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CUNNILINGUIST ― s.jy (ft. p.sh)

Unfortunately for you, no man has ever given you some good head. Fortunately for you, your best friend is more annoyed by it than you are. It’s just a favor, right? or the one where your best friend jake eats you out as a way to admit his own feelings for you, also, apparently sunghoon existing is an issue.

minors dni! | kindly leave feedback and reblog to give bestie jake conflicting feelings

WORDCOUNT― 16.1 k

PAIRING― jake x afab reader (ft. sunghoon)

CONTENT― a lot of waiting, like to the point it even annoyed me, very fluffy stuff , typical best friends to fuck buddies to “actually, I had feelings this whole time”, jealousy, jake is whiny and needy when he’s horny, reader thinks it’s cute. angst if you’re a baby about it

OTHER CHARACTERS― sunghoon as the mutual friend who bangs reader

NOTE― this was originally written by me on my other blog [@/ncteez], if you’ve read it before, that’s why!

smut tags under cut:: 

smut tags― BIG DICKED BESTIE, pussy eating (he gets IN THERE), masturbation in the form of dry humping a mattress and then into his hand, finger fucking, cum eating, sunghoon hook up, morning sex, lazy fingering, lazy fuck, dirty talk , unprotected sex, awkward build up,raw grinding, no blowjob in sight sorry lmao, deep penetration, cream pie, kind of cum stuffing but like not entirely intentional, cheesy love stuff 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“What? Again?” Jake says, leaning back against the couch with a groan and a smack to his own forehead.

“Yeah, so basically he went down on me for less than a minute but expected me to, like, go long enough to ‘swallow’ or whatever.” You continue the story in a frustrated huff, shaking your head in self-pity.

Jake groans louder, leaning himself forward again and swiping his drink from your coffee table to take a long and thoughtful sip. 

“How many times is that, then?” He says between sips, glancing around the room as if he’s in deep thought. “I can’t help but think you pick these kinds of guys on purpose at this point.”

You look at him in mock pain, grabbing his drink and taking your own thoughtful sip of it.

“I dunno, they always talk big game during phone sex and stuff. I figure eventually one of them will live up to it.” You drone on, internally marking your recent date’s name off of your call-back list. 

“Be honest with me, have you ever actually gotten good head? Like how would you know if they’re bad if you have nothing good to compare them to?” Jake asks, letting you mindlessly drink his beverage.

It’s not weird to be having these types of conversations with him, if at all, something would seem off if you didn’t. He’s the only person in your life that you’ve ever felt this close to. At this point, you think he’d have to chase you down with a bloody hatchet for things to be awkward. Which is…kind of interesting, you guess.

“Well, I mean,” You think for a moment too long for his liking, but he gives you the space to finish your answer. “It feels good and all but it’s not like I’ve ever gotten off by it.”

“Correction –” Jake starts, blinking right at you. “You’ve never been given the chance to get off on it.” His bright  smile shows through his words, and you’re sure he’s mocking you at this point.

“Yeah, yeah. Yada, yada. I have terrible taste in sexual partners but to be fair, it’s not like the pool is that big to choose from.”

He nods in agreement, humming as if to end the conversation and still watching you sip at his drink.

“Would you be opposed to–” He pauses, making eye contact with you. “Y’know, I could do it for you.”

You pause, nearly dropping his drink out of your hand but thankfully your grip actually tightens on it instead. You swallow as you look at him, searching his face to see if this is some kind of joke.

“Jae-fucking-yun,” You deadpan, sitting his cup back down on your coffee table and leaning toward him, staring him down. “You’d really do that, for me?”

You bat your eyelashes at him, mostly playing it off as a half-joke just to see if he’s fucking with you or not. 

“How else are you gonna experience it?” 

You stare him down harder.

“You say that like you’re some sort of pussy-eating-god,” You narrow your eyes. “Are you?”

He shrugs casually with his little smile, leaning back on your couch and stretching his arms out. One of his hands lands behind your shoulder and you lean into it. 

“I’d let you be the judge of that if you’re up for it.”

Finally, you decide that he’s definitely not joking and you’re definitely gonna do it because like, that’s your best friend. Experiencing your firsts with him comes almost as naturally as walking. You had your first kiss with him, albeit it was a dare. You experienced your first concert with him, your first break up, your first failed exam, and even your first legal drink in a club. What’s so bad about letting him eat you out?

“Right now?” You ask, quirking your brow and tilting your head.

“Now, tomorrow, next week. Whenever.” He runs his hands through his hair as he says it and only now are you starting to really tune into his features that you’ve already found handsome.

Day after day you’ve seen him on this couch and in other states of dress without really thinking twice about how his lips would feel on you (despite that short first kiss). You’ve seen him kissing all up on other people, you’ve seen him in the club with wet lips from alcohol, you’ve seen him all messy and eating spaghetti at his parent’s house– but for some reason, his lips seem different now. His sleepy eyes seem different, his messy hair seems like something that should be tugged on, his fucking jawline– 

“Why’re you staring at me like that?” He looks at you up and down as if he’s judging. “You wanna go right now?”

You nod slowly, letting the traces of any lusty thoughts you’ve had about him in your life come to the front in waves. Then you quickly shake your head.

“Wait, no,” You roll your eyes more at yourself than him. “I haven’t showered since my date, maybe I should, uh…”

“Uh – yeah. Please do.” He grimaces, that same dopey smile coming back after a moment. 

“Fair.” You roll your eyes. “Gonna go shower then.” 

Part of you wonders if like, he’s being totally legit. For all you know, you’ll get out of the shower and he’ll be too busy doing something else, or like, he’ll go home or something. No hurt in seeing though.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

In the bathroom, you can’t help the feeling in your chest at even the thought that this may be about to happen.

Excitement. That’s what you feel. Not because it’s Jake. Well, maybe a little bit because you wanna see what his tongue is all about but more so because you’re about to get some presumably good head.

You shower thoughtfully, cleaning every part of your body and feeling little goosebumps rise and fall with each sensation of your air conditioning snaking its way past your shower doors. When you get out, you lotion your body so you’re all nice and soft and brush your teeth just in case things go a little further. You’re not expecting it to, but y’know, nothing wrong with having fun if it comes to it. 

After all, he’s doing you a favor by going down on you, the least you can do is smell good, be soft, and totally prepared for if he were to suggest more, right? Right. Anyway, you’re all showered up and opt to just let your hair do its own thing as you throw on your shirt and shorts. You ignore the panties at this point, because why not?

When you get back to the living room, Jake isn’t there. Naturally, you check your bedroom and there he is, still his normal self and lounging against your headboard while flipping through videos on his phone. 

“And she’s back,” he comments, reaching a hand out as if to invite you to your own bed. “Change your mind yet?”

“Not even for a second,” you smile as you take a spot in front of him, your entire body facing him as you pull your knees up and lay your chin against your arms. “Have you?”

He seems to fall into a more serious tone now, locking his phone before tossing it to the side and flicking his eyes up to look at you, scanning your legs in the shorts. 

“No,” he chokes back, shocked to see straight between the gap of your shorts and actually lay eyes on the point of this whole situation for the first time. “And you’re not wearing anything under those shorts.”

You watch his face and the way it turns from your best friend into something you’ve seen time and time again from men you’ve gone home with. It’s sexy on him though, for some reason.

“Figured I’d save you the trouble?”

He smiles, now moving himself toward you and reaching a hand behind to cradle your head. 

“Lay back,” he says softly, in a voice you’ve only heard a few times from him, “you could have left the shorts off too though.” He adds with an even softer laugh.

For some reason, it makes you feel shy. His hand guiding you to lay back all while grabbing the pillow from behind him and placing it under your head so that you’re nice and comfortable.  You watch him look at you and honestly, it’s in a way you can’t remember him ever looking at you before. If this is how he looks at other women, you may be a little jealous. 

It feels more intense right now than you thought it would.

“You’re being weird.” You say offhandedly, looking away from him and trying to keep the heat from flushing to your cheeks. 

“You’re letting me eat you out, how am I being weird?” He leans up from you, putting two hands on your knees but still waiting for your eyes to meet his again. “You want me to act like the other dudes? Dip my tongue in then wrap it up?”

You groan, rolling your eyes back to him and analyzing the way his big hands drape over your knees. 

“Okay, fair.” You admit defeat, feeling his warm palms move down the back of your thighs and to your ass. 

“Lift up,” He says, quickly pulling the shorts off of you when you do as he asks. 

“Oh–” He gasps quietly. “Damn.”

He stares directly between your legs, bracing his hands back at your knees and spreading your legs a bit. He angles his head in different ways to really look at you, seemingly enamored with your pussy as a whole. 

“Look who’s staring now.” You chuckle, instinctively hiding your face from him despite knowing he isn’t looking up at you.

“Yeah– I am,” he admits, now adjusting himself on the bed to lay down, his head easily slotting between your legs as he rests his chin on your lower belly and looks up at you. “You can pull my hair or do whatever, I’m just gonna…like, start I guess. Tell me if it’s something you don’t like.”

As normal as this isn’t, he’s speaking similar to how the two of you had taken on projects before. He typically takes the lead but offers you control more often than not. All you can do is nod at him, trying to comprehend that it’s your best friend’s head between your legs right now.

When he pulls his head back up with one last nod of confirmation, the first thing you feel is his fingers slipping up your folds, the other braced on your thigh and holding your legs open. You release a short sigh of relief at the feeling and he instantly smirks at it. 

“I haven’t even started yet,” He whispers, glancing up at you before fixing his eyes back on the expanse of your pussy. He uses his ring and pointer finger to spread your lips open, and the middle finger to rub against your hole only for a brief moment before he licks his lips and releases his own sigh of relief. “God, Sunghoon would be so jealous right now.”

You look down at him, wanting to ask him what the fuck he’s talking about and why he’d bring up Sunghoon right now, but you find yourself staring at him instead. Breath caught in your throat with the way his eyes meet yours before letting his tongue hang from his mouth as if presenting it to you in a cheeky way.

He’s so fast with it too, with the way he replaces his middle finger with his tensed tongue, forcing you to swallow your words and hold your breath even more. You can feel him lick and nibble against each of your lips before moving inward, flattening his tongue to lick one long, languid, and wet stripe up until meeting your clit. 

He wraps his lips around it, sucking once, hard, before releasing it and pulling back to look at you.

“This okay?”

Goddamn him for making you have to talk right now. You’re still trying to comprehend the fact that he said Sunghoon, fucking Sunghoon of all people would be jealous that he’s doing this right now. That’s definitely a question for later, because yeah, it’s fucking okay. 

More than okay. 

You nod to him, throwing your arm over your eyes and instinctively bucking your hips up towards his hovering mouth. 

“Oh, that was hot,” He groans out his compliment, watching the way you hide your face before he pulls his eyes back down and uses his fingers to spread your pussy open wider, enough to see your hole pulsate when he dips down to blow against it, “I can see how wet you’re getting, Is it because of me or is it just because someone is playing with your pussy?”

You half groan half moan at that, mostly because hearing these words from him is something that feels entirely too sexual. As if he hasn’t already tasted you, as if you’re not spread out by his fingers right now. You ignore his words, yet, your brain holds onto them with white knuckles and your hips buck toward him again.

“Not a talker, got it.” He notes, watching your hips chase his breath. 

He watches for much longer than you’d like for him to, and you’re about to lift up and accuse him of being just like the other guys but he shuts your thoughts off so fucking fast when you feel his lips on you again. 

His tongue explores every part of you, licking and sucking against areas you didn’t even know would feel good until his mouth lands against your clit again. This time, you can’t help it, you grind up and he hums at it as he braces your legs open just enough to skew his head and move his tongue back down. 

He’s slurping. Lost in the moment as he does it. Tasting you in full and getting a warm, pleasant feeling each time your legs try to close and your hips buck up for more. He…can’t believe this is finally happening. Fucking finally.

Unsure if you’d let him, he tries anyway. He stiffens his tongue, circling your hole before pressing just a bit, giving you just enough pressure that you feel frustrated. So frustrated that you’re the one who ends up finishing his attempt at something new. You reach down and lace your fingers in his hair, and let out a soft, needy little moan for him. 

That sound forces one from his chest too, he can’t help it, really. With the way you’re grabbing his hair and holding his head in place, pressing yourself against his mouth so much harder than before. Ah, he really, really loves doing this for you. 

To think any man would already be done? To think anyone could like, not wanna eat you out? Insanity. Stupid, stupid fucking men.

He can taste how wet you are now, truly taste it as he stretches your hole as much as he can with his tongue and another groan of his own. It’s probably embarrassing, truly, but he doesn’t care. 

Both of you are moaning at this point as you hold his head in place and grind your hips harder than you think you are. He loves it, you love it. So much that you really are barely comprehending that your best friend could do this the whole time?! And never told you until now?!

Jake is just as drunk on the moment as you are though. Totally lost in the scent and taste of you as he continues to lap away, constantly trying to prove that you can and will get off from his mouth alone. And honestly? It’s at the point that he figures he can use his fingers now too considering you let him spread you open with his tongue. What’s a little more gonna hurt, anyway?

The taste of you alone has him in heaven, cursing any man who didn’t take advantage of your pussy against their mouth. He can easily slip a finger into a hole this wet and needy, gasping in awe before glancing up at you. 

God, the way you immediately ride his finger, no huff or sound of irritation that he’s pulled his tongue back now. Your face. Fuck. 

He watches as you shamelessly chase the small amount of pleasure he can offer in terms of just head and fingering. He can imagine how hot you’d be without that shirt on, with your legs around his hips, with your mouth wrapped around him. You look blissed out, soaking his finger and keeping your hand in his hair, mindlessly grabbing and scratching at him. 

Making quick work, he goes back for your clit, circling his tongue around the bundle of nerves and noticing how you ride his finger harder. He can’t help but smirk against you when you do it either. 

The movement of your hips constantly humping against him is enough, and he can’t help but groan at the sound of your slick squelching out of you and warming his chin, he can’t fucking help but grind his own hips forward when you act like this. His cock is so painfully hard for you right now, at the taste of you, that all he can do is chase the mattress beneath him. Tensing his muscles and moaning against your clit shamelessly at the jolts of pleasure he gets from it. 

He slips another finger in with ease, feeling how much wetter you’ve gotten in the way the slide is filthy and audible. You groan out at that too, feeling his tongue flick relentlessly against your clit and only now moving your free hand from your face and trailing to your stomach. 

You can’t even talk, so you don’t. You lift your shirt up until you can at least rub against your nipples, just to heighten the pleasure your best friend is so graciously giving you.

His eyes roll back when you do that, only to fall back on you and get a frustrated grunt from him. He’s a bit annoyed that the shirt is still covering you despite your hand under it, fondling yourself. He’s thinking with his cock, so fucking aroused that he doesn’t think twice when he aggressively lifts your shirt up to your chin and watches the way your fingers poke and prod at yourself.

He inhales a sharp breath at the image, and his hips fuck harder against the mattress at that. His fingers speed up and now he’s focused. You feel him all over you from the waist down, his tongue flicking and lips sucking against your swollen clit, his fingers relentlessly fucking into you, your fingers heightening those sensations by playing with your own tits– then, oh, then you notice. 

Jake, you’re best fucking friend, is so goddamn horny that he’s dry humping against your bed and whining out moans against your clit. Probably to avoid asking for more, to avoid making you feel obligated to get him off too, to avoid anything you may not want or consent to. And that’s why he’s your best friend.

It doesn’t take long after that, your hips come to a stop as you watch him get himself off all while getting you off, and you find your orgasm bubbling up much faster than if you’d have imagined solely because of the image in front of you.

“Jake, you’re fucking whining.” You groan almost as needy as he does, rolling your hips up in a stutter. 

He was almost gonna stop, because yeah, he is whining. Gasping for air but only tasting you, only swallowing up the moans you give to him, only inhaling the dull scent of the fruity soap you used when you showered. But, you moan louder after you say that. You like it. You like seeing him act so desperate. So he continues, shamefully reaching one of his hands between himself and the bed and quickly shoving it down his pants, circling around his cock and continuing to fuck into it. 

If he thinks hard enough, you’re what he’s fucking right now, and technically, he is. With his fingers and mouth at least. When your hips stutter more, he fucks harder against his hand and holds his fingers inside of you as deep as he can get them. There, he sucks against your clit until you’re the one whining louder. 

You’re shocked at how quickly you’re getting off. Releasing a splash against him in a breathy, choked up sob. Nearly squeezing his head between your thighs to the point he almost misses the way you breathe out strings of praises toward him. But he hears them. 

He definitely heard you say that he looks sexy with your hand in his hair, and god, did he ride off of the fact that you encouraged him to get off with you. Regardless of if you knew if he could or not, regardless of if you knew his hand was providing just enough pleasure for him to do just that. 

There, as your orgasm subsides with his tongue still flicking your sensitive clit, you watch him writhe his hips against your mattress, his eyes slammed shut, and his breath coming out in pornographic moans. So this is what Jake looks like when he cums. It’s desperate, but somehow, it feels passionate too.

You’re all dazed after the fact, pussy pulsing and tingling from the loss of his lips and fingers once he pulls back and lays against your bed with a lazy smile. His pants are uncomfortable, but he doesn’t mind as he wipes his hand across his shirt and watches the way you catch your breath. 

“So,” He tries to say, clearing his throat. “I– um– hope that’s what you needed?”

You’re shy. You’re never fucking shy, especially towards Jake, but god. 

“Um, yeah,” you sigh out, lifting from the bed and looking back at him. Part of you wondering if that’s what it’s supposed to be like when someone gives you good head, or if that’s just…what it’s like when Jake gives head.

For some reason, you genuinely don’t think another man would ever eat you out to that level again. There’s no way, based on experience. 

“It was definitely what I needed.” 

He nods in a shy way, reminding himself that his pants are fucking nasty right now. So, he goes to stand up and extends a hand out to you. 

“Let’s go clean up.” 

You shake your head, not at all wanting to move from this bed. He nods again, pulling your shirt back down for you and leaning to look at you. 

“I’m gonna bring you something to clean up with, and I’m gonna shower.”

You smile at him, a bit dazed as you make yourself comfortable on your messy sheets as you think hard about the fact that this dopey motherfucker really never told you how good he was at this? Rude.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Jake looks all proud of himself when he comes back to your room and cuddles into bed with you much like he always has. 

“I didn’t expect to sleep over, I have work in the morning.” He whispers in a rasp against your back, curling around you like the perfect big spoon. 

You’re quick to turn on his work alarm on your phone, like you always do when he crashes during weeknights. Because, what best friend doesn’t have alarms set for each other anyway?

After a few more long moments of silence, you try to talk. Mostly because your brain is swimming with the fact that, like, you’re not sure but it’s just– wow. 

“Hey, um–”

“Hmm?” He hums out in a sleep-heavy voice.

“Did you actually enjoy doing that?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I literally came in my pants.” His sudden louder voice causes you to jump, but you relax back into his gasp. 

“Oh,” You think hard. “Is this gonna change stuff between us?”

“Probably, but not in like, a bad way. More like in the can-i-eat-you-out-all-the-time-way.” He responds with mock-confidence, shifting a bit and hugging you closer to him, as if to hide the way he’s trying to make this sound like a joke. For his own comfort, really.

You smile.

“And don’t tell other dudes my secrets.” He adds.

“I won't.”

Jake has his own smile from behind you, wondering if he really is just that good at eating pussy. The truth is, he’s done it a handful of times but he was just really really interested in doing it for you. For…reasons.

・・・・・・THIS WAS ORIGINALLY TWO PARTS, NOW IT’S ONE. YOU’RE WELCOME・・・・・・

“Hey, um,”

“Hmm?” Jake hummed out in a sleep-heavy voice.

“Did you actually enjoy doing that for me?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? I literally came in my pants.” He responded in a sudden, louder voice. 

“Oh,” You think hard. “Is this gonna change stuff between us?”

“Probably, but not in like, a bad way. More like in the can-i-eat-you-out-all-the-time-way.” 

You remember the conversation that happened after he went down on you like it was yesterday, and he’s a goddamn liar. Nothing changed in your friendship with him, and he certainly doesn’t ask to eat you out all the time either. If anything, you’ve felt disappointed time and time again with the aftermath of that night.

It’s weighing on you in a strange way. At first, the weeks following the first and apparently, only time Jake went down on you, you almost expected him to ask for a repeat. You wanted to return the favor. You wanted him to ask but he never did. Even when he came over to hang out, even when you tried to lay down hints.

Nothing changed.

In fact, he doesn’t even talk about it. He doesn’t look at you as if he’s tasted you, and he doesn’t act like he came in his palm against your bed, right in front of you. He’s just…Jake. Sweet, caring, aloof, Jake. And you’re just you. Except you want to be someone else at this point. Someone that he does feel differently around after that.

Maybe you weren’t a memorable event for him when it comes to intimacy. Maybe he prefers to pretend it never happened? Maybe he was really just doing you a favor and intending for it to never go past the initial act. Even with his sweet words after the fact. Maybe, that was just to reassure you so it wouldn’t be awkward. 

You’re a version of you who wants to know what the fuck he’s thinking about. Did it taste bad? Did he get cold feet about it all? Arguably, if things did get weird after what happened, you’d feel more comfortable than you do with the situation as it stands. 

It is weird now, but only because it’s not weird for him. 

Even now, as you lay across the same bed where he had his head nestled between your legs, you can almost feel the tingle of what it felt like. The way his hair tickled your thighs, and the way his fingers laid against the flesh of your legs. The sun is beaming in through your windows and it still doesn’t feel as warm as it did when he cuddled against you that night. It’s been weeks and your heart is sick for him by this point. Sick with confusion, angst, lust, maybe even love if you think hard enough. 

You miss him a lot more than before as you throw your hand up to your face in a gentle slap as if to knock yourself out of it. This is insane. Every day you wake up feeling this way, thinking of him, and where you stand with him. It wasn’t like this at first, you truly expected him to come back for more and now you’re just sitting here with a loop of reasons as to why he never did. 

Insane. You’ve gotten head from so many people and didn’t think twice about them the next day, Jake is different though. You knew he would be too.

Why is Jake any different? Why do you miss him so badly right now? Why couldn’t he pick up on it either? Even worse, why do you feel like doing that with him was a mistake?

He’s with his parents for the weekend, and you’re here still thinking about shit that should have been released with your orgasm. 

You haven’t gone on any dates since that day, you haven’t met up with any one other than him to hang out, and at this point you’re starting to feel a little pathetic for falling in so deep. It’s entirely one sided, he makes that very clear.

So, naturally, you hop up with the confidence of a damn lion and decide that today, it ends. You will stop making it weird between the two of you, if he has even noticed anyway. You’re gonna get dressed, look hot as fuck, and sit on your couch swiping left and right until you find a hot piece of man that’s willing to take you out tonight.

That’s when something dawns on you. You remember Jake briefly mentioning Sunghoon to you, which seemed more like an implication if anything at the time. 

Why would Sunghoon be jealous of what happened? You can admit to being attracted to him but it’s not like the two of you hang out often or anything, and it’s also kind of a rule for yourself that you don’t fuck within the friendgroup. Jake was an exception, solely because that’s your best friend. Or, well, was your best friend. 

Now though? Who cares about these little rules you create for yourself? You need a confidence boost. You need your mind to be taken off of this little spiral you keep falling into. Most of all, you need to be proven wrong that you can still get off without it being him. 

So, texting Sunghoon? Easy. 

Thankfully, Sunghoon texting you back at lightning speed seemed even easier for him. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Well, Sunghoon sure did a great job at getting your mind off of Jake for the past couple of hours. 

You lay here in his bed, feeling your body tingle from the sensation of just how well he lived up to the promise of a good time. For hours he touched you, licked against you, fucked you. And yeah, you did fucking enjoy it. 

But why now? Why did you only just decide to give Sunghoon a shot? Why are you lying in his bed, with his heavy arms thrown across you as he snores gently behind you, feeling the need to cry? Why do you wish it was Jake, your best friend who seemed so eager to please and then suddenly leaped ten feet back as if he never suggested it in the first place? 

Your brain is confused despite your body relaxing itself from the state of bliss you were able to experience. You really did enjoy this time with Sunghoon and think that maybe, if you continue to make late night visits to him, the need for your best friend will weaken in time. 

God, if only Jake would just talk about it.

And you fall asleep thinking about that. About how you’ve let your feelings weaken you to the point that it’s genuinely hard to enjoy being pleasured by someone who actually has the capability. 

And, well, you wake up much the same, except Sunghoon was quite quick with his fingers upon waking up himself. Showing you that even if the person you want doesn’t have a thing to do with you, he sure does. 

“Good morning,” He rasps in a sleepy voice, fingers already traveling down your stomach as he hugs up against you from behind. “Glad you finally came through for me.” 

You quirk a brow. Right, Jake is the whole reason you're here. If not for mentioning him, at least.

“I finally came through?” You chuckle, your body jolting at the ticklish sensation of his lips brushing the back of your neck. “You knew I was single, why didn’t you call me?” 

You feel a harsher kiss against your neck, and his fingers only travel further down now. 

“Bro code.” He whispers, dipping his fingers between your still naked thighs. “I’m not overstepping if you’re the one asking for it.” He slides his fingers gently back and forth between your legs, trying to work you up. “And you did.” 

You think hard about that. Bro code, overstepping limits, not coming onto someone unless they do first solely because someone must have asked him not to. And you’d think even harder about who that someone might be, but instead your brain is quickly thrown into the morning sex routine Sunghoon must offer to all of his lovers. 

You enjoy it too, the small moments of bliss where you’re not in your head about what you could have possibly done wrong with Jake for you to end up feeling this way. It’s a brief moment of numbness though, feeling his fingers pleasure you gently can only do so much to quiet your thoughts. 

“Are you saying one of your friends had dibs on me or something?” You laugh in a half-joke, arching your back to rub your ass up and against the bigger and warmer man behind you. 

“You could say that, I’m assuming he missed his chance though–” Sunghoon whispers snidely, now satisfied with how you already drip for him and sliding one of his fingers into you. His other hand, being used to hike one of your legs up and against his hip to open you up for him. “You wouldn’t be here doing this if he didn’t.” 

You clench around his finger unintentionally, pretending you don’t know who you’re both referring to. Mostly because there’s no way in hell it’s your best friend, seeing as how he’s acting like you don’t exist outside of platonic friendship with him. Then again, who else could it be? Jay? Heeseung? Fucking Jungwon? As fucking if. 

“I guess he did miss his chance–” You breathe, now allowing yourself to give into the lazy and slow pleasure being offered. “Deeper.” 

And he listens. Sunghoon goes deeper and deeper with one finger, then two, then three, up until you slip his fingers out of you and plead through your body to have more. Deeper still, holding you from behind, plunging in as if to intentionally fuck the confusion out of you. As if to, maybe, prove that Jake isn’t the only man who can please you now. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

When you eventually find yourself walking through your front door, you do feel better. Sunghoon did have some type of capability to make you feel as desired as Jake did. After all, it’s not often that you sleep over with a man, better yet get fucked again as soon as you wake up with him. 

Even so, you know Jake will be back tomorrow, wanting to hang out yet again as if nothing happened. Thankfully, with Sunghoon around, maybe you can pretend alongside him. Maybe even forget it ever happened. 

You can argue that for the first time, you’re even a bit annoyed when you see his name pop up in your notifications with a call as if you’re not right in the middle of texting Sunghoon. It’s not that you were trying to go back over to his house or anything, but man, he sure is trying to get you to come back for a third round already. 

Maybe you just like when people are eager to please you, or maybe you don’t like to feel as if you’re the one chasing another person. Still, you answer Jake, seemingly releasing all of this resentment you’ve built up for him in an instant. 

“What?” You huff into the phone, feeling it vibrate with another text from Sunghoon and wanting nothing more than to see what his fourth reason would be for you to come over not even two hours after you left. 

“What?” Jake responds in confusion  to you. “What do you mean ‘what’?” 

“I mean what do you want? I’m busy.” You huff again with a roll of your eyes, flopping back on your bed. 

“Oh god, something happened.” Jake groans, though he was simply calling you because he missed your voice. “What’s wrong?” 

“No, not really. Was just trying to figure out what I’m doing tonight when you rudely interrupted me.” 

Something is off, Jake can feel it. Your voice has a bite to it, one that feels like you’re mad at him. Not to mention, he knows what you mean when you say you’re trying to find something to do for the night. He tries to reserve his feelings though, despite wanting that something to be him. 

“Oh, I know there’s an event at one of the clubs downtown tonight I think. Jay mentioned it–” He pauses briefly to hear another annoyed breath from you. “You’re not gonna go with him?” 

“Nah,” You wave off dismissively. “I think I’m just gonna go hang out with Sunghoon.” 

You don’t notice at all the brief and panicked silence for a solid second and a half before Jake reacts.

“Wait, what?” He says quickly after managing to process those words, trying not to sound as panicked as he knows he feels. “Sunghoon? Why?!” 

God, he knew he shouldn’t have said anything about Sunghoon that day, but his confidence was overflowing and he couldn’t help but boast at the time. It’s come back to shoot him in the dick, knowing full well that Sunghoon has been trying to get you into bed since he fucking met you. Hearing you ask for him in this context is something that makes his blood run cold. 

“Relax, I was with him last night. It’s kind of like, maybe gonna be a normal thing now.” 

You refuse to pick up on Jake’s tone. He had all the time in the world to make you feel something other than confusion, and this is just fucking petty at this point. He clearly doesn’t want to have anything with you, so why in the hell should you just sit around hoping? Waiting? 

“Sunghoon? You want to fuck Sunghoon?” He asks in a lower tone, trying to convince himself that he has to be mishearing you. You can hear him shuffle around and close a door behind him, showing that he doesn’t want his parents to hear him. But the frustration showing blatantly in his voice is somehow…satisfying. 

“I already did. I figured he would show me a good time since no one else can, and he did.” You shrug with slight disobedience. Resentment bubbling up in your gut to the extent that you almost want to grill him for having any type of opinion about it. 

Jake hangs on those words for a second. “Since no one else can.” 

He really thought he was the one who could do it for you. 

“Yeah, but–”  Jake starts, feeling like a child almost in the way he protests despite not being in a position to have a say in who you sleep with. “You know what? Nevermind. Do what you want.” He adds blankly, hanging up before you can get another word in. 

Honestly, he doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong because you acted like he was fully capable of doing everything right. Hanging out with him consistently after the fact, not making it weird, flirting with him, asking him to sleep over. 

He wasn’t sure if he should ask you for more or if he should ask you to be his girlfriend first. The whole reason he’s with his parents right now is because he felt the need to run home to his Mom for girl advice. Embarrassing? Yes, but he really wanted to do things right. He cares about you. 

He needed just one single weekend away, and the second he’s gone you’re out fucking other dudes? Fucking Sunghoon? 

By now, that asshole is probably feeling like he’s on top of the world for getting to touch you. Not even he has done what Sunghoon managed to do with you by now and he can’t help but feel pissed about it. 

Whether you’re his or not, Sunghoon never should have been a fucking option. 

So, he calls you right back, pushing back the feeling of how pathetic it seems considering he’s the one who hung up on you. Then, when you don’t pick up, he immediately feels his stomach drop. 

You must be talking to Sunghoon, you must be setting up a time and place to meet with him. And Jake has heard that Sunghoon knows how to fuck. Other people have said he’s good in bed. Surely, if you’ve already been with him once and you’re still wanting to go back to him, those other people weren’t lying. 

To Jake, it feels like he’s losing you to his own friend with each passing second, and it’s weighing so heavy that spamming your phone with calls to interrupt whatever it is you’re doing right now feels like the right thing to do. In fact, it feels like it is the best thing in the world to do. 

He calls again. You don’t answer.

Again.

“What?!” You answer, annoyed. 

“Why would you even want Sunghoon?! Is he really that much better than I am?” He doesn’t think before he says it, because if he did, he wouldn’t have been able to say it at all. 

It’s his turn to experience that awkward silence because in all fairness, you don’t know how to respond to that. You feel annoyed now, you feel confused and quite frankly, blind sided. Since when did he care? 

“What’s that supposed to mean? You came onto me once and then never followed up.” You dead-pan at yourself in the mirror across your bedroom, speaking into the phone with a voice that seems scolding. “I don’t see why you’re mad that I’m hanging out with Sunghoon. We aren’t dating, Jake.”

“Since when? Who said I didn’t want to do it again?” Jake argues back in a whispered voice, showing you that he still can’t be as loud as he’d like to be. He chooses to ignore that last sentence though, pretending as if it doesn’t strike him in the center of the heart. 

“Nobody! That’s the thing, you haven’t said anything about it. Not that you want to, not that you don’t. You’re just being you and it’s driving me up a fucking wall.”

Pause.

“You’re mad because I didn’t make it weird?” It’s like his brain clicks. 

“Pretending it didn’t happen somehow makes it worse.” You lower your voice, ignoring the string of texts Sunghoon is sending you and listening closely to what Jake might say next. Your heart is racing through this hushed argument, and it feels good to admit that you kept thinking about it, even if he hasn’t.

“I wasn’t pretending that it didn’t happen,” He pinches the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “I just wasn't sure what the next step was.”

You’re fucking appalled.

“Jake, I have been flirting with you since it happened because I couldn’t stop thinking about it. You’re the one who didn’t make any moves, so I figured you wanted it to end there.” You sigh loudly, but somehow feel a bit lighter. “Do you have any idea how that fucked with my confidence?”

Jake sighs along with you on the other end of the line. 

“That’s why I was annoyed earlier, and that’s why I’m going to Sunghoon’s tonight.”

