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jupiterpilgrim · 1 month ago

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Someone Like You

Sohyun x Xinyu x male reader

word count: 19K

You push open the door with your shoulder, bag sliding down your arm, earbuds still in, still humming the chorus of the track you were half-distractedly mouthing on the walk back. The apartment’s dim, only the low yellow glow from the kitchen light pooling under the cabinets. It smells faintly like miso and something fried earlier (maybe tofu?) and, ironically, this reminds you that you forgot something. It doesn’t hit you immediately, what you forgot. But then your eyes sweep the counter.

Empty.

The fridge hisses softly when you open it. Half a carton of milk. Some eggs. A bottle of kimchi you’re not brave enough to open. And a lonely, suspicious cucumber. Then you freeze.

Okay. Right.

You were supposed to get groceries today. Actually, you were supposed to get them yesterday too, but Xinyu cornered you after the club meeting and asked for help lifting some stuff into storage—by which she meant do all the hard work while I pretend to supervise. Time got slippery. You left campus past dark and told yourself you’d make a list tomorrow.

Well, tomorrow was today. Now today is too late.

You step out of the kitchen just as Sohyun emerges from her room, barefoot, wearing that oversized sweatshirt she lives in when she’s in a mood. Dark grey, sleeves too long, hair twisted up with two pens stabbing through the knot like she’s some sort of overworked librarian assassin. Her expression is unreadable, which is bad. It’s when she gets unreadable that you know she’s very much read you and is probably two sentences away from verbal murder.

“You didn’t go, did you?” she says. No hello. Just sharp and low. Fair enough...

You fidget, rubbing the back of your neck. “I… got distracted. Club ran long.”

Her eyes flick down to your bag. No plastic handles sticking out, no clinking bottles or leafy greens peeking. She leans her weight to one hip and folds her arms slowly, like she’s savoring the drama of the moment.

“Distracted,” she repeats. “Again.”

“It’s just the second time—”

“The second time this week,” she cuts in, and now you’re pretty sure she’s not even mad about the food. There’s something else threading underneath, something prickly and a little tired.

You drop your bag by the couch and step closer, sheepish. “I know, I know. I really meant to, I just—club stuff’s been a lot. We’re organizing that charity auction and planning the art zine printing and—”

“You’re in a crafts club, not national defense,” she mutters, turning toward the kitchen, but slower than usual, like she’s waiting for you to say something worth staying for.

“It’s called ‘Hands On’,” you remind her, trailing after. “And it’s pretty fun, actually. We’re doing embroidery on vintage denim this week.”

That earns a glance, just a flash over her shoulder, one brow twitching. “So now you’re too busy learning how to sew flowers onto someone’s ass to remember your basic responsibilities?”

You shift on your feet. “You make it sound so much lamer than it is.”

“I didn’t have to try.”

You watch her pull out the rice cooker, expression smoothing into that blank practiced calm she wears when she’s trying not to let irritation sound like concern. The rice cooker clicks, and it suddenly feels very loud in the silence you left hanging.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you say quickly, guilt tightening your throat. “Let me cook this weekend.”

She pauses, dead silent. Then slowly turns, both arms now crossed tighter, chin tilted.

“You.”

“Me.”

“You want to cook.”

“For us, yeah.”

“You nearly set the toaster on fire trying to make Pop-Tarts.”

“That was one time. And I was sleepy.”

“You boiled water in a frying pan.”

“I couldn’t find the kettle!”

“It was next to the stove.”

You press your palms together like you’re about to pray. “C’mon. Let me try. I’ll find recipes online. I’ll watch a tutorial or something. I’ll even write down a shopping list this time.”

Her eyes narrow. “You're gonna write down one egg, one cup rice, plus one extinguisher?”

You groan and sag onto the counter dramatically, forehead thunking against the cool laminate. “Have some faith in me, Sohyun.”

“I do, that’s why I don’t want to die.”

You lift your head and grin at her, and she falters. There’s a twitch at the edge of her mouth like she’s fighting it, but her arms are still crossed and her eyes are still doing that sharp thing they do when she’s trying to seem unimpressed. She fails. She always fails.

“You’ve got that face on again,” you say.

“What face.”

“The grumpy ‘my idiot roommate is testing my will to live’ face. I don’t like that face. Gimme a better one.”

She turns away a little, her hip brushing the counter, but you catch the way her lips almost curve. You lean in slightly.

“C’mon, just a little one. Gimme a smile. I’ll even do the grocery run tomorrow and the day after.”

“That’s your responsibility anyway,” she mumbles, but softer.

“Yeah, but I’ll do it extra good. Promise. Just smile.”

She tries to keep her mouth straight, but it’s not fair, because you’re looking at her like a puppy that dropped its leash and still thinks it deserves a treat. And you know what you’re doing; weaponizing that whole innocent soft-boy thing, but it works. She finally lets one side of her mouth curl up, barely, like a crack of sunlight through clouds.

“There,” you say, triumphant, and point like it’s proof. “That’s the one. See? You look way less murdery when you do that.”

“Shut up,” she says, but she doesn’t move away when you lean against the counter beside her. Her shoulder is warm against yours, and she doesn’t pull away. You can feel her relaxing, even if she keeps up the grumble.

“Seriously though,” you say. “Thanks for cooking all the time. I know I suck at adulting. I’ll get better.”

“Yeah, well. Someone has to keep your malnourished ass alive.”

You laugh, and she pretends like that wasn’t a compliment buried in salt. The silence after isn’t tense anymore. It’s familiar. She leans over to rinse some rice, and you stay close, watching the way her fingers move, the easy rhythm of someone who knows what they’re doing. It’s kind of hypnotic. You catch yourself staring a little too long and glance away, ears warm.

“You know,” you say, just to fill the quiet, “Xinyu said she wants to teach me how to make handmade dumplings. Apparently she’s some kind of food goddess outside of club stuff.”

You don’t notice how still Sohyun goes. How her shoulders tighten just slightly. You’re busy thinking about how Xinyu had smiled at you when she said it, the way she tilted her head and asked if your hands were good with dough. Like she was measuring your answer with something hungrier than curiosity.

You don’t notice the way Sohyun’s grip on the strainer shifts. Or the small exhale she lets out, short and flat. But you do catch the quiet that follows your sentence. Heavy again. And not the good kind.

You glance over. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says, too fast. “Sounds like she’s keeping you real busy lately.”

“I guess? I mean, she’s just super involved in everything. She’s got all these ideas. And people really listen to her. It’s kinda cool.”

She hums, then dumps the rice into the cooker with a clatter that sounds more aggressive than necessary.

“Cool,” she repeats under her breath, but you don’t catch the tone.

You yawn and stretch your arms above your head. “Anyway. I’m gonna shower before dinner. Thanks for not killing me.”

“No promises,” she mutters.

As you disappear down the hall, you don’t see the look she gives the kitchen doorway. Not angry. Not exactly sad, either. Just a look like someone watching a window slowly shut on something they hadn’t even realized they were leaning out of. The rice cooker beeps behind her, forgotten. Her reflection stares back at her in the microwave door, and she doesn’t like what she sees there.

—

The air outside the lecture hall is too crisp for how warm your neck feels under the collar of your hoodie. Your econ professor dragged out the last five minutes of class with a winding tangent about inflation and donuts, and your brain’s still foggy from trying to stay awake. The hallway hums with the usual end-of-class shuffle—backpacks zipping, shoes squeaking on linoleum, someone laughing too loudly down the hall, the flick of water bottles being opened like a chorus of bored seals. You dig your phone out of your pocket, thumb tapping out a quick message to Sohyun to let her know you might head home soon—and then you hear your name.

Not called. Sung.

“Heeeey!”

You don’t even get the full chance to turn around before something soft and perfume-sweet hooks around your elbow and starts pulling. It’s instinct, at this point. You don’t even resist. You know that voice, and sure enough, there she is: Xinyu. In a velvet jacket the color of overripe cherries, hair twisted in a high braid that bounces with every movement, eyes bright with some new scheme. She's wearing high heels, which emphasizes her height (1.74cm, and she doesn't even need the heels to be taller than you).

“You have legs. You’re walking. Perfect. C’mon,” she says, already dragging you past two people in the hall who double-take like they’re seeing something illegal.

“Uh—hi? What—what’s going on?” You try to plant your feet but she’s stronger than she looks. “I actually need to get home kinda early—”

“It’ll be quick,” she chirps, which you immediately recognize as a lie, the same way Sohyun always does when you tell her you’ll “just check something real fast.” Xinyu gives you a sideways glance, all long lashes and a grin that should be registered as a performance-enhancing drug. “We’ve got a situation and you, my sweet dumb boy, are just the man to solve it.”

“I never agreed to—wait, what situation?”

“You’ll see,” she hums.

That’s how it always starts.

She marches you through campus like she’s late to a parade, and you end up outside the “Hands On” club room (formerly the Sad Little Arts Supply Closet), now upgraded with banners, fairy lights, a suggestion box shaped like a gumball machine, and one extremely passive-aggressive cactus on the windowsill that someone (probably Xinyu) glued googly eyes onto. The room smells like fabric glue and lavender cleaning spray. You can already tell something’s going on. Half the tables have fabric swatches and scissors laid out, while the other half are in chaos—cardboard boxes, paper stacks, craft knives, sticky notes everywhere like a crime scene made by a kindergarten teacher.

Xinyu kicks the door shut with her heel, and immediately spins to face you, hands clasped dramatically.

“Emergency,” she declares. “Our treasurer—bless his little heart—forgot to print half the zine inserts for tomorrow’s showcase. And he left town to visit his boyfriend and won’t be back until Monday.”

You blink. “Okay. And that involves me… how?”

She gives you a look, then grabs a stack of prints and holds them out with both hands, like she’s offering an ancient tome. “We need to trim the inserts, fold them, and pair them with the right zine covers tonight. I would do it myself, but I’m already running final checklists, and I need someone with…” She pauses, eyes dragging slowly down you in a way that makes your spine twitch. “…delicate hands.”

You’re not even sure what that means, but it works embarrassingly well. You shift your weight awkwardly, try not to smile, fail.

“I’ve got readings to do, though,” you mumble, still reaching for the stack anyway.

She leans in, nose almost bumping yours. “Just thirty minutes.”

You know it’s going to be at least two hours. But you’re already sitting down.

You work through the inserts like a factory line, trying not to get glue on your hoodie, trying even harder not to look too happy that she keeps hovering over your shoulder. Every few minutes she passes behind you, laying a hand on your back, leaning to read something over your shoulder, her perfume brushing against your cheek—light and heady, like peonies dipped in honey. When you mess up the first fold, she just laughs and reaches over to fix it, her fingers brushing yours deliberately.

“See? You’ve got the touch,” she says after you finish the third stack, peeking at your neat line of trimmed edges. “You’re careful. Precise. You’d make a good production lead.”

You pause, scissors halfway through a page. “Production what?”

“For the club.” She spins one of the folding chairs around and straddles it backwards, arms folded over the backrest like she’s about to make a TED talk. “We need someone to manage all the materials and oversee project prep days. It’s not super intense, just a couple meetings, task lists, making sure stuff gets done right. I’ve been doing it all myself, but honestly, you’re way more organized than I expected.”

“Uh. Thanks?” You’re not even sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.

She grins. “I'm serious! You’ve got this sort of… reliable energy. Like the kind of guy who double-checks the batteries before a camping trip.”

“Are you saying I’m boring?”

“No,” she says, tipping her head. “I’m saying you’re hot in a very unexpectedly domestic way.”

Your brain short-circuits a little. You drop a sheet. She laughs.

“That’s not—what even is that?”

“Means I could leave you alone in a room with a pet bunny and a glue gun and not worry about either of them dying.”

“…That is the weirdest compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

“And yet you’re still blushing.”

You turn your head away, trying to pretend you’re not. You totally are.

The idea of the position swirls in your head now, even as you keep folding. You picture being in charge of something, even something this small. Making lists. Making things run. Sohyun would probably laugh if she heard it. Or roll her eyes. Or both. Still. There's something weirdly satisfying about the idea of being useful like that. And then there’s the fact that it means more time here. Around her. Around this energy that makes you feel like you’re slightly floating, like maybe you matter in a way you hadn’t thought about before.

“I dunno,” you say. “I’ve never done anything like that before. And I’m still learning how the club works…”

“I’ll help you,” she says immediately. “Seriously. I wouldn’t throw you in alone. I just need someone I trust. And you’ve got this chill thing going on that keeps people from freaking out. I like that.”

You feel your ears heat again.

“I’ll think about it,” you say.

She pouts, and it’s completely weaponized. “But I need you.”

You choke on your breath.

She leans closer across the table. “Please? You’d be perfect. You’re already half in love with this place anyway.”

“I am not.”

She lifts an eyebrow. “You’re literally here folding paper on a Friday night.”

“…Point taken.”

She smiles then, something soft but electric, and somehow the room feels warmer. She taps the side of your hand lightly with a fingernail.

“Just say yes.”

You hesitate.

But it’s barely even hesitation.

“Okay,” you mumble, and you look down because her smile makes it hard to breathe right.

“I knew you would,” she says, sing-song and smug.

You keep working, heartbeat annoyingly loud, the sound of scissors and paper and her humming filling the room like you’ve stepped into a whole different orbit. Something not quite safe. But not bad, either. Just new.

And when you finally look at your phone later—two hours later—you realize you never texted Sohyun back.

—

You fumble with your keys at the door like they’ve suddenly become a math problem, plastic bags hanging heavy off your wrists, sleeves bunched up, hoodie damp with the sweat of a rushed walk to the market. You’re late. Not “forgot the time” late; actual late. Like, over-an-hour-past-the-“I’ll be home by six”-mark late. And that’s with the shortcut through the back alley that smells vaguely like wet cardboard and moldy pizza. You exhale, brace yourself, and nudge the door open with your foot.

Inside’s warm, lit up with the kitchen lights already on, even though you’d planned to turn them on yourself, cook like a responsible adult for once, surprise Sohyun with your flawless (okay, barely functional) culinary debut. Instead, there’s quiet rustling in the living room and the telltale smell of rice already cooking.

Damn.

“Sohyun,” you call out quickly, pushing in and kicking the door shut behind you. “Wait—don’t cook, I’m doing it! I swear!”

She appears before you can get another sentence out, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room with her arms folded like she’s on break from interrogating someone. That same sweatshirt again, sleeves half covering her hands, her hair up in one of those loose, tired buns that somehow makes her look even more intimidating. She doesn’t say anything. Just stares at you.

You lift the bags. “Groceries. All of ‘em. Even got the brand of gochujang you like and those overpriced Belgian chocolate bars you keep ‘not liking’ but always finish.”

That gets her eyebrow twitching upward, just a little. But the frown’s still hanging around her mouth.

“I said I’d cook,” you add. “I didn’t forget this time.”

“You’re late.”

“I know, I’m sorry. There was… stuff. At the club. Unexpected stuff.”

She doesn’t ask what. She just moves aside so you can shuffle into the kitchen and start unpacking the bags. Vegetables. Noodles. Chicken. Soy sauce. Two bars of that milk chocolate with sea salt she thinks you don’t notice her hoarding in the freezer like contraband. She watches silently as you line things up on the counter, sleeves rolled up like you’re about to operate instead of cook.

“Okay,” you exhale, trying to sound confident and not like you’re internally googling how to dice an onion without making it look like a hate crime. “Tonight, we are making… stir-fried noodles. With chicken. And bok choy.”

Sohyun leans against the doorframe, arms still crossed. “You’re stir-frying something.”

“Technically, yes.”

She watches you wrestle the chicken out of its package like it’s a test of your moral fiber.

“You know,” she says after a long moment, “the whole point of you cooking was to not make me do anything.”

“I got this.”

You do not got this. Five minutes later you’re trying to figure out which knife is for chicken and which is for not-dying, when Sohyun lets out a sigh and walks over. She ties her hair up tighter, grabs a cutting board without a word, and starts slicing the bok choy with precision so sharp it’s almost smug.

“Hey—” you protest, “I said I got this.”

“You said a lot of things,” she mutters. “At this rate, we’ll be eating at midnight.”

You shut up and just let her work beside you. There’s something comforting about it, the shared silence while you both prep, the sound of knives on wood, the little clatter of bottles and bowls. You glance over at her hands a few times—how practiced they are, how she moves like she’s not even thinking about it. You’ve never been able to do anything that confidently. Not like her.

She doesn’t look at you when she speaks next. Her tone’s quiet. Even. Too even.

“So. This ‘unexpected stuff’ at the club.”

You clear your throat. “Just Xinyu stuff.

“Of course.”

“She needed help setting up some print stuff for the showcase tomorrow. I told her I couldn’t stay long, but…”

“But you stayed anyway.”

You hesitate. “It’s not like that.”

“Isn’t it?”

You glance up. She’s slicing scallions now, but her hands have slowed, like she’s not as calm as she wants to sound.

“She just needed help.”

Sohyun sets the knife down, finally looks at you.

“She always needs help, doesn’t she?”

You blink. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sohyun wipes her hands on a dish towel. “It means girls like her know exactly what they’re doing when they lean in too close and smile too wide and ask for just one little favor. And boys like you—”

“—what about boys like me?” you cut in, more defensive than you expected.

She studies you. “You’re too nice. Too soft. You think people mean what they say when they smile at you.”

Your chest tightens, and you try to laugh it off. “You don’t even know her.”

“I don’t need to,” she says flatly. ��I’ve seen enough. You come home late. You forget things. You’re too tired to eat sometimes. All because some pretty girl with glitter in her hair asks you to fold paper and run errands and smile on command.”

“She’s not using me,” you say, voice low now, trying to keep your hands busy with the noodles, but your pulse is skipping. “We’re friends. She values me. I’m not just—help. She made me a production lead.”

Sohyun lets out a quiet, humorless breath. “Wow. Production lead. That sounds very real.”

You grit your teeth. “You don’t know what it’s like there. The club’s fun. I like it. I feel… useful. Like I matter.”

“You do matter,” she snaps. “Here. With me. But you’re so damn caught up in being liked by her that you don’t see what she’s doing.”

You flinch, then stare down at the noodles, hands cold even over the heat of the pan.

“She’s really nice to me,” you mumble. “She listens. She laughs at my jokes. She makes me feel seen. Maybe you just… don’t get along with people like that.”

Her silence is louder than the stovetop now. You don’t dare look up. You keep stirring, even though the sauce is starting to bubble too fast, even though the smell is getting sharper. Sohyun says nothing for a long time.

When she finally speaks, her voice is quieter.

“She doesn’t see you,” she says. “She sees what she can get from you.”

You don’t know what to say to that. You just stand there, heat rising from the stove, from your face, from the sudden shift in the air around you.

“Let's just... finish cooking, okay?” you finally say, and the conversation ends.

The dinner isn’t bad. It’s not amazing either—one of the noodles is suspiciously crunchy and the sauce might be a little too salty—but it’s edible, and you didn’t set off the smoke detector, so it counts as a win. The kind of win where no one cheers but nobody dies. You both eat cross-legged on the couch, bowls balanced in your laps, watching something vague and unmemorable play out on the TV. Neither of you really pays attention. The show is just there to fill the silence you haven’t figured out how to cross again yet.

She’s quiet. Not in the usual way, where she’s half-ignoring you because she’s pretending to be annoyed. This is the kind of quiet where she doesn’t pick at your uneven chopstick technique, or sigh when you slouch too far forward like a sad noodle boy. She just eats. Occasionally glances at the screen. Mostly doesn’t look at you.

It’s your fault. You know that. You didn’t mean to shut her out, but the conversation from earlier is still coiled up tight in your chest like a knotted cord you can’t unkink. You know she meant well. You also know you didn’t want to hear it. And now it’s sitting between you like a third roommate with bad vibes and no rent.

You stab a stray noodle in the bowl and swirl it for no reason. Then, out of nowhere, you blurt it.

“Hey, uh… do you wanna go to the movies this weekend?”

Sohyun blinks. Turns her head slowly. “What?”

You cough and set your bowl down on the coffee table, feigning casual like you haven’t just rerouted the entire tone of the evening. “That movie. The weird indie horror-romance one you wouldn’t shut up about. You said it’s finally playing at that little theater downtown, right?”

She narrows her eyes like she suspects a trap. “That movie?”

“Yeah. That one with the girl who falls in love with a ghost that might’ve murdered her aunt.”

“You said that sounded dumb.”

“I’ve since developed taste.”

Her eyes flick down to your empty bowl, then back to your face, skeptical. “You wanna go see it. With me.”

“Yes.”

“At the theater.”

“Yes.”

“You, willingly, sitting through a movie where people talk in metaphors and cry in bathtubs for two hours.”

“Yes.”

She stares a second longer, then slowly sets her own bowl down.

“…Are you dying?”

You laugh, relieved that the wall between you starts to crack. “No. I just figured it’s been a while, you know? Since we went anywhere together. Just us.”

She looks at you, and this time it’s different. Softer. A little surprised. Her shoulders uncoil, just slightly.

“Yeah,” she says after a beat. “Yeah, I guess it has.”

You shift closer on the couch, knees brushing. She doesn’t pull away.

“I miss that,” you say quietly. “You and me. Hanging out. You making fun of my popcorn choices and stealing half of it anyway.”

“I don’t steal,” she mutters, glancing away. “You just let me take it.”

“Exactly,” you say, and you slide your hand over hers before you can overthink it. Just resting your palm on top of hers, fingers curling a little, not gripping, just—being there.

She flinches slightly at the contact, just a twitch, but she doesn’t pull back. She lets your fingers settle against hers, warm and tentative, and when you look up at her, she’s not smirking. Not scoffing. Her eyes are flicking down where your hands meet like it’s something foreign and strange and maybe a little fragile.

“You’re my best friend,” you say, simple and true. “You matter a lot to me.”

Her lips part slightly. Her brows lift, and for a second you think she might laugh it off or tell you you’re being cheesy or stupid—but she doesn’t. She just exhales, like maybe something heavy has been sitting in her chest too.

“You matter to me too,” she says.

You smile at her, and this time when your thumb brushes her knuckle, she doesn’t tense. She lets it happen. Lets you stay close. The show keeps playing in the background, some scene with a car chase and overly dramatic soundtrack cues, but you don’t hear it. Not really.

She shifts her hand slightly and laces her fingers with yours. Not fully. Not completely confident. But enough.

“Don’t be late to the theater,” she says softly. “Or I will eat all your popcorn.”

“Fair,” you say, and your heart’s beating like you’ve just run a mile uphill, but your smile won’t quit.

Neither will hers, even as she tries to hide it by turning toward the screen again.

And when she finally squeezes your hand, once, gently… you squeeze back.

—

The week grinds on like a slow, dull blade; long days of lectures that won’t end and projects that never feel done, your hands always on something, always organizing, always fixing. The new position in the club sounded cool when Xinyu pitched it, sounded manageable, even kind of important. And it is. But it's also constant. There’s always something that needs adjusting. A deadline that wasn’t clear. A last-minute supply shortage. Someone who forgot to RSVP to a workshop and now wants to be squeezed in. You spend most of your hours between classes running around campus, typing messages with one hand and juggling printouts with the other. It’s not that you hate it. It’s just… a lot.

And you’ve been deliberately keeping it at arm’s length this week. Showing up when you need to. Doing what’s necessary. But not lingering. Not letting yourself fall into the way Xinyu looks at you when you're both the last ones in the room. Not letting yourself chase that high that comes from being the center of her attention. You're just packing your things at the edge of the classroom when the scent hits you before the voice. Vanilla, sharp berry, something flirtatious. You freeze for half a second before you even look up.

“There you are,” Xinyu says, leaning against the frame of the door like it’s a movie scene. Skirt just high enough to register, blouse knotted loosely at the waist, hair done up in a half-messy twist that probably took twenty minutes to make look that accidental. She’s smiling at you like she caught you doing something bad and she’s this close to forgiving you for it.

“Hey,” you say, more cautious than casual.

“Got a minute?” She pushes off the door with one heel, strides into your personal space like she owns it, which (let’s face it) she kind of does when she wants to. “Just wanted to run a couple updates by you for the zine drop next week. Also, did you see my text?”

You blink. “Uh, I think so? About the schedule?”

“No,” she says, stepping even closer, voice lowering just enough to pull your gaze to her mouth. “The one I sent yesterday. About the mixer tonight.”

You shake your head. “I’ve been a little swamped. Haven’t had time to check.”

Her smile flickers, momentarily amused, maybe faintly disappointed. “Yeah, I noticed. You’ve been kind of... scarce this week.”

You shift your bag on your shoulder, trying not to notice the way her eyes track the movement. “I’ve just had a lot going on. Assignments, you know. Life.”

“Sure,” she says, tilting her head. “But it’s not like you to dip right after meetings. And I miss my favorite assistant-slash-handyman-slash-pretty boy.”

That catches you off guard. You cough and glance toward the hallway.

She’s teasing, obviously.

Probably.

Right?

“I’m still doing everything I’m supposed to,” you say, trying to stay focused. “I’ve just been trying to keep my head down and not burn out.”

She studies you for a second, like she’s assessing whether that’s the whole truth. “Mhm. So you’re saying you could come to the mixer tonight but you won’t.”

You laugh nervously. “I already have plans.”

That gets her attention. “Plans?” she repeats, lifting an eyebrow. “With who?”

You hesitate. A beat too long.

“…My roommate,” you say. “Sohyun.”

Her mouth lifts at one corner, interested now in a way that’s different; not just playful, but… analytical.

“Sohyun…” she echoes. “That name’s familiar. I think I’ve seen her around. Quiet girl? Moles on the face? Always in a hoodie?”

You nod. “Yeah, that’s her.”

“Didn’t know you two were that close.”

You try to shrug it off, but your grip on your bag strap tightens. “We live together. We hang out sometimes. She’s just—she’s my friend.”

Xinyu steps closer. Close enough you can smell her perfume again, soft and sweet, like fruit ripened in summer heat. Her fingers trail lightly across your forearm.

“Just your friend,” she murmurs.

You nod, throat dry. “Yeah.”

Her eyes drag over your face like she’s reading a secret written across your skin. She doesn’t blink. Her fingers pause, then curl lightly around your wrist.

“That’s good,” she says, voice velvet-wrapped. “Because you already have an owner.”

Your breath catches. “I—what?”

She doesn’t give you time to untangle the meaning. She just leans forward and kisses you.

It’s soft at first, almost testing. Her lips barely brush yours, but the sensation is instantly overwhelming. Sweet gloss. A breath of warm air. Her fingers sliding up, into your hair, pulling you a half-step deeper before you even realize you're leaning in. Everything disappears, noise, time, the fluorescent hallway lights, it’s just her, kissing you like she’s claiming something that already belonged to her.

You don’t move. You can’t move. Your thoughts are scattering like coins in water.

When she finally pulls back, her face is still inches from yours, her breath warm and her smile damn near criminal.

“You’re cute when you look like you’ve been unplugged,” she says, brushing your jaw with the back of her knuckle. “But don’t worry. I don’t bite.”

You swallow, hard. “I don’t…”

“You don’t what?”

“I don’t really know what that meant.”

She laughs. “It means I’m making a reservation, baby. You’re mine.”

You look at her, dumbstruck, heart slamming in your ribs.

Then, before you can collect yourself, she adds, “So, since you’re blowing me off for your roommate tonight, how about you make it up to me.”

“…How?”

She leans in again, lips just by your ear now.

“Ask me out. Just you and me. No club stuff. No excuses.”

You hesitate. You shouldn’t. You should say no. You should stall. But instead—

“…Okay. I will.”

Her smile goes wide and adorable.

“Good boy.”

She kisses your cheek this time, softer, lighter, but somehow more dangerous, and then turns on her heel and disappears down the hall, skirt swinging, a melody of casual destruction.

You’re left standing in the doorway of your classroom, the taste of her still on your lips, your phone buzzing with a new message that you already know is from her.

And somehow, all you can think about now is how the hell you’re going to face Sohyun tonight.

—

You get to the theater with barely a minute to spare, which is honestly a miracle considering your brain's been running on static ever since Xinyu kissed you. You’ve been replaying it like some kind of forbidden cutscene you unlocked by accident. Her perfume is still clinging to your hoodie. Your lips still feel weirdly aware, like your body hasn’t updated the rest of itself on what happened. You texted Sohyun that you were on your way while your fingers were still slightly shaking.

And now she’s standing in front of the ticket kiosk, scrolling on her phone, her expression neutral until she hears your footsteps. She looks up, and her face softens the way it always does when she sees you: shoulders relaxing, lips almost smiling. She’s got her hair down tonight, not tied up like usual, and her eyeliner’s a little sharper than usual, like she put in effort but didn’t want to make it obvious. It kind of punches the air out of your lungs.

“You made it,” she says.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you manage, trying to keep your tone level.

She squints. “You okay? You look like you just ran from a house fire.”

“I’m fine. Just, uh…” You rub the back of your neck, laughing awkwardly. “Got caught up with something right before I left. But I’m good now. Totally good.”

She walks beside you toward the entrance, and the moment you get close, she stops short. Her nose twitches. Her brow furrows slightly.

“Hold up,” she says, sniffing the air near your shoulder. “What is that?”

You freeze. “What’s what?”

“That smell. Are you wearing perfume?”

You nearly trip over your own feet. “What? No. No, no. It’s, uh… probably just my deodorant. I bought a new one. It’s got like, weird… berry something in it. Or… lavender? Maybe both? I don’t know.”

She stares at you like you just said your skin naturally emits essential oils. “You smell like someone else. Like a girl."

You try not to sweat. “Maybe I brushed past someone on the train. Or—maybe someone at the mall sprayed a tester thing. I mean, you know how people get with free samples.”

Sohyun doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t press further. Not directly. Just narrows her eyes and says, “Uh-huh,” before moving toward the theater doors again.

You scramble to change the subject, reaching for something, anything. “Hey, by the way… you look really beautiful tonight.”

That gets her attention. She stops walking again. Turns slowly.

“What?”

You blink. “I mean it. You look nice. Really nice. It’s the eyeliner or the hair or maybe both. I dunno. You just do.”

Now her expression isn’t suspicious, exactly. More like… confused. Like you just threw her off balance in a way she wasn’t expecting. She gives you a side glance, narrowing her eyes again.

“Okay, what’s going on with you tonight?”

“Nothing,” you say quickly, holding your hands up like you’re being accused of a crime. “I’m allowed to compliment my best friend, right?”

She mutters something like “Not when you’re acting weird about it,” but she walks ahead and scans the tickets, so you follow her into the dark theater, hoping the blackness will hide how flushed you probably are.

You sit next to her, the movie already starting with a low, ambient hum that fills the space between you. But you’re not really there. Not fully.

Your body is sitting beside Sohyun, her knee occasionally brushing yours, the bucket of popcorn between you smelling like synthetic butter and warm salt. But your mind keeps flashing back to the moment in the hallway earlier today—Xinyu leaning in, her lips brushing yours, her voice low and possessive, calling you hers. That look in her eyes like she meant it. Like she wanted you. Not just to help with her club plans, not just to make things run smoothly. You. Specifically you.

You sit still, trying to focus on the film, but the plot flows over you like mist—haunting music, characters whispering in shadowy rooms, a scene with someone walking backwards in slow motion. You’re lost in the echo of what Xinyu said.

You already have an owner.

You don’t know what to make of it. But it didn’t feel fake. It didn’t feel like she was playing. It felt like something real. Like maybe Sohyun was wrong. Maybe Xinyu does care about you. Maybe all the flirtation and teasing wasn’t just a way to get you to fold papers and haul supplies. Maybe she likes you. For you.

But then you glance sideways. Sohyun’s eyes are on the screen, but she’s smiling. Just a little. The kind of smile you only catch if you’re watching her close, when something in the movie hits right, or when she’s just happy to be there beside you, no pressure, no performance. Just… happy.

You feel it then. Not guilt, exactly. Something messier. Like being caught between two currents pulling in opposite directions. Xinyu’s kiss still burns on your lips. But Sohyun’s hand, resting on the armrest beside yours, feels like something familiar. Something safe.

So you just keep sitting there, the film flickering over both of you, your brain too full and too loud to hear much of anything.

But Sohyun leans slightly toward you halfway through the film, and whispers, “Thanks for coming with me.”

You nod, quiet. “Of course.”

She nudges you lightly with her shoulder. “Even if your deodorant smells suspiciously like high-end seduction.”

You laugh under your breath, and it breaks the tension in your chest a little. She doesn’t ask more.

And you’re not sure where this is all going. But for now, you’re here. With her. Sharing popcorn. Sharing silence. Sharing something you still haven’t named.

But despite all this, somehow, tonight is going well.

Or at least you're pretending it is.

—

It starts subtly. A slow gravitational shift. One day you’re just helping Xinyu reorganize the storage shelves in the club room, joking about how half the boxes are labeled with inside jokes only she understands, and the next, it’s just the two of you sitting cross-legged on the carpet, eating overpriced takeout while she flips through proofs and playfully feeds you shrimp tempura with her chopsticks. Time begins to bend differently around her. Hours pass like they’re minutes when she’s smiling at you like that, fingers trailing casually along your thigh while she talks about themes for the next zine, her head tilted, eyes lit like you’re the only one who gets to hear this part of her.

You try not to let it show too much outside the club room. It’s not like you’re trying to hide it, but there’s something about it that feels too new, too bright to be touched by other people’s opinions.

Especially Sohyun’s.

So you don’t say anything about the kisses stolen behind closed doors or the way Xinyu's hand slips into yours when no one’s looking. But you talk about her. A lot. More than usual. Like you’re hoping repetition will turn perception. Like you’re trying to overwrite Sohyun’s skepticism with enough evidence that she’ll finally admit she was wrong.

At first, you don’t notice how often you bring her up. Like during dinner one night, when Sohyun’s plating kimchi stew and you’re scrolling through your phone with a dumb grin.

“She’s seriously so funny,” you say, half-laughing to yourself. “Yesterday she was trying to teach me how to make those little origami frogs and I kept screwing them up, so she made a whole sad frog funeral out of my mess-ups. Like full-on folded a little casket. It was so dumb, but I couldn’t stop laughing.”

Sohyun glances up from the pot, slow, expression unreadable. “Sounds… elaborate.”

“Yeah, but like, in a cute way,” you say, scooping rice into your bowl. “She’s got this energy that makes everything more fun. Even boring stuff. Like she turned budget planning into a game last week. Made me guess prices on glitter and glue sticks like it was a quiz show.”

“She ever let you win?”

You grin. “Only when I look extra pitiful.”

Sohyun doesn’t laugh. She just places your bowl in front of you without comment, her eyes flicking down to the table as she settles into her seat. You don’t catch the way her fingers tense around her chopsticks before she starts eating.

You miss other signs too. Like how she doesn’t look up when you come home late anymore. Or how she doesn’t ask what you were up to. You used to tell her without prompting, but now your nights are wrapped in something private—lipstick on your neck, her breath on your ear, Xinyu pressing you against clubroom cabinets with that smug little grin that makes your thoughts scatter like dice.

You stop watching movies with Sohyun. Not intentionally. It just slips away. The time you spent together starts shrinking, edged out by late-night print meetings, gallery walks with Xinyu that turn into half-drunken conversations on park benches, and slow kisses that taste like watermelon gum and heat. You keep saying you’ll reschedule movie night. You never do.

Sohyun doesn’t press. But she notices.

She notices how you start smiling at your phone more than usual. How your hoodie comes home smelling like something not yours. She notices how you hesitate when she asks how your day went, how you mention Xinyu’s name like it’s a punctuation mark in every other sentence.

“Did she ask you to talk about her this much,” Sohyun mutters one night.

“What?”

She doesn’t repeat herself. Just stares at the screen. Her shoulders stiff.

You shift on the couch. “I just think maybe she’s not how you assumed, that’s all.”

Sohyun’s jaw tightens, her eyes still on the flickering movie neither of you are watching. “Maybe.”

“She’s been… really kind to me,” you add. “She listens. She gets it. I dunno. It’s just nice having someone who really sees you, y’know?”

There’s a pause. A breath. A sound like something small and invisible breaking.

“I thought I did,” she says quietly.

You turn to her. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says. “Forget it.”

You don’t push. And that’s the worst part. You used to. But now Xinyu’s kisses are still on your collar, her texts still open on your screen, little cartoon hearts trailing in your thoughts like an afterimage.

You’re floating. Orbiting. And you don’t see the way Sohyun’s been left behind on the ground, staring at your back like she’s watching a spaceship disappear into a sky that never once asked her to come along.

—

One month has passed.

She’s not surprised when you’re late. That’s just how it is now.

The first few times, she was. At least enough to stay up, waiting in the living room with a show paused halfway through and her phone resting face-up on the armrest. But that phase passed. It’s like training a cat to come home by midnight—you can try, but if it keeps slipping out the window, eventually you stop wasting your breath.

Now it’s routine. You say you’ll be home by eight. She hears the door creak at eleven. You always have a reason. Club stuff. Project stuff. Xinyu needing help. Xinyu needing you. And Sohyun tells herself not to care. She tells herself she’s just your roommate. She tells herself that if she keeps her expectations low enough, they won’t disappoint her when they inevitably fall short.

But tonight is different.

You didn’t say you'd be out late. You said you'd be back in time for dinner. Even said you'd help her prep. She made an actual list. Took the rice out early. Washed vegetables like she believed you.

Stupid. Stupid, stupid.

Nine o'clock. She tries to study. Fails.

Ten o'clock. She scrolls social media and refreshes your chat twice, looking for a dot that never shows up.

At eleven, she sends a message:

you good?

At midnight:

where are you

No reply.

She starts imagining things she doesn't want to imagine. Hospital beds. Car crashes. You ditching your phone somewhere and bleeding out behind a dumpster. All of it stupid, dramatic, and totally possible in the late-night silence of a too-quiet apartment. She walks the loop from the kitchen to the living room and back again like pacing will keep her from thinking. At 1 a.m. she gives up and goes to her room, sits in bed with the lights off and your chat open on her phone like it might suddenly ping alive and make her look dumb for worrying.

You don’t reply.

Not even the seen-check mark.

She stares at the glow of the screen, the little timestamp beneath her last message like it’s laughing at her.

At 3:04 a.m, the door clicks.

She hears it, obviously. She’s been awake for hours, lying still in the dark, breathing shallow like that might trick her thoughts into falling asleep. The lock turns slowly, like you’re trying not to make a sound. The door swings open with that telltale rubbery groan (it’s always the left hinge) and then soft footsteps. Your footsteps.

She doesn’t move.

You shuffle into the hallway. Then your door clicks shut, soft. No lights turned on. No message sent. No “hey, sorry I’m late.” Just… slipping in like a kid past curfew. Quiet as guilt.

She stares at her ceiling. Her room smells like night cream and too much unsaid.

Something’s wrong. Not in the usual way.

You didn’t just get caught up. You’re hiding something.

She sits up finally, swings her legs over the side of the bed, but doesn’t turn on the light. She just sits there in the dark, jaw clenched, fists curling in her lap.

It’s Xinyu. Of course it’s Xinyu.

Something about that girl makes Sohyun’s skin crawl. Too perfect. Too polished. Too practiced with the way she laughs like music and touches everyone like they’re already hers. And she could see it happening—could see the way you lit up around her, how your eyes chased Xinyu’s every move like a dog waiting for scraps. At first, Sohyun thought it was a phase. Something shallow. A crush that’d fizzle out like most of yours did.

But then the quiet started. The missed dinners. The unread messages. The new deodorant that didn’t smell like you. The way your eyes would dart when she said Xinyu’s name, like it was a window she could see through.

Now, tonight, the way you came in like a stranger. That was the crack that let everything pour in.

She should be angry. She wants to be angry. But what’s worse is this ache: this quiet, hollow ache in her chest like she’s watching something slip out of her hands she never got to call hers in the first place.

You were hers. Not hers-hers. Not officially. But still. Hers in the way you always came to her first. Hers in the way your laugh sounded different when it was just them. Hers in the way you’d watch her cook with that dumb soft look and try not to say anything because you didn’t want to sound sappy. She misses that.

She misses you.

Now all she has is the memory of your footsteps in the dark and the smell of that other girl on your clothes.

And she’s not sure how much longer she can pretend not to notice.

—

Sohyun wakes up earlier than usual. Not because she wants to. Her eyes just snap open like they’re waiting for an answer to a question she didn’t get to ask. The clock on her nightstand says 6:34, and her room is blue and gray and quiet, with the early light crawling across the floorboards like it’s sneaking in on tiptoe. Her pillow still smells faintly like conditioner and sleep and the night she wasted waiting for you to come home. She kicks the blanket off. Her skin’s cold but her chest’s hotter than it should be. A low, smoldering kind of heat that simmers behind the ribs. Not anger. Not yet. Something more corrosive.

You’re already in the kitchen when she steps out. Acting like everything’s fine. Like nothing happened. Even visibly exhausted, you’ve got that dumb, disarming half-smile on, and your hoodie’s zipped all the way up like you think it makes you look more innocent. Like you think you’re just gonna pour some cereal, mumble something about class starting at eight, and coast through the morning without her noticing the parts of you that don’t match.

"Morning," you say. Your tone is chipper. Fake. She hates it. “I made coffee for you.”

She doesn’t ask anything. She doesn’t snap. She just grabs a mug, fills it with that bitter cheap instant coffee you somehow never notice tastes like burnt pennies, and sits at the table. You start rambling.

“I didn’t get a chance to reply last night. My phone died. I was at a friend’s place. We were just hanging out. Time got away from me, you know how it is.”

She hums. Not in agreement. Just to fill space.

“It wasn’t even that late,” you say. “I mean, okay, yeah, technically it was late, but it’s not like—nothing bad happened or anything. Just lost track.”

She keeps sipping her coffee, expression unreadable. Like the mug is more interesting than your entire explanation.

You wait for her to say something. She doesn’t. You keep going. Nervous filler. You always do that when you’re lying.

“I mean, I didn’t even realize what time it was. It was like, wow, already past two? Crazy. And by then I figured I’d just crash and not wake anyone up.”

She sets the mug down too hard. It clinks against the wood laminate. She looks at you, expression flat. “It’s okay.”

That’s it. Just that. No inflection. Not even a glare. You nod awkwardly and start preparing your cereal.

—

The walk to campus is dead quiet. You both step in sync without thinking, but there’s no music between you. No shared earbuds. No small talk. Just footsteps and a silence that stretches so long it starts to feel like another person walking beside you, tall and heavy and suffocating.

At the entrance gate, you break off first. “See you later, yeah?” you say.

Sohyun just nods. You turn. And she watches you go.

But today’s different.

