment before getting up from your chair and walking over to him. ”You can have these.” You say softly as you leave the chips on the coffee table. “I’ll go get you a blanket”

Matt's expression softens slightly as you hand him the chips and offer to get him a blanket. "Thanks..." he murmurs, seemingly caught off guard by your kindness. He's touched by your thoughtful gesture, especially after the fight he just had with your sister. As you return with the blanket, he sits up and takes it from you, he lets out a heavy sigh. "You shouldn't hear all that shit," he adds quietly, as if realizing you probably caught most of their argument.

You shrug, trying to downplay it. "It's fine…I'm used to it," you admit quietly, looking down. "You two fight a lot lately." You bite your lip, debating whether to say more, but you decide not to. “Goodnight” you softly mumble as you head to your room.

Matt nods slowly, taking in your words. He knows their relationship has been strained, but he didn't realize it was that noticeable. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but then closes it again, seeming to think better of it. Instead, he just nods slightly. "Goodnight," he replies softly, watching as you head to your room.

The next morning, Matt is already awake and sitting at the kitchen table when you come downstairs. He's drinking coffee and scrolling on his phone, but he looks up as you enter. "Morning," he says, his voice a bit gruff from sleep but carrying a warmth that wasn't there yesterday.

You pour yourself a cup of coffee and sit down across from him, trying to act casual. "Morning," you reply softly, taking a sip. The tension from last night seems to have dissipated, but there's still an underlying awkwardness between you both. “Where’s my sister?”

"She left early," Matt answers briefly, running a hand through his messy hair. "Had some errands to run." He avoids your gaze, focusing on his phone instead. There's a pause before he adds, "She won't be back till late." Another silence falls between you two.

You nod, taking another sip of your coffee. The house feels oddly quiet without your sister around, and the tension with Matt is making the atmosphere even more uncomfortable. You set your mug down and fidget with the hem of your shirt, debating whether to say something to break the ice. "So..."

"Mm?" Matt lifts his head up to look at you, those deep blue eyes meeting yours.

"Nothing," you say quickly, feeling your cheeks heat up slightly at the sudden eye contact. You look away, feeling self-conscious. "I was just going to... ask something stupid."

Matt raises an eyebrow but smiles slightly, leaning back in his chair. "Ask something stupid then," he says teasingly, trying to lighten the mood. His expression is more relaxed than it has been since last night.

"Um... nevermind," you laugh softly, feeling embarrassed. You stand up suddenly, grabbing your coffee mug. "I'm gonna go..." You trail off, heading towards the living room before you can say something even stupider.

Matt watches you go, a small smile still playing on his lips. He shakes his head slightly, amused by your flustered reaction. After a moment, he gets up from the table and follows you into the living room. "You know what?" he says as he leans against the doorway.

You turn to face him, holding your coffee mug tightly. "Hmm?" you a, your voice slightly shaky. He looks handsome standing there in his worn-out t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair messy from sleep. You quickly avert your gaze, focusing on your mug instead.

"You get really shy all of a sudden," Matt remarks softly, observing your body language. He's starting to realize that you hardly maintain eye contact, like you're nervous around him. “And you’ve been acting a bit weird around me lately.”

"Have I?" you ask quietly, taking a small sip of your coffee to avoid answering immediately.

"Yeah..." Matt observes your facial expressions carefully. He's starting to wonder if he imagined the fact that you used to laugh and joke around with him easily. Now you barely look at him or talk to him much. "Did I... do something to make you act like this?"

You shake your head quickly, feeling your heart pounding in your chest. "No," you say softly. "You didn't do anything wrong." You finally look up at him briefly before glancing away again.

Matt notices your quick glance and the slight blush on your cheeks. He's starting to piece things together but wants to hear it from you directly. "Then why are you acting like this?" he asks gently, taking a step closer. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

You bite your lip, feeling your heart race as he steps closer. You can feel the heat radiating off of his body. You don’t know if you should snitch on your sister and tell him the truth, or just stay quiet about her cheating.

"Listen..." gentle but carrying a hint of frustration. "If it’s about your sister cheating on me… i already know.”

You freeze slightly, then relax. "So..." you say carefully, testing the waters. "You know?" You try to keep your voice steady, like you're not curious about whether he's heartbroken or not.

"Yeah," Matt confirms briefly, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He watches your reaction carefully. "I’m not blind or dumb you know.” He lets out a small chuckle.

"Does she… know you know?" You ask softly, your curiosity getting the better of you. You set your coffee mug down on the side table, turning to face him fully. You can't help but notice how calm he seems about the whole thing.

"No, she doesn’t," Matt replies, his gaze lingering on your face. "I’ve been pretending like everything's normal between us. But to be honest... I'm tired of it. I'm tired of her lies and secrets. Plus she loves arguing with me about nothing literally, I’ll just let her be. I'm not gonna chase after her this time.”

You notice a hint of relief in his voice, and you can't help but feel a little lighter knowing he's not heartbroken over her. "I... didn’t know if I should’ve told you, I didn’t want to snitch on my sister. I’m sorry.”

Matt smiles slightly, finding your innocence cute. "You don't need to apologize," he says gently. “I know you knew about it too,” Matt says suddenly, catching you off guard “I saw how you were acting around me lately… like something was bothering you.”

"You could tell?" You ask softly, feeling a bit embarrassed that he noticed your unusual behavior.

"Yeah," he says with a small smile, taking another step closer to you. "You've been avoiding eye contact, hardly talking to me... pretty obvious actually." His eyes meet yours intensely, holding your gaze just a little longer than usual. "I mean, we always had a good relationship."

"Yeah," you agree quietly, your heart beating a bit faster as he steps closer.

Matt's smile widens slightly as he sees your reaction. He decides to take another step forward, closing the gap between you two. "You know..." he continues softly, his voice carrying a tone that makes you feel slightly nervous and flustered. “We could make our relationship even better… while she’s out.” He says, looking at your lips briefly before meeting your eyes again.

"But..." you stammer slightly, feeling your face flush. His closeness is making it hard to think straight. "You..." you try to form a coherent sentence but your voice comes out quieter than intended. "You’re my sister's boyfriend…”

"I know…" he murmurs softly, his presence almost deliberately invading your personal space. His hand gently finds its way to lean against the wall behind you, effectively trapping you there gently but intentionally. "But she cheated on me." He adds with a hint of a teasing smirk, his eyes searching yours.

"Yeah… I know," you whisper softly, trying to keep your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. Your eyes flicker down to his lips briefly before meeting his gaze again. "But..." you hesitate, feeling torn between guilt and desire. “You’re still my sister’s boyfriend…”

Matt's smirk grows wider, understanding your internal struggle. He leans in just a fraction closer, his breath mingling with yours. "Yet you still have a crush on me," he whispers, his lips almost brushing against your ear as he speaks.

You blush deeply, feeling heat spread across your cheeks. "I..." you try to deny it but the words catch in your throat. You look up into his eyes, seeing the desire mirrored there. "How do you know?," you a softly, your voice barely audible.

He pulls back slightly to look into your eyes directly, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. "Because I've seen the way you look at me," he says honestly, his thumb lightly brushing over your bottom lip. "The way you blush when I'm around..." He chuckles gently remembering how nervous you always get. “How flustered you got yesterday when you saw me walk out of the shower.”

Your face turns beet red at the memory of seeing Matt half naked, his muscular body dripping with water. You can't help but get more nervous as he continues to tease you, his thumb pressing softly against your lips. "You..." You swallow hard, his thumb still on your lip making it difficult to speak. "You can't... You can't just say stuff like that." Your voice comes out breathy and weak.

Matt laughs softly, finding your innocence adorable. "You always get like this” He muses, realizing how innocent you really are. "Have you…kissed before?”

You hesitate before shaking your head softly, your eyes flickering down to his lips briefly. "Never," you admit quietly, your voice barely audible. You swallow hard, feeling even more nervous now that he knows you have no experience.

Matt's heart races at your admission. He can't believe how innocent you are - no kisses, no boyfriends... He leans in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away if you want to. His lips brush against yours softly at first, testing the waters. “Fuck…” he whispers under his breath before pressing his lips gently against yours. It's a soft kiss, testing the waters while giving you plenty of opportunity to pull away if needed.

You freeze initially, shocked by the sudden kiss. Your eyes widen slightly before closing instinctively. You part your lips softly without even realizing it, giving him better access. Matt deepens the kiss gently, his hand moving from your cheek to the back of your neck to hold you closer.

The kiss is gentle and exploratory, unlike anything you've ever experienced. Your heart races in your chest as you feel his lips move against yours, his tongue tracing your bottom lip softly. You whimper softly, unsure of what to do but unable to pull away.

Matt takes your whimper as encouragement and slips his tongue into your mouth, gently exploring. He kisses you deeply, passionately, pouring all his pent-up desire and frustration into it. His hand moves from your neck to the back of your head, holding you in place as he kisses you breathless.

Matt breaks the kiss, breathing heavily as he stares at you with heated eyes. A smirk plays on his lips as he sees your flushed face and parted lips.

“Did you like that?” Matt asks, his voice low and huy. He leans in close, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. "I know I did." His hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You're too stunned to speak, your mind reeling from the intense kiss. All you can manage is a soft, breathy "Mm-hmm" as Matt's hand on your waist sends shivers down your spine.

Matt smiles softly at your response, finding it cute how innocent you are. He tests another question, "Do you want to learn more things?” His voice drops lower.His thumb brushes your hipbone, making you squirm slightly.

You bite your lip nervously, unsure if you should ask but too curious to stop now. "More... things?" you repeat softly, your cheeks flushing an even deeper shade of red. Your eyes flick down to his lips briefly before meeting his gaze again. "Like... what?"

Matt's smirk deepens, enjoying your innocence and curiosity. "You'll see," he says softly, his voice laced with promise. He takes your hand gently and leads you towards the bed. His movements are slow and deliberate, giving you plenty of time to change your mind if you want to.

Matt gently pushes you back onto the bed, following you down so that you're lying underneath him. He props himself up on his elbows, caging you in between his arms. "Open your mouth." He says, his voice low and huy.

You hesitate for a moment, unsure of what he wants to do. But the curiosity and excitement in your chest wins out over your nerves. You open your mouth slightly, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes.

Matt swallows hard, finding your obedience incredibly sexy. He lowers his face to yours and slips his tongue into your open mouth again, this time kissing you deeper and more intensely. His hand moves to your thigh, slowly hiking up your skirt as he kisses you.

As Matt kisses you deeply, his fingers trail up your inner thigh, getting closer to the hem of your underwear. You whimper softly into the kiss, one of your hands gripping his shirt tightly stopped his hand.

Matt freezes, his tongue still exploring your mouth. He pulls back slightly to look at you, watching as you unconsciously tighten your thighs together. "Trust me, I’ll make you feel good." His voice drops lower, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your thigh where your hand stopped him.

"But..." you whimper softly, biting your lip as your legs press together tighter. "It's just..." You bite your lip again, hesitating. "No one's ever touched me there before." You admit softly, your cheeks burning red.

"Shhh..." he hushes you softly, his other hand gently stroking your hair. "I just wanna make you feel good" he whispers against your lips. His thumb traces the edge of your underwear, making you shiver.

He kisses you deeply again to distract you as his fingers slowly slip underneath your underwear. You gasp into his mouth as he touches you there for the first time, his fingers gentle and exploratory. He breaks the kiss to whisper,"Shh, just relax..." His fingers start to move slowly over your clit.

You let out a soft whimper as his fingers start to move, your back arching slightly off the bed. It feels strange at first, but also really good. You bite your lip to stifle a moan as he continues to touch you, your legs falling open unconsciously.

Matt watches you carefully, seeing your innocent reactions. He adds more pressure to your clit, his fingers moving in slow circles. He swallows hard watching how responsive you are, completely untouched before. "Spread your legs wider for me," he whispers huskily against your neck, placing soft kisses there.

You spread your legs wider as he asks, feeling shy but also wanting more. He slips a finger inside you slowly, watching your face closely. You're so tight and wet for him that he has to go slow. He kisses your neck again to calm you down.

"Fuck, you're so fucking tight." He whispers against your neck. He starts to move his finger slowly in and out of you, stretching you. You whimper softly, gripping the bedsheets. It feels weird having something inside you, but it also feels really good.

He adds a second finger, stretching you gently. You let out a soft cry into his shoulder as he kisses you deeply to muffle the sound. His fingers curl inside you, hitting a spot that makes your whole body jerk. "Shh shh shh..." he whispers against your lips, kissing you softly.

You clench around his fingers tightly, panting heavily as he continues to touch you in all the right spots. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close as you bury your face in his chest to muffle your moans. "M-Matt..." you whimper his name, "It feels so...weird, but good..." You bite your lip, your face flushed.

Matt smiles softly at your words, pleased by your innocent reactions. He continues to move his fingers inside you slowly while rubbing your clit with his thumb. "I know baby," he whispers, kissing your forehead gently. "Let me make it feel really good..." He picks up speed slightly.

Without warning, he starts moving down your body, placing kisses along your stomach. You blush deeply, trying to close your legs but he gently keeps them open. He looks up at you with hooded eyes. "Just trust me, okay..." He slowly starts taking off your skirt and panties.

He throws your clothes aside and spreads your legs wider, settling between them. He looks at your innocent pussy, completely bare and untouched. He swallows hard before diving down and pressing his mouth against you. You let out a loud gasp as he starts licking and sucking on your clit gently.

His tongue moves expertly over your clit, his hands spreading your legs wider to give him better access. He keeps his movements gentle and slow, knowing you're a virgin. You start squirming underneath him, your hands gripping his hair as you whimper and moan softly.

You pant heavily, your voice trembling with pleasure. "M-Matt...what...what are you doing...it feels so...good..." You arch your hips up slightly towards his mouth trying to get more pressure from him.

He looks up at you briefly, his eyes dark with desire. "Just enjoying you..." He says before going back down to lick your pussy more eagerly now that he knows you're loving it. He slips two fingers inside you again while continuing to suck on your clit.

"Oh my god..." you gasp out, your body tensing as his fingers move in and out while his tongue works its magic on your sensitive clit. "It's...it's too much..." Your legs shake slightly, and you can feel yourself getting closer to something you've never experienced before.

He feels you getting closer and starts moving his fingers faster, curling them inside you to hit that spot that makes your eyes roll back. He sucks hard on your clit, wanting to make you come undone. "That's it baby, let go for me..." he murmurs against your pussy.

Suddenly, you break apart. Your back arches off the bed and you let out a loud moan that turns into a series of whimpers as you come for the first time. Matt keeps his face buried between your legs, lapping up your release gently as your body shakes with pleasure.

He kisses his way back up your body once you've stopped shaking. He looks down at you with soft eyes filled with love and desire. "Did that feel good baby?" He asks, kissing your neck gently.

You’re about to answer as you hear the front door opening.

"Matt?" Your sister's voice calls out from the front door. You both freeze, your eyes wide with shock and panic. Matt quickly pulls up your skirt to cover you, but you can still feel the wetness between your legs and the lingering sensitivity.

Matt quickly kisses your forehead and jumps off the bed, and helps you get up "Go hop in the shower real quick, okay?" He says quietly, giving you a soft smile to calm you down. "I'll deal with her."

Taglist pt 1:

@blahbel668 @bernardsbendystraws @sturnzsblog @deffonotjae @suyqa

@mattsturniololover1 @mattsturniolosgf @annsx03 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @strnzzvsp

@mattsfavbitchhh @yourenogoodforme-blog @mattshighway @lauren-222 @slvtformatts

@megamorgan44 @xaristhings @ariestrxsh @sucretwin @tisiablack

@nelxoxo14 @miasturn1ol0 @mattssslutbby @sophsturns @sturnberrys

@sturniololover69 @wakeupitschrizz @jessie-essie @freshlov3 @sturniolofreakk

@lydi2718 @chrisstvrns @le4hsblog @pip4444chris @chris-hallelujah

@esioleren @namelesssav @ilovemenwithlonghairr @ribread03 @valkatriee

@sturniolofreakk @izzylovesmatt @lolastrniolo @pip4444chris @idrk2292

@strnilolover @2prcntmilkluvr @chrissbows @chrissweetheart @strvnolin

[dollerin]

𝑺𝑷𝑶𝑹𝑻𝑺 𝘊𝘈𝘙 ۶ৎ 니키

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝑳𝐔𝐃𝐄 ─── when your boyfriend wants to show off the fact that he finally got a car.

𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑚𝑢𝑟𝑎 𝑟𝑖𝑘𝑖 x f. reader romance non idol au suggestive physical touch making out 𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠 𝗐𝖼. 677 ─── 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑐𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑒

riki had been raving about his dream car since the both of you started dating. it was something he looked forward to nearly every single day (other than seeing you) and you didn’t mind.

he was absolutely obsessed with the thought of going on late night drives with you, drive-in movies or even just being parked outside of your house after a date, holding you.

so once that message came through on your phone, “be ready in 10 ;)” you knew his dream had come true.

the engine rumbled lowly outside of your home, the moon reflecting off of the sleek paint of the car. he sat inside of it, one hand gripping the steering wheel while he waited for you.

you locked your door behind you before heading straight to the passenger side. the window rolled down once you got close enough.

“hop in, pretty.” he said with a small smirk, unlocking the door for you. you shook your head, climbing in without a word.

“you like?”

you hummed, glancing at the interior of it. sleek, bold, definitely riki.

he pulled off down the road again, foot pressing down on the accelerator lightly at first.

it was quiet between the both of you for a moment, other than the hum of the car and the quiet bass of whatever r&b song he had playing on the radio.

he glanced over at you briefly, one hand still rested on the wheel while the other moved to rest on your thigh, squeezing it gently.

your eyes shifted over to him, watching as he kept his gaze on the road, his lip tucked between his teeth in concentration.

“never thought someone could look so good while driving,” you murmur, but still loud enough for him to hear.

he huffs out a laugh, “oh yeah?”

your hand comes to rest on top of his, looking down to see his fingers twitch in surprise.

“yeah.”

the compliment seemed to fluster him a bit, his hand squeezing your thigh again, grip tightening.

“you know what else i look good while doing?” he asked, making you raise your eyebrows. “parallel parking.”

you swatted at his arm, causing him to chuckle, “what? what’d you think i was gonna say?”

you shook your head, leaning over to kiss his arm before laying your head against it.