“What?” Jake’s voice raises a bit higher. “Still?!” 

It’s the fact that he’s trying to explain himself. Had he known that you were confused by his lack of, um, touching you, he would have done it every day since it happened! Yet, you’re still considering Sunghoon an option? Knife to the heart, honestly. 

Or maybe he’s not being clear enough with you about this. 

You, on the other hand, nod your head as you hum a confirmation to him, smiling and wondering if this conversation will turn into an event that would, perhaps, have you cancel the hook-up with Sunghoon.

“Why? Are you jealous?” You pry.

“You really called him, and now I’m just sitting here in my old room trying to find a way to get to you before he does….again.” An inhale. “ Yes! I’m fucking jealous!” 

You remain silent, trying to pretend that your pettiness isn’t solely to confirm what he seems to be implying to you. Then, an unintentional chuckle leaves your lips. 

“Why are you laughing?!” His voice is raised again, and he doesn’t seem to stop spilling what he needs to say. “I wanted to do that for you for years and you somehow still didn’t know?” He pauses. “I always made it weird between us, what? You thought I treated all of my friends like that?”

You just listen, feeling your heart beat in time with each word he speaks. Strings of sentences like, “I’m going to kick his ass.” and “You thought I’d just eat you out as a friend?! You’re insane.” and “I would have come home last night if you wanted to feel good so badly, why did you have to go see him, of all people?” 

The confirmation of Jake being the friend who forbade Sunghoon from making a move on you is right there, clear as day. 

“Ah, so the Jake I know isn’t the Jake everyone else knows?” You respond, trying to force the tingling feeling in your gut to calm itself. Hearing him be so blatant to you has your heart doing flips, and it’s not an easy task to make it stop.

“Of-fucking-course not!” He rolls his eyes, you can definitely tell. “You had me wrapped around your pinky from day one.”

“And you really thought that, with the way you seemed so uninterested–” You pause, processing his words. “I would have asked you to come home from your parent’s house to get me off? For what? Funsies? You thought I'd be brave enough or selfish enough to ask such a thing?” 

Jake sighs deeply, seemingly fed up with the situation. 

“It wouldn’t be because you are selfish.” He breathes out, almost angrily. “And for the last time, I’m not uninterested. I was just trying to do things right. I don’t just want to fuck you, you know.” 

“And you didn’t think to tell me until weeks after you ate me out?” You smile harder, trying to contain the heat flushing over your cheeks. “Until after I thought I had a pH imbalance and maybe you were just grossed out by me?!” 

“I’m genuinely shocked you didn’t know already. Made me think you weren’t interested enough to like–” He pauses, not wanting to be too telling. “I guess waiting and being polite isn’t really your style. I should have known that though.”

You let him continue, because you can tell he’s simply taking breaths and small pauses to figure out how to express his thoughts to you. 

“You can’t tell me that over the years, you never once noticed how often I stared at you.” He lowers his voice again, softening it to an extent that you actually feel the butterflies fly from your belly to your chest. 

”The fact that I jumped in head first and offered to do that for you? I didn’t think I had to tell you at this point…”He breathes out a chuckle through the line this time. “And for the record, I couldn’t get enough of it. I was just trying to like– I don’t know.”

You listen to him breathe deeply, again. 

“I didn’t want you to think I was in it just for the sex, I guess.”

There. There it is. You’re nearly kicking your feet, feeling him confirm feelings and erase any hint of doubt within you. Despite never truly noticing that he treats you differently compared to his other friends, despite never thinking too hard about the way he looks at you. 

“You acted like it wasn’t a big deal, Jake. I’m not joking. If that’s how you act when you like someone, you shouldn’t blame me for not noticing.”

“I literally tongue fucked you.” He dead-pans. “Friends don’t just do that.”

“I thought we were friends who could do that.” You argue. “But I guess you’re not quite looking to just remain friends, are you?” 

“No,” Jake sighs. “Mom told me I needed to take you out on some extravagant date and express my undying love for you with a handful of red roses, but I guess this is just how it’s gonna be. After all, this is you.” 

“And this is you.” You confirm. 

“I was going to come home tomorrow and try to lie our way to the restaurant, which I still can, if you want. You kind of fucked up my plan though.” 

You pause at his words, suddenly feeling like shit for not realizing sooner. In your defense though, if he really did like you from day one, you didn’t exactly have a chance to see how he would have acted without feelings. The Jake you know is your best friend, and someone you trusted with everything, you thought he treated everyone as well as he treated you. That’s why, when he didn’t change, you couldn’t read him anymore. 

Then again, all of this could have been fucking avoided if he had just voiced it to you. 

“Romance is dead and it’s your fault.” Jake tries to joke, his soft tone somehow coming out even softer as he waits for some type of response from you. 

“So, are we done fighting?” You ask meekly, tapping your finger against your phone and looking up at the ceiling with a smile that by now, you can’t escape. “Since you’ve just expressed your undying love for me and I very much wouldn’t mind going on a date with you so we can work this out face to face?” 

“Are you still going to fuck Sunghoon?” 

You laugh. 

“Oh yeah, for sure–” To his silence, you immediately take it back. “Oh my god, relax. It’s a joke.” 

“Get better jokes, asshole.” 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

“What the fuck?” Jake deadpans into the phone, his heart beating far too fast for his health, but vibing with it anyway because by tomorrow night, he’ll be next to you again. “You seriously had sex with her?!” 

“Hey, she’s the one who called me.” Sunghoon shrugs as he listens. “To be fair, Jake, I did tell her that someone else had dibs on her.”

Jake slaps his forehead and rolls his eyes. 

“You’re such a dick– I told you at least three hundred times that I like her! I don’t have dibs.” He gripes, trying to pretend that he’s not imagining Sunghoon with you, the person he wants the most. 

“Damn right you don’t, because she seemed to have a great t–” 

“Sunghoon, stop. I don’t want to know what happened, but like, stop texting her.” 

Sunghoon’s brow raises in curiosity. 

“Ah, did you finally make a move?”

If there’s anything Jake knows Sunghoon won’t do, it’s go for a woman that is actually unavailable. He has his fun, and he’s not one to turn anyone down if he has an interest in them, bro code be damned. And yeah, he’s still a little pissed at him for hooking up with you…but, it is true, Jake made you feel like he wasn’t even an option in his attempts to be a gentleman. 

Still, boundaries need to be set now. Real boundaries.

“I did, and I would really appreciate it if you back off. I’m trying to make something out of this, you know?”

Sunghoon lightens up, sighing at his loss of a would be fuck-buddy that seemed more promising than some he’s had in the past. 

“Jesus, you’re serious about her aren’t you?” He smirks as he speaks, feeling proud of Jake for finally stepping up for himself. “I mean, I can totally see why. Please excuse me as I mourn that sweet, sweet, pu-” 

“Sunghoon.” Jake warns. “Shut the fuck up.” 

“Relax, jesus.” Sunghoon plays it cool, though he actually is mourning it a little bit. “Good on you though. I’ll back off, don’t worry.” 

Jake rolls his eyes yet again, his love-hate relationship with Sunghoon becoming more fond than ever by this point. Only because the confidence he had in himself before all of this wasn’t entirely where it needed to be. It’s true that he wasn’t exactly a pussy eating god before, nor could he even say he’s amazing at sex but, when it comes to you, he can’t help but be excited. He wants to do it all, be it all for you. 

Never in his life has he eaten pussy like that, and never in your life have you felt a mouth so eager to please between your legs. 

Sunghoon could have been something, but he couldn’t have been Jake, ever. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The day couldn’t go by any slower than it already has. 

Jake comes home tonight, and by home, you mean to your apartment where he doesn’t live. 

Your mind goes in loops on what could possibly happen. Scenarios of him getting cold feet and ignoring that any of this happened at all again. Scenes of him unlocking your door, closing in on you, and kissing you before you can even say “hello”. Images of his hands on you, his mouth on you, what it would feel like if he were to…well, oh.

You snap yourself out of it, every bad scenario in your head gets replaced with one where you’ve got Jake working himself on and inside of you. It’s making you feel hot, insane, and entirely too horny for the proposed date night full of talking that needs to be had first. 

Then you freeze, your hand on the handle of your mug as you wonder a bit too hard. 

What if he doesn’t show up at all? 

You did run off the second he left the city and fuck one of your mutual friends. Arguably, you were equally as bad at communicating with him as he was to you during the past few weeks. Sure, you flirted, but was that even enough when he literally put his tongue inside of you “as a friend”? 

God, he’d have every right to not show up. To move on, to never speak to you again. 

You’ve been so stupid. Both of you have, stumbling together but apart into something neither of you could even begin to navigate. For you? Sex is easy. Feelings though? That’s where it gets complicated. Yet, still, you find yourself more willing than ever to let these feelings roam free if he accepts them at face value. 

Solely because of how shitty it felt when you were trying to pretend that Jake was nothing but a one time thing for his sake. 

And when the time comes, after hours of brooding, getting worked up, and feeling insane, you’re looking like a mess when he knocks on your door. So much for looking good for him. You’re an absolute fucking wreck when you open that door and dead-pan stare at him and his bags. 

“Hi,” He smiles, not quite making eye contact because he really is kind of embarrassed by all of this. “I’m here.” 

You step back from the door, eyes remaining on him. 

“You’re here.” You say quietly, watching him step into your apartment and drop his bags. 

You feel his breath before you hear his voice. So much closer than just moments before, right up against your ear, and his arms wrapping tightly around you. 

“Felt like I was gone for too long–” He whines slightly against you, breathing in a breath and taking in your scent. “Didn’t know I could miss you like that.” 

You fucking melt. Out of all of those scenarios and fantasies in your head, this wasn’t one of them. Which goes to show that Jake is the one person in this world who can surprise you time and time again. You’ve hugged him like this hundreds of times, but this one, oh this one. He feels so close after feeling so fucking far away.

“You were gone for two days,” You smile, nuzzling against him and gripping his waist in your own hug. 

“Two days too long, though.” You feel him smile, that little upturn of his lips pushing his cheek up and against you as he chuckles and pulls back.  “We don’t have a lot of time, but we can still make it to the restaurant if you still want to go? I can shower when we get back.”

You pull back, offering him a small nod and feeling a bit let down. You wanted more, especially after that hug. The fact that he can contain himself right now feels isolating. Are you the only one who has a vibrating brain right now? He really wants to have the conversation at the restaurant? 

He really wants to do this the right way?

You look like shit, but arguably he might think he looks worse considering the long trip back to you. Still, the restaurant is the chosen option to have this conversation, and you’re ready to get it over with so that finally the two of you can take a step forward. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The restaurant is nice. There’s a buzz of conversations surrounding the two of you but most of it feels muffled because the only sound you can truly hear is Jake’s hushed and awkward attempts to get the ball rolling. 

“So, I guess that’s why I went to my parent’s house. It’s embarrassing, I know–” He says before you cut him off. 

“Tell me how you felt the past few weeks when we were together.” You say boldly, wanting so badly to have the confirmation that he really does want this, and that he suffered much like you did.

You watch a fan of rosy tint cross his cheeks as he breaks eye contact with you, looking to the table and then back up at you. 

“Okay, um–” He stiffens a bit, glancing around to make sure no one is looking or listening in. “When we weren’t together, it was a lot easier for me to think, but when we were together, I could only really think about one thing.” He admits, nodding to himself. 

You look at him curiously before you see his eyes light up in panic.

“No! No, no. Not like, sex…” He looks down. “I mean, yeah maybe sex too but mostly I just couldn’t stop thinking about ways to make you want me more than anyone else.” 

Your heart swells at his panicked save, and then the words that follow. 

“I think I already did want you more than anyone else.” You admit back to him. “Even if I didn’t know I had feelings until you did that to me– I’m sorry it took me so long to realize.”

He smiles, reaching over the table as if to ask for your hand. 

“What about you? What did you think about when we were together after that night?” He asks for his own confirmation now. 

“Sex. Mostly, I guess. I felt like no one else would ever be able to make me feel that good again.” You look away, feeling ashamed and seen. “Goddamn, I sound so dramatic.”

Jake snorts, laughing at how he should have expected this but the confidence boost is a happy surprise to him. 

“To be fair though, Jake, I think I had my feelings and my lust for you mixed up.” You continue. “But that doesn’t change the fact that I still feel both of those things every time I see you, or even think of you.”

“Feelings and lust?” He nods with a smile and wiggling his eyebrows, his eyes glistening in the warm lighting of the restaurant. 

You nod in confirmation, side eyeing the waitress who walks over to take down your order. 

Both of you are somehow dissociated outside of each other, there’s no way you’re not because you don’t recall what you ordered, nor what he ordered, and he appears to be feeling much the same. The moment she walks away, he’s continuing. 

“I was really that good, huh?” A smirk from him, and a nod from you. 

“What about right now then? How do you feel when you look at me?” He follows up, looking down at the table. 

“Both of those things.” You dead-pan, squeezing your legs together as you look at him and feel the warmth radiating from even this far away. The confirmation of feelings is enough by itself to have your thoughts in the gutter about him, especially after weeks of wanting him. 

Especially after having to be in this stupid fucking restaurant in the first place.

He quirks a brow before lowering his voice, his eyes drooping a bit. 

“Do you have any fucking idea how badly I’ve wanted to get my mouth on you?” 

God, there he is. That same bold best friend who originally suggested eating you out in the first place. Not entirely unfounded that he said it, but fuck, your cheeks are searing. 

“Jake, we’re in public.” You warn, knowing damn well that you’ve not been able to think of anything else either, but for the sake of the foundation of this relationship, you want to tame yourself a little bit.

“Since we started hanging out, every fucking time.” He continues, ignoring your warning. “I would get so mad when you’d go to your little hook-ups. Sometimes I even wondered if you did it intentionally to piss me off.” 

Your cheeks are still hot, but now there’s a bit of guilt filling you. 

“You really had no idea how badly I wanted that to be me?” He continues with his streak of confidence, unintentionally dirty talking to you solely because he, genuinely, cannot deny his attraction or his feelings for you by this point. “Even right now, I want nothing more than to have you to myself.”

You pause, the guilt leaving you in an instant as it’s fully replaced with Jake’s eagerness to have you in full, finally. 

“Why–” You sigh, dropping your head into your hands to hide your face from him. “Why are we at this restaurant again?” 

You feel his hand reach back over to you, removing your hands from your face and dipping down to look at you. 

“It’s so fucking hard to contain myself right now. I can admit that.” He whispers, blinking at you. “If you feel satisfied with where we stand, I’d be more than happy to leave this table now and prove everything to you.”

An instant nod from you, and an instant confirmation from Jake. 

You’re both out of the restaurant before a single sip of water, before a single visual inspection of the forgotten food the two of you ordered, and before any doubt could creep in to ruin the electrifying atmosphere you were indulging in with him. 

For Jake, his self control wavers with each passing moment as you sit next to him in the car. You look so calm as he drives as quickly and safely as possible back to your apartment, shaming himself for ever considering the two of you go in the first place. Still, the outcome is somehow more satisfying. Both of you wanting to leave just so you can truly be alone together? He couldn’t ask for a better night. 

Still, your calmness contrasts the way his insides vibrate the closer he gets to your place, and he wonders how the fuck you manage to do it. If you were to simply glance at him at the right moment, you’d see his entire body melt in the fantasies of what the two of you may be willing to do tonight. 

Years worth of pining in his head and heart are bubbling up now. You’re inviting him in, you’re accepting him, you’re wanting him back. 

What he doesn’t know though, is that you are quite literally imagining yourself wrapped in chains to this seat. Why? Because if it weren’t for those astral chains, you’d be on top of him in an instant, reassuring him that if there’s anything in the world you’ve wanted within the past few weeks, it’s him. You’d be apologizing for never taking note of his feelings before, and kissing away all of the moments he wished he could have had with you before, replacing them with very real, firm, hot kisses. 

Thankfully though, you manage to tame the beast from within and somehow, so does he. Up until you get through your apartment door and the electrifying atmosphere sizzles away in an instant. 

You expected to have the confidence to, quite literally, jump on him as soon as your door closed. Instead, you find yourself standing in awe at the entryway. 

Jake, on the other hand, would love nothing more than to have you right this moment, speeding and parking crooked be damned, he will not allow it just yet. 

“Listen,” He reaches out to you, pulling you up and against his chest. “I need to shower before I let myself do anything.” 

You breathe a sigh of relief, noting that the awkwardness came from the fact that Jake’s energy is seeping out of him, lust and worry for possibly not being as clean as he’d like to be for this. 

It feels strange, actually. You can imagine you’ve had many hook-ups with men who wouldn’t even consider a shower before inviting you over. 

“Hurry up then, before I decide to call Sungh-” 

“Don’t you fucking dare make that joke right now,” Jake squeezes you tighter against you, hating himself for constantly bringing up reasons to wait. 

“If we are going to like,” He pauses, struggling to say it out of pure nervousness that you might change your mind. “You know, be exclusive, Sunghoon’s name is forbidden.”

You chuckle against him before shoving him back in a playful way. 

“Deal. Now, can you fucking hurry?” You roll your eyes playfully, internally a little thankful for the short moments you will have to prepare yourself for this. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Damn this shower for feeling so good. Jake could fall asleep under the warmth if it weren’t for the fact that he’s been half-hard this entire time and truly fighting with himself on how to approach this situation.

It’s kind of awkward, actually. Knowing exactly what the two of you are about to do but having to wait even for fifteen minutes makes it seem like you both have a scheduled hook up and nothing more. 

It’s not a hook up though. Jake is finally where he’s always wanted to be with you, in your shower priming his body to go absolutely fucking insane on you. Before, when he ate you out, he really was controlling himself. He wanted to do more with you so bad, and now? God…

He’s flushed as he finally makes his way out of the shower, length still stiffening and softening with each thought that passes. He can barely look at himself in the mirror without wanting to laugh at how embarrassing he truly is. 

You’d probably laugh too, and he’d love the sound of it. 

Then, he’s faced with a dilemma. 

You, on the other hand, find yourself lying quietly in your bedroom after doing your best to fix the mess of yourself for whatever Jake may offer. Waiting for him, and ultimately wondering what the fuck is taking him so long when you finally hear the bathroom door open.

Faintly, you can smell your shampoo and body wash that he used as you hear him make his way to the living room and not find you. 

Then, you hear him making his way to your room. He doesn’t open the door any further than it already was and instead, stands behind it quietly before muttering out. 

“Um,” He starts, putting his hand on your door and only peeking his head in. “I wasn’t sure if there was a point to putting my clothes on–” 

Fucking pause.

God, he must sound so stupid saying that, especially after looking into your room and seeing you lying against your bed changed into the exact same pajamas you put on the night he initially made a move on you through the guise of friendship. 

Well, now it’s not even a question and he was right to assume that all he needed to do was wrap a towel around his waist and come to you. 

You watch his eyes travel your body curiously, a smile forming on his face.

“If you’re wondering if I put panties on this time too,” You smile, reaching a hand out as if to invite him to open that door and come have at it. “I didn’t.”

That’s all it takes, really, to have him pushing the door open and not-so-calmly making his way to your bed. 

Seeing his naked and damp chest is one thing, but smelling your scent all over him is another, especially when the first thing he does is practically envelop you with his body and plant his lips straight on your own. 

The first real kiss. Despite his lips having been on you before, you melt into it and find yourself forgetting how differently he’s acting now compared to before. He was so confident, so cocky, and now he’s almost docile. Meek. 

“I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” He leans back to whisper, adjusting his body so that he’s more comfortable and leaning down on one arm while the other holds your cheek. “Can’t believe you let me eat you out before ever letting me actually kiss you.”

Your face heats up at the comment, making you feel more scandalous than you ever truly tried to be. But he’s not wrong, and you regret making him feel like eating you out was the only way to get to your heart.

Strangely though, it was the way to your heart. Him doing that for you practically threw you into the deep end in search for more, from him, specifically. 

“Can’t believe you decided that you should just eat me out rather than admit your feelings for me.” You counter with a smile, lifting your head to kiss against him again and pretending you can’t feel the weight of his length under the loosely knotted towel on his waist. 

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?” He says through the kisses, quickly losing the ability to speak when you lick against his bottom lip and, ultimately, take control of the act.

He wonders what your mouth could do to him. His entire body reacts to the way your tongue flicks and licks against his own, it takes everything in him to try and control himself from pushing too far too soon– until he realizes that there is no reason to control himself now. 

Never has making out gotten him this turned on, and it’s not a surprise because it’s you. 

He half moans, half chuckles into your kiss when he does it, pressing his hips down and against your thigh much like he did previously to the very mattress he’s got you lying against. 

“There’s so much I want to do,” He finally admits, pulling back from the kiss and hanging his head to feel how his cock reacts to the flesh of your thigh. “Please, let me do all of it.” 

You sigh, somehow feeling a pang of arousal radiate between your legs despite not yet being touched there. The weight of him on you is enough, and all you can do is nod and await the ways he intends to relieve himself with you.

Hours of head, he could give. Even more hours of burying his cock between those pretty lips and watching you return the favor for him. His confidence grows as your body moves under him, waiting, waiting, waiting for what he will do next. 

First, he plants another kiss to you, pressing his hips hard against your thigh with a breathy sigh before moving his lips down, against your neck. 

At the same time, his hands work their way up your loose shirt, cupping one breast in his palm and easily teasing your nipple with his fingers. He works his lips down the center of your clothed chest, down to your stomach, and then up again. His nose nudges your shirt up with each kiss, until his lips replace his fingers and he’s sucking your nipple into his mouth.

You’ve never felt so wanted in your life with the way he appears to be savoring you. Leaving his own pleasure neglected once again, his entire focus is on you. You arch your back up a bit, hands shooting to his head and cradling it there against your breast. 

He groans when you scratch against the nape of his neck, wiggling your hips under him and chasing the sensation that his mouth manages to send to your clit. He groans again when your nipple remains firm between his lips, and he begins to nibble. 

And this time, he moans when he manages to trail one of his hands down just to see how much it will take of this to get you wet. He tucks one hand under your shorts, only to find that you’re already dripping, soaking his fingers with a mere single slide up your folds.

“Fuck,” He sighs as if it’s a compliment when he pops his mouth off of you, flicking his head up to look at your already dazed eyes. “Already?” 

You glance away, embarrassed by how badly you want the man who was once your best friend, and is now….more than that. You can feel his fingers graze and gently play around with the heat your body has already released for him, rolling your eyes back each time he pretends he’s going to offer pressure to your clit. 

He’s fucking teasing you, and you know it.

He knows it too, because of fucking course he is. After years of torture, wondering if you’d ever manage to get wet at all with the thought of him, here you are, dripping under him when all he’s done is kiss you and fondle your nipples. 

Briefly, he remembers how needy your hips were when his tongue was seeping into you. He remembers the taste of each thrust you pressed against his face, and the smell of how badly you needed him at the time. 

As used as he was by you that night, he wants nothing more now than to pull those same desperate moans from you, to taste the wet inside of you that no man ever managed to release for you. 

“I feel like I’m going insane,” He finally breathes out, still toying with your folds and keeping an eye on the way your eyes glare back at him. “I want you so fucking bad–” He stutters now, instantly sliding his fingers into you and scooting down on the bed at lightening speed, pressing your loose shorts to the side just to get the taste of you against his lips again.

Your legs instantly shoot over his shoulders, and one of his hands reaches up to hug your thigh against him as his tongue immediately laps at every dip and crease of your cunt. His eyes nearly roll back at being able to experience this again, his fingers holding firm without a single movement just so he can feel your body confirm that you want him just as much. 

The clench around his fingers are enough, and he licks around them only for a moment before returning his lips to your clit and giving you all he’s got. 

All he can feel is your legs tightening around his head, nearly lifting your ass up and off of the bed, all he can hear is his own moans vibrating through him each time he hears you react. 

Arguably, even after that brief moment of teasing from him, feeling his mouth so eager, much like before, sent you straight into a blissed state and made you forget about the restaurant, the shower, the weeks of pining before this. His mouth is so warm, and his vibrating moans sooth your clit through its desperate attempts to beg for more. 

You can’t help the fact that your legs hug his head, or the way your hands shoot down much like before, scratching through his hair before dropping down and spreading yourself open with two fingers solely to expose your clit in full to the assault of his tongue he’s giving you. 

He missed you so much, he missed this so much. Never again will he leave you wondering, from this point forward, you should be well aware that if you so much as pushed him to his knees and lifted a leg over his shoulder, he’d be eating like a fucking king. 

Still, even with his immense love for kissing your pussy until your legs shake, there’s more to be experienced here than just this. His pace slows with the reality of that, and only now does he move his fingers with intent, and he pulls back to see how you’re spreading yourself for him, even as your legs fall from his shoulders.

“Fuck.” He rasps, lips glistening with a mixture of his own saliva and your slick. 

You lend him a drunken smile, nodding slowly as you focus in on the way his fingers scissor you open. Within a blink though, his face is right there hovering above you, staring intently at the way you react to his fingers. 

“You look so good right now, you know that?” He compliments, leaning down again to plant a kiss against you, only pumping his fingers in faster when your kiss appears to be more hungry than his own. “God, I can feel you squeeze my fingers–” 

And it’s true, he’s seeing stars solely because he can feel the clench of your pussy walls pushing his two fingers together, almost pushing against his attempts to scissor you open and curl them into the spot inside he knows you have. He can only imagine how good that would feel if he were to…

His eyes squeeze shut in a drawn out moan at the thought, his own kiss growing more hungry as he releases the towel from his waist and quickens the pace of his fingers inside of you. 

You can feel him press his cock against you, and the weight of it only becomes heavier when his fingers pause inside of you just so he can slip them out and use those same slick-coated digits to hold his length down and against you before he slides it between your lips. Now coating himself in the same wet sensation. 

You listen closely to his moan, knowing that he seems fond of neglecting his own pleasure to the point of doing near-embarrassing things to get it back when he needs it the most. It’s strangled, almost. You can hear him swallow around it when he slides up harshly, bumping your clit and causing your shorts to stretch against the crease of your thigh. 

He seems so…desperate. Yet, he can have anything he wants. 

“Keep it spread open–” He mutters when he feels you try to remove the hand that had been holding your pussy out on display for him. “I want to feel all of it.”

God, you’ve never heard him say something so sexy. Easily you do as he says, now using both hands to hold either side of your pussy open for him, and feeling the underside of his length slide against your hole. 

You let out a pleased sigh, despite your shorts becoming a nuisance at this point. It’s easy to forget you’re still wearing them though, because they only become drenched more and more as the moments pass with Jake.

You can genuinely just assume that his cock must be aching as he does this, leaking all over you. That’s something you don’t mind at all, because the stimulation is far beyond what you could ever ask for. 

“Jake–” You try to speak, only to be cut off by his hand sliding under your head and his lips attaching yet again to you.

There, you can’t help it when you remove your hands and shoot them up to his face. Holding him there, feeling the way his jaw moves when he licks into your mouth in a desperate attempt to get as much of you as he can in this moment. 

His hips fuck forward much like they did into his palm all those weeks ago, and the anticipation of if or when he finally plunges it into you drives you to kiss him just as hard as he does you.

There is nothing but the sound of kissing in the room save for muffled moans from both of you, entirely tangled up together as he does nothing more than grind himself against you. His hand cradling your head and the other still pressing his length down and against you as close as he can manage. Yours, cupping his cheeks as he kisses you, up until you run one hand down to take over for him.

In that moment, with his free and now shaking hand, he pulls back entirely and just looks at you.

He’s out of it, entirely gone from this world as he stares down with his hair drying by the minute from that shower, messy as all hell with darkened hooded eyes. He continues to stare, each thrust against you becoming pointed to the extent that it almost feels like he’s already fucked you for hours. 

And then, you feel it. The weight lifting, your shorts being stretched until they’re sliding down your thighs and off of you, and then the warmth as he adjusts his hips just barely enough to line up with your quivering hole, practically begging for him to stretch you out for the first time. 

His eyes falter only for a moment when he realizes that this is a moment he will never forget. The way you look up at him with glassy and needy eyes, out of breath, seemingly loving him as much as he’s always loved you. 

“Yeah?” He whispers, not breaking eye contact even for a moment. 

“Please.” You mutter out, not fully intending for it to sound so broken.

And as broken as your voice was in that instance, he grows much weaker by it. Dropping his head with a deep sigh, a smile, and then a chuckle.

“You really, really, can’t look at me like that and expect me to be gentle…” He pauses to look at you again. “For your sake, please tell me to slow down.”

You can barely comprehend a word he’s saying when you can feel the head of his cock teasing where you need it the most. 

“Please.” You rasp out again, wrapping your legs around his waist and forcing his body forward, ultimately sliding the tip of his length into you yourself. 

“Oh, fuck–” He chokes out before sucking in a breath and letting out a moan at the feeling. His body jerks at the sensation, the sound of your voice, the way you pulse around him. “Fuck, so good.” He continues to mutter, controlling himself for only a few seconds longer just to see if you have the ability to understand that he truly and honestly will not have the ability to go easy on you at this point. 

“Deeper.” You plead, squeezing your legs tighter around him, uncaring of his attempt to control the situation. 

That’s all it takes. Your broken voice already had him shaking, and now he’s giving up any and all control that he could have possibly hoped to have. 

Right there, with your legs hugging his waist, your hands gripping the pillow behind your head, and his hands finding purchase on either side of your shoulders, he sinks himself into you as deep as he can go and feels as if the life is being choked out of him over how fucking good it feels. 

He throws his head back in an erotic and attractive moan of relief, allowing you a glimpse at the expanse of his stretched neck, naked of any marked territory. Still, your vision goes white when the stretch hits you.

So big, so strong on top of you. You can imagine he really could fuck you hard, you hope he doesn’t go gentle on you at all, actually

“Shit, please,” You moan brokenly again, releasing your pillow and gripping his forearms. “Jake, god–” You have no words to describe how good he feels inside of you, you couldn’t begin to fathom trying to explain to him how perfect he is. 

It feels deep, deeper than you ever could have imagined. His length alone should have been enough to tell you that, but you hadn’t yet factored in the girth of it. So heavy inside of you, touching each soft and sensitive surface your pussy has to offer. 

Your body jolts in adjustment, knocking the breath out of you despite him not moving just yet. 

“Shh–” He soothes, not at all actually wanting to hush your cries for him. In fact, he’s simply saying it because he could quite literally release at any moment if you continue to speak and clench him like this. And when he finally looks down at you, he can’t fucking help it.

His hips move at their own volition, and he was right in believing there is no gentle fuck to be had here. He slides out only slightly, with the intent to fuck you as full of him as he can. He wants to stay deep, because you asked, and he wants to keep you feeling stretched around him because he can truly never get over the way you look and sound right now. 

You shake at the feeling of him pressing impossibly deeper into you, keeping his hips flush against you before snapping his hips back more now. A slightly empty feeling inside of you being filled once again within a second. 

His moans sound beautiful, he feels beautiful, and all you can do is stare up at him with watery eyes and a slack jaw, wondering why it took him so long to do this with you.

Wondering why it took you so long to want it at all, when now, you think you could never feel this good with another person again. 

His arms flex in your grasp with each thrust, and his eyes land on each visible part of your body before he weakens his stance and lowers himself to you, hips still fucking you open at a pace that’s only becoming more and more rapid, more and more fucking blinding. 

“Yeah, yeah–” Jake suddenly chimes with out of breath words, kissing you before you can comprehend or respond to those words. “No one has ever reacted like this for me–” He continues, pointing his thrusts harder into you. “Feels so good, so tight around me.” He chokes up at the last few words, stuttering his and picking up a different pace.

This time, those harsh thrusts pull back further, emptying you before slowly pressing into you again. 

“I want you to remember how this feels,” He continues, seemingly rambling against your lips with each slow thrust. “No one will ever fuck you like I will.” 

Your hooded eyes shoot open with arousal at his confident boasting. Those words feel so final, as if it isn’t even a rule, but a logical fact that only the two of you could ever find to be true. 

You can’t even manage a response, and instead moan before tucking your lips up and against his neck, using one hand to grip his hair and skew his head. 

That once naked and markless neck is no more. He is yours, and you’re lucky enough now to know that this is exactly how he wants you to feel. 

“Ahh, you like that?” He questions your reaction to his words, feeling your hips make attempts to meet him halfway with each thrust. “You like when I talk?” He continues to urge your sucking lips to speak out to him, to answer him, to boost his ego just a bit more. 

“So much,” You nearly whimper against his neck, moving your lips to another spot. “Love when you’re confident like this–”

He’s in heaven hearing those words. As if it’s a confirmation that he wasn’t just talking dirty. You both truly take those words and will fuck by them from this point forward. He truly doesn’t want anyone else, and hopefully, you’d never give another person the chance to make an attempt to fuck you the way he does. 

And then the room falls silent again, as if Jake is focused on reminding you with each passing second that he’s never been more sure or right of something in his life. Despite you already believing him, the way his cock pulses inside of you is enough of a reminder even if he had never said it in the first place. 

His pace quickens again, and then slows, and then stutters. Only to fall back into a good rhythm before his entire body starts to shake through the act. 

You wonder if this is it. Is this how his body reacts when he’s about to cum? Is this what his face looks like? Is this what his eyes do? Did his arms strain like this the first time? Did his moans come out as choked and desperate? 

None of that matters, because as quickly as it started, he buries himself into you again and stays in that one spot, shaking and timidly looking down at you. 

“Don’t move, please, don’t move.” He practically begs, losing himself to the way your hips chase the feeling of constant stimulation. “Stop moving.” He pleads again, pulling his chest from you and sitting up on his knees, keeping his cock in place deep within you. 