Today she’s not going to sit back. Today she’s done playing passive-aggressive roommate, done standing still while something she doesn’t want to name slips out of reach. Today she’s going to find out. For real. Whatever it is—whatever this thing is between you and Xinyu—she needs to see it. Even if it breaks her.

She heads toward your building at a brisk pace, hoodie pulled low, headphones in with nothing playing. Just for the look. Just to blend in. She waits across the quad from your classroom entrance, leaning against a column like she’s texting, like she belongs there, like her heart isn’t pounding in her ears so loud she feels it in her teeth.

You come out a minute later, backpack slung lazy on one shoulder, head ducked, scrolling your phone. She steps into motion before you can see her. You don’t look back. You don’t notice. She follows you across the paved paths, past vending machines and sleepy undergrads, keeping enough distance to look like she’s just going the same way. No one glances at her twice.

And then she sees her. Xinyu.

Bright red jacket. Short skirt and cropped top, quite inappropriate for the academic environment. Hair curled just-so, like she stepped out of an ad. Leaning against a bench with one ankle crossed over the other like she’s waiting for her date. You slow. She smiles. Arms open.

“There you are!” she chirps, pulling you in.

It’s not just a hug. Sohyun knows what hugs are. This one’s got linger. This one’s got fingertips sliding up your back like they’re trying to memorize every bone. You look caught off guard, but you don’t move away.

Sohyun slinks closer, behind the sculpture garden wall. She crouches low, right by the rhododendron hedge that stinks faintly of wet bark and cheap fertilizer. Her hands are cold.

"We need to go to the club immediately,” she says.

“I thought the club was closed today,” you reply.

Xinyu laughs, and it’s musical and full of knowing. “Exactly. It’s closed. No one’s gonna be there.”

You hesitate. “But like… isn’t that why we shouldn’t go?”

“Aw,” she coos, dragging her nail down your sleeve, “you’re so cute when you’re trying to be good. Come on, just a little visit. I forgot my notebook and I need to do some sketches. Besides—” she lowers her voice, “I like the place better when it’s empty. More room to spread out. More room to play.”

Sohyun’s stomach flips.

You laugh nervously. “I guess… I mean, if you really need help—”

“I always need help,” she says, and leans close again. “And you’re so good with your hands.”

It’s like someone punched the breath out of Sohyun’s lungs. She watches you scratch your neck, look away, not quite answering. But you’re not pulling away either. You’re not protesting. You’re blushing. She’s got her hooks in and she knows it. Sohyun can see it all from here, every smug flick of Xinyu’s lashes, every calculated little lean and brush.

She swallows hard. Her fingers are clenched so tight her knuckles hurt.

No. She’s not letting this slide.

She bolts before she can hear anything else. Takes the side path, sneakers hitting concrete in bursts, weaving through the back courtyards toward the old art building. The clubroom’s there, tucked in behind the supply annex. Her legs burn by the time she reaches it.

The door’s unlocked. Wide open. And inside, a janitor’s sweeping like this is just another fucking Tuesday.

“Excuse me!” she says, breathless, jogging in. The janitor looks up.

“There’s—someone from the admin office looking for you,” she lies, no hesitation. “Something about a sink backup on the second floor? They said it was urgent.”

He sighs. “Again?” and drops the broom.

As he walks out, Sohyun holds the door open like a good little helper, then slips in behind him and closes it tight.

The silence is huge.

The air’s cooler inside. Fluorescent lights flicker overhead. The clubroom’s a controlled mess—tables littered with fabric scraps, zine proofs, glue sticks half-melted from overuse. It smells like paper and lavender and too many secrets.

She moves fast, eyes scanning for hiding spots. Under the table? No, too exposed. Behind the supply shelves? Not unless she wants to get spotted immediately. Then—there. In the back corner, half-concealed behind stacked poster rolls and bins of foam letters: a janitor’s closet. She darts over and yanks it open.

Coats. Wire hangers. A mop bucket. Miscellaneous crap. She slides in anyway, curling herself into the shadow between a metal cabinet and a box labeled “event props.” Her heart’s still racing.

She pulls the door mostly shut, leaving just a sliver to breathe through.

And now… she waits.

Every creak of the floor outside makes her flinch. Her phone vibrates. One buzz. It’s a message from you.

Hey, forgot to ask—do we have soy sauce left at home or should I pick some up?

She stares at the screen, thumb hovering. Doesn’t answer. Just locks it again and grips the edge of a crate until her nails dig in.

You’re coming. With her. With Xinyu. To this room. This space.

She doesn’t know what’s about to happen. She just knows she has to see it.

She has to know

A few minutes later, she hears footsteps, accompanied by an irritating giggle that she can already imagine who it belongs to.

You enter the club with Xinyu. The door clicks behind you with a soft, unmistakable snap. The kind that doesn’t come from a casual tug—no, it’s deliberate. You hear the rustle of keys before you even process the sound of the lock sliding into place, and that does something to the air. Traps it. Slows it down. Makes it feel heavier somehow.

Xinyu twirls the lanyard on her finger once, lets it slap lightly against her thigh, then drops the keys into her bag without ceremony. “There,” she says, all sugar and satisfaction. “Now we won’t be interrupted.”

You laugh nervously, glancing at the darkened windows. The blinds are half-drawn, a few strips of light slicing across the tables. “You really didn’t have to lock it.”

“Didn’t I?” she says, tilting her head like she’s daring you to disagree. “What if someone wandered in? What if they got the wrong idea?”

You blink. “I mean—if someone walked in, they’d… kinda get the right idea.”

She giggles, high and soft, stepping in close enough that your backpack bumps the wall behind you. Her perfume’s even stronger in here. Berries and danger. She plants both hands on your chest and leans in, the weight of her grin dragging everything out of orbit.

“You really are cute when you’re flustered.”

You swallow.

“We’ve gotta be quick, though,” she says, letting her palms slide down your hoodie, slow and teasing. She pulls back a bit and throws her bag on the floor, then slowly takes off her jacket. “I told my friend I was going to grab a notebook. Don’t want her wondering why I’m gone long enough to start a new semester.”

She kisses you before you can answer. Fast. Hot. Hungry. Like her mouth’s been waiting all morning and now she’s starved for it. Her lips crash against yours in that wild way only Xinyu seems capable of—reckless and commanding, tongue slipping in like she owns the space. Your brain stutters. Her hands drag lower. One slips under your hoodie, nails brushing skin. The other works on the strap of your backpack, removing one at a time until it falls to the floor with a loud thud in the confined space.

And in the closet, twenty feet away, behind a stack of mismatched poster tubes and event bins, Sohyun goes still.

She doesn’t even remember breathing.

But she hears it all.

That kiss isn’t innocent. That kiss is confirmation. That kiss is a final answer to a question she wasn’t ready to ask—and it lands like a brick in the hollow center of her stomach.

Xinyu breaks from you with a little satisfied sound, her lips glossy, eyes bright. “So…” she purrs, brushing your jaw with the back of her hand, “what’d you think of last night?”

You smile, stupid and a little dazed. “It was… amazing.”

Sohyun’s hands clench.

She doesn’t need details. Her brain fills in the blanks. Too many of them. Her imagination paints things she never wanted to see—your hoodie balled on the floor, Xinyu astride you, laughing into your neck, your voice shaking in ways she’s never heard. The thought turns her breath into knives.

Xinyu hums in satisfaction, then drops her gaze—and her fingers.

They land on the waistband of your jeans.

You tense, glancing at the locked door. “Wait—here?”

“It’ll be fast,” she whispers, eyes already glinting. “You’re already hard.”

She says it like she’s proud of herself. Like you being turned on is a trophy she’s just picked up off the shelf. Her fingers fumble with your button, then unzip skillfully. She sinks down onto her knees, casual as anything.

Sohyun’s heart is in her throat.

She watches from that narrow slit between the door and the wall. She sees your pants drop to your ankles. Sees Xinyu’s hands slide up your thighs. Sees the gleam of her smile when she notices the outline straining through your underwear.

You shift, uncomfortable. “Hey, uh… maybe we shouldn’t keep staying out so late. I got home really late last night. I think Sohyun’s starting to get suspicious.”

Xinyu’s head tilts as she hooks her fingers in your waistband. “So?”

You blink. “I just—don’t want her to worry, that’s all.”

She laughs. Laughs. Like you told her a joke. “She’s not your mother.”

“No, but—she’s my best friend. I don’t want her to think I’m—lying or something.”

That makes Xinyu pause. Just for a second. Then her smile sharpens.

“She doesn’t get a say in this,” she says, and her hands tug your underwear down in one quick, fluid motion.

Sohyun sees everything. And it burns.

Your cock springs free, flushed, twitching with the tension of the moment. You make a small sound in your throat, embarrassed and eager all at once. Xinyu just beams.

“Aww, you really missed me, huh?” she coos.

You try to answer but you can’t form words. Not when her fingers wrap around the base, smooth and practiced, stroking once, twice. Your knees buckle a little.

“She’s not gonna come between us,” she adds softly, voice low now, as she leans in, breath hot against the head. “I don’t care who she is.”

“Don’t say that,” you murmur, but it’s weak. Shaky. “Sohyun��s not just… some random girl.”

Xinyu’s eyes flick up. “Sure,” she says, tone mocking. “She’s your 'best friend'. Whatever.” Then she opens her mouth and takes you in.

You gasp. Sohyun nearly doubles over.

The sound is unmistakable. Wet. Slow. She sees the way Xinyu hollows her cheeks, her jaw working, the obscene slide of her lips over you like she’s savoring every inch. Her hand moves in tandem, twisting just right, guiding every pull and suck. She doesn’t blink. Just stares up at you while she sucks you like she’s devouring you, like she knows she owns you now and she’s showing it.

Your fingers tangle in her hair. Your head tips back.

“S-Shit—” you whisper, trembling. “That’s… fuck…”

Xinyu moans around you, like praise is her favorite meal.

And Sohyun sits in the dark, biting her hand to keep from screaming.

Her lips glide down the length of you slow, savoring, wet heat enveloping inch by inch like she wants to claim it. She doesn’t gag—she adjusts, angle tilting, jaw relaxing, one hand bracing at your thigh while the other strokes the base with a rhythm that makes your knees wobble. Every pass of her tongue along the underside feels like it’s wired directly into your spine, like she’s flipping switches you didn’t know you had.

And she loves it. Every reaction. Every twitch of your hips, the shallow breath you try to hold back, the soft curse you can’t keep from slipping out.

Above her, you brace against the table edge with one hand, the other still threaded in her hair, not pulling, just trying to anchor yourself because she’s looking up at you through lashes dark with mischief, mouth full of your cock like it’s where she was meant to be. Like she planned this moment every time she leaned too close in club meetings or brushed your arm on the walk back from the coffee shop.

From the closet, through that sliver of space, Sohyun sees everything.

The bob of Xinyu’s head, the shine on her chin, the way your hips twitch forward helplessly when she lets her tongue swirl the tip and then slides back down again, steady, smooth, obscene. Sohyun’s fingers are curled into her jeans now, nails biting deep through the denim. Her legs are cramped, but she doesn’t move. She can’t. Every instinct screams to throw the door open and drag you out, but her body’s paralyzed with it—betrayal folded in silence.

You make a sound, soft and hoarse—something between a gasp and a whimper. Xinyu hums, and the vibration along your shaft sends a full-body shiver through you. She pulls off just enough to stroke you with her fist, wrist flicking expertly, thumb swiping the bead of precum from your slit before leaning in again—only this time, lower.

You flinch, surprised, as her lips brush your balls.

Her tongue darts out. A single slow lick, teasing. Then another. Then she shifts lower and takes one in her mouth.

Your breath catches.

“Fuck—Xinyu—”

She giggles, muffled, then pulls off, tongue trailing over your skin like she’s tasting you for notes of sweetness. “Mm,” she says, tilting her face just enough for you to see the smug curve of her smile. “Bet she doesn’t do that.”

There’s a pause.

You hesitate. It’s barely a breath.

“…She doesn’t,” you admit, low, shame threaded through the moan that slips out next as her mouth seals over you again.

Sohyun flinches like she’s been hit.

It’s the confirmation she never wanted—real, raw, echoing in your voice, in your hips tilting forward like you need this, like this is something you never got at home.

Xinyu switches sides, tongue painting lazy circles as her fingers resume their slow pump. “I knew it,” she purrs. “She acts all tough, but she wouldn’t dare get on her knees for you, would she?”

You shake your head, lips parted. Your reply is barely audible, wrecked: “No…”

“Mm,” she hums again, hot breath teasing your spit-slick skin. “Guess that’s my job now, huh?”

You can’t even speak.

She shifts again—one hand stroking, the other cradling under you as her mouth wraps around both balls, tongue massaging them gently, rolling with practiced pressure that makes your thighs tense. You groan, deep in your chest, and she moans with you, reveling in the sound, the twitch she feels under her tongue, the way your body gives itself up to her touch.

Your head falls back.

She’s not just sucking you off. She’s showing off.

For you. For herself. And unknowingly—for the girl hidden in a closet, heart shattering beat by beat.

Sohyun watches your hips rock forward slightly, the way you bite your lip to muffle the next sound. The way your hand trembles on the table. You’re trying so hard not to fall apart, and failing beautifully.

Your hand slides against the tabletop, blindly reaching for something—balance, maybe—but there’s nothing steady in you right now. Not with the way Xinyu's mouth keeps working you like she's drawing a map with her tongue, etching you into memory with every slow, deliberate swirl. She’s focused, almost clinical, except her eyes betray her—hungry, gleaming, dark with satisfaction every time your hips jerk, every time a new sound punches out of your throat and hangs too loud in the still air.

“Fuck—Xinyu,” you breathe, the syllables sticky with pleasure, broken by a stuttering inhale. “That feels so good.”

Her lips pop off your tip with a wet little sound, tongue dragging around it in slow circles, teasing. She smiles as she laps again, feather-light at first, then firmer, lashing under the head like she’s tasting something sweet she refuses to finish too soon.

“Mmm,” she murmurs, kissing it. “I love this cock. So thick… god, you don’t even know what you do to me.”

You twitch under her touch, body caught between surrender and overload. Your thighs are tight, your hands shaky, and she’s not slowing down. She wraps her lips around the tip again, deeper this time, sucking just enough to make your breath catch and your knees knock. One hand strokes the base with a slow rhythm while the other rests flat on your stomach, possessive, like she’s holding you in place. Your moans are barely controlled now, soft, breathy things slipping past your lips no matter how hard you try to stay quiet.

In the closet, Sohyun has both hands clamped over her mouth now, but it’s not enough. Her body is shaking. Her teeth are pressed so deep into her palm she doesn’t notice the sting anymore—not until her tongue tastes iron and she realizes her lip is bleeding too. Her eyes are wide, unblinking, locked on the sight of you crumbling under Xinyu’s mouth, on your hands fisting the edge of the table, the way your face is flushed and twitching and so vulnerable.

Then Xinyu pulls back with a wet gasp and a string of spit connects her lips to you. She wipes it with the back of her hand, smirking.

“Shit,” she says, laughing breathlessly. “You’re soaked. I made a mess.”

She doesn’t apologize. She’s proud of it.

Then her expression shifts. Her hands find your hoodie, tugging. “C’mon. Lie down for me.”

You blink, dazed. “What?”

She tugs harder. “Down. Now.”

And you obey. You let her guide you down onto the storage cushions scattered across the clubroom floor—the ones usually used for sitting during brainstorm sessions and awkward icebreakers. Today, they’re something else. They’re the mattress beneath your back, the soft collapse beneath your spine as Xinyu hovers over you like a second atmosphere. You barely get your balance before she swings a leg over you and straddles your hips, skirt hiked up already, panties visible in that indecent half-off way that says she planned this down to the hour.

She reaches between her thighs, fingers hooking the waistband to the side. No hesitation. No modesty.

“I wasn’t even gonna wear this skirt today,” she says, her grin downright feral. “But then I woke up and thought… damn, I really want to ride him. And this one makes it easy.”

Your mouth is dry. You can’t speak. Can barely breathe. The visual is too much—the way she sits on your waist, head tilted, hair framing her flushed cheeks. She grips you in one hand again, lining you up against the heat of her, rubbing once—twice—and your whole body jumps like you’ve been shocked.

In the closet, Sohyun is crumbling. Quietly. Violently.

She presses her head back against the wall, jaw clenched hard enough to ache. Her eyes are glassy now, not blinking. She watches Xinyu lean forward, planting a hand on your chest as her hips shift just slightly, aligning.

And for Sohyun, the moment cracks. She can’t breathe. Her stomach’s twisted into something unrecognizable. Her hand tastes like blood and skin and the sharp edge of a truth she can’t swallow.

She wants to leave. She wants to scream. She wants to rip the door open and yell your name and tear the whole thing down before it happens. But her body won’t move. Her knees are pins and needles, her vision blurry, her throat full of something that feels like grief and fury mashed into pulp.

And you—flat on your back, arms limp at your sides, chest heaving—you’re watching Xinyu like she’s the only thing that exists right now.

The room smells like heat now. Like sweat and arousal and perfume and that undercurrent of something you don’t recognize but Sohyun does. The smell of losing. Of being replaced.

And Xinyu’s voice cuts through the haze one more time, with that damn victorious purr in every syllable.

“You ready for me, baby?”

The moment she sinks down on you is like being swallowed by heat. Her walls clamp tight, velvet-slick and impossibly wet, and she exhales sharp through her teeth like she’s savoring every inch of stretch. Her thighs flex around your hips, body settling flush against yours, cunt wrapped like a vice around your cock. Warm, pulsing, obscene. You feel it in your knees, in the back of your throat, in the way your eyes blur a little just trying to hold on to the sensation. And she leans in, hands pressed to your chest, nails dragging lightly over your hoodie as she grins down at you—smug, flushed, dangerous.

“Feel that?” she whispers, grinding slow just to make sure you do. “That’s how wet I am for you.”

You nod like you’re in a trance, breath hitched, brain short-circuiting. She rocks her hips once, slow and deep, and your head tips back involuntarily, shoulders hitting the cold vinyl of the clubroom floor. The contrast is dizzying—your back chilled, your cock engulfed in heat. She rolls her hips again, faster this time, and you gasp, hips twitching up into her as she smiles that smile like she’s already won. Because she has. She knows exactly what she’s doing to you, the way her pussy clenches around you just when you think you’ve caught your breath.

“Fuck,” you mutter, hands flying up to brace her waist, fingers digging into her skin like it’ll keep you grounded.

“Mmm, yeah,” she purrs, rolling her hips again, faster now. “You love this. You love how tight I am. How I drip for you. You felt it last night, didn’t you?”

She leans closer, breasts pressing to your chest as she whispers hot against your ear. “That little black set I wore? The garter straps? The thigh-highs? All for you. I was soaked before you even touched me. So wet I could’ve made a mess of my sheets just grinding on your thigh. You remember how I moaned when you slid in? Remember how I told you you were deeper than anyone ever managed to get?”

You remember. God, you remember everything. The way her back arched as she bounced on your cock, the way her fingers tangled in her sheets, how she grabbed your wrists and held your hands against her hips like she didn’t want to let you pull out even if you tried. And it was hot—filthy, desperate, everything you’d never imagined yourself doing until she peeled you open and found all your soft spots.

But then you thought about Sohyun.

You didn’t mean to. It just… happened. Mid-thrust, mid-kiss, some flicker of guilt or curiosity or whatever sick alchemy lives in your gut. You’d pictured her. Not in a voyeur kind of way. Just… wondered. Wondered what her expression would be if she walked in. What her mouth would say. What her eyes would do. And worse, you’d wondered what it would be like if it were her riding you instead—her body flushed and stretched around your cock, her breathy little sighs instead of Xinyu’s practiced moans, her thighs trembling from the effort of keeping rhythm. That made your heart trip into your throat.

And now—now you’re thinking it again. You’re balls-deep in Xinyu, she’s rolling her hips like she’s trying to milk every drop out of you, and your fucking mind is betraying you. You’re picturing Sohyun in her ratty sleep shirt, hair undone, lip bitten, thighs spread across your hips like she’s scared of how much she needs it. You imagine her looking down at you, eyes wide and terrified and wanting, her cunt sucking you in like she doesn’t know how to stop. You imagine her voice cracking as she begs you not to stop, not to leave her like this, not when she finally has you.

The heat in your stomach coils tighter, shame blooming just beneath it.

And Xinyu notices.

“Where’d you go, baby?” she asks, cupping your face in both hands, her pace never faltering, slick heat grinding down on you with maddening precision. “You were staring right through me for a second. Thinking about something?”

You swallow thick. Shake your head. “No, I just—fuck. You feel amazing.”

She beams like it’s the truth. Maybe it is. Maybe it’s just buried under everything you’re not saying.

“Yeah?” she breathes, sitting upright again, her hands sliding down to pull at her top. She yanks it up and over her head in one swift motion, discarding it behind her like it doesn’t matter. Beneath it—no bra, just smooth skin, delicate collarbones and two perfect, pert breasts. Small enough to fit your palms. Nipples a flushed pink that draws your eyes like magnets.

“Wanna touch?” she asks, knowing damn well you do.

You nod, helpless, and she grabs your wrists, places your hands on her chest with a soft, teasing drag. The moment your thumbs brush her nipples she exhales, hips stuttering on your cock.

“Fuck, yes,” she moans, arching into your hands. “Squeeze them. Harder.”

You do. Palms cupping the weight of her, fingers kneading just the way she likes—gently at first, then rougher when she rolls her hips harder, when she grinds your cock deep inside her like she’s chasing something. Her thighs flex with every bounce, every motion building pressure in your spine. Her nipples pebble under your touch. She grabs your wrists again, pushes them tighter to her chest, pinning you in place as she rides harder now, breath catching with every impact.

“You’re so deep,” she pants, eyes fluttering closed. “I can feel you everywhere. Stretching me so fucking good, baby. God, I wish you could feel what I’m feeling. I’m soaked. I’m flooding your cock. You like that? You like how fucking needy I get for you?”

You groan, jaw tight, hips twitching up to meet her rhythm. You’ve stopped thinking. You’ve stopped pretending you can think. She’s taking everything from you with every roll of her hips, every clench of her cunt, every filthy word that drips off her tongue like sugar laced with venom.

And yet. The back of your mind still tugs. Still whispers.

What would Sohyun think, if she saw this? If she saw your face like this, your body bucking like you’re begging to be used? If she knew how Xinyu talks to you, fucks you, owns you?

What would she do if she saw you like this—flushed, trembling, helpless under another woman’s cunt?

Would she be jealous?

Would she be angry?

Would she want to be in Xinyu's place?

You can’t answer. You don’t get the chance.

Xinyu's pace shifts, frantic now, like something inside her snapped and all that sweet control she loved dangling over you is burning up fast. Her thighs tighten around your waist, nails digging into your shoulders, her whole body chasing friction like a starved thing. Every grind, every desperate rock of her hips sends jolts through your cock, your thighs, up your spine until you can’t even tell where your body ends and hers begins. Wet heat floods down your shaft, slick sounds filling the little space between you like they’re mocking the frantic, filthy rhythm you’ve fallen into.

She leans in, mouth crushing to yours, open, gasping, biting at your bottom lip like she can’t get close enough. Her breath is ragged, her kiss messy, spit-slick and desperate as her cunt clenches around you with every grind. She breaks the kiss for a second, forehead pressed to yours, breath hitching in short, punched gasps.

“Fuck—fuck, baby—” she pants, rolling her hips harder, faster, dragging you deeper every time she slams down. “You’re gonna make me cum. You feel that? You feel how fucking close I am?”

You nod, choking on your own breath. She’s trembling already, muscles shivering under your hands, pussy squeezing your cock so tight it makes your toes curl.

“Please—don’t stop—” she gasps against your mouth, and you hear the cracks in her usually-smooth voice, raw and honest in a way you barely ever hear.

You grab her hips, holding her still for a second, and start thrusting up into her, not gentle now—grinding her down onto you, meeting every desperate rut of her hips with a brutal snap of your own.

“Oh my God, oh my God, fuck—” she sobs, hands scrabbling for purchase at your shoulders, nails raking down your back through the thin fabric of your shirt. “Right there—right fucking there—!”

You don’t stop. You can’t. Your hips slam up into her again and again, cock punching deep inside her soaked cunt, the friction so blindingly good it’s all you can feel, all you can think about. Her walls flutter around you, squeezing tight, milking you, dragging you right to the edge with her.

Then her whole body locks up—legs clamping tight, back arching, head thrown back as she cums hard around you, mouth open in a silent scream. You feel her pussy clamp and pulse and flood hot around your cock, feel her thighs quivering against your sides as you keep pounding up into her, wringing every last spasm out of her until she collapses against you, boneless, panting.

She kisses you then, messy and open-mouthed, tongue sliding into your mouth like she’s trying to pull the breath out of you, hands fisting in your hair. The kiss is wild, uncontrolled, full of leftover shudders as her body rides the aftershocks. She sucks on your tongue, then bites your bottom lip, hard enough to sting, pulling back with a look that’s pure wrecked satisfaction.

“Fuck—you’re not done yet,” she says, grinning breathless against your mouth.

Before you can even catch your breath, she gets off you, stands up and grabs your wrists, pulls you up with surprising strength, practically dragging you toward the desk nearby, knocking over a half-empty box of markers in her haste. They scatter across the floor, forgotten.

She hops up onto the edge of the desk, legs falling open wide, skirt bunched up around her hips, panties obscenely pulled aside. Her cunt is glistening, flushed, still twitching around nothing, and she leans back on her hands, spreading herself shamelessly for you, watching you with dark, lazy hunger.

“C’mere, baby,” she purrs, crooking a finger.

You step between her legs, hands automatically gripping the backs of her thighs, and she grabs your cock, still slick with her cum, throbbing painfully hard, and lines you up, dragging the flushed head along her soaked folds before nudging you right back in.

You don’t ease in. You shove.

Hard.

Her mouth drops open in a guttural, broken sound as you bottom out in one brutal thrust, your hips slamming flush against her ass, your cock stretching her already-sensitive pussy wide again. Her whole body jolts with it, legs wrapping around your waist tight, holding you there, buried deep.

“Fuck yes—” she gasps, nails digging into the edge of the desk for leverage. “God, you feel so fucking good—”

You grab her hips, fingers digging bruises into soft skin, and start pounding into her, desk creaking loudly under the assault. Every thrust drives a choked little noise from her throat, her small tits bouncing with the force of it, her hair falling wild around her flushed, wrecked face.

“You’re so good, baby,” she babbles between gasps, clinging to the desk as you fuck her raw. “You’re—god, you’re perfect—you’re gonna make me cum again if you keep—ahh—keep fucking me like that!”

You bare your teeth, thrusting harder, faster, hips snapping against her ass with every vicious stroke. The wet sound of you hammering into her fills the room, loud and filthy, the slap of your skin against hers echoing off the walls. Her head tips back, exposing the long line of her throat, and you can’t resist leaning down, biting at her neck, tasting the salt of her sweat on your tongue.

She’s trembling again already, thighs quaking against your hips, every muscle in her body winding tighter, tighter, tighter. Her hands scramble for you, clutching your hoodie, your shoulders, anything she can reach, mouth working helplessly like she wants to say something but can’t get the words out past the way you’re fucking her.

“Don’t stop—fuck—don’t stop, don’t stop—!” she wails, legs locking around you again, trapping you deep as you hammer into her without mercy.

Sohyun, hidden behind that narrow closet crack, can barely breathe. She closes her eyes, squeezes them shut so tight it hurts, but the sounds slip in anyway, wrapping around her like smoke, curling in her lungs until she’s drowning in it.

She hears you fucking Xinyu hard enough to shake the table. She hears the desperate slap of skin, the thick wet noises between her thighs, the broken little sobs and gasps you can’t hold back anymore. Every low moan you spill is another nail in her heart. Every grunt, every hitched breath, every whisper of "Fuck, you’re so tight," slices deeper, and she grips the shelf beside her to keep from making a sound, knuckles bone-white.

And you... you’re so far gone you don’t even notice the world outside the space between your bodies. Xinyu’s pussy is swallowing you, so wet you can hear it every time you thrust back in, obscene and filthy and perfect. She clings to you, arms around your shoulders, nails dragging trails of fire down your back as you rut into her harder, faster, chasing the edge you can feel roaring up your spine.

"Fuck—fuck, I’m close," you pant against her throat, voice wrecked, hips stuttering from the effort of holding back.

Xinyu shudders all around you, grinding her hips, milking you with every twist and clench of her desperate cunt. She grabs your face, kissing you hard, sloppy, messy with need, lips sliding against yours as she gasps:

"Cum for me, baby. Please. I want it—I want you to cum for me."

You groan deep in your chest, every muscle tightening, your hands flying down to her waist, grinding her harder onto your cock, feeling that tight, soaked pussy fluttering in urgent little spasms.

"I want it in my mouth," she whimpers into your ear. "Please. Let me taste you."

That snaps what little control you had. You pull out quick, almost shaking with the effort not to cum right then, and your cock slaps wetly against her folds, gliding in her slickness. You drag the thick, swollen head up her entrance, tease her clit with it, grinding, slapping your tip against her until she shivers and gasps, legs falling wide open, fingers clutching at the edge of the desk like she’s about to fly apart.

Your hand wraps tight around your slick cock, jerking it fast and desperate, smearing her juices all over yourself as you stroke. Xinyu drops immediately to her knees, eager, mouth open, eyes wide and hazy with lust. She grabs the base of your cock with one hand, stroking in rhythm with yours, her other hand cupping your balls, massaging them gently.

She looks up at you with that wicked grin just as she leans forward, wraps her lips around the head, and sucks. Hard. Heat and suction explode through you, and your hips jerk forward helplessly. She moans low in her throat, dragging her tongue along the underside of your cock as she bobs her head, saliva glistening at the corners of her mouth, dribbling down your shaft.

She works you like she’s starving for it, alternating between sucking you deep into her mouth and stroking with her fist, twisting just right. The sight of her—kneeling in front of you, cheeks hollowing, spit and slick glistening all over her chin—drives you wild.

Your balls tighten, your thighs tremble, and you grab her hair, trying to warn her, but she just groans in approval, mouth sliding lower, tongue lashing the sensitive underside of your cock.

"X-Xinyu, I’m—fuck, I’m gonna—"

She pulls back just enough to look up at you, lips wrapped tight around the tip, hand still jerking your slick cock, and she nods. Wants it. Wants it bad.

You grip her hair tight as your body locks up and you cum hard, first shot hitting the back of her throat. She doesn’t even flinch. Just hums around you, swallowing every thick, hot spurt, milking you with her mouth and hand as you pulse and shudder against her. Jet after jet, the orgasm tearing through you so violently your knees nearly buckle.

She keeps going until you’re spent, gently sucking the last drops from your twitching cock, then pulls back slowly with a wet pop. She kisses the tip, soft and almost reverent, tongue flicking lazily across it like she’s tasting her victory.

You lean back against the desk, heart hammering, chest heaving, body flushed and trembling.

She stands, fixing her panties between trembling thighs, smoothing down her skirt, picking up the top on the floor. Her cheeks are pink, her lips swollen, her hair wild—and she’s never looked more satisfied.

You fumble to tuck yourself back into your pants, fingers clumsy. Your mind’s fogged with the aftermath. Xinyu steps closer, hands sliding up your chest, resting lightly at your shoulders. Her eyes soften, her mouth tilts into something small and unsure. She looks nervous. That’s rare. She’s always so sure. So in control.

"Hey," she says. “I meant what I said last night, y’know.”

You blink, still trying to catch up. “What?”

She presses her forehead lightly to yours, her hands sliding down to hold your waist, grounding you.

"I’ve never met anyone like you," she says, slow, like she’s scared if she rushes it’ll shatter. “You’re not like the guys I’m used to. All the ones before—they were assholes. Hot, but... just bad news. Guys who wanted me but didn’t actually care about me.”

She leans back, searching your face, biting her lip.

"But you—you’re different. You’re real. You’re sweet. You listen. You treat me like I actually matter."

You swallow hard, heart tripping over itself. You weren’t ready for this. You didn’t expect this.

She smiles, small and nervous, and asks it before you can even think of something to say.

"I want you to be my boyfriend. For real. Like… properly mine. Will you?"

You stare at her—this beautiful, messy, fiery girl who just swallowed your cum like it was candy, who rode you like you were hers before the words ever left her mouth. And something inside you wrenches.

Because you should say yes.

You should want to say yes.

But all you can feel is that gnawing hesitation. That pull. That confusion. That whisper of another name, another face, someone standing just outside this moment, invisible and heavy in the space between your breaths.

Sohyun.

You think about her without meaning to. Think about the way she looks at you when she thinks you’re not paying attention. The way her hand lingers too long when she passes you something. The way she squeezed your hand that night when you invited her to the movies.

You don’t know what you feel. You don’t know what’s real yet. You’re drowning in it.

And it shows.

Xinyu’s face flickers—just for a second. That bright, hopeful light dimming when you hesitate too long.

"I..." You rub the back of your neck, avoiding her eyes. "I just... I need some time to think. Please."

The silence after that is awkward.

She steps back, schooling her face into something neutral, but you can see the crack underneath. The disappointment. The sting. She nods once, slow.

"Okay," she says, and her voice is tight. "Okay. Take your time."

You want to apologize. You want to say something to make it better. But nothing fits. Nothing fixes this.

She grabs her bag from the floor, brushes her hair back, pulls her walls up fast and neat like she’s practiced it a thousand times before.

"See you around," she says, almost breezy, almost real.

And then she’s gone, slipping out the door and leaving you standing there in the wreckage of what you almost had.

You stare at the empty space where she stood, heart pounding, stomach twisting.

You don’t see the faint sliver of movement behind the closet door.

You don’t see the way Sohyun presses her hand over her mouth, trying to keep the sound inside.

Because she heard it all.

And for the first time in weeks, she has hope.

A brutal, aching hope.

Because you didn’t say yes.

You didn’t choose someone else.

Not yet.

And maybe… there’s still a chance you’ll choose her.

—

You drag yourself up the stairs like your body’s filled with sand, the keys slipping in your sweaty palm as you jam them into the lock and stumble inside. The apartment lights are off except for the thin line of glow leaking out from under Sohyun’s bedroom door. You shut the door behind you with a quiet click, kicking your shoes off, backpack sliding down your shoulder and thudding against the floor. Your whole body aches. Not just from exhaustion but from the weight of everything swimming in your head; Xinyu’s kiss still burning on your mouth, her words still echoing under your skin, the guilt, the confusion, the stupid tangled mess you couldn’t figure out if you tried. You sigh, pressing your back to the door for a second, head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut like maybe if you stood still enough, long enough, the world would stop spinning.

You don't notice the shape in the corner until it moves, a small shift of shadow peeling itself away from the wall. Your eyes fly open, heart lurching into your throat. Sohyun’s there—leaning against the wall, arms crossed tight over her chest. Her face half-hidden by her hair, her body tensed up in a way that sets your nerves on edge instantly.

“Jesus—” you blurt, breath hitching from the scare. You try to laugh it off, give her a sheepish little grin even though your pulse is hammering. “You scared the hell outta me. I thought you were asleep.”

She doesn’t smile. Doesn’t even blink. Her eyes stay locked on yours, too still, too serious. It sends a ripple of unease down your spine.

“We need to talk,” she says, and her tone is wrong, lower, tighter, with a tremble hidden deep under the words that makes your stomach twist.

You straighten a little, stepping forward slowly like she’s a spooked animal you don’t want to startle. “What... what happened?” you ask.

She holds your gaze for a long moment. So long it starts to physically hurt, like she’s looking right through your skin, peeling you open piece by piece. You can see it in her eyes—fear, yes, but something else too. Something desperate, clawing at the edges of her.

“I know,” she finally says. “About you and Xinyu.”

You blink, mouth opening then closing uselessly, your brain scrambling to process it.

“How—” you start, but she cuts you off, shaking her head once, sharp and final.

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. “It doesn’t matter how I know.”

You’re thrown completely off balance now, stumbling for footing you don’t have. You shift awkwardly, running a hand through your hair, trying to piece together something—anything—to say.

“I was going to tell you,” you mumble finally, and it’s the lamest excuse you’ve ever heard even as it leaves your mouth. “I just... didn’t know how to bring it up.”

Her laugh is short and humorless, a little broken thing that cuts through you sharper than any shout could have. “You didn’t tell me,” she says, voice rising just a little, enough to make your throat close up. “You didn’t. You could have. So why didn’t you?”

You hesitate, weight shifting from foot to foot, wishing desperately for some door, some window, some hole to crawl into and disappear. But there’s no escape. There’s only her, standing there, waiting for your answer like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.

“I was scared,” you admit finally, the words thick in your throat. “I didn’t know what you’d think. I knew you’d disapprove. I knew you wouldn’t... approve of me and her.”

Her arms tighten around herself, nails digging into the sleeves of her sweatshirt. Her lips press together, trembling, and she looks down at the floor for a second.

“Why do you care so much what I think?” she asks, and her voice is small and raw, like she’s asking herself more than you.

You swallow hard. “I... I don’t know.”

But you do know. Somewhere deep down, you’ve always known. You’ve just never had the guts to admit it.

She lets the silence drag, heavy and awful between you. Then she looks up, and there’s something shattering in her eyes—it makes you want to cry.

“You’re right,” she says quietly. “I would have disapproved.”

You open your mouth to speak, to apologize again, but she cuts you off with a sharp shake of her head, eyes wet now, shining in the dim light.

“Do you want to know why?” she asks.

You nod, too scared to say anything.

“Because I love you,” she says, and it bursts out of her like a dam breaking, like she’s been holding it back for years and can’t anymore. “I love you, you idiot! I’ve loved you for so fucking long it hurts!”

You just stand there, stunned into uselessness, your heart hammering in your chest, your breath stuck somewhere between a gasp and a cry.

She wipes at her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, blinking furiously against the tears spilling down her cheeks. “I didn’t even realize at first,” she says, “I thought it was just... caring. Being protective. Wanting you to be okay. But it’s not. It’s not just that. I love you. I’m in love with you. And seeing you with her—hearing you moan for her, seeing you smile because of her—”

She breaks off, a choked sob punching out of her chest, and it shatters you.

“It tore me apart,” she whispers. “Because you’re the most special person that’s ever crossed my path. And I was too much of a coward to say anything. I just kept pretending it was fine. That it didn’t matter. That you didn’t matter that way.”

You move to step toward her, instinct taking over, but she flinches back half a step, and it feels like a knife between your ribs.

“I’m sorry,” you say, voice cracking. “I didn’t know, I didn’t—”

“No,” she cuts you off, shaking her head violently, tears flying. “Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault. It’s mine. It’s my fault for bottling it up, for being too scared to tell you, for letting you drift away while I just... watched. I did this to myself.”

You’re breathing too hard, chest aching, head spinning with too many emotions crashing into each other at once—guilt, sorrow, confusion, this desperate, aching affection for the girl standing in front of you with her heart bleeding out at your feet.

“Maybe it’s too late,” she says, crying. “Maybe you’re already hers. Maybe you’ve already moved on.”

She wipes her face again, sniffles, pulls herself together enough to look at you—really look at you.

“But I needed you to know. I needed you to know that someone loved you. That someone loves you. That someone would’ve given anything to make you happy.”

Your feet move before your brain catches up, drawn across the small space separating you like there's a magnetic pull you can't fight anymore. Her face is still wet, tears tracking clean lines through the faint flush on her cheeks, her eyes red-rimmed but locked on you with this terrifying vulnerability you've never seen before. She doesn't flinch this time when you get close, doesn't pull away, just watches you, chest rising and falling too fast, like she’s waiting for the final blow.

You lift your hand, fingers trembling slightly, and gently, so gently, brush the tears from her cheek with your thumb. The skin there is hot, damp. Real. She closes her eyes for just a second at the contact, a shuddering breath escaping her lips.

"Sohyun," you start, and your own throat feels tight, rough, like you’ve swallowed glass. "I'm... I'm so sorry." The words feel stupidly small, inadequate for the chasm that's opened up. "I'm the coward. Not you. Me. All this time... I never said anything because... fuck, because I was terrified. Scared I'd wreck everything. Our friendship, this... us. Everything we have. It felt too important to risk, you know? Too fragile. And I kept telling myself you deserved someone... better. Someone less screwed up than me. Someone confident, someone who had their shit together, not..." You gesture vaguely at yourself, at the mess you feel like you are, the mess you've made. "Not me." You see her lips part, ready to argue, maybe ready to forgive, maybe ready to yell again, but the words are tumbling out of you now, unstoppable, a confession mirroring hers, ripping free after being locked down for so long. "Don't," you whisper, cutting her off before she can speak. "Just... let me say this."

You take a shaky breath, meeting her wide, tear-bright eyes again. "It was always you, Sohyun. Always. Even when I didn't understand it, even when I tried to ignore it. You're the one I love." The words feel huge, terrifying, but also lighter than air once spoken. "Everything. I love everything. That little smirk you get when you win an argument? Love it. The way you wear those baggy sweatshirts every day but still manage to look... incredible? Love that too. How you always know when I'm having a shit day without me saying anything? How you just show up, make me tea, sit there in silence with me until it passes? How safe you make me feel, even when you're pretending to be annoyed?" Your own eyes are getting blurry now. "I love watching you sleep," you admit and, fuck, it's like breaking a chain, a secret you’ve guarded jealously. "Because you look so calm. Peaceful. And I can just... look. At your moles." A faint blush creeps up her neck, her gaze dropping for a second before snapping back to yours, confused, waiting. "You have four on your face, you know? Like a tiny constellation. There's one here," you reach out again, finger hovering below her eyes, not quite touching, "and here, by your nose... one on your cheek... they're the most charming damn things in the world. Seriously."

Her breath hitches, a soft little gasp. She looks utterly lost now, derailed from her pain by the specific, intimate detail. "My... moles?" she echoes, bewildered. You nod, a watery smile finally touching your lips.

"Yeah. My favorite, though? The one right here." Your gaze drops to her mouth, to the tiny, perfect dark mole on the curve of her lower lip. It's always drawn your eye, a little punctuation mark on skin that looks impossibly cute. "That one..." you murmur. "God, that one's made me wonder... so many times... what it would feel like to kiss you. What you'd taste like..."

You trail off, lost for a second in the thought, in the proximity, in the sudden, intense awareness of her mouth just inches from yours. You were going to say more, try to explain the tangle of fear and longing and the stupid, paralyzing certainty that you weren't good enough, but you don't get the chance.