“you’re ridiculous.”

“yeah, but you love me.”

“unfortunately.” you snorted.

a few minutes later, he pulled into an empty lot, the gravel crunching under the car’s tires. he parked with a flick of his wrist, the engine still humming quietly.

“back seat,” he murmured, voice husky. “wanna show you something.”

by the time you climbed into the back seat and he met you there, his hands were already on you, gripping your waist and pulling you on top of him.

“thought you wanted to show me something?” you asked, tilting your head with a teasing smile.

“yeah, yeah. i will.” he grumbled, already leaning in. his lips crashed into yours before you could say anything else, all heat and want.

he sighed into the kiss, his grip on you tightening like you were going to disappear. calloused hands drifted up into your shirt, resting on your sides.

your hand came to cradle his jaw, fingers tracing over his skin as you tilted your head, leaning in and deepening the kiss.

riki’s brows furrowed as he groaned into your mouth, feeling your lips move slower now, more deliberate.

one of your hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck—fingers raking over it.

his lips trailed down further— over your cheek, your neck, and stopping at that spot under your ear that was extra sensitive.

“mm.. right here, huh?” he mumbled against it, lips brushing over your skin. he felt the way you shivered, the little breaths that escaped you.

you tilted your head to give him more access, your fingers gripping the fabric at his shoulders.

you hum, “we should really get going.”

“why?” his fingers trace patterns over your jeans. “i was just getting started, baby.”

🌺: hey so i hate this! milan try to stop using tate songs in your fics challenge

[heeluvv]

˗ˏˋ03. PAID SESSION

pairingᝰ.ᐟ park jongseong x fem reader ft. lee heeseung

warningsᝰ.ᐟ unprotected sex, oral (f), fingering, overstimulation, etc.

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ 3/9 completed!

──

the sky outside jay’s apartment is dull and overcast, the kind of cloudy that makes the air feel thick and unsaid things feel heavier. heeseung doesn’t knock twice—just once, knuckles dragging off the wood like he’s already exhausted by the weight of walking through the door. jay looks up from the couch when it opens, expecting the usual lazy smirk and offhand banter, but heeseung’s face doesn’t match the energy. he looks… off—not angry, not annoyed, just quiet in a way that stretches under his skin, like something inside him didn’t settle right. “you look like hell,” jay mutters, pausing his music with a flick of the remote. “didn’t think she was the type to drain you like that.” heeseung doesn’t answer. just kicks off his shoes with one foot and sinks into the couch like gravity has doubled in strength, elbows resting on his knees, head down. silence hangs in the space between them, long and stiff.

jay waits a few beats, like maybe heeseung just needs a minute. maybe he’s tired. maybe it’s nothing. but heeseung exhales—long and hollow—and when he finally speaks, it’s without looking up. “she left.” the two words come out flat, but something behind them wavers, the kind of break you can only hear if you’re really paying attention. jay’s brow twitches, arms crossing loosely over his chest. “left?” he repeats, and heeseung nods, still not lifting his head. “as soon as it ended. pulled on her hoodie and walked out like it didn’t mean anything.” jay blinks slowly. “and… did it?”

heeseung’s jaw tightens, muscles shifting beneath his skin as he finally lifts his head and leans back into the couch cushions, eyes staring at a point above jay’s shoulder like he can’t look him straight in the face. “i didn’t even talk to her before we filmed,” he says, voice quiet but full. “not really. just… hello, a few lines about consent and angles, and then—” he stops, swallowing hard. “and then we started, and everything changed.” jay studies him now, frown deepening, the smug tease he’d usually fire off noticeably absent. “what changed?” heeseung licks his lips, slow and nervous. “i didn’t wanna stop. not even when the camera shut off. i didn’t wanna let her go.” the words hang there, heavier than anything he’s said.

jay leans forward slowly, resting his elbows on his knees as he studies heeseung with a calmness that feels a little too practiced. his voice is lighter than before, careful almost, as if he knows whatever thread he’s tugging on has the potential to unravel more than either of them wants to admit. “so,” he starts, tone smooth but softened now, “who is she?” he doesn’t say it like he’s prying. not yet. it’s quieter, more curious than anything—like he’s tiptoeing into something fragile, not wanting to break it before he understands what it is. heeseung doesn’t respond immediately. his eyes stay fixed on the floor, unfocused, and his fingers twitch once against the hem of his jeans, then again, like maybe the answer is buried there in the fabric if he presses hard enough.

jay watches him, head tilting slightly. “you said she posted recently, right?” he prompts, still gentle, still casual on the surface. “just drop the name. i won’t stalk.” it’s a light joke, but it lands with a dull thud in the silence that follows. heeseung doesn’t laugh. doesn’t smile. he doesn’t even look up. he just shakes his head—small, deliberate, a tiny movement that’s almost easy to miss if you’re not looking closely. jay is looking, though. he sees it. sees how stiff heeseung’s shoulders are, how still his hands go after that single shake of the head. the shift in the air is subtle, but unmistakable.

jay leans back a little, eyebrows pulling in. “what—you don’t wanna share?” he asks, the edge of something creeping into his voice now. it’s not judgment. not annoyance. just… confusion. curiosity. maybe even a hint of something else. but again, there’s no reply. heeseung’s jaw is tense now, his gaze still fixed somewhere across the room, anywhere but on jay. his silence feels thick. weighted. like there’s something he’s protecting and doesn’t want to admit to—not to jay, not to himself.

they sit like that for a moment, the quiet stretching long between them.

and jay doesn’t need him to say it.

because they’ve all had their moments. they’ve all talked about their collabs, laughed about awkward edits, swapped notes on lighting and pacing and what works. but they’ve never dropped usernames. it’s always been an unspoken rule—don’t ask, don’t check, don’t pry. the anonymity protects everyone, keeps it from getting personal. and if it’s not personal, it can stay simple. professional. clean.

but this? this silence?

this is not simple.

and jay knows—whatever happened between heeseung and that girl?

it’s not just content.

the realization creeps in slow. jay’s brows lift, lips parting as he exhales through his nose and lets the tension stretch between them. “wait…” he says, the edge of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “no fucking way.” heeseung doesn’t budge. “dude.” silence. “you’re not giving me the name because you’re into her?” still nothing. jay leans back in disbelief, blinking at him like he’s seeing him for the first time. “bro.” heeseung’s jaw flexes. “you caught feelings?”

and that’s it. no witty comeback. no scoff. no smirk. just stillness.

heeseung goes completely still.

jay lets out a low whistle, leaning back into the cushions with his arms spread across the top of the couch like he’s trying to fill the space with anything but the silence. “that’s crazy,” he laughs, shaking his head like he’s heard something ridiculous, even though the grin on his face doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “mr. freakshow himself, down bad for a girl he doesn’t even know much of?” he tries to keep it light, playful, the kind of jab he usually throws without thought, but this one lands weird. heeseung doesn’t flinch. doesn’t argue. doesn’t roll his eyes or laugh with him. he just sits there, unmoving, like the weight of the truth is too heavy to shift around anymore. jay glances at him again, this time longer, the humor starting to fade from his mouth. “you serious right now?” he asks, quieter now, the air settling. “like… actually serious?”

heeseung doesn’t answer. doesn’t need to. his silence says everything, thick and loud and final, and jay leans forward again, elbows on his knees, the playfulness draining from his posture. “you’re really not gonna tell me who she is?” he presses, and this time there’s something different in his voice—something caught between curiosity and disbelief. heeseung shifts slightly, finally dragging a hand over his face, and mutters, “no.” jay tilts his head, trying to get a read, but it’s hard to see through it—the silence, the distance, the weird swell of something he can’t name growing in the pit of his stomach. “you think she’s the only one who made you feel something?” he jokes half-heartedly, but there’s a bitter edge beneath it now. “there’s, like, dozens of new creators every week.” heeseung glances up at him then, and the look in his eyes is so bare, so unguarded, that jay has to look away.

he shrugs like it’s nothing, standing to stretch and move toward the kitchen, even though there’s nothing waiting for him there. “you’ll move on,” he calls over his shoulder, like it’s fact. “you always do.” the words echo a little, float into the stillness like he needed to hear them aloud to believe them. heeseung doesn’t reply, and jay opens the fridge, stares inside like he’s suddenly deeply interested in the half-empty energy drink shelf. the longer the silence lasts, the heavier it feels—off, unfamiliar, like the ground has shifted just a few inches under both of them. jay grabs a can, pops the tab, and leans against the counter without turning around. “she must’ve been really good,” he says after a moment, voice quieter again, like the thought is sticking more than he expected it to. “or maybe you were just overdue.”

jay’s apartment feels too still once the door clicks shut behind heeseung, the weight of his silence lingering long after he’s gone. the couch feels cold, the echo of that final look he gave still playing in jay’s head, and for some reason, jay can’t stop pacing. he walks into the kitchen. opens the fridge. closes it again. stands by the window like the answers might be written in the clouds outside. but they’re not—so he does what he always does when something gets under his skin. he sits down, boots up his account, and scrolls through the new creators tab with idle swipes of his thumb, trying to let the algorithm distract him. names flash by, previews blur together, but one stops him cold. @babydollxo.

the profile is nothing flashy—no thirst traps, no bio full of emojis or promises—just a clean layout, a single post, and a display name that’s more suggestion than scream. it’s the thumbnail that makes him click—low lighting, soft curves, a still shot of thighs parted just enough to tease but not enough to show. he doesn’t recognize her. not even close. but something about it feels… personal. the video opens quietly, and what hits him first isn’t the visuals—it’s the sound. her breathing. her pace. the soft, near-whispered moan like she’s trying not to be heard. “fuck,” jay mutters, leaning closer, one hand braced on his jaw as the video loops back to the beginning. “who are you?”

he taps through her page, skimming the stats—no verification, barely a few thousand followers, but the engagement is insane. comments already pouring in, tips stacking, new subscribers flashing in real time. jay scrolls again, watching the preview once more before his fingers move on instinct—hitting follow, and typing out a message without even hesitating. 

you’ve got good rhythm. ever thought about collabing? 

it’s casual, confident, and quick—sent before he even second-guesses it. he settles back in his chair, lets the video loop again, and lingers longer this time, eyes trailing down the curves of her body. he doesn’t know her. doesn’t need to. he just knows she moves like she’s got something worth chasing.

he lets the video loop again, slower this time, volume just a bit louder, thumb hovering over the play bar like he wants to rewind and memorize every second of the way her hand moves. there’s something about her pacing—unrushed, unbothered, like she’s not performing for anyone but herself—that makes it worse. hotter. more real. she doesn’t show her face, but the shape of her mouth is visible in the soft outline of the mirror behind her, parted, pink, whispering something too faint to hear. jay’s hand slips beneath his waistband before he even realizes it, fingertips brushing over his cock already half-hard from nothing but her rhythm and the sound of her moans. “shit,” he mutters under his breath, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he starts to stroke himself slow, eyes locked on the way her fingers dip between her thighs. he watches the tension in her body, the way her hips roll, the way her knees twitch just before the clip cuts. it’s barely 40 seconds long, and it has him already grinding into his palm like it’s been hours.

he strokes himself slow, thumb dragging over the head, using nothing but the weight of her movements to guide his pace, lazy and deliberate. he imagines her beneath him, same lighting, same breathless moans, but this time his hands are the ones between her thighs—his name the one falling off her tongue. his hips lift slightly off the chair, chasing friction, fucking into his fist in slow, tight rolls that match the rhythm she set on screen. his breath starts to fog the screen, but he doesn’t care. he leans in anyway, watching the arch of her back, the twitch of her thighs, every small tremble that gives her away. “who the fuck are you,” he whispers again, voice strained now, knuckles tightening with each stroke, precum leaking warm across his hand. he’s close, but not rushing—just breathing, just fucking into his hand like she’s watching him right back. and then it happens—just as his eyes start to flutter shut, just as his cock twitches against his grip—

buzz.

his phone lights up in the corner of the screen, and he blinks, chest still rising fast, fingers stilled mid-stroke as the name flashes clear.

────୨ৎ────

the car ride home is quiet, the soft hum of the engine the only thing keeping your mind from spinning completely out of control. you stare out the window the whole time, watching buildings blur into neighborhoods, storefronts into trees, your reflection ghosting back at you every time the light hits the glass just right. your body feels heavy in a way that isn’t just physical—like you left part of yourself back in that bed, wrapped in sheets and tangled in someone else’s breath. your thighs are still sticky, your hair still smells like his detergent, and your phone hasn’t stopped buzzing since he posted the video. you don’t check it. not yet. you know what’s waiting for you there. attention. validation. noise. and none of it feels like enough to quiet the ache still blooming beneath your ribs. you just want to be home. you just want your bed. you just want this night to stop echoing.

you thank the driver and climb out quietly, your fingers trembling as they grip the strap of your bag. the air hits different now—colder, clearer, like it’s trying to sober you up from whatever high your body’s still crashing down from. the building looms in front of you, too familiar, too grounding, and your feet feel too loud on the stairs as you climb. you don’t expect nari to still be awake. you don’t expect her to be sitting on the couch in her hoodie and shorts, blanket over her lap, hair tied up and a mug of tea forgotten on the table. her head lifts when she sees you, eyes widening, expression soft and sleepy but instantly alert. “hey,” she says gently, not like she’s prying—just like she knows. you blink once. twice. and then the tears start rising up too fast to swallow.

“i did it,” you say, voice cracking before you can catch it, dropping your bag to the floor like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. “i filmed with someone. like… all of it. everything.” your eyes sting as you move to sit beside her, pulling your legs up on the couch, hugging your knees to your chest like you’re trying to hold yourself together with your own arms. “it wasn’t supposed to feel like this,” you whisper, breath hitching as her hand comes down gently to rub your back, slow and reassuring. “it was supposed to just be money. content. like… a transaction. but then—he was…” you trail off, shaking your head. “he made me feel things i didn’t expect. he made me forget it was even being recorded.” nari doesn’t say anything yet. just keeps rubbing your back, waiting.

“he was sweet,” you continue, voice barely above a whisper now, “and careful. and so good—like, not just at the physical part, but… the way he looked at me. like he actually cared.” you laugh then, bitter and soft and full of disbelief. “and then i got dressed. and i left.” you press your palms to your face, shoulders trembling with the weight of everything crashing back down. “i told myself it was business. that’s what i kept saying in the car. it’s just business. but it didn’t feel like that. not for one second.” nari doesn’t rush you, doesn’t try to talk over your spiraling. she just pulls you in, arms wrapping around your shoulders as she rests her chin against the top of your head. “i didn’t want to admit it,” you breathe out, “but i think… i liked it too much.”

nari pulls back just enough to look at you, her brows drawn, voice soft and steady. “do you regret it?” she asks, and the question doesn’t come with judgment—just care. you pause, really thinking about it, your heart still aching, your body still buzzing from everything he touched, everything he said. you shake your head slowly, fingers tightening into the sleeves of your sweatshirt. “no,” you say. “i don’t regret it. i just don’t know what to do now.” the truth settles between you like steam—warm, fragile, lingering in the quiet space nari always creates for you. she nods once, like she understands. like she already knew. “then we figure it out,” she says. “together.”

you stay tucked into nari’s side for a while after that, the quiet between you comforting in a way that nothing else has been all night. her arm stays around your shoulders, warm and steady, thumb tracing small shapes against your arm like she’s grounding you with each pass. your breathing evens out eventually, and the ache in your chest settles—not gone, not even dulled, but wrapped in something that makes it easier to hold. the light from your phone catches your attention when it buzzes against the cushion beside you, and you glance down without thinking. the notification flashes once—

@jayafterhours replied to your message. 

your stomach flips. not from nerves, not from guilt, but something sharp and new and electric. you hesitate for half a second, then pick it up and unlock the screen.

the app opens instantly, and the message lights up clean beneath your own.

@jayafterhours: depends. how good are you at following directions?

it sits there like a dare. no emojis. no filler. just those words, sharp and smooth, wrapped in heat. you read it once. then again. and then a third time, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as something unfamiliar sparks low in your stomach. jay’s message isn’t careful or warm or soft. it’s cocky. bold. full of the kind of energy that doesn’t ask—it challenges. and it should be easy to ignore, should be nothing more than another opportunity—but after the way tonight left you exposed, this message feels like armor. like escape. like exactly what you need right now.

you’re still staring at jay’s message when your phone buzzes again—this time softer, quieter, like it knows it’s interrupting something private. nari’s still next to you, her hand resting gently on your arm, both of you folded into the silence after your confession. you don’t realize how tense your body has gotten until her thumb strokes over your sleeve, grounding you like she always does. “everything okay?” she asks softly, and you nod—too fast, too automatic. you glance down, thumb dragging over the edge of your screen, and your breath stalls when you see the name.

@heefreakshow: i’m outside

no punctuation. no lead-in. no warning. your stomach tightens. your chest tightens, breath catching hard as you blink at the message once, then twice, like it might go away if you look long enough. but it doesn’t. it just sits there—steady, waiting, pressing heavy against your ribs. “nari,” you say suddenly, voice softer now, “can you grab me that tea from earlier? i think it’s still on the counter.”

she nods easily, no questions, just kindness, slipping up from the couch and padding toward the kitchen in her socks. the second she’s out of sight, you grab your phone, the grip of it cold against your palm as you move toward the door on autopilot. your heart thuds unevenly as you reach for the handle, and for a moment, you hesitate—what are you even doing?—but your hand moves anyway. you open the door slowly, half-expecting to see no one there—to tell yourself you imagined it, that maybe the message wasn’t meant for you. but he’s there. standing just a few feet away in the hallway, hands in his jacket pockets, hood drawn halfway up like he’s trying to shrink into the shadows. his eyes meet yours instantly, and the world seems to stop moving. it’s the same face. the same mouth that kissed your shoulder, the same voice that whispered your name until you came undone. but it’s different now, too. softer. sadder. there’s something unreadable in his expression, something that pulls at you, something that says i’m not here just to see you—i’m here because i can’t stay away.

you step back without a word, letting him in with a tilt of your chin, your fingers tightening around the doorknob before you close it softly behind him. he’s still watching you—same mouth, same eyes, but something about him feels different now. more exposed. less in control. like the walls he held up on camera don’t follow him into your apartment. “i wasn’t gonna come,” he says after a second, voice quiet, husky at the edges, “but i couldn’t stop thinking about it. about you.” you freeze. not because of what he said—but how he said it. no teasing. no performative confidence. just the raw, stripped-down truth of a man standing in front of someone he wasn’t ready to lose.