You watch him, unable to keep your hips still, and he watches you– trying to keep his orgasm under control before seeing your fingers trail down your stomach and to your clit.

There, he loses himself, watching you rub the soft spot just above where his cock stuffs you full. 

“I can’t,” He chokes out, snapping his hips back and allowing himself to get lost in the feeling. “Fuck, I really can’t.” He continues to mutter out, pressing his strings of cum ever deeper inside of you as he feels every muscle in his body tense. 

It feels so sensitive, but he can’t stop moving, feeling his cum fill you up to the point it’s surely being pressed out of you by his desperate length wanting nothing more than to stay inside of you.

You moan through it with him, encouraging him to lose himself inside of you, and he’s so beautiful when he does it. The fact that he does it at all has your body tensing on its own. Teetering on the edge of your own orgasm with the way your fingers almost aggressively chase after the feeling he appears to still be releasing inside of you.

And then, emptiness. You are left empty and dripping, fingers still chasing your release before–

“What the fu–” You moan, squeezing your eyes shut at the feeling of his tongue instantly back on you. As if he’s looping back to the beginning of it all, uncaring of tasting himself solely because through it all, he can still taste you. “Jake, Fuck–yes, right there.” You continue to groan when he replaces his tongue against your hole with his fingers, fucking into you as quickly as he can before nudging your fingers away and taking over the chase of your orgasm. 

You’re entirely amazed by how eager he is to pull it from you, and that alone is enough. The desperate ways in which he decided to pleasure you right in this moment, it’s enough.

Your hands instantly reach for his hair, gripping so tightly that you can hear the pained sound he lets out at the sheer force behind it. You very nearly rub his nose in the mess he’s made of you out of the sheer arousal you feel through your orgasm. 

You’re seeing white, feeling his fingers expertly work you open and somehow don’t feel disappointed at all that you didn’t get there before he pulled out of you. You can still feel him dripping out, fingers squelching and sliding through the mixture of both orgasms inside of you. And his tongue, good lord his fucking tongue, licking up every bit and eagerly flicking your clit at a pace much faster than he offered before.

And now, you find your legs nearly kicking him across the room. As soon as the orgasm subsides, your body goes into overdrive with the overwhelming sensitivity between your legs and all he can do is laugh at the way you practically do kick him.

Right off the bed, actually, he tumbles. 

You lay there, staring into space as you attempt to bring yourself back to reality when you see his messy hair and glistening eyes peek from the edge of your bed at you. His shoulders huffing with each deep breath he takes. 

“Jesus fucking christ.” You manage to gasp out, spread eagle and almost completely naked on your bed save for the forgotten shirt that’s still pushed up to your collarbone. 

He makes his way back up to you, pressing your legs together, lowering your shirt, and planting his heavy dead-weight right on top of you. 

A solid ten minutes pass as the two of you lay there in the mess you’ve both created. Heavy breaths turn to easy, balanced breaths together. You can barely hold your eyes open when he finally rolls off of you and right up against your side. 

“Can I ask you something?” He mutters, throat dry and stomach growling embarrassingly loud. 

“Hm?” You hum out, entirely ready to just sleep in the mess.

“Are you always like that?” He questions, a little hint of doubt breaking his confidence. “Like, did Sunghoon see you act like that too?” 

You crack your eyes open and instantly turn to face him. 

“You’re insane if you think Sunghoon is that good. I’ve never used the word ‘please’ in my life.”

Jake glances away, thinking to himself and letting those words sink in.

“Well,” He starts, pausing and feeling that little pit in his stomach return. “That’s a lie because I’ve heard you use your manners at least twice in the years I’ve known you.” 

You smile, loving that the two of you can still be somewhat catty and playful even after the fact that you just realized how insanely in love with him you are. 

“Jake, no one has ever made me act like this in bed.” You try to reassure him. “I don’t think anyone else could, besides you.”

He smiles with a nod, running his hands down your body before pausing at the half dried cum that managed to make its way up to your stomach. And then? He groans. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

It’s insane really, that all it took for you to fall in love with the person you think you were always meant to love was him admitting it. Even more insane that he decided to take the route that involved faux playful head, with no feelings attached despite his feelings being deeply fucking attached. 

Still, the route taken to get to this point, he thinks, is fitting for the two of you. Especially now that he can look at Sunghoon without wanting to strangle him, and he can look at you knowing you’d very much invite him to strangle you, you know, considering the fact that you’re now trying to explore every sexual realm in the fucking universe with him.

Even with the desperate need to have you under him any chance he gets, and the fucking, and the arousal, none of it shines brighter than the small intimate moments he has with you that aren’t weighed down by pining or lust. 

As playful as the two of you are together, there is so much love here. So much love to still be discovered too, and he can’t help but feel excited by it. 

Romance isn’t dead, despite how the two of you tried to fucking butcher it. 

[duality.] ─── ⋆ h. kai

an unexpected discovery about a friend sends you spiraling-- sure, hueningkai was cute, but he wasn't your type. at least, you thought he wasn't.

✩ pairing. huening kai x fem!reader

✩ words. 10k

✩ warnings. nsfw, mdnfi! smut with plot, f2l, graphic depictions of bdsm/rough sex, hard dom!kai, sub!reader, fem!reader, swearing, explicit language, mentions of alcohol/drinking, jealousy, wingman tyun and roommate yeonjun, gags, blindfolds, bondage, handcuffs, spanking, paddles, protected sex, manhandling, dry humping, sir kink, pet names, praise kink, dirty talk, degradation, degredation/name calling, jake from enhpyen cameo, possible dubcon elements, possessive behavior, nipple play, slight breeding kink, breath play/choking, cute ending hehe

✩ a/n. here it is!! duality, all three parts put together into one big oneshot!! i've been putting off finishing this fic for the longest time which is so criminal of me i know... i hope this makes up for it ♡ feedback in the forms of comments and reblogs are always appreciated! this is not proofread! please lmk if there are any mistakes!

You don't remember when Friday night get-togethers became "let's all listen to Beomgyu complain" get-togethers, but you could hardly complain-- hearing about your friend's failed attempts at wooing his coworker made you feel infinitely better about your own love life.

"I just don't get it," Beomgyu sighs deeply, swishing his beer around like he was debating on some deep philisophical theory. He was squished into the side of Taehyun's too-small couch, legs hanging off of the armrest and head awkwardly lying on Soobin's broad shoulder. "I'm hilarious and I'm smoking hot-- why is it so hard for me to find a girlfriend?!"

"That's because you're a loser." Your roommate, Yeonjun snorted. He was splayed out on the other end of the couch, effortlessly beating Soobin, Beomgyu and Hueningkai in Mario Kart, legs manspread so wide Taehyun (who was squished against Soobin's other side) looked about ready to hit him.

"I don't know, have you tried asking her out instead of following her around like a creep? She probably thinks you're stalking her." Taehyun snickered, very engrossed in his phone. You could see him trying to close Yeonjun's legs with his knee. It was not working.

"Also, you have no game." Soobin added, tonguing the inside of his cheek as he concentrated on the game. You were fairly sure part of the reason why he was losing so badly was because both of his arms were constricted to his sides. "Absolutely zero rizz, dude."

"Zero rizz," Hueningkai echoed with a giggle. Forever the smart and resourceful one, he chose to sit cross-legged on the carpet instead of squeezing himself on the couch-- you followed suit, not wanting to be in a sweaty sandwich with your roommate and his buddies. "I bet you haven't even said a word to her."

you sat with Kai near Yeonjun's legs, head propped up on the front of the couch as you snacked on popcorn. Hueningkai successfuly threw a blue shell at Yeonjun's kart-- your roommate's legs kicked out sharply, almost hitting you square in the head, and he let out a sharp "FUCK!"

"I have!" Beomgyu defended, sounding very much like a petulant child. "I talk to her all of the time! I asked her for her number, I made her a spotify playlist, I walk her to her car every night after our shifts--"

"None of that is asking her out though, hyung." Taehyun still hasn't looked up from his phone. "Did she give you her number?"

"No!" Beomgyu whined loudly, making everyone wince. "She said I haven't earned it yet!"

"It sounds like she's playing hard to get, maybe? Girls like it when guys pine." You supply, talking instead of listening for the first time in a while. You loved Beomgyu like a brother, and while it was funny to listen to his failed flirting you did want him to actually, you know, be happy. Plus he seemed to care about this girl beyond what her cupsize was, which was a pretty big deal for Beomgyu.

"More like she wants him to leave her alone." Hueningkai snickered back. “Hyung, I’ve not seen you this down bad since, like, grade school.”

“At least he’s not filling us in on his latest hookup,” Soobin shrugged, or at least tried to-- Beomgyu was now purposefully sitting on him. “Beomgyu might be a simp but I honestly see this as an improvement.”

“I’m not a fucking simp!” Beomgyu squawked, feigning hitting Soobin over the head with his controller. “I at least get more pussy than you losers— when was the last time Kai managed to bag a girl without her running away screaming first?”

The boys all laughed-- even Taehyun, which was weird--as if Beomgyu had made a joke that made sense. Kai? Scaring away girls? You’ve known him for years now, him being Yeonjun's friend and all, and while you didn't know him inside and out you were fairly sure he still slept with stuffed animals. Jesus, last time you had come over his only priority was showing off his Gundam.

“I think Kai would be the one running away screaming, honestly,” you laugh, expecting the others to follow, but you were quickly met with awkward silence. The boys all looked at you oddly, especially Beomgyu, who looked both deeply betrayed and like he had just gained some arcane secret. “…What? This is Huening we’re talking about, come on.”

“Yeah, Huening.” Beomgyu started, looking at you like you had grown an extra head. “It's always over when he starts going Fifty Shades on them."

"He starts going what?!" You sat up very suddenly, whipping your head around to stare at Hueningkai incredulously-- he was refusing to look at you, starting very intently at the TV screen, even though the game had ended minutes ago. The tips of his ears were cherry red. "You start going what?!"

"Oh my God, she doesn't know!" Yeonjun cackled madly, turning to look incredulously at Taehyun, who looked back with a wild grin. "She doesn't know!"

"I don't know what?" You felt a little betrayed by Taehyun, you had to be honest-- if anyone would have kept their head on, it would have been him. "Kai, what are they talking about?"

Kai was still refusing to make eye contact with you, instead glaring sharp daggers at his friends-- he genuinely looked angry, which was an emotion you weren't used to seeing on Hueningkai. "Don't worry about it, they're being dicks--"

"Hueningie likes to beat girls!" Beomgyu sang, his cute corner dimples popping out in his delighted, evil smile and making him look absolutely devilish. "He likes to treat girls like sluts!"

Kai was very very silent and worryingly still, nearly burning holes in the carpet with his stare. You furrowed your brow, blanched— that wasn’t the reaction you were expecting from him at all.

"There's no way you have no idea, Y/N, I mean-- you're joking, right? You've known him for forever now." Soobin cut in, looking genuinely confused.

"You've been in his room! Like, a thousand times!" Yeonjun laughed. "He's so fucking bad about putting all of his gross shit away-- once I saw handcuffs still attached to the headboard!"

You blinked.

This had to be some sort of joke. They were fucking with you, they had to be. "Are you trying to tell me that Hueningkai, OUR Hueningkai, is-- no he's not?! Have you met him? He collects Squishmallows!"

"You haven't looked under his bed yet, then." Taehyun snickered, once again on his phone-- you spluttered, both at his words and his nonchalance. Kai was still eerily silent.

"You've got to be joking. This is a joke. I don't think Kai's seen a pair of boobs in his life--"

"I’m not a virgin, you know." Hueningkai muttered stiffly, looking at you for the first time in a while. The residual anger he had for his friends lingered on his blushing, usually lax face, staring you down with an intensity you didn't think he could muster-- your stomach flipped hard, nearly having you recoil under his stare.

It took you an embarrassing second to register what he even said. "Oh. Um--"

"I'm not some fucking loser." Hueningkai repeated, voice calm but deep, deep dark, and it hit you quite suddenly that he was actually upset with you, not his friends. You had never heard Kai swear before. "Is it really that hard for you to believe? You don't know me.“

“Um, I—“ you spluttered, opening and closing your mouth like a fish.

“It’s like you think I'm some spineless, bitchless nerd or something-- it pisses me off, honestly, and I'm getting really fucking sick of it."

You were unable to choke out any words at all as Hueningkai pulled himself up sharply from the floor and stomped away into his room-- It was awkwardly silent for a few deeply conflicting moments, but Beomgyu was quick to pick back up the laughter.

"Someone's mad! Better watch out, Y/N, Hueningie might punish you for that!"

“Are you a slut?” Hueningkai hisses, big hand palming your bare ass– you whimper around your gag, tug at the restraints that bind your arms behind your back. “Is that what you are? All you can think about is getting cock, huh?”

Tears were starting to soak the silk of your blindfold, sticking wet and cold to your skin– you had never felt this raw and desperate in your life. “No!” you try to say, but it comes out a muffled whine.

Huening leans in close, hot breath caressing your ear, fabric of his shirt ghosting your back; his grip on your asscheek tightens, fingers digging into the flesh. “I’m sorry baby, didn’t hear you. What was that?”

“I’m not a slut!” you try again, shaking your head wildly, slurred words incomprehensible– drool ran down your chin and neck, dripped onto the bedsheets beneath you, and moving your mouth to speak only made more spill out. You felt disgusting, pathetic, humliated beyond belief… and your wet cunt ached.

“No?” Kai coos, the palm gripping your ass trailing down between your thighs. His fingertips brushed softly against your fluttering folds– the first real touch to your neglected pussy. You sob around the gag. It was nowhere near enough. “Then why are you so wet right now? I’ve barely touched you and you’re soaked. You want me to fuck you that bad, huh baby?”

And you wake up before you can answer.

“This is about Huening, isn’t it.” Taehyun states plainly when he answers your call. For a split second, you wished he was less reliable about picking up the phone.

“I haven’t even said anything,” you whine, a little petulant even to your own ears. Taehyun had always been able to read you like a book, read everyone like a book, and it never failed to piss you off and embarrass you.

“You never call me unless it’s about your problems.”

Oh. Well. You suppose that’s true. He was just such a great listener.

“He’s not a problem, I’m just– is he in the room with you right now?”

You can hear Taehyun’s eyeroll reverberate through his sigh. “He’s at class. If you’re calling to apologize, I can leave a message.”

You scoff. “Apologize for what?! I didn’t do anything!”

“I think you hurt his feelings. He hasn’t left his room all week except to go to his classes.” Taehyun sounded more amused than anything else. “You should at least tell him you’re sorry for emasculating him.”

“Emasculating him?!” And this was why you didn’t go to Taehyun when it came to problems involving his own friends. “He’s the one being a big baby about it! How was I supposed to know you guys weren’t joking? Why didn’t you tell me anything?”

“Tell you what, that Kai’s a freak? We thought you knew. Plus, it’s not like it’s even that big of a deal. You’re both just being weird about it.”

“I’m not being weird about it!” You retort. “I’m just, like– how long have you known?”

Taehyun was quiet for a very long, uncomfortable moment. “Y/N, if you’re about to quiz me on my roommate’s sex life, I will hang up on you.”

“I’m not, I’m not!” You’re glad you’re curled up in bed and not out in public; you’d hate anyone to see you this flustered just over the phone. “I’m just confused on how it was apparently ’so obvious’ and I completely missed it.”

“That’s because he’d been trying to hide it from you. He’s just been doing a shit job– thought you figured it out anyway.”

You blink. “He’s… what? Why?”

Taehyun makes a noise like he’s sucking at his teeth, staticky over the phone. You briefly wonder if he’s actually going to hang up on you. “I promised Kai I wouldn’t tell you this.”

“Tell me what?!” You press with a hiss, grasping your phone harder in your hand– you were getting really sick and tired of everyone beating around the bush with you, like you hadn’t already learned more about Kai in the last few days than you had in the last few years. “Tyun, if it involves me, I think I deserve to know.”

Taehyun hesitates for a moment before letting out a defeated sigh, deep and weighted like some veteran soldier. You want to laugh, really, but you’re too on edge to do much more than hang onto every word Taehyun says. “Kai’s gonna kill me for this.”

“I don’t care. Spill.”

“He’s… interested in you. Has been since he met you, I think. He was playing up that annoying good boy act ‘cos he didn’t want to ’scare you away.’”

You let out a breath like it had been knocked out of you with a fist, head spinning wildly. Kai was always so sweet and polite, got you gifts, made sure you always felt appreciated and included… but he had never given you the impression that he was into you. He was just like that with everyone.

But now that you thought about it…

Those smiles he seemed to save just for you, adorable and ecstatic like you had completed some insurmountable task for him instead of just getting him a candy bar or a glass of water, the gentlest ’thank you so much'es that made your tummy flip in the best way. Pretty brown eyes wide and sparkling every time he looked at you– he would always furiously turn away like he didn’t want you to catch him staring.

You caught him staring quite a lot. You always assumed you must have had something on your face.

Sweet Hyuka who told you you looked pretty even when you knew you didn’t, stepping into his and Taehyun’s apartment in pajamas because Yeonjun hadn’t told you it was movie night until he was getting ready to leave. Hyuka who would give up his seat so you could sit on the couch. Hyuka who was always the first to stand up for you if one of the other boys made a snide joke in your expense. Hyuka who hugged you first before he addressed anyone else. Hyuka who would sometimes only come out of his room if he was told that you were there. You always thought that Hyuka was a great friend.

Suddenly, the other night made a lot more sense. Just as suddenly, you also felt very, very guilty.

“Oh.” You whisper into the phone, because it had hit you that you hadn’t said anything for quite some time.

“Yeah, 'oh.’ Now he thinks you think he’s a gross pervert.” Taehyun snickers. He’s enjoying your plight far too much.

“I don’t think that.” you retort softly, a little sad.

“You should tell him that, not me.”

“How am I supposed to tell him anything if he won’t pick up the phone?!”

Taehyun’s quiet again, like he’s thinking. “Listen, Yeonjun’s taking us out for drinks Friday to celebrate Kai passing his midterms. I think he’s trying to cheer him up. Ask him to come with; you can talk to Kai then.”

“…Would Kai even want me there?” You ask.

“Probably not, to be honest. Doesn’t matter though, he’s not the one paying, he can go cry about it. Plus, I think hyung was gonna bring you anyway– he thinks this entire thing is hilarious.”

You hesitate for a moment. Not only foes this have bad idea written all over it, you also don’t have anything to wear. “Promise you’ll get me out of there if things get nasty?”

“How would things get nasty?” Taehyun laughs. “The most Kai would do is whine that he wants to go home.”

You should have stayed home.

Taehyun was right– when you brought up the club to Yeonjun, he had enthusiastically mentioned that he was, in fact, going to ask you to come with, and that he was very happy to hear you agree to go. Maybe that should have been your warning.

Huening hadn’t so much as looked to you the entire night. You spotted him immediately when you had stepped into the building, platinum blond hair and an oversized grey hoodie tucked awkwardly into a corner booth, big frame shrunk in on itself like he was trying to come off as small as he possibly could. You felt bad for him, really, watching him stare surly into the same drink he had been nursing the entire night– Kai hates clubs, yet the other boys kept insisting on celebrating with drinks and dancing instead of something Kai would actually enjoy, like a movie. You’re fairly sure Kai was already aware that the night wasn’t really about him and his test scores.

On top of the awkward atmosphere, you feel naked in this dress. You borrowed it from a friend, since you had nothing nice to wear— it was cute, but backless and low cut, and not to mention about two sizes too small. You were afraid to take large breaths, lest your breasts fall out of the top entirely. 

You think you caught Huening staring from the booth as you sat at the bar with Yeonjun, but it might just have been wishful thinking. 

“Just go up and talk to him,” Yeonjun suggests between swigs of his beer. He keeps looking over his shoulder at the dancefloor like he’s hunting for something— most likely a girl to take home with him.

“And what, grovel for his forgiveness? He looks like he wants to kill me.” you grumble around your own glass, half-hoping the liquor would at least spark some confidence. You felt the opposite of confident, in your stupid tight dress, scared of approaching a boy that professed his undying love for Molang on the daily. 

“Maybe he just wants to fuck you. You look hot.” Yeonjun snickers, glancing quickly over at Kai’s booth— from the annoying grin on his face, you can only assume Huening is looking your way. “Go over there and tell him you’ll suck his dick if he’ll forgive you.”

“You’re gross.”

“You love me.” Yeonjun sneaks another look at the dancefloor; it seems he’s locked in on a target. “Gotta bounce. Yell if you need me to come and save you.” 

“I don’t want your saving,” you retort snidely as he slid his way through the crowd. 

You didn’t have any time to relish in your solitude, barely able to even take another sad sip of your cocktail— an unfamiliar body fills Yeonjun’s empty barstool in what felt like an instant, big mouth grinning like he’d been waiting for a while. 

You suppose the eyes that you had felt on you hadn’t been Kai’s after all. Yeonjun’s grins could be decieving.

He orders a beer from the bartender, pretty yet odd accent slurring his words— you weren’t sure where it was from, but you sure did like it. “And another of whatever she’s drinking.” he adds, shooting a grin your way.

“Oh no, I’m alright—” you attempt to shut him down, but your voice wavers. He waves you off with a sweet laugh. 

“It’s on me, baby. You look like you need it.”

You laugh nervously. You weren’t sure if that was supposed to be a diss or not, even including the petname. “Oh, do I?” 

“You look stressed. Something got you down?”

You’re not sure how to respond to that. You’re not sure how to respond to any of this, really. Flirting wasn’t really your forte.  “Just a little.” 

The bartender puts down both of your drinks at once— your handsome new friend pushes yours your way, and you take it gratefully. This isn’t exactly how you wanted your night to go, but this man was hot, free drinks were free drinks, and maybe going home with someone new was a better outcome for your night than moping around alone and having to listen to your roommate get his dick wet. “Did some asshole abandon you over here? You’re far too pretty to be sitting here all sad and alone.” Your stranger croons, eyes heavy as they rake down your body, take in your dress. You squirm under his gaze. “My name’s Jake. What’s yours?” 

“Y/N.” You don’t bother addressing his earlier comment; the idea of talking about your boy problems to this very handsome boy made your skin crawl. “I like your accent, where are you from?” 

“Brisbane.” Jake gave you another pretty, blinding grin. He had a very big mouth with very white teeth. 

“…Pardon?”

“Australia.” Jake laughs. “I’m an Aussie. I was born here though.”

“Oh, I see! Are you here just to visit or do you live here? I mean, if you don’t mind me asking, of course—“

“No worries, pretty girl.” He needed to stop with the petnames before you climbed him like a tree. “I live here for right now. Do you want another one of those?”

“Hm?” You looked down at your glass. You hadn’t even noticed that it was empty, just mindlessly holding it up against your lips while you latched on to every word Jake said. “Oh! Um. I’m okay, thank you!” 

Jake seems displeased with your answer. You wonder briefly if he was just trying to get you drunk. It was working. “You sure? You’re still lookin’ a little sad there, baby.” 

“I’m–”

“She said she’s fine.”  

A big hand grabs your arm without much warning, making you squeak out loud— you whip your head back fast, ready to fight, but quickly freeze at the sight of Huening towering over you with a dark but unreadable expression. His grip was bordering on painful. 

“Excuse me?” Jake retorts, face screwed up in irritation and clearly unwilling to back down from a challenge.  “You know this guy?” 

Unfortunately, you did. “Kai—“ you start, but quickly clam up; Kai shoots you a look you’ve never seen from him before, dark and feral. It twists hot in your belly just as much as it scares you. 

“She’s done. We’re leaving.” Kai hisses dangerously near your ear, loud enough for Jake to hear. You’re too shocked to respond. 

“Hey, what the hell’s your problem, man?” Jake’s griping, but it’s not doing much good— Kai tugs you up out of your seat and drags you by the wrist through the crowds and out of the back door of the club. You want to fight him, yell and kick and scream, but all you can manage is to stare incredulously at the back of his head. He hardly gave you the leeway to grab your purse. Or pay your tab. 

“Kai, what the—“ He pushes you hard against the brick wall of the club, presses himself flush against your back— you can feel the stiff bulge of his hard cock against your ass, his hot breath fan across your neck in jagged, heavy breaths. 

“You think this is fucking funny, Y/N?” he snarls, deep and nasty. His hands press yours against the brick, keeping you still against both him and the wall. “Are you trying to piss me off? Show up dressed like a slut, whore yourself out right in front of me?”

You can only get yourself to let out a strangled squeak, all too distracted by the swell of Kai’s cock, the heat of his body against yours. Was this really happening? 

“C’mon, say something.” Kai goads, rolling his hips. it takes everything in you not to moan. “Why are you being such a whore, Y/N?”

“You’re hard…” You whimper.

“I’m hard?” Kai echoes, sneers meanly. “Fuck yes I’m hard. I’m hard ‘cos you look so fucking sexy in this dress, I love your body; God, did you wear this for me?” 

You’d been telling yourself you didn’t, but you did. You absolutely did. “Uh huh…”

“Dressed up all pretty for me yet you’re letting other men call you baby? Sounds like you just want me to punish you. Is that what you want? For me to punish you?” Kai’s hands let go of yours to grab at your hips, guiding you to buck up harder against him. “You know, I thought you couldn’t take it. Thought you wouldn’t be able to handle me. But now I think you deserve to be put in your place, don’t you?” 

“Kai…” You croak weakly, keen high in your throat when Kai grinds hard right against your clothed slit, nestles his head in your neck to mouth hotly at your skin. 

“Fuck you’re wet, I can feel it. Say it. say you want me to ruin you.” 

He’s right; your pussy’s dripping. You’ve never felt this needy before in your life, and Kai hasn’t even touched you. You can’t help but be a little afraid for when he does. 

Your mind flashes back to your dreams, vivid scenes of being underneath Huening as he tore you apart completely, made you feel raw and alive in ways you didn’t think you ever could. You craved to feel even just a fraction of what you did in your dreams, finally make them a reality. 

You needed him. 

“Ruin me, Kai, please.” you beg, and you meant it. 

“Good girl, fuck.” Huening curses hot under his breath, pulls himself away from you— you whine out at the loss, and Huening gives your ass a surprise slap in retaliation. You bite your lip to keep from shrieking. “Fuck, okay, we’re doing this. 7’oclock Monday, okay? My place; Taehyun won’t be home. We’ll have time to talk it out before. Don’t be late.” 

And with that, Kai once again stalks away, heads back inside the club with his hands in his pockets and head held high like he wasn’t just grinding against you moments before. You’re plastered against the wall, dress ridden up your ass, sweaty and hot and so wet it’s starting to drip down your thighs. 

You’re not sure if you’re going to be able to make it to Monday.

“7 o'clock Monday, okay? Don’t be late.”

Monday came far too fast. Despite having the entire weekend to yourself you felt as though you had been given no time to prepare; you spent three days pacing your and Yeonjun’s apartment, unable to do anything except think about Hueningkai’s words, his voice, his hands hot and burning, branding on your skin… you were haunted, ruminating endlessly about what he was going to do to you, what his plans were once he had you all alone and to himself. How far he would push you. If he would take you all the way to the edge. If he would stop if you told him it was too much. If you truly trusted him as much as you thought you did. If all of this was really just some strange, one-off situationship between two good friends, or if there were feelings you weren’t ready to address hidden somewhere just under the surface.

Was this just sex?

Yeonjun kept asking you if you were okay, brow furrowed as he watched you worry yourself half to death, and you didn’t know how to respond.

The dreams you had been having had only gotten worse, more visceral. They frightened you, almost, from the intensity of them, but in the same vein you had never felt this needy in your entire life. You needed to feel Kai’s touch on you again like you needed air.

The falling snow nipped at your bare legs as you shuffled nervously in front of Hueningkai’s apartment door. You certainly hadn’t dressed for the weather– hidden behind your knee-length coat, you wore your tiniest skirt and your tightest top, low cut with your cleavage spilling out of your push-up bra. You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, buried your burning face deeper into the lapels of your coat as the icy cold wind picked up in a dizzying, biting flurry– you’ve never dressed up for a hookup before, and you hoped it wasn’t obvious… would Hueningkai even notice? Could you even call this a hookup to begin with? The entire situation was so incredibly alien and unlike you in every way that it left a bad taste in your mouth, one you mulled over as you stared daggers at his door. You couldn’t bring yourself to knock on it.

Luckily, you didn’t have to. Taehyun tore the door open for you right as you gathered the courage to raise your fist.

You shrieked at your friend’s sudden appearance, grabbed desperately at your coat like it was a lifeline– Kai had told you that he wouldn’t be home, told you that the coast was completely clear for you to waltz in– that was the only reason you had agreed to come over anyway. You had to save yourself from the potential humiliation of facing Taehyun again after Friday, especially looking like this, yet there he stood, eyeing you up and down as he shrugged his jacket on.

“Wha– Why are you here!?” you demand, wrapping your coat tighter around yourself. Taehyun gives you an odd look.

“I live here.” He answers flatly. “I was just about to leave, actually. What are you doing here?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Taehyun cuts you off. His eyes trail from your glossy lips down to your bare legs, grimace on his face that would have offended you in some other circumstance. “Actually, don’t answer that. Kai’s in his bedroom. I’m going out, I don’t wanna be here for this– use a condom at least, will you?”

Without waiting for your reply, Taehyun quickly side steps your shivering frame to trudge off through the snow. He gives you a limp and unenthusiastic wave goodbye without bothering to look back– if he had, he would have seen you gape and splutter at his retreating back like a landlocked fish.

The door was left wide open for you to enter; all of the lights were off inside, dark and empty except for the cracks underneath Hueningkai’s door, all the way down the hallway– you felt taunted by it, frigid and terrified like something unexpected would jump up at you as you stepped inside and locked the door behind you. You’ve felt less dread walking through haunted houses.

Tentatively, you make your way down the hallway, the apartment unsettlingly quiet as you reach Kai’s bedroom door and fumble with the doorknob– it was unlocked, much to your surprise, and slowly you cracked it open and slipped inside.

Hueningkai’s room was dark except for the light of his console, illuminating your friend’s outline as he played some video game you didn’t recognize; he slouched in his gaming chair with his back turned to you, volume turned up so high in his headphones that you could hear the muffled gunshots all the way from the doorway– he clearly had no idea that you were standing right behind him, so engrossed in the game blown up on his screen.

“Kai?” you called out quietly, too nervous to raise your voice. Huening continued to click away at his mouse and keyboard, and you stared awkwardly at the back of his head.

You double-checked the time on your phone; you had shown up exactly when he had told you to. There’s no way he had forgotten about Friday… was there?

“Kai.” you called again, this time a little louder. Kai still did not acknowledge you in the slightest.

Frowning, you step over to his side, tap gingerly at his shoulder, and Kai reacts instantly— he jumps up out of his chair with a deafening shriek, sends his headphones flying as he whips his head around in terror to face you… it takes him a second to recognize your face, but his face floods with color once he does.

“Holy– Oh, (Y/N), Oh my God!” he whines, clutching his chest. Even his ears are red, you notice when he bends over to pick up his headphones up off of the floor, and you giggle to yourself as he turns back around to give you a startled, puppy-eyed look. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“I’m sorry,” you reply, trying your very hardest not to laugh in his face. You’ve never seen him this embarrassed before, avoiding your eyes with puffed-out cheeks and a pink face; it was a cute look on him. “I thought you knew I was coming.”

“Well..” he cringes, fiddling with the headphones still in his hands. His face looked even redder. “I… I kind of thought you weren’t going to.”

“Why wouldn’t I come? I told you I’d be here.” you ask, cock your head at him, watch as he turns his console off and places his headphones down on his desk. He seemed nervous and disoriented, like he really wasn’t prepared for any of what he had talked about salaciously into your ear Friday night; you felt silly, suddenly, dressed up and standing expectantly in his bedroom. Maybe you shouldn’t have taken him so seriously. This didn’t seem at all like the man who had you pinned against a brick wall and begging for it just a few nights ago, and instead much more like the shy and gentle Hueningkai you knew much, much better.

“I thought I scared you..” Kai admits with a fake, humorless laugh, his wobbly smile quickly folding down into a grimace as he sinks further into his chair. “This is usually the part where I scare people. They were only half-joking about the whole ‘running away screaming’ thing, you know.”

Your own frown deepens, unsure of what to do or what to say as you watch him pick at his sweatpants, continue to refuse to look you in the eye as he rocks himself back and forth with the swivel of his chair. “I mean, I’m not angry about it, obviously.” he continued, fluffy blond bangs hanging over his face as he stared at the floor. “That would be stupid. A lot of people don’t like this stuff, and that’s fine. I don’t want to force anyone to do anything they don’t want to do. You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. It’s okay if I scared you, it really is. I’m sorry I came on so strong Friday, it was a bad idea and I shouldn’t have done it and I was drunk–”

Kai looks up at you for the first time in a while, big brown eyes watery behind his bangs and breaking your heart– he looked so truly guilty, like he had been beating himself up over this for days. Like he had spent the entire weekend pacing and tearing himself to shreds just as you had. You wish he had said something sooner, so you could have told him earlier that he didn’t do anything that you didn’t like, that he startled you but in a way that awakened something in you that you didn’t even know that you had. You wish you had the courage to tell him that he could have done whatever he wanted that night and you would have let him, because while this new side to him made you nervous it didn’t scare you. Hueningkai could never scare you.

It hits you then that there really wasn’t another secret, darker alter to Hueningkai, some frightening Jekyll and Hyde dynamic that your friends had placed into your head. Kai was always Kai, your sweet, perfect, nervous, nerdy, awkward Kai, even when he was saying the nastiest things you had ever heard in your life, and you felt very terrible very suddenly that you had ever doubted your trust in him.