Because Sohyun surges forward like something inside her finally snaps. One second she's trembling, broken open, the next she's pure force, her mouth crashing onto yours with bruising intensity. It's not gentle. It's not tentative. It's a raw, desperate claiming. Her lips are surprisingly soft beneath the force, tasting faintly of salt from her tears and something uniquely her, something warm and real that short-circuits your brain. Her hands fist in the front of your hoodie, yanking you closer, stumbling you backward. Your heel catches on the edge of the cheap living room rug, the world tilting sideways in a sudden, disorienting lurch. You gasp against her mouth, a startled sound swallowed by her kiss, and then you're falling, tumbling backward onto the floor with a muffled thud that knocks the wind out of you.

She lands right on top of you, straddling your hips, the impact solid and grounding even as your head spins. She doesn't miss a beat. Her mouth is still fused to yours, kissing you harder now, deeper, possessive. It's messy and frantic, teeth clashing slightly, tongues tangling with an urgency that borders on violence. Kisses that aren’t asking, they’re taking. Stealing the breath from your lungs, stealing the thoughts from your head, demanding a response you're suddenly, desperately eager to give. Her weight pressing you down, the heat of her body seeping through your clothes, the undeniable proof of her need right there against your stomach—it’s overwhelming. And then, finally, finally, your own arms come up, wrapping around her back, pulling her impossibly closer, and you kiss her back with all the pent-up fear and longing and stupid, crippling love you've kept locked away for years.

You meet her force with your own, tilting your head, deepening the kiss, letting the raw honesty of it burn away everything else. There’s no room for Xinyu, no room for doubt, no room for anything but this—Sohyun, her mouth on yours, her body pinning you down, the undeniable, explosive reality of now. The world outside the apartment fades to nothing, the only sound the ragged gasps for breath between frantic, open-mouthed kisses, the rustle of clothes, the frantic thudding of two hearts beating wildly against each other in the dim, quiet room. This isn't just a kiss; it's a collision, a confession answered, a point of no return you hadn't realized you were racing towards until you crashed right into it, tangled up with her on the floor like this is exactly where you were always supposed to end up.

After seconds that seem like hours, Sohyun finally breaks the kiss, pulling back just enough for air, her chest heaving against yours, eyes blown wide and dark, still glazed with disbelief and something fiercely possessive. Her hands frame your face, thumbs stroking your cheekbones like she’s trying to memorize you. "I love you," she whispers, the words thick, raw, tumbling out again like they can't be contained. Her forehead presses against yours. "God, I love you." She kisses you again, shorter this time, desperate, sealing the words. Pulls back. "I love you." Another kiss, harder. "So much." Each declaration feels like another layer stripped away, leaving her completely bare, completely yours in this moment. The fierce intensity shifts, softening just a fraction as the reality sinks in—you're here, you're kissing her back, you feel it too.

Your heart feels like it's going to beat right out of your chest. Hearing her say it, over and over, sinks hooks into places you didn't know were still empty. You shift beneath her, hands sliding up her back, fingers tracing the knobs of her spine through the worn fabric of her sweatshirt. "Sohyun," you breathe against her lips, needing to show her, needing her to feel it. You pull back just enough to look at her, really look, and then you start mapping her face with your mouth.

Soft, adoring kisses trail along her sharp jawline, up to the curve of her cheekbone where the skin is so soft it makes you ache. You kiss the corner of her eye, tasting the lingering salt of her tears, then move lower, pressing kisses against the pulse point throbbing wildly in her neck. She melts under the attention, a soft sigh escaping her, her body going pliant against yours, head tipping back to give you better access. Her hands slide from your face down to your shoulders, gripping tight, anchoring herself as you worship her skin. Every soft press of your lips feels like rewriting history, erasing the doubt and the distance, claiming this closeness that’s always simmered just beneath the surface.

"Hey," she murmurs, her breath catching when your lips find that sensitive spot just below her ear. She nudges you gently, reluctantly pulling away just enough to meet your eyes again. There's a new urgency there, a need that burns hotter than the confession. "My room," she says, her tone suddenly low, almost husky. "Let's go to my room. Now." She pushes herself up, scrambling off you with clumsy grace, and hauls you to your feet like you weigh nothing. You don't argue, don't hesitate. You follow her lead, stumbling towards her bedroom door, hands finding each other again, lips crashing together in the hallway, clumsy and desperate and necessary. You trip over the threshold, laughing breathlessly against her mouth as she practically drags you inside, kicking the door shut behind you with her heel.

The moment the door clicks, she's tearing at your clothes. Your hoodie comes off first, yanked over your head with frantic energy, tossed carelessly onto the floor. Her eyes rake over your bare chest for a beat, hungry, before she crashes back into you, kissing you with renewed fervor. Her hands are everywhere, exploring the lines of your shoulders, the dip of your collarbones, fingers tracing patterns that make your skin prickle. While her mouth works yours, her own hands go to the waistband of her shorts—those stupidly comfortable grey jersey shorts she always wears around the apartment. She hooks her thumbs in, shoves them down her legs in one hurried motion, kicking them free. She's left in just her oversized sweatshirt and a pair of simple, pale blue cotton panties that hug the curve of her hips. You groan against her lips, the sight hitting you harder than you expected. Her thighs look so strong, so soft.

You deepen the kiss, angling her back against the wall, one hand sliding down her spine, curving possessively over the swell of her ass through the thin cotton of her panties. You squeeze gently, experimentally, and she gasps into your mouth, hips instinctively bucking against yours. "Fuck," she breathes against your lips, her hands fisting in your t-shirt now. "Yes. Need you. So much."

Her admission is raw, desperate, stripping away the last vestiges of her usual guardedness. It fuels you, ignites something fierce inside you. You break the kiss long enough to grab the hem of her sweatshirt, pulling it up and over her head just as she did yours. It snags for a second on her messy bun, and you both fumble with it, laughing brokenly before it finally comes free. And underneath… nothing. No bra. Just Sohyun. Her breasts are fuller than you’d imagined, heavier than Xinyu’s, round and pale with darker, pinkish-brown nipples already pebbled tight from the cool air or maybe just the sheer intensity of the moment. They're beautiful. Perfect. Yours.

She looks down at herself for a second, a flicker of self-consciousness crossing her face before defiant heat replaces it. Your eyes meet hers, a silent question asked and answered. You scoop her up—she's surprisingly light—and carry her the few steps to her bed, tumbling down onto the soft duvet with her. The landing is messy, tangled limbs and breathless laughter, before you settle, half-propped over her, the reality of her bare skin under your hands making your head swim. You kiss her again, slower this time, softer, trying to pour all the unsaid years of affection into it. Her hands come up to cup your face, fingers tracing your jawline, her eyes searching yours.

Then your focus shifts. Your gaze drops to her chest, to the soft rise and fall of her breathing. You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to the valley between her breasts, then lower your head further. One hand gently cups the soft weight of her left breast, thumb stroking the peak, feeling it harden instantly under your touch. At the same time, your mouth closes over her right nipple.

Sohyun arches off the bed with a sharp, choked cry, fingers digging into your shoulders. The sound is pure, unfiltered pleasure, and it sends a shockwave straight to your groin. You suck gently at first, teasing, swirling your tongue around the sensitive peak before drawing it deeper into the heat of your mouth.

She moans again, a long, low sound vibrating up from her chest. "Oh god... yes... fuck, that feels..." You lave the nipple, licking slow circles around the darker areola, mapping the texture with your tongue, before nibbling gently with your teeth. She whimpers, hips twitching restlessly on the mattress. "So good... oh, fuck, yes, right there... I always... always imagined..." Her sentence dissolves into another shuddering moan as you switch sides, giving the other breast the same devoted attention, sucking and licking and teasing until she's writhing beneath you. "You're perfect," you murmur against her wet skin between ministrations. "So fucking beautiful, Sohyun. Always."

Her eyes are glassy, pupils dilated, lips parted and slick. She looks completely undone, vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache with tenderness and a fierce, protective desire. You trail kisses lower, down the soft curve of her stomach, your lips brushing the faint indentation of her navel. Your hand follows, palm smoothing over the warm skin, feeling the tremors running through her. Your journey stops at the waistband of her panties. Simple blue cotton, dampening noticeably at the center. The sight, the proof of her arousal, makes your own cock strain painfully against your jeans. You press a soft kiss to the damp fabric right over her mound, inhaling her scent—musky, female, intoxicating. She gasps, thighs clenching instinctively. You nudge her legs apart gently with your head, trailing feather-light kisses along the inside of her thigh, right near the edge of the fabric. The skin there is incredibly soft, sensitive. She shivers violently, a choked sound escaping her. "Please..." she whispers, unsure what she's even asking for, just knowing she needs more.

You kiss the wet patch on her panties again, letting your tongue flick out just enough to taste the dampness through the cotton. She cries out, a sharp, high sound, hips lifting slightly off the bed. You look up at her, see the flush creeping down her neck, the desperate wanting in her eyes. Slowly, deliberately, you hook your thumbs into the sides of her panties and slide them down. Over the curve of her hips, down her strong, thick thighs, catching slightly at her knees before you pull them free and toss them aside. She lies bare beneath you now, exposed, vulnerable, beautiful. Her pussy is slick, glistening, her folds plump and flushed, dark curls slightly damp. You lean down, pressing a reverent kiss to her mound, right above her clit. She lets out a strangled sob, hands flying down to fist in her own duvet. She looks wrecked, overwhelmed, needy. "Will you...?" she starts, her breath hitching. "Can I...? Please, just... sit on your face? Let me... I need you to eat me. Please." You lean closer, lips brushing her slick folds as you answer:

"Baby, that's all I fucking want.”

You don't even hesitate. You scramble backwards on the bed, shuffling until you're lying flat, head propped slightly against her pillows—pillows that smell like her shampoo and sleep. Your heart is a frantic drum against your ribs, anticipation coiling tight and low in your belly. This. This it's something you've barely let yourself fantasize about, a scenario tucked away in the darkest, neediest corners of your mind—Sohyun, taking control, overwhelming you. Being completely at her mercy. The thought alone makes your cock throb against the zipper of your jeans, a painful, demanding pressure.

You look up as she moves, crawling towards you on the bed, her expression a mixture of raw hunger and something almost like nervous determination. She straddles your chest first, knees settling on either side of your ribs, leaning down to capture your mouth in another deep, searching kiss. Her bare breasts press against your chest, warm and heavy, the peaks hard against the fabric.

"You really want this?" she whispers against your lips, pulling back just enough to search your eyes. Her own gaze is intense, burning with a need that mirrors yours.

"Fuck, yes, Sohyun," you breathe, hands coming up to grip her waist, fingers digging slightly into the soft skin there. "More than anything. Please."

A slow, predatory smile spreads across her face, chasing away the last remnants of uncertainty. This is happening. She shifts, maneuvering herself with surprising grace, turning until she's straddling your head, her bare ass hovering right above your face. The sight is dizzying—the soft curve of her cheeks, the dark curls nestled between her thighs, the glisten of her wetness catching the dim light filtering in from the hallway. It's everything. You reach up, hands sliding up her strong thighs, thumbs brushing the sensitive inner skin. She shivers, letting out a soft gasp.

"God, yes... touch me," she pleads, her hips twitching.

You guide her down slowly, agonizingly slowly, until her slick folds brush against your lips. The scent hits you full force—musky, feminine, intoxicatingly Sohyun. It’s the smell of pure arousal, sharp and sweet, and it makes your head swim. This is your dream, isn't it? To be right here, underneath her, ready to worship, ready to be completely consumed by her pleasure. The idea of being dominated, smothered by the wet heat of her pussy, of her coming undone completely at your mercy while simultaneously holding all the power… It sends a jolt of pure, filthy need straight through you.

"Ready for you," you murmur against her skin, tilting your head slightly to get a better angle.

She lets out a shaky breath and lowers herself fully, settling onto your mouth with a soft sigh. The pressure is immediate, the heat shocking. Her wet folds engulf your lips, your nose, pressing intimately against your face. It’s almost too much: the closeness, the scent, the slick reality of her cunt right there. You take your first real taste, tongue darting out tentatively, exploring the plump outer lips, tracing the slick crease.

Sohyun gasps sharply, her whole body tensing. "Fuck... yes..."

Emboldened, you dive in properly. Your tongue pushes past her outer lips, finding the slick, sensitive inner folds, licking slowly, deliberately. You map her shape, tasting the unique flavor of her arousal—salty, sweet, utterly addictive. You find her clit, that hard little nub hidden beneath its hood, and swirl your tongue around it gently at first.

"Oh my god," she whimpers, fingers tangling violently in your hair, gripping tight but not pulling you away. "Right there... don't stop..."

You obey instantly, focusing your attention, sucking the sensitive bud into your mouth, worrying it gently with your lips and tongue. Her reaction is immediate, explosive. Her hips buck against your face, grinding down instinctively, seeking more pressure, more friction.

"Fuck, yes! Like that! Suck it harder!" she cries out, her earlier shyness completely incinerated by raw need. "God, you taste so fucking good... eat me like you mean it!"

You groan into her cunt, spurred on by her dirty talk, by the sheer intensity radiating off her. You suck harder, drawing more of her into your mouth, tongue working relentlessly on her clit while your lips provide constant pressure against her swollen folds. Her slickness coats your tongue, your lips, your chin, slicking the skin, making every movement smoother, hotter. She’s so wet, dripping onto your face, the taste of her flooding your senses. You love it. You fucking crave it. The feeling of being covered in her, drowned in her essence.

"That's it, baby," she pants, her hips starting to move in a slow, deliberate rhythm against your mouth. "Fuck, you're so good at this... Did you practice on someone else? Don't fucking answer that," she gasps out, contradicting herself immediately, lost in the sensation. "Just keep doing that. Lick me. Suck my clit like it's the only thing you care about."

"It is," you manage to mumble against her, tongue never faltering. "Only thing... right now... is you. Making you feel good, Sohyun."

Her hips stutter, a broken little sob escaping her lips. "Fuck... you saying my name like that... while you're... down there... God..."

She starts to ride you then, taking control just like she asked, just like you fantasized. Her movements are slow at first, tentative, testing the pressure, learning how to grind against your mouth for maximum effect. Her thighs tighten around your head, trapping you, holding you exactly where she wants you. The feeling of suffocation is mild at first, just the intimate pressure, the heat, the wetness sealing against your skin. But as her pace quickens, as she gets lost in the building pleasure, she presses down harder, her cunt engulfing your nose and mouth more fully. Your breathing gets shallower, restricted, but you don't panic. This is part of it. This surrender. Giving her everything, even your breath, if that's what it takes to push her over the edge.

"Oh god... oh fuck," she moans, the sounds deeper now, throatier. "It's building... fuck, don't stop... keep sucking... harder!"

You oblige, mouth working frantically now, sucking and licking with desperate abandon, chasing her orgasm alongside her. Her pussy clenches around your tongue, milking it, the muscles fluttering uncontrollably. She’s grinding faster now, rocking her hips with frantic energy, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. The pressure increases. Her cunt presses down hard, sealing over your mouth, your nose, the wet heat almost overwhelming. You can barely draw breath, getting only small, desperate sips of air mixed with the heavy scent of her arousal. But the lack of oxygen just fuels the fire, heightens the sensation, pushes you closer to a different kind of edge. You feel utterly possessed by her, consumed.

"Almost there... almost... FUCK!" she screams, her body locking up.

Her hips slam down hard onto your face, grinding relentlessly, muffling your own groan of effort and ecstasy. Her inner walls spasm violently around your tongue, flooding your mouth with a thick, hot gush of her climax. The taste is intense, salty-sweet, addictive, unique. You swallow instinctively, greedily, taking all of it, wanting every last drop. She collapses forward, boneless, her full weight pressing your face into the mattress, her slick cunt still pulsing against your mouth as the aftershocks ripple through her. You're completely enveloped, blinded, breathless beneath her, tasting her release, utterly dominated.

She stays there for long moments, just panting, trembling. You lie still beneath her, heart hammering, face sticky and wet, utterly spent from the intensity of giving her that pleasure. Finally, slowly, she pushes herself up, bracing her hands on the mattress on either side of your head. Her hair is wild, sticking to her flushed cheeks, her lips swollen and red, her eyes dazed and unfocused but gleaming with a deep, sated satisfaction. She looks down at you, at your slick-covered face, and a slow, knowing smirk touches her lips.

"Wow," she breathes. "You... you really did it."

You manage a weak grin, licking your lips, tasting her. "Told you," you rasp. "Anything for you."

She leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then finally your mouth, her kiss still tasting faintly of herself. It's intimate, proprietary. A claiming.

"Good," she murmurs against your lips. "Because we're not done yet. Not even close." Her eyes darken again, that possessive fire rekindling. "My turn to taste you.”

Sohyun pushes herself up fully, kneeling between your legs on the mattress. Her eyes, still hazy from her orgasm but sharp with renewed intent, roam over your face, lingering on your kiss-swollen lips and the faint marks she left on your neck. A possessive satisfaction flickers there. She reaches down, her hands landing on the button of your jeans. Her knuckles brush against the hard ridge straining behind the denim, and she lets out a low, appreciative hum.

"My turn," she murmurs, her gaze locking with yours. "Been wanting to do this for way too long. Way, way too long."

Her fingers work the button free with surprising dexterity, then move to the zipper, pulling it down with a slow, deliberate rasp that echoes loudly in the quiet room. She doesn't just yank your jeans off. She takes her time, hooking her fingers into the waistband, easing the stiff denim down over your hips, her touch feather-light against your skin. You lift your hips instinctively to help her. Your jeans slide down your legs, pooling around your ankles. You're left in just your boxers—boxers that are doing absolutely nothing to hide the thick, hard length straining beneath the fabric.

Sohyun pauses, her eyes fixed on the prominent bulge. She reaches out, tracing the rigid shape through the thin cotton with one curious finger. You twitch involuntarily, a low groan rumbling in your chest.

"Fuck," she breathes, a note of genuine awe creeping in. "I knew... I mean, I saw... before..." She glances up at you quickly, a faint blush rising on her cheeks as she remembers that moment in the club room closet, the stolen, frantic glimpse. "But seeing it like... this... Jesus."

Her gaze drops back down, captivated. She hooks her thumbs into the elastic waistband of your boxers and slowly, reverently, peels them down. Down past your hip bones, down your thighs, revealing you completely. Your cock springs free, thick and heavy, slick already with beads of pre-cum glistening under the dim light. It's undeniably large, thick-shafted, maybe even surprisingly so given your usually reserved, almost nerdy demeanor. It pulses slightly with your heartbeat, utterly exposed under her intense scrutiny.

Sohyun just stares for a long moment, her mouth slightly parted. Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly. This isn't like the frantic, hidden view she got before. This is up close, personal, undeniable. The sheer size and thickness of you, fully hard and demanding attention, seems to momentarily short-circuit her brain. She reaches out again, hand hovering just above you, like she's afraid to touch, afraid it might disappear.

"It's... perfect," she whispers. "God, it's so... much. And it's really... mine? Right now?"

"Yes," you manage, your throat tight. "All yours, Sohyun. Please. Touch me."

That breaks the spell. Her hesitation vanishes, replaced by a focused intensity that makes your stomach clench. She leans down, her hair falling forward, tickling your stomach as she lowers her face towards your cock. She doesn't grab it right away. Instead, she inhales deeply, breathing in your scent, her eyes fluttering closed for a second. Then, she presses a soft, tentative kiss right to the swollen, pulsing head. It’s a kiss of reverence, almost worshipful. She kisses it again, lingering, her lips incredibly soft against the sensitive skin. Then she trails kisses down the thick shaft, her warm breath ghosting over you, making you shiver uncontrollably. Her tongue darts out, tasting the slick bead of pre-cum at the tip, humming her approval deep in her throat.

"Mmm," she murmurs against your skin. "Taste good... smell good... God, you feel so hard."

She cups your balls gently in one hand, her touch surprisingly confident, weighing them, stroking the sensitive skin underneath with her thumb. You groan, hips lifting slightly off the mattress, needing more. Her other hand finally closes around the base of your shaft, her fingers wrapping snugly around the thick circumference. Her grip is firm, warm, possessive. She strokes you once, slowly, from base to head, watching your reaction with hungry eyes.

"You like that?" she asks. "Like me touching you? Holding your big, thick cock?"

"Fuck, yes," you gasp out, already close to losing it just from her touch, her words. "Please, Sohyun..."

"Shhh," she soothes, leaning down again. "Let me take care of you. Let me worship this perfect cock. You deserve it."

She starts by licking. Long, slow, wet laps all the way up the shaft, starting from the base where her fingers are wrapped tight, swirling around the thick ridge of the head, paying special attention to the sensitive slit at the very tip. Her tongue is relentless, mapping every vein, every inch, savoring the texture, the taste. She licks your balls too, darting her tongue out to trace the seam, making you gasp and buck beneath her. She seems fascinated, utterly absorbed in the act of adoration, like she's discovering a hidden treasure she can't get enough of. She alternates between licking and kissing, pressing open-mouthed kisses against the throbbing veins, occasionally taking just the very head between her lips, sucking gently, experimentally.

"So pretty," she mumbles against you, her breath hot. "So fucking hard for me. You feel so good in my hand... so heavy..."

She gathers your balls more firmly, lifting them slightly as she lowers her mouth over the head of your cock again. This time, she means business. Her lips seal tight, creating a wet suction that steals your breath. She starts to suck, slowly at first, adjusting her jaw, learning the shape and feel of you in her mouth. Her cheeks hollow slightly with the effort, her eyes fixed on yours, watching your reaction, feeding off the strangled noises clawing their way up your throat. She moans around you, a deep, guttural sound of pure pleasure—hers and yours.

"Mmmmph... fuck... so thick," she manages around you, pulling back slightly before sliding down again, taking you deeper this time.

Her pace picks up, her head starting to bob more rhythmically. She uses her hand in tandem, stroking the lower half of your shaft while her mouth works the upper half, creating an unbearable friction, a slick heat that threatens to make you explode. Her tongue works magic inside her mouth, swirling around the head, flicking against the frenulum, driving you absolutely insane. Saliva spills from the corners of her mouth, mixing with your pre-cum, coating your cock in a thick, slippery sheen. She doesn't seem to care about the mess; she seems to revel in it, smearing the wetness down your shaft with her hand, slicking up your balls until they shine.

"Drooling all over you," she gasps, pulling off for a second to look at her handiwork, eyes glazed with lust. "God, look how wet I'm making you... covering your pretty cock in my spit... you like that, baby? Like being my messy boy?"

"Yes," you choke out, nodding frantically, hands fisting in the duvet beside you. "Fuck, Sohyun, please... don't stop..."

"Never," she promises, diving back down, sucking you deeper than before, her throat muscles working as she takes as much of you as she can.

She alternates speeds, sometimes sucking slow and deep, milking you, other times bobbing her head frantically, her hair whipping against your thighs, her lips and tongue working you over with relentless abandon. She cradles your balls constantly, rubbing, squeezing gently, rolling them between her fingers, ensuring no part of you is neglected. The sounds are incredibly hot—the wet sucking noises, her low moans, your own choked gasps and pleas. She's not just giving you a blowjob; she's pouring all her love, all her pent-up longing, all her newly unleashed desire into worshiping you, pleasuring you, claiming you.

"You feel so good in my mouth," she pants, slicking her lips. "Best cock I've ever tasted... fuck, I wanna swallow you whole..."

She picks up the pace again, sensing you getting closer, her hand pumping furiously at the base while her mouth works magic on the head. Your hips are bucking off the bed now, completely involuntary, chasing the friction, begging for release. Your balls are drawn up tight, the pressure building unbearably.

"Sohyun... Sohyun, I'm gonna..." you gasp, vision starting to blur at the edges.

She hums, a deep vibration against your shaft, and pulls back just slightly, letting her lips drag slowly, wetly, all the way up to the tip. She kisses the head one last time, her tongue darting out to catch a final bead of slickness. She looks up at you, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, a satisfied smirk playing on her spit-slick lips. Your cock is practically vibrating in her hand, flushed, aching, coated in her saliva, impossibly hard, utterly ready.

"Good," she breathes, her gaze flicking down at your cock, then back to your eyes. "Keep it just like that for me. Hard and ready. Because now... now I need you inside me.”

Sohyun levers herself up, straddling your hips now instead of your face. Her knees press into the mattress on either side of you, boxing you in. Her gaze is locked on your cock, still hard and glistening, twitching slightly in anticipation. She reaches down, wrapping her fingers around the thick shaft again, her touch possessive, almost proprietary now. She strokes you slowly, deliberately, watching the way your hips lift instinctively off the bed, chasing her touch. A dark, satisfied smile curves her lips. She looks powerful like this, kneeling over you, naked from the waist down, her hair a wild halo around her flushed face, her breasts full and bare, nipples still tight and dark from your attention. The dynamic has shifted entirely. She's in control, and she knows it. And fuck, you love it.

"God, Sohyun," you gasp out, the words shaky. "I've... I've thought about this. So many times."

Her eyes flick up to meet yours, questioning, curious.

"About you," you clarify, needing her to understand. "About you being like this. On top of me. Taking charge. Riding me... dominating me..." The confession feels scandalous, ripped from the deepest, most submissive part of you, but seeing her like this, strong, determined, radiating need, makes it impossible to hold back.

A slow, understanding heat dawns in her eyes, chasing away any lingering shyness. She leans down slightly, bracing one hand on your chest, her thumb brushing your nipple through your t-shirt, making you jolt.

"Yeah?" she murmurs. "Funny. Me too."

Your breath catches. "You... you have?"

She nods, her smile turning wicked. "Oh, yeah. More times than I can count. Thinking about this..." She squeezes your cock gently, making you groan. "...this perfect, thick cock sliding inside me. Stretching me out. Filling me up." She leans closer, her lips brushing your ear. "I might have... borrowed one of your pillows a few times. When you were out late. Pretended it was you I was riding." Her confession is a hot whisper against your skin. "Imagined you were balls-deep inside me while I rode it until I came."

The image—Sohyun, alone in her room, desperate for you, grinding on your pillow—is almost too much. It makes your cock pulse painfully hard in her grip.

"Fuck, Sohyun," you choke out. "Tell me... tell me what you want."

"You," she says simply, fiercely. She lets go of you for a second, putting the panties aside. She guides the thick, wet head of your cock to her entrance, her own slickness making the contact incredibly slippery, incredibly hot. She looks down, watching intently as she aligns herself. "I want you. Inside me. Now."

With excruciating slowness, she begins to lower herself onto you. You feel the head of your cock nudge against her tight entrance, feel her slick folds parting, stretching. She gasps sharply, her eyes squeezing shut for a second as the thick ridge pushes past her outer lips, beginning to invade her.

"Oh my god... fuck..." she breathes, her hands gripping your shoulders tight enough to leave marks. "You're so... big..."

She sinks lower, inch by agonizing inch, taking you deeper. Her pussy feels incredible; impossibly tight, hot and slick and welcoming. The feeling of a body claiming something it’s desperately wanted for far too long. You groan deep in your chest, hands coming up to grip her hips, steadying her, steadying yourself. You can feel every internal ripple, every clench of her muscles as she takes you all the way down, settling onto your cock until you're buried to the hilt inside her.

She sits there for a long moment, just breathing hard, letting her body adjust to the thick invasion, letting you feel the sheer, glorious fullness of being completely sheathed inside her. Her head is tipped back, exposing the long, vulnerable line of her throat, her expression a mixture of intense pleasure and almost unbearable sensation.

"Fuck," she sighs out, a long, shuddering sound. "Just... feeling you stretching me out... God, it's..."

"Amazing?" you supply.

She nods mutely, eyes still closed, biting her lower lip. Then, slowly, she begins to move. Just a small lift of her hips, dragging your cock almost out before sinking back down again with agonizing slowness. The friction is electric, making your toes curl.

"Like that?" she whispers, eyes fluttering open to meet yours.

"Yes," you gasp. "Fuck, yes. More."

She starts to ride you properly then, finding a rhythm. Slow and deep at first, her hips rolling deliberately, learning your shape inside her, learning how to angle herself to hit just the right spots. Her hands rest on your chest, fingers splayed, feeling your heartbeat hammer against her palms. With every downward slide, her tight channel grips you, massages you, threatens your control. With every upward pull, the sensation of dragging your thick head along her sensitive walls makes you groan aloud. Her breasts sway gently with the motion.

"Mmmm... god, you feel so good," she murmurs, her hips picking up the pace slightly. "So fucking thick inside me... filling me up completely..."

She rides you with a growing confidence, her movements becoming bolder, faster. She shifts her weight, grinding down harder, experimenting with angles, a low moan escaping her lips every time she hits a particularly good spot. Sweat begins to bead on her forehead, plastering strands of dark hair to her temples. Her cheeks are flushed a deep pink, her lips parted as she pants for breath. She looks wild, primal, completely lost in the act of taking you, claiming you.

"Fuck, Sohyun, you feel incredible," you gasp out, hands tightening on her hips, tilting her slightly to drive yourself even deeper. "So tight... so wet..."

"Yeah?" she pants, a triumphant grin flashing across her face. "Like this? You like how I ride you?" She increases the pace again, hips pumping faster now, slamming down onto your cock with deliberate force. Her breasts bounce more vigorously, the sight mesmerizing. "You like watching my tits bounce while I fuck your cock?"

"Yes! Fuck, yes!" you cry out, completely overwhelmed by the sight, the sound, the feeling of her riding you with such abandon.

She leans forward, bracing her hands on your shoulders, riding you harder, faster, moving into a frantic, desperate rhythm. The bed starts to shake beneath you, the only sounds the wet slap of her pussy gripping your cock, her ragged pants, your answering groans. This is frenzy. Pure, raw, unadulterated need pouring out of her as she fucks you, possessively, relentlessly. Her eyes are locked on yours, fierce and unwavering, like she's daring you to look away, daring you to think of anyone else.

"Am I...?" she gasps out between frantic thrusts, her stare pinning you down. "Am I better? Better than her?"

There’s no coyness, no game-playing like Xinyu. Just raw insecurity wrapped in fierce possessiveness. She needs to know. Needs the validation. Needs to erase the ghost of the other girl.

You meet her intense gaze without flinching, hands gripping her waist tight, pulling her down harder onto your next upward thrust.

"Yes," you say, the word ripped from your throat, raw with conviction. "Fuck, yes, Sohyun. So much better. No comparison. It's always been you. Only you."

The confirmation—that she’s better, that it’s only her—fuels Sohyun like high-octane gasoline. The frantic energy shifts, solidifying into something harder, more deliberate, more dominant. She rides you with a vengeance now, hips slamming down onto your cock, grinding her clit against your pubic bone with every brutal downward thrust. Her pace is relentless, punishing, her body slick with sweat, moving like she’s trying to fuck you right through the mattress. The wet, slapping sounds fill the room, obscene and rhythmic.

"Fuck yes," she pants, head thrown back again, eyes half-lidded with ecstasy. "That's what I needed to hear. Needed you to say it." She leans forward, bracing her hands on your shoulders again, her stare burning into you. "Now give me more. Don't just lie there like a fucking doll. Touch me. Own me."

Her demand sparks through you, overriding the pleasant haze of submission. Your hands fly up to her breasts, cupping the heavy, sweat-slicked weight. They feel incredible, full and responsive. You squeeze them firmly, kneading the soft flesh, thumbs finding her nipples, still hard, aching pebbles, and rolling them roughly between your fingers.

"Ah! Fuck—yes!" Sohyun cries out, her hips stuttering in their rhythm for a beat before slamming down even harder. "Like that! Squeeze them harder! Play with my nipples while I ride your cock! Make them sore! Fuck, yes!"

You obey instantly, pinching and tweaking her nipples, pulling gently, rewarded by her sharp gasps and the way her pussy clenches impossibly tighter around your shaft. She grinds down onto you, moaning your name, lost in the dual sensations. She rides you like she owns you, like she’s branding you with every slam of her hips, every tight clench of her cunt.

Then, her eyes snap fully open, locking onto yours with a terrifying, desperate intensity. The frantic pace slows just slightly, becoming more deliberate, each thrust deeper, more meaningful.

"I need you to come," she says, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Now. Inside me."

You falter for a second, your hands stilling on her breasts. "Sohyun... wait, are you serious? We didn't... I don't have..."

"I don't fucking care!" she cuts you off, her voice raw, almost frantic. She grips your shoulders tighter, leaning down until her face is inches from yours, her breath hot and ragged against your lips. "I don't care about condoms. I don't care about anything! I need it! I need you to fill me up. Mark me. Make me yours, understand? Breed me. Right now. Cum deep inside my pussy."

Your brain whites out for a second. Breed her. The words, the raw need behind them, the sheer possessive desperation—it hits you like a physical blow, igniting a primal heat deep in your gut you didn't know existed. The idea of planting your seed deep inside her, claiming her womb…

"Fuck, Sohyun," you choke out, overwhelmed.

"Yes!" she urges, her eyes blazing. "Every day. I want you filling me up like this every single day. This pussy?" She grinds down hard, milking a groan from you. "It's yours. Only yours. No one else ever gets to touch it. No one else gets to fuck it. No one else gets to breed it. Only you. Promise me!"

"I promise," you gasp, the words ripped from you without thought, only instinct. "Only you, Sohyun. Always."

"Good," she pants, a wild, triumphant grin spreading across her face. She throws her head back again and starts riding you with renewed, almost violent frenzy. "Fuck yes! Breed your girl! Fill my womb up with your cum! Make me swell up with it! I want your baby! Fuck, put your baby inside me now!"

Every filthy word, every desperate demand, every slam of her wet cunt onto your aching cock drives you closer and closer to the edge. The friction is unbearable, her walls clenching and milking you, her words painting pictures in your head that are setting your nerves on fire. You can feel your own climax rushing towards you now, unstoppable, a tidal wave building behind your balls.

"I'm gonna... oh god, Sohyun, I'm so close!" you cry out, hips bucking up wildly beneath her.

"Me too! Fuck, yes, me too!" she screams back. "Cum with me! Cum inside me! Breed me! Breed me now!"

She rides you faster, harder, a desperate, frantic pounding as you both chase the peak. Her moans turn into high-pitched keening sounds, her body trembling violently. You feel the tell-tale clenching deep inside her, the spasms starting just as your own orgasm rips through you.

"FUCK! SOHYUN!" you roar, your body locking up as you explode deep inside her.

Hot, thick ropes of your cum pump into her womb, filling her, coating her insides just like she demanded. You feel her pussy clench violently around your cock, milking every last drop out of you, her own orgasm crashing over her in wave after wave. She continues to ride you even as you both come, slamming down onto your still-pulsing cock, drawing out the very last shuddering spurts, her own cries echoing yours in the small room. The intensity is blinding, shattering. Your eyes roll back in your head, vision whitening out completely as the pleasure finally crests and breaks, leaving you utterly spent, trembling, muscles twitching.

Sohyun collapses forward onto your chest, boneless, her breath coming in ragged, sobbing gasps against your sweat-slick skin. Her weight is heavy, comforting, grounding. You can feel the frantic thudding of her heart against yours, feel the faint, lingering pulses deep inside her where you just emptied yourself. You wrap your arms around her trembling body, holding her tight, burying your face in her damp hair, inhaling her scent. Neither of you speaks for a long time, just clinging to each other in the aftermath, adrift in the wreckage of shared pleasure, bound together by the intensity of what just happened.

The silence stretches, filled only by the sound of two bodies recovering, hearts gradually slowing from their frantic race. Finally, she lifts her head slightly, just enough to meet your eyes. Her expression is soft, unguarded, the fierce possessiveness momentarily banked by sated exhaustion and something that looks overwhelmingly like love.

"I love you," she whispers, the words quiet but solid, no desperation this time, just simple, profound truth.

Your chest aches with the force of your own feelings, a wave of tenderness washing over you, so potent it almost hurts. You lift a hand, brushing damp strands of hair from her forehead, your thumb tracing the curve of her eyebrow.

"I love you too, Sohyun," you murmur, the words feeling more real, more right than anything you've ever said. "So fucking much."

A slow, beautiful smile spreads across her face, reaching her eyes, making them shine. She leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. It’s different from the frantic, claiming kisses before—this one is slow, sweet, full of affection and the dizzying relief of finally being here, together, like this. You kiss her back gently, pouring all your affection into it, letting the kiss deepen naturally, tongues tangling lazily, exploring rediscovered territory. You stay like that for a long while, just kissing, holding each other, limbs tangled, the sticky evidence of your climax cooling between her legs and inside her. The world outside her bedroom ceases to exist; there's only the warmth of her skin, the taste of her mouth, the steady beat of her heart against yours.

But even as you drift in the peaceful afterglow, your body betrays you. Deep inside her, nestled snugly in her tight, creamy pussy, your cock gives an involuntary throb. It’s still undeniably hard, thick and heavy within her, nowhere near satisfied despite the intensity of your release. Sohyun stills, her eyes widening slightly as she feels the distinct pulse deep inside her cunt. She shifts her hips experimentally, just a tiny grind, and gasps softly as your cock throbs again in response, pressing against her sensitive inner walls. She pulls back slightly, looking down between your bodies, then up at your face with bewildered amusement.

"Seriously?" she asks, one eyebrow arching. "How the hell are you still hard? I thought I killed you."

You let out a shaky laugh, tightening your arms around her waist. "Guess not." You shift your hips slightly, letting her feel the solid length still buried inside her. "It's you, Sohyun. You drive me fucking crazy. Always have."

A pleased, almost smug flush creeps up her neck. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," you confirm, grinning. "Seeing you like this... hearing you... knowing you want me this bad..." You shake your head. "It does things to me."

Her smile turns predatory again, that dominant spark reigniting in her eyes. "Good." She leans down, whispering against your ear, "Because I'm not done with you yet." But before she can reclaim control entirely, a surge of boldness rises in you.

"Neither am I," you murmur, and with a surge of strength you didn't know you possessed, you roll her over.

She lets out a surprised yelp as you maneuver her beneath you, ending up positioned between her legs in the classic missionary pose. The sudden shift in dynamic makes her blink, but she doesn't fight it. Instead, a curious, excited glint enters her eyes. You brace your hands on either side of her head, leaning down to capture her mouth in another deep kiss, taking charge this time, setting the pace. Your cock slides almost fully out during the roll before you sink back into her with one smooth, deep thrust.

"Fuck!" she cries out, back arching off the bed as you fill her again. "Oh my god, that feels..."

Her pussy is impossibly sensitive now, slick and creamy with the mixture of her arousal and your own cooling cum. Every slight movement sends shivers through her, her inner walls fluttering and clenching around you instinctively. The friction is insane, almost unbearable, slicker and yet somehow tighter than before. You pull back slowly, deliberately, dragging your thick shaft along her hypersensitive walls, then thrust back in deep, hitting that spot low in her belly that makes her gasp and her toes curl.

"Still feel good?" you ask.

"Y-yes! Fuck, yes!" she pants, gripping your biceps hard. "So good... it's almost too much... so sensitive now..."

"Good," you growl, starting to fuck her with a steady, driving rhythm. "I want it to be too much. I want to make you fall apart."

You fuck her hard, hips slamming against hers, driving deep with every thrust. Her legs instinctively wrap around your waist, pulling you even deeper, locking you in place. She meets your rhythm, hips lifting off the bed to take every inch, her head thrashing side to side on the pillows, dark hair fanning out. Her moans are louder now, higher pitched, broken sounds torn from her throat with every impact.

"Fuck! Harder! Please, harder!" she begs, completely lost to the sensation. "Right there! Oh god, oh god, yes!"

You obey, increasing the force, pounding into her relentlessly. The sound of your bodies colliding, the wet, sloppy sounds of your cock sliding in and out of her creamy cunt, fills the room. Her breasts jiggle wildly with the force of your thrusts, the sight driving you wilder. You lean down, capturing one nipple in your mouth again, sucking hard while you continue to hammer into her.

"Ah! Fuck! Yes, please—suck them! Bite them!" she cries out deliriously.

You lave the nipple, then bite down gently, just enough to make her cry out again, her pussy clenching violently around your cock. You switch sides, giving the other nipple the same rough treatment while your hips maintain their punishing rhythm. She's trembling all over now, completely overwhelmed, on the ragged edge of another climax.

"I'm gonna... I'm gonna cum again!" she gasps, eyes rolling back slightly. "Fuck, I can't stop it!"

"Don't stop it," you command. "Come for me again, Sohyun. Let go."

You focus your thrusts, angling slightly, grinding against her G-spot relentlessly, pushing her over the edge. Her body tenses like a drawn bowstring, muscles locking up, a high, keening whine building in her throat.

"Oh FUCK! I'm—!"

Her climax hits her like a lightning strike. Her whole body convulses, legs locking tight around your waist, back arching so high off the bed only her shoulders and heels are touching. A torrent of clear, slick fluid suddenly erupts from her, soaking the front of your body, spraying onto the sheets beneath her. She's squirting, a hot, copious gush that just keeps coming as her orgasm tears through her, wave after powerful wave. The sight, the feeling of her body spasming around you, the hot spray coating your skin, the sheer, unbridled intensity of her release—it shatters your own control completely.

"FUCK! SOHYUN!" you roar, unable to hold back any longer.

You feel your own orgasm roaring up your spine, too intense, too soon after the last one, but unstoppable. You pull out at the last second, cock slapping wetly against her drenched belly, still spasming from her squirt. You brace your hands, aiming carefully, and explode all over her chest. Thick ropes of your cum spray across her collarbones, coating her full breasts, dripping down between them. Shot after shot erupts from you, hot and heavy, until you're completely drained, collapsing forward slightly, bracing your weight on your elbows, chest heaving, heart pounding like it wants to escape your ribs.

You stay like that for a moment, catching your breath, looking down at the beautiful, glorious mess you've made of her. Sohyun lies beneath you, utterly wrecked, limbs trembling, face flushed, eyes glazed and unfocused. Her chest is rising and falling rapidly, coated in your thick, white seed. The sheets beneath her are soaked from her squirt. She looks debauched, thoroughly fucked, completely claimed. And she's never looked more beautiful. You lean down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead.

"You," you whisper, "are the most beautiful girl in the world, Sohyun. Absolutely fucking perfect."

She manages a weak, trembling smile, lifting a shaky hand to cup your cheek. Her eyes finally focus on yours, filled with so much love, so much raw emotion, it steals your breath all over again. She doesn't say anything, doesn't need to. The connection between you is palpable, electric, forged in confessions and tears and sweat and cum and squirt, solidifying into something undeniable, something unbreakable, right there in the messy aftermath on her tangled sheets.