“i don’t want to make this complicated,” he adds, eyes dipping away from yours for a heartbeat, “i know you’ve got your reasons. i know what this was supposed to be.” he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the envelope—thick, sealed, heavy with every cent the video made. “this is yours,” he says. “all of it.” your fingers curl instinctively, but you don’t reach for it. “i just…” he trails off, shaking his head like he hates himself for even being here. “i haven’t been able to stop thinking about how you sounded. how you felt. how you looked at me when the camera turned off.” his voice drops even lower, and when his eyes meet yours again, they’re raw. “you keep showing up in my head—and i don’t know how to turn it off.”

heeseung exhales like something inside him’s cracking open—like the silence you’re holding is slowly tearing through his chest. his fingers twitch at his side, still gripping the envelope he hasn’t let you take, like it’s the only anchor he has left. “i used to think people who said love at first sight were full of shit,” he says suddenly, voice low, almost ashamed of the words as they fall out. “like it was just something people told themselves when they were lonely. or desperate. or drunk.” his throat works around the lump sitting in it as his eyes flick back to yours, soft and vulnerable and scared. “but then i looked at you. and everything i thought i knew stopped making sense.” the envelope lowers. his hand opens. and now it’s not money between you—it’s him.

he steps forward slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid if he moves too fast you’ll vanish. you don’t breathe. don’t speak. your entire body’s frozen under the weight of what’s unfolding in front of you. his hand lifts, fingers brushing gently beneath your chin before tracing upward, knuckles grazing the line of your jaw. “you’re the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen,” he murmurs, thumb pressing against your cheek like he’s trying to memorize the softness of your skin. “not just because of how you look. but the way you breathe. the way you speak. the way you left me speechless without even trying.” his forehead nearly touches yours now, his breath warm and unsteady between you. “i don’t want this to be about the fucking camera anymore.”

“let me in,” he whispers, and it’s so quiet, so desperate, that it barely holds itself together. “let me know you. i’m not asking for everything. i just want… something. something real.” your lips part, but no sound comes out—your chest rising hard, your pulse loud in your ears, your mind too full to form words. his eyes flick down to your mouth, then back up, searching you, waiting for permission you don’t know how to give. you could push him away. you could lie. you could tell him this is too much, too fast. but before you can speak—he leans in.

his mouth presses to yours with a softness that stuns you—nothing rushed, nothing demanding. just him. trembling, open, real. his hand cups the side of your face like he’s afraid you’ll break beneath him, his lips moving slowly against yours like he’s trying to tell you everything he doesn’t have the words for. your breath hitches. your lashes flutter. and for one suspended moment, there is no camera. no contract. no inbox. just him. and the way his mouth is kissing you like you’re the first thing that’s ever made sense

his lips move against yours with an aching kind of care, like he doesn’t want to rush it—like he wants to memorize every part of your mouth before the moment slips away. his hand tilts your chin just slightly, thumb brushing along the edge of your jaw as his other hand hovers at your waist, not pulling, not forcing—just holding, like you’re something he’s scared to lose. you lean into him before you can stop yourself, your fingers brushing lightly against his chest, catching in the fabric of his hoodie like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. the kiss deepens naturally, your mouths molding together with more weight, more heat, until his breath is tangled with yours. he exhales shakily into the kiss, lips parting just enough to let his tongue flick against yours, soft and slow and searching. you gasp quietly, your body pressing just a little closer, like the gravity between you both is impossible to resist. his thumb traces beneath your cheekbone, slow and reverent, like he still can’t believe you’re letting him do this. everything inside you is warm and light and crumbling.

the taste of him lingers sweet on your lips, heat blooming through your body in waves as the kiss stretches out longer than you mean it to—longer than it should. his tongue slides against yours again, a little deeper this time, a little more sure, like he’s just starting to believe this is real. your fingers clutch at the edge of his hoodie, pulling him closer without thinking, your chest pressing flush to his, your breath stuttering against his lips. you hear the softest, tiniest sound from him—almost a whimper, half-swallowed, too quiet to be on purpose. and it makes your stomach twist. makes your knees feel weak. his mouth moves lower, dragging to the corner of your lips, then kissing softly along the edge of your jaw like he can’t help himself. and it’s all too much. too good. too full of feeling you’ve been trying to deny since the second you walked out of his bed.

your hand lifts to his chest to ground yourself, fingers splayed over the beat of his heart that’s racing just as hard as yours. heeseung’s breath hitches, and he pulls back just enough to look at you—his mouth swollen, eyes dark, lips still parted. “i mean it,” he says again, voice rough and wrecked and so soft. “i want to know you.” your heart stutters. your mouth opens—but before either of you can speak again—

“y/n?”

the voice comes like a slap. bright. clear. and cutting straight through the warmth like a blade.

you freeze.

your body jerks back like a switch flipped under your skin, like your name being said aloud burned straight through the fantasy. you stumble out of his grip, lips still parted, breathing hard, your fingers releasing his hoodie so fast it feels like you just realized what you were holding. your eyes go wide as your mind scrambles to catch up, to remember where you are, who you are, who is in your apartment right now. “shit,” you whisper under your breath, heart hammering like it’s trying to punch through your ribs, like your pulse forgot how to settle. heeseung straightens a little, blinking, his expression shifting fast—from warmth to confusion to that same guarded tension you saw at the door. you turn quickly toward the hallway, barely able to process what you’re supposed to do next. “just a second!” you call back to nari, your voice thin and breathless, like you’re trying not to sound like you were just kissed like someone’s favorite memory.

she doesn’t answer right away, but her footsteps pad closer from the kitchen—slow, unaware, still far enough that you can breathe but not for long. you whip around to face him, panic laced in every inch of your movement. “you have to go,” you say, too fast, too tight, the words leaving your mouth before you can soften them. heeseung’s brows pull together, the smallest flicker of hurt in his eyes before he catches himself. “y/n,” he says gently, his hand half-lifted like he wants to reach for you again, but he doesn’t. “please. don’t shut me out again.” your throat tightens, your fingers clenching at your sides. you can’t do this right now. not with your roommate three steps away. not when your lips still taste like his name.

“this was a mistake,” you say, though your voice wavers at the end of it, and you hate how easily it betrays you. heeseung flinches—not dramatically, not with words, just the subtle shift of someone trying not to react to a wound they didn’t expect. “it didn’t feel like one,” he says, barely above a whisper, but there’s weight in it, something heavy that sticks in your chest. you open your mouth, but no words come out—just air, just panic, just silence. the warmth from his touch is still clinging to your skin, but it doesn’t feel soft anymore. it feels like a question you don’t have an answer to. you step back once, then again. and he takes the hint.

“i’ll go,” he says, voice dull now, and you hate it—you hate the way he sounds when he says it, like you’re undoing something that hadn’t even started yet. he moves toward the door without another word, his shoulders square, steps quiet like he doesn’t want to make it harder than it already is. your breath catches as he opens it, just wide enough to slip out, and for a second you almost call his name. almost. but then he’s gone.

and when the door clicks shut, it’s like your whole body deflates.

you don’t move at first—not even after the door clicks shut, not even after your heartbeat starts to slow. you’re frozen there, staring at the space he left behind, like the warmth of his presence is still lingering in the air, clinging to your skin. your lips are still parted. your hands are still shaking. and your thoughts feel like they’re spinning too fast to hold onto anything solid. you press your fingers to your mouth, just once, like you’re trying to erase the kiss from your skin—but all it does is make you remember how it felt. how soft he was. how much he meant it. and how badly you wanted to believe it.

“hey,” nari’s voice calls gently from behind, her steps slow and light like she’s trying not to startle you. “who was that?” her question isn’t sharp, not suspicious—just curious, just concerned. you inhale too fast, turning toward her with a smile you have to force into place, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “no one,” you say, and the words sound brittle even to your own ears. nari tilts her head slightly, stopping just a few feet away, her gaze soft but a little puzzled. “it sounded like someone was here. you okay?” she asks, her eyes searching your face like she already knows the answer isn’t yes.

you nod too quickly. lie too easily. “yeah,” you say, waving it off like it’s nothing, like your hands aren’t trembling from the ghost of a kiss that’s still burning through you. “just… someone dropping something off.” nari hums, unconvinced but not pushing, and moves past you toward the living room again. your shoulders fall the second she turns her back, the pressure of pretending scraping down your spine like sandpaper. you follow her slowly, your feet heavy, your mind louder than it’s ever been. part of you wants to tell her everything—to let it spill out in messy pieces like you did before—but the rest of you can’t. not yet. not when it’s still sitting in your chest like it means something more than it should.

you sink back onto the couch, your hands folding in your lap, trying not to feel the way your heart’s still pulling in opposite directions. “you want me to warm your tea again?” nari asks from the kitchen, casual, kind, unaware of how badly you need something—anything—to anchor you right now. “yeah,” you manage, your voice hoarse. “please.” she hums again, and the clinking of the mug hitting the counter fills the silence while you reach for your phone like a reflex, screen lighting up again with the last message you received.

@jayafterhours: depends. how good are you at following directions?

your thumb hovers over it for a second. just long enough to wonder what would happen if you said yes.

────୨ৎ────

jay could hear your footsteps before the knock even came—soft, steady, unhurried as you walked up the steps to his door. he didn’t move right away. just stood there, watching the blur of your shadow shift beneath the crack, listening to the quiet rhythm of your shoes against the concrete. when your knuckles finally tapped against the wood—quick, confident, not too firm—it echoed straight through his chest. and for some reason, his breath caught. he hadn’t even seen you yet, but something in the way you approached already had him standing a little straighter.

he opened the door slowly, not expecting much—just a girl, a creator, someone behind a screen turned in front of a lens. but then you were there. standing in front of him like you’d always belonged in his doorway. and for a second, jay couldn’t fucking breathe. it wasn’t just the way you looked, though that was enough to throw him off—lips bare, lashes soft, skin kissed with the kind of natural glow that didn't need lighting. it was the way you carried it. cool, calm, but not cocky. like you knew he’d be staring—and you didn’t mind one bit.

he had no idea what to say at first, and that wasn’t like him. so instead, he stepped back. made room. let you walk into his space while he held the door and tried not to think about the way your hoodie rode up just enough when you passed. “glad you came,” he said finally, voice lower than intended, the heat behind it already showing. and still, you didn’t say much—just nodded, eyes flicking over his apartment like you were already deciding if you liked being here.

and jay? yeah, he was already fucked.

he invites you to sit, his tone smooth and unbothered, like this is all routine. your eyes drift over the table—neat dishes laid out already, plates warm, silverware set clean and deliberate, like he’d done this more than once in his head before you actually showed up. the chairs are tucked in, a folded napkin on each side, and it’s not fancy, not showy—just thoughtful. the kind of quiet preparation that says he was expecting you. he gestures toward the one closest to the corner, letting you choose your seat, and only after you lower yourself does he finally move to the opposite side. the room smells like something savory—spiced, warm, familiar—but you’re too focused on the way he looks across the table. like he’s already unwrapping you with his eyes and hasn’t even touched you yet.

“i wasn’t sure what you’d like,” he says, sliding one of the plates toward you, “so i made something safe.” he says it with a shrug, casual, but the corners of his mouth twitch like he knows it still matters. you glance down at the dish—pasta, something seasoned and steaming lightly, nothing too heavy but just enough to show he gave a shit. the table feels too quiet for a second, but jay fills it easily, leaning forward with one forearm against the wood like he’s settling into something easy. “before we get into the rest,” he says, tone steady, “i just wanna know a few things about you.” you blink, not expecting that—not after the texts, not after the message that brought you here.

“what should i call you?” he asks, voice low but not demanding, like he wants to give you space to answer how you want. “real name, nickname, something else?” he waits. doesn’t press. just watches you with those sharp, dark eyes like he’s already cataloging every answer for later. you tell him your name—and he nods once, storing it somewhere behind the calm set of his mouth. then he asks another. “what’s your favorite ice cream?” and when you raise a brow, he shrugs again. “everybody’s got one. mine’s pistachio. but i don’t expect you to take me seriously after saying that out loud.”

the edge of a smile touches your mouth before you can stop it, and you hate the way it catches his attention immediately—like he notices everything, even the small shifts. he asks more. not deep things. just enough to make you talk. favorite time of day. worst habit. music you only listen to when you’re alone. it’s disarming. gentle. like he’s peeling you open slowly without ever putting his hands on you. and it throws you off balance, because none of it feels like an act. he’s not trying to seduce you. he’s just trying to see you. and somehow, that’s worse.

he doesn’t look at your chest. doesn’t stare at your legs. his eyes stay on your face like he wants to memorize it before the lighting and the angles and the camera strip it down. “i like knowing things,” he says after your third answer, voice quieter now, like it’s a secret he’s only saying once. “makes what happens later feel less like performance. more like chemistry.” your breath catches slightly, the implication not subtle but not crude. and he knows it. his mouth curves slowly around his next word. “boundaries,” he says, leaning back finally, like he’s shifting gears. “let’s talk about them.”

you sit a little straighter at the word—boundaries—as if the reminder helps you find your footing again. it feels like the only thing you can control in a space where everything else is already moving faster than you expected. jay watches you with that same measured gaze, not pushing, not crowding, just waiting. and somehow, that’s what makes it harder to speak. you inhale slowly, letting the words settle in your mouth before you release them. “i’m okay with most things,” you say carefully, voice quiet but steady. “just… not my face. i don’t want it shown.” your fingers curl slightly around the edge of your seat as the words leave you, like saying them out loud solidifies them in a way that’s permanent.

jay doesn’t blink. doesn’t shift. doesn’t even flinch. he just nods once, slow and certain. “easy,” he says simply. “i’ve worked around that before.” you blink, a little surprised at how quickly he agreed. “you can stay cropped, blurred, or angled out. whatever you’re comfortable with.” his tone doesn’t falter—there’s no question in it, no teasing, no hint of disbelief. just clean acceptance. and that, somehow, makes your chest tighten. “i don’t do spit,” you add suddenly, a little sharper now, like you need to draw one more line just to see if he’ll cross it. “noted,” he replies, just as calm.

“what about contact?” he asks after a beat, fingers tapping lightly against the table, not impatient—just thoughtful. “hands? mouths? toys? giving, receiving?” it’s the first time the words sound even remotely intimate, and it sends a ripple down your spine, but you don’t let it show. you answer carefully, listing what you’re okay with, what you’d rather avoid, and he takes it all in without interrupting. not once does he smirk. not once does he turn it into something dirtier than it needs to be. he just listens. and somehow that makes your pulse pick up more than anything he could’ve said.

“do you have a safeword?” he asks next, voice low but clear, no edge to it—just importance. you hesitate for a second, your teeth pressing gently into your bottom lip as your mind flips through words that feel right. something simple. something soft. something you’ll remember even when your thoughts are a mess. “peach,” you say finally, your voice barely above a breath. “if i say peach, we stop.” you don’t expect the way his eyes soften at that, like he wasn’t just listening—he heard you. he nods once, firm and sure. “peach it is,” he replies, voice quiet but absolute. “say it once, and everything ends. no questions asked.”

he leans back, letting the quiet settle. “anything else?” he asks, tone a little lighter now, like he’s giving you space to say no. your fingers twitch against the edge of your thigh. your heart’s still racing, your head still loud. but you shake your head slowly. “not right now,” you murmur. jay gives you a long look. not unreadable—but quiet. measured. like he’s still trying to piece you together without rushing it. and when he speaks again, his voice is lower, gentler. “i don’t want you to just feel safe,” he says. “i want you to feel seen.”

jay stands from the table slowly, pushing his chair in with one hand and tilting his head toward the hallway. “come with me,” he says simply, his tone softer now—less like a command, more like an invitation. you follow without speaking, your footsteps quieter this time as you trail behind him, your body still warm from the way he looked at you. the deeper you move into his apartment, the more the quiet hum of something personal settles in. the space is open but not cold—walls painted a cool gray, dark wood floors that soften each step, and framed black-and-white prints spaced carefully along the hall. everything feels… intentional. not staged, not overly curated—just clean, calm, and lived-in, like he only keeps what matters.

there’s a faint scent lingering in the air, something earthy and expensive—maybe sandalwood, maybe cedar, something low and smooth that fits him perfectly. the hallway passes a spare room, its door cracked open just enough for you to see a neat workspace with a monitor, ring light, and perfectly wound cords—no mess, no clutter. he’s the kind of guy who wipes surfaces even if they’re already clean. who arranges things by size without realizing it. and now that you’re walking through it, it makes sense. he feels like someone who controls the chaos before it ever starts. someone who doesn’t just direct scenes, but knows how to curate them down to the last breath.

when he opens the door to his room, he doesn’t say anything—just steps inside and waits for you to follow. and you do. slow, careful, your eyes scanning the space as you enter. the room is warm in tone, dimly lit by a lamp in the corner with amber-tinted light that makes the shadows look softer. the bedding is dark navy, sheets smooth and taut, a throw blanket folded at the edge with precision. there’s a small table near the wall with a speaker, a single coaster, and a lighter next to an unused candle. everything is exactly where it should be—but not in a clinical way. more like someone who lives in silence and pays attention to what it tells him.

the tripod is already set up across the room, angled down slightly toward the bed, lens cap off but nothing recording yet. it doesn’t feel threatening. just… real. you were expecting something more dramatic. lights. backdrops. fake velvet. but this is something else. this feels personal. honest. quiet. and maybe that’s what makes your pulse start to rise in your throat again. jay walks past you slowly, crossing the room to the dresser, and opens the top drawer without saying a word. you watch him carefully, still trying to piece together what kind of man sets a camera like that and still remembers to cook you lunch.

when he turns around, he’s holding something small and black, the shimmer of silk catching the light as he walks back toward you. the bag in his hand is delicate—drawstring ribbon, gold threading, and you already know what it is before he offers it out. “for you,” he says, holding it between you like it’s something important. “to wear.” you blink up at him, but his gaze doesn’t waver, doesn’t falter. “i saw it in a shop the day after i found your profile,” he adds quietly. “wasn’t looking for anything. just… saw it. and thought it would suit you.”