“You don’t scare me, Kai.” You say simply, because you couldn’t get yourself to say anything else. The genuinely shocked look on Kai’s face at your words makes your chest ache.

“Really?” He asks just above a whisper. “I didn’t scare you?”

“No, I… I liked it.” You admit, face heating up. “I liked it, and I want more.”

Kai’s big puppy eyes change in an instant; suddenly he was gazing up at you like a predator, big brown eyes slanted and dark, dripping with a hunger you were frighteningly unfamiliar with. The sudden shift takes you by surprise, ignites a delicious fire in your belly. “Okay then.” Kai says slowly, taking his time easing out of his chair. You don’t miss the big, dizzying bulge in his sweats when he stands up. “Then let’s talk.”

He sits you down on his bed and sits next to you, though a good distance away– you could feel every single inch as Kai nibbles at his lip and bites at his nails, shuffles his feet and looks up at you coyly. “Before we do anything, I just want to hear about your boundaries… is that okay? I don’t want anything to happen that you don’t like. The last thing I want to do is to make you uncomfortable or hurt you..”

You’re touched, oddly enough, though you’re already jittery and way in over your head– with a quizzical little giggle you ask, “What do you mean by boundaries?”

“Like your hard limits, your soft limits.” Kai explains gently, moving to rest his big hand on the mattress between you. You stare at his long, thick fingers a few beats longer than you meant to. “Things you don’t want me to do to you. Let me know about what to stay away from so this can be enjoyable for both of us.”

You were in no way prepared for this line of questioning; you squirm around in your big coat, cheeks heating up– you were starting to sound like the virgin. “I, um… I don’t really know… I’ve never really done anything like this before– but I want to try it. With you.”

Kai lets out a deep sigh, that hand on the bed raising to push his bangs back from his eyes– pretty brown pupils dark and dripping with honey, such a startling juxtaposition from the sweet soft smile on his plush lips. You stare at him, mesmerized. “Thank you for trusting me to be your first, then.” he says lowly and surprisingly sincere, pink tongue darting out to lick at his thick bottom lip. “If there’s ever a point where you feel unsafe or uncomfortable, don’t be afraid to tell me, okay? I promise I’ll stop immediately.”

“Okay…” you nod. Your anxiety was diminishing by the minute, being replaced with a tranquil sense of trust– you were certain that only Kai could ever make you feel this safe.

“For boundaries, just follow my lead.” Kai continues. “I’ll list something, and you tell me if you’re okay with it or not, okay?”

“Okay.” you say again, more confidently. Kai grins.

“Good girl. Just say yes or no, okay?”

Good girl, said so flippantly like he did at the bar. You shiver, electrified– you can still feel Kai’s hot breath panting in your ear when he called you that Friday night, that hard thick bulge in his pants you’ve been trying desperately not to look at pushing hard against your ass, teasing you maddingly…

“(Y/N)?” Kai asks softly, sending you reeling back to the present. “Is that okay?”

“Yes! I mean yes, yes that’s okay…”

Kai giggles, eyes scrunching up in that way you adore so much. “Alright then. Can I hit you?”

Oh.

You blink hard, hesitate for a moment. “Hit... me? … Where?”

“Wherever you’d like.” Kai answers with the sweetest and most innocent of smiles. Only his bright red cheeks are giving him away. “I can spank you, if you want. I can slap you. Your face, your tits. Your.. your pussy even, if you’d let me.”

Once again you’re pulled away from reality, flooded with memories all at once from your salacious dreams; being spanked for misbehaving, Huening’s big strong hands ruthless on your soft skin. How it hurt but how you loved it, craved and begged for more… “You can spank me.” You finally get out after a while. “You can spank my p-pussy too… just please be gentle. And I don’t want to be hit anywhere else.”

“That’s perfectly fine, angel. I’ll be gentle, I promise.” Kai soothes in a deep croon, mixing deliciously and dizzyingly with the new pet name and making you rub your thighs together– you can tell that he noticed from the wolfish way that his toothy grin widens. “Do you want me to just use my hand or can I use a toy to spank you?”

The simple idea of being spanked with something other than a hand is enough to make you squirm and hide your face; it was something you had never even thought about before, but now… “You can do both..” you mumble quietly, too embarrassed to meet Kai’s gaze. He gives you an approving hum.

“Can I choke you?”

“Yes.” you answer with little hesitation, taking another quick glance at Kai’s fingers, now pulling at the hem of his hoodie. Kai lets out a huffy ‘oh’ like he had been hit hard in the chest, lost his breath. You can feel the hunger in his stare as it washes over you, the way he undresses you with his eyes– it’s already overwhelming and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“Can I tie you up?” Kai continues heavily, deep voice a few octaves lower. You bite your lip to keep from whimpering.

“Yes.”

“Can I pull your hair?” he moves his arm like he was placing his hand back on the bed, but instead firmly grabs your upper thigh– he pushes your coat aside with his thumb so he can caress at your bare skin, and the teasing touch is more than enough to make your voice shake.

“Y-yes.”

“Call you names? Be mean?” His fingers dig into the fat of your inner thigh.

“Yes, yes please..”

The bulge in Kai’s sweats was obscene, straining hard against the fabric as he stroked your thigh, used his free hand to tilt your chin up to meet his eyes; the way he looked at you was bordering on predatory, like he was going to eat you, so dirty and different than any look he had given you before… your pussy throbs when his thumb brushes softly across your bottom lip. “Oh princess…” Kai coos, sugary sweet, “What am I going to do with you?”

“What are you going to do with me?” you echo timidly, still meek even as you place your hand on his chest.

Kai’s grin turns practically evil, hand brushing higher and higher up your thigh. “I think you deserve a punishment for your behavior Friday, don’t you? Acting so bratty, dressed like a slut…”

The pad of his finger slips under your skirt to ghost over the soaked front of your panties. Your thighs clench hard, trapping his hand between them, and the hand you had placed on his chest grabs a fistfull of his hoodie. “Punish me,” you beg, meek and pathetic; Kai stares at you in what almost seems like disbelief.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks after taking a moment to study your face.

“Yes, please.” you answer, already leaning in to bridge the gap.

Kai kisses you so passionately it takes your breath away, his hands coming to cup your face and grab your hips as he pries your lips apart with his tongue, demanding his way inside. Your hands paw uselessly at his shoulders and neck, Kai swallowing your sweet little whimpers up greedily as he pulls you up onto his lap and tugs at your coat. He only pulls away when you’re both dizzy and begging for air. “God, I’ve wanted to do that for fucking ever…” Kai whispers against your lips, his deep giggle making your legs twitch and tighten around his trim waist– the confession hung heavy in the air, it weighs down your shoulders as you drop your arms to let him peel off your coat and throw it down onto the floor. Words get stuck in your throat as you scramble for something to say… Kai steals them from you with ease, big dark eyes marveling at every inch of your exposed skin, his hands cupping at your hips and breasts, ghosts feathered touches up the exposed skin between your itty bitty skirt and top

“Oh baby…” he huffs, honeyed voice labored and panting. “Fuck, look at you.”

“Do you like it?” you ask with a coy smile.

Hueningkai growls in response, flipping you over onto your back on the bed– he holds himself over you with his hands on either side of your head, pretty lips pulled into the most salacious of smirks as his eyes continue to rake down your body. “Kai…” you whimper, the few inches between your faces feeling like miles.

“No, no, don’t call me that, baby,” he coos, “Call me sir, okay?”

“Yes, sir…” you reply in kind, face hot. Kai gives you another quick kiss in appreciation before pulling himself back up and off of the bed. You whimper at the loss but Kai is quick to shush you, big hand coming up to rub soothing circles into your thigh as he rummages around underneath his bed– where he keeps his toys, you remember with a jolt.

“Turn over ‘n arch your back, can you do that for me? Ass up, gotta teach you a lesson.”

You shudder and follow his directions, bury your face into Hueningkai’s sheets as he gathers his things and settles himself back on the bed behind you; you can feel the bed dip from his weight, feel him place a few things down on the bed side the both of you before he runs his hands up your thighs and waist, across your shoulders and down your arms. In one swift motion he grabs your wrists and pulls your arms taut behind your back, binds them in place with the dull click of biting cold metal– he’s handcuffed you, you realize with a sick start. You’re completely at his mercy now.

“Are they too tight?” Kai asks when you test your restraints, tug at them uselessly; they don’t budge an inch, only cut tighter and tighter into the skin of your wrists with every movement. It’s an alien feeling, being bound like this, but you find yourself enjoying it much more than you thought you would, stoking the fire in your belly. You shake your head no.

“Good.” He says, big hands caressing your hips– he uses his thumbs to push your skirt up over your ass, revealing your cute lace panties. Thumb moving down to slide against your soaking wet slit, he coos, “Such a cute little ass, sweetie; can’t wait to see this cunt.”

You whimper and push back against his hand, making Kai chuckle and rub a quick circle at your clit before tugging your panties down to your knees in one swift motion. You gasp at the sudden shock, cold air hitting at your warm wet core.

Kai sighs like he’s relieved. “God, you’ve got the prettiest pussy, princess… I can’t wait to ruin it.” Without warning, he rears his hand back and slaps you, hard, against your panty-clad cunt. The sting is sharp and mind-numbing, making you cry out, but your voice quickly wavers into a low moan; it hurt like hell but you loved it, the tingling in your fevered skin only serving to make you wetter.

Kais hand then moves to cup and squeeze at your asscheek; you can feel your arousal coating his palm, your pussy so wet you’ve drenched it with just a single spank. “Count for me, okay honey?” Kai croons, gentle. “And say ‘thank you sir’ for every one.”

“Yes, sir…” you whimper, fighting the urge to look over your shoulder back at him as he shuffles around behind you, picking up whatever he had placed aside earlier. You hear a soft ‘good girl’ as he settles himself back into place.

Kai rewards your good behavior with your first proper spank, hard and fast and with a wooden paddle instead of his hand— you cry out, even louder and shriller than before, your hands twisting against the handcuffs as you shy away from Kai’s grasp. “One!” you huff out, winded, completely unprepared; Kai tuts, condescending.

“One, what? What did I say you call me? Be a big girl and use your words now.”

“One, thank you sir!” you correct yourself quickly, thighs already quivering.

He spanks you again on the other cheek, this time harder; you shriek at the sharp pain of the paddle, but it quickly morphs into a broken moan. The paddle elicited pain in a way you had never felt before, could hardly describe, the shocking sting reverberating through your entire body and coalescing in your mind, leaving you breathless and unable to focus on anything other than Kai’s big hand running soothingly down the small of your back, the leather of the paddle ghosting over your flushed skin teasingly. “Two, thank you sir!” you whimper.

To your disappointment, Kai only hums. This time he gives you not a second to prepare yourself before the paddle comes down again, catching the meat of your upper thigh. It hurts so bad it makes your eyes water, your mouth stuck open in a drooly, silent scream. Your cunt throbbed. “Tell me you’re a whore.” Kai demands, voice rough and low, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’m a whore.” you stutter out, wobbly voice barely above a whisper.

Two ear-ringing spanks land hard on your bruising ass, one after another on the exact same spot. Kai’s long fingers catching the very top of your inner thigh— you’re unable to control the shrill shriek that erupts from your parted, panting lips, watery with unshed tears. “Louder.” Kai spits, grabbing a tight fistful of your hair. “Let everyone hear what you are.”

“T-three, four! I’m a whore!” you cry out, your head spinning, your thoughts fragmented. You’ve been broken entirely, you fear, somewhere in the back of your mind. Broken and ruined and never the same again. The thought doesn’t scare you as much as you thought it would. “I’m a whore, sir, thank you!”

“Good girl,” Kai coos, a little condescending. He seemed to enjoy watching you break just as much as you enjoyed being broken. “Just one more, okay?”

He caresses your swollen asscheek with a surprising tenderness, thumb rubbing soothing circles across the burning flesh. Your cunt is so wet that rivulets of slick had begun to drip down your thighs, and by the harsh intake of breath you hear behind you you’re sure that Kai has noticed.

You brace for the spank, face buried in Kai’s sheets, but still your body shook with pain and pleasure as he lands it, vicious and aggressive, right over your throbbing cunt. The spank stung like nothing you had ever felt before, harder than the others before it, the pain reverberating through your core and making you hiccup pathetically— you’re floating, your fragmented and silenced thoughts somewhere far away, but the gentle hand on your hip grounds you back into Kai’s sheets, back into the moment as your body aches and yearns for more. “Five!” you finally manage to spit out, your cheeks wet with tears you weren’t aware you had shed. “Thank you, sir!”

Your punishment ends and it’s like a switch flips in Kai; his hands smooth over your hips and thighs, so so gentle in caressing the blistering globes of your ass.”Such a good girl girl, took your punishment so well…” He croons, pressing feather light kisses to your shoulder blades. “Knew you could do it, my perfect girl. So proud. Are you ready for more?”

“Please,” you pant, chest heaving. You hardly recognize your own voice.

Huening’s breath hitches at your answer, his hips stuttering as he presses them up against your ass. The fabric of his pants scratches deliciously against your pussy, the thick shaft of his cock rock hard and straining, slotted perfectly between your quivering folds— your skin tingles from the kiss he presses against the back of your neck, gentle and chaste. “Such a good girl deserves a reward, doesn’t she?” he purrs into your ear, his warm chest molded to your sweaty back. “What do you want, princess?”

“You.” you beg, sob. “You, please, sir.”

Your answer makes Kai growl roughly into your hair, buck his hips quick and desperate against your ass. His white-knuckle grip on your hips makes your head spin, only growing tighter. “Fuck. You want me? Want my cock? Whatever you want, baby, shit.”

The bed creaks when Kai gets off, his deep little chuckle reverberating through your body. Missing his touch, you roll over onto your back to watch him as he digs through his nightstand drawer, the raw skin of your ass stinging when they brush up against his sheets. Kai giggles triumphantly when he finds a condom, quick to tear the foil with his teeth, and the sweet, innocent noise is almost enough of a distraction from his long fingers pulling down his waistband. His cock slaps up against his belly obscenely when fully freed, flushed pink and twitching, flared mushroom tip leaking tantalizing pearls of precum— you bite your lip to hold in your gasp, cunt clenching around nothing at the sight.

“Why are you looking at me like that..?” Kai laughs, his blonde bangs shading his blushing cheeks as he sheepishly lowers his gaze to the ground. It would be like him, you think, to be embarrassed in a moment like this. He looks so sexy you could cry.

“I… I don’t think it’ll fit..” you admit in a whisper, thighs shaking.

“Oh baby,” Kai coos, sugary sweet, that hesitant nervousness melting into something darker, more alluring. You watch him roll the condom over his thick, leaking cock with bated breath and a throbbing core. “I’ll make it fit, don’t worry.

Kai moves too quickly for you to react, grabbing at your ankle and pulling you down the bed with shocking ease— with his other hand he tugs your panties the rest of the way off of your legs, frees your thighs so they can wrap around his trim waist as he brings your hips together in a delicious clash of skin. His cockhead slides up your slit and knocks hard against your swollen and soaking clit when he pries your legs apart over his shoulders, pushes your knees to your chest to spread you out fully for his view. He stares at your throbbing pussy in rapture, wide eyes with blown pupils making you squirm and fight the urge to hide behind your hands.

“God, you’re so wet,” Kai breaths, sliding two fingers between your folds, spreading around the mess of slick— soon he has them pistoning hard in and out of your hole, scissoring them apart and stretching your quivering gummy walls so perfect, rubbing up against all of your neglected sweet spots as you moan Huening’s name. Your pussy gushes with the lewdest wet sounds, nasty enough to make your ears burn. “Wettest cunt I’ve ever seen. Gotta stretch you so I can fit, yeah?”

“Don’t need it!” you gasp, tugging at the handcuffs still keeping your arms snug behind your back. You want more than anything to touch, to guide Kai to where you need him the most. You don’t know how much more teasing you can take. “I don’t need it, just need you… just fuck me!”

Kai pulls his fingers out, leaves your hole gaping and fluttering as he lines his cock up— his cockhead feels impossibly big pushing up against your entrance, so close it’s threatening to slip inside. “Come on, princess,” Kai teases, rolling his hips. “Good whores say please, don’t they?”

“Please!” you beg, desperate and whiny. You’ve never needed a cock this badly in your entire life. “Fuck me, sir, please!”

Kai lets out the prettiest broken moan, sheathing himself inside you in one smooth thrust. He gives you no time to adjust, immediately settling into a punishing rhythm pounding you into the mattress. You’re immediately overwhelmed in the best possible way, your staccato moans echoing off of the walls.

“B-big!” you hiccup, eyes rolling back from the onslaught of pleasure. His thick cock so deep you can feel him in your belly, so stretched out you fear that he would tear you in half, his fat cockhead knocking at your cervix with every thrust and sending wave after wave of euphoria. His intensity leaves you breathless, unable to think or hardly speak, each thrust surrendering you deeper into the throws of submission and desire. “Too big!”

“‘Too big?’” Kai mocks, his hips unrelenting. “Am I too big for your little cunt, baby? After you were begging for my cock like a little slut?”

You can’t reply, can’t do anything other than moan and cry as Kai splits you open. Kai seems to like that quite a bit.

“Being’ fucked so good you can’t speak? Fuck, that’s so hot. You’re so hot. Been wanting this forever, you have no idea—“ Kai’s rambling, pretty face flushed pink and his brown puppy eyes so dark and wild; he seemed completely lost in the feeling of you, so ruthless let unfocused as his hands tug at the hem of your shirt. You had forgotten you were even still wearing it. “You’re mine now, you hear? Pussy’s all mine. Never— fuck, never letting you go.”

He pulls your top up to bunch at your armpits, your plush tits spilling out to meet Kai’s hungry gaze. Your perky nipples harden from the cold air, flushed and begging to be touched; Kai can’t seem to help but stare in rapture as they bounce with each of his thrusts, his tongue falling out of his panting mouth like a hungry dog. “Pretty tits,” he pants, reaching up to gently slap one of your breasts— he groans at the jiggle, the way you whimper when his palm meets your sensitive flesh. “I’ve always— I’ve always loved your tits.”

He captures your pert bud between his lips, hot wet tongue marking the skin he had just slapped; he’s so rough with it, nibbling and sucking bruises, pinching and twisting the one not in his mouth between his thumb and forefinger— the sensations combined with Kai’s quickening hips, his unbelievable words drives you to the brink of ecstasy, your shrill cries deafening even in your own ears. “Kai—sir!” you beg tearfully, but you’re not sure what for. “Sir, please, please—!”

“Shut up.” Kai hisses, pulling away from your nipple with a wet pop. His hand moves from your overstimulated breast to encircle your throat, grip tight, fingers squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch and your vision fuzzy, ignite your senses— you gasp in shock, your hazy eyes blown wide, his grip adding a delicious edge to your arousal, his words churning hot in your belly… your pussy spasms around Kai’s cock, gummy walls sucking him in impossibly deeper as you finally let the pleasure overtake you.

“I’m gonna cum!” you bleat, your chest heaving, his fist still clasped so perfectly tight around your throat. “Kai, I’m gonna, I—“

“Shh, princess,” Kai laughs breathlessly, his voice cracking and his hips stuttering. His grip loosens, hand coming to rub electrifying circles against your clit. “Gonna cum all over this cock? Fuck— I’m gonna cum too, baby, feels so good! Gonna— wish I fucked you raw, wish I could fill you up… cum with me, okay? Come together with me—!”

You can’t take his words— hot fire in your belly roars, engulfing your entire being, and you’re sent over the edge in a symphony of pleasure. Kai follows close behind with a beautiful whiny moan, his cock twitching inside of you as he fills up the condom. Part of you wishes he had fucked you raw as well, could feel his hot seed paint your walls and fill your belly.

Maybe another time, you supposed.

As you catch your breath, chests rising and falling with the intensity of your shared orgasm, Kai tenderly caresses your waist, surprisingly hesitant and gentle in contrast to all of his touches before. His melted chocolate eyes meet yours, filled with passion and desire and something a little more. “That was…”

“Amazing.” you finish, a blissful smile gracing your lips.

“Can.. can we do that again?” Kai asks eagerly. “Not now, but like. Later. All of the time? We should do that all of the time. Can I take you out on a date sometime?”

taglist: @wintertxt, @boba-beom, @wolfytae-exe, @takemehye, @naomiarai , @mapofthemazeinthemirror , @bunnie-hq , @doumachi, @numxra, @soobinsbuns, @taegimood, @jeniihss, @soobabby, @hhoneylix , @beargyuuzz, @fullbodyblankets , @xenkimmie, @ttaesoob, @shinyngirl , @lxnoluvr, @blxxsss , @ode2soob , @beom-gyubears, @ashiixari, @lurking-coconut, @horanghaelovr, @urstylezx , @mini-mews , @givethnofucketh , @ladyartemesia, @allisonistrashh, @nxlvvr, @lurking-coconut

sigma kappa zeta’s howlin’ holiday hunks: annual male calendar!

pairings: skz x afab!reader, established chan x afab!reader

warnings: college au, frat skz, chan is referred to as chris, chan is indulgent and loves to see his friends flirt with u <3, korean lingo in an american frat fic bc i said so, alcohol (nothing crazy!), skz homoeroticism, mxm moments, blindfolding, unprotected sex, daddy kink, exhibitionism, voyeurism, dirty talk, breath play (choking), circle jerk, blowjobs, handjobs, spit kink, cum kissing, cum cum cum and more cum!

w/c: 14k!!!

a/n: happy comeback day my babies!! waa, ty my sweet lola for trusting me with another commission, this time to finish any of my wips!! this started off as just a channie fic, but i thought it would be more fun to add all the members! anyways, if some of the months seem goofy… that’s the point! it’s a thirsty male calendar lol. as always, enjoy!! pls let me know ur thoughts!! also btw if anyone can clock my gottmik reference in one of the months i’ll kiss u on the mouth >:)

“okay, chop-chop, can you guys bring all the props down here, please?” you ask, restlessly bouncing your leg and tapping your gel pen against the table you’re sitting at. 

chris stands up from his seat on the beanbag with a dramatic groan, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head and cupping your neck when he passes by. despite how old the house is, the basement is newly renovated and nice. it’s spacious and airy, with plenty of large windows to let the sunlight in. chan and the rest of sigma kappa zeta’s executive board have more or less turned the basement into a movie area for their brotherhood nights, but with the furniture moved out of the way and a king-sized, lime green sheet tacked to the wall, it’s the perfect space for taking pictures. 

you lean your chin up and pucker your lips, tugging on chan’s shirt until he comes back to kiss them. “thank you,” you smile, all but trying to lessen the blow because you’re about to put the eight of them to work. 

“nah, thank you,” chris replies. he cups your cheeks in his palms before leaning in to kiss you again. “you’re a very, very big help when we do this! i couldn’t ask for a better photographer!” 

you’re not so sure that’s true, hyunjin and seungmin both must have some photography buddies in their field of study, but you won’t ever pass up the chance to spend more time with chris. to your own surprise, you even enjoy spending the time with his friends, his brothers, so you really don’t mind doing this for them. 

besides, watching them strip down and pose for your camera isn’t something you’d consider to be a chore. 

sigma kap’s howlin’ holiday hunks: annual male calendar is always a hit at your university. chris has been tabling for it all week, rounding up money for the calendars to donate to their local philanthropy and taking count of how many copies will need to be printed. with the tabling and donations finally finished, it’s time for you to step in to take their pictures.

it’s always a fun time, hearing them come up with ideas for the pictures they want to take, the holidays they want to dress up for. you tap your pen against the table again. even just reading the holidays on your list has you giddy with excitement. 

your eyes shoot up towards the staircase at just the right moment. you can hear someone coming down slowly but surely, and by the sound of the commotion you know exactly who it is. 

“this is bullshit!” jisung shouts. his playfully annoyed voice is muffled behind the gargantuan box he’s holding in his arms. “since when do hot models have to do heavy lifting?”

he misses the last step, barely managing to catch himself before the giant box in his grasp goes tumbling down to the floor. you rush forward to help him, quickly steadying him and putting your hands under the box for support. together, you carry it to one of the tables beside your set up. it’s stuffed to the brim with costumes and trinkets, sunglasses, banners, backdrops, and more. 

“i’m just putting all those muscles to use,” you laugh, and he laughs with you. jisung rummages through the box and immediately lights up when he plucks out a magic wand, gracing you with a shockingly spot-on impersonation of voldemort before accidentally poking himself in the eye with it. when he walks back over to the stairs, he’s holding a hand over his eye. 

before you know it, the eight of them have managed to bring all of the prop boxes downstairs. the basement is echoing with the cacophonous sounds of their laughter and shouts while they set the boxes down around your photo set up, and you have to admit that all the noise is hyping you up. it’s a good thing you’re used to it. 

you helped them out with their calendar last year, so they already know the deal. as soon as chris claps his hands, they’re bustling around the basement again, finding their costumes and picking out their props. you’re just as busy as they are, helping to find shirts and body-stickers and fabric when they can’t. 

when you’re done, you’re sweating. thank goodness you had changbin bring down the water pitchers earlier. 

chris comes up behind you and presses his hands to your shoulders. his thumbs dig into the meat of them, and you roll your neck as he massages you. if you were any less swamped, you’d have him sit down behind you and do that for hours. you know he would jump at the chance to rub your tender, aching muscles with his gentle hands. he kisses the top of your head again. 

“sorry for all the chaos, baby. i need to go get changed, but we’ll clean up after, promise. you deserve a big treat when we’re finished, yeah?” 

a treat sounds wonderful. you can only wonder what he has in mind. 

january 

“how ya want me, boss?” chris asks. 

that’s a funny question if you really think about it. there’s a plethora of answers you could give him, and absolutely none of them are polite to say in front of his friends that are lounging all around the basement area, even if you don’t think they’d mind too much. chris’ body is nothing to scoff at. 

“alright, stud, let’s see.” 

chris has just come out of the side room with felix in tow, makeup applied and ready to have his picture taken. he’s already gloriously shirtless, hip cocked and propped up against a stool he dragged in front of the makeshift green screen. his fingers are twiddling with the plastic new years glasses you picked up for his shoot. you take them from his hands, and chris ducks his head so you can slide the legs of the glasses over his ears. his eyes crinkle when he smiles. the star-shaped glasses have happy new year! printed right on top of them, and you pick at chris’ hair so it won’t get caught in the glittery words. 

“is this- is that it? do i need anything else?” 

you hold up a finger to tell him to wait, and you scurry to the side to pluck something from the top of one the boxes: a neat, brand new bottle of champagne. chris cocks his head at you but dutifully takes the bottle from your hands. 

“we’ll take a few normal ones, but then i want you to shake it up. and like- spray it everywhere. on your abs.” 

he pinkens at that, giggling a little hysterically before turning the bottle over in his hand and reading the label. 

“okay, yeah. i can- yeah, do that, haha!” 

despite what chris might say, his face is made for the camera. he’s a natural at this, posing on his own and diligently listening to the instructions you give him. he turns this way and that, even flexes his arms and back muscles when you ask. everything about his body is perfect to you; he’s so chiseled, so sexy. you want to put your camera down and drop to your knees to kiss his abs, lick your way down to his adonis belt, maybe make your way to his cock. chris takes off the glasses and folds one of the legs down, bringing the other side to his mouth so he can bite the end of it. that’s your last straw, the flash of pearly white teeth, the seductive hint of tongue.

“okay. baby, you’re doing great! last- um, last round. you wanna get the bottle?” 

he plucks at the foil until he unwraps it fully, immediately grabbing the bottle by the neck and placing his thumb over the top of the cork. he bounces up and down.

“i’m scared!” he shouts. his voice is high-pitched and silly. “i’m scared, i’m scared! okay. okay, ready?!”

chris is still making a high-pitched shrieking noise in the back of his throat as he unscrews the cage, and he glances up at you with a maniacal smile on his face when he sees your camera poised and ready. he shakes the bottle once and doesn’t have to bother with pushing his thumb against the cork because it explodes on his own, and the room erupts in eight different sets of hollers. the frothy champagne rockets from the bottle; your camera shutters quickly, making sure to capture every second of chris’ beautiful smile on film. you can distantly hear seungmin and minho fighting for the cork. 

“baby, the money shot!” 

“ha-! oh, shit!” chris doesn’t hesitate before turning the dwindling eruption of champagne onto himself like you asked, coating the ridges of his chiseled chest and abs in the bubbling liquid. he shouts again at the feeling, lips curling in a sexy, smiling snarl that shows his teeth and gums, and you know that’s the one. 

his front’s covered in champagne, torso shining beautifully from the combination of the liquid and the lights beaming down on him. chris is standing a little goofily when you set your camera down and walk to him. he must be turning sticky, and he’s trying not to touch anything. he lights up at your close proximity though, sitting on the stool again as you inch closer. 

“i do okay?” he asks, and you know the look in your eyes gives you away. you want him. “baby, don’t look at me like that.” he taps your chin with his thumb. “don’t look at me like that. you wanting to give my boys a show?” 

“i want to lick you clean,” you whine quietly, pressing your forehead to the side of his head. chris pulls you against him tightly, and you don’t even care if your outfit gets wet. 

your hand moves on autopilot before you can stop it, and his eyes lock onto yours when one of your fingers trails slowly up his v-line to the center of his stomach. it comes away sticky wet. you pop it into your mouth when you’re done, your own eyes lowering when you gaze into chris’. it’s a look that’ll get you fucked and you know it. 

chris barely manages one sensual kiss to your neck before you’re jolting apart as minho loudly interrupts your moment. he laughs gleefully before giving you his best suzy smile. 

“save it, lovebirds~ no sex before i’ve had my picture taken.” 

february 

if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was fast asleep. minho’s reclined onto the plethora of heart shaped, pink and red pillows when you get back from checking chris’ name off your list and helping your boyfriend get cleaned up. 

“min-ho-lee!” you sing-song, and he hums but doesn’t open his eyes. 

he looks cute like this, handsome. comfortable in a loose, worn, white t-shirt that shows off his collarbones and a pair of white boxers with hearts on them. it might not be as seductive as some of the other ones on your list, but minho quickly makes you eat your words when he spreads his legs. his thighs are thick and muscular, and they jiggle a little bit when he taps his bare foot on the ground while he patiently waits his turn. 

“oh, hey! i almost forgot. can you help with this?” chris comes up behind you and reaches his hand out, a tube of red lipstick held in it. “lipstick marks would make it even sexier, yeah?” 

you look back and forth from chris to minho. 

“you- you want me to-? one of you can’t do it?” 

chris laughs, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “well, i mean! you’re the boss, boss, haha. you know where everything should go, so…” he trails off. “will you let me put it on you?” 

you nod dazedly and let him tip your chin up with his fingers. he’s done this before, put on your lipstick, so you trust him not to make you look like a fool even if it’s about to be rubbed right off. the lipstick glides smoothly against your lips, and when chris is done applying it, you press them together to spread the color evenly. 

when you look at minho, he’s already looking at you. you swear his eyes glint as you drop to your knees in front of him, but you try not to pay it any mind when you lean forward, stopping at the last second to look up at him in clarification. 

“i don’t bite, jagi. unless you ask me nicely,” he smiles. 

minho hums at the first press of your lips to his thigh. it’s soft underneath your lips, plush yet muscular, a little hairy with peach fuzz, and there’s a bright red kiss mark on his skin when you pull away. the color looks stunning against the tone of his skin, but you don’t believe it for a second when you tell yourself that’s the reason you lean back in to give him more kisses. down his thigh and to his knee, both legs. one arm is curled beneath his head while he watches you press tender kisses to his body. minho’s eyes are heavy-lidded and his breathing is deep when you look up at him, and you can tell by the way he shifts on the pillows that it’s intentional the way his shirt rucks up. a soft, barely there sliver of his lower stomach. you kiss that too, barely registering when minho motions to chris so he can take the tube of lipstick from him. 

his fingers tilt your chin up when you’re done mouthing at his belly, and minho reapplies the lipstick for you so that you can keep going. 

it’s so silent that you swear you could hear a pin drop in the room, all eight pairs of eyes trained on what you’re doing. the only noise you hear is minho’s heavy breathing and the wet smacking of your lips when you lower yourself back over him. from his stomach, you make your way to his hands, kissing the thick, wiry veins that snake up their backs and his muscular arms. your own breath hitches when you finally reach his collarbones, his neck. minho’s skin is so warm and soft against your lips, and he tilts his head back to give you more room. 

“jagi’s gonna make me hard,” he whispers. it’s just for you, and you have to fight the whimper that works its way up your throat. your body is pressed to closely to his that you’re sure you could feel it if he does; you could feel the way his cock throbs in his boxers because of your kisses, if you just move your hand — 

“baby,” chris interrupts lowly. you gasp, and minho slowly blinks one eye open. “the- the corner of his mouth. what about there?”

so you kiss your way up his neck, across his adam’s apple and up his chiseled jaw. minho’s mouth is open when you get to it; he’s panting, but his chin tilts towards you when you nudge the side of his nose with your own. 

it’s like you both hold your breath as your lips press to the corner of his. you wish you could feel the fullness of his beautiful lips, kiss him like you mean it so your lipstick smears across his mouth and his cheeks and his chin, but this will have to do. 

you’re slow to pull away when you’re done, and a beautiful, full, red kiss mark sits pretty on the corner of his mouth. it doesn’t stay that way for long. when minho’s hazy eyes lock onto yours, you use your thumb to smear the lipstick down to his chin. it’s sexy, the only kiss mark on his body that’s smeared messy. 