A long, shared sigh escapes both of you almost in unison. You lie down next to her, Sohyun rests her head back on your chest, her breathing still slightly ragged, her fingers tracing idle patterns over your cum-splattered chest. You stare up at the ceiling, your own mind racing, trying to process the whirlwind of confessions, the raw intensity, the spilled fluids currently cooling on both of you and the sheets. It feels surreal, like a dream you're afraid you'll wake up from.

"Holy shit," Sohyun whispers after a long silence, her tone full of dazed wonder. "That... actually happened."

You let out a shaky laugh, tightening your arms around her. "Yeah. I... I can hardly believe it either."

She shifts slightly, propping herself up on one elbow to look down at you, her expression serious now, practical thoughts cutting through the haze of pleasure.

"Hey," she starts, biting her lip slightly. "I'm... uh... gonna need to get a morning-after pill. Just... you know..." She gestures vaguely towards her lower body, where your seed still rests deep inside her. "We kinda... really overdid it on the whole... breeding thing."

A flush creeps up your neck, embarrassment mixing with the lingering thrill of her earlier demands. You nod quickly.

"Yeah," you agree, clearing your throat. "Yeah, we definitely did. Sorry, I should have... pulled out the first time too, I just... lost it."

She shakes her head, reaching out to cup your cheek gently. "Don't apologize. I told you to. I wanted you to." A small, almost shy smile touches her lips. "It was... really good. All of it."

Relief washes over you, potent and warm. "Yeah?" You meet her gaze, searching her eyes. "I thought so too. More than good. It was... everything."

She smiles fully then, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. The easy affection, the simple intimacy after the storm, feels grounding. You kiss her back, pouring all your confused, overwhelming feelings into it. After a moment, she pulls back again, her expression turning thoughtful, hesitant.

"So..." she starts, tracing the line of your jaw with a fingertip. "What... what happens now? With us?"

You shift awkwardly beneath her, suddenly very aware of your nakedness, your vulnerability. This is it. The moment you’ve simultaneously dreaded and longed for.

"Well," you begin, swallowing hard, forcing yourself to meet her searching gaze. "I was kinda hoping... um..." You fumble for the words, feeling ridiculously shy after everything you just did together. "Do you... maybe... want to be my girlfriend?"

Her breath catches, her eyes widening slightly before breaking into the most brilliant, radiant smile you’ve ever seen on her face. It lights her up from the inside out.

"Yes!" she breathes, relief flooding her features. "God, yes! Of course, I do, you idiot!"

She crashes down onto you again, capturing your mouth in a fierce, joyful kiss that tastes like hope and relief and the start of something new. You kiss her back with equal fervor, laughing against her lips, pure happiness bubbling up inside you. When she finally pulls back, breathless and beaming, her expression clouds slightly again.

"Okay, good," she says, settling back against your chest, but her fingers fidget slightly. "But... what about... Xinyu?"

You swallow hard, the name like a stone dropping into the pit of your stomach. Guilt immediately floods you, chasing away some of the euphoria. You owe Xinyu honesty, even if it’s going to hurt.

"Right," you sigh. "Yeah. I... I need to talk to her. Be straight with her." You hesitate, forcing yourself to be completely honest with Sohyun now, no more secrets. "She, uh... she actually asked me out today. Like, properly. Asked me to be her boyfriend."

"Oh," she says, her tone carefully neutral. "Really? Wow, I'm surprised… What did you say?"

"I didn't accept," you say quickly, meeting her gaze earnestly. "I told her I needed time to think. I was... confused. Uncertain." You reach up, cupping her cheek, needing her to believe you. "And now I know why, Sohyun. It was never about being confused between you two. It was about me being too scared to admit what I really wanted. Who I really loved." Your thumb strokes her cheekbone. "It's you. It's always been you."

Her eyes soften, glistening slightly, and she leans into your touch, pressing a kiss to your palm. "Okay," she whispers. "Just... be careful, okay? When you talk to her."

"I will," you promise.

—

The fluorescent lights of the campus bathroom hum overhead, casting a sterile glare on the tiled walls. Sohyun leans over one of the sinks, splashing cool water onto her face, trying to wash away the lingering exhaustion and the slightly dazed feeling that’s followed her all day. Everything feels different now. Knowing you feel the same way, knowing you're hers, officially... it’s like the world has tilted on its axis. She pats her face dry with a rough paper towel, catching her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes still look a little red-rimmed, her hair is messier than usual, but there’s a softness around her mouth, a lightness in her gaze that wasn't there before. She almost smiles.

The main door swings open, letting in the muffled sounds of the hallway, and Sohyun glances up automatically. Xinyu walks in, head down, scrolling intently on her phone, her usual bright energy noticeably absent. She looks... agitated. She heads towards the mirrors further down, seemingly not noticing Sohyun at first. But then she looks up, her eyes scanning the room, and freezes mid-step as her gaze lands on Sohyun. The recognition dawns instantly.

"YOU!" Xinyu finally spits out. She drops her phone onto the counter with a clatter and points a trembling finger directly at Sohyun.

A couple of other girls who were fixing their makeup quickly gather their things, exchanging wide-eyed glances before scurrying out, leaving the heavy tension simmering between just the two of them. The door clicks shut behind them, amplifying the sudden silence.

Xinyu takes a step closer, her face pale beneath her usually perfect makeup, her eyes blazing with hurt and anger. "It was you, wasn't it? You're the reason he dumped me!"

Sohyun straightens up slowly, leaning back against the cool tile, crossing her arms defensively. Her heart pounds, but she keeps her expression carefully neutral, refusing to rise to the bait immediately.

"Dumped you?" Sohyun asks, raising an eyebrow slightly. "What breakup are you talking about? As far as I know, you and he never actually had anything official to break up from."

Xinyu recoils as if slapped, offense flashing across her features. "Excuse me? We were having something! We were figuring it out, discovering each other! It was real! He kissed me, he fucked me, he was going to be mine! Until you!" she jabs her finger towards Sohyun again, voice trembling with suppressed tears. "You got in his head! You ruined it!"

A cold wave washes over Sohyun. Hearing Xinyu talk about you fucking her, even knowing it happened, still feels like a physical blow. But she pushes the hurt down, replacing it with a steely resolve.

"He was always mine," Sohyun says.

Xinyu lets out a choked, incredulous laugh. "Always yours? That's bullshit! You've known him for years, lived with him, watched him date other people, watched me flirt with him, and you never did a damn thing! You never had the guts! And now, now that I finally decided to go for it, now that I did what you were always too scared to do, now you decide to swoop in and get in the way?"

The accusation hits home, sharp and true. Sohyun flinches slightly, the guilt churning inside her. Xinyu isn't wrong about her cowardice, about her inaction for years.

"You're right," Sohyun admits quietly, dropping her gaze for a second before forcing herself to meet Xinyu's furious stare again. "You're absolutely right. That was my mistake. My biggest fucking mistake, letting fear stop me for so long." Her jaw tightens, her own fierce possessiveness surging forward. "But I finally acted. Because I wasn't going to lose him. Not to you. Not to anyone. I would never let myself lose him."

The raw conviction in Sohyun’s declaration seems to finally break something in Xinyu. Her furious facade crumbles, shoulders slumping, tears finally spilling over and tracking messy lines down her cheeks. She wipes at them angrily with the back of her hand.

"So what now?" Xinyu asks. "Are you going to make him quit the club? Tell him he can't hang out with me anymore?" The question sounds desperate, surprisingly vulnerable. "He... he still wants to be friends. And he's really important for the zine production... We need him."

Sohyun watches her cry, a flicker of unexpected pity stirring beneath her own lingering anger and possessiveness. She remembers your hesitation earlier, your insistence that Xinyu wasn't just using you. Maybe you were right. Maybe Xinyu did have genuine feelings, however tangled up they were.

"Look," Sohyun says, sighing, her tone softening slightly. "I'm not his mother. I don't tell him what to do." She shrugs, trying for nonchalance. "And I know he actually likes that stupid crafts club, for some reason."

"It's not stupid!" Xinyu snaps automatically through her tears.

"Whatever," Sohyun dismisses with a small wave of her hand. "My point is, if he wants to keep going, that's his choice. It's fine with me." She levels a steady gaze at Xinyu. "As long as you understand the boundaries. As long as you don't try anything. At all."

Xinyu sniffs, wiping her eyes again, nodding quickly. "I won't," she promises, her voice small. "I get it. I won't."

An awkward silence hangs between them. Sohyun feels a pang of something akin to regret, not for claiming you, but for the collateral damage.

"I am sorry," Sohyun says quietly, genuinely. "Sorry you got... deluded, I guess. Caught up in the middle of all this."

Xinyu offers a watery, humorless smile, shaking her head. "It's okay. My fault, really." She lets out a shaky breath. "Rule number one: don't fall for the guy who has a female best friend with obvious unresolved history with him. Never ends well, does it?" She attempts a laugh, but it comes out as more of a sob. She grabs a paper towel, dabbing at her eyes, trying to pull herself together. The confrontation seems over, leaving behind only the wreckage and the uneasy truce born from shared heartbreak over the same boy.

—

Walking into the "Hands On" club room later that day feels different. There's a knot of uncertainty low in your stomach, a leftover echo of the drama, the confrontation you know happened between Sohyun and Xinyu, and your own awkward conversation looming. You push the door open tentatively. The usual creative chaos greets you—fabric scraps littering tables, the faint smell of glue and paint, half-finished projects everywhere. Several members look up as you enter, their chatter dying down for a beat as they take you in. You can practically feel them sense the lingering tension, the potential for more trouble. A silent ripple of awareness goes through the room.

Xinyu, who was overseeing someone wrestling with a sewing machine, immediately straightens up, clapping her hands together with forced brightness.

"Alright people, less gawking, more gluing!" she calls out, her usual commanding tone back in place, though maybe a little strained around the edges. "Those zine covers aren't going to embellish themselves!"

The members quickly avert their gazes, busying themselves with their tasks, pretending they weren't just bracing for round two. You take a deep breath and approach Xinyu, stopping a few feet away, hands shoved awkwardly in your pockets.

"Hey," you manage, the word coming out quieter, shyer than you intended.

She turns, offering you a small, tight smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Hi," she replies, equally subdued.

You shift your weight, glancing around the room before forcing yourself to meet her gaze. "Look, have you thought about what I said earlier? I just... I came to see... Am I still, like... welcome here? In the club?"

"Yes, of course," she says quickly. "Obviously. You're still production lead, aren't you?"

“Yeah. Thank you. I really enjoy being part of this club. Hmm, by the way, Sohyun told me you two talked today."

Xinyu nods, fiddling with a stray thread on her perfectly coordinated velvet jacket. "Yeah. We ran into each other." A flicker of her old cattiness surfaces as she gives a small, dismissive sniff. "Still don't really get what you see in her, honestly. She's just so... plain. Basic."

"Hey," you cut in gently but firmly. "Don't start, okay?"

Xinyu immediately holds up her hands in mock surrender, though a genuine look of apology flashes in her eyes. "Sorry! Sorry. Force of habit. Old rivalries die hard, I guess." She offers a more genuine, albeit still slightly strained, smile. "Seriously though. We're glad to still have you. I'm glad. You actually get stuff done around here."

You manage a small smile back. "So... it's not going to be weird? Between us? After everything?"

She laughs, a short, sharp sound, but it holds genuine amusement this time. "Oh, it'll probably be weird for a bit," she admits honestly. "But we'll manage. I'll just have to make you work twice as hard on club duties to make up for breaking my heart."

You laugh, the sound easing more of the tension. "Okay, that's fair."

She leans against the table beside her, her posture relaxing slightly. "Look," she says, her tone turning serious again. "I meant what I said, you know. That I liked you." She avoids your gaze for a second, staring down at her perfectly manicured nails. "Okay, fine, maybe at first I was kind of just taking advantage of how nice you are to get help with lifting boxes and shit," she confesses with a wry twist of her lips. "But somewhere along the line... I actually started to fall for the sweet, reliable guy underneath all the errand-running. You're... genuinely good. Different." She sighs dramatically. "Turns out I have a weakness for dependable soft boys who blush easily."

"Xinyu..." you start, feeling a pang of guilt again. "I'm really sorry I couldn't... feel the same way."

She waves a dismissive hand, finally meeting your eyes again, her expression resigned but composed. "Eh, it's okay. Don't sweat it." She shrugs, trying for nonchalance. "Honestly? I should've known it wasn't totally there the second you hesitated when I asked you to be my boyfriend. Nobody hesitates with me." She strikes a pose, hand on her hip, chin tilted defiantly. "I mean, hello? I'm perfect."

You can't help but laugh genuinely this time. "You're right," you agree easily. "You are pretty amazing, Xinyu."

"Damn right I am," she says, grinning, the familiar confidence flowing back into her. "Clearly you just have questionable taste." She winks. "But hey, your loss. I still want to be friends though, if you're cool with that? Awkwardness aside?"

"Yeah," you say warmly. "I'd really like that." You hold out your hand uncertainly.

She looks at it for a second, then takes it, her grip firm and decisive. A handshake. A truce. A new beginning.

"Good," she says, releasing your hand and immediately pivoting back to business mode, clapping her hands together again. "Okay, Production Lead! Less standing around looking relieved, more figuring out how we're going to afford that iridescent cardstock for the spring showcase invites..."

You listen intently as she dives into project details, pulling you back into the familiar rhythm of club tasks. And just like that, things start to feel... normal again. Different, yes. Tinged with the memory of drama and hurt feelings, but manageable. Xinyu, you realize, is great. Complicated, sharp-edged, maybe even a little ruthless sometimes, but also vibrant and passionate and, in her own way, surprisingly understanding. You're genuinely glad you can still have her in your life, even if it's just as friends wrestling over glitter glue and budget spreadsheets.

—

Later that same day, you push the apartment door open, balancing two large grocery bags against your hip. You check the clock on your phone; only 6:30 PM. You’re not late. In fact, you’re early. A small, ridiculously pleased smile spreads across your face. Adulting: achieved.

Before you can even call out, Sohyun appears from her room. She’s wearing comfy lounge pants and one of your old band t-shirts that’s way too big on her, hair pulled back loosely, face free of makeup. She stops when she sees you, sees the bags, sees the time. A slow, soft smile lights up her face—the real kind, the one that reaches her eyes and makes your heart do a stupid little flip. She walks towards you, and without a word, stands on her tiptoes and presses a sweet, welcoming kiss to your lips.

"Hey," she murmurs against your mouth. "You're home early."

"Made sure of it," you reply, kissing her back gently before setting the groceries down on the counter. "Got everything on the list. Even the fancy mushrooms."

"Ooh, fancy mushrooms," she teases, peering into the bags. "Feeling ambitious tonight?"

"Tonight," you declare, pulling out flour, yeast, cheese, and various toppings, "we are making pizza. From scratch. Together."

Sohyun raises an skeptical eyebrow, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, but the fondness in her eyes gives her away. "Oh really? We are making pizza? Or I am making pizza while you try not to set the oven on fire or mistake salt for sugar again?"

You laugh, feigning offense. "Hey! I've improved. Slightly. Maybe." You grin at her. "Okay, fine. You'll be teaching me. But we're doing it together."

And so you do. You measure flour (incorrectly at first, earning a playful swat from Sohyun), knead dough (getting more on your shirt than in the bowl), chop vegetables (under her extremely close and critical supervision), and grate cheese. She patiently guides you, corrects your technique with gentle touches and exasperated sighs that don't quite hide her amusement.

There's teasing, there's flour dusted on noses, there's comfortable silence punctuated by easy chatter. It’s chaotic and messy and absolutely perfect. Gone is the sharp-edged tension that used to simmer beneath the surface, replaced by an open affection, a shared warmth that fills the small kitchen. As you slide the misshapen but lovingly topped pizzas into the oven, Sohyun wraps her arms around your waist from behind, resting her cheek against your back. You lean back into her embrace, covering her hands with yours.

"This is nice," she murmurs.

"Yeah," you agree, turning your head slightly to kiss the top of hers. "Yeah, it really is."

You eat on the couch later, cross-legged, sharing slices of slightly burnt but delicious pizza, watching some dumb movie you'll both forget by morning. Her head rests on your shoulder, your arm draped comfortably around her, fingers idly playing with a loose strand of her hair. It feels easy. Right. Like all the broken pieces, the misunderstandings, the years of unspoken feelings, have finally clicked into place, settling into this quiet, comfortable harmony. No more secrets, no more fear, no more wondering. Just this. Just you and her, finally, simply, being together. It’s not a dramatic fireworks finale, but a soft, warm glow settling over everything, promising quiet mornings and shared dinners and the simple, profound comfort of knowing you’re finally home.

#sohyun #sohyun smut #sohyun triples #Sohyun x reader #Xinyu x reader #xinyu smut #xinyu triples #triples smut #triples sohyun #triples xinyu #kpop m!reader #kpop male reader #m!reader #kpop gg smut #kpop smut #gg smut #Sohyun x Xinyu

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veggiesxxx · 12 days ago

Text

What he'd do on your anniversary

Zayne

A letter that's unreadable because you'd be crying by the first line. Folded with care— probably tucked into a book you had casually mentioned wanting.

"With you, i'd do it all over again."

He's not a natural at cooking, but he's amazing at instructions. Quietly following a tutorial on how to make a dish you'd said you were craving a few days ago, he'd nail it. And hopefully you. I mean-

Rafayel

He would pretend he forgot, when he's had this day marked on his phone for weeks. He'd be super extravagant, even if you didn't ask for it. Rent the whole beach? A rooftop garden?

"...please say you like it or i might throw myself in the ocean."

When you're thoroughly exhausted and beat, laying near the water, he'd roll over onto his stomach and look at you with something like adoration in his eyes.

"You make everything less scary, you know?"

Sylus

He'd buy you a new necklace, and pretend he didn't spend days passing by that same piece and pondering.

"I thought it'd suit you better than the dust it was collecting."

Nonchalant, he's trying to be. He wouldn't go super far with the planning, maybe just a simple dinner in your favourite spot. Two glasses, and food he probably didn't cook. He wouldn't dare to, just in case he ruined it.

"I've never kept a precious gem for so long." He'd say quietly, holding your hand.

Xavier

Pound town.

Caleb

He won't let anyone forget this is the day you officially became his. Before the sun even rises, 12am, sharp. Your phone is blowing up with pictures he posted onto his 'moments'.

"Happy anniversary to me and my pipsqueak :P"

He makes it sound playful, but it's actually a serious warning to anyone who tries to be funny. You're off-limits.

Oh, gifts? Not just one. Several. A framed photo of the both of you, custom bracelet with your first name and his last name, you name it. It's like Christmas morning came early.

"I know, i know you said you didn't want anything... but i wasn't listening."

#love and deepspace #lads #fluff #lads x reader #love and deepspace sylus #lads rafayel #lads zayne #sylus x reader #lads caleb #lads xavier #rafayel x reader #zayne x reader #caleb x reader #xavier x reader #xavier #caleb #sylus #rafayel #zayne

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fayelero · 6 days ago

Text

ⓘ 01. JUST FOR SCIENCE !

⤷ SMUT ﹫ nerd!tsukishima kei x fem!reader ﹫ mdni ﹫ university au!

⚠︎ mdni, (kinda rough?) fingering, dirty talk kinda, p with plot, established relationship .ᐟ.ᐟ

it was a req! but I weirdly couldn’t answer it so, here!!

Tsukishima had been deep in a study session at the university library when you sent the message. He almost didn’t check it—his phone buzzed against the table, and he rolled his eyes before flipping it over lazily. The preview alone made his entire body lock up:

“Babe I saw this vid and thought of u. Try it on me later?”

Attached was a screenshot from a TikTok that screamed chaos. It featured some guy, dead serious, explaining how to make a girl squirt—his voice flat, instructional: _“Press down right here on her lower stomach, tense your fingers hard, and shake—_like actually shake—if you do it right, she’ll flood.”

Tsukishima had paused, blinked once. Then again.

And again.

Of course you would send something like that.

He’d cleared his throat and tilted his screen away from Yamaguchi, who was mid-rant about some biochem professor being a demon in human form. Kei pretended to nod along, face schooled into neutrality, but his ears burned red hot. He tried to shove the image out of his mind—your voice asking him to try it on you, the mental picture of your thighs trembling under his hand, your face twisted in overwhelmed pleasure.

God, he was not going to survive the rest of this class.

⸻

By the time he got back to the apartment, his brain was a mess of formulas, suppressed hard-ons, and way too many tabs open on his laptop—half were lecture notes, the rest were very, very specific Reddit threads.

The place was dim and warm when he walked in, the lights low, the curtains drawn. You were already there, stretched out on his bed in nothing but one of his hoodies, scrolling your phone like you hadn’t just ruined him in the middle of a public academic setting.

He dropped his bag and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

You didn’t look up. “Learn anything in class today?”

Kei kicked off his shoes and stalked over. “Mm. Something like that.”

You smirked but barely had time to react before he was over you—knees pressing into the mattress, one hand bracing beside your head, the other pushing your thighs apart with no preamble. He didn’t even kiss you first. He just looked at you with a sharp, unreadable gaze and murmured, “Still want me to try it?”

You blinked. “Try wha—oh.”

Then it hit. You swallowed.

He leaned down and kissed the side of your neck, slowly. “Don’t get shy now. You asked for this, didn’t you?” His voice was low and lazy, but his fingers already curled into the waistband of your panties, tugging them down. “Sent me fucking tutorials in public.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “You liked it.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m letting it slide.” He ghosted his knuckles along your inner thigh. “You made me sit through a 90-minute lecture with a hard-on. You’re paying for that.”

Your stomach flipped. You spread your legs a little wider, feeling heat pulse through your core. He sat back and took in the sight like he was memorizing it—your body under him, already flushed and open.

Tsukishima rolled his sleeves up. “Let’s be clear—this is science.”

You snorted. “Science, huh?”

“I’m testing a hypothesis,” he said, dry. “Let’s see if your little video was telling the truth.”

⸻

He was careful at first—methodical. It was annoyingly hot how analytical he got about it.

Two fingers in, slow. A curl. A press.

He watched your face like he was taking notes in his head.

“That it?” he asked. “Right there?”

You gasped, hips twitching. “Yes—yes, that’s it—”

His glasses slid a little down his nose as he adjusted, leaning forward for better leverage. His fingers pressed deeper, and this time he added pressure with the heel of his hand to your pelvis. You cried out, thighs tensing.

“Okay,” he muttered more to himself. “Now… tense up the forearm…”

You could feel it—his entire arm stiffening. Then his fingers shook, a small, fast motion inside you that felt like a jolt of electricity.

You arched, moaning, nails digging into his wrist. “Kei—!”

“There it is,” he said softly, like he’d just discovered a new species.

He kept going, movements precise but brutal, and you were unraveling fast. He pressed down harder, rubbed exactly where you needed it from inside, and when your stomach jumped under his palm, he glanced up with a smirk.

“Feel that?” he murmured. “That tension right here—that’s your bladder shifting. But don’t worry. You’re not going to piss yourself.”

“Wh—what—?”

He was still talking. “Squirting is basically a form of female ejaculation—it’s expelled from the urethra, but chemically, it’s not urine. The Skene’s glands—sometimes called the female prostate—produce a fluid when stimulated—”

“Kei—!” you gasped.

“—and when the anterior wall of the vagina is stimulated enough, like this—” he curled his fingers harder, grinding them into that spot again, “—it builds pressure until the pelvic floor releases.”

You were close. Too close.

“I—I think I’m gonna—wait—I don’t know if—”

He didn’t stop. “It’s fine. Let it go. It’s just your body responding to stimuli—completely natural, really. Biomechanics at its best—”

You slammed a hand over your face, panting. “K-kei, just shut up—!”

He laughed, dark and low. “Oh? You want me to stop being educational while you soak my bed?”

“I’m serious—!” your voice cracked, and then your body tensed, thighs shaking, muscles locking up so hard you thought you might explode.

Then—

It hit. Hard.

A sudden rush, a high-pitched cry ripped from your throat as your body convulsed, hips jerking up against his hand. You felt warmth, wetness, everything crashing down in an overwhelming wave. Your legs refused to stop twitching.

You lay there gasping, limp, soaked, and stunned.

Kei pulled his fingers out slow, slick and glistening. His face was flushed, his glasses slightly fogged. He looked at his hand like a scientist who just cracked open a star.

“Huh,” he said calmly. “It worked.”

You swatted him weakly. “I can’t believe you talked through the whole thing.”

He smirked. “It helped, didn’t it?”

You groaned. “You’re the worst.”

He leaned in, pressed a kiss to your jaw. “And yet you still squirted all over my sheets.”

You rolled onto your side, completely boneless. “Shut up and take your pants off.”

He stripped in record time.

a/n : im sorry if its not good, i just can’t write for tsukishima, i find myself struggling to write for a character i don’t really like. (no hate!) so pls don’t ask me for tsukishima again cuz i lowkey think its bad :(

#⋆⋰☄︎ kie’s writes #haikyuu fic #hq x reader #hq smut #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukishima x you #hq tsukishima #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima smut #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima kei x you #smut

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4nyangnyangz · 6 months ago

Text

hey, emo boy! 🎸

synopsis: when you reconnect with your childhood best friend after finding out that he finally achieved his goal of forming a band, you’re introduced to their enigmatic guitarist—a man with an intimidating aura that both intrigues and unsettles you. a chance offer for guitar tutorial sessions brings you closer, and what begins as casual lessons quickly turns into something deeper as you exchange subtle yet intimate interactions. as your feelings grow stronger, so does the undeniable tension brewing between you, complicating a bond that was never meant to be simple.

pairings: guitarist!beomgyu x fem reader ; implied soobin x yeonjun??(just crumbs. don't expect much)

tags/warnings: smut but mostly plot, grinding, dry humping but no actual intercourse, use of pet names, strangers to lovers(?), beomgyu is whiney and gets jealous easily, soobin as y/n's roommate and kai as y/n's best friend, there might be more I forgot to mention- THIS ISN'T PROOFREAD!

wordcount: 13.8k.... i got carried away :((

fic below the cut!!

-----------------------------------

“Y/N! You awake yet?” the familiar voice of your roommate echoes through the surrounding walls of your shared apartment.

“Ugh, what does he want now....” you groan to yourself while you sit up, stretching your arms. You were just starting to wake up from what seemed like an eternal slumber.

“Yeah, what is it?” you reply while yawning, trying to imply that you literally just woke up.

“Can you please buy some eggs and bread from the mart nearby? We ran out, and I don't feel like having just bacon for breakfast.” the voice from the other side of the door responds, lowering his voice and almost muttering towards the end. You still heard it, of course.

You get up from your bed, slipping a comfy t-shirt on and tying your hair in a ponytail as you headed out of your room.

You slightly chuckle at the sight of your roommate preparing breakfast while wearing an apron with purple hearts on it. You noticed that his hair was a bit messy indicating that it hasn't been long since he woke up too, and the way the cute apron looked slightly stretched against his bigger frame, knowing he was at least 6 ft tall, wearing an apron that was clearly not made for someone of his size was quite a sight to see first thing in the morning.

“Did you hear what I said?” Soobin, your roommate, says as he shoots his sharp gaze at you while you were observing him, noticing that you looked amused at his interesting fashion choice.

“I heard you, don't worry.” you shrug. Your smile fading after seeing his clearly unamused expression. “Is there anything else you need?”

He shakes his head as a response and gets back to preparing the ingredients for breakfast.

“Alright then, I'll be right back.”

“Thanks, Y/N.” Soobin calmly says as you head back to your room to get changed.

As soon as you made it to your room, you quickly change into one of your favorite hoodies and baggy pants. You grab your phone after getting dressed and made your way out.

You were heading towards the local mart nearby where you and Soobin would often go to whenever you were missing a few items at home. You both would take turns doing housework, and it was Soobin's turn to make breakfast today so here you are, on shopping duty.

You scrolled through your phone with one hand while you stuffed the other in the pocket of your hoodie as you were walking towards the store. It was a 15 minute walk from your place, and you weren't going to get a lot of stuff, so you decided to walk. You knew you needed a bit of exercise to start your day, so this wasn't too bad.

Multiple notifications pop up at the top of the screen of your phone while you were mindlessly scrolling through Instagram. You didn't pay them much attention, until one particular notification from your best friend catches your eye.

(9+ unread messages from Hyuka)

Assuming it was something urgent, you immediately tapped on the notification popup as he isn't the type to send this much messages to you unless it's important, considering you just talked to him last night right before going to sleep. Your eyes immediately widen after reading the thread of messages he sent one after another.

Hyuka:

(hey y/n so i just woke up...)

(GUESS WHAT)

(WAIT NO DON'T ACTUALLY)

(THIS IS CRAZY???)

(YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE THIS.)

(you're the first one i'm telling this to so you better keep this a secret for now, ok?)

(I actually can't believe this, wait-)

(So remember when I kept telling you I wanted to start a band?)

(you may not know it but I personally asked a few people at school)

(AND GUESS WHAT?????)

(you've probably guessed it by now ik)

(BUT I DID IT!)

(I FINALLY FOUND PEOPLE TO START A BAND WITH)

(I can't share the full details here yet but I'll def talk to you about it when we meet, kay?)

(See you soon, y/n! <3)

Your surprised expression soon turns into a smile of relief as you could almost feel your friend breaking into your phone and appearing in front of you if he could just to share the good news with you. You knew how long he was waiting for this moment and he was just so eager about wanting to start a band so he could finally showcase his love for music, and share it with the world.

Hyuka was the nickname you gave your best friend, Huening Kai. You have been friends with him for God knows how long, even to the point where his parents would even treat you like you're part of the family and your parents would do the same for him.

You had a feeling it wouldn't be too long before he could reach his dreams, you've always known that he was a genius when it came to music. He would write the most poetic lyrics, play multiple instruments, make the most beautiful melodies, heck, he even wrote you a song for your birthday that you really liked enough to make it your ringtone at some point.

Knowing that he has finally made the first step to reaching his dreams of being in a band, made you feel nothing but proud of him. You witnessed his growth throughout the years, and you knew that he was capable of so much that the world needs to hear the songs he can come up with and know how talented he is.

Before you knew it, you already arrived at the store. You replied to your friend's messages, congratulating him before placing your phone inside the pocket of your baggy pants. You grab a small cart before heading straight to the aisle where you can find what you're looking for, since you've already memorized the structure of the place after shopping here so often.

You grabbed a tray of eggs and placed it on your cart carefully. You add in a few snacks here and there, and soon enough you get to the bread section. You just chose the usual bread that you guys have at home, plopping it unto your cart. You continued to look around, picking up some of them to take a closer look.

After much thinking, you decided to get Soobin a different type of bread aside from the ones that he will be using for the usual breakfast toast. It's a known fact for you that Soobin LOVES bread, he would always bring some home for him to munch on and share with you whenever he could.

You took your time choosing which one to get for him, especially after remembering the frown on his face during your encounter with him this morning. You thought to yourself that the stress from being student council president and having to work part-time on top of that must be getting to him, so getting him a few snacks wouldn't hurt.

You recalled Soobin's favorite had a sweet red bean filling. You also wanted to grab one custard cream filled bread for yourself. Thankfully, those two flavors were right next to each other. You extended your arm to get the bread, since they were at the very top of the shelves, yet you couldn't reach the top, even after trying to get them on your tiptoes.

Feeling a bit embarrassed at your multiple attempts but still not succeeding, you looked around, trying to find some help as it was too late to just back out from getting them. Fortunately, you had found someone in the same aisle just a few steps away from you, who at first glance was definitely tall enough to reach the top of the shelf and get them for you.

Your eyes landed on a tall and lean male with long, dark brown hair resting just right above his shoulders. His bangs were slightly covering his eyes, as he slightly lowered his head to look at the product he was holding in his right hand. You immediately notice his unique sense of fashion as he was dressed in a somewhat eye-catching way.

There were layers of silver and black accessories dangling around his wrists, and his fingers were wrapped in rings. He was dressed in an oversized black tee with a huge print of what seemed to be a band logo in the front, and black ripped jeans held together by the gray belt that was wrapped around his waist. Your eyes dropped down to his leather boots that went just up around his calf, that complemented his overall fit.

Remembering the messages you read from your best friend earlier, you immediately thought to yourself how this man you just saw looks like he would be in a band just perfectly. You couldn't help but be intimidated by the vibe he gave off. You were late to realize it but you stood there, eyeing the stranger from head to toe, slowly admiring him from a distance.

“Never seen someone that's dressed like this before?” the stranger now in front of you says nonchalantly, not even sparing you a glance while still examining the product he has been holding which immediately puts you back to your senses.

You felt blood rush to your cheeks as you blink twice and immediately shake your head, as if you just snapped out of a spell. Realizing that the stranger noticed how you were basically staring him down, you quickly rushed to defend yourself, worried that he might have misunderstood you when you had no ill intentions.

“N-no, of course not! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare... I actually think you're dressed really well. I mean, your style fits you a lot-” you ended up blabbering about how you liked his style before you even realized it. Your mind soon puts you back in your place, reminding you why you even turned to his direction in the first place.

“Wait, no, that's not why I was looking at you-” you sigh, a huge wave of embarrassment taking over you. You were lost in your words when you hear the stranger laugh, finding it adorable how you were a stuttering mess after he caught you staring at him and merely asked you a question.

He finally turns to your way, making eye contact with you and you immediately noticed his sharp features, a hint of eyeliner resting under his eyes, and with a closer look, you noticed that he has an almost angelic face despite the way he presented himself. You weren't sure if it was possible to be more flustered than before, but you were definitely not prepared to have an encounter like this in your local mart, on a random Thursday morning.

“I'm just kidding, don't worry. You just needed help with getting these, right?” he says as he walks closer to your direction, looking at the top row of the shelf.

You wanted to ask how he knew, but you could only imagine how he saw your countless attempts to get them for yourself before finally caving in and ask for help.

“Yes, please. Thank you...” is all you managed to say, looking down while feeling another wave of embarrassment crash upon you once again. You're just glad he was aware of the reason you looked to his direction, at least.

He stood right behind you as he reaches out to get what you needed. He moves his arms just above your shoulder carefully, making sure to not accidentally hit you while he picks up the packs of bread with ease.

“Here you go.”

You turn around to face him as he hands them over to you. You slightly raise your head to look at his face so you could thank him properly, and he shoots you over a smile. You felt your face getting warm after your eyes met.

“Thank you so much, and I'm sorry again, I hope you didn't get the wrong idea... I didn't mean to offend you in any way-” you start off, trying your best to dismiss the fact that the small distance between you was making you really nervous.

“I wasn't offended or anything, don't worry. I was just joking earlier, so don't take it too seriously.” he replies as he gives you a reassuring smile. You smile back at him in relief.

There was a small moment of silence as you both just stood there in front of each other, not saying anything.

“My name's Beomgyu, by the way.” the stranger introduces himself first, breaking the awkward silence.

You felt relieved and glad that awkward moment didn't last any longer. You have been feeling a bit uneasy ever since your conversation started, after all.

“What's your name, pretty?” he adds, the corner of his lips forming a slight smirk, while making sure to meet your eyes.

Getting flustered was one thing, but Beomgyu just managed to make you nervous at every point of your interaction with him. You weren't sure if it was because of his intimidating style, his unreal, almost angelic features, his deep and raspy voice calling you "pretty", the small distance between the both of you or just the idea of him flirting with you was making your heart beat faster and louder by the second, but you swore he could've heard it if you didn't answer him right away.

“I'm y/n.” you answered, smiling back at him, trying to cover up how you were feeling all sorts of emotions deep down at that moment.“You have a nice name, Beomgyu.”

He chuckles at your response and frankly sad attempt before replying, “Thank you. I like your name too, y/n. Will I be seeing you around?”

“Well, I live nearby and I usually go here when I need to get something in a hurry.” you hesitantly reply, unsure if this was the answer he was looking for.

“Great. I guess I'll start going here often then.”

You felt the heat rush to your cheeks once again from his response, and you immediately break eye contact. You attempt to laugh it off before responding.

“Sure, I might run into you again.” you mutter as you awkwardly laugh before looking away. You wouldn't even dare imagine the thought of seeing him here again.

You hear him chuckle for a bit before responding back. “I'll definitely say hi when I do. Well, I have to go now, I have practice in a few minutes. Guess I'll see you around then, y/n?”

Part of you was glad that you can finally get out of this situation, you have been feeling so overwhelmed with all sorts of emotions for a while now and you swear you felt yourself getting physically weak at some point, but a small part of you was also feeling sad that your encounter with Beomgyu had to end there, you just didn't want to admit it, of course.

“Yeah, see you around, Beomgyu. Thanks for your help, again.” you finally look back up at him and smile.

He smiles back and waves at you before turning to leave and walk away. You smiled back, waving your hands until you saw his silhouette disappear from your sight.

----------

“I'm back. Sorry to keep you waiting.” you opened the front door to your shared apartment with Soobin and soon found him lying down and facing sidewards in the small sofa that could barely fit him.

He sits up after he hears your voice and immediately reacts to the smell of his favorite bread. There were times you'd question if he was a bunny in his past life from how he acted around his favorite food.

“Did you get the red bean filled bread? Or am I just smelling things?” he looks up at you, expecting your response. You haven't seen him this alive ever since you woke up today.

You smiled while nodding as a response. He immediately gets up from the sofa and heads to your direction, rummaging through the bags of food you just brought from the store and he has a wide smile on his face after seeing that you got him his favorite bread.

“Thank you so much, y/n! You have no idea how much I needed this. Sorry for acting weird earlier, I wasn't having the best day.” he mutters while fiddling with the bread, feeling apologetic from how he acted earlier.

“That's okay. I got your back, Soobs.” you assured him as you gently tap his shoulder, letting out a small laugh as you noticed him cringe at the nickname.

You help Soobin move the stuff you brought to the fridge and decided to help out with preparing breakfast. He swiftly whipped up two servings of French toast with some bacon at the side which the both of you finished in an instant. Although your roommate wasn't the best cook, he definitely wasn't bad at cooking either. You're just glad you won't have to worry about cooking and washing the dishes for today, at least.

Soobin gets up and brings the used plates and kitchenware over to the sink, and starts washing them.

You help out in cleaning the table while he does the dishes. Teamwork makes the dream work, indeed.

“Hey, Soobin?” you start the conversation while you were both cleaning up, just to avoid any awkward silence, or at least that's what you convinced yourself. It was totally not because you couldn't stop thinking about your short encounter with Beomgyu at the store earlier.

Soobin responds with a small hum while he stays focused on washing dishes.

You hesitated for a bit. You started to question yourself whether you should bring up what happened at the store or not, but you decided to go for it anyway. It's your roommate of all people, surely he won't make a fuss about it, right?

“I'm just asking this because I'm curious, but does the name 'Beomgyu' ring a bell?” you continued, feeling a bit cautious of his response.

You heard him hum for a moment as if he was contemplating something before he finally answered.

“Beomgyu...? I would definitely remember someone with that name, but I don't think I've heard that name before. Do they go to our school?” You weren't sure why, but you felt somewhat relieved after hearing Soobin's answer.

Soobin was right. Beomgyu isn't the type of person you would forget so easily, so Soobin would surely remember Beomgyu right away when you said his name, if they actually have met before, you thought to yourself.

“No, I don't think he goes to our school. It was my first time seeing him at the store earlier. I just thought you might know who he is, since you know a lot of people at school and you visit the store more often than I do.” you explain after realizing it might have been a weird question to ask all of a sudden.

“Well, why do you ask? Does it matter if I knew who this "Beomgyu" is?” he coos, trying to analyze the situation.

Now realizing that it might have been a bad move to ask Soobin about it, you immediately stop wiping the table to look at him. You just noticed that he was done washing the dishes and he was now facing you while leaning back at the counter where the sink was.

“N-no, it's nothing. I was just curious.” you mutter, praying he wouldn't ask you any further but knowing Soobin, you knew the conversation wasn't gonna end there.

“Y/N, don't tell me....” he pauses for a bit and raises an eyebrow. “Do you li-”

(Now Playing: Ariana Grande - Daydreamin')

Before you could stop Soobin from completing his next sentence, the ringtone playing from his phone echoes through the kitchen and you let out a sigh of relief. You're just glad you didn't even have to try and end the conversation. Whoever it was, they had called just in time.

Soobin also sighs, slightly ticked off that he wasn't even able to finish his question especially after he was now curious who this Beomgyu was that you brought up out of nowhere.

He slightly taps his hands at the sides of his pants, making sure his hands were dry before picking up the phone. He opens his phone and you noticed how his eyes widened and his expression changed immediately after seeing the screen light up.

“Oh, right- I HAVE TO MEET YEONJUN HYUNG! SHIT!-” is all he managed to say while he panics for a bit before finally deciding to answer the call.

“Hyung! Sorry, have you been waiting long? I'll be right there soon!” your eyes followed Soobin as he dashed to his room, making you laugh at his antics. You weren't surprised as this wasn't the first time Soobin would act like this, especially after knowing it was from Yeonjun.

You haven't met Yeonjun yet, but you've only heard so much about him from Soobin. From what Soobin had told you, you knew that Yeonjun was a model, he was older than Soobin, and that he's someone that Soobin "owes a lot" to. That kind of explains why Soobin acts like a switch had just been flipped and he's on alert mode when it comes to Yeonjun.

You finish tidying up the table and head to the sink to wash your hands before heading back to your room and changing back into comfortable clothes.

-------------

“Here's your large iced vanilla latte, enjoy!” Soobin smiles, flashing his dimples as he gently places the drink to the small tray in front of him and hands it over to the customer. The girl standing in front of Soobin smiles back at him before taking the tray over to her table with her friends. You noticed her friends giggling and cheering for her while she makes her way back to their table. You let out a small laugh, thinking it was adorable that there are some customers who seem to like coming to the cafe just to see your roommate.

“The boss should really give you a raise. I think this is the third time I've seen that group this week.” You slightly nudged Soobin's shoulder and whispered, just enough for him to hear. He chuckles and shakes his head while feeling embarrassed, you notice his cheeks were flushed with a tint of red.

This scenario was all too familiar to you, and it wasn't a surprise that you've had multiple customers who visited the cafe for the first time, soon turned into regulars because of Soobin. As much as you didn't want to admit it, Soobin was tall and good-looking. He had the sweetest voice whenever he would talk to the customers, he had the most captivating smile that emphasized his dimples, all of which he was fully aware that he would use those to his advantage, and it worked like a charm every time.

You respected how Soobin was dedicated to his job despite being just as busy with his countless responsibilities as the Student Council President. You may have a hard time getting used to seeing this side of him, especially since he's your roommate, but you couldn't deny that he was certainly getting the job done.

You both turn towards the entrance of the cafe as the ringing of the tiny chimes hanging above the door catches your attention. Your attention is soon diverted to the tall figure entering the premises, along with two people following behind him.