you give him a slight smile before you speak, “give me a minute?” you say, voice quiet but sure. jay’s eyes meet yours again, and this time he smiles without speaking. just a small tilt of his head, an unspoken take your time. you close the bathroom door quietly behind you, the soft click echoing louder than it should in your ears. the small silk bag is still clutched in your hand, your palm warm and damp against the fabric like you’re holding something much more dangerous. the light in here is brighter—clean, warm-toned, flattering—but it only makes your nerves feel sharper. the mirror reflects back a version of yourself that looks steady, calm, composed… but your chest is tight. your skin buzzes beneath your clothes. and as you lay the bag down on the counter, you realize this moment feels familiar. too familiar.

your breath slows as your fingers reach for the hem of your hoodie, pulling it up and over your head with a slow drag, your tank top following right after. you fold them both neatly beside the sink, more out of nervous habit than care. and for a second, you’re standing there in just your underwear, heart thrumming low in your stomach, staring at your reflection like it’s someone else’s body. you’ve been here before. not in this room, not with these lights—but in the feeling. the anticipation. the tight pull in your gut. the sting of wanting to impress someone who shouldn’t mean anything.

you think of heeseung. how it felt when you changed for him. how you stood in your room, under dim lighting, slipping on something you picked while he waited for you just down the hall. how it wasn’t supposed to feel like it did. how you thought it would just be performance. and it wasn’t. it was heat. it was vulnerability. it was dangerous. and now here you are again—different place, different man, but the same twisting ache curling around your spine. why does it feel the same? why does your body keep falling into this rhythm like it wants to be seen?

you open the silk bag slowly, the lingerie soft and light in your hands as you lift it out. black lace, just like he said. a deep plunge neckline, sheer mesh sides, satin ribbon at the center. the fabric is cool against your fingertips, delicate enough to feel like it might tear if you don’t handle it carefully. it’s beautiful. subtle. nothing flashy—but undeniably seductive. you step into it slowly, one leg at a time, pulling the straps over your shoulders, adjusting the fit around your waist. and as it settles against your skin, molding to your body like it was meant for you, you feel something crack open behind your ribs.

you shouldn’t like this. not the way you do. not the way your thighs press together, not the way your breath comes shallower, not the way you want to step out there and watch jay’s face when he sees you in this. you shouldn’t want to impress him—not after how confused you still feel about the last time. about heeseung. about what it meant, and what it didn’t. but your skin burns all the same. your hands tremble slightly as you fix your hair, as you smooth the hem, as you give yourself one last look in the mirror. “just business,” you whisper to your reflection. and even you don’t believe it.

you open the door slowly, just enough to slip through, your hands brushing down your sides one last time as you step back into the low light of his bedroom. the air feels thicker out here—warmer, heavier, like it’s been waiting for you. the door clicks gently behind you, and your bare feet make the softest sound against the floor as you move forward, your breath caught somewhere between your throat and your chest. you don’t look at him right away. not yet. you don’t want to see his face until you’re standing still, until your heart isn’t racing so fast it might show on your skin. but you feel it the moment his eyes land on you.

jay goes completely still—like the sight of you knocks the air out of him. he was sitting at the edge of the bed, adjusting the tripod when the door opened, but now he’s frozen, hands resting loosely on his thighs, lips parted just slightly as his gaze drags up your body. he doesn’t speak. doesn’t smile. he just looks—like you’re something he’s only seen in his head before this. something better in person. his eyes move slowly, taking in every line of lace, every sheer inch of skin, every soft curve the lingerie hugs like it was tailored just for you. and when your gaze finally lifts to meet his, he looks like he’s trying not to say something reckless.

“fuck,” he murmurs under his breath, the word falling out like it escaped before he could hold it back. he shifts forward just slightly, elbows resting on his knees now, fingers loosely laced like he needs to stay grounded. “you really wore it.” there’s something in his voice—something tight, restrained, too controlled to be casual. his eyes keep flicking between your mouth and your hips like he can’t pick which part of you he wants to touch first. “looks better than i imagined,” he adds, and it doesn’t sound like a compliment—it sounds like a confession. low, almost reverent.

you try to stay still under the weight of his stare, but your skin feels too hot, too bare, too sensitive. his gaze alone feels like it’s dragging fingers down your sides, smoothing over the lace, sinking into places he hasn’t even touched yet. he straightens a little, breath deeper now, like he’s forcing himself to remember why you’re both here. “can i fix the straps?” he asks suddenly, voice softer now, eyes flicking toward your shoulder where the delicate black lace has slipped just slightly out of place. “just the straps.” his tone is calm, careful—asking not assuming.

you nod once, and he rises without another word, his steps slow and deliberate as he closes the space between you. he moves behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body at your back but not close enough to touch—not yet. his fingers reach up gently, grazing your skin as he slides the strap higher, smoothing it back into place with practiced ease. then the other. slow. patient. like he’s putting something sacred back where it belongs. “perfect,” he murmurs once, voice brushing warm against your neck, and then he steps back, keeping his hands to himself.

you can still feel him, even after he’s gone.

“lie down for me,” he says again, a little softer this time, like he’s coaxing the words past your skin. you move slowly, climbing up onto the bed with steady breaths, the lace hugging your body shifting with every motion. the sheets are smooth and cool beneath your palms, your body sinking slightly into the mattress as you stretch out along the center. jay watches from the edge of the room, his movements calm, practiced, but not rushed. nothing about this is rushed. he moves like he has all the time in the world to break you open piece by piece.

he disappears for a second, and you hear the soft click of a switch. the lighting shifts immediately—warmer, dimmer, all shadows and low gold. intimate. like candlelight caught in motion. and then, music. something slow, rich, vibrating low through the walls. it starts with a soft hum, something sensual and aching underneath, followed by a voice thick with emotion, sliding across the beat like a secret. the melody winds around your body before he even touches you. it’s moody, seductive, dangerous. like desire in the form of a song. like something you shouldn’t be listening to unless you’re ready to fall apart.

you don’t realize you’re holding your breath until the mattress dips beside you. jay’s back now, his body lowering beside yours, his hand brushing along your forearm with quiet intention. in his hand—black leather cuffs, soft-lined and already adjusted to your size. he doesn’t speak, doesn’t explain. he just takes your wrist, gently, lifting it with the kind of care that makes your breath catch, and buckles the first strap around you. the second follows. secure. firm. not uncomfortable—just enough to remind you that your hands aren’t yours anymore.

“you good?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. you nod again. “say it,” he murmurs, pausing just before the fabric meets your eyes. “i’m good,” you breathe. then the blindfold. satin, black, impossibly soft. he holds it above your eyes for a moment, his voice barely above the hum of the song when he speaks. “say it again,” he murmurs. “i’m good,” you whisper, lips parted, chest rising. and with that, the world goes dark. the music swells. your body buzzes.

you feel everything more sharply now—the way the sheet slides against your thighs, the soft brush of air across your stomach, the subtle shift of the mattress as he stands and steps away. the music pulses like a heartbeat, slow and full of heat, the vocals dragging out in a way that makes your lungs feel tight. and then, the faint sound of glass. a bottle being unstoppered. something being warmed. your body tenses, even as your breath grows slower, heavier. you're not afraid. but you are open. waiting.

the first drop lands just below your collarbone. warm. sharp. a sting that spreads and melts as fast as it came. your mouth parts in a silent gasp, your back arching as the sensation ripples across your chest. it’s followed by another—slower this time, deeper. your body jerks slightly against the cuffs, your breath catching as heat coils low in your stomach. and then, his voice—quiet, close, wrecked in the best way. “too much?” he asks, his breath ghosting over your shoulder. you shake your head, pulse thudding wildly beneath your skin. “good girl,” he murmurs, and the next drop comes before you’re ready.

his fingers hover just above your ribs, tracing the fresh trail of wax he’s left behind, not touching—not quite—just following the shape of the cooling heat like he’s painting with his breath. your back arches slightly, hips pressing deeper into the mattress as your bound wrists tug gently against the cuffs. the blindfold robs you of sight, but it sharpens everything else—the sound of the song still melting through the speakers, the rhythm low and slow, the singer’s voice drawn out in pure seduction. the room smells like warmth, like candle wax and skin, like want. your skin tingles in every direction, but he hasn’t even touched you where it aches the most. not once.

“you’re so sensitive,” jay says quietly, voice curved with something dark, something proud. he lets one fingertip finally graze over a spot where the wax has cooled—a slow, deliberate line that drags across your sternum, up the swell of your chest. your stomach clenches, a whimper caught in your throat as he drags it downward again, pausing just above your navel. “you feel everything, don’t you?” he murmurs, like he’s marveling, like he’s falling in love with the way your body moves beneath his. “but i haven’t even touched you.” his voice is warm honey over ice, and it makes your thighs twitch.

another pour. hotter this time. it hits just beside your hip, then crawls inward, a path of liquid fire that fades into a cruel, pulsing throb. your toes curl, breath catching hard in your throat as your back arches again, body fully open and helpless to the rhythm he’s set. “please—” you breathe, voice thin and unsure, but you don’t know what you’re asking for yet. “please what?” jay’s mouth is near your ear now, close enough that you can feel his smile. “you don’t even know what you want, baby.” he laughs, soft and low, and you swear the sound is almost worse than the heat.

his hands return—not between your legs, not to your breasts—just to your waist, where he spreads his fingers slowly along your sides like he’s claiming you inch by inch. the pads of his thumbs rub light circles into the bone beneath your skin, grounding you, teasing you, keeping you right where he wants you. “you take pain so well,” he murmurs, and then another line of wax pours across the top of your thigh—too close. too close, but not close enough. your whole body trembles, wrists straining against the cuffs as you gasp out his name. not loud. not sharp. just needy.

you feel it before you realize what it is—his breath on your inner thigh, his hands pressing your legs gently open farther, farther, like he’s worshipping the space between them. but still, he doesn’t touch. “i could make you come with just my voice,” he says, not cocky—confident. capable. and you believe him. because your body is already falling apart, already pulsing around nothing, already begging him without the words. “but i want you to ask me.” his lips brush the inside of your leg, not a kiss—just air. “i want you to beg me.”

your pride tries to hold on. it claws at your throat, tries to press your mouth shut. but your body betrays you. your hips lift without permission, your moan slipping free like it’s been waiting for this moment. “jay—please,” you gasp, voice raw now. “please, fuck, please touch me.” it’s broken. breathless. real. and it’s everything he was waiting for.

he doesn’t give you a warning. doesn’t make a show of it. he just moves—fluid and silent, settling between your thighs like he’s done it before in a dream he’s finally gotten to touch. your skin is slick with heat, glowing with wax and want, and he breathes you in like your scent alone is enough to wreck him. his hands slide beneath your thighs, palms warm, strong, tilting your hips upward just slightly so you’re perfectly open, perfectly framed, perfectly his. the first brush of his mouth is featherlight, almost nothing—just lips grazing over your inner thigh, barely touching your cunt, just enough to make you sob through gritted teeth. “so fucking pretty,” he murmurs against your skin.

his hands return to your waist without a sound, no command or question leaving his lips—just touch, warm and steady as his fingers slide over the edge of the lace that still clings to your body. you twitch slightly beneath him, the blindfold making every brush of his fingertips feel sharper, more exposed, and when his thumbs dip beneath the fabric, you realize what he’s doing—but you don’t stop him. he moves slowly, deliberately, not yanking or rushing, but peeling the lingerie off your skin like it’s something delicate, something earned. the lace folds away from your hips, dragged down inch by inch, baring more of your skin to the air, and your chest rises involuntarily when he shifts the straps off your shoulders. he eases the piece down your body, taking the time to trace every inch that’s revealed—his knuckles grazing your ribs, the curve of your waist, the crease of your thighs. when it finally slips free from your ankles, you feel more naked than you’ve ever been.

his hands return just as slowly, palms spreading up the backs of your thighs before gliding to your hips, like he’s reacquainting himself with skin he’d already claimed. he doesn’t speak. he doesn’t rush. he just takes in the sight of you—bare, breathless, bound beneath him, blind to everything but the beat of your own heart and the sound of his breathing. the song continues behind him, velvet-rich and dangerous, the lyrics curling through the shadows of the room like temptation: “bring your body, baby…” your lips part, your legs twitch, but he doesn’t move to fill the space between them—not yet. he just touches. lets the pads of his fingers skim the edges of your thighs, your stomach, the sides of your breasts, without truly settling anywhere. just to feel you.

the air is thick now, heavy with unspoken tension, and your body is buzzing, aching, completely at his mercy. you don’t know what’s coming next—his mouth, his fingers, another pour of wax—but you know that whatever it is, he’ll give it to you slowly. your skin still remembers the sting of the heat from earlier, the way your body pulsed with every drop, and now—now—without anything between you, it feels like every inch of your body is begging to be touched. your wrists flex against the cuffs, more reflex than restraint, and your breath comes out in a shaky exhale you hadn’t meant to release. his hands settle on your thighs again, fingers curling gently as he pushes them wider.

he licks a long, slow stripe through your folds that has your back arching off the bed. it’s not just the contact—it’s the way he does it, the reverence in his pace, the softness in his grip, like he’s worshipping something he thought he’d never be allowed to touch.

he doesn’t rush. he doesn’t groan. he doesn’t perform for the camera. he just devours. his tongue works in long, controlled strokes, collecting slick like it’s the only thing he needs to breathe, licking deep and purposeful like he’s trying to memorize how you taste. your head spins beneath the blindfold, your hands tugging uselessly against the cuffs as your body trembles beneath the weight of everything. you can’t see him, but you can feel the way he watches every twitch, every gasp, every time your thighs clench in his hands. he hums against you, not loud, not obnoxious—just pleased, like he’s satisfied with how quickly you’re unraveling under him. and when his lips wrap around your clit, sucking slow and tight, you cry out so loud it barely sounds like your voice.

you’re so close so fast, too fast, and he knows it. knows because he slows down again—easing the pressure, dragging his tongue in lazy circles that make your hips jerk in frustration. “not yet,” he breathes into your skin, and it doesn’t even sound like a tease. it sounds like a rule. like a command you’re meant to obey without argument. the music is still playing behind him—“just let me motherfucking love you…”—but it’s all a blur now, a background heartbeat to the way he laps you back up like he missed you between each breath. his fingers trail up your thigh slowly, slick with the wax he laid earlier, and it’s not until one dips between your folds that your breath stutters in your chest.

he slides in with ease, your body more than ready, and his tongue doesn’t stop. his mouth stays on your clit, soft and sucking, drawing it between his lips while he curls his finger just right, just enough to make your vision flash white behind the blindfold. “fuck—jay—” you gasp, thighs shaking now, unable to stay still under the rhythm of his mouth and hand. “please, I’m gonna—I need to—” your words dissolve into moans, into nonsense, because he doesn’t let up. he keeps going, steady and cruel, another finger joining the first with a wet slide that makes you whimper like a fucking prayer. he groans low when he feels you clench, not for show, but from hunger—he likes how tightly your body reacts to him. he lives for it.

you’re falling apart now. your hips are bucking, your legs twitching, your fingers digging into empty air as you gasp through another moan that cracks at the edges. “please let me—please let me cum,” you beg, your voice wrecked and wet and half-sobbing. and only then—only then—does jay lift his head. his fingers stay inside you, slow and curling, keeping you trembling just at the edge while his mouth ghosts over your thigh. “you want to cum?” he asks, voice low, ragged, almost teasing—but not cruel. “then beg louder, babydoll. i want the camera to hear how fucking desperate you are.”

his mouth returns without a word, settling between your thighs like he belongs there, like there’s nowhere else in the world he wants to be. you feel the soft exhale of his breath fan across your soaked folds, the warmth of it a cruel tease before the first drag of his tongue lands—slow, deliberate, curling through you like he’s savoring the very first taste. your entire body jolts against the cuffs, your mouth falling open in a choked moan as he licks again—longer this time, deeper. he just devours, each stroke of his tongue more intentional than the last, like he’s studying you. like he wants to memorize what makes your thighs twitch, what makes your breath skip, what makes you gasp his name with that tiny shake in your voice.

your legs are trembling already, wide open and held there by his firm grip, and when his lips wrap around your clit—sucking slow, tight, deep—you feel your whole body lurch off the bed. the blindfold only makes it worse—makes it better—because you can’t see it coming, can’t predict how fast or how gentle he’ll be, can’t do anything but feel everything all at once. “fuck—jay—” you cry, and he only hums in response, the vibration shooting straight through your core. his tongue works circles around your clit, soft and teasing, then firmer, faster, until your hips are grinding helplessly into his mouth, searching for more friction, more pressure, more anything. he pulls back just enough to slide a finger into you—then two—slow and curling, the stretch perfect, unbearable, perfect.

you’re right there. right fucking there. your walls pulsing around his fingers, your moans growing louder, messier, no longer soft or shy but wrecked, raw, real. your hips rock into him without grace, your body flushed and burning, but just as your orgasm starts to crest—he pulls away. completely. his mouth, his fingers, his heat—all gone. and you sob. a real, desperate sob that breaks out of your throat without warning, your back arching as your hands pull helplessly against the cuffs. “no—please—please,” you gasp, voice shaking. “i was so close—don’t stop—please don’t stop—”

he gives you no mercy. not yet. he returns to you slowly, his mouth brushing your clit with a soft kiss before his tongue drags over it again—firm this time, relentless. his fingers reenter you with no hesitation, curling with perfect rhythm, and now he doesn’t let up. he fucks you with his mouth like it’s what he was made to do, devouring every sound you make, every clench, every broken cry that escapes you. “you gonna cum for me now, babydoll?” he breathes against your skin. “gonna give it to me this time?” your only answer is a gasp—then a moan—then your whole body snaps, orgasm crashing over you so hard you cry out his name, thighs shaking violently, breath punching out of your lungs like it’s been ripped from your core.

he doesn’t stop. not when you cum. not when you beg. not when your voice breaks. he slows only slightly, mouth and fingers still working you through it—drawing it out, dragging wave after wave from your twitching body until it becomes too much, too sharp, too deep. tears are slipping from beneath the blindfold now, your voice hoarse as you sob through your second orgasm, overstimulated, unable to breathe without moaning. your cunt clenches around his fingers again, your cries turning into pleas as your thighs try to close, but he doesn’t let you. he holds you open. makes you take it. makes you fall apart again and again and again.