“s-stay there. my camera,” you stutter. you fumble a little bit with your bearings when you go to stand up, and chris rushes behind you while minho sits up abruptly to steady your legs. he settles back down when chris helps you to your station, and your hands shake when they take hold of your camera. 

march 

“i’m not just going to let you kiss me like that, you know,” changbin huffs, and his eyes gleam when you bend down over him to fiddle with his shirt. “i’m not easy like minho hyung. changbinnie is pure and untouched. i’m not letting you anywhere near my precious pot of gold!” 

“you won’t let me get lucky?” you laugh back, and he huffs again, shaking his head dramatically. 

he’s laying in his signature mermaid pose that you so often see him in. the only difference now is that he’s surrounded by bundles and bundles of fake gold coins and money sign pillows, a rainbow one off to the side. 

you’re not sure how st. patrick’s day could be considered sexy, but here you are, face to face with the handsomest leprechaun you’ve ever seen. the bright green getup is even doing it for you. your fingers unbutton the top three buttons of changbin’s velvety green shirt, pulling the collar to the side to expose more of his hulking chest, and he preens at the attention, letting you adjust his clothes and his stance without fuss. his lips widen from a smirk to a full blown cheeky grin when you reach to undo the fourth button. 

“do you like what you see? if you call me handsome you might get a little lucky.” 

“i thought you were pure and untouched?” you ask, cocking an eyebrow and handing him his fake pipe. changbin is reclined against the pillows now, head resting on both of his arms that are crossed behind it. his biceps bulge in the velvet fabric when he reaches for the pipe, and much to changbin’s visible delight, you can hardly take your eyes off of them. 

“i’m as pure as snow!” that’s a tall tale and you both know it, the stories around campus can corroborate. “i’d only let someone with the best intentions and the kindest heart deflower me!” 

“alright, you sweet, blushing virgin. i guess you can put this body glitter on your chest by yourself then?”

“h-hey, i didn’t say that!” he whines, tugging at your shirt with gentle fingers. you kneel over him just like you did to minho earlier, only this time you’re holding a plastic baggie of golden body glitter. you’ll be washing it out from under your nails for weeks, but that might just be worth it at the prospect of rubbing it all over changbin’s broad, sturdy chest. 

you squeeze some of the glitter gel onto your hands and rub them together before bringing it to his chest. the glitter shimmers beautifully against changbin’s soft, honey toned skin, and he sighs when your hands make contact with it. he’s warm, but you can see his goosebumps raise on his skin due to the chill of the gel. the sweeping motions of your hands quickly turn into kneading when changbin lightly arches his back, and soon enough you’re massaging the bulk of his pecs. his nipples are puffy; they turn hard under the contact of your fingers. you’re pleased to find changbin’s head lolled to the side when you risk a glance up at him. 

“do-” you clear your throat. “do you think that’s enough?” you ask, and changbin’s chin bunches up cutely when he tries to dazedly look down at his glittery, golden chest. you’re still gripping handfuls of his pecs when he does, so you slip them from his open shirt so he can see. “i need- hands. i need to wash my hands.” 

when you come back from doing just that, changbin is a little less hazy and is sitting against the pillows munching on one of the chocolate coins from the pile beside him. he crumples up the foil and tosses it at you. 

“that’s perfect!” you say, picking up your camera once more. changbin looks up at you with wide eyes and chewing cheeks. “lean back just like that and bite one of the coins.” 

it’s just as sexy as you thought it would be. changbin is relaxing against the pillows, his burly, glittery chest on display. his smoking pipe rests on his propped up knee while his other hand holds the fake gold coin to the side of his mouth. he bites it lightly, not enough to tear the foil, and your camera shutters quickly. one eye squints shut in a sultry wink, and you hope he can’t see the way your thighs squeeze together. the growing smirk on his handsome face says otherwise. 

changbin beckons you towards his pile of pillows and gold when you’re done taking his picture, and when you kneel down, he holds a chocolate coin to your lips, opening it while looking at you mischievously. 

“just a little taste,” he smiles, and his grin widens when you slowly bite the chocolate held in his fingers. it melts in your mouth. changbin peels the rest of the gold foil off so he can slip the chocolate into your mouth, but you catch his thumb between your lips before he can retreat. changbin’s eyes snap to your lips, the tip of his thumb caught between them. his eyelids droop when your tongue licks at the pad of his thumb, and he curls it over your bottom teeth before you slip it from your mouth with a pop. 

april

“i’m going to fall asleep,” hyunjin mumbles, and it really looks like he might. he’s laying on the fuzzy moss rug you bought just for his session, eyes blinking slowly as if he’s barely managing to hold on to his awareness. 

you hum. “i bet your pictures would still turn out nice.” hyunjin smiles at that, a cute, toothy thing. he wraps his long arms around himself and knocks his knees together while you putter in circles around him gathering your props. flowers, flowers, and more flowers. real ones, bought from your local market and picked fresh from the side of the road. you’re already guessing you’ll have to rock-paper-scissors battle hyunjin for the red roses and daisies when it’s time to leave. 

he looks comfortable too, soft, clad in an off-white tank top, jeans, and a pair of brown birkenstocks. his dark hair falls in silky wisps around his face. hyunjin’s makeup is dewy and natural; he looks beautiful. 

hyunjin tilts his chin up when you finally stand above him, eyes blinking rapidly when your body casts a shadow over him and blocks the lights. he smiles again, a small one you’ve never seen from him before, and it’s paired with a short, airy laugh. it has you self conscious for a moment; maybe this isn’t a flattering angle? but hwang hyunjin is never cruel. you busy yourselves with the flowers in your hands. the petals are soft.

“what is it?” you ask quietly. 

“ah, it’s nothing. nothing bad! just- you standing in front of the light like that. it looks like you have a halo.”

a surprised giggle bursts from your lips, something giddy and shy and sweet that makes hyunjin’s smile widen. you finally kneel beside him to start working on arranging the flowers for his shoot, and his eyes follow you on your way down. 

“hyunjinnie, are you saying that i look like an angel?” you smile. you bite your lip to try and contain the goofy smile spreading across your face. hyunjin is too radiant, you can’t look at him, so you focus on placing a couple of flowers around his head. they frame him like a crown.

“is that so hard to believe?” 

all you do is hum in response. his voice is genuine and earnest, but you can’t believe he’s calling you an angel when he’s the true seraphim. 

you struggle to reach across him to place a calla lily above his shoulder, and hyunjin takes immediate notice.

“you can sit in my lap if that will help?” another sweet and earnest look tossed your way by hyunjin, and you hardly have to think before you throw your leg over his lap and move to straddle him. you’re honestly glad he suggested it; it does make placing the flowers around him easier, and you can reach his hair better like this as well. hyunjin squints his eyes playfully when you pluck a few petals from a red rose and place them thoughtfully in and around his hair. hyunjin’s elegant hands find their way to your thighs while you work, and try as you might, you can’t suppress the full body shudder it sends through you. you’re settled right over the warmth of his crotch. with how he’s touching you now, you know he wouldn’t mind if you ground your hips down a little bit, if you pushed your ass back until you felt him grow hard underneath you.

it’s hard to focus on your arranging when hyunjin’s fingers dip underneath both legs of your shorts to rub easy circles against your skin. it’s so sinfully distracting that you find yourself rearranging the orchids and tulips around his head several times until you can concentrate enough to find the perfect place for them. 

when the mix of colors and flowers are to your liking, you reach for your camera and adjust the lens accordingly, asking hyunjin if he’s ready to start.

he does everything but physically shake himself from his daze. hyunjin squints his eyes shut to rid himself of the glassy sheen that covers them and bites his plump bottom lip but nods nonetheless. 

with you sitting on his lap like this, the angle is odd. raising yourself onto your knees helps, and you have to stop yourself from swaying when hyunjin’s intense, seductive gaze locks onto the camera. his hands move from the front of your thighs to the back, cupping you right underneath your behind. he squeezes once before slipping his fingers under the legs of your shorts again to feel the warmth of your skin. 

hyunjin knows just how to work the camera; it doesn’t take long before you’re settling yourself back down on his lap again, placing your camera on the rug beside his head. he gasps when your ass makes contact with his steadily hardening cock, and his hands fly to your hips this time. he touches you almost as if he’s desperate.

“can- can you just-? stay right there for a moment, please?” hyunjin asks. his words are nearly whimpered, and you nod your head before placing your hands over his on your hips. “you can’t get up yet! they’re never going to let me live this down if they see!” 

may 

when jisung walks into the room, your jaw drops. he’s definitely not kylo ren; you even look down to double check your list to make sure you didn’t miss a last minute change. 

he’s not anakin skywalker, or din djarin. not even general grievous like he contemplated with you either. 

no, jisung shuffles awkwardly from the side room, skirt bunched up in his hands so he doesn’t trip on the long, maroon fabric. he stands before you half naked, golden cuffs on his arms, a shining, swirl-filled brassiere, two pieces of thick silk that connect to the front and back of a golden belt to create the illusion of a skirt. he pigeon toes the floor in his velvet, green boots. 

“who are you supposed to be, hannie?” changbin questions behind you. 

“may the fourth!” jeongin pipes up. “he’s princess leia! slave leia.”

“isn’t that a little controversial?” comes seungmin’s response. 

jisung’s eyes widen, and you know he’s about to start ranting by the frantic opening and closing of his mouth. when he speaks, his voice is pitched high and loud. 

“no! no, she kills jabba while she’s wearing this! it’s badass. it’s- it’s empowering!” 

jisung plops down onto the giant, red loveseat cushion as if his short argument has physically exhausted him, barely managing to grip the skirt in his hands in time to cover himself before he shows you and his seven frat brothers his unmentionables. 

it’s when he leans back against the pillow that you truly realize just how much honey toned skin you’re seeing from him. it’s not something you’re used to with jisung, he prefers to wear baggy pants and big t-shirts. you’ve seen him shirtless a few times at the pool in the backyard of the frat house, but even so, it’s not like this. when he spreads his legs, the front of the skirt dips completely between the spread of them. his legs are on full display, his hips, his thighs. his pecs are only covered by the two cups of his intricate bra, but the bra serves to define the swell of them even more than they usually are on their own. he’s muscular, mouthwateringly so. you know he hits the gym with chris and changbin frequently, and it shows. you wonder if the golden bangles on his arms are tight at his biceps. 

“han-ah, you forgot this.” 

minho steps around your camera equipment and heads straight to jisung. you’re not sure what he’s holding in his hand until something is clipped to jisung’s collar, and it’s truly a testament of your will that everyone in the room didn’t hear the volume of your gulp. 

now attached to the gold collar around jisung’s neck sits a thick, silver chain.

when minho walks back by you, he grins slyly. “go work your magic.”

jeongin had pulled up some reference pictures of leia in her slave outfit, and you and jisung go off of those for the first half of your shoot. he props himself up on his arms and curls both legs to the side submissively, looking into the camera lens with slightly furrowed eyebrows and downturned lips. the skirt is bunched between his legs, leaving so little to the imagination. his abs clench when he breathes, and they clench again when he lays back down on the pillow. jisung moves onto his side, propping his forehead on a closed fist. you have to try everything in your power to keep your gaze away from his pecs that are now pushing together sinfully in the middle due to the weight of his other arm. 

“can you sit up, jisungie?” 

he doesn’t hesitate, immediately sitting up so that he’s on his knees kneeling. this is bad for you, his eyes are so sweet looking up at you like this, so shimmery and wide. it’s like he can read your mind; he knows exactly what you want from him. you don’t even have to ask jisung if you can take hold of the chain attached to his collar because he hands it to you himself, picking up the tail end and lifting it towards you shyly with both of his hands.

when you take hold of the chain, jisung’s eyes close. he looks beautiful like this, serene and at ease with his throat bared and collared. almost like he’s completely at your mercy. jisung’s eyes are pitch black and star-filled whenever he gazes at you again. not the camera lens, you. your hand moves on its own in response, pulling the chain slightly so that jisung sits up straighter and balances higher on his knees. his mouth drops open; his eyebrows furrow, and you don’t miss the shaking hand that moves to the front of his skirt to cover his cock. 

jisung sways, lightly curling in on himself before he remembers that in order to look at you he needs to sit up straight. 

“oh god,” he whispers, and you pull the chain again.

june 

you’ve seen felix shirtless almost as many times as you’ve seen your boyfriend shirtless, and chris is naked nearly all the time. you can’t complain about either though. 

felix is leaner, his body more cut and angular than chris’, but the difference between the two is fascinating and makes looking at the both of them even more enjoyable. your eyes still roam felix’s body like it’s the first time you’ve seen his freckled chest, his svelte abdomen. 

“hi bubby!” felix calls from his spot in front of the green screen, a happy lilt to his voice when he notices your eyes lingering on his midsection. you answer him back in your own version of his gremlin voice, and his grin widens. felix stands before the screen in a full denim outfit. a belted jean skirt that reaches to his thighs and a jean jacket. 

just a jacket, no shirt underneath. 

his blonde hair is held back from his face with a jagged silver headband, but he leaves a few wisps out to frame his forehead and cheeks.  

felix is clearly the most excited about his shoot. his giddy excitement is palpable. he’s nearly jumping up and down where he stands, holding a pink, purple, and blue striped fanny pack in his grasp and shaking it at you when you walk closer to him. he unzips it when you lean into his side, reaching his little hand inside the fanny pack and showing you the pin-back buttons and enamel pins he’s collected for this occasion. rainbows, sexuality flags, pronoun pins - you name it; felix has a pin for it. 

“they came just in time! i was a bit worried i’d have to get hyunjinnie to help me make some. help me put them on?” 

you help him alright. felix puts one be gay, do crimes! pin on his fanny pack and lets you handle the rest, standing as still as he can and ducking his chin so he can watch you poke the pride pins through his denim jacket and his fanny pack. a rainbow on his shoulder, crash the cis-tem on the pocket near his waist, an enamel pan flag pin on the jacket collar. 

“ah! this one up here! put this one up here on the pocket!” 

he shoves the pin-back button into your hand, and you go to slip the stem through his jacket before the words on the pin register in your brain. 

“‘he/him/hole,’ felix lee, oh my god!” you guffaw, gawking wide-eyed at the plain black pin with comic sans font. felix’s joyous cackle knocks one right out of your mouth too, and the next thing you know he’s pulling you tight against his chest so you can laugh together. his little hands reach behind your back in a hug, swaying you from side to side while he laughs into your shoulder. “that’s crazy! let me- let me put it on you.” 

felix keeps his arms around your back, but he makes a valiant effort to stop the shaking of his shoulders. he purses his lips together and watches your nimble fingers pop the stem through his denim jacket. 

he hisses through his teeth, causing you to jolt in his hold. 

“oh! did i get you? fuck, i’m so sorry, lix! i was really trying to be careful.” you pull the collar of his jacket to the side and rub your hand softly against his pec. there’s no blood that you can see, and you’re about to apologize again before felix butts his forehead against yours. 

“i was just messing with you, bubby. i’m sorry! sorry, i couldn’t help myself. i’m being bad.” 

“felix lee being bad?” you ask, pulling away from him slightly so you can look him in the eyes. “i’ve heard it all now. i was under the impression you were always good.” 

“most of the time i’m good,” felix murmurs, and it's as deep as the sea. you always knew he would be, when you let yourself think about it. you always knew he would be a good, perfect boy for you. for chris. “i can be bad, but i like being good even better. i get more presents that way.” he tongues his cheek, and your eyes follow the movement. 

“what kind of presents?” it’s your turn to whisper. 

“i can’t tell you, bubby. i think my favorite present is too dirty for good boys to say out loud.” 

you want to know. you want to know so badly. 

“s-spell it. spell it then? don’t say it. i can keep a secret.” 

felix’s jumps at the chance, and his grin grows wider as he gently taps his index finger against your chest, right above the collar of your shirt. he looks you in the eyes when his finger starts to move, a slow, curving sweep against your skin. you nod when he’s done, and he moves onto the next letter until he finishes spelling the word with the shape of a small heart. your mouth drops open, ready to let him have the gift he wants so badly. 

c-u-n-t

“hey! hey hey, hurry up! you guys still aren’t done?” seungmin claps, propping his hands on his hips sassily while he waits. 

your moment may have been interrupted, but you can still feel the phantom ghost of naughty little fingers burning into the delicate skin of your chest when you walk back to your camera station. you catch chris’ eyes as you turn. his cheeks are flushed, and you can feel the blush on yours too. your chest burns. 

july 

“you’re not going to make me take my shirt off, are you?” seungmin asks, but he’s grinning. 

“no. you look nice like this!” it’s true. seungmin does look nice, and he still fits his summer theme whether he takes his shirt off or not. he’s standing in front of the green screen sheet in a white tank top and blue swim trunks. he’s got a pink flamingo pool float wrapped around his lithe waist and sunglasses perched on top of his head. the only discrepancy you have is that he’s just a little too… dry. 

seungmin punches the bulbous head of the flamingo and squeezes its beak while you go about setting your camera up again. 

“i feel like there’s something you’re not telling me,” he playfully gripes, and maybe he’s joking around, but he’s still right. 

it was chris’ idea, and you’re just trying to keep yourself quiet and busy until your boyfriend appears again to hash out his plan. much to your luck, it doesn’t take long before the back door opens abruptly to show chris standing in the doorway with something behind his back. 

“hey, seungmin!” he calls, maniacal smile right back on his handsome face. “i love you, seungmin!” 

the water hose’s shower setting shoots farther than you thought it would, and seungmin flinches dramatically when the cool water hits his skin. he sputters, shaking his wet hair like a dog before he looks at you in shock. seungmin is cute like this, wide eyed in surprise and dripping wet with water. he shouts and lunges once at chris, and your boyfriend hollers through a laugh and slams the door shut before he can be grabbed. 

“you traitor!” he points a finger at you. he laughs when he says it though, pressing his fingers to his eyes and swiping the water away. 

seungmin’s shirt is sticking obscenely to his torso; your eyes can’t help but roam up and down his lean body, his broad shoulders. he shakes his head again and brings a hand to his his hair to smooth it back from his forehead. you watch a water droplet slide down his nose and force yourself out of your daze. 

“your theme is supposed to be summer, seungminnie! you’re at a pool. you needed to get a little wet!” 

“yeah, yeah, yeah,” he lightheartedly complains. “you owe me. i don’t look like a wet dog, do i?” 

you blink rapidly at him. there’s no way he doesn’t know how good he really looks, right? with his hair pushed back and shirt clinging to his skin, his long legs on display. all of that while gloriously wet? 

“you look hot!” hyunjin whistles from his spot on the couch, and you snap your fingers and point at seungmin in accord. 

when chris braves the basement again, he’s carrying a stack of old towels to set on the floor and soak up what little water collected. he’s also carrying the pack of red, white, and blue popsicles from the upstairs freezer. they’re specifically for seungmin’s shoot, but the hustling and bustling and the heat of working under the lights has everyone gathering around to snatch one. chris hands them out diligently, puttering up to seungmin last with a wide smile and twinkling eyes. 

“i love you, seungmin!” chris simpers again, and seungmin rolls his eyes before raising his fist at him. your boyfriend cackles and makes his way to one of the couches, but not before he offers you one of the last remaining popsicles. you shake him off and insist you’ll grab one later. seungmin watches the interaction with keen eyes, and he unwraps his popsicle before sucking the icy tip into his mouth. you snap a picture right away, something silly and unusable, but he scrunches his nose in a playful growl. 

he’s easy to photograph. seungmin also listens to instructions well and expertly does his own thing. his face is handsome, his thin lips and watchful eyes deserve to be on the cover of magazines. a school wide calendar will just have to do instead. 

the final shot you take is of seungmin’s blue-stained tongue pressed against his steadily melting popsicle, his heavy yet kind eyes pierce right through your lens. it’s a good shot, and you make your way over to him to show him a few of your favorites. he points out his own that he likes and playfully nudges your shoulder when you click to the first photo you took of him with the popsicle. 

what’s left of the popsicle is still melting in his hand, blue rivulets drip slowly down his fingers. 

he offers it to you, raising his eyebrows as if in challenge. you know he doesn’t expect you to actually take the icy popsicle between your lips, but much to his enjoyment, you do. it’s cool and flavorful on your tongue, a much needed treat that immediately chills your throat when you swallow around it. seungmin’s fingers adjust themselves on the stick, and he slips the popsicle further into your mouth. you meet his movements with your own, pressing yourself forward to take all you can until blue is running down your chin.  

“messy thing,” he whispers, and he swipes the melted ice up with his thumb before bringing it to his lips for one last taste. 

august 

“are you sure, innie? i don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” 

you remember chris saying jeongin doesn’t like things touching his neck. it makes him antsy, claustrophobic. you’re willing to scrap the shoot for his comfort, sure that you have enough props collected that you could all find another holiday jeongin could do. 

“it should be okay for just a few minutes! i’m not worried.” 

jeongin hands you his props with a smile, and he ducks his head so you can clip the dog ears to either side of his head, careful not to snag his hair in the berets. they’re fuzzy, blonde with speckles of black and bronze for a more detailed look. one of the ears is even pierced - a cute little bell dangles from the curled tip, and it jingles when jeongin shakes his head happily. 

it leaves all of you cooing over how cute he is. 

the tail comes next, a perfect match to the set of ears he’s wearing. it’s long and fluffy, nearly reaching the backs of his knees. all you have to do is clip it to the back of his jean shorts, and he holds his shirt up to give you more access. you turn him around so that his back faces the others when you’re done. 

“our innie! our innie and his cute tail!” hyunjin wails. 

“spell your name!” felix shouts, and jeongin gets halfway through spelling his name with his butt before he gives up in embarrassment, tail swishing against his skin with each halfhearted movement. 

“be careful, jeongin-ah, they’re going to start asking you to bark soon,” seungmin says, all too used to being treated like a show-dog. 

he waves them off with his signature wheeze laugh and turns back to you dutifully for the last part of his outfit. 

a collar, handcrafted and neat. it’s made of black leather and is held together by a metal heart in the middle. a paw print pendant hangs daintily from the heart. the words that are carved into the pendant make you bite down on the inside of your cheek, and you bring the collar closer to your face to get a better look. 

good dog

jeongin’s eyes haven’t left your face once; you can feel them on you, almost like he’s waiting for your reaction. 

“can i put it on you, jeonginnie?” 

he steps closer to you. it still hasn’t left your mind that jeongin doesn’t like chokers or tight necklaces around his neck, and you don’t want to startle him, so you decide to talk him through what you’re doing. 

“i’m just going to put this around your neck now, okay?” he nods, warm breath hitting your face when he ducks his head slightly. maybe it would be better if he knelt for you, if he got on his knees and waited patiently. if he was naked and hard, if the tail was a plug instead of a clip-on. there’s so many possibilities. 

your hands wrap the collar around his neck gently, bringing your fingers to the back of it so that you can loop one of the ends through the hoop and poke the stem through the first hole. 

“is it too tight? there’s two more holes, this one is the loosest.” 

jeongin licks his lips, and you watch his adam’s apple bob right above the collar. “maybe just a little tighter? you can try the second one.” 

you do what he says, sliding the stem from the first hole and into the second so that the collar pulls slightly tighter around his neck. jeongin’s eyes are closed when you look to him for confirmation, and they roll when he opens them. he gives you a slow nod. 

“hyunjin-ssi, go get kkami’s dog bed,” minho interrupts. jeongin’s props are already set up around him. a water bowl, a pile of tennis balls and other toys, you’ll edit a dog house onto the green screen. but you have to admit, jeongin would look cute in a dog bed. 

“kkami doesn’t have a dog bed! who do you think i am? he sleeps in bed with me because he’s a prince.” 

“jeonginnie wouldn’t fit in a kkami sized bed anyway. who knows someone with a great dane? we need a human sized one!” jisung says. he pulls out his phone like he’s about to look through his contacts, and you bring your hand up to your mouth to hide your snort. 

“well,” you start. “i mean, maybe i know a certain person who has a human sized dog bed.” 

you’re so going to get it later. just go ahead and prepare for it. 

all eyes in the room snap towards chris, wildly different emotions ranging on each of their faces. seungmin looks disturbed, minho looks gleeful, changbin looks innocently confused. 

“hey hey hey, no! nope, ha- haha! nope, i don’t- i don’t have a dog bed. no dog bed here!” his cheeks are pink. he definitely has a dog bed. you fucked him in it not even two weeks ago. 

you’re about to open your mouth when changbin beats you to it. “hyung, why would you have a dog bed? berry lives with your mom…” 

september 

“i feel like i’ve never seen hyung this exposed, and i’ve literally seen him naked,” hyunjin says. 

the both of you are staring just as wide eyed at the two men in front of the green screen. the only thing that brings you out of your stupor is changbin waving his hand in your face. 

you’ve never seen chris like this, minho either. like hyunjin said, you too have seen chris naked, sweating and writhing in the throes of pleasure, but there’s something about the little black dress he’s wearing that’s nearly just as erotic. its silky fabric clings to his thick thighs beautifully, the top of the dress shows the bulk of chris’ pecs and the valley between them. the white socks he’s wearing have lacy ruffles around the ankle. 

the back of the dress nearly takes you out of commission. it’s backless, chris’ beautiful pale skin an exquisite display, leaving the cut of his back and shoulder muscles out for all of your ogling. it closes off right above the swell of his ass, and the tight fabric frames that just as beautifully. 

minho looks just as delectable. his dress isn’t as tight as chris’ but it is as short, with a slit up the side that tells you immediately that he’s not wearing anything underneath. minho’s arm muscles are so defined that you can still see them bulging under the long sleeves of his dress. the biggest difference between the two of them though is that minho is donning a skintight pair of black fishnets and shiny, black, platform heels. he cocks an eyebrow when he sees you staring, but you don’t think he minds that you can’t look away. you don’t think chris minds either.

despite how wide his shoulders are, chris looks much smaller than minho like this. it’s a realization that has your mouth watering.

you come to find out that their chemistry is unrivaled. they play off of each other's actions perfectly, and they’re easy to photograph even when they’re messing around. they’re playful, a little bit sleazy, and the camera loves it. you love it. 

“chris, pull the strap of your dress down. yes! yes, that’s great. that’s hot, oh they’ll love that!” you say, pressing away at the shutter of your camera. chris giggles at your comment before he schools his face into something softer. 

he looks into the lens demurely while he eases the spaghetti strap of his dress down his muscular shoulder, arching his back so that the curve of his ass presses against minho’s front. minho’s veiny hand follows your boyfriend’s and lightly smooths down chris’ shoulder, fingers barely grazing the skin. it’s a movement so soft that you almost feel like you’re interrupting them, an ever willing voyeur to their seductive show. your cunt pulses for what feels like the billionth time today when minho’s hand moves down to grip chris roughly by the hips and yank him, pulling his hips upwards so that chris is forced to stand on the tips of his toes. now that he’s closer to minho’s height, chris’ ass settles snugly against his crotch. 

minho adjusts his leg, tucking his thick thigh against the outside of chris’ hip and setting more of his weight on the toe of his platform heel. the movement has his thigh bulging, and chris’ veiny hand reaches behind the two of them to grab at minho’s ass. 

you can barely register the hooting and hollering from the other boys behind you, too focused on regulating the hitching of your breath and the wetness that must be seeping through your shorts at the erotic sight before you. you want to put your camera down and go to them, you want to touch them, you want them to touch you the way they are each other. you want them to keep their dresses on. 

by the looks on their faces, they’re all too aware. 

how you manage the rest of the session, you’re not sure, and it vaguely feels like you’re walking into a trap when minho beckons you over to them so they can look at the pictures you took. they stand on either side of you and make the appropriate noises whenever you slide to the next picture, but they quiet down when you get to the last one. your favorite one, with chris and minho pressed close together and groping each other’s lovely bodies. merely seeing the shot has you dreaming of crossing your legs for some relief. you can feel minho’s smile against your cheek. 

“jagi likes that one,” he coos, and his hand caresses the dip of your back. “we saw you, you know? clenching your thighs and licking your lips while taking our picture.” chris kisses your neck while minho talks. 

“are you wet, butterfly?” he breathes. you shiver at the feeling of his warm breath against the skin of your neck. you nod your head shakily; chan doesn’t like it when you lie. “just a while longer, yeah? then you’ll get a treat. keep being patient. you’re doing so good, okay?” another nod.

you shiver again when minho’s plump lips brush against your ear. “mm, a treat? i wonder what it could be…”

october 

another man, another dress, and you’re still down just as bad. you’re not alone this time though; changbin looks as if his eyes are going to burst out of his head like they do in those wacky cartoons. heart shaped pupils, wagging tongue, and all. 

hyunjin is positively elegant. the black, skin tight dress accentuates the angles of his body beautifully, and paired with the red lipstick and matching nails, he looks haunting, enchanting. the wig doesn’t even make him look silly. it looks natural - long, dark, silky locks cascade like water down his shoulders and back. hyunjin can make nearly anything look expensive. 

changbin looks just as good, sitting handsome in a black and white pinstripe suit. his curly hair is slicked back from his forehead, and above his upper lip sits a thin mustache. his collared shirt dons a checkered bow tie. 

your gomez and morticia. 

thing is there too, and the disembodied hand sits unmoving and upside down in changbin’s lap. 

“hyunjinnie, who made you so pretty?” 

hyunjin sighs at changbin’s attempted pun, but there’s an indulgent smile on his face when he looks down at changbin to see him holding thing to the side of his head as he dances silently to the chorus of his favorite newjeans hit. 

“ahh, that’s right. eomma did make me pretty, mon cherie,” hyunjin laughs back. he takes the hand gingerly from changbin’s grasp and pets it like he would a dog, safe and sound in his arms. 

“are you two done flirting yet?” you ask. your camera is poised and ready to go. maybe you should have taken some sweet, candid photos of them laughing together. 

“ask him,” hyunjin is quick to respond. 

“never! not when my hyunjinnie wants me so badly. i can see it in his eyes.” 

the two of them came to you with their idea of gomez and morticia addams for their october shoot, and you couldn’t have picked a better halloween theme for them. the unconditional love, the steadfast mutual respect, the open sensuality, it fits them down to a tee. 

changbin beckons for you to start your shoot, flexing his shoulders and straightening his spine so that it’s arched against the back of the chair he sits in. hyunjin stands poised and elegant behind him, one hand crossed delicately over the other on changbin’s left shoulder. thing sits unmoving on the right. 

they look powerful like this, and you know when you add the background to their photos - a cobweb covered fireplace mantle with a candelabra on the top, it’ll add a darker, more haunting aura to their already captivating presence. 

changbin’s hand slowly moves across his body so that he can rest it on top of hyunjin’s that are still placed primly on his shoulder. hyunjin doesn’t swat it away like he usually would, no, he instead tilts his chin up and gazes heavily into the camera lens. changbin can hardly suppress the wild grin that’s threatening to split across his handsome face. 

“my darling hyunjinnie loves me~” he coos. “i can’t take it anymore. i want to look at my wife’s beautiful face!” he stands so abruptly from his chair that it almost tips over, and thing falls straight to the floor. changbin dramatically shoves the chair aside and throws his hand out to hyunjin, dipping his head and speaking lowly. “may i have this dance?” 

hyunjin giddily takes changbin’s hand in his own, lifting it in the air so that he can twirl slowly underneath it, and changbin follows the movement easily. he cups hyunjin’s lithe waist now that they’re pressed front to back, lifting hyunjin’s arm to the side with his fingers entwined with hyunjin’s longer ones. 

“get your camera ready,” changbin grins, and that’s the only warning you get before he starts to press kisses down hyunjin’s arm. 

you recognize it immediately, a highly notable move from gomez and morticia’s explosive tango from addam’s family values. your camera shutters as changbin kisses fervently down hyunjin’s arm, raising his head to meet hyunjin’s eyes when he gets to his hand. he cups his fingers in his own and kisses the knuckles gently, lips lingering, then smiles softly as he begins his passionate ascent back up hyunjin’s arm. you can hardly breathe when changbin kisses towards hyunjin’s neck, and he sweeps his long hair to the side so that he can press his lips to the bare skin there. hyunjin throws his head back while changbin begins to kiss down his other arm, and your camera almost falls limp in your hands as you watch ensnared. the sensual, comfortable chemistry has you wondering if there’s something more between them, something deeper than the silly couple’s costume and playful flirting. 

the way changbin touches hyunjin has you aching, the gentle hands, the devoted lips, the watchful eyes. hyunjin seems to enjoy being kissed and fawned over as much as you enjoy watching it happen, and he cups changbin’s neck with the fingers he just kissed, eyes squinting into joyous crescents with the force of his smile. 

the ache spreads, a want so deep you’ll do almost anything to satiate it.

november 

“why the fuck would we be pilgrims when we could be sexy housewives instead?” jisung questions, and you honestly can’t come up with a rebuttal because he’s definitely right. 

he swirls the red wine around in his glass before taking a hesitant sip. despite being in a fraternity, jisung’s never been too much of a drinker. he makes a face as the liquid goes down, but he gives you a thumbs up when he sees your raised eyebrows. 

jisung and felix stand beside you while the other boys move the couch in front of the green screen. you’re trying hard not to let yourself stare at them, but with the two of them this close and on opposite sides of you, it’s proving to be more difficult than you originally thought. they look too good in their robes. 

jisung, donned in something soft and silk. a short, baby pink nightgown with a matching lace robe that he’s pulled down to his elbows. you thought you got used to seeing so much of his beautiful, tanned skin earlier, but what a mistake that was. the straps of his nightgown are narrow, leaving his broad shoulders nearly bare. the garment is so thin that with the waning sunlight dipping through the windows you can see the outline of his small waist, grippable and curvy. 

felix looks just as delectable. a little skimpier than his partner, but still good enough to eat. felix stands beside you in a stark white silk set, teeny-tiny little sleep shorts and a crop top that’s just as tiny. your eyes are immediately drawn to the unending stretches of skin on his beautiful body, his muscular legs, his lean torso, the dip of his back, but the robe is what catches your eye the most. it’s completely mesh, with downy, white feathers on the sleeve ends and the hem. the robe is long enough that it trails the ground when he walks, and you can tell by his attitude that felix is living his best housewife fantasy in it. 