“Y/N! Soobin hyung!” a familiar voice echoes throughout the cafe.

“Kai is just as cheerful as ever, huh...” Soobin whispers back, just enough for you to hear.

You greet the tall blonde with a smile, you felt your nerves immediately loosen up after seeing your best friend, Huening Kai. He was always such a comforting presence to you. It felt like the stress you've had from school and the hours of hard work you have been doing up til' now disappeared in an instant, after seeing him come to visit you.

You noticed an unfamiliar face scoot beside Hyuka, to get a better view of the menu displayed on the screen behind you. He was slightly smaller than Hyuka, he had black hair and he had boba-like round eyes that were looking eagerly at the screen, trying to decide what to order.

“I'll have an iced americano, please.” he said, turning to you with a smile. You immediately noticed how his features turned almost cat-like after you saw him smile. You smile back at him and nod, tapping on the small screen in front of you to take his order.

“How about you, Beomgyu hyung?”

You looked up at him again, thinking you might have heard him wrong.

Beomgyu? There's no way it could be the Beomgyu you thought it was, right?

You followed his gaze as he turned to the person behind him, and your eyes widened after seeing the third person standing behind the two men in front of you.

Talk about luck.

It was, indeed, the Beomgyu that you had in mind. The person you met at the store, wearing the exact same outfit you saw him in earlier. Except this time, you noticed his hair was a bit messier, his eyeliner was slightly smudged, and he wore a guitar case like a backpack, the straps looped over his shoulders and the case resting snugly against his back.

You thought to yourself that at first glance, Beomgyu does seem like the type to play the guitar, yet you couldn't help but be surprised after seeing him anyway.

“I'll just have what you're having, thanks.” he mutters while he scrolls through his phone, not even sparing the three of you a glance.

Did he not see you? Part of you had hoped for it, even though you knew that he would eventually, especially since Hyuka will be introducing you to the both of them in a bit.

You weren't too sure how to approach him now, after your first encounter at the store earlier. Should you just wait for him to talk to you first? Should you pretend to not know him? You felt the nervousness that you almost forgot about take over you again, and countless thoughts started to fill your mind.

“I feel like getting that too, so you can make that three iced americanos, y/n. Oh, and let me also get two chocolate chip cookies with that, please.” Hyuka completes their order with a smile, and you can sense that he was excited to tell you all about his new friends and the progress of their band.

You finish taking down their order and you repeat it back to them to confirm if you got everything correct before sending it over to Soobin. Hyuka gives you an approving nod and makes sure to thank you first before they head over to their table.

You head over to Soobin and you help out with preparing their order. You plated the cookies while he was in charge of the drinks.

“I don't think I've seen those guys before, are they Kai's friends from school?” Soobin asks while he fills the three empty cups with ice.

“I don't know, it's my first time seeing Hyuka with them either.” You shrug. Hyuka would usually visit the cafe by himself, and this was the first time he brought someone else that isn't his family. You glanced at their table as you continued to chat with Soobin but you immediately tensed up when you noticed that Beomgyu was looking at your direction.

Feeling embarrassed at the sudden eye contact, you immediately turned your head to Soobin, trying to hide your face that started heating up the moment you and Beomgyu's eyes met. You let out a nervous laugh as you carried on with your conversation with Soobin, hoping that Beomgyu didn't notice.

Soobin wraps up the order and nudged you to take a break in the meantime so you could catch up with Hyuka. You were about to refuse and tell him that you could do that after your shift ends in a few hours since Hyuka usually waits for you anyway, but Soobin insisted and he left to greet the next customer before you could say another word of protest.

Thankfully, it wasn't a busy day, and Soobin assured you that he could manage the work by himself. You promised him you would go back the moment it gets busy however, and he agreed. You would also cover for Soobin during the few times that he had to leave for something urgent in the middle of his shift, so Soobin would gladly cover for you too if the situation calls for it.

You took one glance at Hyuka's table and sighed. You were excited to finally catch up with your friend, but at the same time you were feeling nervous thinking about how it would go, meeting Beomgyu again like this.

You brought the tray containing the drinks and cookies they ordered and carefully placed it on their table. Hyuka gently taps on the empty seat beside him, signaling for you to come sit with them. You smiled at him before taking a seat. He shoots back a really cheeky smile at you in return.

Beomgyu clears his throat loudly, almost as if he intended to interrupt your little moment with Hyuka.

This catches your attention and you all turn to face him. You were surprised to see such a dark expression on Beomgyu's face, it looked as if he didn't want to be there.

“Alright guys, this is my best friend, Y/N. We've been friends for like, forever, that we're basically family now. Right, Y/N?”, Hyuka pauses for a moment and looks at you expectantly, and you felt a bit embarrassed, but you nod as a response, not wanting to let him down.

He smiles after seeing your reaction and continues, “And these guys, are my bandmates. The pretty one with the long hair right here is Beomgyu hyung! He's going to be our guitarist. I've only seen videos of him play before and I thought that he was really good, but after practicing with him and seeing it for myself earlier, I was even more impressed!”

You glance at Beomgyu's reaction and you noticed how he was basically turning red from the compliments and how enthusiastic Hyuka was about introducing him, that it made you giggle and he looked away while resting his chin on his palm as an attempt to cover his flushed face, feeling even more embarrassed. You were now especially curious to see how Beomgyu would play the guitar, especially after seeing your best friend shower him with praise.

“The cute one over here is Taehyun!” Hyuka adds and you look at the young man sitting across you.

“Please don't call me cute.” he looks at Hyuka straight in the eye with a serious expression which made the three of you laugh because doing that somehow just made him look even cuter.

“Alright then, my bad! The HANDSOME one, is Taehyun.” Hyuka retorts, still laughing

from Taehyun's response and emphasizing on the word handsome. “He is our vocalist! He's an amazing singer and he has exactly the perfect voice I had in mind for the songs I've made! Oh yeah, and he's the same age as us, but he's older than me for a few months so that technically makes him my hyung. But he insists that I don't call him hyung, so I just call him Taehyun.”

You and Taehyun exchanged smiles after Hyuka formally introduced you to them. You glanced at Beomgyu and your eyes met, which made you feel flustered. You still couldn't get used to Beomgyu meeting your eyes without feeling nervous.

You could make eye contact with Taehyun just fine, but not with Beomgyu for some reason, was it because you guys already met before Hyuka introduced them to you?

“And I'll be playing the drums.” Hyuka blurts out and you immediately turn to him with a surprised look on your face which makes him laugh. “What's with that look, y/n?”

“Nothing... I just thought you would be on the keyboard or you would play the guitar, too. I just never expected you to be the one to play the drums, really.” you muttered. You knew that Hyuka could play the drums, but it wasn't the instrument he played often so it was a surprise to you when he revealed that he was going to be their drummer.

He laughs before explaining that they needed a drummer, and he's the only one that could do it so he just went for it. He was just happy that he's finally formed a band, officially.

“How about you, y/n?” Beomgyu asks, and everyone's attention was on you now. “Do you play any instruments?”

“Well...” you were caught off guard by the question, and you weren't expecting Beomgyu to ask you that. You hesitate a bit before answering, “I know how to play the guitar a bit... Hyu- I mean, Kai, was the one who taught me how.”

Kai looks back at Beomgyu with an approving nod, looking quite proud of himself. Beomgyu on the other hand, raises an eyebrow, looking like he isn't satisfied with your answer.

“Really? We should play together sometime. I can teach you how, too.” he replied, raising the corner of his lips and forming a smirk.

There it goes again. You were starting to get used to the feeling of being flustered, nervous, and embarrassed whenever you spoke with Beomgyu. You immediately avoided eye contact after seeing how he responded.

“That's right, Beomgyu hyung is really good and I think he would be a great teacher. Plus, you're a fast learner so I trust you, y/n!” Hyuka adds, genuinely supportive of the idea. You saw Taehyun nod, agreeing with Hyuka. You laughed nervously, not even wanting to entertain the thought of how that would go, but you just couldn't say no to that now that everyone's basically on it. It won't turn out so badly as you're imagining it, right?

“Sure, maybe when we have some free time, I guess...” you muttered, in hopes of dismissing the topic there.

“Your number.” Beomgyu places his phone on the table, right in front of you. You look down at his phone, then back at him with a confused expression. “So I could text you when I'm free, and I can teach you how to play.”

You're just now realizing that there's no turning back, and that he was actually dead serious about this. You glance at Kai and Taehyun, trying to find some sort of way out from this, but to your surprise, you see Taehyun with a smile, giving you a thumbs up and Hyuka was covering his face with his two hands as if he was blushing, eyes wide, nodding his head furiously, urging you to go type in your number already.

Lastly, you look over to Beomgyu and he just shoots you a mischievous grin. Was this really a good idea?

You were hesitant at first, but you didn't want to make it seem like you were being forced to do it. A part of you was actually looking forward to it, you were nervous yet excited to imagine meeting up with Beomgyu, just the two of you, so he could teach you and you could play together.

You were starting to feel blood rush to your cheeks at the thought, so you immediately look down to face the screen of his phone and type down your name and number, saving your information in his contacts and quickly handing him back his phone. You were hoping they didn't notice how flushed your cheeks were.

“Y/N!” you hear Soobin's voice call you from a distance, and you turn to his direction, seeing a slight panic in his expression. You didn't realize how the cafe was starting to get full, and you took this as your chance.

“Oh no, its starting to get busier. I'm sorry, I need to get back to work, Soobin needs my help. Let's catch up next time. I'll message you later, Hyuka. See you guys around then!” you said, getting up from your chair in a rush and patting Hyuka's head before quickly heading back to help out Soobin with the workload.

Hyuka starts pouting after you pat his head, him and Taehyun starts waving at your back as you rushed to get back to work. You never noticed since you left in a hurry, but Beomgyu's expression immediately darkens after you left the table. Soobin notices this however, and catches the younger boy's glare at him, as if he did something wrong.

Soon after you arrive at the counter to help out, Soobin immediately thanks you and divides the workload.

“Was this a bad time to call you back? Sorry, it was starting to get hectic.” he whispers, feeling bad and worried at the same time, and he swore could still feel Beomgyu glaring at him then.

“No, no, it was the perfect timing. You saved me there, thanks.” you whisper back at him in relief, which makes him more confused, but he doesn't question it and the both of you continue working.

-------------

A few days have passed since Hyuka introduced Beomgyu and Taehyun to you at the cafe. Since then, you and Beomgyu have been messaging each other. He would also visit the cafe along with Taehyun and Hyuka from time to time, and you have started to feel more comfortable interacting with him, it no longer felt like you were walking on thin ice whenever you talked.

It was safe to say that you were slowly becoming good friends with Hyuka's bandmates, and Soobin also had the chance to meet them at some point. After spending some time with them for few days, you had soon found out that Hyuka and Taehyun were classmates, and it was Taehyun who asked Beomgyu, who is his roommate, to join the both of them to form a band.

Before you knew it, you fiddled with the hem of your shirt as you stood in front of the door to Beomgyu and Taehyun's apartment. You and Beomgyu both agreed that you would be meeting him today for guitar practice, since you both didn't have school and you didn't have to work during the weekends.

You open the front camera to your phone so you could fix your hair and check your outfit one more time. You didn't want to show up wearing something too extra or too simple, so you asked Soobin for help to choose an outfit. You both ultimately decided on a cropped tee, high waisted jeans, and a pair of converse high tops that matched your outfit. You also wore light makeup to complete your look.

You have been standing in the empty hallway of their apartment for a at least 10 minutes, trying to make yourself look presentable, adjusting the length of you shirt, fixing your hair, and doing a quick retouch to your makeup. You were just making sure that you looked decent, it's not like you were trying to impress anyone, right?

After a lot of hesitation, you took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell and looked around while waiting for the door to open. You felt like your heart almost dropped to the floor when the door opens after a few seconds.

You look up and see a half-awake Beomgyu running his left hand through his hair, while his right hand holds the door open. He was dressed rather comfortably, it was very different to the usual dark outfits he wore outside whenever you met him in the cafe with Hyuka and Taehyun. Beomgyu wore a plain white t-shirt under an oversized black cardigan, and a pair of black pants. You were used to seeing him in his usual dark and "emo" fashion, but seeing a different side to Beomgyu felt new, but you liked it.

He greeted you with a smile before you letting you in and you followed him to his room. You looked around while you nervously stepped inside his room as he closes the door behind you. He had a bunch of band posters surrounding the walls of his room and you noticed he had a shelf stocked with albums of his favorite artists. You saw that he had 3 guitars displayed at the corner of his room, next to a desk where he had a computer setup. You couldn't describe it very well, but Beomgyu's room felt very him.

“You can sit on my bed, I'll go get the guitar.” he says as he goes to pick up the guitar.

You nodded and sat at the edge of his bed carefully. Your eyes followed Beomgyu's back as he prepares the guitar that he will be using to teach you. You started to tense up, remembering the familiar feeling that you've had during your first encounter with him at the store, your heart was beating louder and faster, and you were starting to feel nervous again.

You weren't expecting to get nervous especially after you thought you were finally comfortable being around with him, but the idea of you and Beomgyu being alone in his room made you feel more nervous than ever.

You've been to Soobin's room before to get a few things, and you've always hung out with Hyuka in his room countless times, but why did this feel different? Why were you so nervous about being alone with Beomgyu in his room when you were just going to get guitar lessons with him? The more you tried to think rationally and calm yourself down, your mind wasn't helping you.

The edge of the bed dips down at Beomgyu's weight as he sits down cross-legged beside you, carrying the guitar and repositioning it just above his thigh.

“You okay? You look so nervous.” he says with a laugh as he looks down while tuning the strings of the guitar.

How did he know? Was it too obvious? A hundred questions filled your mind. You were worried you might be overanalyzing everything.

“Y-yeah, I'm okay. I'm just nervous because I haven't played in years.” you answer with an awkward laugh.

That was one of them, but you couldn't possibly tell Beomgyu that you were nervous because you're alone with him in his room, could you? You hoped he wouldn't question you any further.

“That's alright. I'm here to teach you, so don't worry.” he assures you, looking to your direction and he smiles after your eyes meet.

You smile back, feeling a bit relieved. Maybe you were just worrying over nothing.

“Besides, Taehyun won't be coming home today. It's just going to be the two of us.” he says with a hint of mischievousness in his tone. “You won't have to worry about making mistakes, no one's gonna hear them except for me.”

The feeling of relief didn't last long as Beomgyu's words echoed in your head like crazy. You were already nervous even before he told you that, and now you couldn't calm yourself down even if you tried. Your heart was racing and you felt your cheeks heating up.

Beomgyu notices the change in your expression, making him chuckle. You look away, feeling more embarrassed that he's teasing you about it.

“Let's start with something easy. I'll show you first.”

Beomgyu starts playing the guitar, soon switching between two chords simultaneously. You turn to him, paying attention to how he plays. He starts humming along the tune of the song as he strums up and down.

(Now Playing: 505 by Arctic Monkeys)

He plays up till the first chorus, stopping right before the second verse. You clap your hands, genuinely amazed from what you just watched. Hyuka was right. Beomgyu was really good at playing the guitar, and you just saw it for yourself.

Beomgyu chuckles and shakes his head, feeling a bit embarrassed at your reaction. He hands you over the guitar, and you follow him, crossing your right leg over your left leg, and you position the guitar on top of your thigh.

“I really haven't played in years, so don't make fun of me, okay?” you mutter and he laughs, finding you adorable.

“I won't, I swear.” he then demonstrates how to do the chords, placing his fingers on top of his arm, mimicking how he presses the string of the guitar. “These are the two chords you need to remember, first Dm, and then Em.”

You copy how he positions his fingers and apply that on your end, pressing the strings eagerly. You look at him, trying to check his expression if you were doing it right. He tilts his head slightly, muttering a silent hum before moving. He scoots over right behind you.

“Do you mind?” he asks first, and you were taken aback by his actions, but you shake your head, assuring him that you were okay.

Beomgyu leans forward, finally closing the distance between the both of you and he slowly wraps his arms around you, placing his hands on top of yours, guiding your left fingers to show you how to do the chords properly while guiding your right hand to show you the correct strumming pattern. Beomgyu hums while he plays the song again, this time showing you how to do it on your end as moves your hands gently.

You thought you would be okay, and that you wouldn't mind since he was just going to teach you how, but now you couldn't think straight. All you could think about was how he rested his chin on your shoulder, how his deep voice while he was humming along tickled your ears, how gentle his hands felt on top of yours, how you felt completely enamored with his scent and how you felt his warmth on your back as he embraced you.

You're not the type to engage in any physical activity with anyone, even with your family or your closest friends. You couldn't wrap your head around the fact that it was your first time being this intimate with someone, and it was with Beomgyu.

You had hoped he wouldn't notice how you were basically starting to sweat from the nervousness, or how the sound of your own heart beating was louder than the guitar playing in front of you. You bit your lower lip, in hopes of hiding that you were having a hard time breathing from how fast your heartbeat was going at this point.

You were quickly brought back to your senses when you felt Beomgyu stop moving your hands and you hear him laugh.

“Geez, y/n. Were you even paying attention?” he slowly pulls away, gently letting go of your hands before moving beside you, leaving you almost frozen in place. You pull yourself together, clearing your throat before responding.

“Of course I did.” you replied, trying your best to sound normal. You were still having a hard time calming down and regaining composure, but you didn't want to get more obvious by the minute.

“Really? Show me how it's done, then.” Beomgyu says, flashing a grin while crossing his arms, paying full attention to you.

You looked at him nervously one more time before looking down to check if you positioned your fingers at the fret of the guitar correctly.

“If you do well, I'll grant one wish.” he offers, and you look up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“And if I don't?” you question. He wouldn't say that without having a catch, would he?

“Hmm... if you don't,” his voice grows deeper and more serious as he pauses before slightly leaning forward, not breaking eye contact. “Then maybe I should give you a little punishment for it.” he adds, the corner of his lips curling up to form a smirk.

You stared at him for a few seconds, trying to process what he just told you. After you realized what he just said, you were about to retort him when he cut you off.

“Nah, I'm just kidding.” he pauses with a laugh before adding, “We will just have to keep going until you get it right.”

--------------

“Y/n- Y/N!”

You were immediately brought back to your senses when you started to hear Soobin's voice echo in the background, fading in as if you just started to snap out of something.

“Are you okay? What's going on? This is like the third time today that I've seen you spacing out.” he muttered as he puts his both of his hands on your shoulders while facing you, visibly worried.

“Y-yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about that.” you mutter and immediately get back to work. You hear Soobin sigh before he took his hands off of your shoulders.

You rummage through the counter before looking up to greet the customer waiting in front of you.

“Good morning! What can I get for you to-”

You weren't able to finish your sentence as you lock eyes with Beomgyu, grinning at you. You felt your cheeks go warm and your heart skip a beat.

For the past few days, you just couldn't seem to get Beomgyu out of your head, especially after your first guitar session with him. It has gotten to the point that even your roommate has noticed you spacing out multiple times, which was unusual for you since you wouldn't usually have problems focusing on work, studies and even on house chores.

You thought you needed to pull yourself together when the source of your unusual antics suddenly appeared in front of you.

“Good morning, y/n. I'll just get my usual order, thanks.” Beomgyu smiles at you, handing over the payment for his order.

“I'm on it. I'll send it to your table in a few minutes.” you smile back at him, an attempt to somehow cover up the fact that you were getting nervous again whenever you were around his presence. He nods at you as a response before heading to his table.

You turned around to get started with Beomgyu's order when you notice Soobin looking at you, raising his eyebrow as he leans on the counter with his arms crossed.

“What?” you chuckled as you question the judging expression on his face.

“I think I might have a feeling I know what has been on your mind these days since you started acting weird... or should I say, 'who'.” Soobin replies and he made sure to emphasize the last part.

“It's really nothing, Soobs. I just have a lot on my mind recently, that's all. I swear I'll do better today, so don't worry too much.” you shrug, clearly getting at what he's implying to you before leaving the counter and working on Beomgyu's order.

You knew that Soobin would be the first to notice these things, so you wanted to stop the conversation there before it turns into another nagging session from him. You were reminded of the few times you noticed how he started to act like he was your father or something, especially when you weren't being yourself. You knew he always meant well, you just weren't in the mood for it at the moment.

Soobin stared at your back as you walked away from him, his eyebrows furrowed in worry. He averts his gaze over to Beomgyu's table, and immediately gets taken aback when he sees Beomgyu glaring at him as if he was about to shoot daggers with his eyes. Soobin scoffs at the sight in disbelief.

You quickly finish Beomgyu's order, placing two chocolate chip cookies and an iced caramel macchiato onto the small tray. You slightly fixed your hair before heading to his table while carrying the tray that had his order.

As you walked towards him, you noticed that he was on his phone with wireless headphones resting on his head, covering both of his ears. Sunlight spills through the window, illuminating the little table where he was seated and perfectly emphasizing his defined features. Despite his dark-presenting exterior, you can't help but notice how his face looks so angelic. It almost felt like you were observing a painting.

He notices you getting closer and turns to you, smiling as your eyes met. You smiled back, hoping he wouldn't notice the tint of pink flushing your cheeks. He takes off his headphones and puts them down to rest on his shoulders, wrapping around his neck.

“Here's your cookies and iced caramel macchiato, Beomgyu.” you carefully place the cup of coffee and plate of cookies on the table, making sure not to spill anything or make a mess. He thanks you and smiled at him as a response.

“Let me know if you need anything else.” you say while you hold the now empty tray in your hands, about to turn around when he answered, stopping you in your tracks.

“You.”

Taken aback from his response, you looked back at him with a confused expression.

Did you mishear what he said? The grin plastered on his face when you looked back at him wasn't much help when you felt your heart skip a beat.

“Sit here with me. Let's talk for a bit.” he suggests, tapping the table as a gesture to invite you to sit down on the empty chair across him.

“Beomgyu, I'm-” you were about to decline his offer when he cuts you off.

“I know, but you always make time for us whenever we visit, and it's not that busy right now.” he looks around, observing the almost empty cafe. There were only three occupied tables, including his.

“Pretty please?” Beomgyu mutters. You were taken aback by the shift in his tone, and the change in his expression, especially how he looked up at you with almost puppy-like eyes that could convince literally anyone, you thought to yourself.

You sighed before placing the tray on the table and sat down facing him, taking him on his offer.

“Fine, but only for a few minutes, okay?”

He smiles at you before taking a sip of the coffee you prepared for him. You noticed how his eyes widened after taking a sip and he nods slowly while savoring the drink, implying that he approves of it.

You couldn't help but giggle at his reaction. Soobin usually prepares the drinks while you're in charge of the counter but today wasn't a busy day so you decided to do Beomgyu's order. You were just glad that he liked it.

“So, where's Kai and Taehyun? Don't you guys usually come together?” you asked, a hint of curiosity visible in your tone. This was the first time he came by himself so you wondered if something had happened.

“Dunno. I never got to ask them. I'm sure they wouldn't really mind, though.” he replies almost nonchalantly as he continues to sip on his drink.

Not quite the answer you were expecting to get, but you didn't question him further. You rested your chin on the palm of your hand as you turned to the glass window just beside the table. Outside, the city wakes up, people hurrying past, but here, in the small and cozy space of the cafe, time feels like it slows down. A short moment of silence fills the air.

“Aren't you going to ask me why I came here so early?” Beomgyu mutters after a while, breaking the silence.

You look at him for a moment before saying anything. He also rested his chin on the palm of his hand, except he wasn't looking out the window, but facing you directly. It was almost as if he was observing you, and silently admiring your features. The thought of him gazing at you intently sent your mind spiraling and you almost felt like your heart was going to explode.

“Alright then, why did you come here by yourself so early?”

Beomgyu leans forward, slowly closing the distance between the both of you with his face still resting on his hand.

“It's because I wanted to see you.” Beomgyu replies, still staring into your eyes. His gaze was somehow intense, yet it felt gentle. His voice was deep and soft at the same time that it almost sounded like a whisper.

You sat there with widened eyes as a fluttering sensation begins in your stomach, like tiny wings beating against the walls of your insides. A mix of excitement and nervousness runs through your veins, a feeling that is only too familiar whenever you were with Beomgyu.

Your cheeks and ears were warm and you felt a weird sensation all over your body. You swore if he could come any closer he could probably hear the raging sound of your heartbeat by now. His answer pierced through your ears, and you were once again intoxicated by the effect he had on you.

You immediately turned away, breaking eye contact before you could completely get lost in your thoughts.

“You know you could still see me even if you went with the others, right?” you respond, a desperate attempt at trying to keep calm and handle the situation you were in.

“I know, but I want you to pay attention to me, just me. This is different.” he responds almost immediately, and you could tell he was serious despite not looking at him just by the tone of his voice.

“Well, you got what you wanted, I guess...” you muttered and you heard Beomgyu chuckle at your flustered state.

Your heart flutters, each beat echoing in your ears. You glance around to make sure no one, especially Beomgyu, hasn't noticed. The feeling is both delightful and awkward, leaving you wishing to disappear and yet wanting to bask in the sensation a little longer.

“Did you two fight or something?” Beomgyu asks and you looked at him with a confused expression on his face. You noticed that he was facing towards the counter, looking at Soobin. You realize that he was probably referring to what happened earlier.

“You mean Soobin? No, we didn't.” you answered and you heard a soft hum from him as a response.

“Huh... weird. It sure seemed like it.”

“He's just looking out for me, that's all.”

“Soobin.... he's not your boyfriend, is he?” Beomgyu mutters while fiddling with the straw from the iced caramel macchiato.

You blinked, momentarily stunned by Beomgyu’s question. The idea of Soobin being your boyfriend seemed completely out of left field. For a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. You quickly shook your head, trying to clear up the confusion before it could spiral further.

“Uh… What? Soobin? No, no, of course not,” you finally stammered, trying to shake off the strange feeling of discomfort that suddenly settled in your chest.

“He's just my roommate. We're just friends, nothing more than that.”

Beomgyu looked at you for a long second, his eyes slightly narrowed as if he were searching for something you weren't saying. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he fiddled with the straw, and it clicked. It made you wonder if he was trying to figure something out, something about you, maybe.

Wait. Is he... jealous?

Your heart raced a little faster, and you couldn’t help but glance away for a second to collect your thoughts. Why was he jealous?

You had to admit, you hadn’t really expected Beomgyu to react this way. His usual carefree attitude seemed to have disappeared, replaced by something else. You couldn't ignore it anymore, the slight edge in his voice, the way his gaze kept flicking between you and Soobin, like he was trying to measure something.

“Beomgyu,” you started, your voice slightly shaky, “You don’t have to worry about Soobin. I mean, he’s just looking out for me like he always does. But there’s nothing between us, really.” You felt your cheeks heat up, and you prayed he didn’t notice how flustered you were.

His eyes flickered up to meet yours, but there was that familiar wariness in them now, like he was still trying to process what you were saying. “It just seemed like you two were...” He trailed off, unsure how to finish the thought. His eyes kept darting between you and Soobin, and you could feel his unease pressing against you.

Beomgyu cleared his throat, suddenly shifting in his seat. His eyes avoided yours now, focusing on the iced caramel macchiato in front of him as he stirred the straw absentmindedly, like he was trying to regain some composure.

“I... I didn’t mean to make things weird,” he muttered, his voice much quieter than before.“I was just asking.”

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. It was as if he was backpedaling, trying to pull away from the conversation as quickly as possible.

“No, Beomgyu, it’s okay,” you said quickly, your voice a little more steady than you felt. “I just… I didn’t expect you to be so concerned. I promise, there's nothing going on between me and Soobin. You don’t need to worry.”

Beomgyu looked at you briefly, but his expression softened, his eyes a little unsure. “Yeah, I know,” he said, shifting uncomfortably.“I just... I don’t know. It seemed like you two were acting weird earlier, like—” He cut himself off, suddenly aware that he was still digging himself deeper.

“Anyway, forget I said anything. I’m probably just overthinking it.”

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the flustered feeling bubbling up again. It wasn’t lost on you that Beomgyu was avoiding your eyes now, his usual carefree demeanor completely replaced with a subtle, almost embarrassed unease.

You couldn’t deny it—he was definitely jealous, even if he wasn’t openly admitting it. The realization made your chest tighten in a way you didn’t expect.

You opened your mouth to say something more, to try to reassure Beomgyu that everything was fine and that his worries were unnecessary. But before you could get the words out, Soobin’s voice rang through the air, cutting off the fragile moment before it could go any further.

“Y/N!” Soobin called, his tone light but firm as he approached the counter. “Break’s over. You’re needed back at the register.”

You blinked, startled by the interruption. For a second, you felt a wave of relief wash over you, almost like you had been given an escape route before the conversation could get any more complicated. You didn’t know what you would have said next, or if you would have been able to keep your composure if the moment between you and Beomgyu had stretched on.

“Right,” you muttered quickly, the words coming out a little too fast. You shot a glance at Beomgyu, offering him a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry, I have to get back to work. My break's over.”

You were about to stand up, already feeling the pressure of the conversation lifting, when Beomgyu’s hand gently wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His touch was warm and firm, but there was an unmistakable softness to it, like he didn’t want to let go just yet.

You froze, your heart pounding at the unexpected contact. Beomgyu’s fingers felt like they had a quiet weight to them, as though he was holding onto something that mattered more than either of you had acknowledged.

“Wait,” Beomgyu said quietly, his voice just above a whisper. His eyes met yours, and there was something deeper there, something more vulnerable than you’d ever seen from him before.

“Before you go... just... I don’t know. Don’t think I’m trying to avoid what we were talking about. I just—”

He stopped himself, like he was second-guessing his words. You could see the uncertainty in his eyes, and for a brief moment, you wondered if this was your chance to clarify things, to make sure he didn’t misinterpret everything that had been said. But then, that familiar tension crept in, the same kind of nervousness that always seemed to bubble up around him. You weren’t sure if either of you were ready for it to go deeper, but the connection between you was undeniable now.

You gave him a small, reassuring smile, trying to hide the nervousness in your chest. “I know, Beomgyu,” you said gently, your voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t have to explain anything. We’ll figure it out, but right now, I need to get back to work.”

You felt his grip on your wrist loosen just a little, but he didn’t let go completely. His eyes softened, and you could tell he was still thinking about something, still processing everything you had said. He seemed torn, like he didn’t want to let you leave without resolving the unspoken tension, but at the same time, he knew he had to.

“Let's talk when you come over.” he said, his voice more steady now, though there was still a hint of hesitation. “Take care of yourself, Y/N.”

You nodded quickly, feeling a mixture of relief and disappointment at the way things had left off. Before you could second-guess yourself, you gently pulled your hand away from his, standing up and walking toward Soobin, who was now holding the door to the kitchen open for you.

As you passed by, you stole one last glance at Beomgyu, who was staring at the table, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the rim of his cup. You couldn’t help but wonder what would happen next, if his feelings for you were as complicated as they seemed, or if he would keep pushing them down.

Either way, you knew that things were changing. And for better or for worse, the dynamic between you and Beomgyu had just become a lot more complicated.

For now, though, all you could do was focus on your shift. Or try to, at least.

----------------------

A few days had passed since that awkward, yet strangely intimate, conversation with Beomgyu at the café. The words you had almost said, those feelings you were still trying to figure out—kept swirling in your mind, replaying over and over. You couldn’t help but wonder if he’d thought about it the same way, if he felt anything close to what you had felt in that moment.

Today, you were standing in front of Beomgyu’s apartment door, your hand hovering nervously over the doorknob. The familiar flutter of nerves settled in your stomach, but this time, it felt different.

There was a weight to the air that hadn’t been there before—the unspoken tension between you both, lingering after that conversation at the café.

You exhaled slowly, trying to calm your racing heart. You had been looking forward to this guitar tutorial session for weeks, but now, knowing that things might not be as simple as before, it felt harder than ever.

Shaking your head, you reminded yourself that you’d be fine. It was just a guitar lesson. Just like it always was.

With a deep breath, you raised your hand to knock, but before your knuckles could meet the door, it opened.

Beomgyu stood there, looking just as you remembered: casually dressed, his hair a little messy in that endearing way, and that usual glint of mischief in his eyes. But something was different this time. There was a small pause as his eyes met yours—just a moment longer than usual, before he stepped aside to let you in.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice soft but warm, though there was still an undercurrent of something unspoken between you.

You nodded quickly, managing a small smile, though your heart was still in your throat.

“Hey, Beomgyu,” you replied, trying to sound casual as you stepped inside, your hand lightly brushing past his as you entered his apartment.

The door clicked shut behind you as you stepped into Beomgyu’s apartment, the familiar smell of his space greeting you, but today, everything felt different. The usual easy vibe between you two seemed a little distant, as if there were invisible threads tugging between you both that neither of you could quite untangle.

Beomgyu didn’t seem his usual carefree self—his usual teasing smile was replaced with something more guarded. His gaze flickered to you, hesitant, before he motioned for you to follow him.

“Let’s go to my room,” Beomgyu said quietly, standing in front of his living room with his hand on the hallway door, as if he was still trying to decide whether or not he was ready to address whatever awkwardness hung in the air.

You nodded, biting your lip as your heart raced in your chest. Was he going to bring up what happened?

Was he still thinking about that moment at the café when everything seemed to shift between you two?

You followed him down the hallway, and the closer you got to his room, the more nervous you became. The space felt smaller somehow, more intimate now that you were both stepping into it with this new, unspoken tension lingering between you.

Beomgyu pushed the door open, stepping aside to let you enter. The room was exactly as you remembered it—his bed pushed up against the far wall, a few posters of bands scattered on the walls, his guitar resting on a stand beside his desk. Everything felt oddly familiar, but the space seemed charged now, in a way it hadn’t before.

You hesitated before stepping inside, but Beomgyu quickly gestured for you to take a seat on the bed, which you did, sitting slightly at the edge.

“Uh, so... we can just start the lesson whenever,” you said, trying to keep your voice casual, not wanting to acknowledge the tension that was settling into the space between you.

But Beomgyu didn’t seem interested in starting the lesson just yet. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it, his arms crossed in front of his chest. There was a noticeable hesitation in his posture, a stiffness that told you he was trying to figure out what to say.

“You know,” Beomgyu started slowly, his voice quieter than usual, “I’ve been thinking about what happened at the café.”

Your stomach twisted at the mention of it, the conversation you’d tried so hard to move past resurfacing unexpectedly. You blinked, looking at him, trying to push down the flustered feeling rising in your chest.

“I, uh, I didn’t mean for it to get so weird,” he continued, his eyes not meeting yours as he fidgeted with his hands. “But I just—I don't know, I thought... maybe I was being too obvious? About, you know...” he trailed off, clearly uncomfortable, but you could hear the unease in his voice.

You quickly shook your head, trying to reassure him. “No, Beomgyu, it’s not like that. You didn’t make things weird,” you said, though you couldn’t quite hide the nerves in your voice.“It’s just... things have been a little confusing lately, that’s all.”

The words felt like they were floating in the air, hanging between you both. Beomgyu finally turned his gaze to you, and you could see the uncertainty there, the way he was searching your face for something—maybe an answer, or maybe just a sign that everything was okay.

“It’s not just that,” he said, his voice a little more serious now. “I—look, I don’t want you to think I was being jealous or anything, but... I was. And I can’t stop thinking about it. I’ve been acting like a jerk, right? I'm sorry, y/n.”

You weren’t sure how to answer, your heart hammering in your chest. Hearing him say it out loud, jealous, made something inside you tighten. Was that what this was all about? Was that why the air between you two had felt so charged, so different since that day? So he really was jealous?

“Beomgyu...” you started, trying to find the right words. “It’s okay. You don’t need to apologize. I just... I wasn’t expecting it either. I didn’t think you’d feel that way.”

Beomgyu’s gaze softened as he pushed off from the door and walked over to sit next to you on the bed.

His presence was warm, but there was still a tension there, lingering in the space between you. He ran a hand through his hair, clearly still wrestling with what he wanted to say next.

“I don’t want you to think I’m being weird,” he said, his voice quiet now, almost as if he were talking to himself. “But I don’t want things to stay awkward between us, either.”

You could feel your heart race in your chest again, the unspoken words hanging in the air, thick with all the things neither of you wanted to say outright. You shifted slightly, trying to find a way to diffuse the growing pressure between you both, to make the conversation feel lighter.

“So,” you started, voice just a little too high, “About today’s lesson... What are we working on? Did you want to go over that new song you were learning?”

Beomgyu gave a soft chuckle at your attempt to change the subject, but it wasn’t one of his usual playful laughs. This one felt a little more resigned, like he was unsure whether or not to just give in to the moment. He turned his gaze toward you, searching for something in your face.

“We can work on the song,” Beomgyu replied, but his voice still held that quiet, heavy undertone.“But, honestly, Y/N, I don’t want to avoid what’s been going on between us. I don’t think it’ll go away just by pretending everything’s fine.”

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint hum of the air conditioning, and you wondered if he was just as nervous as you were.

Finally, he sighed, and you saw his shoulders drop, as if he were gathering his courage. He walked toward you, but instead of sitting beside you, he took a step back, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” Beomgyu said suddenly, his voice low but clear. The words hung in the air like a confession, and you froze, unsure of how to react.“A lot. More than I’d like to admit.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you blinked, trying to process what he was saying. He hadn’t seemed like himself lately, and the fact that he was bringing this up now, in this quiet, vulnerable moment, threw you off. Was he really about to say what you thought he was?

“You’ve been on my mind,” Beomgyu continued, his voice growing softer but more earnest. “It’s been... hard to stop thinking about what happened at the café. I didn’t mean to come off like I was... jealous, but I guess I was. And I can’t pretend anymore that I don’t feel something for you. Something more than just friendship.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you blinked at him, your mind struggling to process the weight of his words. Was he saying what you thought he was saying?

“I like you, Y/N.” Beomgyu admitted, his eyes finally meeting yours. There was no teasing, no playful glint in his gaze this time. Just honesty, raw and unguarded. “And I’ve been trying to hide it, but I can’t anymore. I... I like you more than just as a friend. I’ve been wanting to tell you, and I feel stupid that it took so long for me to say it, but I didn't know how.”

You could feel your heart pounding against your ribs as his confession hung between you two. The room suddenly felt smaller, the air thicker, and you weren’t sure if it was the proximity or the weight of his words making everything seem so intense.

“Wait... Beomgyu, I—” you started, but the words stuck in your throat. You couldn’t deny it—your heart had been racing every time he looked at you, every time you caught his gaze. The truth was, you’d always felt a pull toward him, but hearing him say it out loud made everything feel so much more real.

Beomgyu stepped closer, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to gauge how you were feeling. “I don’t want to hide it anymore. I’ve been worried, Y/N. Worried that you wouldn’t feel the same way, or that it might ruin our friendship. But I don’t want to keep pretending that I don’t want something more.”

Your chest tightened, a whirlwind of emotions crashing over you. You’d thought about this moment before, what it would be like if Beomgyu ever admitted he liked you, if he ever acknowledged the feelings that had been growing between you two. And now, standing here in his room, it was happening.

It was all unfolding right before you.

“I’m not asking for anything crazy, or for us to figure everything out right now,” Beomgyu said, his voice a little softer now. “I just needed you to know how I feel. Because it’s been eating at me, and I don’t want to keep pretending like everything is just... normal between us when it’s not. Not for me, at least.”

For a long moment, the two of you stood there, the world outside fading away as everything settled into this quiet space. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was filled with everything you both hadn’t been able to say before.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the rush of emotions flooding through you. There was so much you wanted to say, but the words felt tangled in your chest. You looked up at Beomgyu, his expression uncertain, but there was a vulnerability in his eyes that made your heart ache.

“Beomgyu...” you whispered, your voice soft but steady. “I’ve been thinking about you too. More than I probably should. It's gotten to the point that even Soobin noticed, and that's... that's why you thought we were fighting that day, he was just worried because I was acting so weird. God, I couldn't focus on work because you kept getting in my thoughts.”

His eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, you could see a flicker of hope pass across his face. You took another breath, feeling your cheeks heat up, but you didn’t look away.

“I don’t know what this means yet,” you continued, trying to find the right words. “But I don’t want to ignore it either. I... I like you too, Beomgyu. I feel the same way.”

The words felt surreal as they left your lips, but the moment they did, the weight you hadn’t even realized you were carrying seemed to lift. There was no more confusion, no more guessing. The tension, the uncertainty, it all seemed to fade in the wake of your admission.

There was a beat of silence before his expression seemed to shift, and a mischievous grin slowly tugged at the corners of his lips. The serious mood that had filled the room suddenly felt... lighter. It was like he was shaking off the tension, returning to his usual self.

“Well, well,” Beomgyu teased, leaning forward slightly as his grin widened. “I always knew I was irresistible.”

You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift. Your heart still thudded in your chest, but now you couldn’t help but laugh a little at his cocky, teasing nature returning. His usual playful energy was back in full force, and it made you feel a little more at ease. He wasn't letting this moment get heavy, and it made you realize that maybe you didn’t have to be so serious either.

“Oh my god, Beomgyu,” you muttered, trying to hide the amused smile creeping onto your face. “You’re unbelievable.”

He chuckled, sitting down beside you on the bed and nudging you with his elbow. “Nah, I’m just being honest. I mean, who wouldn’t like this face?” He exaggerated a pout, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mischievous glint.

“Alright, alright,” you said, rolling your eyes but unable to stop laughing. “We get it, you're so charming.”

As Beomgyu's teasing continued, you couldn’t help but notice something unusual. His eyes, which usually had that dark, defining line of eyeliner, were... bare. The usual sharp, bold look was missing, and for some reason, it stood out to you more than it should have.

You couldn’t help yourself—your curiosity got the best of you, and you blinked at him for a moment, distracted from his usual antics. “Wait,” you said, squinting at him. “You’re not wearing eyeliner today.”

Beomgyu froze, his playful grin faltering slightly as he looked at you, clearly surprised you’d noticed. For a brief second, he seemed unsure of what to say, and then, in true Beomgyu fashion, his mischievous smirk returned.

“Didn’t think you’d notice,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning back with an exaggerated air of casualness. “You'd have to observe my face really closely to notice something like this, though.”

You raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a smile. “It’s just that, you always wear it. But today... you’re not. You didn't have eyeliner on during the last time I came, too.”

Beomgyu shrugged, his expression shifting slightly as he looked at you with a glint of something more thoughtful in his eyes.“I don’t know. Maybe I just felt like going natural today.” His voice was light, but there was a hint of something beneath the surface, something you couldn’t quite place.