when he finally lets up, his fingers slip from you with a wet drag, and you collapse into the sheets—limp, slick, ruined. your chest rises in shaky pulls of air, your skin still twitching in places you didn’t know could feel, your wrists tugging instinctively against the cuffs even though you’re not trying to move. he doesn’t speak, not right away. you feel the bed shift beneath you as he moves, crawling up your body with a slowness that makes you ache in a different way. he’s not touching you—not yet—but his presence hovers, warm and close and overwhelming. then, you feel it. his breath against your mouth. the faintest graze of lips against yours. not a kiss. not quite.

your breath catches like a sob. you lean up the smallest amount, chasing the touch you can’t see, but his mouth barely brushes yours again and then pulls away. it’s cruel. gentle, but cruel. “please,” you whisper, voice so hoarse it barely comes out. your lips part again, desperate, trembling. “kiss me… please…” and finally, finally, he gives you what you ask for.

his lips press into yours, slow and full, his hand cradling the side of your face like you’re something breakable, like he wants to hold you still while he kisses the breath right out of you. there’s nothing rushed in it—no heat, no show. just intimacy. just need. he kisses you like he’s been thinking about it since the moment he opened the door. your legs fall open again, welcoming the weight of him, your body leaning into every inch of contact like you’ve been starving for it. his kiss deepens, tongue slipping slow and warm into your mouth, and you whimper under the blindfold, too fucked-out to hide how much you want it.

when he pulls away, you feel cold for only a second before you hear it—the low rustle of clothing, the quiet unbuckle of a belt, the unmistakable slide of denim down long, toned legs. your body tenses with anticipation, still aching in the best way, still sensitive and exposed and so ready for whatever comes next. you don’t need to see to know he’s watching you—all of you—the flush of your skin, the tremble in your thighs, the slick between your legs that’s already waiting for him. you hear the shift of fabric, then silence. and then, the weight of him between your legs again.

thick, warm, heavy against your thigh.

the mattress dips beneath his knees as he moves in closer, and your breath catches when you feel it—him, thick and heavy, dragging slowly along your inner thigh. he doesn’t push forward, doesn’t press in. just lets the head of his cock rest there, warm and slick against your oversensitive skin. the moment it brushes your folds—barely catching—you cry out, hips jolting up in instinct. but he doesn’t move. just stays right there, not giving you anything more.

he watches the way you strain beneath him, every inch of you open and ready, your wrists twitching against the cuffs like you’d reach for him if you could. your blindfold is soaked now, a tear trail drying on your cheek, your mouth parted in silent desperation. he slides the tip down slowly, catching just slightly at your entrance, then pulls back—barely there, not enough, and yet you whimper like it’s breaking you. he repeats the motion again, slower this time, teasing over your clit and down, dragging himself through your slick folds with lazy precision. and all the while? he says nothing. doesn’t praise you. doesn’t mock you. just lets you feel every aching inch without giving in.

your body bucks, hips rolling, trying to take more than he’s giving, but his hands move to your waist—firm, steady, holding you still. “please,” you gasp, voice cracked and wrecked. “please, jay, just—” but he hushes you with a kiss to your collarbone, soft and featherlight, and keeps grinding the thick head of his cock right where you want it most. never pushing in. just letting you suffer with the knowledge that he could—he just won’t.

he brings the tip back to your entrance again and pauses. and you feel it so clearly now—the pressure, the fullness that isn’t there yet but could be, the stretch you’re aching for. you try to speak, but your words come out as a sob, a moan, a broken little sound that barely qualifies as language. and then he does it again—rolls his hips just right so the head of his cock nudges your hole, teasing a shallow push that makes your breath stop entirely. your back arches, your thighs clamp instinctively around his waist, and your voice breaks. “fuck— please let me feel you. please… i want it, i want you inside—i need it so bad, jay—please.”

he hums, low and deep in his throat, like that’s the sound he’s been waiting for.

he doesn’t say anything—not when you beg, not when your hips buck up again in desperation—but his hands shift on your waist, grip tightening slightly like he’s finally giving in. you feel it in your gut first—the silence, the way the moment holds its breath, and then… the pressure. a slow, steady push, the thick head of his cock stretching your entrance open, and your breath leaves you in a single, shattered moan. he eases in with unbearable control, the kind that feels like his entire body is tense with restraint, letting you feel every inch as he sinks deeper, deeper, until your walls pulse and flutter helplessly around him. your mouth falls open. your thighs shake. your fingers flex in the cuffs above your head like you need something to hold onto—but all you have is him.

he moves slowly—so slowly it feels like time is breaking apart—his cock dragging along your inner walls in a stretch that’s equal parts bliss and pain, every inch carved into your body like it belongs there. “fuck,” he finally breathes, voice wrecked now, low and strained as he bottoms out completely, hips pressing flush against yours. “you feel—fuck—you feel unreal.” but you can’t respond. can’t speak. all you can do is feel, the thick weight of him buried inside you making it impossible to think, impossible to breathe. your body clenches tight, and he groans again, low and broken, like he’s losing himself just trying to stay still.

you’re soaked—beyond soaked, your slick coating his cock, dripping down your thighs, the sounds between you filthy and wet every time he moves. and still, he doesn’t fuck you. not yet. he holds there, deep and unmoving, letting you adjust, letting you fall apart around the stretch, like he knows this moment means something more than just release. and you feel it—god, you feel it everywhere. your chest is heaving, your toes curled, your head tossed back against the pillow even though you can’t see anything. you’re pinned, cuffed, blindfolded, full—and for the first time tonight, you feel the beginning of surrender settle into your bones.

“you still with me?” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, his voice a tether to reality. you nod quickly, but that’s not enough. “words,” he whispers again, kissing the corner of your mouth. “i’m with you,” you breathe, voice hoarse. “i’m so with you. please don’t stop.”

he kisses you one more time—slow, tender, like a thank-you—and then he starts to move.

he moves inside you like he’s savoring it—like you’re the first person he’s ever touched, and he doesn’t want to miss a single second of what your body feels like wrapped around him. his hips roll slow, deliberate, dragging his cock out until only the head remains before sliding back in with a pressure that makes your eyes roll beneath the blindfold. it’s not hard. it’s not fast. but it’s devastating. every thrust lands deep, slow and punishing in the best way, the kind of rhythm that makes your chest ache and your breath shake in your lungs. your wrists strain above your head, but there’s no fight in it—only the overwhelming need to hold onto something as he pushes in again, and again, and again. he doesn’t say a word. doesn’t rush. just groans softly under his breath, like you’re pulling the sounds out of him without trying. like he’s been quiet for so long he forgot what it’s like to feel this way.

his hands hold your hips like he’s afraid to let go, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh above your thighs as he thrusts into you with the kind of care that feels dangerous. his cock fills you perfectly, stretching you out slow and deep, the drag of him along your inner walls making you feel every inch, every pulse, every tremble that ripples through your core. your body sings with it—raw and sensitive, already pushed past its limit, but craving more now that he’s giving it to you like this. like you matter. like you’re not just a girl cuffed to his bed, but something more—something precious. the air between you is thick with heat and the soft sound of your moans, your slick, the soft catch of breath each time he presses deeper. the music hums in the background, nearly forgotten—but the weight of the moment sits heavy in the rhythm of his body against yours.

he leans over you as he moves, chest brushing yours, his breath warm on your cheek, and it makes you feel consumed. like he’s not just inside you, but around you. wrapped into the cuffs. buried in the heat. woven between the gasps you can’t hold in. he presses a kiss to your jaw, then your temple, his pace never faltering as he sinks in deeper, grinding at the bottom like he wants to stay inside you forever. and the worst part—the best part—is how your body welcomes it. how you open more. cling more. beg silently for all of him. you whisper his name like it’s the only word left in your mouth, like you need him to know that you’re here—ruined, wrecked, and still desperate for more.

“you’re doing so good,” he finally says, voice so low it barely registers past the haze of pleasure blooming behind your ribs. “so good for me.” and that alone almost breaks you. it’s not praise for the camera. not some performative moan. it’s real, soft and meant only for you, and it hits something raw and deep beneath your skin. you whimper, body trembling beneath him, and his hand slides up your ribs, smoothing over the side of your breast before cupping your jaw with a tenderness that feels like it could kill you. he kisses your cheek and pushes in deep—slow, grinding, perfect—and you cry out again, your orgasm building back like you never even came the first time.

you don’t know how much more you can take—but his body never stops. his hips roll in that same rhythm, slow and deliberate, dragging his cock deep with every thrust like he’s trying to press into the parts of you untouched by anything before him. you’re trembling everywhere, your thighs slick and sticky, your wrists limp in the cuffs above you. and somehow, with his chest against yours, his mouth pressed to your temple, and his cock pulsing deep inside you—you feel safe. he kisses you again. not your lips this time, but your jaw. your cheek. your neck. each one softer than the last, like he’s pouring warmth into your skin. “you’re doing so good,” he whispers again, and you feel your chest tighten with it.

he adjusts his angle slightly, and the next thrust hits something sharp, something soft—something that makes your back arch and a moan claw its way from your throat. he feels it too. you feel his groan against your neck as he holds you tighter, keeps his pace just the same, grinding deeper instead of faster. and it ruins you. your whole body clenches around him, walls fluttering with every drag of his cock, and you whimper his name again, voice barely there. “you can let go,” he murmurs, breath heavy against your ear. “come for me, baby. just like that. let me feel it.” and you do. your body gives up everything.

your orgasm rolls through you like it’s weeping—a slow, full-bodied release that shakes your legs, curls your toes, makes your chest rise in stuttering waves as heat floods your veins. you cry out, not loud, but broken—soft and wet and trembling as your cunt clenches tight around him, milking every inch with desperate pulses you can’t stop. you feel like you’re floating, your body no longer your own, every nerve lit and raw and alive. tears slip from under the blindfold again, but it’s not pain. it’s everything—the stretch, the tenderness, the way his hand slides up to cradle the back of your head as he kisses your forehead through it.

“that’s it,” he whispers, still deep inside you, his thrusts slowing but not stopping. “just like that. you’re so good for me.” and god, it shatters you. your hips twitch helplessly, aftershocks trembling through your core, and you can’t even speak anymore—you just whimper, letting him keep you full, letting him rock into you with every ounce of patience he has left. his hand strokes over your jaw, your cheek, his lips brushing over the sweat-slicked skin above your blindfold like he wants to kiss every single place he can’t see.

he pulls out slow, one last deep roll of his hips before his cock slips from your body with a slick sound that makes your whole body twitch. you whine at the sudden emptiness, at the cool air brushing over your soaked thighs, at the way your cunt clenches around nothing now. but he’s already shifting, already rising onto his knees beside you. you can’t see him—but you can feel the heat rolling off his skin, hear the way his breath shudders in his chest, how his hand wraps tight around the base of his cock with a slick grip that makes your mouth fall open on instinct. he strokes himself slow at first, his breath thick with restraint, and you can tell—he’s been holding back for so long. for you.

he leans over you slightly, one hand braced beside your shoulder while the other works himself in long, steady strokes, each movement dragging a low groan from deep in his chest. “fuck,” he hisses, voice rough now, shaking, “you’re so fucking perfect.” your cheeks are flushed, blindfold still in place, mouth parted and waiting like it’s instinct—and when he sees you like that, spread and ruined and still needing, something cracks in him. “open your mouth, baby,” he breathes. “wanna see it. wanna come all over that pretty face.” and your lips part wider, a soft whimper slipping out as you tilt your chin up in obedience, wrists still tied above you, body too wrecked to move but so ready to take more.

his rhythm speeds up—rougher now, needier, the slick sound of him pumping into his own hand echoing through the room as he kneels beside your face. his breath breaks. his hips stutter. and then—he spills. hot, thick ropes across your cheek, your jaw, your lips, groaning your name like a confession as he fucks into his fist with one last desperate pull. “fuckfuckfuck—look at you,” he gasps, watching the way your skin glows under it, the way your mouth stays open, waiting. he leans closer as the last of it drips from his tip onto your bottom lip, and his thumb catches your chin, tilts it gently. “don’t close it yet,” he murmurs, breathing heavy. “just stay like that. fuck—just like that.”

he strokes the last bit out slowly, watching his cum drip down your face, catching in the curve of your mouth, the heat of your skin, and he breathes like he’s never seen anything more beautiful. his free hand brushes down your jaw, catching some of the mess with his thumb before swiping it gently over your bottom lip. “so fucking good for me,” he whispers again, and then he leans in, presses a kiss to your forehead without hesitation, soft and reverent.

he stays above you for a moment, chest still rising fast, eyes lingering on your face with something that doesn’t quite feel like control anymore. his hand brushes your cheek, knuckles grazing your jaw, and for the first time since it started, he looks like he doesn’t know what to say. not because he’s unsure—but because he’s overwhelmed. he reaches out slowly, hitting the button on the camera without looking, the soft click of it powering down echoing through the quiet like the world’s finally breathing again. then he moves for your blindfold, untying it with careful fingers, his breath brushing your skin as he leans in close. the light hits your eyes again, warm and low, and when you blink up at him—he’s already watching. not with lust. not with pride. just something softer. something that feels like wonder.

he doesn’t speak as he undoes the cuffs, just slides your arms down gently and brings your wrists to his lips one at a time, pressing soft kisses to the reddened skin there like he’s saying thank you without the words. your hands are too weak to hold him, but you lean into the contact anyway, body limp, breath shallow, held together by the warmth of his hands alone. and when he finally speaks, his voice is quiet—almost hoarse. “you okay?” he asks, barely more than a breath. and you nod, a soft sound leaving your lips. it’s not enough. he leans in and kisses your forehead like a reflex. then your temple. then the space just beneath your eye, where your skin is still damp from tears. “i got you,” he says softly. “you did perfect.”

he doesn’t make you move. he doesn’t ask. he just gathers you—an arm beneath your knees, the other cradling your back—and lifts you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. the walk to the bathroom is silent, but not cold. just full. the steam from the shower has already started to cloud the mirrors, warm air kissing your skin as he sets you gently on the edge of the tub and turns the water on, testing it with his wrist before letting it run. he moves slow—every step deliberate, every glance careful, like he’s still in that headspace where everything is about you. when the water’s warm, he comes back to you and crouches down. he doesn’t ask. he just touches your thigh, kisses your knee, and lifts you into the shower with him.

he stands behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, your body resting against his chest as the water rushes down your skin. his breath is steady now, slower, his lips brushing your shoulder as his hands begin to move. not sexually. not even intimately. just gently. like he’s piecing you back together with soap and fingers and quiet worship. he lets the water rinse between your legs, across your stomach, down your spine, holding you still like you might float away. when you shiver, he holds you tighter. when you sigh, he presses his mouth to the side of your neck and breathes you in like he needs the scent of you to stay grounded. “thank you,” he whispers once, and it’s so soft, you almost think you imagined it.

he helps you wash. helps you rinse. helps you breathe again. and when it’s over, he wraps a towel around your body, dries your hair with gentle pats, and leads you back to the bedroom with nothing but quiet touches. the room is darker now. still warm. still full of the echoes from earlier. he brings you to the bed, lifts the sheets, and tucks you in slowly—like it means something. and then he slides in beside you, shirtless, still a little damp, his arm wrapping around your waist like he was made to fit against you. no pressure. no words. just the soft, steady rhythm of him being there, his hand rubbing slow circles into your back while your head presses into his chest.

your body melts into his without resistance, legs tangled beneath the sheets, your face pressed into the dip of his chest like that’s where it was always meant to be. he smells like clean skin and leftover warmth—something earthy and faintly sweet, something him. his arm curls tighter around your waist, his fingers dragging soft, lazy circles across your back, and it makes your whole body settle. like gravity’s gentler now. like the world outside doesn’t exist. his breaths are deep and even beneath your ear, steady like a heartbeat you didn’t realize you’d been syncing to all along. and every now and then, his lips graze your hairline, quiet and constant, like he can’t stop kissing you without saying anything out loud.

you don’t try to speak. you don’t need to. your limbs are too heavy, your throat too sore, and the silence between you feels so much better than any sound. he shifts just a little, resting his chin on top of your head, and you feel his fingers still. not because he’s stopped. but because he’s watching. you can’t see it, but you know—he’s looking at you like you’re still glowing. like the room didn’t get dark. like his eyes are only made to find you.

and then—soft. breathless. almost too quiet to catch.

“you didn’t just do something to my body.”

he says it like a secret. like a confession. like something he wasn’t supposed to let slip.

“you did something to me.”

but you’re already falling. your lashes flutter. your body goes limp. and the last thing you feel is the warmth of his chest, the press of his palm on your spine, and the faint, dizzy ache of your lips curling into a smile you don’t even remember making.