“a little more to the left! like, just a hair. no! towards chris! and yeah, my head would look really stupid in one of those hats,” felix says, taking his own swig of red wine while he supervises the moving of the couch. 

as soon as chris brings his t-shirt up to wipe the sweat off his face, felix is tugging jisung to the couch and easing down into the corner of it. jisung tucks himself into his side, and they look so nice pressed together like that. 

felix balances his wine glass on the arm of the couch before pulling one of jisung’s legs into his lap. it’s sweet how touchy felix is. the way he plays with the lace ruffle of jisung’s ankle sock, plucks the soft fabric from between his toes until he decides to massage the sole with his little fingers. 

“i’d make you my little housewife if this is what i get to come home to, holy shit!” jisung says. he basks happily in the attention, and felix grins widely at the comment. 

“i would be a good wife! maybe i’d wear this on our wedding night.” felix tongues his cheeks again, just like he did to you earlier. “i’d wear this on our wedding night and let you take it off me piece… by piece… by piece.” 

“are you trying to seduce me?!”

“maybe. is it working?!”  

it’s working on you, for sure. jisung laughs loudly when felix reaches around to squeeze at his ass. 

they fall into poses easily, still giggling and whispering with each other every now and then. you know the pictures are going to turn out great just by the way they’re wrapped around each other, sexy and demure and wanting. you want to join in, set your camera down and run to chris’ room to grab your own naughty negligee that’s hidden in his closet so that you can settle yourself right between them, giggling and gossiping and so tangled in each other's space that it can’t help but progress into sensual touches and needy kisses. you’d be so pretty together. 

“it’s- yeah! yeah, it’s kinda working actually. but i wanna be a rich trophy housewife too! i can- i’m good at house things!” 

god! and what a thought that is. coming home after a long day to your two beautiful wives who are ready to take care of you and be taken care of too. you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. good thing chris would be there to help; he could take care of all three of you, and you would jump through hoops to pleasure him in return. 

“bubby’s thinking something dirty,” felix faux whispers, and you can’t even deny it. the throb of your cunt and the tensing of your thighs would be quick to call you a liar. your hands are sweaty where they hold your camera. 

“are you?” jisung asks quietly. it’s directed at you, but you don’t know if you can say. you don’t know if you should say. “me- me too. i really am too. aish, how much longer? i can’t wait…” 

he can't wait for what? felix doesn’t let you find out. he puts his index finger quickly over jisung’s plump lips and shakes his head wildly, grinning all the while. 

december 

“why can’t jeonginnie sit in my lap?” 

“seungmin kim, silly dog. since when does santa sit in mrs. claus’ lap?” minho asks, and seungmin makes a show of sticking out his tongue. 

“we don’t know what they do in their free time,” seungmin gripes back. 

his grumbling is interrupted by felix setting the plate of chocolate chip cookies and glass of milk on the small cocktail table beside the felt chair jeongin is manspreading in. 

jeongin decided to forgo the bushy, white beard, but there’s no doubt who he’s supposed to be. the red pileus hat sits crookedly on his head, and the velvet red suit he wears is unbuttoned all the way down his front, leaving his chest and abdomen bare for your roaming eyes. a sack of fake presents sits on the floor at his feet, and jeongin fiddles with the hem of seungmin’s skirt while he waits for chris and hyunjin to finish setting up the small christmas tree. 

seungmin swats jeongin’s hand away from his skirt and smooths it down with a sly smile. your mrs. claus is dressed more scantily than usual; candy cane red and white stockings sit halfway up seungmin’s thin thighs, leaving a sliver of bare skin that his skirt doesn’t cover. his velvet dress has three cotton buttons down the chest that lead right into a thick, black belt. his dress is hooded too, rimmed with fluff that’s as white as the snow from the north pole. seungmin’s look is topped off with a pair of round glasses. 

“okay, last round! you guys all worked really hard today, just bear with me for a little bit longer, please! i think all of your pictures are turning out great.” 

a chorus of cheers erupts around the room, and you can’t contain your smile. you’ve had fun today. it’s been a lot of work, and you’re going to need chris to eat you out for at least thirty minutes when he gets you in bed. you’re so pent up from having him and his friends flirt with you all day that it’s the least he can do, but it’s been fun. 

“only because we’ve had the best photographer!” hyunjin calls, and you can feel your cheeks heating up. 

“ok-ok, best for last! seungminnie hyung, let’s get it!” 

you think these are going to be some of your favorite pictures by far. there’s just something so charismatic and special about the two youngest boys and their interactions with each other. seungmin is, surprisingly, an expert at naughty poses, leaning over the back of the chair jeongin sits in and sliding his hands down the younger’s naked front. long, elegant fingers trace ridge after ridge of muscular abdomen until seungmin struts around the chair to prop his foot between jeongin’s legs. 

“holy shit, seungminnie is crazy!” changbin laughs. he’s standing right beside you and watching the babies too. “jeongin-ah, run your hand up his leg!” 

jeongin gives him the stink eye for half a second before he ultimately follows his hyung’s instruction, and changbin nudges your shoulder so excitedly that it nearly sends you careening to the side until he steadies you. jeongin’s hand winds slowly up seungmin’s thigh-high covered leg, but he doesn’t stop there. it keeps going until it’s slipping underneath seungmin’s skirt. changbin hollers beside you, and you’re grinning wildly yourself. seungmin scrunches his nose and readjusts himself so that he’s kneeling on the chair and bracketing jeongin’s legs with his knees. he reaches for a cookie and brings it straight to jeongin’s mouth. 

seungmin angles himself so that he can look over his shoulder at the camera, miming a dramatic, shocked expression while jeongin’s hand gropes his ass under the dress. it’ll be a hit for sure, a silly picture that somehow still manages to be just a little bit sexy. 

when his lap is freed, jeongin snatches his hand out from underneath seungmin’s dress and holds it to his chest like it’s been burned. 

“come help us finish these cookies!” seungmin waves you over while he munches on a cookie and holds the plate in front of you so that you can pick the one you want. “you’ve been so busy today, you must be hungry.” 

“starving,” you reply, and jeongin lets you pick your cookie before he grabs another one himself. he even slides you the last one. 

the cookies are wonderful, gooey and chocolatey and full of love, just how felix likes to make them. the cool glass of milk sits untouched on the cocktail table until jeongin takes it in his hand and brings it to his lips for a sip. seungmin declines his offer when he holds the glass out to him, and that just leaves you. 

“you must be thirsty now too?” he asks, and he smiles shyly when you lean forward on your toes. jeongin holds the glass to your lips and cups his hand underneath your chin, raising the glass as you drink your fill. 

your tongue darts out to lick your lips when you’re done, but you can feel a rivulet of pearly white milk slip down your chin. both boys’ eyes follow it diligently, and you’re about to wipe your chin with your shirt when seungmin beats you to it. his thumb is gentle when it wipes away the excess liquid. 

“don’t worry, you’ll be looking like that again soon~” 

for the life of you, you can’t figure out what he means. 

you may be blindfolded, but you can tell you’re still in the basement. it’s quieter than it has been all day, now solely occupied by just you and your boyfriend. the others meandered upstairs after cleaning up their mess of props with sweet hugs and whispered compliments, leaving you and chris alone for the first time all day.

you couldn’t even wait for chris to get you on the couch before you were begging for his cock, begging for him to make you cum.

your pussy’s so fucking slick that you’re surprised you can feel chris’ knobby fingers on your clit at all, a culmination of the sexual tension you’ve felt throughout the day. he ruts into you desperately, almost like he’s as worked up as you are. it makes you feel sexy, desired, wanted, the carnal way chris’ hips slap against the fat of your ass while he babbles into your ear. 

“such a wet pussy, huh? my butterfly’s wet little cunt…” he grits. 

you cry out in response. “yes! yes, f-fuck ‘s so wet, chris.” 

chris plants his elbows on the floor and cups the back of your head with both hands, taking extra special care so that it doesn't knock the floor with the force of his thrusts. there’s barely any space between your sweaty bodies; chris is pressed against you fully. his slick skin, the frantic thrusting of his hips, his heavy breathing, you can feel it all. 

your legs droop further open on their own accord in order to accommodate his weight. you’re so open, spread underneath him like a feast. your fingers were gripping his curly hair for dear life, but all of the strength in your body has left you. your arms lay on either side of your head while chris works you like a toy. 

“fuck, that’s it. makin’ such a mess, sweetheart. you take me so well, take daddy’s dick so well, oh my gosh,” he grunts again, pressing the words hot into your ruddy cheek. 

his cock hits you deep, carving a place for himself inside you like no one has before. you hear a shrill squeal permeate throughout the room, and it’s not until chris wraps his hand around your throat and the noise tapers off that you realize it was coming from you. 

“yesss, yes! fucking- choke me, pleasepleaseplease,” you wheeze. a tone so gritty and pulled from so deep in your chest that you wouldn’t recognize your own voice if you were in your right mind. his hand is warm on your throat, a steady presence that makes you feel positively weightless while still managing to keep you tethered to earth where you belong. your hand flies from the floor to hold his wrist to keep him there. a slick, wet noise has you biting your lip, but it doesn’t match the rhythm of chris’ hips. god, your pussy’s so wet it doesn’t even make any sense, getting wetter and wetter with your daddy choking you out. 

you can’t unhear it now, even in your sex-crazed state. the blindfold has you tuning deeper into your other senses, and now that your brain has registered another sound, it hones in on it. the noise seems like it gets louder and louder, wetter, more frantic. right at your fingertips. like if you reached your hand out you could touch it. 

“chris?” 

his hand slips from your neck and down to your breasts, fondling the fat of your chest and thumbing at your nipple until your back is arching like a bowstring. he throws his thrusts, sitting up on his knees so that he can fuck slower, hit deeper. 

“you were so fucking good today. so fucking good, baby, so good to me, so helpful ‘n’ sweet. i wanna be good to you too, yeah? wanna- wanna give you everything. everything you could ever want.”

he’s perfect for you. the perfect man, the perfect partner. chris would pluck the stars from the sky and hand them to you if you looked at them a second too long.

the hand not fondling your breast touches you gently on the cheek. he caresses it with his thumb before he brushes against the blindfold.

“gonna take this off, baby, alright? gonna give you your treat now, butterfly, you deserve it.”

is this not your treat? what could he possibly give you more than he already is? more than his big cock filling you just right, more than his sturdy hands that know your body inside and out, more than his beautiful lips that map your skin perfectly. 

when he slips the blindfold from your face, the first thing you notice is that the sun has set completely. the room is blanketed in a warm glow by the fairy lights strung along the walls, a lamp on the table by the couch.

the second thing you notice is jisung, gloriously naked and jerking the tip of his cock in a mean fist. he’s looking right at where chris’ dick spears you open. minho sits beside him on the couch, thick thighs spread wide. his movements aren’t nearly as frantic as jisung’s, but he watches you raptly while he squeezes his balls. 

“just like we talked about, yeah? just like you wanted. like you begged me for.” 

truth be told, you thought he forgot about it, but you should have known better when it comes to your sweet chris. he never forgets the important things. it’s happened more than once, a loose tongue when he gets you fucked out and delirious on his cock, a few lingering looks at frat socials. i want all of you to get off on me, to me, fuck. chris, please! please, wanna be covered in your cum so fucking bad. please, wouldn’t it be s-so fucking hot? i can feel how hard your cock is, f-fuck, daddy must want it too! 

“oh my fucking god!” you cry. it’s like a scene from your wildest dreams. your legs spasm, and chris brings his fingers back to your clit. you nearly squeal again at the attention, and everything is too much at once. his cock, his fingers, his treat. you cum hard, squeezing your legs around chris’ shoulders while he rubs you through your first orgasm. your fingers are curled into fists. 

“god, fuck, fuck. did you just fucking cum?” felix asks, and your head snaps towards his voice. if you were any more coherent you’d make a jab about good boys not saying bad words, but he’s stripping his pretty little cock so nicely for you that you can’t think about anything other than his cum coating your tongue. he rushes forward and drops to his knees beside your head, and you open your mouth without him having to ask. “that’s it. fuck, you want it in your mouth?” 

you crane your neck so that you can lap at his uncut tip. his pre-cum bitter on your tongue, and you can’t get enough. you want it all. 

“please give it to me!” a distressed cry against his leaking piss-slit. “felix, felix please give me all your cum!”

he’s a good boy after all. you knew he would be; it’s solidified as he strokes himself off right into your open mouth and onto your waiting tongue. it’s so warm, lands just where you want it to until chris starts thrusting his hips again like he can’t contain it. felix’s last dribbles of cum ooze onto your chin, and your tongue hangs out of your mouth ridiculously to catch any drop you can. 

felix bends down to kiss your forehead when he’s done, and jeongin kneels on the other side to take his place. 

“innie,” you coo. chris grips your hips and bounces you on his fucking cock. a rag doll. “in- innie, innie. y-you too?”

“me too,” he answers. where chris holds your hips, jeongin’s unoccupied hand rubs at your belly. his hand is shockingly cool to the touch, and it feels so good against your warm skin. “me too, you’re s-so fucking pretty. so pretty on hyung’s cock like that…” 

jeongin’s cute. so sexy and cute, his knees wobble where they’re turning pink against the floor. he does something that sends you reeling though, when he picks up your curled fist and pulls your fingers apart so that you can wrap them around his cock instead. he guides you like that, big hand curled over your own to make sure you keep the rhythm he likes. jeongin likes it fast; he likes when you flick your wrist when you reach the tip of his long cock, and he cums all over your cheeks whenever you ask him to. he takes a moment to catch his breath, eyeing the way his hyung’s cock fucks you open. jeongin goes to wipe his cum away and feed it to you when chris stops him.

“just leave it, innie. my baby likes that.”

fuck, do you ever. 

chris gives you a moment to catch your breath, checking in on you with gentle touches and reassuring words. reminding you of your safeword, reminding you that he loves you. 

the megawatt, excited smile you give him lets him know you’re ready for the others, but chris surprises you by slipping his cock from your cunt and patting your thigh.

“come on, up on your knees, lino-yah likes that.”

you want to move fast, but your body moves slowly, and when you finally turn yourself over, minho is standing above you. his chest is flushed pink, and his cock is big. his cock is so big you may or may not drool over it, but chris chooses that exact moment to sheath himself back inside you. he’s knelt behind you and kissing your shoulders, but he pulls both of your arms behind your back and holds them there. 

“are you ready for me?” minho asks, and you open your mouth in response. “would you look at that.” it’s said through a grin, a devilish grin, and he slaps his cock against your cheek, laughing when you turn your head to reach for it. chris uses his grip around your arms as leverage for his thrusts, and your face bumps messily against minho’s cock. they’re playing with you; you can already tell minho wants you desperate and begging for it. 

“please give me your cum,” you whimper, voice jostling as you’re shunted up and down chris’ cock. “s-spit in my mouth, fuck, fuck, anything! please, please minho?” 

“open your mouth then,” minho growls, and you do just as he says, open your mouth wide. your tongue hangs out of your mouth to show him that you’re ready to catch whatever he decides to give you. “tongue out like a damn dog…” 

his spit hits your cheek before you even register that he tried to spit down into your mouth, and you moan loudly. minho just laughs, using his hand to smear his spit over your face. he aims a little bit better this time, thick wad of spit falling directly onto your tongue. he doesn’t have to tell you to swallow it, you do that obediently on your own and then show him your tongue to prove it. your eyes dart from his handsome face to his hand on his cock; the airy grunts that leave his lips tell you that he won’t last much longer. a fucked out smile spreads on your face when you see him staring at your bouncing tits. 

“what the fuck are you smiling at?” he asks, but it’s said through his own easy smile. his thumb brushes the corner of your eye. “close those beautiful eyes. gonna blow my load on your face, hm? you fucking want that, huh?” 

before you close your eyes, jisung comes stumbling up beside his hyung, and minho shifts to the side to give him more room in front of you. jisung’s hand is frantic on his cock, hips bucking wildly when you flutter your eyes at him before they droop closed like minho asked. 

“fuck, fuckfuckfuck, i’m there too. ‘m so fuckin’ close. can i? f-fuck, baby, baby. h-help, gonna- gonna nut on your pretty face.” 

they cum together, you can feel it when they do. jisung grunts like he’s in pain, draining his balls on your face while minho’s airy sighs fill your ears as he does the same. chris fucks you so hard that their cum seeps down your chin and cheeks and strings down to your chest. your hand shakily moves between your legs to find your aching clit; it’s throbbing at your fingertips, and you rub it frantically until you’re jolting through another orgasm, shivering in chris’ hold until he slows down to give you a break. 

“you’re so fucking pretty when you cum,” jisung marvels. “you’re pretty all the time, but- but really, like really when you cum.” you’ve fucked his filter out of him, sweet rambled words flowing without hesitation. jisung wipes the cum off of your eyelid with a gentle thumb while minho pets your hair. 

“you have to move!” hyunjin cries, desperately making his way towards you. changbin and seungmin are right behind him. you think minho would stand in front of you longer to be a shithead, but jisung pulls him back to the couch to give their friends a chance. 

it’s a sight from your deepest, dirtiest fantasies. three of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen standing above you and jacking their cocks. to your face, to you getting fucked, to each other maybe, all of it. 

hyunjin works his hand over his long, thick cock without taking his eyes off of you, and it’s not until your fingernails dig crescents into your thighs that you realize chris has released your arms. before you can think twice, both of your hands find themselves circling around changbin and seungmin’s cocks. 

“holy fucking shit,” changbin grits through bared teeth. he thrusts his hips forward into your tight grip. much to your amazement, your fingers can barely wrap fully around his fat cock. 

“i told you you owed me earlier,” seungmin says. you vaguely remember that, after chris wet him with the hose during his shoot. “make me cum and we’re even. come on, make me cum. i want to cum on your face too.”

hyunjin is sweating so profusely that it drips onto your face. you wish you had more hands, and it takes a second too long to realize that you have something even better than that: your mouth. your mouth is free, and hyunjin has to clutch onto changbin’s bulky arm when you wrap your lips around his leaking tip. that’s when chris starts to fuck you again, hips rutting harshly against the fat of your ass, and it helps fuck your mouth on hyunjin’s big cock. 

“your mouth!” he cries, eyebrows shooting upwards in beautiful agony. “h-how do you g-get it so- so deep, fuck!” hyunjin’s a mouthful, and you’ve had lots of practice taking mouthfuls with chris. he’s trained you well, making sure you relax your throat and watch your teeth, curl your tongue at the right moments. 

this is hard work. your arms and mouth are tired, but you won’t give up until they give you their cum. you deserve it, you’ve earned it. 

“my baby wants it so bad.” chris finally speaks up, right in your ear, and your pussy pulses in response. “i know, sweetheart, i know. that cunt’s clenchin’ so tight. such a pretty mess for us, yeah?” 

“yes,” hyunjin answers. “yes, fuck, you’re perfect. f-fuck, wait, waitwait- ‘m cumming, oh my-!” 

he lets his cum pool in your mouth before he slips his cock out, jerking himself off through his orgasm. hyunjin completely misses your face, shooting the last of his pearly ropes onto the swell of your bouncing breasts. 

changbin’s moans rise in pitch, and you look into his eyes when he starts to cum in rivulets over your chin and neck. “yes, yes binnie, all over me! my pussy loves that s-so fucking much!” you’re soaking chan underneath you, you can tell. your thighs are soaked, you’re sure the floor is soaked. it’s such a heady feeling, having all of their attention solely on you and taking their cum like a champ. 

seungmin follows shortly after, wrapping your fist in his to help your movements along. your arm is so sore, but you won’t stop until he cums. you owe him after all. 

“that’s it, that’s it, open wide.” you do as he says, and your tongue hangs out of your mouth. you curl it when he starts to cum, moaning happily when his bitter cum seeps into the little cup your tongue has made so you can swallow it all. before you get there though, he brings his fingers to your tongue and swipes his cum up, smearing it across your face. it makes you moan, so overwhelmed by how much cum they’ve given you - just like you wanted, just like you dreamed. 

you close your eyes for only a moment, and when you open them again, chris is standing above you. how you didn’t notice him slipping his cock from your cunt, you have no clue, but all that matters is your handsome boyfriend stripping his cock above your mouth. he holds the back of your head in a strong hand, keeping you in place. like you’d go anywhere. 

“best for last,” you whisper, smiling cheekily and fluttering your clumpy eyelashes at him. cum sticks to your face, chest, and neck obscenely, and you hope he thinks you’re beautiful.  

“that’s fucking right,” he grins back. “my beautiful butterfly. look at me when i cum, yeah? look at me with those eyes. that’s right. that’s right, gonna take daddy’s cum?” you nod. “i love you. thank you, baby, oh my- gosh, stay right there. stay right fucking there…”

he cums with your name on his lips, across your swollen lips and cheeks, but he rides out his orgasm in the warmth of your mouth. you drink him up, swallow his cum and look him in the eyes while you do it, until you feel his cock soften between your lips. you’d hold him like that if you were alone, keep him safe and warm until one of you falls asleep. you’re keen to do it again, but chris kneels down in front of you and kisses his cum from your lips, his friends’ cum. you’re dirty and disgusting, but chris kisses you anyway and slips a hand between your legs while he does it. 

“your turn, baby, come on. one more time for us. everybody’s watching, see? look what you did, baby, you’re perfect. ‘m so proud of you, d’you know that?”

it’ll make him even prouder if you cum on his fingers, and that’s something you can do as easy as breathing.

chan - new years

minho - valentine’s day

changbin - st. patrick’s day

hyunjin - earth day

jisung - may the fourth

felix - pride month

seungmin - summer

jeongin - international dog day

minchan - little black dress day

hyunibini - halloween

jilix - national housewife’s day

seungyang - christmas

｡𖦹°‧ better off as lovers, not the other way around seo changbin x f!reader x hwang hyunjin

summary: Changbin is in love with his two best friends. When he introduces you and Hyunjin to each other and Hyunjin ends up asking you out, Changbin has to finally confront the feelings he's been ignoring for 7 years. it doesn't go so well.

word count: 24.9k words

author's note: ♫ racing through the city, windows down, in the back of yellow checkered caaars ♫ bonus points to whoever notices my song reference hehe anyways HI! I've been really liking writing longer form, more serious stuff, and this is my first foray into the question of "what if they didn't slip so easily into polyamory"? I like how it turned out. It's pretty sad, but I promise, there's a happy ending on the horizon big thank you to @hyunjins-dimples for being my voice of reason and giving me feedback when I was losing my mind kjsadhjsh I adore you

warnings: angst with a happy ending!; unprotected sex; mxm action; friends to lovers; mentions of panic, could be categorised as panic attacks, but aren't written as such; no cheating but kissing someone even though they're casually seeing someone else; implied bottom/switch!changbin; a tiny bit of internalised homophobia

skzms masterlist // ko-fi

Changbin thinks he might be the stupidest motherfucker alive.

He doesn’t usually think that way about himself, no. If you asked him on a normal, he’d probably say he’s pretty smart. A good dancer, good singer, even better rapper. Well-adjusted. Always willing to go the extra mile. A good support system for his members. A decent person.

And in his defence, how should he have known.

How should he have known that the dumbest thing he could ever do is introduce his two best friends to one another?

Chan would tell him to cut it out, to not talk about himself like that, but Chan isn’t here. He isn’t here because this is so bad that he hasn’t even told Chan about it – and he tells Chan everything.

What would he even say? “Chan! You know Y/N, my best friend from when we were trainees? I invited her out to bowling and galbi with me and Hyunjin two weeks ago. Yeah, isn’t that nice? Why am I bringing it up, you ask, did something go wrong, did they hate each other? Ha! No, actually! The fucking opposite! They met and there were sparks fucking flying everywhere! There was blushing and lingering glances, they got along like a house on fire. They even exchanged numbers at the end! Holy fuck!”

No, he couldn’t say that, because then Chan would ask why that’s a problem and Changbin would have to tell him that he’s been in love with his best friend ever since the day you walked out of JYP Entertainment with your head held high to pursue your own, independent music career at a company that actually valued you – and how he never stopped being in stupid, pathetic puppy love with you. He would have to tell Chan that it was because of that stupid, pathetic puppy love that he sometimes dropped everything and abandoned Chan to his own devices. Because he couldn’t resist sinking into the couch in your warm, cozy apartment, far away from the rest of the world, your cute little socked feet pressing into his thighs, and sometimes when he's lucky, your bare, cold feet digging into his thighs seeking warmth, the TV on some random drama, sipping ciders and snacking on things and talking about everything and nothing until the early hours of the night.

If Changbin was lucky, that would be all that was needed to explain it to Chan, but Chan had always known him too well. He would be his usual, annoyingly perceptive self, and ask what else it was, force Changbin to spill his fucking guts until there was nothing left. And then, boy then he would have to look his leader in the face and admit that for all these years, every single time he flirted with Hyunjin ‘for the camera’, it wasn’t for the camera at all. It was actually a chance for him to be really selfish, to vent some of his very much not platonic, probably gay (bisexual?) feelings for his member, feelings that have been haunting him for the better part of two years.

And then, if Chan wasn’t distracted by the fact that Changbin just basically came out to him, would probably ask “both?” and Changbin would nod and Chan would ask something along the lines of “but what if one of them likes you back? Then what about your feelings for the others?” and Changbin would probably either run out or just start crying. Because he doesn’t know.

But ironically, it seems that neither will be an issue because he’s here, sitting across from you in your company’s cafeteria, willing his heart to start beating again.

“You … what?” he asks, dumbly.

“Hyunjin and I have been texting,” you repeat, seemingly nonchalant, but you’re not looking at him. He knows you well enough to know that this is you being nervous.

“Okay …” Changbin hears himself say, but even he can hear the trepidation in his voice.

“At first it was just about that portable watercolour set he talked about, and then we just kinda … kept talking. It’s nothing crazy, I just … thought I’d tell you, you know. Since he’s your friend.”

“Best friend,” Changbin mumbles, and you lift your head from the straw of your Americano that you’ve been jiggling around the ice in the cup with for the last five minutes. If it had been anyone else, Changbin would’ve told you to cut it out within 20 seconds. But you’re you.

You blink at him, laugh awkwardly.

“I thought that was me,” you joke. Changbin doesn’t laugh. You stare back at your coffee. Swirl the straw around the ice.

“He asked me to go to this art exhibit with him this weekend.”

Oh, good. You have common interests.

Changbin tries to will the bitterness away, but it only settles deeper into his chest with every one of your words.

“Apparently it’s this design exhibition, he said it would really match my vibe.”

Stupid fucking suave, charming, fucking PERFECT Hwang Hyunjin.

“Ha, that sounds fun.”

Changbin cringes. The bitterness in his voice is really fucking obvious.

“Does it?” you ask, eyeing him across the table, something unreadable in your face. He feels like you’re staring right into his soul.

“Didn’t think that was your kinda thing.”

Anything would be my thing if I was with you. Or if he asked me to go. Goddammit.

He shrugs.

“Maybe not, but it sounds like something you two would enjoy.”

Why the fuck would you say that, Seo Changbin.

You eye him suspiciously before you pick up your iced coffee again.

“I think so, too. And to be honest, I’d love to spend some more time with him, we really hit it off the other day.”

Changbin forces a smile onto his face.

“You did.”

It’s not a question, just a … confirmation? Changbin has long lost any idea of what he’s trying to do.

You swirl the ice around in your cup in silence for so long, Changbin nearly reaches out and rips the cup out of your hand, but then you say something that pulls the floor right out from under his feet.

“And I mean he’s obviously stupidly attractive …”

Changbin swears his eye twitches.

“He’s alright.”

Your head snaps up, eyebrows shooting up to your hairline. There’s an obnoxiously smug grin on your face.

“Sorry? You’re literally always gushing about him. Flirting with him for the fans. You’re like his biggest fan. President of the Hwang Hyunjin fan club. Ready to drop to your knees to ask for his hand in–“

“Alright, I get it!” Changbin interrupts you, too fast, too loud. Some people in the cafeteria turn to look his way, disapproval written all over their faces.

You don’t care about them. You’re just sitting opposite him, giggling. “So, do you think that’s what this is? That he’s asking you on a date?” Changbin asks, tries his best to keep his voice down.

You shrug, seemingly nonchalantly, but there is a dusting of a blush on your cheeks. It suits you so well. The fact that it’s for Hwang Hyunjin makes Changbin want to do something drastic.

“I don’t know. I’ll just see how it goes. Go in with no expectations. But if it ends up being one … I wouldn’t complain.”

Changbin swallows down a hysterical scream.

A few beats of awkward silence stretch between you before you get up, and nearly knock your coffee over in the process. Changbin’s hand shoots out on instinct, but you manage to catch it just in time, your hands meeting on the cold, wet plastic. You stay suspended, in that moment, for a second before you shake it off.

“I gotta go back to work, they’re probably waiting for me in the studio.”

Changbin rises. His body feels two sizes too large, his brain a foggy mess.

“We still on for tonight?” he asks. Movie night. At his dorm. He doesn’t know if he wants you to say yes, so he can see you again because, god, it’s the highlight of his fucking week, or no, because he doesn’t know how he can sit next two you for several hours while Hyunjin’s contact is in your phone, and you’re probably flirting with him and sending him winky faces and hearts and those witty little innuendos you’re so good at and–

“Yeah, for sure. I really wanna see that movie, and I really wanna see if it works, to point your projector at the ceiling. It sounds magical.”

Changbin smiles, somehow. Walks with you to the exit of the cafeteria. Folds you into a hug that makes his heart sing in his chest, breathing in your smell from your hair, feeling your fingers dig into the meat of his shoulders. The phantom of it accompanies him past the front desk, all the way out into the street and down the few blocks he has to walk back to JYPE.

When he walks into the studio, Jisung is asleep on the couch, wrapped in his big puffer jacket, snoring quietly. Chan swivels around to him, takes one look at him and furrows his brows.

“How’s Y/N? Is everything okay?”

I love her, Chan. I love her, and she’s going on a date with Hyunjin.

“She’s fine. Going to the museum with Hyunjin this weekend.”

Chan freezes, blinks at him once, twice.

“Uhh … she is?”

Changbin drops into the chair next to Chan, busies himself studying the waveforms of the song Chan has pulled up. He makes a casual sound.

“Like … like a date?”

Changbin wants to scream. He swallows it. Shrugs. Pretends he doesn’t care.

But Chan’s confused, concerned gaze keeps returning to him, boring into the side of Changbin’s head until Changbin can’t stand it any more.

“So, did you figure out the pre-chorus?” he asks, a little more forcefully than he has to, but Chan gets the memo. He only sighs before he turns to the computer and shows him what he worked on. But his brain doesn’t allow him any such mercy. Every time he gets distracted for a few minutes, gets lost in figuring out how to make a line of his rap flow better, or finds the perfect little percussion to add to a track, it only takes a few minutes, like clockwork, before the thoughts come back.

Falling in love with you had been as easy as breathing.

He didn’t plan on it, god no, if anything, he didn’t want to fall in love with you. Or anyone for that matter. He just joined the company, too young, ripped from anything and anyone he’s ever known on a mad chase for some bigger dream that he didn’t know if he would ever achieve. He met you a week in, and you immediately clicked. Not in a way that made sparks fly or his heart race, no, quite the opposite. You just slotted yourself into his life like you were always meant to be there. Like there had always been a hole where you belonged until you filled it.

He didn’t know anyone, and you weren’t the most outgoing, so it was easy for you to seek each other out during breaks, during mixed dance practice, after gruelling days of evaluations to eat chicken in secret and cry about how fucking cruel everything was until you somehow managed to laugh again.

And even as the months went on and you both settled in, found your footing in this new world you were dropped into, and found more friends among the other trainees, nobody ever could come between you. Like you found each other and mutually decided to never let go again.

He didn’t fall in love with you right then, neither could he blame anything on the hormones because the two of you never went there. And it’s not like you were the only girl around, far from it. And trainees were hooking up left and right. Even he got roped into a one-night stand here and there and one very messy love triangle situation at some point, but you never went there with each other. When you hooked up with Chan at the company party one year, right after the latter joined, Changbin chalked up his discomfort to the fact that he and Chan and Jisung were starting to make music together, and he didn’t want any potential drama between you and Chan to get in the way of that.

As things for Changbin started going better and better, as him, Chan and Jisung really found their footing as 3Racha, making music and gaining so much respect from the other trainees and from all the managers and teachers, everything started falling apart for you. You were overlooked for several groups, dismissed for your talents. And Changbin tried to be there for you, but you must’ve felt it, too. The distance between where you were and where he was, where you wanted to be, grew too big. So before long, you stopped confiding in him. Stopped letting him see your tears, only the remnants of them in your bloodshot eyes the next morning. And he felt awful about it.

But then you did the unthinkable. Something he’d never seen anyone do. You walked out.

And it wasn’t just that you quit, no, you went out with a bang. A screaming match in a meeting room right down the hall from the dance practice room where everyone was gathered for evaluations, then a slam of the door and you, stalking down the hallway, with your head held high.