You narrowed your eyes slightly, knowing he was trying to downplay it. “Uh-huh. So you just happen to forget your eyeliner... whenever you’re alone with me?”

His eyes flickered to the side, and he cleared his throat, trying to mask his slight discomfort with more teasing. “Maybe I just like the idea of being a little more... natural around you. You know, showing the real me and all that.” He looked at you with a playful grin, clearly trying to make light of the situation, but you could tell he wasn’t entirely fooling you.

You tilted your head, half-amused and half-curious.“Is that so? Or maybe you just don’t want me to see you looking too good for me.”

“Maybe I just think you’ll get too distracted if I look too good,” he shot back with a wink, though his words were softer than usual, his teasing tone lacking some of its usual edge. You couldn’t help but laugh, but you felt your cheeks flush a little.

“Right, because that’s totally what I was thinking about,” you teased back, your voice light but warm.“Honestly, I didn’t expect you to not wear eyeliner around me.”

Beomgyu grinned, leaning closer with a twinkle in his eye. “Well, now you know. And maybe you’ll get used to seeing me like this.” He reached out and poked you lightly in the side, trying to shift the conversation back to the usual playful rhythm. “Don’t be too disappointed, okay?”

You rolled your eyes, the hint of a smile still on your lips.“Disappointed? You wish.”

Beomgyu chuckled, clearly relieved that the teasing was easing the tension. “Okay, okay. Maybe I just didn’t feel like being all emo today,” he admitted, but there was a softness to his expression now, a kind of openness that made you feel like maybe this little moment meant something more.

You let out a small breath, your smile growing a little warmer. “Well, you still look good. Eyeliner or not.”

His grin widened at that, and he shrugged nonchalantly. “I mean, I already knew that.”

You both shared a quiet laugh, the conversation turning into a more comfortable banter after the initial awkwardness had melted away. Beomgyu, now fully back to his usual playful self, leaned back against the bed with his arms stretched out, looking at you with that familiar mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“So, what’s the verdict?” he asked, winking as he stretched lazily. “Am I pulling off the ‘no eyeliner’ look or what?”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You look fine without it, Beomgyu. But,” you said, your fingers brushing your chin thoughtfully, “If you really want to go back to your usual style, I could always do it for you.”

Beomgyu blinked, clearly taken aback by your offer. “Huh?” he said, his expression confused but intrigued. “You want to... do my eyeliner? Like, for me?”

You tilted your head as you looked at him, feeling a little sheepish but also excited to see if you could make it work. “I mean... I really think I could do a good job,” you said, shrugging a little awkwardly. “I’ve done my fair share of makeup to know the basics.”

Beomgyu’s eyes sparkled with amusement at your suggestion, but instead of teasing you like he usually would, he simply grinned and leaned back on the bed with his arms crossed. He gave you a thoughtful look, as if weighing your words.

“You really want to try it? Alright, I won’t stop you,” he said, his voice playful and low. Rising from the bed, he walked over to his desk, spun the gaming chair around to face you, and settled into it comfortably.

You felt a small rush of pride that he wasn’t dismissing your offer, and your hands twitched with anticipation.“Yeah, I do. I mean, you’ve always done it, so I think it’d be fun to try.”

Beomgyu smiled, but there was a glint in his eyes, like he was planning something. “Alright,” he said, his tone turning casual, “If you’re going to do it, though... you’re going to need to get closer. I don’t think you can do it from over there.”

You blinked, taken aback by his suggestion, but he wasn’t giving you much time to question it. Beomgyu raised an eyebrow and shrugged, his voice casual but almost inviting.“I mean, it’s kind of hard to get a good angle from the side, right? You need to be up close.”

Your heart raced a little at the sudden proximity. You had expected this to be a bit more... casual, but you weren’t sure why it suddenly felt a little different. Still, you didn’t want to back out now. You were genuinely curious about doing his eyeliner, and there was no harm in being closer for that, right?

“Uh... I guess that makes sense,” you said, hesitating for just a moment before you moved forward.

Beomgyu, noticing your hesitation, gave you a reassuring smile and gently patted his lap. “It’s really the best angle,” he said, his voice soft but with a slight teasing edge. “You can sit on my lap, you know. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable.”

You froze for a moment, a little unsure, but Beomgyu’s expression wasn’t demanding. It was calm, almost like he was offering an invitation instead of an expectation. He was giving you the space to say no if you wanted to.

As you hesitated, Beomgyu's eyes sparkled with amusement, and he patted his lap invitingly. “Come on, it's the only way you'll be able to get close enough to do it right,” he said, his voice low and persuasive.

You felt your face grew hotter as your heart fluttered in your chest, but you tried to brush it off as mere embarrassment.

Despite your initial reluctance, you found yourself slowly making your way towards Beomgyu, your heart racing with every step. As you hovered beside him, Beomgyu reached out and gently guided you onto his lap, his hands on your hips sending shivers down your spine. As you settled onto Beomgyu's lap, you felt a thrill of excitement mixed with a dash of nervousness. You had never done anyone's eyeliner before, and you were eager to try it out on Beomgyu.

“Okay, go ahead,” he said, his voice low and soothing as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes locked on yours. “I'm all yours, y/n.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you picked up the eyeliner, trying to focus on the task at hand. But it was impossible to ignore the warmth of Beomgyu's body beneath you, or the way his chest rose and fell with each breath.

You began to carefully line his eyes, you notice how Beomgyu's gaze never left yours, his pupils seeming to bore into your very soul. Your skin prickled with awareness, and you felt yourself getting lost in the depths of his eyes. The air around the both of you grew thick with tension, and you couldn't help but wonder if you were reading too much into the situation.

Beomgyu would occasionally ask you if you were comfortable, if you needed to adjust your position, or if he was holding you too tightly. Each time, you would reassure him that you were fine, and Beomgyu would smile at you gently. The tension between you was palpable, but it was a gentle, simmering heat, rather than a raging fire.

You wanted to do your best, to make sure the lines were perfect and the wings were even. But as you leaned in closer to Beomgyu's face, you realized that your current position wasn't ideal.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” you mutter, looking up at Beomgyu with a hint of mischief in your eyes.

Beomgyu nodded, his expression curious, and you asked,“Can I change positions? I want to get a better angle and be more comfortable.”

Beomgyu nodded again, not thinking much of it. “Yeah, sure, go ahead,” he said, his voice casual. But as soon as you started to shift your weight, Beomgyu's eyes widened in surprise.

“Wait, y/n-”

You straddle Beomgyu's lap, your legs wrapping around his hips as you settled into a more comfortable position.“I'm going to need you to stay still, Beomgyu.” you taunt, voice firm but gentle, as you leaned in closer to his face.“I don't want the eyeliner to smudge.”

Beomgyu's face went bright red as he felt your weight settle onto his lap. He hadn't expected this, and his mind was racing with thoughts he couldn't quite process. He felt a surge of excitement mixed with a dash of nervousness, but he was determined not to mess this up for you.

You noticed how Beomgyu held his breath, trying to remain still despite the turmoil inside him while you continued to work on his eyeliner. He couldn't believe what was happening, but at the same time, he didn't want it to stop. He felt your thighs wrapped around his hips, your hand holding his shoulder for support, and the way you tried to maintain your composure despite your arms clearly trembling while holding the eyeliner.

He had to fight the urge to wrap his arms around you and pull you even closer, but Beomgyu was determined to let you take the lead and set the pace. So he sat there, frozen in place, as you worked your magic on his eyeliner. His heart was pounding in his chest, but he didn't dare move, didn't dare breathe, for fear of ruining the moment.

As you continued to work on Beomgyu's eyeliner, the tension between you grew thicker and more palpable. Beomgyu's resolve to remain still and calm began to crumble, and he found himself getting more and more agitated. He couldn't take it anymore, the feeling of your thighs wrapped around his hips, your warmth and scent enveloping him, it was all too much for him. He was drunk in the thought of you, and he couldn't bring himself to hold back any longer.

“Beomgyu, I'm done-”

With a muttered curse, Beomgyu's hands shot out and wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You let out a startled gasp as you felt yourself being drawn into Beomgyu's chest, your hands still holding the eyeliner hovering in mid-air.

Beomgyu's face was buried in your neck, his lips brushing against your skin as he whispered apologies and silent curses. Your heart was racing as you felt Beomgyu's warm breath on your skin, his arms wrapped tightly around you.

As you shifted in Beomgyu's lap, your eyes immediately widened after you felt Beomgyu's strained hard cock, poking your core, and you couldn't help but let out a little gasp. You tried to pull away in panic, your hands pushing against Beomgyu's chest. But Beomgyu's grip was firm, as he held you close, his body trembling with restraint, as he whispered,

“Fuck, y/n- I'm sorry.... please, don't leave.. I'm sorry, I didn't-”

You felt your resistance begin to crumble as you heard his voice, breathy and desperate. You realized that he wasn't trying to hurt you or overpower you, he was just...lost. Lost in the moment, lost in his desire for you. You let Beomgyu hold you tightly with his arms wrapped around your waist, as he tried to compose himself.

You loosen your grip on your fists, slowly moving your hands from his chest up to his shoulders, and you let Beomgyu hold you. You felt his chest rise and fall with each breath, his heart pounding against your own. You didn’t know when it happened, but slowly, you stopped fighting the heat of the moment.

Instead of feeling embarrassed or self-conscious, you started to embrace it, letting your body relax into the tension and giving yourself permission to enjoy this closeness with Beomgyu. Before you knew it, Beomgyu's touch was starting to get to you, and your mind was taking you places.

“It's okay, Beomgyu... I-” you whispered, pausing for a bit to catch your breath as you started get lost in the situation too. “I'm not going anywhere.”

Beomgyu's lips were still brushing against your neck, his warm breath on your skin sending shivers down your spine. The warmth in your body only grew as time passes, the both of you not uttering another word but your heavy breaths filled the air.

Your thoughts were racing, and a crazy idea suddenly pops up in your head. You hesitated for a moment, before biting your lip and leaning closer to him. Beomgyu feels you shift in his lap and your grip on his shoulder start to tighten.

“Um.. Do you want me to move..?” you asked him, your voice barely above a whisper as you tried to hide your face in embarrassment.

Beomgyu's eyes snapped to yours, and he looked at you, feeling dazed with a mix of surprise and gratitude. “No, it's okay,” he said, his voice still low and husky. “I'll just...ah, try to calm down.”

You struggled to meet his gaze, feeling your cheeks heating up. “No, I-I want to..... let me help you, Beomgyu.”

Beomgyu's face turns red, and he looked like he was about to die from embarrassment. His lips parted for a moment to say something but he stopped himself before could. He looks at you straight in the eyes and you could physically feel yourself get weak, the ache in your already wet cunt only growing as he observed the mix of curiosity and eagerness in your expression.

After a few seconds, he nodded while his eyes were still locked onto yours. “Okay,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please, y/n... I need you.”

The sight of the desperation in his face and his breathy, apologetic voice was more than enough to ignite the flame that was already burning inside of you. You held him closer, resting your chin on top of his head attempting to relieve the heat in your core as you tried to tighten the embrace of your thighs on his hips.

The slight movement from you sends a jolt in Beomgyu's body, and he bites his lip, trying to keep himself from being too loud as he holds you closer and buries his face on your chest. You let out a small gasp, your cheeks heating up as you carefully adjust your position, feeling his hard-on press onto your underwear from below your skirt, the friction driving the both of you crazy.

“Y-you sure about this, y/n? We really don't have to do this if you-” Beomgyu asks hesitantly as he looks up to you, with a look of guilt and embarrassment visible on his face.

“Yes, Beomgyu. I want to do this with you.” You replied with a smile, trying to mask the fact that you were also nervous about what was going to happen next, but you didn't want Beomgyu to think you were unsure.

You started off by moving slowly, trying to test the waters first while asking Beomgyu every now and then if you were doing okay, you wanted to make sure that you were matching his pace and the both of you were feeling good. You kept one of your hands on his shoulders, and you moved your other hand on top of his, that was holding your waist.

“Beomgyu..” you whisper, catching your breath before finishing your sentence and pressing his hand on your waist tighter. “Y-you can move..me- if you want..”

Beomgyu nods before leaning his head back on his gaming chair, grunting and hissing in pleasure. His grip on your waist gets tighter and more desperate as he moves you to grind on him back and forth.

The wetness of your cunt leaking through your panties, mixed with Beomgyu's precum that was already staining his pants, felt more prominent and made it easier for you to move yourself on top of him. The friction in itself was already driving you crazy, but it still wasn't enough. You wanted to do more for Beomgyu, and you needed more of him.

Beomgyu would give you praises through it, he would tell you how beautiful you looked and how good you were making him feel, and before you even realized, you were already drowning in the feeling of ecstasy.

Your heavy breaths soon turned into whines of pleasure, the feeling of desperation and need for each other was constantly growing. You felt your movements get sloppier by the minute as you felt yourself about to reach your high.

“Shit, y/n... I'm close... you're doing so good for me.” Beomgyu mutters while he starts to move your hips against him faster and more aggressively, looking straight into you with half-lidded eyes. You match his pace, gripping his shoulders tighter as you continues to chase out your high.

“M-me too, Beomgyu...” You replied as you ran one hand through his messy hair. The way he calls your name with his deep voice echoes through your ears and the fucked-out look on his face only riled you up even more. You swore you could feel yourself release then and there.

You slightly tilted your head, and Beomgyu immediately catches your drift, closing his eyes as you leaned in closer to kiss him when-

Knock, knock.

“Beomgyu hyung, we're here.” a familiar voice mutters from outside Beomgyu's room, just behind the door.

“Beomgyu hyung! I brought pizza~ is y/n here yet?” another voice exclaims, and you heard footsteps coming from outside the door. You were certain that it came from Kai, while the voice before him was certainly none other than Taehyun's.

You and Beomgyu immediately stopped what you were doing and froze in place with your eyes wide open, as if you both just snapped out of a trance. Beomgyu's expression suddenly shifts after his sudden realization of what was going on.

“Oh fuck, I forgot I invited them to come over today...”

-------------------

taglist: @tubasmiracle @tyunzznluvr @interestellear-blog @no1likemybbgcharlie @hyunelixbun @dawngyu this fic is dedicated to my lovely supportive moots <333 lmk if you want to be added to the taglist!!

#THANK YOU FOR 500 NOTES!!#tomorrow x together #txt x reader #txt #txt fanfic #txt hard thoughts #txt thoughts #txt imagines #txt smut #txt beomgyu #beomgyu #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x you #beomgyu smut #beomgyu scenarios

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goingmoa · 23 days ago

Text

chronically offline

pairing: physics nerd!jake x fem!reader

summary: jake is strong in physics, but struggles when it comes to keeping up with internet culture. lucky for him, you can teach him a thing or two about it.

genre: fluff, two smart idiots in love

warnings: reader gets hit on by a guy who doesn't get the hint that she's uninterested, but jake swoops in just in time

word count: ~3.4k

author's note: my first fic!! i wanted to treat my jake biased bestie with a fluffy read, and i hope this delivered! i had a lot of fun writing this LOL ~~ please feel free to let me know what you think!

The physics department is musty in that specific, clinical way only old university buildings know how to be – too drafty, too bright, and somehow suffocating and drab all at the same time. You step in wearily, pulling the cuffs of your hoodie sleeves over your hands to rub the sleep out of your eyes. It was eight in the morning, so you were expecting the place to be empty. Almost no one comes to these optional tutorials.

Except, apparently, for him.

Jake, one of your classmates, is already there, one leg bouncing lightly under the desk, chin resting on his hand as he squints at the problem set like it personally insulted him. His laptop is open, his screen displaying neatly organized notes with colour-coded bookmarks. You spot a sticky note stuck to the edge of his screen.

Remember: you're NOT dumb!! Just confused (temporarily). A wonkily drawn smiley face grins beside it.

You stifle a laugh. Cute.

"Is this seat taken?" you ask, gesturing to the chair across from him.

He glances up, blinking once as if it takes him a second to recalibrate to human interaction. Then he smiles, slow and lopsided, shaking his head. "Nope. You're good."

You plop yourself into the chair and start unpacking your stuff. Jake goes back to his worksheet.

For about three minutes, the only sound is the scratching of pens on paper and the occasional sigh of defeat, mostly from Jake's direction.

"If this vector projection were a person, I'd square up with it in a parking lot." he mutters, mostly to himself.

You snort. "At this rate, I fear it may have the upper hand."

He lifts his head, surprised but amused to hear your little quip. "Oh ye of little faith."

"You know," you say, tapping your pencil thoughtfully against your cheek. "If you really want to cause some damage, you should hit it with a force equal and opposite to its own."

Jake blinks.

Then he laughs, and it's bright, warm, and a little surprised, like the sound suddenly snuck up on him. He leans back in his chair, shaking his head.

"Wow. Did you just weaponize Newton's Third Law?"

"Maybe. Keeps the course interesting, don't you think?" you shrug, grinning.

He looks at you for a moment, still smiling, something unreadable flickering across his face.

"Honestly? I haven't enjoyed physics this much all semester." he admits.

You raise an eyebrow. "What, because it finally came with bad jokes?"

“Nah,” he murmurs, twirling his pen between his fingers with lazy precision. “Because apparently, it comes with you.”

You blink, caught off guard, your gaze trailing from the spinning pen to his eyes, which were entirely too focused on you.

He clears his throat, eyes widening a bit in alarm.

“Sorry, that sounded smoother in my head. I’m Jake, by the way. I don’t think we’ve officially met.”

You glance up at him, mind still reeling. You’re not sure if you’re more confused or flustered – honestly, probably both – but the flicker of something warm and fluttery in your chest is quick, insistent. You ignore it. Now isn’t the time to go unpacking whatever that is.

Jake’s pen spins a little faster now, the movement noticeably less casual, and he’s chewing the inside of his cheek like he’s already regretting every word that just left his mouth.

He looks so embarrassed that you decide to spare him the added awkwardness, pretending not to notice and offering him an easy out.

“I know,” you say, your voice thankfully sounding steadier than you feel. “You’re always here early. Kind of hard to miss.”

And it's true, you had noticed him before. More than once.

He was always there when you walked in, tucked into the same spot, neat notes, brows furrowed in deep concentration. Quiet, but focused. Kind of effortless in that way some people are without realizing it. And yeah, you always thought he was attractive.

There were a few times you considered pretending not to know how to solve a problem just to have an excuse to ask him for help… but you would always snap yourself out of it before you did something you might regret. You were not about to play dumb just to get a guy's attention – even one with annoyingly good hair and a face so distractingly beautiful that it could ruin anyone's GPA.

Besides, you could handle physics just fine – more than fine, honestly. You had a knack for it, a natural instinct for numbers and patterns and solving for things people didn't always see. But you kept your head down and stayed out of the spotlight. You were more comfortable being the person people underestimated, letting your exam score speak for themselves.

So yeah, you had noticed Jake. And sure, maybe you had imagined talking to him once or twice.

But you kept your curiosity to yourself. Until now.

"I guess I like the quiet." he states sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

You respond by introducing yourself, and he says your name like it's something new and delicate. Like it's something worth remembering. You try not to overthink how much you like hearing it roll off his tongue.

“So,” you say, taking a sip from your drink and squinting at him playfully over the rim of your tumbler. “You must have a thing for fluorescent lighting.”

Jake shrugs, the motion a little shy, like he’s used to defending habits he can’t quite explain. “I just like having time to set up.”

“Interesting. Most people I know would rather rot in bed doom-scrolling than show up early to a physics tutorial.” You tilt your head, pretending to analyze him.

He blinks once, confused. “Doom... scroll?”

You pause, lowering your cup. “Wait. Don’t tell me. You don’t have TikTok, do you?”

“Should I?” he asks, looking genuinely uncertain.

You stare at him for a beat, then dramatically slap a hand over your mouth.

“Chronically early and chronically offline?” you gasp. "We've got a rare case here."

Jake laughs, and the motion sends a few loose strands of hair falling across his forehead. Your fingers twitch, resisting the ridiculous urge to brush them back in place.

“You make it sound like a condition.” he chuckles.

You raise your eyebrows, mock-serious. “It is a condition. I’m pretty sure you qualify for observation.”

"Chronically offline?" Jake repeats, furrowing his own brows.

"Oh no." you say, mock-horrified. "It's worse than I thought."

He laughs again, and oh. That’s when it really hits you, just how down bad you were. Because apparently, all it takes is one laugh to completely short-circuit your brain. “You’re making it sound like an actual medical condition.”

“It is,” you say solemnly. “I diagnosed you just now. You’ve got stage four meme deficiency.”

Jake grins and leans forward, elbows resting casually on the table, closing the distance just enough to make your pulse stutter.

“Is there a cure?” he inquires, playing along.

“Lucky for you, I’m the internet incarnate. Stick with me and we’ll fix you up in no time.” ypu smirk, lips quriking up at the corners.

“Good,” he says, and his eyes catch yours, lingering a second too long, like he’s testing the waters.

“I think I’m ready for treatment.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

The weeks pass by like pages in a physics notebook – messy, a little chaotic, and filled with things only the two of you would understand.

You start calling it Meme Therapy. Jake calls it “physically and emotionally enlightening.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

WEEK ONE

Jake is sitting in his usual spot with two coffees. He sips on one of them, extending the other shyly towards you as you approach the table. “I figured this might be part of my treatment plan.”

You thank him before accepting it.

“Caffeine and mild chaos?”

“Exactly.” he confirms, his eyes twinkling.

You sit in front of him again, scrolling through your shared Google Doc titled Chronically Offline: Jake’s Guide to Surviving the Internet.

There’s a new section waiting for you: Eras, Vibes and Cores Explained (A Visual Guide) – complete with wildly inaccurate frogcore diagrams and a chaotic collage of TikToks Jake clearly does not understand.

You turn your laptop screen towards him, pointing to something on the display.

He tilts his head, brow furrowed as he stares at a frog in a pink bonnet sipping a cup of tea on a brightly coloured mushroom.

“So… it’s giving frog?” he attempts, sounding defeated already.

You nearly choke on your coffee, laughing. “It’s giving amphibious excellence.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

WEEK TWO

The physics tutorial ends early, so you stay behind to show him a video called Italian Brainrot: A Cultural Awakening.

He watches in complete silence, eyes narrowed in focus like he’s analyzing experimental data, as ballerina cappunicca echoes dramatically over an AI-generated video of teacups in ballet slippers pirouetting across a spotlighted stage. Then comes the tung tung tung sahur family, seated in the velvet theater seats, watching the performance unfold. Finally, the crescendo: bombardino crocodilo. The crocodile-plane hybrid swoops in, spinning mid-air before crash-landing onto the stage in a pixelated explosion.

To be honest, even you have no idea what’s going on anymore.

You brace yourself for Jake’s reaction. Any second now, he’s going to laugh or look at you like you’ve lost your mind.

Jake turns to you, eyes wide and sparkling. “That’s… kind of brilliant. Like, chaotic resonance.”

You blink. “What?”

He gestures at the screen, still a little stunned.

“It shouldn’t work, but it does. It’s like constructive interference. Two completely unhinged things overlapping at just the right frequency to amplify each other.”

“You’re telling me bombardino crocodilo is like… a wave function?” you deadpan, still trying to wrap your head around the nonsense he just spewed.

He nods, totally serious. “Yeah. A beautiful one.”

You blink again. This man is not real.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

WEEK THREE

You’re late today. When you walk in, Jake’s already claimed his usual seat, along with the one next to it. A sticky note sits on the desk in his slightly messy handwriting, Reserved for: Meme Consultant. Perks include coffee, memes, and my undivided attention.

“Careful. This is dangerously close to adorable.” you say with a smile while sliding easily into the chair.

“Is that a bad thing?” he asks, nudging your leg with his.

“Depends,” you respond, teasing. “What exactly are you trying to get out of this arrangement?”

He pauses, then smiles, eyes warm. “I think I’m developing an addiction.”

“To memes?”

He hesitates, just for a second, then smiles, his eyes softening. “To you.”

Your breath catches. You pretend to be very invested in opening your notebook, but your bright red cheeks are already giving you away.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

WEEK FOUR

You’re working through a tricky problem together, seated side by side now instead of across from each other. His handwriting is a disaster, but his voice is steady as he explains something about vector fields.

You reach for the calculator just as he does. Your fingers brush, and you freeze, the sudden touch sending a rush through, gentle and thrilling all at once. The contact lingers longer than it should. The world seems to pause. His skin is warm against yours. It feels... right.

Neither of you pulls away.

Your heart stutters. His voice does too.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, eyes flicking to yours. “Guess you’re in my field.”

You arch a brow. “Magnetic, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, you really are.” he whispers, letting out a soft, breathless laugh.

It’s so quiet, you almost wonder if you imagined it.

Eventually, the bell rings. Neither of you move.

Something between you is shifting, and it is impossible to ignore.

But neither of you speaks it into existence, sitting in comfortable silencs, as if naming it might scare it off. It was still too new, too fragile to touch just yet.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

The party is louder than you'd like and packed with people who major in shots, not physics.

You stay close to the kitchen island, sipping fruit punch from a red Solo cup and scanning the room for anyone familiar. Jake said he might come — heavy emphasis on might — because he's still “not sure how parties work,” to which you told him was “a pretty hot take from someone who was chronically offline.”

You’re about to check your phone when you feel a familiar presence at your side.

“I still don’t really peg you as a party person,” Jake says, suddenly there like a small miracle, all easy smiles and confidence. He’s ditched his usual flannel-centric fits (which you’ve secretly grown to love) for a dark, fitted button-down, left open just enough to reveal a glimpse of collarbone.

You blink. Not what you expected. But definitely not bad at all. He’s always looked good, but… damn.

You arch a brow, smirking. “Didn’t take you for someone who owned anything other than flannels.”

“Didn’t take you for someone who’s been thinking about what’s in my closet.” he fires back with a shit-eating grin.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. You’re caught off guard, and he knows it. You can tell by the way his smile lingers, looking proud of himself for short-circuiting your brain.

He takes the moment to allow his gaze to flick briefly over your outfit. Nothing scandalous, but a step outside your usual lecture-core comfort zone. You actually put thought into it. Even hoped it might get noticed. It was looking like it did.

“You look really good, by the way,” he says, a little softer now.

You blink, caught off guard again by his directness, and feel heat rise in your cheeks. You lift your cup like a shield, trying to play it cool. “Not bad for someone who only learned what 'rizz' meant last week.”

He chuckles, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “Just trying to keep up.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

You and Jaka end up tucked into a quieter corner of the living room, talking about everything and nothing. Jake is leaning in closer than usual, his knee brushing yours, his eyes soft in a way that makes your pulse flutter. But you convince yourself that it must be because of the music, which was too loud to talk over without closing the distance between you.

Still, you can’t help your delusions from wandering, wondering if something might happen tonight.

Someone suddenly calls his name from across the room, snapping you out of your reverie. The classmate calls him again, already half-drunk and waving him over.

Jake glances at you, like he’s not quite ready to move.

“I’ll be quick,” he says, flashing an apologetic smile. “Promise I’ll be right back.”

You nod, trying not to let your disappointment show as he stands and disappears into the crowd.

You're left alone.

And it only takes a few minutes.

Someone else slips into Jake’s empty seat. It’s a guy you don’t recognize, all swagger and slurred confidence. He’s too close before you even realize what’s happening, leaning in with the heavy sway of someone who’s had a little too much to drink.

He’s not aggressive exactly, but there’s something about him that tightens your chest uncomfortably.

“You here alone?” he asks, smirking like you’ve already said yes.

Before you can respond, he leans in further and adds, “Wanna get out of here?”

His breath smells like beer and bad decisions. Your skin crawls.

“I’m good, thanks.” you laugh as politely as possible, standing up quickly to put space between you.

But he follows, pushing up from the couch with too much momentum. “Aw, come on, doll. Just a little fun. Don’t make me beg.”

You freeze, your smile slipping and heart racing warningly.

Then suddenly, a hand slides around your lower back, not quite touching, but providing comfort nonetheless. With it comes a familiar presence and an overwhelming relief of safety.

“There you are,” Jake says, materializing at your side like he’d been summoned. His tone is light, almost casual, but his eyes are steel. “Babe, we’ve gotta go. The livestream’s starting.”

Your heart pounds — from the pet name or the adrenaline, you’re not sure — but you nod, slipping into the role without hesitation.

“Livestream?” the guy blinks, thrown off.

Jake doesn’t miss a beat. His arm stays around you. You lean into his touch.

“Yeah." he says almost dreamily. "The Italian brainrot pasta review? The one where they slap spaghetti against drywall while the Tralalero Tralala remix plays?”

You cough into your drink to hide your laugh. Jake shoots a quick glance your way, a silent 'go with it.'

You nod seriously, slipping into the act with ease. “He’s right. If we miss it again, I’ll spiral and lose my shit. Last time, I cried. Full breakdown.”

“It was giving tragic.” Jake gasps dramatically, shaking his head with fervor.

The guy takes a step back, visibly confused. “Are you guys… okay?”

“We’re frogcore. It’s terminal.” Jake deadpans.

You both stare at the guy, eyes unblinking, doing your best impression of chaotic meme cultists.

The guy mutters something unintelligible under his breath and walks away.

The second he’s out of earshot, you both burst into laughter. Your shoulders are shaking, the tension snapping like a canned soda popping open. You lean into Jake further without thinking, and he doesn’t move away — just stays there, solid, safe, and warm beside you.

Relief floods your chest. You hadn't realized how tightly you’d been wound until now.

“Thank you,” you say, the weight of it folded between the words.

He looks at you, soft and serious beneath the grin.

“Anytime.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

You find yourselves on the front steps a few minutes later, away from the music and the buzz of the party. You were both ready to call it a night after that. Jake sits next to you, arms resting on his knees, smiling softly.

“That was the most cursed performance I’ve ever seen.” you chuckle, bumping your shoulder into his.

“I’m just relievee it worked so well.” Jake smiles, returning the action of endearment gently.

“I’m still speechless. I think you might’ve scared him into deleting his Instagram.”

“Nice,” he exhales slowly, but there’s something lingering behind the smile, a tension that hasn’t quite left him. “I just… I didn’t like how he was talking to you.”

You glance at him, and for a moment, he doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I know I’m not… great at this stuff,” he says, voice lower now. “But when I saw him – saw you and the way you were cornered, I couldn’t think straight. I was scared.”

He finally looks up at you, jaw tight with the memory. “Not that he’d hurt me. That he’d do something you couldn’t laugh off. That I’d be too late to stop it.”

There’s a pause, the air between you charged.

“But I knew I had to do something. Because I like you. And I couldn’t stand the thought of you not being safe.”

Your heart flutters at the honesty in his voice, rough with emotion and sincerity.

“I like you too, Jake.” you smile, soft and sure. “Even if your use of internet slang is objectively awful.”

He smiles, the kind that lights up his entire face, and pretends to be offended. “Hey, I’m improving.”

“Yeah, I can tell. You’ve gone from absolute zero to mildly impressive. That’s, like, a major thermodynamic shift.”

And before either of you can overthink it, you lean in to kiss him. It’s a little shy, but it’s real. He kisses you back, and you can feel his lips curving upwards against yours.

He blinks when you pull back, momentarily stunned, then breaks into that smile you’ve come to crave.

“So,” he says, sounding a little breathless. “Does this mean I’m officially online?”

“Welcome to the internet, Jake.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁༉‧₊˚.

The physics room looks the same as always: buzzing fluorescent lights, too much dust, and that faint smell of old carpet and blackboard chalk.

But it feels different now.

Jake’s already there, of course. He’s got a coffee waiting at your usual seat. There’s a new sticky note on your side of the desk, Reserved for: Meme Consultant + Girlfriend (hopefully).

“You’re really committing to the title, huh?” you say, plopping yourself down next to him.

Jake looks up from his notes, his face lighfing up at the sight of you. “I’ve decided to embrace my new era.”

“Which era is that?” you raise an inquisitve eyebrow, unable to suppress your own smile.

Jake pretends to think.

“Boyfriend-slays-with-vectors-core?” he offers.

You laugh, then steal one of his pens.

As you open your notebook, you find something tucked between the pages: a small printed meme. A pixelated frog in a physics lab coat, next to text that reads: My love for you defies Newtonian mechanics. It’s accelerating.

Your mouth hangs open in awe.

“I made it myself,” he says proudly. “Be honest. Is it giving?”

“You’re such a nerd.” you laugh, placing a kiss on his cheek.

“So you’re saying I’ve progressed to stage five?”

“Stage five of what?”

He taps the sticky note beside your coffee. “Terminally online. Emotionally attached.”

You smile, cheeks warming. “You’re hopeless.”

Jake shrugs, his grin widening. “Worth it.”

#jake x reader #jake sim x reader #jake x you #jake sim x you #enhypen fluff #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen x reader #jake enhypen x reader #jake enhypen #jake enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fic #jake sim fluff #jake sim #enhypen imagines #enhypen x female reader

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twlgholts · 1 month ago

Text

always kind of was, j. black

chapter seven, promise you

— jacob black x f. reader

a/n: i wrote four chapters in one day help me. but we are over halfway there! six more chapters till the end

prev. series masterlist! next.

“Get in,” he said, leaning against the Rabbit with that annoyingly unreadable expression on his face.

You narrowed your eyes. “What happened to hi, hello, how are you? I like what you did with your hair today?”

“Hi, hello, how are you? I like what you did with your hair today.” he repeated, flat, monotone.

You gave him a long look. “Charming.”

He just grinned. “Are you getting in or what?”

You slid into the seat with a dramatic sigh, the passenger seat now permanently adjusted to your height. “Where are we going?

“You ask too many questions.”

“You say that every time. Hasn’t stopped me yet.”

He didn’t answer this time. Just passed you the aux cord like a peace offering and rolled the windows down halfway, letting the warm summer air rush through the car as he pulled onto the road. With the wind came chaos–your hair, freshly styled after an hour following some impossible tutorial online, was instantly undone.

You shot him another look, batting it back down. “You’re a menace.”

He smirked. “You look better that way anyway.”

You scoffed and started scrolling through your iPod, flicking through your playlists. Every song you landed on felt wrong for the moment, so you skipped past them all, frustrated.

“Dirty hands, mysterious behavior, emotionally repressed–what more could a girl want?” you start. “You could be kidnapping me and dragging me off to your evil lair right now, and I wouldn’t even question it.”

He laughed, that real, rare one that made your chest tighten for reasons you weren’t ready to name. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’d be bored without me.”

“I would. No one else is as annoying.”

“You love it.”

“I never said I didn’t.”

He gave you a sideways glance, not quite smiling but definitely close. “Now no more questions. I’m taking you somewhere.”

You leaned forward, turning the volume up once you finally landed on a song that felt right. Without thinking, you held up an invisible microphone to his mouth mid-chorus. He didn’t hesitate—he joined in, off-key and dramatic, his usual cool composure completely shattered as the two of you jammed out to a throwback from when your parents were your age.

By the time he parked the car, your voice was hoarse from laughing and singing too loud.

You’d say you enjoyed nature–most of the time. Especially the kind of nature Western Washington offered: lush and untouched. But not like this.

Not when you’d mentally prepared for a couch nap and a rom-com, not a full-body cardio session up the side of a mountain. Not when your hair was ruined, your skin sticky with humidity, and your deodorant had clearly given up something around the second incline.

“Is this… punishment?” you cry as you hiked, dragging your feet behind Jacob’s much longer stride.

The forest buzzed around you with the sounds of birds and rushing water, damp and green and teeming with life. The trail twisted upwards with no mercy. Halfway up a steeper hill, Jacob dropped back to walk beside you.

“You good?” he asked, holding out his hand without thinking.

You took it, out of breath. “What do you think?”

He squeezed gently. “Just checking. Not trying to lose you to a root or something dumb.”

“I’ve survived worse than a rogue tree root.”

He smiled, but didn’t let go of your hand.

“Like being dragged to some random forest in Clallam without warning,” you added. “No heads-up, no prep, and it’s like the hottest day of the year.”

“Oops. I thought you liked surprises.”

“I like surprises. I don’t like feeling like a rotisserie chicken.”

“Okay, valid.”

You let go of his hand to reach for the water bottle tucked in the side of his backpack. You hadn’t brought anything, but of course, Jacob had–you eyed him with mock suspicion as you drank.

“At least one of us came prepared.”

He shrugged, bashful. “You complain a lot for someone who took like, twelve pictures of a fern back there.”

“It was a very aesthetically pleasing fern.”

You hiked for another twenty minutes, your annoyance fading as your body adjusted and the surroundings quieted. You passed a couple of elderly hikers on their way down—sprightly and cheerful, which made your suffering feel dramatic in comparison.

The trail turned beautiful the higher you climbed. Small waterfalls trickled down mossy rocks, carving gentle paths into the dirt. You dipped your hands into one of them to cool off, then dragged Jacob over and made him rinse his grimy fingers too, despite his argument that the stains were just from grease.

“They don’t wash out,” he insisted.

“That’s what worries me.”

Eventually, you hit a tricky section of the trail—a narrow edge where the mountain had caved in slightly, the path eroded. You paused at the edge, your stomach twisting as you looked down. It was steep. One wrong step and you’d be the rock that just skittered off the ledge and vanished from view.

“Wouldn’t wanna be that rock,” you muttered, nerves creeping into your voice.

Jacob stepped in front of you. “I’ll go first. Just hold my hand, okay? I won’t let you fall.”

You stared at the path, then at him. “This is some Final Destination level stuff right now.”

He offered you a soft smile. “Promise you. You’re okay.”

He went ahead slowly, then turned, holding out his hand like a lifeline. You took it.

The path was sketchy, but he kept you steady. He held on like it mattered.

“Thanks, Jake,” you said once you reached the other side.

“Of course.”

“I don’t wanna think about going back across that.”

“We’ll roll you down the hill if we have to.”

By the time you reached the lookout, the trees parted to reveal a sweeping view so beautiful it knocked the breath from your lungs. Lake Crescent sparkled below, Mount Olympus towering in the distance. The forest rolled in green waves, soft and endless.

“Wow,” you whispered.

“Yeah. Wow.” He was looking at the view—but also, you.

“Was it worth all my kicking and whining?” you asked.

Jacob smirked. “Debatable.”

“Oh, please. You whined more than I did when we were shopping in Port Angeles.”

“That was different.”

“How?”

He didn’t answer—just looked at you with that half-laugh, half-defeated expression like he wanted to argue but couldn’t come up with anything.

“That’s what I thought,” you teased, grinning.

“Whatever.” He nudged you lightly with his shoulder. “Swim?”

You turned to him. “You brought swim stuff?”

He gestured behind him. “You think I hiked all the way up here without planning that?”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. “You’re lucky I like surprises.”

Jacob grinned. “I’m lucky, period.”

The lake sat nestled in a basin of stone and evergreens, glassy and blue even under the graying sky. You’d barely kicked off your shoes before Jacob was already waist-deep, grinning like a little kid as he splashed water up at you.

“You’re insane,” you laughed, toeing the edge of the shore. “That water looks freezing.”

“Only at first.”

You gave him a look. “That’s what people say right before hypothermia sets in.”

“Come on, you’ll survive.”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of a yes—but a second later you were running in, shrieking as the cold wrapped around you like ice. Jacob laughed, deep and loud and contagious, and you couldn’t help but laugh too, the kind that left your ribs aching and your eyes squinting as you dunked under and came up gasping.

You splashed him. He splashed you back harder. Eventually you both stopped trying to win and just floated, side by side, breathless and soaked, hearts thudding out a rhythm you were trying hard not to count too closely.

When you got out, dripping and shivering, the air felt warmer by comparison. You sat beside him on a flat rock, shoulders barely brushing. The world was quiet around you except for the distant call of a bird and the gentle ripple of water behind you. The sky was starting to shift—clouds parting to reveal a soft pink glow bleeding into the horizon.

You watched it for a while, not talking. Your hair clung to your cheeks, your clothes stuck to your skin, and his arm was warm next to yours.

Then, softly, almost to himself, Jacob said, “This is my favorite day.”

You turned your head a little, startled.

He was still looking at the sky, but something in his jaw had gone soft. “I don’t know. It just is.”

You wanted to say me too—but it felt too much. Too naked. Instead, you nodded.

“It’s different this summer,” you murmured after a beat.

Jacob glanced at you, then back at the lake. “Yeah.”

“Things feel... not like they used to.”

He gave a low hum. “I’ve been thinking about that a lot.”

You both fell quiet again, the kind that didn’t feel awkward—just full of things neither of you were sure how to say.

“What’s it like?” he asked eventually.

You blinked. “What’s what like?”

“Being gone. Moving. School. All of it.”

You leaned back on your palms, gaze drifting back up to the sky. “It’s bigger. Busier. Faster. People talk fast, drive fast, eat fast. It’s like no one has time for anything. They don’t even say hi when they pass you on the sidewalk.”

Jacob didn’t interrupt. He just listened, like he always had.

“I don’t know if I like it,” you admitted quietly. “I mean, there’s a lot to do. And I know it’s where I’m supposed to be right now, but it doesn’t feel like home.”

He looked over at you. “Forks still does?”

You nodded. “Forks is weird. And small. And it smells like mildew half the year.”

He smiled.

“But yeah. It’s home.”

You picked at the edge of the towel wrapped around your knees. “Do you ever think about when we were kids?”

Jacob leaned back on his elbows. “Yeah. All the time.”

“Back when everything made sense. Or at least, felt like it did.”

“Back when the worst part of the day was if it rained while we were on the jungle gym.”

You laughed. “Or if Billy made us eat that weird canned chili again.”

“Still scarred.”

A breeze moved through the trees, stirring the scent of pine and wet stone. You turned to find Jacob already looking at you.

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re staring.”

He didn’t look away. “You’re making it easy.”

You felt heat crawl into your cheeks. “What? The sweat dripping down my face does it for you?”

Jacob laughed, nose scrunching slightly. “Yeah. That and the fact you still have moss in your hair.”

You groaned, immediately reaching up to find it. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I was admiring it,” he said, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You flicked a bit of grass at him. “Loser.”

He grinned and flicked it back. “Takes one to know one.”

You both sat there a little longer, your knee touching his now, and neither of you moved away.

“Do you ever get scared?” you asked suddenly. “Of growing up. Of... I don’t know. Leaving things behind.”

Jacob exhaled slowly. “Yeah. I used to think I had everything figured out. Like I’d just be here forever. Fixing bikes. Hanging out. But lately... I don’t know. It’s like everyone else is changing, and I’m stuck.”

You nodded. “Maybe that’s why this summer feels so weird.”

“Maybe.”

“Everything’s in-between.”

Jacob looked at you again, and this time you didn’t look away.