────୨ৎ──── 

you lie there for a second too long. eyes wide open, pulse ticking in your throat like a warning, the weight of his arm draped over your waist like a secret you’re not supposed to keep. the sun’s fully risen now, the light clearer, sharper. the room doesn’t feel like it did last night. it’s too quiet. too still. and your heart? too loud. the memory of his hands, his mouth, the way he whispered against your skin—it all presses into you at once, suffocating in its gentleness. this wasn’t supposed to happen. it was supposed to be work. a collab. content. but everything about the way he held you said otherwise.

you shift gently, slow enough not to wake him, slipping his arm off your waist and sitting up with a breath you don’t remember holding. your legs feel shaky. your body still aches in places he touched like you were something worth worshipping. and that’s the problem. you weren’t ready for that. not the way he looked at you. not the way he made it feel like more than just a shoot. your phone buzzes again on the nightstand and it’s like ice through your spine—because this is what you wanted, right? the money. the exposure. the success. not the way he kissed your forehead in the shower. not the way he whispered thank you like you gave him something he didn’t deserve.

you climb out of the bed, quiet and careful, your feet cold on the floor. his shirt is still draped over the chair. your lingerie—wrinkled and damp—folded on the dresser like he couldn’t bear to toss it aside. you ignore the lump rising in your throat as you pull your clothes on, smoothing them over your skin like armor. everything feels wrong. tight. too small. your hands are shaking when you reach for your bag. you don’t look back at him—not even once—because if you do, you’ll change your mind. and this? this was just business.

you slip out of the room like a shadow, easing the door shut behind you as if you were never there. the hallway is silent. the apartment too still. and every step you take toward the door feels heavier than the last. your phone buzzes again, and you swipe it up with trembling fingers, ignoring the unread message glowing at the top of your inbox. you don’t even let yourself breathe until you’re outside, the morning air hitting your face like clarity. like guilt. you blink up at the sky, trying to will the sting in your eyes away, whispering to yourself the only line that feels safe right now—“it’s just content. nothing more.”

and you hope that if you say it enough… you’ll believe it.

the ride home is silent. too silent. your driver doesn’t say a word, and neither do you—just sit back with your bag clutched tight to your chest, your body aching in a way that doesn’t feel physical. your thighs are still sore. your lips still tingling. your wrists marked faintly from the cuffs. but it’s not the pain that lingers—it’s the warmth. the look in jay’s eyes when he washed your face. the way he held you after. the way his heartbeat steadied yours. your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag. you don’t want to remember that. you don’t want to feel this way. so you focus on the window, on the blur of early morning light cutting through city streets. and you keep your breathing even. one scene doesn’t mean anything. not if you don’t let it.

you don’t even say thank you when the car stops. you just slip out onto the curb, into your apartment building, through your front door, and straight into your room like muscle memory. your roommate isn’t home. thank god. the silence hits you harder now. you toss your phone on the bed and fall right after it, face down in the sheets, letting the last twelve hours replay in flickers behind your eyes. his voice. his hands. his weight pressed so carefully against yours. your mouth trembles, but no sound comes out. your chest rises, then falls. and you stay like that for what feels like forever—until your phone dings again. and again. and again.

you flip it over, eyes bleary. new notifications flood your screen—tips, subscribers, messages—and they keep coming. you stare at them blankly, your thumb flicking through without reading until one catches your eye: 

@jakeoncam liked your video. @jakeoncam has followed you.

your heart stutters. your gaze sharpens. and then the messages from followers come into focus.

@yourbabygirl: you should collab with @jakeoncam 👀

 @whoreforjake: pls do something with @jakeoncam!

@ruinmeeee: @jakeoncam x @babydollxo WHEN??

you don’t even think. your thumb taps over to his profile automatically.

and there he is.

verified. 5.5M subscribers.

that same preview still pinned at the top.

you remember him now. you remember the way he moaned, the way his hips rolled in tight, fluid motions. how he whined, “i'm gonna cum....fuck, baby...” and you remember what it did to you.

your thumb hovers over the message button. your reflection stares back at you in the dark screen. and you type without thinking:

@babydollxo: hey. wanna collab?

natty's notesᝰ.ᐟ hoped you all enjoyed!!

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[idk-karla]

The Neighbor, pt. 1

Pairing: bucky barnes x single!mom!reader

Summary: Your daughter offers the quiet, brooding neighbor next door a soggy cookie

Author's Note: I'm currently deep in a Bucky rot 😭. This started as an idea and now I have a bunch of half written scenes of FLUFF and protective/stepdaddy bucky. So expect more to come!! or

I’d been living next to him for months. James Barnes. The winter soldier. Ex-Hydra weapon. Reformed avenger. 

He’d move into the apartment next door to mine after Mr. and Mrs. Chen moved out. Their absence hit my four-year-old, Ellie, especially hard, the Chens usually babysat her sporadically throughout the week and even brought her to the farmers market with them every other Sunday so I could breathe for a few hours. Their warm, cluttered apartment had always felt like an extension of ours. Now, it was occupied by a ghost.

I barely saw him. He came and went like a shadow. He was quiet, kept to himself. Never rude, just... distant. Sometimes he would be gone for weeks. I never heard him leave or come back, my only indication was the bike reappearing next to my car after several weeks. I’d never spoken to him. Never really even seen him beside a shadow disappearing into the stairwell or a back turned in the hallway.

Until today. Ellie and I had finished dinner, and she insisted we eat the cookies we’d baked for dessert out on the porch. Her ballet class had run long, cutting into her play time, and she was lobbying hard for some fresh air before bed. Fall was rolling in, the leaves were changing and the breeze had a bite, but the sky was clear and painted pink and orange. I wasn't about to argue with a porch picnic. It was the first nice moment we’d had all week.

He was standing outside. For the first time. He leaned against the railing on his porch, back to us, phone pressed to his ear. The contrast between our two sides was laughable. His was barren,  save for a single lonely plant near the door, probably a gift. Mine was a mess of half-alive plants, a beaten up patio set I inherited from the Chens, and toys everywhere. A bubble gun under a chair, a pink bike halfway tipped over, plastic bins full of glittery chaos. My life spilled onto the porch too messy, too loud. His was still. Silence.

He turned to face as soon as our feet hit the patio floor, eyebrow raised. I offered a small wave as I settled into the patio loveseat with my bowl of melting ice cream. Ellie immediately bolted for her scooter, dessert instantly forgotten.

He gave a curt nod and lifted a hand in return, then turned his back again, lowering his voice.

I watched him for a moment. Not stared, exactly, just... took him in. Broad shoulders. One vibranium arm, one human. Tousled hair that looked like he’d run his fingers through it one too many times. The white Henley clung his body like it was made specifically for him. He was strong. Sturdy. Painfully handsome.

He cocked his head like he could feel my eyes on him and I looked away, ears warming in embarrassment. I went back to watching Ellie suddenly fascinated with Ellie doing laps in her socks, figuring he would just go back inside. 

I was scraping the bottom of my bowl when I heard Ellie’s sweet voice. “Hi Mr. Solider,” She greeted him quietly with a soft smile as she rolled past the edge of our porch and onto his. 

He blinked. “Hi,” he said softly, crouching down to meet her eye level. The phone was gone now. His expression was careful. Like he was trying not to scare her. Like he didn’t know what to do with something so small and soft.

Ellie held out a soggy cookie, clearly plucked straight from her bowl, dripping with pink ice cream. “Want a cookie? Mommy and I made them for dessert!” 

I stood quickly, ready to nudge her back to our side and apologize, but a barely there smile ghosted Bucky’s lips, stopping me in my tracks. 

“Sure,” He took the soggy cookie delicately from her hand. He studied it like it was a bomb, then popped the whole thing into his mouth.

Ellie beamed up at him like he was the sun, making my heart catapult in my chest. “Do you like it?” she asked, practically bouncing in place.

He nodded solemnly, as though she’d asked him something far more important. “It’s very good. Thank you.” Electric blue eyes met mine, making my heart flutter. 

“I um-” I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, heart doing an odd little flutter. “She was very excited about them. She mixed the dough all on her own.” 

Ellie nodded enthusiastically, rounding us with her scooter.

“Well you did great.” He commended her before turning back to me, his voice was low. “Better than me. I can barely boil water.”

I smiled, relaxing just a little. “Well, she’s four and already one step ahead of you. Rough competition.”

“Guess I should retire now.” I exhaled a soft laugh, partially in relief at his gentle teasing. His tone was more cautious than playfully, like he was testing the air between us, but it made something warm spark under in my belly.

“Mom says you’re a superhero. Is that true?” The gasp that left my lips was only partially from the wheel that Ellie had just dragged across my big toe. Bucky looked down at my squished toe, back up at me and then down at Ellie like he wasn’t sure how to respond.

His mouth opened, then shut. He shifted on his feet. “I guess? I’m an Avenger.” 

“What do you do?” 

“Fight bad guys.” He said the fact like a question.

“Is it scary?” Ellie’s eyes were wide, a mix of intrigue and horror.

His jaw twitched. “Sometimes.”

She whirled without another word. and darted back inside in a split second. He looked at me, regret coloring his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

I held up my finger. I knew my kid. Ellie hadn’t gotten scared, like he thought. She was going to assemble her own team. 

“She’ll be back,” I said with a smile, and sure enough, she returned a few seconds later with an army of toys in her arms. She laid them on the floor before her and grabbed her favorite rabbit.

“This is Ribi. He keeps me safe when I’m scared.” She waved him in front of her for Bucky to see.

Bucky crouched again, eyes softening. “That’s a very important job.”

“You can hold him if you want. He helps.” She shoved the bunny into his arms before he could decline. He looked at the rabbit like it was a live grenade. My heart tugged painfully at the sight.

Ellie dumped the rest of her toys on the floor and launched into a wild story about how Ribi and Gary the dinosaur battled Dr. Meanieface to save her from his evil tentacles. Bucky didn’t even blink. He nodded along like he was being briefed on a real mission.

Then Ellie leaned into his side and whispered, like she was sharing national secrets. “But Mommy is the best one at keeping me safe. She cuddles me until I fall asleep. She’s scary so the monsters in the closet won’t ever take me.”

“Okay,” I cut in quickly, mortified. “Time for bed.”

It wasn’t time for bed. But she couldn’t read clocks, and my dignity was rapidly crumbling.

“Wait!” Ellie dove into her pile again, digging with urgency. Bucky met my eyes, and something warm and amused passed between us. It made my knees weak.Elllie yanked a sparkly little plastic purple elephant from the pile, nearly slamming it into Bucky nose. Thankfully, he titled his head just in time to avoid the blow. “I got this today! You can have it. For your missions. So you’re not scared.”

Bucky froze, blinking at her like she’d just offered him a piece of the moon.

“I can’t-”

“You have to,” she insisted, thrusting it into his hands. “It’s to keep you safe.”

He looked to me for help, and I just smiled. “You should probably listen. She doesn’t take ‘no’ well.”

“I haven’t named it yet, so you can pick” Ellie added, like a selling point. 

With comical gentleness, he cradled the toy in both hands. “Can you help me pick the name?”

Ellie twirled in a circle, clearly considering the options. “He needs to be strong to protect you. Strong like…”

“Maybe a captain?” Bucky offered, with a little smile.

She nodded, tapping her chin. “What’s his weapon?”

“Um…” Bucky’s eyes met mine like he wasn’t sure how to respond to that question. I sighed. 

“Maybe a sword?” I supplied helpfully.

“Yes!” Ellie shouted. “Captain GlitterSword!”

Bucky looked like he wanted to protest but simply nodded. 

Ellie clapped her hands. “Promise to keep him in your pocket when fighting bad guys?”

Bucky nodded, a serious look on his face like he had just accepted the most important mission ever. Ellie held out a pinky to him, standing up on her tiptoes to reach him the best she could.

“Promise.” She demanded.

Bucky looked at me again, lost, and I shrugged. “You heard the boss.” I mumbled. Bucky wrapped his pinky around Ellie’s- big and small, scarred and soft. I had to look away. She absolutely beamed at him.

“Thanks,” He offered her quietly. Ellie nodded and ran back in the house, satisfied. 

And then we were alone. Bucky stood again to meet my eyeline and we just stood there for a moment. The porch was quiet. The sun was almost gone now, the sky dimming into purple. The air between us hummed.

“Sweet kid.” He finally offered, bedding back down to pick up the discarded toys. It took me a few seconds to get my brain working to bend down and help him. “Thanks for humoring her.” I laughed softly. She was my ray of sunshine.

“She’s good company.” He glanced at me. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“You either.”

He stilled, just briefly, like he was feeling something shift between us. Then he nodded once.

“I’ll see you around…” He trailed off, and I realized with a jolt he didn’t know my name.

“Y/N,” I offered.

“Y/N,” he repeated, tasting it like it meant something.

“Goodnight, Bucky.”

He lingered for a heartbeat. “Night.”

I turned toward the door, heart thudding wildly. I didn’t have to look to know he was still watching me as I went inside.

Part 2

Masterlist

[planetaryupscaled]

The Best of Three

Male Reader x Gaeul x Sakura

Tags: 9k, smut, creampie, oral, threesome, tw

The story is not ours, we alternate the original story to match our desired settings.

I hated returning home to an empty apartment on a Friday night, particularly when it was dark by the time I walked through the front door.

Shutting the door behind me, I switched on the lights, throwing my keys and everything on the coffee table, laying my bag down on one of the chairs before grabbing a beer from the fridge, sitting back on the three-seater lounge.

Flicking on the television, it was the usual inane news items, sighing to myself as I sipped at my beer. Picking up my phone, there were a few messages from friends, those I’d kept close after everything that happened. Even a couple of friends I’d kept since school now distanced themselves from me. I didn’t really blame them.

Shaking my head of the memories, I flicked to one of the channels. Flicking through my phone apps, I found the number for the local pizza joint. I was a regular there, chatting away with the sweet girl on the phone. And half an hour later, my pizza arrived.

Ten minutes later, the intercom buzzed. Groaning to myself, as I wasn’t expecting any company, and all I wanted to do was spend the weekend drunk, I got up and walked to the small panel.

“Yeah?”

“Heyy!” the voices outside exclaimed in unison.

I took a moment to blink and take a couple of breaths. If there were two people on the planet who loved me unconditionally, no matter what I did, it was those two. I was going to ask ‘What are you doing here?’ but that would have been rude, and I knew they were there for me anyway. I buzzed them up, hearing both of them thank me. Opening the door, I waited for them to appear.

As they approached me, I couldn’t help smile. It was almost unfair they were so damned beautiful, kind and caring, and not the hot mess like I was.

Did I say they were beautiful, gorgeous and could have been on the cover of magazines?

“Hey!” they both exclaimed, and before I knew it, I was being cuddled by two excitable girls.

Leading them inside, I offered them a glass of wine, as I always kept a couple of bottles around considering they were frequent visitors, sitting in between them on the three-seater lounge. I offered them a slice of pizza before I sat back, muting the television, glancing to either side of me. I received a sweet smile in return from the both.

“What are you doing here?”

“Let me guess,” Sakura replied, “You’re watching, eating a pizza and drinking beer, then you’ll pass out in bed later before spending the weekend feeling sorry for yourself.”

Shrugging helplessly, as they knew me well, both of them smiled at me but there was no missing the sadness in their eyes. “It’s been one year since you moved out of our apartment, two years since you broke up, three since you date her, and four since that afternoon,” Gaeul stated, “Isn’t it time to move on?”

“I have moved on. I have a good job. Have my own apartment. A few close friends.”

“But no girl in your life,” Sakura retorted.

“I find it very difficult to trust people nowadays, particularly a girl. Pretty much you two are the only I trust in the world.”

“You date a slut,” Gaeul suggested, “That’s on her, not on you.”

“Doesn’t change what she did to me, the fact I walked in on them, the fact it went on for so long, the fact the others involved were supposed to be my friends.”

“You’re coming out with us tonight. No more moping around your apartment every weekend,” Sakura pretty much demanded.

“I do go out! And I go out with you most of the time.”

“Well, the local cafe for a few drinks is not going out when not with us. You’re coming out with your gorgeous best friends to have fun. You remember what fun is, right?”

I grunted a non-committal response, which made them giggle before they cuddled into me. Glancing either way, they looked up at me with those big doe eyes they’d perfected over the years. From the moment I met them, they had me wrapped around their fingers.  I'd have done anything for them.

Finally, I sighed as I knew I wouldn’t win. “Okay, let me have a shower and get changed.”

“Want some company?” Sakura asked.

“We could help scrub your back,” Gaeul added.

They were always teasing me like that. If it wasn’t for them, I dread to think what my life would be like nowadays. Probably far lonelier, if I’m being honest.

“Wear something nice!” Sakura called out as I was about to step into the bathroom.

“But your stubble is perfect. Makes you look handsome.” Gaeul added.

Stepping under the hot water, I couldn’t help smile for a moment.

—

As I cleaned up in the shower, I reflected on the previous few months of my life.  Instead of our friendship becoming strained, as I honestly thought they were left feeling abandoned after I found the one, or so I thought. we seemed to be closer than ever. I spoke to both of them nearly every night. We sent messages and exchanged pictures throughout the day. We spent nearly every weekend together. I still wasn’t ready for dating so having some female companionship felt good.

I also picked up that, on the rare nights out I did have with them, neither they had a problem flirting with me. And I wasn’t your typical oblivious person. I knew when a girl was giving me the eyes but I guess I simply hadn’t looked at them like that.

They clearly loved me, as I do to them, and that left me questioning certain things. I barely heard about any boyfriends. They’d claimed they were not virgins but I also knew they were not the type of girls to go out on a night, pick up a guy, fuck them and then not speak to them again.

—

They’d organized to meet a few of their good friends. The bar we met them was trendy enough. Not really the place I’d head to by myself considering the price of a beer was eye-watering. I did the gentlemanly thing and offered to buy the first round. They told me my money was worthless, I was their guest and all they wanted was my company.

Conversation flowed and I was center of attention. After an hour, I found myself relaxing and enjoying the evening. I realized that the one topic not to be touched was that of my ex-girlfriend, but anything else was fair game. But we generally avoided anything that would bring down the mood. Sakura sat to my left, Gaeul to my right, and they didn’t move, ordering their rounds via their phones so they could be delivered to our table.

After a few drinks, the girls wanted to dance. They knew I never went to nightclubs. But what they wanted, they got. A pout, doe eyes and pleading with me, feeling their fingers running up and down my arms and chest, and I was putty in their paws. Their friends giggled but I also saw looks that suggested they knew too. I thought they’d be weirded out the obvious affection the two had for me.

Once inside, we avoided the over-priced drinks, sticking to water or soft drink, and headed to the dancefloor. Despite my aversion to the music, I could still move to the beat. No other girl got a look in the entire time was there, they both draped over me the entire time. It wasn’t the first time, but I was now paying more attention. Even their friends barely got my attention. If we’d been in the sort of place that had slow music, I had little doubt two bodies would be molded into mine.

No idea what time we rolled out of the club. I was a gentleman again, making sure all our friends were off safely first. That earned me a kiss on the cheek from each of them but a certain look I tried hard to read, almost as if they understood. The three of us shared a taxi again, this time I was in the middle of the back seat, Sakura and Gaeul to either side. The taxi driver met my eyes in the rearview mirror and grinned at me.

Arriving at my place, Sakura let me out, Gaeul got out on her side. Before I could say a word, Gaeul paid the driver while Sakura took my hand, leading me to the door leading into the building. Taking the elevator up to the floor of my apartment, I opened the door and stood aside, letting them in first. When they headed straight for my bedroom, I followed them slowly, walking in to find them stripping down to their lingerie. Against their pale skin, Sakura in black, Gaeul in red, they turned and smiled at me. They were absolute visions.