Changbin followed you, watched stupidly as you raged, emptied your locker, stuffed everything into a big plastic bag. He didn’t even say goodbye, frozen in place, suddenly hyper aware of two things.

One, his best friend was leaving, leaving him behind in the lion’s den, and he had no idea how he would manage it all on his own. The thought of not being with you made him sick to his stomach. He wanted to be with you, always, in every single way.

Because, and that was the second thing he realised as he watched you walk away from him, he was in love with you.

He didn’t hear from you for three weeks, three weeks he spent distracted and irritable and so, so sad and experiencing what Chan had to tell him was a broken heart. How should he have known?! He had never been in love before.

He was still reeling when he met Hyunjin. Gorgeous, tall, ethereal Hyunjin, who danced like his body was made for it, who had the cutest, dimpled smile that lit up Changbin’s whole body with fireworks when he aimed it at him.

And Changbin suddenly had to deal with the knowledge that he might be bisexual.

You texted him for the first time a month and a half after you walked out. You apologised for disappearing on him, citing your own bitterness, how you couldn’t face him while his life was so clearly headed for the stars and yours was so uncertain. But there was something else in your voice, too. You told him you were with a new company now, and if he wanted to hang out. Like old times. You phrased it like a question.

You met at your favourite sushi restaurant, not far from JYPE. You told him about your new company, about their plans for your solo career. And Changbin told you about Hyunjin. He didn’t say that he was in love with him in so many words, but in retrospect, he always knew that you knew. And, of course, you accepted him. And just like that, you were friends again.

Changbin figured he would grow out of his crush on Hyunjin, out of his unrequited love for his best friend, but that day never came. And slowly, Changbin accepted that this was just how things were going to be. At least until his worlds collided, and he introduced you to each other.

He carries his bitter thoughts around with him, hiding them, as best as he can, all day. Through work, dinner with Chan and Jisung in the studio. Through a quick gym session and into the shower, where he stays for way too long, letting the boiling water scorch his skin until it’s red.

Maybe it’s not a date! With the way you were stealing glances at Hyunjin? The way Hyunjin always served you first? Asked you so many questions about your career? Got excited when you said you liked art?? Two beautiful, single people with common interests don’t meet and stay friends. Not when they’re Y/N Y/L/N and Hwang Hyunjin.

Maybe it’s not so bad! But it is. What is he going to do? Will he have to go to your wedding? Organise your stag do? Can he be trusted not to turn into the worst kind of person and get horrendously drunk and try to kiss you before it’s too late? Will he even be friends with you still when your wedding day comes? Maybe he manages to fuck it all up way before then.

Maybe it won’t work out between them! That’s not any better. The thought of his two best friends heartbroken about each other, avoiding each other when they inevitably have to meet again … Having a lapful of either of them, upset about someone else? God, no. And it’s not like it changes anything about the fact that Changbin is hopelessly in love with you both. Though the status quo, him, pining secretly, quietly, seems likely to be the best thing he’s ever going to get.

No, it won’t do. He’s stuck. He’s stuck and doomed to sit here, with his hands tied, to watch whatever it is that’s happening between you and Hyunjin unfold, from the sidelines. It makes his skin itch.

By the time you text him that you’re outside, asking him to buzz you in, he actually considers making something up about not feeling well, about being held back at the company, anything … But he’s always been weak for you. So he lets you in.

The moment you turn the corner of the hall and see him, a wide smile lights up your face and Changbin can’t help it, his whole body relaxes a little, the warmth of your presence melting some of the pressure of his shoulders. And then you skip the last few steps to make it to him and fling yourself into his hug, and he holds you tight and thinks that maybe this is enough. Maybe he’ll be alright as long as he can have this.

It’s casual, familiar, the way he invites you in without a word, the way you know where to put your shoes, where to pull out the guest house slippers, and immediately pick the pink ones you always use. For a brief moment, Changbin wonders if a few months down the line you will be doing all of this when you visit Hyunjin. If it will be him, then, watching you go through these motions, before he gets to lead you to his room and kiss you and touch you however he wants to and know he can have you for the rest of his life.

“Where is everyone?” you ask as you walk into the kitchen, set down the convenience store bag Changbin hadn’t even noticed was dangling off your wrist.

Changbin shrugs.

“Chan and Jisung are still at the studio, and probably will be for a while. They looked like they were getting into one of their zones when I left.”

You give him an adorable, playful smile.

“Aw, you skipped out on one of your intense 3racha studio nights for me? Why do I actually feel flattered?”

Changbin forces a smile. Silly you, I would do anything for you. He shrugs.

“Wasn’t feeling it today. Plus, I wanted to hit the gym.”

You nod absentmindedly, stare at the convenience store bag for a second, before you speak again.

“… and Hyunjin?” you ask without looking at him. Daggers. A hundred daggers to his chest. He clears his throat, tries to sound as casual as he possibly can.

“Honestly, no idea where he is, I haven’t seen him since I got home, so I guess he’s out somewhere.”

You hum, nod, then busy yourself with rooting around the bag.

“So I got us a bunch of savoury snacks, since I know you like those better,” you say, your voice back to being upbeat. Changbin does his best to catch up with his heart still aching. “But I also got some sweet ones.”

You lift up some Chocosongi with a smile and Changbin forces a smile back.

It hurts, how simple it all is. How easily you slip into habit. How normal it feels for him to hand you a pair of his sweatpants to change into in the bathroom, to unpack the snacks while you’re changing, dig up the projector from the bottom of his backpack, pile up the pillows on his bed until they are at the perfect fluffiness. How sweet you look when you skip back into the room and collapse on his bed, on your dedicated side, curling up on your side, pretending to go to sleep, with a devastating little fake snore, because “your bed is way too cozy, Bin.”

It hurts, but he smiles, because how could he not. He plays along, exclaims a soft “Yah! you wanted to see this movie!” and turns off some of the lights until the whole room is bathed only in the soft warm glow of the lamp on his bedside table, ignores the ache and settles in next to you.

He remains on his back as he fiddles with the projector, and once he’s got it on and connected to his phone, he sets it on the sheets between you, and you squeal with pure delight. It looks great, even he has to admit, the size of the movie just right, the colours vivid but soft against the white of his ceiling, the warm glow of light in his room making it look nothing short of magical.

Changbin wishes he could turn and see it reflected in your face, your eyes probably sparkling with it, but he doesn’t trust himself not to break down crying or say something he might regret. So instead, he just clicks up the volume another notch, takes the opened bag of chips you offer him, and settles back.

He hadn’t realised just how exhausted he was, but lying here, the pillows, the duvet, so soft and inviting underneath him, your warm body next to him, calmly rising and falling with every breath, not really touching much, but still comfortingly there, your socked foot pressed against his calf, the back of your hand resting against his shoulder where it’s curled under your cheek, brushing against him every time you reach for one of the little chocolate mushrooms … the exhaustion sinks into his bones and makes him melt into it. The movie, its music and dialogue coming through the speaker of his phone between you, the taste of the salty snacks on his tongue, your soft voice when you give your commentary on something that’s happening. How the sheets rustle when you move to reach for another little chocolate mushroom. He can smell you, your perfume like a soothing balm on his nerves, and he wishes he could freeze time and just stay here, with you, like this, forever.

He’s almost dozing off when you mumble something and Changbin turns his head to you without thinking and suddenly, you’re face to face on his pillow, your nose only a bare few centimetres from his. Changbin is suddenly wide awake and he holds his breath.

And you … do, too. You suck in a breath, eyes wide, blinking rapidly, gaze dipping down to his lips. There’s so much softness in it, softness that Changbin never thought he would get to see directed at him. That and … fear?

“Bin,” you mumble, absentminded, like you’re just saying his name to see what it will taste like. Your warm breath, sweet and chocolatey, fans against his lips, and he watches, frozen, entirely helpless, as you carefully tip your face forwards and press your lips to his.

Any thought he could’ve had evaporates the moment you kiss him. His eyes flutter shut readily, and he gasps into your lips in a way he’s sure he would be embarrassed by, if he had his wits about him. It’s a soft kiss, just a touch of your lips to his, then another even lighter one. Only when you hesitate, make as if to pull back, he realises he didn’t kiss you back. His hand shoots out, cradles around the soft expanse of your cheek, your jaw, and he pulls you back in because if this is all he’s ever allowed to have, he needs you to at least feel how much he wants you.

And he kisses you now. Properly. Presses his lips against yours firmly, but gently, tasting every ridge of them, greedily breathing in the dizzying scent of your skin where his nose is pressed into the soft skin of your cheek.

It’s like every single one of his daydreams, but better. Because when your lips open up for him, you taste real, the chocolate on yours mixing with the salt on his own tongue to create an intoxicating balance and underneath it all, he can taste something he knows, is undeniably the taste of you.

This time, neither of you pull back. It’s like the floodgates have opened and Changbin’s desire has finally been unleashed and there’s no stopping it now. Pandora’s box is open, and it’s all right there. Halfheartedly, he tries to keep his hope locked away, but his desire is free, trembles through him with every swipe of your tongue until you’re panting, gasping into each other’s lips with every wet slide of your mouths.

Changbin’s tongue is hungry, but his shaking hands hover helplessly, one still cradled around the side of your face, the other resting on his own stomach, itching to reach out but … he’s not sure how much he’s allowed. He doesn’t want to overstep, to make you uncomfortable, but then, as if you can read his mind, you scoot closer, so eagerly you knock over the projectors, fist your hand into the material of his t-shirt at his waist to pull him closer and Changbin’s entire brain short-circuits. He needs more.

Parting his lips from yours is a superhuman feat, but he does so, only enough to be able to blearily reach between you and get the damn projector and his phone out of the way, locking his phone, shutting off the movie in the process, and blindly shoving both it and the projector onto his nightstand. His phone thuds onto the carpet, but he doesn’t care, because you’re pouncing on him again as soon he turns back, pulling him against you with greedy hands until he can feel every inch of your warm body pressed against his, every arch of your back, slide of your foot against his calf.

In the silence of the room, without the movie playing in the background, Changbin can hear the slick slide of your tongues, every single hitch of your breath and all of it is so much, entirely too much almost in a way that is addicting.

And he doesn’t know if he’s crazy, but somehow, you’re still here, kissing him, trying to press even closer, as if it was possible, making the prettiest sound into Changbin’s mouth, until you throw your leg over his hips and grind forward and Changbin moans, pathetically. He’s hard. Embarrassingly so. Pulsing and aching, probably leaking into his underwear, and you seem to like it, because you grind (what Changbin can hardly think about without losing his damn mind) your clothed pussy down harder and moan right back.

You want this.

The thought drowns him, and he finally stops resisting, flips himself until he’s almost on top of you, dragging his palm down until he can grab your ass and grind you over his cock and oh, fuck.

You whimper, your mouth momentarily going slack against his, allowing him to suck your bottom lip between his own, drawing another perfect little mewl from you. Your hips twitch, make an aborted little move, chasing the friction of Changbin’s body, and he doesn’t have to be told twice. He ruts forward, uses his strength to grind you to meet him over and over again, and it feels so good, makes pleasure pool in Changbin’s abdomen at an alarming rate, his mind going fuzzy with the chase of his orgasm.

But before he loses himself, in a moment of lucidity, that he has no idea where it came from, he pulls back.

Which he almost immediately regrets, because you’re staring up at him, chest heaving, face flushed and dewy, lips shiny and swollen, your gaze so glassy and filled with so much trust, it makes reality crash over him.

“Y/Nie … baby …” he mumbles, and you must’ve heard something in his voice because panic flashes over your face, and you shake your head.

“N-no, Binnie, please,” you whisper, shaky hands reaching out, trying to pull him in again, “I need you.”

Changbin doesn’t know how he resists the gentle demands of your fingertips, how he pulls away another few inches before you make a sound that is so heartbreaking it keeps him frozen in place.

“Y/Nie I can’t …” he starts, but words fail him. What was he going to say? Tell you not to go out with Hyunjin? Tell you he loved him? That he loved you? Tell you, right here, right now? You deserved better than that.

You blink, blink again, and suddenly water is gathering at your lash line.

“It’s okay, Binnie, it doesn’t have to mean anything,” you beg, and the words feel like a slap in the face. “Just … just please, kiss me, touch me, fuck me. I need you. Please. Just … just this once, we can never talk about it again.”

Changbin should walk away. He knows it. He should get up, put some distance between you, save himself a lot of heartache and you the embarrassment of having to break your best friend’s heart.

But …

But this might be your last chance a selfish, petty part of him pipes up.

He doesn’t know how he is going to live with just this one time. How he’ll go for the rest of his days knowing what your body tastes like without ever getting to have it again, but he’ll learn. It can’t be worse than the heartache of never knowing.

When he dips back down, presses his lips against yours, you sigh in relief.

Your hands are everywhere – buried in his hair, running down his arms, tugging at the waistband of his sweats, slipping under his hoodie, colder fingers against heated skin, eagerly trying to feel more and more of him until you seemingly have enough. Your fingers tighten in his hair, and you pull, and the sting of it sends a shiver down his spine.

With a surprising amount of strength (though not enough to move him, was he not so ridiculously down bad and pliant for you) you push at him until his back hits the mattress. You swing your leg over his hips and, with a single-minded determination in your eyes, sit yourself right on his cock, making him gasp out your name, before you shove your fingers back under his shirt, rucking it up until he half sits up and lets you pull it off him.

And yeah, he feels exposed like this. Shirtless, underneath you, at your mercy, pressed against the sheets, his belly probably a little softer than usual because he’s been bulking.

But the way you stare at him, rake your eyes over his torso, the way your fingertips trace his skin, the way you bite your lip when goosebumps follow in their wake – he forgets to be self-conscious. Because, yes, you want him, and you’re not holding back an ounce of your admiration, but also, it’s you. He’s never felt as safe with anyone as he has felt with you.

You lean down and kiss him, a lot sweeter now, though still demanding, your palms smoothing over his pecs, up to his shoulder, over his bare arms, like you’re trying to feel every inch of his exposed skin. It makes him feel dizzy.

You pull back and stare at him, breathing heavily, your sparkling eyes so close to his that the barely contained I love you nearly slips past his lips.

“C-can I suck you off?” you whisper, and Changbin briefly wonders if he’s going to survive this.

He lets a tentative hand travel up your arm until he can smooth your hair out of your face. You blink, lean into his touch, and your breath hitches. He burns.

You’re still staring at him, waiting for the answer to your question, and he breathes out a shaky laugh. Instead of answering, he, as carefully as he can, flips you back underneath him. But now the way you’re staring up at him is even worse for his heart.

“I’m going to bust so fast if you do that,” he confesses and watches you giggle, “maybe next time.”

Next time?

He wants to slap himself.

You blink at him, something unreadable in your eyes, and then you nod.

“Next time,” you whisper, sadly, wrap your hand around his neck and pull him down. It’s the sweetest kiss yet, something in it that Changbin can’t place, that makes his heart thud heavily in his chest.

One of your legs wraps around his waist and pulls him down, his cock grinding down right where you need it, and it makes a heavy moan rumble out from deep in your chest. The kiss turns heavier and wetter until Changbin has to come up for air. He keeps his eyes closed, presses wet kisses down your cheek, your jaw, until he hits the neckline of your shirt.

He pulls back, forces himself to breathe, to slow down, to look into your eyes even though it hurts.

“Do you want this? We can stop …” he mumbles. He’s ready — ready to accept this is all he gets, ready to ignore his heart burning a hole in his chest with the inhuman need to slip you out of these clothes and worship every inch of your body. But one word from you, a single shred of doubt in your eyes, and he would stop.

But you shake your head, your face so vulnerable it makes him want to wrap you up in his arms and keep you safe, here, for the rest of your life.

“I want this, I really do,” you whisper, and then, brokenly, you make Changbin’s world spin out of control. “I’ve wanted you for a long time.”

The words hurt like a knife, because he knows you don’t mean them the way he does.

He doesn’t respond, instead kisses you again, tries to drown everything he can’t say in the rapture that is your lips. He lets his hand wander over the legs he’s been dreaming about, legs wrapped in his sweatpants, wrapped around his hips. He slides his palms up, until he can slip it underneath your shirt and ruck it up and off and tries his best not to lose his head when you’re bared to him and then again when he unclips your bra, mercifully with little to no fumbling, and your nipples and soft skin of your tits and your belly are pressed against his own.

You sigh into him, fingernails digging into his bicep so hard he shudders. He hopes it will leave a mark.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he whispers. He keeps his eyes closed, unable to face the effect his words may have.

“Touch me, Binnie,” you whisper back, and he shudders again. The way you say his name makes his body thrum with need.

“I will,” he finds himself mumbling, pressing a wet kiss to your jaw, “I will, angel, I’ll make you feel good.”

And with no further hesitation he sits up, places his shaking hands on your hips, thumbs smoothing over the skin right over your waistband.

He’s thought about this a lot, he’s ashamed to admit, but nothing comes close to you right in front of him because — you’re perfect. More perfect than he could have ever imagined, because now he can see all the little birthmarks, all the tiny scars and the light lines of stretch marks, and he tries to drink it all in, tries to catalogue every single thing so he can conjure them up in all his worst fantasies for the rest of his life.

But maybe he took a little bit too long because you’re saying his name again, in that small, vulnerable voice and every single inch of his body is consumed with the need to please you.

So he pulls at your waistband, slowly pulls it down, leaning in until he can press his lips against the skin of your tits, swirl his tongue over your gorgeous, hard nipples, before he goes down, down, over the softness of your belly, your hips, then down your thighs as he tries not to lose his goddamn mind.

Because he can smell you now. You, the smell of your skin, remnants of your shower gel and the lotion you rub in after, but also your arousal, the sweet tang of it coating his tastebuds already before he has even gotten the chance to get his mouth on you.

He slides one leg, then the other out of his sweats, and you let him, one arm slung over your face in overwhelm, making a pretty little noise when they’re all the way off, and you’re naked in front of him.

Changbin can’t resist it. He lets his eyes roam over you as he tentatively palms his rock-hard cock over his own sweats, and pleasure rolls heavy through his whole body.

“Oh, pretty,” he sighs. It just slips out. You whimper, breathe out his name. One of his palms slides up your calf.

“Can I, pretty? Can I touch you?”

You breathe out an airy chuckle that Changbin thinks for a moment feels almost a little sad, before you nod.

“Of course, Binnie, of course you can. Please touch me.”

It’s all he needs.

He lets his palm slide further up your leg, up to your thigh, you part your legs for him effortlessly, offer yourself to him. He lowers himself onto the mattress slowly, eyes glued to where you’re glistening and quivering and smelling so divine his mouth is watering, before he leans in and laves his tongue gently over your clit a couple times, easing you into it.

Your taste sears itself into his taste buds, sweet, tangy, intoxicating, and he wants more, wants to fucking drown in it, in you, and he leans in and attaches his lips to your core, darts his tongue out, laves at your pretty little hole, dips into the wet heat of it, before travelling back up, slick smearing all over his chin as he sucks your clit between his lips.

He’s being messy, and he knows it, his fingers digging into your skin probably a little too deep for comfort, but you’re not complaining, no, of course not, you’re perfect, one of your hands cards through his hair, the other arm thrown over your face as you make the sexiest breathless little noises that almost sound like sobs, and you take it all, every single thing Changbin has to give you.

Your thighs tremble in his hands, your hips stuttering upwards in aborted little movements, your little moans growing in volume, one of your ankles digging into his back and, nonetheless, when you come, whole body shivering, chanting his name, spurting the sweetest sweetness he has ever tasted right into his mouth, it takes him by surprise. He didn’t expect you to come for him so easily, so effortlessly, but you don’t seem to be holding back.

Changbin laps at your release, licks it up and swallows it down while he can before you gently push him away, trembling with the oversensitivity. Your eyes are lidded, your hair a mess and there’s a wet stain on his sheets right underneath your hips, and Changbin can’t believe he gets to see you like this, let alone the fact that he did this to you.

You sit up, gloriously naked and unbelievably beautiful, and reach for him, soft fingers curling around the back of his neck, pulling him forwards until your lips are on his again, and it feels like coming home, sends warm shivers down his spine. He sighs into your lips, and you sigh back, dragging him back down to the mattress with you, skin against skin again, his chest moulding against yours like they were made for each other. He could stay here forever just kissing you, but there’s a fire in his abdomen, a hard, insistent pressure against your body, and your fingers slip under his waistband.

You tuck his sweats and underwear down quickly, one hand still curled around his neck and slipping into his hair, the other shoving at the offending fabric until you can’t reach any more and use your feet to shuck them the rest of the way off — something Changbin shouldn’t find as hot as he does, though he is mightily distracted by the way your tongue is licking against his, the way you’re tugging at his hair, dragging him this way and that into the kiss, making his brain go fuzzy.

When your hand curls around his cock, he physically jolts, his body more sensitive than it’s ever been. He wants to say something, anything, self-consciousness curling in his belly, something about how he knows he isn’t too big, but you don’t give him the chance.

Your hand tightens on him, and he keens, and you whisper a breathless, appreciative fuck into the tight space between you. Wordlessly, with your heels digging into his lower back, you pull him closer, until his lips are back on yours and his cock is pressed against your entrance, and it doesn’t take any convincing for him to follow where you’re leading him and press inside. His moan collides with yours when he bottoms out, your back arching into his arms, and he holds you closer, noses against your jaw, trying to ground himself.

It’s unreal, the feeling of you. Hot, tight, velvety, wet, you. He’s inside of you. His cock throbs and his breath stutters out of him, and somehow you’re right there with him, your fingers shaking as one of your hands anchors itself back into his hair and drags him close.

He doesn’t know how he manages to start moving but when he does, it’s unlike anything he’s ever felt. He grinds forward, buries himself as far as he will go, and you follow him, open your mouth into a gasp, and when he pulls back you chase him, smear your lips against his. Your bodies moving together, sweat slick skin sliding against sweat slick skin, hot breath mingling until he forgets where he ends and you begin. It’s so intimate it makes him feel insane, utterly out of his mind with how overwhelmingly good it is.

He fucks forward harder, and he is rewarded with a gorgeous moan, punched out of you at the same time as his headboard smacks against the wall, and he says a quiet thanks to whoever’s listening that they’re alone in the dorm, because he can do it again, draw another moan out of you.

“B-binnie,” you mewl, and his arms nearly give out. He vaguely registers himself making a shaky, helpless little noise in response. “So … fuck … good … harder.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, his body responding as if it’s an entity entirely separate from his reason, only focused on giving you what you need. He plants his palm against the headboard for leverage and fucks you harder, lets himself go, his own moans colliding with yours between your heated lips, deafeningly loud in the previously quiet room, now resounding with the sound of his hips slamming into yours, the wet slide of your pussy as it swallows his cock, the headboard thunking against the wall – it’s filthy, but it’s like music to him. You’re the best he’s ever had.

You whimper into his lips, drag him in for another kiss, scrape your fingernails over his bicep and heat curls dangerously, deep in his guts, a kind of barbed wire pleasure, building and building. And no matter how much he wishes this could last forever, he knows he won’t last much longer.

He drags his hand from the headboard, down your body, shoves it between your bodies, unwilling to part more than he has to. When he reaches between your legs, where his cock is pumping in and out of you, it’s soaked, and he moans out pathetically. With the first touch of his fingers against your clit, you throw your head back, eyebrows knitted together, lips parted in a beautiful little o and Changbin dives down, peppers kisses all over your jaw and down your neck. He can taste your skin, salty from the sweat, bitter from your perfume, sweet in all the other ways.

Your legs wind around his waist, and it changes the angle, makes his cock drag against your walls just right to make him shudder, and you gush around him, and he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, trying to hold on.

“P-please,” you sob out, “d-don’t stop … ‘m so close …”

As if he would, Changbin thinks. His fingers are sliding over your clit, and he pumps his hips forward, lets himself chase his own pleasure, just a little bit, and you’re clenching tighter and tighter and then …

You come with a choked moan of his name, walls locking around him, pulsing and fluttering, and it’s almost too much, the knowledge of it, of you underneath him, letting him take you apart like this, trusting him with your body, your pleasure.

With the last, tattered remnant of his reason, he pulls out, wraps his hand around his slick cock and pumps furiously only for a second before pleasure explodes through his body, and he comes in ropes and ropes, all over your belly, the pleasure zinging through his veins so strong it almost knocks him out, if it weren’t for your grounding fingers carding through his hair.

It’s everything he’s ever wanted. It’s entirely wrong.

He shudders through the last dregs of his orgasm, a bead of sweat rolling down the slope of his nose before it drops onto the pillow next to your head. If he breathes in, he knows he’ll smell the combined smell of you and him in your hair.

He pulls back quickly, but is stopped by the opposing force of your hand on his neck, and he realises a beat too late that you were trying to pull him closer. But the damage is done. Your face falls, your hands dropping to the mattress on either side of you. You turn your head as you wait for Changbin to pull out, to climb off you. And in his stupor, in the turmoil of heartache and confusion in his heart, he does.

You look fragile like that, head pillowed on his sheets, knees knocking together as you try to hide, his cum beaded all over your pretty belly.

“I’ll get you a towel, okay?” he mumbles, trying to be as gentle as he can, but it can’t contend with the awkwardness that’s hanging thickly in the air.

He somehow manages to pull on his boxers, stumbles from the room, into the bathroom; he catches a glance of himself in the mirror, his face pale, his eyes wide and scared, and nearly loses his head. In and out, he tells himself. You can’t lose it now, you’ve got to take care of her. No matter what, you’ve got to take care of her.

Eyes glued to his hands, to the sink, he fishes out one of the hand towels under the sink, wrenches the tap to the hottest setting it will go, willing it to heat up faster. He needs to get back to you. He needs to fix this.

As soon as the water is lukewarm, he drenches the towel, squeezes it out and just about resists the urge to run back to his room. But as soon as he steps in and meets your eyes and dread almost overwhelms him. Everything is so wrong.

He approaches the bed, and he can see his own hesitation mirrored in your face, mirrored in the cold hard hurt shivering across your face. He’s frozen with helplessness, unable to figure out what to do, how to fix this thing he’s broken.

You pull the towel out of his numb fingers where he’s standing next to you without moving and start cleaning yourself up, wiping at the sticky residue of his cum, until you’re clean, hurriedly dropping the towel onto the bed next to you and swinging your legs over the side.

“Uh … I should get going,” you mumble, as you awkwardly step around him where he’s still rooted to the spot next to the bed. Only when you’re dressed, does he dare to turn around.

When your eyes meet, it punches the rest of his confidence out of him. You blink and make to turn around, but Changbin takes a step forward, catches your wrist in his hands, holds you back with a desperation that he’s unable to mask.

“Y/N …” he mumbles, his voice hoarse with emotion. You stop easily, let yourself get pulled back to him, just like that. His heart throbs.

“We’re okay, right?” There’s a beat of silence, then you soften, just a little. You nod, and he lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Yeah,” you breathe, “of course we’re okay.”

What washes through him isn’t relief, but it’s something. Maybe hope that he hasn’t irrevocably fucked everything up. He needs you, needs you with him, in his life, however he is allowed to have you. He can’t do this without you. He never could.

He gives your wrist the smallest, gentlest tug – just a suggestion. You step forward and right into his waiting arms.

He folds you against his bare chest, breathes out a shaky breath. He can feel your breath against his collarbone, the softness of your cheek against his shoulders. The comforting weight of you against him. You’re okay. You’ll be okay. He doesn’t know if it’s true. He has to believe it.

It’s only a few moments before you pull back, barely looking at him.

“I still … I’m gonna go …” you mumble, and he nods.

He follows you to the door, uselessly. Watches as you pull on your shoes, carelessly leave the house slippers out, something you never do. You always put them back.

With one last shaky smile, you pull the door shut behind you and Changbin is left behind in the dead silence of the empty dorm to deal with the aftermath.

He manages to make it back to his room before the first sob racks through him, his chest constricting painfully until he can barely breathe. Through his blurry eyes, he rips the sheets off his bed, a button pinging off the pillow case, but he can’t care. He doesn’t bother putting new sheets on, only crawls into bed. And he cries.

And because he really does seem to be the punchline of some cosmic joke, the first person he sees when he stumbles into the kitchen the next morning, is Hyunjin.

He looks up when Changbin walks in, and he freezes, before he turns sharply.

Changbin didn’t even bother looking in the mirror before stumbling out of his room on a desperate hunt for a cup of coffee that would cure his pounding head. He knows he probably doesn’t look dewy fresh and his eyes are probably swollen, but Hyunjin’s reaction nonetheless makes him falter. He hesitates in the doorway.

Hyunjin doesn’t say anything, only keeps his back to him, hands aimlessly fiddling with the coffee machine, pulling out the drip tray, emptying it into the sink even though it’s barely half full, then shoving it back into the machine. It catches on something and there’s a sickening crunching sound that startles him. He pulls it back out and shoves it back in, a little softer this time, though Changbin can see it now. His hands are shaking.

Hyunjin turns abruptly, makes for the door, but then realises Changbin is right there, blocking it, and stops.

A beat passes where Changbin can finally see Hyunjin’s eyes, and he can’t read them at all. He looks … vaguely annoyed. Confused. Upset? Why?

Chan’s door opens and his voice travels down the hallway.

“Yo, is the coffee machine still on?”

Hyunjin opens his mouth, though his answering yes takes a long moment to come out. It only makes its way past his lips when Chan is already pushing past Changbin and into the kitchen.

When Chan’s eyes fall on Changbin, he hesitates, eyebrows knitting together in worry.

“Woah, Bin, you alright? You look rough.”

Changbin drags his eyes away from Hyunjin’s, forces a smile onto his face.

“Yeah, just didn’t sleep well,” he croaks out, and Chan nods understandingly, gives him a pat on the shoulder.

“Did you and Y/N watch something scary again even though neither of you like horror?” he chuckles, as he makes his way to the coffee machine, past Hyunjin who’s now fiddling with his phone, leaning against the counter next to the sink.

Changbin murmurs something to the negative, his heart aching somewhere deep in his chest at the mention of you. Ah, remember when things were normal, he thinks. How they could’ve remained normal, if he hadn’t been so fucking stupid and ruined everything …

“By the way, Jinnie,” Chan asks, slides his stupidly large to go cup under the spout, and presses the button, “did my package arrive last night?”

The coffee machine screams to life, and it makes Changbin’s ears ring.

“W-what? Package?” Hyunjin asks, when the noise stops, shifting his weight from one foot to the other uneasily.

Chan nods.

“It was meant to come yesterday and I figured, since you and Bin were both home, but he was watching a movie with Y/N, maybe you would hear the door? You were home last night, weren’t you?”

Changbin prays. He prays to whatever deity is out there that Hyunjin doesn’t say yes, tells Chan no, he was out, at the other dorm, hanging out with Jeongin or Seungmin or …

“I was,” Hyunjin says quietly, “but I didn’t … hear the door. I was painting.”

Chan nods and pulls out his phone.

Changbin is frozen in place, staring at Hyunjin, who avoids his eyes. If he was home, then he heard. He must have, right? There was no way …

“Ah, typical,” Chan exclaims, makes both Changbin and Hyunjin jump, “it got delayed. It’ll be delivered this afternoon when we have dance practice. Oh well, I’ll let the doorman know. Thanks though!”

He slides the lid onto his to go cup and makes for the door.

“You ready to go, Bin? We have a meeting with the mixing agent in 40.”

Changbin has never been more grateful for an excuse to get the fuck away from Hyunjin for a few hours.

“Y-yeah, just … need a quick shower,” he mumbles, and Chan nods, already walking down the hallway.

"Make it a quick one, I’ll wake Jisung."

Changbin flees from the kitchen without looking back. He thinks he doesn’t breathe until the bathroom lock clicks shut behind him.

Hyunjin heard. Hyunjin heard. It’s … bad. It’s confusing. Most of all, it’s humiliating.

He strips as quickly as he can, faster still when he drags his shirt over his head, and he catches a whiff of your perfume, and it nearly makes him nauseous. He steps in the shower and turns it all the way to cold.

What’s humiliating is not the sex, no, god, it couldn’t have been the sex. That, itself, was earth-shattering, life-changing, nothing short of magical. But the thought of him hearing you like that? Exposing you, exposing Changbin himself, when you trusted him that you were alone? It makes him feel sick.

Worse, what if he heard the awkwardness after. What if he heard Changbin crying. Fuck.

He scrubs shampoo into his hair, body wash down his body. When he rinses away the suds, they expose faint red lines along his shoulder, down his biceps. They ache with the memory of your nails. Changbin shudders.

There’s a knock on the door.

“We’ve got twenty minutes, Bin, we really need to go.”

“Coming,” Changbin shouts back and turns off the water.

He gets out, towels off and finally takes a glance in the mirror. He looks normal, except for the faint red lines … well, those and the giant bags under his eyes. As he stares himself down, he sees his phone light up, and he picks it up at lightning speed. But it’s just Jeongin. Asking if he was going to hit the gym today.

Changbin sighs, puts his phone back down.

It was going to be a long fucking day.

You don’t text him that day. Or the next.

Changbin’s a fucking mess.

He’s distracted. Takes 20 takes to get one part of his rap right. Snaps at Jisung so hard he actually makes him cry. Forgets a meeting. Steps on Felix’s foot during dance practice.

Not that anyone noticed. They all treat him the same, nobody looking at him twice. He doesn’t know what’s pissing him off more, their ignorance, or his own petty, way too emotional reaction to it.

Between that, and Hyunjin’s severe mood swings, Changbin feels like he’s at sea, being tossed back and forth by the whims of anyone but him. And that pisses him off, too.