“We’re not the same kids anymore,” you said.

“No,” he agreed, his voice low. “But I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

#jacob black #jacob black x reader #jacob black x y/n #jacob black fanfic #jacob black x female reader #jacob black x you #x reader #twilight x reader #twilight #jacob black fluff #jacob black fic #twilight x you #twilight fanfiction

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rafayelgod · 2 months ago

Text

🔞WARNING THIS IS ADULTS CONTENT🔞

NSFW, Fanfiction, Not for kids!, 18+, Dominance, BDSM

What if They Caught You Watching Porn in Their Bedroom? 🔞💦

🔞 Please be advised: This story contains explicit sexual content, including descriptions of masturbation and consensual sexual interaction, and explores themes of possessiveness and dominance by the character. Reader discretion is advised.

Okay Hunter (MC/You) here are five individual scenarios depicting how each of the Love and Deepspace characters would react if they walked in on you watching porn in their bedroom within this alternative universe.

1. Rafayel

You were sprawled out across Rafayel's ridiculously soft bed, letting the afternoon sun warm your face. He was supposed to be at the studio, sketching or dealing with some gallery drama. Perfect time for... research. You'd found a particularly interesting video online and were completely engrossed, the screen glowing with explicit details.

Suddenly, the bedroom door burst open with a cheerful, slightly dramatic flourish.

"Cutie! I'm home! Guess what I got you-"

You jumped, slamming the laptop shut with a speed you didn't know you possessed. Your face instantly flamed, blood rushing to your cheeks. Rafayel stood in the doorway, eyes wide not with anger, but with surprise, his signature playful grin already starting to form. He had a small box in his hand, likely a gift.

He tilted his head, purple eyes sparkling with mischief. "Whoa there, Miss Bodyguard. What's got you looking like a ripe tomato?" He took a step closer, his gaze flicking towards the closed laptop on the bed. "And what were you hiding?"

He sat on the edge of the bed, leaning in conspiratorially. "Don't tell me... were you watching something spicy?" He wiggled his eyebrows, completely unashamed. "Getting ideas, Cutie?"

Your embarrassment was a physical wave. "N-no! It was... uh... a documentary!"

He let out a light, musical laugh. "A 'documentary,' huh? Does it feature... anatomy in great detail?" He leaned closer still, his voice dropping to a playful purr. "You know, you don't have to watch static images on a screen when you have the real thing right here. Isn't my physique much more... artistically inspiring?"

He reached out and gently traced the line of your jaw, his grin turning softer but still full of knowing charm. "Maybe I could offer a private, live-action tutorial instead? Much more... interactive, don't you think?" He didn't seem jealous, just highly amused and eager to turn the situation into a chance to tease and flirt.

"So," he whispered, his face close to yours, "about that 'documentary'... care to share what you learned?"

2. Zayne

You were in Zayne's impeccably neat bedroom. He had an emergency shift at the hospital, giving you unexpected free time in his quiet, sterile space. You'd been feeling a bit stressed lately and decided a distraction was in order. You found what you were looking for on your tablet, headphones on, lost in the private world on the screen.

The door opened quietly, no preamble, no loud entrance. You didn't even hear it until you felt a presence standing near the foot of the bed.

You pulled off your headphones with a gasp, the bright screen still visible in your lap. Zayne stood there, dressed in his scrubs, looking at you with his usual calm, intelligent gaze. His expression was unreadable for a moment, then his eyes drifted down to the tablet screen.

Your face felt like it was on fire. You fumbled with the device, trying to turn it off, wishing the floor would swallow you whole.

"Honey?" His voice was soft, carrying an unexpected hint of surprise but no harshness. He didn't look away from the screen immediately, his expression remaining composed, though you thought you saw the tiniest flicker of something in his green eyes.

Finally, he looked back at you, his expression gentle, almost clinical in its lack of judgment, yet with that specific tenderness he reserved only for you. "Is... everything alright, Baby?"

You stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence.

He walked closer, sitting carefully beside you on the bed. He didn't snatch the tablet or scold you. Instead, he just looked at you, his gaze steady and reassuring. "There's no need to be so flustered, Honey. It's... a natural human interest."

He paused, a very faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching his lips. "Though, I must admit, I'm curious. Are you... studying something specific?" His voice was low, simple, devoid of any overt flirtation, yet the implication hung in the air.

He reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "Perhaps if you have questions... or require further practical demonstration... you could just ask me, Baby." His eyes held yours, calm, rational, but with an underlying sweetness that made your heart flutter even amidst the embarrassment. "I'm always available to help you... understand."

3. Xavier

You were relaxing in Xavier's room, the one place you both felt truly safe after a long day hunting Wanderers. He'd said he was just grabbing something from his car. You took the opportunity to browse, and well, ended up on a site that definitely wasn't about alien biology. You were captivated by the on-screen action, forgetting about the world outside the glow of the screen.

The door opened slowly, and Xavier shuffled in, looking typically sleepy, eyes half-closed. "My Love, where did you put my..."

His voice trailed off as he saw you, eyes wide with surprise, laptop open on your lap. His sleepy haze vanished in an instant, replaced by sharp alertness as his gaze fell on the screen. His blue eyes narrowed slightly.

Your heart leaped into your throat. You slammed the laptop shut with a cringe. "Xavier! I... um..."

He stood straighter, the charm fading into a look of intense focus. He walked towards the bed, his earlier weariness completely gone. He sat down beside you, not roughly, but with a possessive closeness.

"My Love," he said, his voice low and serious, a hint of possessiveness already coloring it. "What were you watching?" He didn't wait for an answer, his eyes searching yours. "Why are you looking at that?"

His hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking softly, but his gaze was firm, almost troubled. "Do you... do you need something more than I'm giving you?" The question was laced with insecurity and fierce protectiveness. "Why look at strangers... when you have me?"

He leaned closer, his scent of ozone and something uniquely him surrounding you. His voice dropped to a gravelly whisper. "Let me show you, My Love. Let me show you there's nothing on that screen that compares to what we have." He leaned in, kissing you with a depth that was both possessive and desperately wanting to prove his point.

"You only need me," he murmured against your lips, pulling you closer. "Just me, My Love."

4. Sylus

You were in Sylus's luxurious, almost intimidatingly large bedroom. He was out handling Onychinus business - something involving 'negotiations' and 'asset management'. You felt brave enough to occupy his space, and maybe just bold enough to indulge in something equally bold on your tablet. You were enjoying the explicit display when a deep voice cut through the silence.

"Well now, kitten. What have we here?"

You froze. Sylus stood in the doorway, a tall, commanding figure leaning casually against the frame. He wasn't smiling, but his dark red eyes held a glint of amusement and something undeniably predatory as they scanned you and then the tablet screen in your lap.

You snapped the tablet off, your face burning. "Sylus! You're back early!"

He pushed off the doorframe and walked slowly towards you, his movements smooth and confident. He didn't look surprised or embarrassed, only intrigued. "Early? Or just in time?" His gaze lingered on the tablet, then back to you, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "Getting ideas, sweetie?"

He reached the bed and stood over you, his sheer size making you feel like a tiny creature caught in his gaze. He reached down and gently took the tablet from your trembling hands, placing it aside without looking at it.

"You know, kitten," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated with power and charm. "I find it incredibly... stimulating... knowing you're in my personal space, thinking about carnal things." He leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of you on the bed, trapping you.

"But," he continued, his voice turning more dominant, "didn't I tell you? The only man you need to study... is me." He lowered himself further, his face close to yours, his eyes intense. "Let me show you how a real man pleases his sweetie. Let me show you all the things you were only dreaming about."

His smirk widened, bold and unapologetic. "No need for a screen, kitten. The show is live, and you have a front-row seat."

5. Caleb

You were in Caleb's room, which was a chaotic mix of military neatness and personal indulgence. He was often away on duty, leaving you to occupy his space when you missed him. You were watching something particularly intense on your laptop, lost in the visuals, when the door swung open sharply behind you.

"Pipsqueak? Thought I'd find you here." His voice was light, playful, but there was an undercurrent of something else you knew well.

You flinched, spinning around, trying to hide the screen. Your face must have given you away instantly. Caleb stood there, already shedding his jacket, but his playful expression vanished as he saw your reaction and the laptop on the bed. His black eyes, usually warm with affection, turned sharp and intense, the purple depth within them seeming to darken.

He didn't say anything else immediately. He just walked towards the bed, his footsteps deliberate. He reached you and his hand shot out, not to touch you gently, but to snatch the laptop closed with a sharp snap.

"What the hell were you watching?" His voice was no longer playful. It was low, rough, laced with possessiveness and a controlled fury. His eyes bored into yours, demanding an answer.

Your breath hitched. The casual charm was gone, replaced by the dark, obsessive side you knew existed beneath the surface. "Caleb, I... it was just..."

He leaned over you, his body language dominating, trapping you against the headboard. "Just what, Pipsqueak? Looking at other people? Imagining things with someone who isn't me?" His grip on the laptop tightened, his knuckles turning white.

"Didn't I make it clear?" he growled, his voice dangerously soft. "You belong to me. Your eyes are only for me. Your thoughts are only for me." He tossed the laptop carelessly onto the floor. "Why do you need that when you have me?"

He leaned in closer, his face inches from yours, his intensity overwhelming. "You will only see these things with me, Pipsqueak. Only me." He gripped your chin firmly, his thumb tracing your lip. "Now, let me remind you who you belong to." His kissed you, not sweetly, but with demanding possessiveness, a clear statement of ownership. "You're mine. And you will never look at anyone else like that again. Understand?"

#love and deepspace smut #sylus #lads sylus #love and deepspace #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #smut #zayne #rafayel #caleb

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julietsf1 · 3 months ago

Text

Off Limits - Kenan Yildiz x Bellingham!Reader

summary: Jude had one rule: his sister was strictly off-limits. Kenan really tried to listen, really did. But then you smiled at him, and, well—there was no coming back from that. (18k words)

content: brother's best friend, slow burn, secret relationship, forbidden love, slight angst

AN: wrote this on the plane the other day!! can't lie guys, I have a real soft spot for Madrid since I had an exchange there & with the recent rumours on the possibility of Kenan leaving Juve I just had to write this! It is looooong but being a binge reader myself I always prefer long stories over multiple chapters :) hope u enjoy! ciao

------------------------------------------------

The house smelled of garlic and slow-simmering tomatoes, the kind of warmth that wrapped around you the second you stepped inside. It was familiar, homey—but unexpected. Jude rarely cooked unless coerced, which meant one thing:

He had help.

Following the hum of conversation and the occasional clatter of pans, you stepped into the kitchen—and immediately stopped short.

Jude stood by the stove, stirring something that, shockingly, looked edible. Beside him, moving with effortless ease, was a second figure, sleeves pushed up, knife in hand, chopping vegetables with practiced precision.

Your brows lifted slightly.

Kenan Yıldız.

You recognized him instantly—not just because of who he was, but because Jude never shut up about him. His name had been woven into conversations for weeks now. One of the best new signings at Madrid. Got along with Jude right away.

What you hadn’t expected was… this.

Kenan fit into the kitchen like he had been coming to your house for years. The smooth rhythm of his hands, the clean efficiency as he gathered greens in his palm before tossing them into a bowl—it was clear he knew what he was doing. He didn’t even look up at first, simply remarking,

“You must be Jude’s sister.”

His voice was warm, rich, touched with something amused—like he already knew you.

You blinked. “And you must be the new recruit.”

That got his attention. He looked up then and—okay, wow.

It wasn’t just that he was handsome; that was a given. It was how he carried himself—calm, unhurried, effortlessly present, as if he didn’t need to take up space to be noticed. His dazling green eyes met yours, gaze steady, warm, quietly amused. Like he was taking you in, waiting to see what you’d say next.

Jude, oblivious to the shift in the air, barely looked up. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s not helping.”

Kenan scoffed, feigning offense. “Excuse me? I’m doing all the hard work.”

“You’re cutting vegetables,” Jude deadpanned.

“With flawless precision,” Kenan shot back.

You leaned against the counter, watching them, amused despite yourself.

“You actually cook?” you asked, directing the question at Kenan.

He nodded, as if it were obvious. “Of course.”

Jude let out a disbelieving snort. “He’s lying.”

Kenan pressed a hand to his chest, mock wounded. “What’s with the judging, Judy?”

“You literally looked up a tutorial on TikTok when you picked up the knife.”

Kenan smirked. “And? I’m a quick learner.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed. Unexpected. Kenan’s gaze flickered to you, and for a brief moment, his expression softened.

Clearing your throat, you fought to regain the upper hand. “So, you’re just here to show off, then?”

Kenan shrugged. “Figured I should try my best to impress the sister I’ve heard so much about.”

You tilted your head. “Are you this smooth with everyone, or am I just special?”

His smile was slow, a little surprised—like he wasn’t expecting you to match him but found that he liked it.

“A little of both,” he admitted. “But mainly the latter.”

Jude groaned, dramatically turning away from the stove. “Oh my days. Don’t make me wack you with this spatula Kenan.”

Kenan smirked. “No worries, bro”

Yet he was still watching you, eyes glinting, something unreadable flickering behind them—like he wasn’t sure what to make of you yet.

You stretched out comfortably in the kitchen chair. “I think I’ll just sit here and watch. This is way more entertaining than I expected.”

Kenan chuckled, reaching for another onion. “As long as you’re enjoying yourself.”

The worst part? You did.

Jude, still focused on the pan, added, “For the record, Kenan practically begged to be invited over.”

Kenan exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “That’s a dramatic way to put it.”

You arched a brow. “So what’s the less dramatic version?”

Kenan wiped his hands on a towel, leaning back against the counter. “I mentioned I had nothing to do tonight, and your brother insisted I come over.”

Jude scoffed. “You asked what I was making for dinner and then said, That sounds nice. I wish I had plans.”

Kenan shrugged, utterly unbothered. “And you invited me. So, really, this is on you.”

You hummed, amused. “Strategic play.”

Kenan’s lips twitched. “Can you blame me? Good food, good company…” His eyes flickered to you for half a second before he added, “I think I made the right call.”

Jude, oblivious, just shook his head. “Right. Well, you can do the dishes, then.”

Kenan sighed, dramatic as ever. “That’s not how guests should be treated.”

You smirked, shaking your head at him.

Jude barely paid attention, focused on stirring the pan. “Kenan’s alright,” he muttered. “One of the only friends I actually trust with my life.”

Kenan looked over at him, a little surprised, like he wasn’t expecting the sentiment to be voiced so easily.

Jude continued, utterly unfazed. “That being said—just so you know—same rule applies to him as everyone else.”

He finally turned, fixing Kenan with a pointed look. “She’s off-limits.”

The air shifted.

Your expression twisted immediately. “Excuse me?”

Jude didn’t even glance at you. His focus remained on Kenan, casual but firm. It was clear he didn’t think twice about saying it, just like he had with every other teammate, every other friend. It was instinct.

Kenan, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He held Jude’s stare for a long moment, something unreadable passing through his expression before it turned into a friendly smile.

“Duly noted.”

Jude gave him a little slap on the back, before turning back to the stove.

“Not that I don’t trust you, man. Just needed you to know.”

And then, just as effortlessly, just as naturally as if this were all a game only he knew the rules to—

Kenan winked at you.

You wanted to throw something.

Kenan just chuckled under his breath, tossing a handful of chopped parsley into the dish.

Jude, completely oblivious, still hunched over the stove, stirring like nothing had happened.

You exhaled slowly, chest feeling tighter than before.

This was going to be a problem.

…

The night was already borderline ridiculous before you even set foot on the course.

Disco golf.

Who in their right mind came up with this?

The artificial grass glowed with neon strips, fluorescent obstacles scattered across each hole like some kind of fever dream. Overhead, strobe lights pulsed in sync with a painfully bad club remix blaring from the speakers. It was an assault on the senses in every possible way.

And yet, somehow, this group made it work.

You barely had a chance to breathe before Antoine Griezmann materialized out of nowhere, his signature shit-eating grin firmly in place.

“Well, well, well,” he drawled, flipping a golf ball between his fingers like it was a poker chip. “Look who finally showed up.”

“I was literally five minutes late.”

Antoine was as predictable as ever—an insufferable smooth-talker, equal parts charming and irritating. He had tried it with you once, a half-baked attempt at flirting that had crashed and burned spectacularly. Instead of being embarrassed, he had turned it into a long-running joke at your expense. Or at least, he claimed it was a joke.

You rolled your eyes. “I see Jude didn’t immediately chase you out of here. He must be in a good mood.”

Antoine pressed a hand to his chest, mock wounded. “Why do people assume your brother hates me?”

“Because he does,” a new voice chimed in.

Vini Jr.

The responsible one. The glue that held the group together. He was calm, steady, unbothered—unless you insulted his dance routine, in which case, he suffered more than anyone you knew.

Vini clapped Antoine on the back, his expression completely deadpan. “And for good reason.”

Antoine scoffed. “You wound me, bro.”

Before Vini could respond, a golf club swung dangerously close to both their faces.

“Boys, boys,” Arda Güler interrupted, dramatically flourishing his club like he was starring in a medieval jousting match. The lovable idiot, always at the center of chaos. His entire personality was built on making bad decisions and hoping for the best.

“This is a game of precision, not violence.” He spun his club around before dramatically planting it into the ground. “And I will emerge victorious.”

“You say that every time,” Vini muttered.

Arda ignored him.

A hand clapped down on your shoulder, and you turned to find Julián Álvarez standing beside you, unreadable as always.

“Should I even ask why you agreed to this?” he asked, voice low, amusement barely detectable.

Julián was the quietest of the group—the type who didn’t say much but noticed everything. He never inserted himself into drama, but if you needed advice, someone to talk to, or a brutally honest reality check, he was the guy.

You shrugged. “Morbid curiosity.”

Julián hummed, unconvinced.

The group started pairing up, and you had already resigned yourself to being stuck with Jude, as always. But before you could even move, Arda slung an arm around Jude’s shoulders.

“I’m with Jude,” he announced decisively, leaving no room for argument.

Jude shot him an incredulous look. “Since when?”

“Since now,” Arda said, already dragging him toward the first hole. “You’re good at this, right? Because I refuse to lose.”

You barely had time to process the betrayal before Julián and Vini shuffeled a little closer together as well.

Great. That left you with either Antoine or Kenan.

Your eyes flickered toward Antoine, who was casually flipping his golf ball in one hand, smirking like he was already planning something insufferable.

Without a second thought, you turned to Kenan instead.

He was already watching you, utterly unbothered, twirling his club with the same easy confidence he carried in everything.

“Looks like you’re stuck with me,” he said, handing you your ball.

Your fingers tightened around it as you met his gaze.

“Lucky me.”

Kenan’s lips twitched, just slightly. “I was thinking the same thing.”

Jude, too preoccupied with arguing with Arda over proper golf technique, hadn’t even noticed—let alone the way heat crept up your neck as Kenan watched you with quiet amusement.

…

The first few holes passed in a blur of neon-lit obstacles and questionable golf techniques. Arda was taking things far too seriously, Jude was arguing about angles like this was an actual competition, and Antoine had already managed to cheat twice—though no one could prove it.

Kenan, to your mild surprise, was actually decent at it. Not overly competitive, but smooth, precise. Effortless.

Annoyingly so.

You, on the other hand, were not having as much luck. Your shots weren’t terrible, but they also weren’t particularly impressive. And Kenan, who had the unfortunate privilege of witnessing every single attempt, was clearly enjoying himself.

By the fifth hole, you were losing patience.

Kenan leaned on his club, watching as your ball veered slightly off-course. “Not bad,” he mused. “But I think you’re gripping the club too tight.”

You shot him a look. “Thanks, coach.”

He grinned. “Anytime.”

You exhaled, adjusting your stance before trying again. The ball rolled forward, making it past the obstacle this time but still stopping just short of the hole.

Kenan made a thoughtful sound. “Better.”

You turned to him, exasperated. “Do you actually have tips, or are you just enjoying watching me struggle?”

He tilted his head, considering. “Little bit of both.”

You huffed, shaking your head as you lined up for another shot. But before you could take it, you felt him step closer.

Too close.

Kenan reached out, adjusting your grip on the club before you could protest. “Relax,” he murmured, voice low enough that Jude—still distracted by Arda—wouldn’t hear. “You’re overthinking it.”

Your pulse jumped.

You were sure he knew exactly what he was doing. The proximity, the subtle amusement laced through his words—it was intentional.

You rolled your shoulders, pretending the heat creeping up your neck was from frustration. “Are you showing off again?”

Kenan smirked. “If I were showing off, you’d know.”

Before you could come up with a response, he took a step back, gesturing toward the ball. “Try again.”

You did. And, to your surprise, it went in.

You blinked at the hole, momentarily stunned.

Kenan’s smirk deepened. “See? All you needed was the right guidance.”

You turned to him, unimpressed. “You’re going to be insufferable about this, aren’t you?”

He shrugged, all faux innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You exhaled sharply, turning back to the course.

…

The next morning, you sat across from Jude at your favorite café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries curling around you like a comforting embrace.

Brunch had become a ritual—a chance to catch up, talk nonsense, and, more often than not, for Jude to rant about something that had deeply offended his very specific worldview that week.

Today, that thing was Antoine Griezmann.

You weren’t even five minutes into your meal before Jude leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and let out a deep, dramatic sigh.

“I hate him.”

You didn’t even have to ask who he was talking about.

Still, you took a slow sip of your coffee, humoring him. “Antoine?”

Jude scoffed. “Obviously Antoine.”

You hummed in amusement, cutting into your pancake. “What did he do this time?”

Jude leaned forward, elbows braced against the table. “What did he do? He was one second away from licking your face off, did you miss that?”

You snorted. “He was annoying, but I wouldn’t say that.”

Jude shot you a deeply unimpressed look. “He was testing my patience.”

You arched a brow, feigning innocence. “So… your patience is thin, then?”

“My patience doesn’t exist when it comes to my friends hitting on my sister,” he stated, as if it were fact.

“Technically, he didn’t hit on me,” you pointed out.

Jude’s glare was immediate. “He was setting up for it.”

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t worry. You know I’d never reciprocate anything anyway, right?”

“You better not.”

You exhaled through your nose, reaching for your coffee.

Because this was just Jude. Overprotective, borderline ridiculous, but never in a way that truly irritated you—because you knew it came from a good place.

Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t overdoing it.

Jude took a sip of his drink, shaking his head. “It’s a hard rule. No friends of mine. Ever.”

You almost choked on your coffee.

Then, slowly, you leaned back in your chair. “Aren’t you going a bit far?”

“It’s for the best.”

“It’s insane.”

Jude crossed his arms. “You know footballers. You know I’m right.”

Your mouth opened. Then closed.

Because, unfortunately, he had a point. You weren’t blind.

You had spent enough time around Jude and his teammates to know how they moved—always on the go, always in a whirlwind of temporary flings, casual connections, never really rooted anywhere.

Still, your mind drifted to Kenan, who did not give you that impression at all.

You eyed him, unimpressed. “So what are you aiming at? Immediate death if they look at me?”

Jude barely hesitated. “Immediate exile.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “A bit dramatic.”

“I think it’s still very generous.”

You sighed, knowing this was an argument you wouldn’t win.

…

The house was alive.

Music pulsed through the walls, the bass thrumming beneath your feet like a second heartbeat. Laughter spilled from the kitchen, where a group of guys were debating whether or not vodka actually made you better at beer pong. The air smelled of alcohol, sweat, and something vaguely burnt—probably whatever disaster Arda had left in the oven.

It was the kind of night that blurred at the edges, full of bad decisions and good memories. The kind of night where anything could happen.

And yet you barely registered any of it.

Because he was here.

You felt Kenan’s presence like static in the air, a pull that had been getting harder and harder to ignore. It had been this way all night—glances exchanged across the room, fleeting, lingering.

He was talking to someone, laughing at something Arda had said, but even as he smiled—as if nothing in the world was out of place—

You knew better.

Because he kept looking at you, too.

Short, quick glances that made your pulse kick up a notch.

You tore your gaze away, turning your attention to the nearest distraction.

Unfortunately, that distraction came in the form of Antoine Griezmann.

“Well, well,” Antoine drawled, appearing beside you with his usual brand of obnoxious charm. “If it isn’t my favorite Bellingham.”

You sighed, already bracing yourself. “Oh, God.”

Antoine grinned. “Did you miss me?”

“No.”

“Lies. Say it again, maybe I’ll believe you this time.”

You turned to face him, unimpressed. “Antoine, it’s physically impossible for me to miss you when you’re always finding new and creative ways to bother me.”

Antoine pressed a hand to his chest, feigning heartbreak. “Always so feisty.”

You didn’t even bother responding.

Suddenly his hand landed on your waist.

Casual. Uninvited.

Before you could even react and push him back, Jude was there, looking very angry. Oh god.

His voice was sharp, unamused, cutting through the noise like a blade.

“Antoine.”

Antoine turned, lazy grin still in place. “Jude. Nice house party.”

Jude’s jaw ticked. “Get your hand off my sister.”

Antoine raised his hands in mock surrender. “Relax. Just saying hi.”

Jude’s eyes narrowed. “Okay. Say it differently.”

Antoine smirked. “Don’t be so pressed.”

Jude now looked ready to commit an actual crime.

And just like that, you’d had enough.

You weren’t about to stand around while Jude and Antoine had another one of their pissing contests.

“You boys have fun,” you muttered, pushing past them before either could stop you.

You felt Jude’s glare follow you.

You didn’t care.

You weaved through the crowd, exhaling slowly, trying to shake the tension tightening in your chest.

Suddenly, a hand brushed against yours. Barely there. Just enough to make you notice.

Before you could process it, fingers wrapped around your wrist. Light, but firm. A silent don’t go that way.

No words. Just a pull—smooth and effortless—like he had already decided you were coming with him.

You didn’t fight it. Just let Kenan steer you through the crowd until the heavy bass dulled and cool night air brushed your skin.

Only then did he let go.

Kenan exhaled, raking a hand through his hair. “You okay?”

Your arms crossed over your chest. "I should be asking you that."

He let out a breathy chuckle. "Why?"

"Because you just dragged me out of a party without saying a word."

Kenan smirked. “You followed.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not the point.”

He didn’t argue. Instead, his eyes flickered back toward the door—checking. Not for just anyone. For one person in particular.

Your stomach flipped at the realization.

"Antoine gets on your nerves that much?" you asked, tilting your head.

Kenan sighed, leaning against the railing. "You could say that."

Without thinking, you reached out, your fingertips barely brushing his forearm. A fleeting touch, light as air, easy enough to pass off as nothing.

Kenan went completely still.

His green eyes flickered down to where your skin met his before slowly dragging back up to your face, something dark and unreadable swimming in them.

"You really care about that?" you murmured, barely above a whisper.

Kenan’s lips quirked, but his voice was steady. "Should I not?"

You held his gaze, pulse quickening. You knew damn well it was never just about Antoine.

It was about you.

It was about the way Kenan had been watching you all night, the way he kept finding ways to be near you, the way his eyes dipped to your lips before flicking away like he hadn’t just done that.

You swallowed hard.

“We can’t do this,” Kenan murmured, but he didn’t move back.

He was still standing too close, still looking at you like he was already too far gone.

And you, reckless, breathless, said the words before you could stop yourself.

"I think it’s too late for that."

A flicker of something passed through his expression—uncertainty, hesitation, but that disappeared when he closed the space between you, his lips meeting yours.

It was slow at first, like he wasn’t sure if he was really allowed to, like he thought you might push him away. His lips brushed against yours once, twice—light, barely there, testing. But then you exhaled against him, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, and that hesitation unraveled.

His hand found your waist, gripping just firmly enough to keep you anchored as his other slid up, fingers skimming along your jaw before cupping your face, tilting it up to him. The railing pressed into your back, cold against your skin, but you barely noticed. All you could focus on was the warmth of him, the way his lips pressed deeper against yours, like he was memorizing the way you felt, the way you fit against him.

A slow, lingering drag of his mouth over yours, a quiet hitch of breath as your fingers twisted tighter into his shirt. When you tilted your head just slightly, letting him deepen the kiss, a quiet sound rumbled from his throat—a low, pleased hum that sent heat coursing through your veins.

It was a mess of pent-up frustration, of every unsaid thing, every stolen glance that had led to this exact moment.

And you didn’t stop him. You couldn’t. Ignoring all the alarm bells that were supposed to go off inside your head.

You chased it, chased him, let him pull you closer, let the weight of his body press against yours until—

The door creaked open.

You and Kenan broke apart instantly, breathless, heat still prickling under your skin.

Julián stepped onto the terrace, stretching.

You forced your breath to slow, straightening slightly.

Kenan rubbed the back of his neck, looking too casual.

Julián barely glanced at either of you. “Too loud in there,” he muttered, yawning.

Your heart was still pounding.

Julián paused, frowning slightly. “Why do you two look so—”

“Weird lighting,” Kenan cut in smoothly.

Julián squinted, then shrugged before turning away again. "Huh. Cool."

You risked a glance at Kenan.

And even though neither of you said anything, you both knew. This was far from over.

…

The morning after a party was always far too quiet.

The kind of quiet that exaggerated every tiny sound—every creak, every rustle—as if conspiring to remind you of all your questionable choices. Choices like sneaking onto terraces. Choices involving certain footballers whose names started with ‘K’ and ended with ‘enan.’

Yes, questionable indeed.

At breakfast, you tried to appear casual—a tall order given your current mental spiral. You clutched your lukewarm coffee like a lifeline, while across from you, Kenan sat annoyingly unbothered, spreading butter on toast with the ease of someone who had never had a scandalous terrace rendezvous.

Your narrowed eyes did nothing to shake his composure.

And because the universe loved tormenting you, Jude entered the kitchen at that precise moment, looking impressively disgruntled for someone still wearing last night’s hoodie. He slammed a plate down with the melodrama reserved for mornings after.

"Antoine Griezmann," he began, as if invoking an arch-nemesis, "is the biggest dickhead I’ve ever met."

Kenan, infuriatingly calm, took a sip of coffee. "Good morning to you too, Jude."

"Unbelievable," Jude muttered, turning to you. "That man has zero sense of boundaries."

From beside you came Arda’s voice, muffled by his folded arms. "For the love of God, lower your voice."

"You didn’t even drink," Jude shot back.

Arda lifted his head slightly, wincing. "The drinks weren’t the problem. The nachos, on the other hand…"

No one disagreed. The faint scent of burnt tortilla chips still lingered accusingly.

"Anyway," Jude continued, undeterred, "Antoine is officially banned from future gatherings."

You sighed. So much for hoping he’d drop the issue overnight.

"He put his hands on you," Jude emphasized. "I should’ve decked him."

"Jude. He barely touched me."

Jude scoffed. "Barely? You’re seriously defending him?"

"I’m not defending him. He’s a prick, but you’re overreacting."

Jude muttered something darkly under his breath.

Arda, finally awake enough to contribute, chuckled. "Antoine thinks he has a chance with everyone."

"Exactly!" Jude pointed triumphantly. "This is why—"

You braced yourself.

"No friends of mine. Ever."

There it was. Jude’s favorite rule, delivered with his usual finality.

Across from you, Kenan finally broke his silence, eyes amused above his coffee cup. "Are you always this intense before noon?"

"Don't start," Jude shot back.

Arda sighed. "Jude’s still recovering from his Antoine-induced rage episode."

"It wouldn’t be necessary if people listened to me," Jude muttered, sitting heavily with his breakfast.

You kept your focus on your now-cold coffee, resisting the urge to grimace. The last thing you needed was Jude sensing anything off.

But the silence stretched. You caved—stealing a quick glance across the table.

Kenan was already watching you.

Not brooding. Enjoying this. The way his gaze lingered was insufferable—calm, playful, like he knew exactly what was on your mind.

Your brows lifted. What?

The corner of his mouth curved—barely. A quiet tease. A private acknowledgment of shared misbehavior.

Your cheeks warmed. You turned back to your coffee.

Kenan cleared his throat softly, hiding his amusement with another slow sip.

It was going to be a long breakfast.

…

The living room was a battlefield of discarded hoodies, half-empty snack bags, and abandoned water bottles—the kind of war zone that only a FIFA night in full swing could create.

Jude was perched at the edge of the couch, controller clutched in both hands, his entire body tense with single-minded focus.

Julián, annoyingly composed, sat next to him, casual but lethal, dismantling the opposition with the kind of effortless precision that made everyone else look bad.

Arda, however, was mid-meltdown.

“This game is rigged,” he groaned, throwing his arms up as the ball sailed over the goal, missing by an embarrassing margin.

Vini barely spared him a glance. “You guys just suck.”

Arda let out a dramatic sigh, flopping back onto the couch. “Next round, we’re switching teams.”

And then, of course, there was Kenan. Lounging back against the cushions, controller resting lazily in his hands, watching the chaos like it was free entertainment.

His lips twitched slightly when he noticed you standing near the doorway. A quick once-over, deliberate, measured.

You ignored the way your stomach tightened under his stare.

"You guys still at this?" you asked, stepping further inside.

Jude didn’t even look up. " Vini’s on some demon mode tonight."

Vini smirked, glancing at you. "It’s not my fault everyone else is bad."

Arda, ever dramatic, flopped across the couch like a fallen soldier. “This is what I get for believing in myself.”

Kenan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Maybe next time, Arda."

Arda shot him a glare before tilting his head toward you.

"Are you keen on joining, or do you have more productive things planned?"

You rolled your eyes. "I’m getting water and then I need to finish my paper, unfortunately ."

...

The second you stepped into the kitchen, you exhaled, pressing your hands against the countertop.

You just needed a moment. A pause. A second to collect yourself..

But apparently, tonight wasn’t going to grant you that luxury.

Footsteps.

"It’s really cute how you get all flustered."

His voice was softer this time, teasing but not sharp, laced with something warmer, something dangerously close to fondness.

You turned slowly.

Kenan stood by the counter, one hand resting lightly against the surface, his posture relaxed in a way that felt entirely deliberate. His gaze swept over you—not just playful, not just amused. Knowing.

"You followed me," you murmured, willing your voice to stay steady.

Kenan tilted his head slightly, an easy smile playing at his lips. "Felt like the right direction to go."

Not a denial. Not an admission. Just a quiet, magnetic pull in the form of words.

"You need to stop looking at me like that," you muttered.

Kenan raised an eyebrow, gaze steady. "Like what?"

You swallowed.

He was too close. Close enough that you caught the faintest trace of his cologne, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you in ways you didn’t have the strength to ignore.

"Like you want to kiss me," you said, quieter this time.

Something flickered in his expression—brief but unmistakable.

"I do," he said simply.

The air between you shifted.

He wasn’t smirking now. He wasn’t toying with you.

"You can’t say things like that," you murmured.

"Why not?"

You opened your mouth, but you struggeled to find words.

Because what were you supposed to say? That he made it impossible to think straight? That you had spent the entire morning replaying the way he kissed you last night? That if you let yourself, you might start thinking about how much you wanted him to do it again?

"Because Jude—"

There it was.

The reason why you should be walking away right now.

Kenan sighed, running a hand through his hair. The teasing was gone now, something quieter settling in its place.

"You think I don’t know that?" he muttered.

Your breath caught.

Kenan took another step forward.

The kitchen felt smaller. The air, heavier. A quiet moment stretched between you. Not tense. Not uncertain. Just… waiting.

His gaze flickered to your lips for a fraction of a second.

And then he kissed you.

There was no hesitation this time.

His hands found your waist first, pulling you against him with quiet urgency, like he had been holding back for far too long.

Your breath caught, fingers gripping the front of his hoodie as he deepened the kiss, steady and deliberate. Like he wanted to memorize the way you felt against him. Like he wanted to savor every second of it.

His fingers pressed against your back, firm, grounding. Your heart stuttered as he lifted you effortlessly, setting you onto the counter like he had been meaning to do it all along.

Your legs parted instinctively to let him step between them.

And when his lips left yours, trailing down, brushing along your jaw, then lower—

A quiet sigh escaped before you could stop it.

Kenan smiled against your skin, pressing another slow, lingering kiss just below your ear.

You barely had the presence of mind to cling to him, hands twisted in his hoodie, breath uneven.

He stepped away, leaving behind the faintest trace of warmth where his hands had been. Not far. Just enough for you to feel the absence of his warmth.

Your pulse was a mess, your mind struggling to keep up.

His lips brushed your ear, voice barely above a whisper.

"I really like you."

The shift was instant, the absence of him unsettling in a way you hadn’t prepared for.

You blinked, fingers still curled against the counter, as if letting go might send you tumbling into something you weren’t ready to name.

Kenan smirked—subtle, something almost teasing but not quite.

Then, with a lingering glance, he winked and walked out.

Like this hadn’t just changed everything.

You exhaled slowly, staring at the empty doorway, thoughts colliding too fast to make sense of.

Because Kenan Yıldız liked you. And you we’re definitely enjoying his company too.

It took a full minute before your body caught up with your brain.

Even as you stepped forward, something felt off—like you were still hovering in the space Kenan had left behind, the ghost of his hands on your waist lingering longer than they should. You inhaled sharply, straightened your shirt, and walked out of the kitchen with a carefully practiced ease.

Past the living room. Toward the stairs. Just a few more steps and you’d be free.

When all of a sudden Jude looked up. His brows immediately pulled together. "You look like shit."

You halted mid-step. “Excuse me?”

He tilted his head, studying you like some kind of medical anomaly. "Did you die in the kitchen? What’s wrong with you?"

From the couch, Arda barely lifted his head, his voice dry. "Maybe she saw whatever’s still in the oven. That alone could ruin anyone’s night."

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. "You guys still haven’t cleaned that?"

Jude didn’t blink. "Right. Well, hope you’re okay." His suspicion deepened, his gaze lingering a second too long.

Your eyes flicked to Kenan.

He was leaning back against the couch, controller in hand, seemingly absorbed in the game. Nothing about his expression gave anything away, but you noticed his almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. A silent reminder of what had just happened.

Your fingers twitched at your sides, heat creeping up your neck as you tore your gaze away before he could make things worse.

…

If someone had told you a few weeks ago that you’d be sneaking around behind Jude’s back, stealing glances and secret touches with his best friend, you would have laughed.

But here you were. And you weren’t stopping.

At first, it had been subtle. Little things that could be dismissed as nothing if anyone noticed.

The way Kenan’s knee would press against yours when you sat side by side, lingering a second too long before shifting away—always with that small, knowing smile.

The way he’d find excuses to touch you in passing—a hand grazing the small of your back, fingers brushing against yours when he handed you something, the steady warmth of his palm resting on your waist as he leaned in to whisper something only you could hear.

You hadn’t been sure if it was intentional. If he was testing the limits.

Then came the car rides.

Kenan had convinced Jude that carpooling to training made sense, especially on days when Jude had plans afterward and wouldn’t be heading straight home.

And suddenly, Kenan was picking you up after work, dropping you home after practice, stretching the moments when it was just the two of you for as long as possible.

The car was dangerous. No one else around. No one to stop things from slipping past the point of denial.

Like the first time he had reached over—mid-traffic—to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

His fingers barely skimmed your skin, but the feeling traveled everywhere.

Or the time you had been venting about something Jude had done, and Kenan had just… reached over and taken your hand.

No smirk. No joke. No performance.

Just a gentle squeeze, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles over your knuckles, his eyes still on the road, completely at ease in a moment that made your stomach twist into knots.

You just let him hold your hand all the way home.

And then there were the kisses. Stolen between car doors, in the quiet seconds before you had to pretend you weren’t completely unraveling for him. Kisses that left you breathless.

You weren’t sure how you had gotten here—how you had gone from avoiding him to falling straight into something neither of you could escape. The guilt of lying to Jude being overwhelmed by the joy you found whenever you two were together.

…

You were really not that much of a club goer. You hadn’t even planned on coming tonight.

But Jude had insisted, dragging you out with the usual crew, declaring that it had been far too long since your last proper night out. Maybe that should have been the first red flag.

Second red flag was Antoine. Obviously.

He had been circling all night, hovering just close enough to make his presence known, just persistent enough to keep himself within your reach. Jude, already too deep into his drinks, was in no state to notice, leaving you to deal with him alone.

"Come on," Antoine leaned in, breath warm against your ear, his confidence as misplaced as ever. "Just one dance?"

You took a step back, trying to create space. "No, thanks."

If he heard the sharp edge in your voice, he chose to ignore it.

"Don’t be like that," he coaxed, grinning, still far too close.

Before you could respond, a presence settled beside you, calm and steady. Kenan.

He didn’t push, didn’t pull you away, didn’t do anything that could turn this into a scene. Instead, his fingers brushed against your wrist, light but deliberate, just enough to remind you he was there. That he had seen. That he wasn’t going to let this happen.

Antoine stiffened slightly. His smirk faltered, just for a second, before something sharp flickered in his gaze.

His hand lingered, his fingers warm against your skin, and suddenly Antoine decided he wasn’t so interested anymore.

"Didn’t realize you had another bodyguard," he muttered before stepping back, disappearing into the crowd without waiting for a response.

Kenan’s fingers squeezed yours for just a moment longer before he let go, as if anchoring you before he released you completely.

Away from the worst of the noise, he turned to face you. "You okay?"

You exhaled, forcing the tension from your shoulders. "Yeah. Antoine is just—"

"A problem?"

"My most annoying problem."

Kenan smirked, leaning in slightly, his voice low enough to send heat rushing to your face. "Am I your favorite problem?"

The question made something flutter in your chest, but before you could answer, he kissed you.

There was nothing rushed about it. His lips met yours like he had been waiting all night for this. His hands found your hips, fingers pressing just enough to keep you there, like letting go wasn’t an option he was considering.

Your breath hitched as he deepened the kiss, his smile pressing into yours when you tugged him closer, the warmth of his mouth making it impossible to think about anything else.

"Kenan!"

The sound barely registered before Kenan was being yanked away, leaving you momentarily dazed, still gripping the fabric of his shirt.

Arda, far too exasperated to even recognize you in the dimmed lights, clung to Kenan’s shoulder like a lifeline.

"Bro, you gotta come quick."

Kenan blinked, still slightly dazed himself. "What?"

"Jude. Russian shots. It’s bad."

Kenan let out a slow, exhausted sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. " Scheiße."

You bit your lip to keep from laughing.

He hesitated for a second, gaze flickering back to you, something tender in his expression.

Then, leaning in just enough that only you could hear him, he murmured, "I’ll see you soon, baby."

And with that, he let himself be dragged into whatever disaster Jude and Arda had created, disappearing into the chaos of the club, leaving you standing there, still catching up.