Walking towards me, I’m fairly sure I stood there slack-jawed. They ran a hand up an arm each before meeting at the buttons of my shirt, helping undo that and take it off. Their fingers continued to move across my chest down to the belt of my jeans. They undid that but then moved down to my feet, helping take off my shoes and socks, both of them on their knees as they undid the button then lowered the zip of my jeans.

That left me in my bedroom in only my underwear with my two goddess best friend in their lingerie. And there was no missing the tent in my underwear. Both rose slowly, raking their nails over my skin, both making sure they trailed lightly over my erection.

“What are we doing here?” I had to ask softly.

“Going to bed,” Sakura replied.

“We’re going to keep you company,” Gaeul added.

“How do we look?” Sakura wondered.

“Are we pretty?” Gaeul asked.

I took half a step back and looked them up and down. I felt my cock throb from the excitement. They were my best friends and I probably shouldn’t see them in such a situation. Huh, that word again. Situation. Both stepped forward and pressed their warm bodies into mine, a hand each moving up my back to the top of my head. Sakura was the first to kiss me, a soft meeting of our lips. It wasn’t a chaste kiss but wasn’t quite that of lovers. Gaeul then kissed me in a similar manner. My fingers were caressing each back on offer at the same time. When I moved further down, they both smiled at me.

“You can touch us anywhere you want,” Sakura breathed.

“We’re here for you, to make you happy. Tonight, we’re going to share your bed to sleep.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure how easy sleep will be,” I muttered.

“Hey?” I met Sakura’s eyes. “You realize now how we feel?” I searched her eyes before doing the same with Gaeul. “We love you.”

“Like, totally,” Gaeul added, both of them giggling at the phrase.

“You mean ‘love’ love, like the love I shared with...”

“No!” Sakura shouted, Gaeul shouting the same word in unison. “We love you so much more than that slut!”

“Sorry, I didn’t...”

Before I could finish, Sakura kissed me. Within a few seconds, it was the sort of kiss lovers would share. Without thinking, I slid my tongue into her mouth and she whimpered within a few seconds. Breaking the kiss, her eyes were already glistening before I turned and kissed Gaeul exactly the same way. When she whimpered, I pulled back and noticed the same look.

“Kissing is one thing, but... Anything else... we shouldn’t even be doing this.”

“So we take it as slow as you want,” Gaeul replied, “But do you love us?”

“Of course, I do.”

“But can you love us like you now know how we want you to?” Sakura asked, and I heard a hint of desperation. I’m not sure why they were doing it tonight, but I think they’d been waiting and they were laying their hearts out on the line.

It was time to make the confession. “I already do love you like that, it’s why I had to move out.” For a brief moment, the smiles faltered as I knew they were still hurt, but I think they now understood. “But there's a line in the friendship that should not be crossed.  Once we have crossed that line...”

“We’ll cross it when you’re ready,” Gaeul stated.

Turning them both around, we hopped into bed, me in the middle Sakura to my left, Gaeul to my right. One of their legs was lifted onto my body, one of their hands relaxing on my chest, running up and down through the faint covering of hair. My arms were wrapped around them. When their hands moved further down my body, I gave each of them a glance, noticing the smirk on their faces.

Feeling them reach the band of my underwear, I sucked in a breath when they didn’t delay in sliding under and I felt two smaller hands caress my cock. “Fuck,” I muttered.

“We want to look after our best friend,” Sakura whispered into my ear.

“In every single way,” Gaeul whispered into my other one.

“We’re yours forever.”

“Do you need to cum?”

I managed to nod my head, considering I’d been turned on since my earlier shower when I’d been thinking of our recent times together. The fact they were always dressed to impress whenever we went out. The constant flirting and flagrantly trying to turn me on. The constant innuendo. Those looks they’d give that suggested they wanted nothing more than their best friend to bend them over the table and do many naughty things to them both.

“Do you need us to take care of this hard thing in your underwear?”

There it was from Sakura. The moment of truth. The line in the sand. Pandora’s Box about to be opened. Once it happened, it couldn’t be undone. Can’t unring a bell. “Are you sure?” I had to ask.

“We always love you,” Gaeul whispered, and I heard the shudder of breath.

“We always have been,” Sakura added, hearing the emotion in hers too. “And now you’re ours.”

I gave it all of three seconds thought before I nodded. Gaeul giggled and rolled away, returning with the lube I used for my private moments. Both sat up and eagerly helped lower my underwear. They both grinned when my cock came into view. Minji had never complained about it, but she’d also cheated on me. That sort of things does impact your ego and leaves you questioning plenty of things about yourself.

“Bigger than your ex.”

“And yours.” Sakura giggled. “God, that sounds even worse when we’re in here. We only saw it by accident!”

I blushed and chuckled. “Um, one other thing,” Gaeul stated, “We’ve never been with a guy before.”

“What?” I asked, my voice deadpan. I didn’t expect that.

They both smiled at me. “Technically, we’re not virgins but we had to learn about a few things, obviously, but we’ve only ever wanted you. Why do you think we were so upset when you told us you were going to that that slut?” Sakura retorted.

Sitting up, I immediately pulled them into my body and hugged them. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, “I had no idea you felt like that at the time.”

“It’s okay,” they both assured me, kissing me on each cheek.

“We’re here now,” Sakura stated in the sort of tone that suggested no argument.

“Now lie back as we want to play with your cock!” Gaeul stated excitedly.

Lying back, I couldn’t help smile as their eyes were still full of their love for me, but added to that was a healthy dose of lust. When I suggested that they might as get naked as well, they glanced each other, changed a smile, and suggested I help them. Sitting back on my knees, I kissed Sakura as I helped take off her bra, before I lowered her panties, pulling her into my body and making her whimper again as my cock pressed into her. Doing the same to Gaeul, I squeezed her cheeks at the same time. When I broke the kiss, her eyes were hooded in that manner where I could have probably thrown her back and just had my way with her.

On my back, Gaeul applied lube and I soon had the joy of four hands caressing my cock. How I didn’t cum in two minutes, I don’t know. As I looked down to see my two best friends playing with me, giggling away.

“I love you both,” I whispered.

They both smiled as they quickly figured out what felt really good. “This is just to get you to sleep tonight,” Sakura explained, “But we know taking it slow is best.”

“But we’re hoping we’ll make love sooner rather than later. We’ve been waiting a while.”

“I agree, Gaeul. Agree on the sooner thing,” I grunted as they were now working my shaft with a hand each.

I watched enraptured as they stroked me off. I was almost wanting to ask if they’d blow me. I swear they were mind readers as they assured me that, next time, they’d both be sucking me off to an orgasm, and they both giggled by promising they’d swallow. And they’d want to try a facial. And cum on their tits too. Basically, I could cum anywhere I wanted on them. But was that after fucking their pussy or ass? When they mentioned anal, I damn near exploded.

“That’s one cherry neither of us has given up,” Sakura added, “That’s yours and yours alone, whenever you want it. Well, not before we’ve made love a few times anyway.”

When I told them I was close, they smiled and turned around so they were facing away from me, but I got a perfect look at two pert little butts, and they purposely spread their legs so I got a fantastic view of their bald little pussies. My mouth watered as they were both clearly turned, almost dripping wet with excitement. Reaching out with just a finger from each hand, I delicately ran a finger up each slit on offer. They made a sound between a gasp and a choked sob, then a plea for me to just touch them ever so lightly.

That helped me orgasm as I blasted within a couple of minutes. No idea where half my cum went, Gaeul quickly disappearing into the bathroom to retrieve a wet washcloth, wiping down my cock, and around my lower abdomen. Feeling a little light-headed, as that was one hell of an orgasm, they both turned around and cuddled into me.

“What about you?”

“Want to see us play with ourselves?” Sakura asked, “It’s late, we’re horny, but we want a whole night of your pleasuring us when it’s the first time. How turned on are you, Gaeul?”

“Just looking at you has me flowing.” Gaeul said.

I looked down and she wasn’t lying. I met her eyes and, though she blushed, the rapid breathing and chewing of her bottom lip told me enough. Sakura was equally as turned on. Without me saying a word, they were soon fondling their pussies. They were absolutely perfect, If I concentrated hard enough, I could almost taste their scent.

“Hey,” Sakura whimpered and I already knew it was the tone of a girl who needed to orgasm. I sat up on my knees between them, alternating kissing each of them as they were soon frigging themselves something silly.

“Oh god,” Gaeul moaned, “Oh god, this is going to be...”

“Are you going to cum for me?” I asked them both. They both nodded eagerly, leaning down to kiss each of them again. They whimpered as I slid my tongue into Gaeul’s mouth first, caressing her cheek, before doing the same to Sakura. Noticing their nipples were almost achingly hard, I took one in each hand and started to play with them.

“Oh fuck yes!” Gaeul cried out as her entire body started to quiver. She was almost sobbing though there was no thought of stopping. Sakura followed in orgasm within seconds, whimpering and crying as both leaned into my body, both of them refusing to stop for a second.

“Keep going,” I whispered into Sakura’s ear, before leaning over to Gaeul, “I want you to pass out.”

Gaeul could only whimper and moan, Sakura was barely capable of saying anything. I turned around and wrapped an arm around each of them, watching as they spread their legs further. My cock was already rock hard again, both of them concentrating on themselves but fondling me at the same time. They climaxed in unison again within a few minutes. A third one quickly followed after that. Then I asked them to give me their fingers.

I tasted them for the first time, Sakura the first to offer her fingers before I tasted Gaeul. Now that they’d stopped, they were clearly exhausted after a long night out and now having sorted themselves out. We needed a quick shower together, just to wash away the sweat from a night of dancing and our other activities.

Returning to bed afterwards, they performed ‘scissors, paper, rock’ in regards to who’d spoon against me. Gaeul won, happily cuddled back against me, Sakura cuddling back into her friend. My arms were long enough wrap around them both.

“Will you be hard in the morning?” Gaeul asked just before I was about to drift off.

“Well, I always am but I think it’ll be extra hard in the morning.” They both giggled at the insinuation. “I love you both.”

“We love you more,” they replied in unison.

—

I woke to an empty bed the next morning. I wandered out to the living room, finding Sakura and Gaeul in the kitchen preparing breakfast naked. In the morning light, they were even more stunning, and they’d both made sure they’re hair was up in a ponytail. Any chance of my cock deflating disappeared in an instant.

Moving to stand behind them, they giggled as I kissed them each on the cheek, moving down to kiss and nibble on their necks, ensuring I pressed my cock into each of them when doing it. I enjoyed the moans they both made as they could clearly feel how turned on, I was by both of them. It made me chuckle. I would have never considered anything like this. I’d moved out of their apartment to avoid the temptation.

Now here we were, three naked friends having crossed a line the previous night, and there was no doubt we would be making love sooner rather than later.

-

After enjoying a naked breakfast, Sakura mentioned a lunch at their shared apartment, something we did at least once a month on a Sunday. It was amusing that they had to get dressed in what they wore before while I slipped on some clean clothes. “Maybe you can just undress us again at our place?” Sakura asked with a smirked.

Once we were in their apartment, they again performed the game I’d see them play throughout the years. Gaeul won so took my hand, standing in front of me and told me to strip her. I did it incredibly slowly, ensuring I turned her on, my fingers lightly trailing all over her smooth, pale skin, kissing her in various places. By the time I had her down to the lingerie she’d worn the night before, she was completely turned on. Glancing at her panties, the darker colour told me everything I needed to know.

“I want you,” she breathed.

Once she was naked, I pulled her into my body, easily lifting her up, making her squeal. She looked at the doorway and smiled, motioning Sakura to join us. I did the same for Sakura. “I love your body,” I whispered, looking up to see her blinking rapidly, “I can’t wait to learn about both of you completely.”

As soon as she was naked, I kissed and cuddled her too, earning a squeal and giggle equal to her friend. I could almost smell their arousal. Making sure they were standing side by side; I met each pair of eyes and I knew they wanted to do a whole lot more with me then and there. “I’m thinking the same thing,” I stated, “But we do have an appointment to keep. If I put both of you on that bed, we won’t be leaving until tomorrow morning.”

I think they shuddered at the insinuation and were now aware that I wanted them both intimately. I knew what I saw in my eyes in that moment. I wanted to make love to them. I wanted them as much as they wanted me. And they knew that, once we did sleep together, that was us committed, the three of us, forever.

Somehow, I managed to tear myself away and head towards the living room, ending up in the kitchen to throw some cold water on my face. I could hear them giggling away as they got ready, turning up half an hour later dressed more conservatively than the night before.

We stayed long enough to watch movies before I had to go home. Calling a taxi, it suddenly hit me how lonely I was going to feel walking into that empty apartment again. Now that I’d finally confronted my own feelings, while they had well and truly confessed how they felt, the idea of being apart made me sad.

“Then we’ll have to start looking for a place to share. At least three bedrooms. A master one big enough for the three of us, then a couple for when we start having kids,” Sakura added.

“What?”

“We’re having children,” Gaeul replied.

I looked between them both. “You’re serious?” Receiving two firm nods, their faces broke out into grins when I smiled at them.

“Well, I Always wanted to be a father.” I said, grinning.

“And you’re going to make us mothers,” Sakura stated, “But that’s for later. First, we’re going to enjoy some steamy sex.” She glanced around and leaned forward, both of them caressing my groin. I shuddered as they giggled, kissing me on the cheek.

—

Concentrating at work that week was difficult. The guys seemed to realize straight away as they all started asking if I’d met someone. I had no reason to complain and it was time to start looking at everything positively.

Friday afternoon after work, I did some grocery shopping, ensuring I had their favorite food and drink in the apartment. From the moment I stepped in the door, I was inundated with selfies of them getting ready. I’d already received more than one naked picture from them. In fact, a couple of videos as well where they were fooling around with each other. That was pure masturbation material.

The intercom finally buzzed as I was placing a dish in the oven. Buzzing them up, I waited by the front door for them to appear. They appeared wearing a little black dress each, what looked like black thigh highs or stocking, and black heels. The cut of the dress showed off their cleavage and clung tight to their curves. I kissed each of them for a good minute or so before I escorted them inside. They only carried a small bag each. When asking why they’d packed lightly, they suggested that all they would need would be some lingerie to pose for me, and clothes to wear home on Sunday night.

Otherwise, they would be naked for my enjoyment.

Placing their things in my bedroom, I led them to the dining area, where I had already set the table, candles lit, a bottle of white wine chilling, music playing lightly in the background, the sort that would set the mood. Earned another kiss from them both, lasting a couple of minutes, feeling them press their delectable little bodies into me. I practically growled in return as I got a good handful of a pert ass on each of them.

Sitting each of them down, as the table was only a small square, they would sit to either side of me. I was only serving one of their favorite dishes, followed by dessert. Pouring them a glass of wine, we made small talk as I waited for the food to cook. I wasn’t an expert in the kitchen but I could follow a recipe and was confident enough to make my own subtle changes. They’d tasted my version more than once and loved it.

And they certainly loved it this time, making the sort of noises I hoped to hear later. My thoughts were reflected on my eyes and face as Sakura giggled.

“Oh, we’ll be making even better noises than that when you make love to us later. Gaeul and I have already agreed that we’d better go home Sunday night feeling very tender between our legs.”

“We took the pill for a while but stopped bothering since we’ve never been with a man before, Sakura and I ovulate at the same time, so when it’s time, you’d better get ready,” Gaeul added.

Serving dessert afterwards, they moved their chairs around next to mine so I could feed them both. After each spoonful, they made sure to kiss me, their hands caressing my body and crotch. I was now nursing a significant tent in my trousers and was rather eager to see them naked again. Thankfully, the apartment came with a dishwasher. Loading that up first, I left it to run for later as I was led out to the living room. I enjoyed the fact they were taking the lead as they wasted no time starting to undress me. Didn’t stop at my underwear, that came off quickly like everything else.

Pushing me back to sit on the lounge, they ensured my legs were spread wide enough so they could sit between them together. Feeling two tongues running up and down my shaft was an experience I never thought I’d have. But it was the look in their eyes that had me smile. They knew I’d make them happy later, but in this moment, it was simply about my pleasure.

“We’ve practiced on a toy or two,” Sakura explained, “Had to get over our gag reflex.”

“You’ve got a big cock too and we wanted to ensure we could swallow you whole,” Gaeul added.

I managed to a nod as I watched Sakura wrap her lips around my shaft. The groan I released made Gaeul giggle as she sat up enough to kiss me, Sakura rather quickly proving that the training worked as she swallowed more and more of my shaft. I groaned into Gaeul’s mouth, making her break the kiss as she needed to giggle, before Sakura removed her mouth and Gaeul took over.

“Fuck,” I murmured.

“Just imagine this every day for the rest of your life,” Sakura whispered, leaning up to kiss me next.

For the next minutes, Sakura and Gaeul alternated either blowing or kissing me. Their hands caressed my body, thighs or balls. They were both ever so eager to make me cum. Their dirty talk was on point and did nothing but reinforce how much they wanted this, and that they definitely wanted it inside them later.

Watching their heads bobbing up and down, eyes gazing up into mine with that mixture of love, lust and devotion, I had to run my fingers through their hair. The one not blowing me returned such a sweet smile, it would have made most other men cry.

“Who wants it?” I had to ask.

They both smiled and played their usual game, best of three. Sakura won, but whoever won never rubbed it in. It was something they’d done to keep things fair. Sure, they tried to out-think each other, but in the law of averages, it was likely the winning split was 50/50. Gaeul kissed Sakura on the cheek and told her how pretty she was, but how it was to see my cock in her mouth and down her throat.

“Maybe we can put on a show for him later too?” Sakura moaned as she moved faster on my cock, reading my body language and reactions. “Though I’m hoping he wants to lick our tight little pussies first?”

Sakura moaned. I groaned. And then I erupted. Sakura was ready for it, her eyes lighting up as she felt the first spurt of cum flood her mouth. Best orgasm of my life to that point, hands down, no contest. I knew the first time I would cum in either of them later would be better, but still, I know I sat there with a stupid smile on my face as I emptied myself.

Gaeul then handed me her phone, told me to record, as Sakura turned to kiss her. I knew exactly what they were doing. No chance of my cock softening for a second. They clutched each other tightly as they made out before they turned to me and showed the result.

“Holy shit,” I muttered, “You two little minxes.”

“Only ever for you. We’ll be your innocent best friends outside the bedroom, but we’ll do anything for you inside the bedroom. We’ve never done this and we’ll only ever do this for you,” Sakura stated.

“Then can you swallow?”

They complied immediately, smiling at me before showing me their empty mouths. “Good girls.”

Giggling, they helped me to my feet and led me towards my bedroom. I’d already set things up there. A nice bedspread and clean sheets. Scented candles. The same music softly in the background. That same game, Gaeul won, so I undressed her first, making out with her the entire time, Sakura pressing behind her so she wasn’t left out.

After undressing Sakura, we moved together onto the bed, the pair lying side by side as I sat on my knees, gazing down upon them. I disappeared for a few seconds, returning with my phone to snap a couple of photos. It quickly turned into quite the erotic photoshoot before they were both begging me to pleasure them.

I would have loved to please them both at once but I only had one mouth. Two hands, but only one mouth. Sensing my thoughts, they sat up for a moment and kissed my cheek. They knew I didn’t have a favourite. Despite they had their own unique personalities, despite how alike they could be at the same time.

“Okay, how about this...” Sakura stated, “Whoever gets first go here, the other makes love to him first. That okay with you, Gaeul?”

“Kura, I wouldn’t care if I was second both times.”

“I’m already thinking the same thing.” Sakura replied.

They smiled at each other before they played that same game. Gaeul won. While she was happy to win, there was a momentary look. The kiss they shared was soft but I could see the love. And it was obvious they were more than used to kissing each other and being intimate.

Lying back side by side again, Sakura lay on her side as Gaeul spread her legs for me. I lavished her body with attention, enjoying her moans and pleas that I give her ignored pussy my attention. But I was learning as I went along and she was loving every second. Her breasts and nipples were very sensitive. Kissing up and down her inner things made her squeal. She loved being tickled, the giggles warming my heart. Sakura was occasionally kissing her and I made sure she wasn’t feeling left out, trailing my fingers up and down her legs at the same time.

Gaeul almost sobbed when my tongue touched her pussy for the first time. I glanced at Sakura to see her blinking back tears. I knew she would react like that later. Gaeul tasted divine as I gently lapped at her juicy lips, watching as her juices dribbled down onto the blanket, such was her arousal. Her scent had my cock as hard as I could remember, making Sakura giggle when I moved and spread her legs, savouring her scent. Slightly different to Gaeul, but I gave her a quick kiss on her pussy before returning to Gaeul.

I’d always enjoyed going down on a girl, and the best part was those first few times when learning what worked best with a new lover. Thankfully, Gaeul was also a vocal lover, letting me know how she liked to licked, how she liked my fingers to move, when I finally slid them inside her, even suggested she’d like a finger or two up the bum at a later time, both stating against that their ass were completely untouched.

“Like that,” she moaned, “Like that. My clit. Just circle it like that.”

Doing as she asked, I noticed how her body reacted. An all over body shudder and the sort of guttural moan I’d heard from previous lovers. She’d just utterly loved what I’d done.

“Make her cum,” Sakura whispered, “I can’t wait for my turn.”

I glanced her way and smiled as I renewed my attack on Gaeul’s clit. With two fingers inside her, curled to find that sweet spot, once I’d found it, she was almost bucking, her back arching in a manner that told me she wasn’t going to be able to hold back.

When Gaeul did orgasm, it was the most beautiful thing I’d seen in my life. One hand with the bedsheet scrunched up. The other holding Sakura hand. I had to hold one of her thighs to stop her from squashing my head. If the neighbors were listening, I could only hope they thought we were being kinky.

I didn’t relent, my fingers starting to get quite wet, juices trickling into the palm of my hand. No chance of my jaw or tongue getting sore yet. Her entire body was on fire, incredibly sensitive, and I asked Sakura to give her nipples attention as they were crying out for it. As soon as Sakura latched onto one of them, Gaeul shuddered and enjoyed another orgasm.

“Please don’t stop,” Gaeul whimpered.

“Kura needs a turn,” I murmured, though my tongue was quickly back at work.

“Just one more, then you can make Kura cum!” she giggled.

As soon as I gave Gaeul one more toe-curling orgasm, I removed my fingers and rolled Sakura onto her back, smiling as she eagerly spread her legs though sat up to kiss me, almost licking my lips so she could taste her friend. “Tastes good, doesn’t she?”

“You taste wonderful too, Sakura,” Gaeul murmured, not surprised she was lying back with a broad grin on her face.

Learning Sakura’s body was just as much fun, kissing and touching where I thought she’d be sensitive. I didn’t want to do the same thing, so actually turned her over and focused on her back. Leaving soft kisses down her spine almost had her whimpering before I kissed and nibbled two very firm cheeks, Gaeul watching and giggling, stating she wanted that too.

Licking her pussy from the rear was also different, particularly as her rosebud was just there for the taking. Glancing at Gaeul, she smirked and nodded, so I moved my tongue and gave that some attention. The moan Sakura released suggested she loved it before she fell onto her side, giggling away. I couldn’t help chuckle at her reaction as I pulled her back towards me and dove for her pussy again.

I found that special spot inside her, clit was a little different to Gaeul, but she still made those cute little noises that Gaeul made when getting excited. I watched her face as she approached orgasm, the moans but also looking rather cute when nibbling on her bottom lip, trying to look innocent.

Thankfully, Sakura orgasmed and whatever she was going to say disappeared. Then I gave her a couple of others, doing my best to make each subsequent one even bigger, before she was asking or mercy, just like Gaeul.

Sitting back on my knees, I gazed down at the pair of them, lazing back with smiles on their lips and love in their eyes. Their eyes trailed down my body towards my cock, which was now eager for more action.

“I’ll get us a drink,” I stated, quickly getting up and grabbing the second bottle of wine from the fridge and three glasses. I rarely drank wine. To be honest, I couldn’t stand the stuff, but I’d sip at it occasionally if given a glass.

I was amused when they sculled their glasses and, after taking mine, Sakura laid back as Gaeul lay next to her. “I’m assuming you’ve used a sex toy or two?” I asked.

“Nothing as big as your cock though,” Sakura replied.

“So, you want this big cock inside you?”

“Please can you just fuck me already?” she plead, an almost innocent voice that didn’t fit the sight of her spread eagled on my bed, ready to have cock inside her.

She watched me wide-eyed as I positioned my body over hers. Fingers ran up one of my arms to my back, my other hand guiding my cock as I gently rubbed the head against her slit. She moaned against, still feeling a little sensitive from her earlier treatment. Gaeul was cuddling in as close as she could.

I groaned as I felt my cock slide inside her. Fuck, she was so tight. Sakura whimpered almost immediately, feeling her fingers dig inside me. Leaning down to kiss her, I think she appreciated that as I felt her breath catch, keeping her emotions under control.

Taking my time giving her my entire length, I gently pulled back and pushed forward. I groaned again, hearing Gaeul giggle next to me. “Fuck, Sakura,” I grunted, “You’re so fucking tight.”

“Just for you,” Sakura replied, hearing her breath catch again.

It took a couple of minutes to bury my length inside her. When we both looked down, our eyes met and we exchanged a smile before we made love. Sakura didn’t want to just lie there, she wanted to be an active participant. She’d obviously done a lot of reading but didn’t mind instruction on what would feel good for both of us. What I wanted was to see if she would cum while on her back. I knew it was a struggle for some, it would depend on depth, angle, and sometimes, it just didn’t happen.

Her fingers continued to caress my upper arms and back, kissing occasionally. Lifting her legs, she wrapped those around me, changing the angle, and she exclaimed excitedly I felt even deeper. I knew that could hurt, but she assured me it didn’t, for me to go a little faster. I knew, in the future, we’d probably do all sorts of stuff but, this first time, it was going to be tender and my pleasure was theirs.

“I love you,” she whispered, “God, I love you so much.”

“I love you both as much.”

“You’re going to feel emotional, Gaeul,” Sakura murmured

“Knowing he is inside me, and that he’s going to cum in me soon...” Gaeul moan.

“Soon enough,” I chuckled.

“Worth the wait?” Gaeul wondered.

Sakura scoffed. “Fuck! I wish we’d leapt on him the first time we met him!”

“Once he’s cum, we’ll suck him back to hardness together so I can have my turn.” Gaeul said.

I kept quiet as I focused on not climaxing just yet. I could have switched positions and done plenty of other things, but for a first time, I was keeping it simple. Thrusting faster, Sakura was really getting into it, meeting my thrusts and her face lit up. Begging me to fuck her, and she got what she wanted. Unfortunately, it also meant I wasn’t going to last long at all.

“Close,” I muttered.

“Cum in me,” Sakura moaned.

“Cum in her. Then you’re doing the same for me.” said Gaeul.

Hand on heart, it was probably the best orgasm of my life until that moment. A torrent of cum filled Sakura’s pussy, thrusting and pumping more and more cum. Surprised it didn’t end up coming out of her nose. I left my cock inside her until I simply had to pull out and relax on my back, smiling as I was immediately cuddled two goddesses on each side.

“Holy shit,” Sakura whispered into my ear, “Will it be like that every time?”

“Wait until we try positions that might just help you orgasm even harder.”

“Can I ride you?” Gaeul asked.

“We can do whatever is on your mind.” I paused before quickly adding, “Within reason.”

Gaeul kept her word though, moving down my body to take my cock in her mouth. She giggled, stating she could taste Sakura on my cock. Sakura slid a pair of fingers into her pussy, showing me her fingers glistened with my cum and her own juices, Gaeul not hesitating for a moment to suck on them. Fairly sure my cock twitched at the sight.

She had me rock hard again quickly, watching as she straddled me and I felt her hot pussy rub along my shaft. Moaning a couple of times, my eyes on her face as she did that sexy thing of biting her bottom lip, as she was obviously turned on, before she lifted herself up and impaled herself on my cock.

“Oh my god!” she cried out once she’d bottomed out a couple of minutes later, resting on my chest so I could cuddle her, feeling her gyrating her bottom ever so slightly to get used to me.

Eventually sitting back, I let her take complete control. I was nothing but a live toy to ride, as she took her time figuring out what felt really good. Watching her moan, giggle and climax while riding me was something that would live long in the memory back. Sakura was enjoying the show at the same time.

With her hands on my chest, Gaeul soon had a look in her eye that I recognised as I’d already seen it. Feeling her start to squeeze my cock as she rode me, she cried out as the orgasm tore through her body. Even Sakura was impressed as Gaeul moaned and whimpered, not wanting to stop riding and grinding on my cock for a second.

“You’ve got to do this too,” Gaeul almost sobbed, “Ride him too, but I get his cum.”

Gaeul enjoyed two more before she slid off, collapsing onto the bed, all aquiver, as Sakura mounted me slowly and figured things out herself. Watching her face light up as my fingers ran up her thighs to her hips to help keep her balance had me smiling, then I sat up and played with her nipples as she was soon working herself into a frenzy.

“Oh fuck!” she cried out, “Gaeul, we have to have this dick in us every night!”

“Think he’s going to say no?” asked Gaeul.

I laughed around the nipple in my mouth as Sakura enjoyed her first orgasm with my cock inside her. Lying back, she enjoyed three more before I warned her I was getting close. They swapped, though Gaeul wanted to be on her back for when I did cum. Back inside her again, she begged me to fuck her like I’d done Sakura.

Five minutes later, having done exactly that, I filled Gaeul like I’d filled Sakura. And that was me done for the night. I would get hard again, of that there wasn’t a doubt, but I’d only cum dust. We spent a few minutes catching our breath before agreeing to shower together. My hands were busy again as I loved feeling them up, and despite their own tiredness, they were both eager to have me make them orgasm again.

After another of their games, the girls decided that Sakura would spoon back against me, while Gaeul would sleep behind me, so I was in their sandwich. I think we probably fell asleep at the same time.

Waking up the next morning, I lifted Sakura’s leg and felt her up. It woke her up, whispering that’s how she’d always wanted me to wake her up, my fingers eventually sliding inside her. Gaeul woke up and spooned back against Sakura, Sakura giving her the same treatment. Both asked about me, and I said my only concern was making them as happy as I was.

Soon as they’d both had one orgasm, I had them both on their back and my mouth between one pair of legs, Gaeul enjoyed an orgasm quite quickly, before I moved to Sakura, who was so excited, she barely lasted a few minutes. I spent an hour doing that, pleasuring one until orgasm, then moving to pleasure the other one. They were absolutely loving it.

My reward? They had me stand up, both of them on their knees, practically worshipping my cock. And when it was time to cum, they performed the same erotic show, Gaeul taking the entire load in her mouth and sharing it with Sakura before they swallowed.

We relaxed after breakfast to recharge our batteries. I fucked both of them out on the balcony, which was amusing though I was confident we didn’t put on too much of a show. After lunch, I was treated to another dual blowjob, though this time it ended with my cum ending up on their faces, only at their demand. And if they want something, rest assured I will do it for them.

They cooked dinner for us that evening, adjourning to the living room afterwards, music playing as I danced with both of them. Sometimes with Gaeul, sometimes with Sakura, something all three of us together. Then they danced together and it was rather erotic particularly when they made out and started to strip each other. As soon as they were naked, I was dragged to the bedroom, stripped, with the pair of them hopping onto the bed, wiggling their fantastic butts in my direction.

Glancing back in my direction, they were grinning, ensuring they were smacking together. “Will you fuck us now?” Gaeul asked, that innocent voice again.

“We don’t like the boys at school,” Sakura added, “We want our best friend to fuck us.”

“They all have little dicks compared to you.”

“And we want to have your babies too.”

To say I fucked them into the mattress that night wouldn’t be an understatement. By the time I was done with them, I’d dumped a pair of loads into them each, and any thought of a shower before sleeping ended as they practically passed out, snuggling up together, laughing away as they admitted they were going to pay the price for it the next morning.

I woke early and ran a bath for them, lifting Sakura up first and lying her down in the tub, before doing the same for Gaeul, ensuring she was facing Sakura, thankful the tap and faucet was in the middle of the bath. As they relaxed, I told them I’d prepare breakfast for them. They walked out a good half an hour later as I was putting the finishing touches to our breakfast.

When they hugged me, I simply held them in my arms for a few minutes. They’d used some scented shampoo, strawberry, and their bodywash was of a fruit that mixed well with it. When they both gazed up at me, I knew in that moment, we were completely committed to each other.

Spending the day not having sex proved that we could revert to our normal friend relationship, hours of idle conversation, bad jokes, and plenty of laughs. But when it came for them to go back to their apartment, I had no idea it was going to feel as bad as it was. As for them, they were in bits by the time I walked them downstairs. Hugging them tightly again, we promised to see each other every weekend, as many times as we could during the week, and that we’d start discussing living together.

“Buy a house,” I suggested, “Particularly if we do have children together.”

Both of them grinned as although it had been mentioned in the throes of passion, having children was going to be a big deal for us.

For the next three weeks, we were together all weekend while we spent nearly every weeknight together as well. The pair of them usually came to my place. I was surprised when they said that my apartment was nicer, plus there was on selecting which bedroom we would use, something we’d have to do at their place.

—

After a month of us ‘dating’, we had a weekend where we had our first genuine threesomes. For the first four weekends, I would only have sex with one of them, the other lying next to us, watching and usually masturbating. I was told during the week that the next weekend was going to be special. Arriving home from work and a gym session to find Sakura and Gaeul already naked and waiting for me.

“Dinner later,” Sakura told me, “Sex first.”

That involved me being undressed by two, naked, horny goddess. As soon as I was naked, they were on their knees, play-fighting over who’d suck my cock. They eventually arrived at a system that worked for all three of us, though that feelings of two tongues working my shaft would never be replaced. Gaeul was the one who took the load and I was surprised Sakura told her to swallow it, stating she’d get her own load sometime during the weekend.

Anyway, threesomes. It was a weekend of experimentation. To me, there was nothing better than lying back with Sakura on my cock, Gaeul on my face. Whether she was sitting forward or reverse didn’t bother me, but if they sat reverse, that sweet little rosebud was on offer, and both had already gained a liking for having their asshole licked. And they were adamant that anal was still on the table.

What they enjoyed was me fucking one of them behind while the one being fucked could eat the other one out. Occasionally, they’d enjoy a sixty-nine so I’d fuck one of them while occasionally feel a tongue licking my shaft and balls. The hottest thing was filling one of them with cum, pulling out so the other could lick my cock clean, before watching her bury her face in her friends’ pussy to lick out some of my cum.

Sakura and Gaeul kept to their word about doing absolutely anything for me and I was treated to a sexy striptease show. And there was no faking from either of them. I knew how much they loved me, but there was no missing they loved each other just as much. I’d never felt any different sort of love for either of them, and they loved me just the same. Everything was equal.

During all this dating, we spent every weekend house hunting, while during the week, in between everything else, we were online searching for the right property. After only four months, we found what we wanted. Nothing fancy, just three-bedroom house, modern kitchen and dining room, huge bathroom plus an en-suite off the master bedroom. It cost a pretty penny, but pooling our three wages together meant we could afford it. We put in an offer which the soon to be previous owners accepted immediately.

Excitement was off the charts the day we were handed the keys. I did most of the moving though we did pull in a couple of friends to help out with the larger, bulkier items. However, we made sure no-one except the three of us had anything to do with organizing the bedrooms. The master bedroom would be the room shared by the three of us. However, one of the other bedrooms would be made up to look like someone slept in it.

We christened each and every room. Even the laundry room. Fucking Sakura and Gaeul while the washing machine was rumbling along was certainly a lot of fun. Nailing them from behind as they sat on their knees in the hallway was hilarious as they ended up with carpet burns.

We’d been living together for three months when I arrived home from work on a Friday. I didn’t expect to walk into the house to be greeted by candles burning everywhere. Dropping my bag in its usual position near the front door, I called out for the two of them. They walked out of our bathroom wearing grins on their faces and the smallest pieces of lingerie possible. Barely covered their nipples and pussy. Walking towards me, they both kissed me softly before taking a hand of mine each and leading me towards the dinner table, finding it already covered in dishes.

Taking a seat, I had to glance at one of them, then the other. “Okay, something’s going on,” I finally stated, “What is it?”

They exchanged a smile. “Um... There are two things actually. The first is that, tonight, we’re giving you our last virginity,” Sakura explained.

When I smiled, they both giggled. “And the second thing?”

“We’re both pregnant,” Gaeul replied.