…

Jude was dead weight against your shoulder, his entire body slumped into yours as you half-dragged, half-guided him through the front door. His hoodie was pulled up over his face, barely concealing the mess of curls spilling out, and his sneakers scraped lazily against the floor as he mumbled nonsense under his breath.

It had been a long night.

You should have known this would happen—should have expected that your always-overdoing-it brother would push himself too far, too fast, too recklessly, just because he could.

The others had offered to help, but you had waved them off, insisting you had him. And you did. Even if he was an absolute nightmare to get through the door.

You exhaled sharply as he nearly collapsed onto you.

"Jude," you muttered, shifting his weight. "Come on, just a little further."

A sleepy, unintelligible grumble was the only response before you finally managed to maneuver him onto the couch. His body melted into the cushions immediately, limbs sprawled in every possible direction, completely unaware that you had just spent the last of your strength hauling him inside.

"Never drinking again," he mumbled.

You rolled your eyes, pulling a blanket over him. "Uh-huh."

His breathing had already slowed, the heavy pull of sleep dragging him under. Then, just as his consciousness slipped entirely, his voice came—soft, barely audible.

"I’m glad you’re here."

Your throat tightened unexpectedly. Jude wasn’t sentimental. Not like this.

Not when he was awake, anyway.

You wanted to brush it off, let it roll past you like the other half-coherent things he had been mumbling all night.

But the words settled somewhere deeper than you expected.

Your phone buzzed against your palm.

One new message.

Kenan: Can I see you?

…

You cracked the door open, the cool night air whispering against your skin. Kenan stood there, hands tucked into his pockets, gaze steady—warm, waiting. The streetlights cast a soft glow along his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the quiet hesitation in his expression.

He wasn’t pushing. Wasn’t asking for anything more than what you were willing to give. But he was here.

You hesitated for only a second before stepping aside, letting him in.

Kenan moved past you, slow, deliberate, his presence filling the space effortlessly. The scent of his cologne lingered in the air—warm, clean, familiar in a way that made your stomach twist. The door clicked shut behind him, closing the rest of the world out.

Something between you felt different now, heavier with everything unspoken.

"You didn’t have to come," you murmured, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.

Kenan’s lips curved slightly, but the teasing edge was softer this time.

"I wanted to." His gaze searched yours, careful, intent. "I kept thinking about you. And I didn’t want to fall asleep wishing I was here instead."

Your fingers curled at your sides, gripping at nothing. "That’s..." You trailed off, words failing you. "That’s really sweet."

His smile deepened, laced with something warmer, something almost adoring. "I was worried I’d crossed into ‘hopelessly obsessed’ territory."

"Never said those things are mutually exclusive."

Kenan laughed. His fingers brushed against yours, hesitant at first—like he was giving you an out, a final moment to stop this before the line blurred beyond return.

You let his touch linger, let his fingers curl loosely around yours, warm and steady.

His voice was softer now. "I’m really glad to see you."

Your chest tightened. The weight of his words settled deep, making it harder to ignore what you already knew.

Your pulse quickened. Swallowing, keeping your voice low, careful, you murmured, "We should go upstairs. Before we wake Jude."

Kenan didn’t move right away. His fingers squeezed yours just slightly, his grip steady, anchoring himself to this moment.

"Lead the way," he murmured.

…

You woke up to warmth.

Not the usual, oh, the blanket’s cozy kind of warmth—but the very specific kind that came from having a large, slightly inconvenient man wrapped around you like a human radiator.

Kenan’s arm was heavy around your waist, his chest pressed firmly against your back, his breath slow and even against the nape of your neck.

For a blissful, fleeting moment, you didn’t think.

You just existed in the warmth of him, in the steady way he held you, like even in sleep, he wasn’t willing to let go. It was grounding, disorienting, and honestly very distracting.

And then—

A knock at the door.

Your heart stopped.

"Hey, you up?"

Jude’s voice. Groggy. Unmistakable.

Kenan went completely still behind you.

Your stomach plummeted at the exact same speed panic shot through your veins.

You twisted, shoving at his shoulder, whispering urgently, "Go hide. Now."

Kenan groaned into the pillow, voice rough with sleep and entirely unbothered. "What’s going on?"

"Closet! Hurry up!" you hissed, already untangling yourself from the sheets, frantically smoothing out the blankets.

He cursed under his breath before rolling—not gracefully, not remotely smoothly—off the bed, landing with a muffled thud that had you cringing. You barely had time to gawk at his ridiculous lack of stealth before he scrambled toward the closet, slipping inside just as the doorknob turned.

You flipped onto your back, throwing an innocent expression onto your face so forcefully it was probably suspiciousas Jude poked his head in.

He blinked. Then squinted. Then held up a plate.

"As a thank you for dragging me home," he announced, completely unprompted. "I brought breakfast."

You stared at him, still trying to calm your breathing. "Wow. How sweet of you."

Jude frowned, stepping inside, eyeing you like you’d been caught committing tax fraud. "Why are you being weird?"

From inside the closet came the softest possible shuffle. You ignored it. Barely.

"I’m not," you said far too quickly.

Jude narrowed his eyes, the skepticism radiating from him palpable. "You definitely are."

The silence stretched.

Kenan was absolutely in that closet grinning. You just knew it.

“Just a bit sleepy, still need to wake up a bit.” You said, not even sure if you could convince yourself.

After a painfully long beat, Jude finally left. "Take your time. I’ll be in the living room."

The moment the door clicked shut, you collapsed against the pillows, exhaling sharply.

From inside the closet, Kenan’s voice came far too smug for someone who had nearly blown his own cover.

"I think he’s onto you, baby."

Your eyes snapped to the closet. "Shut up and get out before he comes back."

Kenan slipped out, grinning like he had won something. His hair was already an absolute mess, and as he tugged his hoodie back into place, he looked disgustingly pleased with himself.

"Still worth it," he muttered, far too casual for someone who had just been shoved into a closet like a scandalous love affair in a bad rom-com.

You glared, unimpressed. "You’re the worst."

Kenan leaned down, tilting his head just slightly, voice low and teasing. "Go cuddle with Antoine then."

Your mouth opened, ready to deliver something truly scathing, but before you could—

He pressed a quick kiss to your cheek and slipped toward the window.

…

The stadium buzzed with anticipation, the crisp night air thick with the scent of freshly cut grass and the more questionable aromas of stadium food—the kind that always smelled five-star but tasted like regret. Fans waved scarves and banners, their collective energy contagious, a living, breathing force of excitement.

You, Vini, and Julián had arrived early, settling into your usual seats in the VIP box, which offered a prime view of the pitch. Jude, Kenan, and Arda were warming up, all sharp movements and pre-match focus. Vini, still sidelined with his injury, lounged comfortably like a man who had fully embraced the perks of forced rest. Julián, meanwhile, had no real stake in this game—his Atlético Madrid loyalties firmly intact—but had shown up under the universal rule of football friendships: when your boys play, you support.

It should have felt normal—just another match, just another night watching your brother do what he did best. But from the moment the whistle blew, your gaze found him. Not Jude, not the movement of the game as a whole—but Kenan.

You told yourself you were just watching the match, same as everyone else. But the way your eyes tracked Kenan’s every step made it painfully obvious that this had very little to do with football.

Watching him play like this—so completely in his element, entirely untouchable—felt a little like staring directly at the sun. You weren’t supposed to. It was bad for you. But even knowing that, you still couldn’t look away.

And then—Kenan broke loose.

A perfectly timed run, the ball practically glued to his foot, the entire pitch stretching open before him like a red carpet moment he had scripted himself. His acceleration was sharp, effortless, the kind of movement that made defenders rethink their entire career choices. One quick feint, a clean turn, a final ruthless touch—

And the ball was in the back of the net.

The stadium detonated.

Kenan’s name thundered through the stands, fans losing their collective minds, his teammates swarming him in celebration. Hands ruffled his hair, clapped his back, pulled him into the chaos—except Kenan barely acknowledged any of it.

Because Kenan wasn’t looking at them.

His gaze was already cutting through the noise, through the bodies, through the absolute carnage unfolding around him—until it found you.

With all the casual confidence of a man completely unbothered by the tens of thousands of people currently watching, he held your stare for just a second longer than necessary, before lifting his fingers to his lips, sending a small, knowing kiss in your direction.Not exaggerated. Not over-the-top. Just a little something to make sure you saw. A little something to make sure you knew.

And oh, you knew.

Your stomach twisted. Heat crept up your neck. You could feel yourself reacting before you could stop it, before you could school your expression into something resembling normal.

Too late.

Julián, seated next to you, hummed. Low, amused. Maybe even delighted.

And just like that the match was no longer your biggest concern.

…

The hallway outside the locker rooms was a chaotic mix of movement and noise, players filtering in and out, staff giving hurried instructions, and media figures darting around like they had somewhere important to be.

You, Julián, and Vini lingered near the entrance, waiting while the rest of the group finished changing before heading out for dinner.

Vini scrolled through his phone, completely uninterested in anything happening around him.

Julián, however? Julián was watching you.

You pretended not to notice, shifting your weight slightly, fixing your gaze on anything else—the floor, the ceiling, a scuffed mark on the wall that was suddenly very interesting.

But, of course, he wasn’t going to let you off the hook that easily.

"You know," he said casually, shoving his hands into his pockets, voice just low enough to be intentional. "You could just tell him."

Your body went rigid.

"Tell who what?" you asked, feigning confusion as if you didn’t immediately know where this was going.

Julián gave you a look. Not just any look—the kind of look that translated to: don’t even try it.

You swallowed, forcing a nonchalant shrug. "You’re being cryptic."

"And you’re being too obvious," he countered without missing a beat, eyebrow lifting in quiet amusement.

He wasn’t wrong.

Before you could even begin crafting some kind of defense, he sighed, the teasing edge in his voice softening.

"Listen," he said, quieter this time, like he was letting you in on something no one else was supposed to hear. "If you’re happy, you should just be honest."

You hesitated.

Julián wasn’t usually like this. He wasn’t the type to meddle, to pry, to offer unsolicited advice unless he genuinely meant it.

And the fact that he was saying this now—that he was looking at you like he had already figured out everything you were trying so hard to keep to yourself—made something tighten in your chest.

" Julián —"

"Jude will understand," he said simply.

And just like that, your heart stopped. That cracked open something you weren’t prepared to confront yet.

…

Post-match dinners were tradition—good food, good company, and Arda laughing at himself while everyone else berated his more questionable decisions.

But tonight, something felt... off.

And if you had to pinpoint why, it would be the warm weight of Kenan’s hand resting on your thigh under the table.

The restaurant buzzed with post-game energy—clattering plates, bursts of laughter, the scent of grilled meat and fresh bread.

For a while, everything felt normal.

You and Kenan were just sitting next to each other. It wasn’t unusual. No one had batted an eye when you slid into the seat beside him. There was no reason to think twice about the way his knee brushed against yours a little too often or how, at some point, his hand had found its way to your thigh. The contact was warm, steady, deliberate in a way that made it impossible to ignore, but subtle enough that it would have gone unnoticed by anyone not looking for it.

Jude wasn’t suspicious. At least, not yet.

You frowned as Kenan stole a fry from your plate, grinning at your outraged expression as he dodged your attempt to swat at his hand.

Somewhere between that and the next bite, you had started laughing a little too much, leaning in a little too easily.

Then came the real mistake.

Without thinking, without even realizing what you were doing, you reached over and fed Kenan a piece of food from your plate.

He didn’t bat an eye, didn’t move to stop you. He just took the bite like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The moment your fork landed back on your plate, Jude’s eyes found yours.

His brows furrowed. His gaze narrowed, expression shifting as though his brain was struggling to make sense of something that wasn’t quite clicking.

You could almost see it happening in real time, the slow mental process of realization beginning to piece itself together.

And in a moment of sheer, blind panic, Kenan—quick as ever—turned to Arda and, with zero hesitation, lifted a forkful of food to his mouth.

And fed him a bite straight from his plate. With complete eye contact. A hand under his chin for dramatic effect. Like he had been planning it all along.

Arda, to his eternal credit, didn’t miss a beat.

He sighed dreamily, tilting his head slightly as if this was some grand romantic moment before murmuring, “Finally, some love and appreciation.”

The entire table erupted into laughter. And just like that—crisis, momentarily avoided.

Jude, momentarily thrown off the scent, shook his head and rolled his eyes. "God, you two are annoying."

You exhaled.

Kenan’s hand, still resting on your thigh, squeezed once before relaxing again.

Suddenly, with loud steps, Antoine walked in.

Late as usual, he carried himself with the kind of lazy confidence that came from always assuming he was welcome, flashing his signature smirk as he slid into the empty seat across from Kenan. His gaze flicked across the table, already amused, already scanning for his next source of entertainment, before landing directly on you.

"Did I miss anything?" he asked, tone casual, but his eyes sharp.

Vini barely looked up. "You missed Kenan and Arda having a moment."

Arda, ever the performer, turned toward Kenan, winking like they had been caught in a scandalous affair.

"I’d happily do it again."

Antoine’s brow lifted in mild curiosity. "Do I want to know?"

"No," Julián muttered before taking a sip of his drink.

Antoine smirked, leaning forward slightly.

And then—he turned to you.

"Good to see you again," he said, tone just smooth enough to be irritating. "Didn’t know you were coming tonight."

Your body reacted before your mind did, the subtle shift of tension tightening across your shoulders, the momentary hesitation before you answered. It was small, barely noticeable, but enough for Kenan’s fingers to flex against your thigh under the table.

Antoine, oblivious, continued.

"Been a while, huh?" His voice had that same practiced charm, the kind that could talk its way in and out of just about anything.

You forced a polite smile. "Not long enough."

Arda snorted into his drink.

Antoine, entirely unbothered, let his grin stretch wider. "Whatever you say, beautiful."

The words settled over the table like a misplaced knife, sharp, unnecessary, and completely unwelcome.

You felt Kenan’s grip on your thigh tightening—not possessively, not obviously, but enough. Enough that you knew this was the exact moment his patience expired.

Antoine, blissfully unaware of the impending disaster, leaned back in his chair with an exaggerated sigh.

"You know, I was thinking—"

"You? Thinking?"

Kenan clearly wasn’t the only one who had lost his patience for Antoine.

Jude’s voice sliced through the conversation like a cold blade, stopping whatever Antoine had planned to say before it even left his mouth.

Antoine blinked, caught off guard.

The shift in Jude’s demeanor was immediate, the air around him suddenly weighted with something just serious enough to silence whatever playful deflection Antoine might have had planned.

"Clearly you can’t, or you’d remember she’s off-limits."

The weight of the words hung between them, unchallenged.

Antoine scoffed. "Oh, come on—"

"I don’t care." Jude’s voice never wavered.

Antoine stiffened, his usual lazy confidence faltering.

Arda, ever the hero, ever the breaker of tension, propped his chin on his hand and made a kissy face at Jude.

"Thank God there’s another Bellingham who isn’t off-limits."

It took a second, but then the entire table exploded into laughter, the relief of the tension being broken visible on all faces.

Even Jude, despite himself, exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

Antoine, thoroughly humiliated, sank into his seat.

Kenan reached for his drink, finally looking at peace.

And you?

You just exhaled, yet the weight on your shoulders hadn’t fully dissolved yet.

...

The night air had a crisp edge to it, the kind that made everything feel a little more defined, a little more present. The streets had quieted, save for the occasional burst of laughter from passing groups and the distant hum of traffic rolling through the city. A leftover energy from the match still clung to the air, lingering in the spaces between streetlights and the faint glow of shop windows.

Jude had just left for some girl’s place, tossing you a lazy wave over his shoulder before sliding into the backseat of a taxi, completely unaware of what—or rather, who—he was leaving behind.

Now, it was just you and Kenan.

The two of you walked in sync, footsteps falling into an easy rhythm against the pavement, the kind of silent coordination that came naturally when you spent enough time around someone. Neither of you spoke for a while, but the quiet wasn’t uncomfortable. It was settled, familiar, charged in a way that didn’t require words.

Kenan was the first to break the silence.

“You know,” he mused, his hands shoved in his pockets, his voice carrying that usual casualness, though there was something softer beneath it, something more careful. “I realized something tonight.”

You glanced at him, raising a brow. “And what’s that?”

He tilted his head slightly, considering. “I don’t actually know how you see the world.”

The comment made you blink, caught off guard. “What?”

Kenan smirked, but it wasn’t teasing—not in the way he usually was. “I know how you react. I know how you argue. I know the way your mind works when you’re scheming something, the way you roll your eyes when you think someone’s being an idiot. But I don’t know what you dream about. I don’t know what you think about when it’s just you and your own thoughts.”

His words sent something warm curling through your chest, something that felt an awful lot like being seen in a way you weren’t sure you were ready for.

You narrowed your eyes, lips twitching. “That’s already quite the character study. What else is left?”

Kenan’s grin widened. “That you’re stubborn, that you were a menace growing up, and that you have god-awful taste in movies.”

You gasped, scandalized. “First of all, I do not have god-awful taste in movies—”

Kenan hummed, feigning deep thought. “You like that one rom-com with the guy who—”

“It’s a cinematic masterpiece, and you will respect it,” you shot back, jabbing a finger at his chest.

His laugh was warm, deep, cutting through the cool night like a melody you’d heard before and wanted to hear again.

But then, after a beat, his voice softened. “I mean it,” he said, quieter now. “Tell me about you.”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to, but because no one ever really asked. Your entire life had existed in orbit around someone else’s story, in the shadow of football pitches and expectations, always introduced as Jude’s sister before being anything else.

But standing here, under the dim glow of streetlights, Kenan wasn’t looking at you like someone else’s sister.

He was looking at you. Like he wanted to know. Like he wanted to understand who you were beyond the spaces you filled for other people.

So, you told him.

About your dreams, your ambitions, the things you wanted that had nothing to do with football or being tethered to a world you hadn’t exactly chosen. About how you had always been restless, always searching for something that felt just out of reach, never quite sure what it was supposed to be. About the weight of constantly being seen as an extension of someone else instead of just you.

And Kenan listened.

Not in the way most people did, waiting for their turn to speak, but fully, completely. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t tease, didn’t try to fix anything. He just walked beside you, nodding now and then, his expression unreadable but focused, present, engaged.

Then, when you finally ran out of words, when you had spilled more than you had planned to, he stopped walking.

You turned to face him, and his gaze didn’t waver.

There was something warm in his eyes, something deliberate, something that made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t sure you could name.

“I don’t want to keep sneaking around,” he said, straightforward, unwavering.

Your breath caught. The easiest response would have been to joke, to throw back something sarcastic, something that made this feel less serious than it was.

But you couldn’t. Not this time.

Instead, your voice came out quieter than expected. “Me neither.”

Kenan exhaled, like he had been holding onto that breath for too long.

He stepped closer, slow and measured, his presence surrounding you in a way that made the rest of the world fade into background noise. “We’ll tell him,” he murmured. “After this weekend.”

You hesitated—not because you weren’t sure, but because—

“Jude’s going to kill you,” you whispered, the ghost of a smile playing at your lips.

Kenan tilted his head, grin forming. “Think he’ll make it quick?”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “Probably not.”

“Damn,” he sighed, like he was genuinely considering the odds. “Guess we better make the most of it while I still have my limbs.”

…

The morning unfolded slowly, wrapped in that golden kind of stillness that came after a night where nothing was rushed, nothing was hidden, and nothing felt like a mistake.

You stirred awake gradually, the soft glow of daylight stretching through the curtains, dusting the room in muted warmth. The duvet was tangled around your legs, the air comfortably heavy, and Kenan’s arm draped over your waist, solid and warm, his grip loose but unwavering.

For a moment, you didn’t move.

Still caught in the haze between sleep and wakefulness, your mind felt foggy, your body relaxed, completely enveloped in the weight of him against your back. His breath was slow and steady, lips barely grazing your bare shoulder, the steady rise and fall of his chest in perfect rhythm with yours.

There was something easy about it. Something natural, like neither of you needed to rush back into reality just yet.

Like the rest of the world could wait.

Kenan stirred behind you, inhaling deeply as he shifted, his fingers pressing lightly against your stomach before relaxing again—like his body refused to let go, even in sleep.

Then, soft and half-mumbled against your skin, a voice still thick with sleep—

“Mmm… morning, baby.”

You turned your head slightly, catching the way his lashes fluttered against his cheekbones, the drowsy heaviness still clinging to his green eyes, barely open, barely awake.

“Morning,” you murmured, voice quieter than intended.

Kenan exhaled a slow, contented sigh before burying his face into the crook of your neck, his forehead pressing against your shoulder for just a moment, as if delaying the inevitable need to get up.

Neither of you moved for a while, tangled in the sheets, limbs draped over each other in a way that didn’t feel stolen or temporary anymore—just right. The silence was filled with soft sighs, half-hearted murmurs about starting the day, Kenan groaning dramatically every time you even suggested getting up.

It took twenty more minutes of coaxing, a promise of coffee, and an absurd amount of effort to finally untangle yourself from him.

Which somehow led to Kenan, standing in your kitchen, sleeves pushed up lazily, completely in your space—eerily familiar to the first time you two met.

"You just gonna stand there and look pretty, or are you actually going to help?" you teased, casting him a glance over your shoulder as you reached for the pan.

Kenan smirked, arms crossed over his chest, the definition of amused. “I thought I was the guest here.”

You rolled your eyes. “I must have missed the part where guests show up like stray cats and never leave.”

Kenan snickered, stepping closer, his presence pressing against yours without even touching you.

"Can’t help it," he muttered, reaching past you to grab a knife from the counter, his hand grazing yours in the process.

Your breath hitched.

It was such a small thing—barely even a touch. But the air between you shifted, thickened, like neither of you quite knew how to handle it now that there were no rules left to break.

Kenan didn’t move away.

He tilted his head slightly, studying you, something soft and unreadable flickering behind his expression.

“I like this.”

You blinked. “Like what?”

He glanced around—at you, at the kitchen, at the quiet ease of the morning—before a small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“This,” he murmured. “Mornings with you.”

…

By noon, Kenan was lacing up his shoes, bag slung over his shoulder, the usual ease in his movements feeling just a little more forced. Neither of you had said it out loud, but the reluctance hung between you, stretching out the seconds, making something as routine as leaving for training feel heavier than it should.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms loosely crossed, watching him stall in the smallest ways—adjusting his bag, running a hand through his hair, double-checking his phone. It wasn’t subtle, and you weren’t about to call him out for it, because truthfully, you didn’t want him to go either.

His hand reached for the door handle, fingers grazing the cool metal, but instead of pushing it open, he hesitated. The pause wasn’t long, but it was enough.

He turned back.

His gaze settled on you, lingering for a beat longer than necessary, something unreadable in his expression. Without a word, he stepped forward, his fingers curling lightly under your jaw, thumb tracing absently along your cheekbone.

He slowly leaned in, lips warm against yours, moving with easy confidence, unhurried but unwilling to be cut short. His palm moved to your hips, pressing lightly against, fingers flexing like he wanted to pull you closer but knew he shouldn’t.

When he pulled back, his gaze flickered over your face, taking in every detail before a small, quiet smirk ghosted across his lips.

"You make it really hard to leave," he murmured.

A quiet exhale slipped past your lips. "Then don’t."

Kenan let out a soft laugh, more resigned than amused, like he knew exactly how impossible that suggestion was. His fingers lingered against your skin for just a second longer before he pressed a final kiss to your forehead.

Neither of you noticed the figure standing just a few feet away.

Neither of you caught the subtle shift in Kenneth’s expression, the way his arms crossed over his chest, gaze locked onto you both with an undeniable edge of amusement.

But when he saw Kenan kiss you—

Something clicked.

His lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.

And just like that—

A plan was beginning to form.

…

Vini Jr’s birthday getaway was supposed to be a break—one night away from the noise, the obligations, the endless cycle of training and matches. Just twenty-four hours to indulge, unwind, and embrace the illusion that their schedules weren’t already mapped out for months in advance.

And for the first few hours, that’s exactly what it was.

The cabin was absurdly over-the-top, the kind of place that looked like it belonged in a luxury travel magazine. Nestled deep in the countryside with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a valley, it had everything—an infinity pool, a sauna, a hot tub, and a very charming fire pit outside. Every detail had been planned with precision, a testament to the fact that Vini took his birthdays far too seriously.

It was meant to be a night of doing absolutely nothing except lounging around, eating too much. It was one of those nights that felt effortless, where nothing needed to be said aloud because the comfort of familiarity spoke for itself. The kind of night where everything felt easy—like nothing could go wrong.

And then, Vini Jr—sentimental by nature, twice as bad when exhausted and warm from whiskey—sighed, stretching his legs toward the fire.

“This group means a lot to me,” he murmured, gaze flickering across the room before settling on the flames. “You guys are like my family.”

There were a few small nods of agreement.

Julián, reclining comfortably in an armchair, gave a lazy smile. “Yeah. Feels that way, doesn’t it?”

Arda, sprawled across half the couch with a blanket tangled around his legs, let out a sleepy chuckle. “If we’re family, does that mean I get to be the favorite child?”

“No,” Julián said flatly.

The laughter was soft, easy, unforced—

Until Antoine, sitting just slightly apart from the group, his usual smirk in place, twirling his whiskey glass idly between his fingers, decided to ruin it.

"You’d be surprised how close some people are."

The shift was instant, subtle but undeniable—like the air had dropped a degree.

Jude, who had been half-drowsy, half-listening, barely reacted at first, brows knitting slightly as he processed the words, turning them over in his mind.

“What?” he asked, tone absentminded, not yet realizing he had just stepped into a landmine.

Antoine leaned forward, setting his glass down with slow, deliberate ease, his gaze flicking toward you, then Kenan, then back again.

“Oh, nothing,” he mused, stretching out in his seat. “Just thinking about how you never really know what’s going on right under your nose.”

Your stomach plummeted.

Jude’s expression barely flickered, but the tension in his shoulders shifted, subtle but unmistakable, a sign that he had just caught up to the conversation a second too late.

Vini Jr must have sensed it too, because his voice cut through the air, sharp and warning.

"Antoine."

But Antoine, who had an unsettling grin plastered on his face, wasn’t finished.

“I meant to come apologize after dinner the other night,” he continued, voice mocking, syrupy-slow, words laced with the kind of satisfaction that made your stomach churn.

And then, with a casual, effortless cruelty—

"But then I saw Kenan making out with your sister."

Silence.

Like the room itself had just swallowed all the air.

Jude didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t even react.

Just sat perfectly still, eyes locked onto nothing in particular, face so unreadable it almost looked blank.

Like his brain had short-circuited, too stuck between disbelief and fury to process anything at all.

When he looked up his eyes met yours. His jaw was clenched so tightly it looked like it might crack under the pressure.

"Tell me he's lying."

His voice was quiet, low—but lethal.

A final chance.

A last, desperate lifeline—one last opportunity to prove that Antoine was just being a smug, conniving bastard.

But you had nothing to give him.

"Jude, I—” You faltered, voice paper-thin, cracking under the weight of what was coming. “There… might be something going on.”

Another silence.

But this one was worse.

Thicker.

Final.

Like the ground itself had just cracked open beneath your feet.

Jude’s expression didn’t shift. Didn’t change. Didn’t flicker. It was still terrifyingly blank.

"Oh, come on, Jude," Arda groaned, breaking the tension like he hadn’t just stepped into the eye of a hurricane.“Don’t be mad, they’re actually kinda cute.”

A ripple of uneasy laughter skated across the room.

Vini Jr sat up, clearing his throat. “Kenan’s a good guy, man. You know that.”

Jude’s head snapped so fast you almost thought he’d get whiplash. His gaze darted from Arda to Vini Jr to Julián, like he was waiting for someone—anyone—to tell him he wasn’t crazy.

That he had every right to feel betrayed.

That this was completely, utterly wrong.

But no one did.

His voice came out sharp, brittle at the edges. "So, what? You’re all just fine with this?”

Julián hesitated before exhaling heavily. “Well… yeah?”

Jude blinked. Slowly.

Like he was waiting for the universe to right itself.

It didn’t.

Arda, shooting Kenan an empathic look, sighed. “I mean, it’s not like they killed someone, Jude.”

"That’s not the point!" Jude’s voice rose suddenly, snapping with a rough edge. “I had one rule. Just one.”

The words hit you square in the chest, knocking the breath out of you.

And then—

Something shifted in his face.

Like a much, much worse realization had just landed.

His jaw locked, eyes narrowing.

"Wait."

The single word was a trigger, a warning, a countdown to something that was about to explode.

His gaze flickered across the room. “Did you guys already know?”

Silence.

And then—

Julián sighed. “I mean…”

Arda awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. “I might have figured it out.”

Vini Jr, ever the most unbothered, hummed. “I had my suspicions.”

Jude inhaled sharply.

"You—" He cut himself off, jaw tightening like he was physically forcing himself to stay composed.

And then—

He let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

Bitter. Cold.

"Unbelievable."

His gaze snapped back to Kenan, something dark flashing through it.

"You. You knew how I felt about this. About my teammates—my friends—going near her."

Kenan’s jaw was tight, his entire body tense, rigid.

"I didn’t plan for this to happen," he said, evenly, carefully.

“So?” Jude scoffed. "That makes it better?"

Kenan hesitated. Then, softly, quietly—

“No. It doesn’t.”

Jude let out a sharp, unsteady breath, pushing up from his seat so fast that the blanket draped over his lap slipped to the floor.

“I need to clear my head.”

And just like that—he walked out.

The room stayed frozen, the embers in the fireplace popping softly, the only sound breaking the crushing weight of his absence.

Kenan didn’t move.

Didn’t look at anyone.

Just sat there, hands clasped in front of him, staring at the door Jude had disappeared through like he was already mourning something he couldn’t bring back.

Finally he exhaled. “I should go.”

“No.” Vini’s voice was firm.

But Kenan just shook his head, already rising to his feet.

“He’s my friend,” he said simply, voice quieter now, the tension in his body starting to unwind into something that looked an awful lot like regret.

“And I crossed a line. I don’t want to stay here and make it worse.”

Vini sighed, dragging a hand down his face.

Then—his eyes flickered to Antoine, and his entire expression changed.

“You, however?” His tone turned sharp, unforgiving. “You can get the hell out.”

Antoine scoffed. “Oh, come on—”

“I mean it,” Vini snapped, patience gone. “You don’t get to sit here and act like this wasn’t a game to you. You wanted to cause damage—and you did."

Antoine rolled his eyes, standing up and grabbing his jacket.

And then, with one last lingering glance at you and Kenan—

He was gone.

The silence around the now nearly burned-out fire was deafening.

Arda exhaled. “Well, that could’ve gone better.”

Julián gave you and Kenan a sympathetic look. “For what it’s worth, we never thought it was wrong. Just… complicated.”

Vini clapped Kenan on the shoulder. “Jude will come around. He just needs time.”

Kenan didn’t say anything.

Just nodded, his jaw tight, gaze distant.

Then—he turned to you, eyes softening for just a second.

“I’ll pack my bag.”

And with that, he was gone too.

…

The warmth of the day had long faded, leaving behind a crisp chill that clung to your skin, but you barely felt it.

You sat on the porch steps, arms wrapped around yourself, staring out at the darkness beyond the trees, replaying every second of what had happened inside.

The way Jude had looked at you—like he didn’t recognize you.

Your stomach twisted painfully. You and Kenan had agreed—you would tell Jude together, do it the right way. But now, the choice had been ripped from you. Antoine had done it for you, cruelly, deliberately, stripping you of any control. Instead of sitting Jude down, instead of explaining it carefully, you had been exposed—caught like some dirty little secret.

Now, it was out in the open. And everything felt ruined.

The door creaked open behind you. Footsteps on the wooden planks.

You didn’t turn. Didn’t need to.

Kenan settled beside you, close enough that you could feel his warmth without touching. For weeks, he had made you feel safe. But tonight, there was no safety. No reassurance. Just the wreckage of what you had built.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Then—

“I should have told him right away,” Kenan murmured.

You swallowed hard. “We both should have.”

Kenan exhaled sharply. “I knew exactly how this would go. I knew how he’d react, and still—I let myself believe it would be fine.”

His gaze was locked on the horizon, jaw clenched, hands tightening into fists. “Maybe Antoine did it to be an ass, but it doesn’t change the fact that I let this happen. That I knew this could ruin things, and I…” He inhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head.

His voice broke slightly.

And you knew—he wasn’t just talking about Jude.

Kenan exhaled, finally turning his head to look at you.

And your stomach dropped.

Because for the first time in weeks, he looked conflicted. Not just guilty. Not just sorry. But like he was standing on the edge of something and deciding whether to jump—or walk away.

“I love you.”

Soft. Barely a whisper. But it hit you like a punch to the gut.

Because this wasn’t how he was supposed to say it. Not like this. Not in the quiet of the aftermath, when everything was already slipping away.

Your breath hitched, vision blurring slightly, but you forced yourself to swallow past the lump in your throat. If this was the end—if you had to let him go—then at least he would know

You reached out, fingers trembling slightly as you cupped his face, memorizing the warmth of his skin.

“I love you too.”

Kenan exhaled, ragged, forehead pressing against yours. His hands cradled the back of your neck like he couldn’t quite believe what you had just said.

For a few stolen seconds, neither of you moved. Neither of you breathed. Just sat there, foreheads touching, eyes closed, existing in the space of what could have been.

Then Kenan pulled back, and you felt it.

“I don’t want you to pick between me or your family,” he murmured.

Your chest caved in on itself. “Don’t say that.”

Kenan let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Come on, baby.”

He called you that one last time, like he knew he wouldn’t be saying it again. His thumb brushed your cheek, one final touch, like he was committing the moment to memory.

“You should stay.”

Your stomach plummeted.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head, tears well and truly spilling over now.

Kenan smiled, but it was small, sad, something entirely different from the ones he used to give you. “You know I’m right.”

You bit your lip, shaking your head, desperate. “I don’t care.”

Kenan exhaled, pressing a kiss to your forehead, lingering just long enough for it to hurt.

“You do,” he murmured against your skin.

And that was the worst part—because he was right.

Kenan had known what this would cost before you did. And that was why he was doing what you couldn’t bring yourself to do, why he was making the choice you refused to face.

A lump formed in your throat. “This isn’t fair.”

Kenan’s smile barely touched his lips. “Nothing about this was ever fair.”

You shut your eyes, but it didn’t stop the warmth trailing down your cheek. Kenan caught the tear with his thumb, unbearably gentle, as if this moment wasn’t already unraveling you.

And then—he stepped back.

And you knew.

This was it.

The moment he walked away.

Kenan adjusted his bag, glancing at you one last time before slipping his hands into his pockets and making his way down the steps. His shoulders were tense, his pace unhurried, but he didn’t look back.

And if you had glanced up, just for a second, you would have seen the faint glow of light filtering through the open window above the porch.

Would have seen Jude lying awake in bed, unmoving, his expression unreadable.

He had heard every word.

…

The stadium pulsed with energy—chants, stomping, the distant crackle of flares. The air smelled of freshly cut grass, laced with smoke drifting from the passionate sections of the crowd.

To most, this was just another match. Another ninety minutes under the floodlights.

For you, it was something else.

The first game since everything had fallen apart. Since Kenan walked away. Since you let him.

You sat stiffly in the private box, wedged between Vini Jr. and Julián, a cup of cold coffee cradled between your hands. Your eyes weren’t on the game.

They were on him.

Kenan stood on the pitch, clad in his Real Madrid kit, shoulders squared. To the world, he looked composed. You knew better. His jaw was too tight, his shoulders held tension that shouldn’t be there.

His gaze swept the stands until it found you. A fraction of hesitation. A flicker of something before he forced himself to turn away.

Julián muttered, “You’re staring.”

You blinked. “Was not.”

“Right,” he drawled. “And I’m a Barcelona fan.”

Jude hadn’t really spoken to you since that night. He had seen it—the way you barely ate, stayed in your room too long, weren’t yourself. Watching you now, staring at Kenan like you had already lost—he knew.

And on the pitch, it showed.

Kenan was off. His passes lacked precision, his movement hesitated. Jude, too. He wasn’t playing poorly, but you saw the difference.

Vini exhaled. “This isn’t them.”

You weren’t just watching two footballers struggle. You were watching two boys trying to push through something bigger than the game. And failing.

…

Halftime.

Kenan barely made it three steps into the tunnel before a hand gripped his arm, pulling him to a stop. His entire body tensed, bracing instinctively for a confrontation, expecting a sharp word, maybe even another shove.

But when he turned and met Jude’s gaze, something in him stilled.

Because Jude didn’t look angry.

He didn’t look like he was about to start another fight, didn’t look like he was holding onto resentment or betrayal.

He just looked… tired.

Kenan swallowed, exhaling slowly as Jude crossed his arms, studying him like he was weighing something in his head.

"You care about her."

It wasn’t a question.

Kenan’s jaw clenched, but he nodded without hesitation.

"I do."

Jude didn’t blink. His expression remained unreadable, sharp but not hostile, as if he was searching for any sign of doubt, any hesitation, anything that would confirm his worst fears.

"No, I mean, you really care about her."

Kenan’s chest tightened, his pulse drumming against his ribs.

But still, there was no pause when he spoke.

"More than anything."

Jude let out a long breath, dragging a hand down his face like this realization had just knocked the wind out of him.

"I was an idiot," he muttered, shaking his head. "I should’ve known earlier. She’s been miserable all week. So have I. And so have you."

Kenan didn’t answer.

Because there was nothing to say.

Jude sighed again, quieter this time, voice losing its edge.

"Listen to me," he said, meeting Kenan’s eyes with a look that left no room for misinterpretation. "If you ever mess this up—if you ever hurt her—" he paused, letting the weight of it settle, "you are done for."

Kenan nodded immediately. "I won’t."

Jude held his gaze for another long moment, assessing, deciding.

Then, finally, finally, he nodded.

"Then you have my blessing."

The words hit harder than Kenan expected.

His shoulders relaxed instantly, the tension he had been carrying for weeks lifting all at once, and for the first time in days, he could actually breathe.

The relief was overwhelming—so much so that before he could even think, before he could talk himself out of it—

He pulled Jude into a hug.

Jude stiffened immediately.

Then—he sighed. Loud. Dramatic. "Alright, alright, enough of this."

Kenan grinned, pulling back, the tightness in his chest easing completely.

Jude gave him a long-suffering look before muttering, half amused, half resigned—

"Kind of glad it’s you if it has to be any of my mates." A pause. "Still kinda weird, though."

Kenan laughed, the sound lighter than it had been in weeks.

And just like that, the weight of everything else—the tension, the guilt, the uncertainty—faded into the background.

Jude clapped him on the shoulder, nodding toward the tunnel. "Go play like yourself."

…

Where the first half had been marked by hesitation, the second half ignited with purpose. The tension that had clouded the match lifted, replaced by a sharp, relentless drive. And at the center of it all—Kenan.

From the moment the whistle blew, he was everywhere. Every pass landed with precision, every touch carried confidence, every movement had the unmistakable ease of a player who had just remembered exactly who he was. It was as if something inside him had settled, like the weight of the past few weeks had finally lifted.

Jude’s words in the tunnel had done more than clear the air. They had set him free.

Kenan played like a man with nothing to hold him back, his rhythm returning in full force. His movements were sharp, impossible to predict, his speed cutting through defenders before they even knew what was happening. The energy was infectious—his teammates fed off it, the crowd roared for it, the entire game shifted because of it.

Two minutes left on the clock. One last counterattack.

The stadium held its breath as Kenan surged forward, the ball at his feet, his body moving with instinctive precision. The defenders scrambled to stop him, but he was faster, sharper, weaving past them with practiced ease.

The goal was right there.

He didn’t hesitate.

One clean, powerful strike—

The ball sailed past the keeper.

And hit the back of the net.

Kenan barely had time to react before his teammates crashed into him, grabbing at his jersey, shaking him, shouting in pure elation. The weight of the game, of the past few weeks, of everything—gone in an instant.

And you?

You didn’t even realize you had jumped to your feet, hands pressed over your mouth, laughter spilling out in pure, unfiltered exhilaration. Your heart was pounding, the adrenaline coursing through you as you stared down at the pitch, at him.

Kenan turned, still surrounded by his teammates, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. But he wasn’t looking at them. He was looking for you.

And the second his gaze found yours, the rest of the world fell away.

His hands lifted, his fingers shaping a heart.

Right at you.

Your breath hitched, something flipping violently in your stomach, the moment pulling so tight you could feel it in your bones.

A hundred thoughts flashed through your mind. Jude. What if he saw? What if—

But then Jude jogged over to Kenan and patted him on the back, before tilting his head up to the box—

And smiling at you.

The tightness in your chest unraveled, the last few weeks dissolving in an instant.

Jude was telling you, without words, without spectacle, in the quietest, most Jude way possible that everything was okay.

The final whistle blew, Real’s victory confirmed, and the stadium exploded into celebration.

Your feet carried you down the stands before you could talk yourself out of it, weaving through the crowd, pushing past security, slipping through the barriers until your shoes hit the pitch.

The world around you was a blur of flashing cameras, roaring fans, falling confetti—

None of it mattered. You only saw one thing.

Kenan.

Still in the center of the pitch, still wrapped in the aftermath of victory—teammates cheering, hands clapping against his back, voices shouting over each other in celebration.

But Kenan wasn’t listening.

His eyes were searching.

And the second he saw you, everything else became secondary.

He moved through the crowd with quiet determination, each stride measured, gaze fixed on you like there was nowhere else he was supposed to be. There was no hesitation, no doubt—just certainty.

The second he reached you, his hands found your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of your jacket, warm and steady. His forehead brushed against yours, the ghost of a breath passing between you, his grip anchoring you to him like he had no intention of letting go.

And then—his lips were on yours.

There was nothing tentative about it, no room for second-guessing.

The way he kissed you was deliberate, like he had been craving this moment long enough and wasn’t about to waste it. He tasted like adrenaline and triumph, his fingers tightening against you as though to make sure you were really there.

The stadium noise melted into something distant, unimportant. It was just the two of you, caught in the heady mix of exhaustion, relief, and something deeper—something neither of you could deny anymore.

Still breathless, you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, the flicker of a smile ghosting across his lips.

“So, since we’re all feeling sentimental, should I kiss you too?” Arda stood a few steps away, grinning as he clapped Jude on the shoulder, eyes alight with mischief.

Jude recoiled instantly, baffled. “Absolutely not.”

Arda clutched his chest in exaggerated offense. “Wow. Rejected just like that. No hesitation.”

Laughter rippled through the team, light and easy, the weight of the last few weeks dissolving into something less complicated.

Jude exhaled, shaking his head.

But this time he was smiling.

For real.

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