Hyunjin … he doesn’t know how Hyunjin feels. Because one second, he’s meeting his eyes staring daggers at him through the mirror in the dance practice rooms, muttering something to Felix that Changbin can’t shake the feeling is about him. The next, he bumps Jisung aside when they get into the car to go home and forces himself into the seat next to Changbin, his thigh falling against his – all while stubbornly refusing to look at him. Changbin doesn’t even dare say his name. What was he going to say anyway? “Hey, Hyune, did you hear me and Y/N fuck? Is that why you’re insert-whatever-adjective-here” because it’s not like Changbin can figure it out.

Because Hyunjin drags his palm over his knee before he gets out, but the next morning he slams the bathroom door into his face so hard it nearly breaks Changbin’s nose. But then he fucking stares again, in the dressing room, big, dark eyes burning into Changbin’s back as he is shooed around by the make-up noonas.

But all of it, it doesn’t make any damn sense. Hyunjin’s upset, clearly, but Changbin can’t figure out what he’s upset about – or what he plans to do about it. Is he upset because Changbin fucked you the week before he was meant to take you out? Is that it? Does he think it was some petty move to keep his best friend to himself? Except that logic doesn’t hold up very well, now, does it, since Changbin’s pretty sure he fucked up your friendship entirely.

Sometime on Thursday afternoon, he has convinced himself that Hyunjin’s mad because you cancelled on him. It took a while to allow himself to think that way, because the delusions – well, he would love to tell himself you probably just cancelled because you hooked up with anyone, and it didn’t feel fair to Hyunjin, but then again he knows you’re not like that, and then his brain starts to feed him hope, hope that you cancelled because you can’t stop fucking thinking about him the way he can’t stop thinking about you, replaying every single moment, both the good and the bad, until he’s sure he will never forget a single one of your noises, a single one of your unbelievably sexy moans of his fucking name …

But Felix skips and jumps over and makes his whole world turn upside down again.

He bounds over to where Hyunjin is sitting on the floor next to where Changbin is lounging on the sofas, Hyunjin’s hand resting on Changbin’s shoes. He’s still refusing to look Changbin in the eye – but his pinky finger is tracing the line of Changbin’s ankle through his sock.

Changbin wonders if this is what the first symptoms of insanity feel like.

“Hyunjinniiiiieee,” Felix sing-songs, plops himself down on the floor next to Hyunjin and slings one arm over his shoulder. “Do you have plans on Saturday and do you want to go shopping with me?”

Hyunjin hums, leans into Felix’s touch, his hand leaving Changbin’s foot in favour of patting Felix’s hand.

“Sorry, Yongbok-ah, I’m busy,” he hums, his voice calm and honeyed, though Changbin doesn’t miss how he starts fidgeting with his ring.

“Ah, right, you’re going out with Y/nie right?” Felix exclaims and gives Changbin a wide smile, before his attention is back on Hyunjin.

From where he’s sitting, Changbin can’t see Hyunjin’s face, only sees him turn to Felix and nod slightly.

“Forgot about that, sorry, Jinnie,” Felix mumbles, brings his hand to Hyunjin’s back and starts kneading the muscles there. Hyunjin’s head falls forward with a little moan that, on any normal day, would send Changbin’s thoughts straight into the gutter. “What are you gonna do? Or where are you taking her? Wait … is this a … you know?”

Hyunjin bumps Felix with his leg, so hard, Felix lets out a little yelp. He blinks at Hyunjin, then Changbin, before he blushes.

“We’re going to see that exhibition I told you about. The one none of you wanted to go to with me,” Hyunjin states, bluntly, both of his hands now busy twirling his ring around his finger in his lap.

“What?! You didn’t ask me! I would’ve said yes!” Felix exclaims, indignant and wide-eyed.

Changbin doesn’t need to see Hyunjin to know he’s glaring at Felix. There’s nothing Hyunjin hates more than when someone forgets something he said to them.

“Yes, I did. Three weeks ago. When we got chicken. I asked everyone, even manager-hyung. And you said you didn’t care for modern art.” Felix falters, freckled face falling into an expression of embarrassment.

“Oh,” he mumbles, “well, I would’ve gone with you if I’d known nobody else wanted to go.”

Hyunjin scoffs, tosses his hair out of his eyes. He brings his hands up to his face, as if he’s inspecting his cuticles.

“Well, she wanted to go. Really wanted to, actually. She asked me to take her.” He says it nonchalantly, his voice the picture of calm confidence, but Changbin can see the muscles tick in his neck.

‘He asked me to go to this art exhibit with him this weekend’ the memory of your voice says. Changbin tries not to let it get to him. He fails spectacularly.

Hyunjin tosses his head again and gets up, his arm brushing sparks against Changbin’s leg as he gets up.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go shower.”

He’s out the door before Changbin or Felix can say another word.

Then Felix looks at Changbin and Changbin is out of his seat at lightning speed.

“Hyung …” Felix sighs, his eyes big and round and full of pity. Changbin shakes his head.

“You don’t like that Hyunjin and Y/N are going on a date?”

Changbin doesn’t answer, focuses instead on shoving his towel, his bottle, his phone’s portable battery, all of it into his backpack.

“It’s okay if you don’t, you know?” Felix tries again, “but then I think you should tell them, instead of keeping it inside.”

“Yongbok-ah …” Changbin says, warningly, and it comes out a lot meaner than he intends to. He watches Felix flinch and sighs.

“Please, drop it.”

Felix deflates and Changbin feels even worse.

“Fine,” he mumbles, “but if you do end up wanting to talk about it, I’m here, okay?”

Changbin nods, pats Felix’s shoulder and gets up.

Changbin knows that he won’t. He can’t even begin to think of confessing all of this to Chan, how could he unload it onto Felix, his most precious dongsaeng. But he knows Felix will feel better if he agrees. So he lies.

“I will, thank you, Yongbok-ah.”

When Changbin’s phone buzzes on the mixing desk next to Chan at 1am on Friday night, 12 hours out from when he presumes your date with Hyunjin is, Changbin doesn’t even bother to check it.

But Chan glances over and picks it up.

“Y/N’s texting,” he says, casually, and hands Changbin his phone, like Changbin’s heart didn’t just fall into his ass.

If he was alone, Changbin doesn’t know if he would’ve checked it. But Chan is right there, and he doesn’t have the strength to make up an excuse for why he would be ignoring a text from his best friend. So he unlocks his phone.

from: Y/Nie hey hey Y/Nie is typing….

“Do you think we should keep Seungmin’s first or second take?” Chan asks. Changbin blinks at him and Chan presses play, brows furrowed, eyes glued to the screen.

They sound identical.

“I think the first one’s better, right?” Chan muses, and Changbin’s phone buzzes in his hands.

“Yeah, totally,” he mumbles, and whips his head back down. You texted again. His heartbeat picks up.

from: Y/Nie sorry for the radio silence 😅 kinda had to convince myself you didn’t hate me because you didn’t text me either but then I realised that that is hypocritical of me so here I am … please don’t hate me

Butterflies. A swarm of them. Something warm, dripping down Changbin’s spine. Regret, still, too much of it to put into words, but mostly … relief.

As quickly as he can, he replies.

from: me of course, I don’t hate you I could never

He tries to calm down, tells himself not to be too honest. Not when the situation is so fragile. Not over text.

from: Y/Nie THANK GOD

The message makes him huff out a laugh, and Chan looks over and gives him a little smile. Changbin blushes.

The dots, the little Y/Nie is typing…. text blinks in and out of existence for a solid minute before your next message pops up.

from: Y/Nie because I kinda really missed you

Changbin takes a deep, steadying breath.

I missed you, too is what he wants to say. I missed you, too, I always do. I wish it hadn’t ended the way it did. I wish I could stop loving you, but I can’t. But I want you in my life in whatever form I can.

from: me I missed you, too I think chan is sick of me actually being at the studio instead of disappearing at some point and leaving him to do his work

Changbin looks up. Chan is humming under his breath, completely relaxed, editing a midi track, his knee bouncing under the table. Sorry, Chan

from: Y/Nie well, we can’t have that! chan needs to write the next big stray kids hit, we can’t have you distract him like that!

from: me yah! you say you missed me and the first thing you do is bully me

from: Y/Nie gotta keep you humble ;)

Changbin sighs. He knows this probably isn’t a solution, pretending like it never happened, just going back to how things were before. But it feels so good. And everything … it’s too big, it’s too much. And if this is the only way your friendship will survive, then he’ll take it. He’ll take whatever you give him.

It’s silent for a few seconds and Changbin wonders if that’s it, but then you text one last time.

from: Y/Nie I gotta sleep now but let’s get lunch next week?

from: me I’d love that night, y/nie

from: Y/Nie night, bin <3

It’s the heart that sustains him, makes him breathe easier for the next half hour and all the way home and into bed. He falls asleep easily for the first time in days, sleeps a dreamless, restful sleep until he wakes up to the sun peeking in through the blinds, the warm sheets – and Hyunjin yelling at Jisung to get out of the bathroom.

The realisation crashes over him without mercy.

Hyunjin is getting ready. To go out. With you.

Dread collects and settles thickly into his bones, makes him bury himself further under the sheets as he fishes for his phone and opens his chat with Chan.

from: me yo what are you doing today? wanna hit the gym and write some music?

He places his phone down on the mattress, and he waits. Listens to the sounds of the traffic outside, of the dorm slowly waking up; hears Jisung screech, then Hyunjin yell something, before a door slams.

His phone buzzes.

from: cb97 sorry, man, already at the gym now having lunch with young-hyun later probably won’t make it to the studio at all today

Changbin buries his face in his pillow and sighs. Hyunjin’s cackle sifts through the cracks in the door.

He can’t stay here. He can’t witness Hyunjin getting all dolled up, wearing some cute outfit, bouncing out of the front door on his merry way to a date that might as well seal Changbin’s fate. No, he needs to figure something out, he needs to go.

So he texts the only other person he knows would willingly spend a Saturday buried in a dark, lightless studio.

from: me yah jisung-ah what are you doing today

If he mentally says a prayer as he waits for his answer, that’s between him and his pillow.

Jisung, predictably, texts back almost immediately.

from: j.one morning hyung~~ probably gonna to the company work on some songs why?

from: me need any help? or want some company? I need to get out of the house today

There’s silence for a minute, and even Jisung’s and Hyunjin’s bickering has gone silent. Changbin tries not to let his paranoia get the best of him. Hyunjin’s getting ready. Jisung is probably just on his phone on his bed. Or texting Minho.

It takes a few minutes before Jisung finally responds.

from: j.one sure! I actually got this rap I would love to get your input on

from: me cool leave in an hour?

from: j.one 👍

And it’s so quiet that Changbin really, really thought he could get away with it. That he could leave the dorm, with Jisung, without bumping into Hyunjin but, of course, he couldn’t.

He opens his door, takes one step, and collides with Hyunjin’s shoulder.

The impact isn’t strong, only enough to send Changbin reeling back a few steps, his backpack dropping from his hand and onto the floor, but that’s not what slams the breath out of his chest.

It’s Hyunjin’s perfume, the one he only wears for special occasions, thick and floral and, at the same time, somehow manly, laced with the smell of his shampoo and his hair, curling into Changbin’s nose and making his mouth water. And it only gets worse when he looks up and meets Hyunjin’s eyes. He’s always been a master at dramatising himself. Unlike Changbin, who’s always just the same, just … Changbin, Hyunjin knows exactly how to dress himself to look the perfect level of casual, yet fuckable. His long black hair is a little wavy, casual and he’s wearing make-up. Not a lot, for their standards, but just a bit. Just enough. Foundation, a light shade of brown around his eyes that renders them big and soft, soft pink lip balm on his full lips that makes them look obscenely kissable. If Changbin wasn’t already terminally, irrevocably in love with him, he’s sure he would fall in love with him then. He swallows bitterly when he realises that that’s probably actually exactly what Hyunjin is going for. With you.

Hyunjin’s dressed simply, but clearly with intent. Blue jeans, a white t-shirt, that’s just tight enough to sit snugly over his shoulders and his biceps and his … Changbin swallows … his pecs, and …

“Are those Jisung’s shoes?”

The words tumble from his mouth before he can stop them. The first words he and Hyunjin have exchanged in three days, and he’s asking about Jisung’s shoes?!

Hyunjin falters for a second, clearly stupefied by Changbin’s question. He nods slowly.

Changbin just nods back, barely manages to look Hyunjin in the eyes.

They didn’t get dressed together. Jisung knows nothing. I’m being paranoid. I’m being paranoid. Changbin, you’re being paranoid!!!!!!

Changbin must really be losing it because Hyunjin’s brows pull together in a grimace of concern that somehow makes him look even more like an angel.

“Hyung, are you okay?”

He sounds like he cares so much. Changbin wants to laugh. Or cry. Or both at the same time.

“I’m fine, Hyunjin-ah,” he forces out, forces a smile as he bends down and picks up his backpack.

“Are you sure?” Hyunjin adds, almost too fast. He sucks his bottom lip, starts gnawing at it. He looks like wants to say something else, but Changbin doesn’t let him. He can’t. Who knows what this conversation could turn into. Hyunjin needs to go meet you and Changbin needs to go to the studio with Jisung. It’s better this way.

“Don’t worry about me,” he chirps, so fake it makes his teeth ache with it, and pushes past Hyunjin as fast as he possibly can. He ignores the new wave of Hyunjin’s perfume that slams into him as he makes his way to the kitchen, where, thankfully, he finds Jisung already waiting.

Jisung’s head whips up when Changbin barges in, and they only widen more when Changbin beams at him and waves him towards the door.

“Let’s go, Jisung-ah!” he exclaims, much too loudly, and turns around before he can see Jisung throw a glance towards the hallway he just came from or look at him with any more of the surprise or the concern that makes Changbin’s stomach turn.

Thankfully, Jisung follows him, doesn’t ask any questions. Only falls into step with Changbin and when Changbin asks, talks about the song he wanted help with. Jisung had always been his favourite dongsaeng.

Changbin manages not to think about you and Hyunjin for most of the day. But what he does think about, a lot, is the moment he would have to face Hyunjin. By the time he drifts off to sleep he’s sure he’s imagined all the worst possible outcomes, Hyunjin stumbling in late at night only half dressed, Hyunjin walking into the kitchen the next morning with hickeys on his neck, Hyunjin with literal hearts floating around his head for all Changbin knows – but none of that happens.

He meets Hyunjin the next day in the kitchen when he goes to get a snack. Hyunjin, dressed in his ratty old sweatpants and his hair tied up haphazardly, is filling the little transparent cup Changbin knows he uses for painting with water by the sink, looks just like he always does. He turns around, sees Changbin, and smiles. A little sheepish, a little awkward, maybe, but he smiles. And Changbin does what he does best. He takes the excuse to delude himself, and he runs with it.

On Monday, they have a schedule. Hyunjin picks the make-up chair next to him. They don’t talk much, but Hyunjin knocks his foot against his and shows him a meme of a little piglet and a bunny being friends about halfway through, a devastatingly pretty smile on his lips. Changbin smiles back.

On Tuesday, Changbin meets you for lunch at your company. You hug him hello, wrap your hand around his arm so you don’t lose him as you pull him through the packed cafeteria. You pick out his favourite melon soda from the refrigerator without him having to ask. You chatter about this album you’re working on, about your parents coming to visit in a couple weeks. You don’t talk about Hyunjin. When you smile at him and sneak half of your helping of chicken onto his plate in exchange for one of his mushrooms, he can’t bring himself to ask. He hugs you goodbye.

On Wednesday, he stays late at the studio with Chan and Jisung. They get into a flow, manage to finish the demos for two songs. Write another, late at night, delirious off sugar and lack of sleep, one that will probably never see the light of day. He loves them. He comes home smiling, waves them off down the hallway to their rooms before he gets himself a bottle of water from the fridge. He takes a little detour past Hyunjin’s room almost automatically. His door is ajar, the light on, but he can hear Hyunjin snore quietly. He creeps in, tiptoes over to the bedside table, where the light is still on, throwing a hazy warm glow over Hyunjin’s sleeping form. Glossy lips parted, eyebrows slightly drawn up, almost like he’s surprised, his hair messily fanned over the pillow half his face is smushed into, he’s the most beautiful thing Changbin has ever seen. He indulges himself, brushes a few of his strands out of his eyes, lets his fingertip drag over the curve of his cheek, before he switches off the lamp and leaves, closing the door behind him.

On Thursday, he catches Hyunjin giggling at his phone, but he’s already convinced himself that the date on Saturday was most likely a dud. Maybe not even bad, just … not as exciting as you’d hoped. Maybe you’d met and the spark you’d both felt wasn’t there. Maybe you said something about the art that gave Hyunjin the ick. Maybe his dreaminess was too much for your pragmatic nature.

Because if it had been any other way, Hyunjin wouldn’t have just gone back to normal, right? Back to leaning against Changbin in the elevator and giggling with him in the kitchen. And you, you would’ve brought it up, right? That first day at lunch, or the countless times you texted after that. Right?

If Hyunjin and you had had a good date, if you’d kissed (a notion Changbin can’t entertain for too long because the mere idea of it makes him dizzy with a lot of confusing feelings that he refuses to decode right now) or if you’d agreed on a second date, if you were still talking, he wouldn’t be here right now, two weeks later, sitting on your sofa at some ungodly hour, ripped from the studio, from Chan who watched him go with a knowing, unsurprised grin, the remnants of delivery tteokbokki and dumplings still on the table and some random drama on the TV.

Your body wouldn’t have been slowly drifting towards his over the last hour, you wouldn’t have slung your leg over his, you … you wouldn’t have fallen asleep snuggled into his shoulder the way you did. Breathing softly, fingers twitching where they were still holding on to him.

And when he carried your half awake form to your bedroom later, tucked you into bed, you wouldn’t have leaned up, murmured his name, wouldn’t have pulled him into the softest, gentlest, kiss, just the pressure of your soft lips against his …

Right?

Except you would, apparently.

Changbin wasn’t meant to go to the company the next day. He was meant to have a day off, and he didn’t mean to work, he just wanted to get his laptop because he forgot it the night before because he was so eager to get out of there to get to yours–

Changbin wasn’t meant to be here.

He wasn’t meant to round a corner and see Hyunjin, standing between your legs where you’re sitting on the shoe storage outside the dance practice room, one hand caressing the skin of your back under your shirt, the other pulling your hips closer against his, as if your legs aren’t wrapped around him. He’s not meant to see you, tonguing into Hyunjin’s open mouth, the lips that were pressed against his not even 12 hours before pulled into a delirious smile as you devour each other.

Nausea rises in Changbin’s throat when Hyunjin giggles, when you bring your hand to gently cup his face. It’s so intimate. It doesn’t take a genius to see that this isn’t the first time you’re kissing either. Changbin’s stomach turns.

He turns on his heels, makes sure not to make a sound until he rounds the corner again, and then he runs.

He makes it into one of the studios before the first tears fall.

Fuck, this hurts worse than he thought it would.

Oh, he’s so fucking stupid.

Fuck, it hurts.

Now that he’s thinking about it, really thinking about it, there had never been any indication that you stopped talking after your date. Hyunjin had gone back to normal, and so did you because … he slams his fist against the side of his head so hard that it aches. He’s so fucking stupid. Of course, you went back to normal – because that’s all you were. Friends. You and him. Hyunjin and him. Friends.

But now that he’s seen it, he can’t stop thinking about it. Your date went well. You met Hyunjin at the museum, probably looked at his stupid casual outfit that showed off his stupidly attractive body, and you had probably worn something equally casual but flattering because you, too, were good at that. And then the two of you had probably walked through the museum and talked about art and life and the human condition, with sparkling eyes, maybe your hands had brushed, maybe Hyunjin had booked the museum for after-hours so you could have it to yourself, and maybe he kissed you in front of some painting and …

His stomach feels like it’s filled with lead.

He wonders if Yongbok knows. If Hyunjin came back from his date and told Jisung and Chan.

Why hadn’t he told him?! A part of him knows, it’s because he heard you and Changbin and … maybe he felt it even before then, Changbin’s resistance to the idea of them dating. Of course, he would. Hyunjin probably knew how fucking pathetically in love Changbin was with you and probably knew that you weren’t and …

But then why did he even date you? What happened to bros before hoes? I mean he saw the sparks, he saw the glint in Hyunjin’s eyes, the smile on your face but … was it worth it to Hyunjin? Was the connection that strong?

Also … why did you kiss him last night? He knows you were sleepy, but not that sleepy, right? And you weren’t aiming for his cheek, there was no way …

Changbin’s head hurts. And so does his heart. He still doesn’t have his laptop, because he would have to walk back and past where he saw you to get it, but it’s not like it matters anyway. And he wonders how on earth he’s going to navigate this new reality.

The reality where you and Hyunjin are … well, whatever you are. His heart cracks a little in his chest when he thinks the words.

In love.

“Right,” the staff member who’s always in charge of their SKZ Code episodes says and claps her hands. She looks oddly excited. “For today, you are going to pretend to be doctors. Surgeons, nurses, whatever, get funny with it!”

She grins, takes a look at the eight boys all lined up in front of her in fake scrubs and white jeans and lab coats.

Changbin feels stupid.

He’s also in a bad mood, which doesn’t help, but the outfit makes him feel stupid. Where there was sadness, there is a slowly simmering, building rage now. Changbin’s been watching it build slowly, watching his resentment thicken, his mood sour, and he hasn’t even bothered to try to cool himself off, because what’s his other option? Going back to heartbreak? No, he’d rather be angry. At himself sometimes, but also at Hyunjin, at you, pretending everything is fine — at being forced to watch Hyunjin giggle, bite his lip at his phone at least once a day. Sometimes he even nudges Yongbok, tilts his screen, points at something and whispers and Yongbok wiggles his eyebrow. And it’s not like Changbin would’ve talked to Yongbok, even though he offered, but the idea that that option was taken from him? It also pisses him off. So Hyunjin doesn’t just get you, he also gets Felix, huh? What does Changbin get? He gets fucking nothing.

He’s still brooding as the staff sorts them into groups, chatters to them, about the games they’ll play.

“The first group is Changbin, Chan, Hyunjin and Jeongin, the other Jisung, Minho, Seungmin and Yongbok,” she announces, pointing to the two tables set-up between them, “go to your team and pick what kind of doctors you want to be. That’ll be your team name.”

Chan shimmies over to him with a blinding smile, throws an arm around him and coos his name, his usual affection, just a little bit ramped up for the cameras – and trying to lift Changbin’s mood, because of course Chan knows.

“Binniiiiie,” Chan coos with a giggle, “we’ll be in a team. What kind of doctors should we be? Brain surgeons?”

Jeongin scoffs as he makes his way to Changbin’s other side. “We’re so not smart enough for that.”

Hyunjin is the last to find his way to them and Changbin tries not to look, but of course, he does. Hyunjin looks between Changbin and Chan and Jeongin, and Changbin does his best to tell himself that what he sees in his eyes isn’t disappointment.

Hyunjin makes his way over to them, a too bright smile plastered on his face.

“We could be doctors for like muscles and stuff, because we dance so much,” Jeongin muses, half distracted by Seungmin making faces at him across the room.

Hyunjin chuckles, tips how head to the side, makes eye contact with Changbin.

“Or we could be heart doctors?” he singsongs, making Chan chuckle into Changbin’s ear.

Changbin blinks. He can’t be serious …

“Ooh, Hyunjinnie, you want to be a love doctor?” Chan coos.

Hyunjin just giggles, his eyes crinkling at the edges.

Changbin stays quiet. Usually, he would’ve taken the opportunity. Would have walked right over there with a dramatic sigh of Hyunjin’s name, mumbling something about him not needing a love doctor when Changbin was right there, to take care of his heart, or some bullshit. But he doesn’t. He stubbornly crosses his arms and stares at the wall.

Jeongin next to them is oblivious.

“I like it, very macho,” he chuckles, and so it’s decided.

Chan announces the team name once the staff asks, Seungmin does his usual MC duties and they play. Rock paper scissors to decide the order. A spelling game.

Changbin knows he’s quiet, but he hopes it’s not too noticeable. Or at least Stay can forgive him just this once when the episode comes out. Because he’s trying his best to stay as far away from Hyunjin as possible, and it’s equally difficult as it is heartbreaking. Because Changbin misses his best friend.

Hyunjin cackles about something Jeongin said, and throws his arm around him. And Changbin aches. He feels like he’ll never stop aching.

“Next,” Seungmin monotones, “we’re going to be diagnosing each other as — each other!”

Everyone dutifully makes confused noises. Seungmin continues.

“One member will put on a blindfold and sit in front of the cameras, and another member will be chosen to use this microphone, which distorts your voice, to give the member in front of the camera a compliment – but not as themselves, but a compliment that someone else would make.”

Oohs and aahs.

“So if it was my turn to sit there, and Jisung’s to do the compliment, and his task was to pretend to be Minho complimenting me, he would probably just go ‘good dog’.”

Jisung and everyone else laughs, and Seungmin smiles at Minho’s offended noise. And Changbin thinks this is a safe game.

Except it’s not. Of course, it isn’t.

It’s all fun and games. They have a good time, make some jokes that will surely have to be cut out, especially when it’s Jisung’s turn and Jeongin makes an obscene sound instead of a compliment Minho would make, but there’s also lots of squabbling that he knows Stay will love. But then it’s Hyunjin’s turn.

Changbin watches him sit, slide the blindfold over his silky hair, a motion that would make Changbin dizzy on a normal day. But then Felix gets shown which member he’s meant to imitate, and it’s Changbin.

“Yaaah, Hyunjin-aaah,” Yongbok scream-whispers into the microphone, to the great amusement of everyone else. “When will you finally stop playing hard to get and be my boyfriend, Hyunjin-ah? You’re so beautiful! You’re an angel! You’re the most exquisite being God has ever created …”

Jisung slaps Yongbok’s arm and Yongbok breaks out into a slew of giggles.

Everyone’s laughing. Hyunjin’s ears are bright red. Changbin feels like he’s about to cry.

He’s always been pathetic, huh, he realises. He never cared if he looked a little silly, especially because Hyunjin loved it. But now, hearing Yongbok make a joke of it, seeing everyone else cackle and throw him looks, Changbin realises he’s been making a fucking fool out of himself. His eyes burn hotter than his cheeks do. He wants to fucking die.

“Ah,” Hyunjin chuckles awkwardly. Oddly enough, he doesn’t sound like he finds it funny either. “Changbin-hyung.”

Not a question, no surprise when everyone cheers and tells him he’s right.

Hyunjin removes the blindfold with a crooked smile, and when he turns, his eyes immediately fall on Changbin. His smile falls slightly. He gets up and walks back over to them and this time, Changbin’s side is exposed, so he slots himself right in. He slings an arm around his shoulders and Changbin gets a whiff of his shampoo and Changbin …

Changbin shrugs Hyunjin’s arm off his shoulders and steps away from him in one quick motion, and everyone falls silent. Changbin can’t bear to look at Hyunjin, but based on Yongbok’s expression, Hyunjin must be upset. Changbin swallows the guilt, lets it get swallowed up by the pool of resentment bubbling inside of him. Serves him right.

Minho puts them back on track quickly, steps forward to take his place, and everyone starts babbling, recovering quickly, practised, bouncing back to their camera personas, but Changbin tunes out. Yongbok’s distorted voice keeps repeating the words over and over again in his head until Changbin feels like nothing but a cheap distortion of himself.

The last game, or rather, the last thing they film, because the segment where they have lunch mercifully was filmed when they were actually having lunch today instead of at 4pm, is a dance challenge, but with a twist. They have to spontaneously dance to whatever songs come on, their own choreographies from over the years, but with another member and a balloon lodged between the two of them. And Changbin prays, tries to catch Chan’s eyes, or Jeongin’s, but the way they’re standing, they already paired up, and the only other person left on their team is …

“Hyung, we’ll kill it,” Hyunjin chirps as he walks over to him, balloon in hand. “Remember when we did this last time, and you turned to me. Our height difference was actually helpful. I think we’ve got this one in the bag.”

Hyunjin is avoiding his eyes, chattering on, an anxious smile on his lips, and Changbin just hums. Any energy he might have had to fight the tightness in his chest is slowly draining out of him.

Hyunjin places the balloon against his own chest, steps forward and, once it’s securely held up between their bodies, drapes his arms over Changbin’s shoulders. From this position, Changbin doesn’t have a choice but look at Hyunjin.

His heart fucking aches when he does. He’s pretty, as always. No, gorgeous. Subtle make-up, hair purposely fluffy and messy, of course, but what really gets Changbin every time are his eyes. They’re big, warm, they feel like home. Especially when they’re pulling into little crescents when he smiles. Like he is right now. Smiling at him with more warmth than Changbin has felt in such a long time.

“Hi hyung,” he hums, a teasing lilt to his voice. Changbin swallows down the urge to glare at him. “Fancy seeing you here. Come here often?”

Changbin swears his eye nearly starts twitching. Hyunjin’s breath puffs against his face.

“Ha,” he huffs out, but it lacks all humour. “Very funny, Hyunjin-ah.”

Hyunjin doesn’t seem to get the memo. But then S-Class blasts through the shitty little speakers the staff brought and Changbin’s body automatically responds with the dance, and so does Hyunjin’s.

But he’s grateful that, as he goes through the motions, he has an excuse to stare at the stupid blue balloon between them. Though the song ends before long, Jisung and Seungmin unsurprisingly already eliminated.

“Hyung,” Hyunjin mumbles, and Changbin makes the mistake of looking up. Hyunjin’s face is so close, Changbin can make out each individual eyelash framing his eyes.

The notes of Silent Cry slice through the room and Changbin momentarily forgets to be mad as he tries to remember the choreography – and promptly all thoughts leave his mind when Hyunjin swivels his hips and brushes his thigh against Changbin’s and Changbin swears he did it on purpose. When he looks up and meets Hyunjin’s eyes, Hyunjin is already staring at him.

Their balloon nearly drops with how fast Changbin tries to put distance between them. He tries to think of something unsexy, grandmas and dogshit, you and Hyunjin making out and probably doing a lot more than just grinding on each other, but that does shockingly little. Quite the opposite.

Thankfully, the song ends, but because nobody was eliminated, staff plays the next one right after. Maniac, now, and if Changbin’s heart didn’t feel like it was about to shatter and his dick didn’t feel like it was about to chub up embarrassingly fast, he would’ve laughed at how stupid it looked, everyone trying to do a half-assed twirl with the balloon between them. Somehow, he and Hyunjin make it, though, a little twirl, then hand to forehead. Hyunjin’s intense stare catches on Changbin’s, and he winks, lets his tongue slide over his bottom lip. Changbin almost moans.

The song ends, the game is over, everyone else is slowly peeling apart, but Hyunjin isn’t going anywhere. His arms fall back over Changbin’s shoulders, he tips his head to the side and stares at Changbin, eyes dipping down to his lips so quickly, Changbin thinks he might have made it up. And then Changbin feels his fingers at the nape of his neck, scratching up his scalp, and something in Changbin’s stomach turns.

He steps back so abruptly, Hyunjin’s arms and the balloon fall to the ground. The balloon pops, making everyone jump and stare over at them, but Changbin is beyond caring.

“We’re done, right?” he asks the staff, and stares them down until they nod apprehensively. He doesn’t know how manic he looks, he needs to get the fuck out of here.

He makes it out of the main room, back into the hallway that leads to their haphazardly thrown together dressing room, but he doesn’t get far before he hears steps behind him.

“Changbin,” Hyunjin’s voice echoes through the room and Changbin stops as if rooted to the spot, for one second, before he turns around and stalks towards Hyunjin, who stares at him.

“What the fuck?!”

It’s the only thing Changbin manages to say, his mind a mess, the resentment threatening to bubble up and over.

“Why the fuck would you … what the fuck was that?!”

It’s barely more coherent, so it’s no wonder Hyunjin just stares at him, mouth agape, eyes wide. Not understanding.

“Why were you … I wasn’t flirting with you?!” Changbin yells, “why were you … that’s not … why the fuck would you do this now?!”

Hyunjin shakes his head, takes another few steps toward Changbin, his arms stretched in front of him in an expression of utter disbelief.

“What?! I … I don’t get! I thought you wanted everything to go back to the way it was!? I was just trying to do what seemed to make you most comfortable!” Hyunjin yells, and Changbin shudders with frustration.

“Now you’re just being fucking cruel, Hyunjin,” he hisses, and Hyunjin’s big eyes turn narrow.

In two steps, Hyunjin is right in front of him, staring at him from where he’s towering over Changbin.

“Cruel? I’m being cruel? You’ve been flirting with me for years, off camera, on camera, and you waved it off every single time, and now I’m asking you to stop with the games and put your money where your mouth is before it’s too late, and I’m being cruel?” Before it’s too late?

Hyunjin takes a step forward, invades Changbin’s space and Changbin stumbles backwards into the wall with a thud.

“Fuck you, Hyunjin. I don’t know what you’re doing, but it’s not cool,” he manages to hiss out, but Hyunjin just shakes his head. His eyes are glued to Changbin’s lips.

“If you would just let me explain …,” he mumbles, and then Hyunjin is kissing him.

Kissing Hwang Hyunjin is everything Changbin ever thought it would be and so much more. He’s overwhelming, crowding him against the wall, his hand strong where it’s resting against the nape of his neck. He also smells incredible, his pomegranate chapstick smearing against Changbin’s lips in a kiss that is equal parts elegance and raw, desperate want.

Hyunjin presses Changbin into the wall harder, towering over him, and Changbin moans, his hands back on Hyunjin’s waist, trying to pull him closer, kiss him deeper, get more, and Hyunjin sighs into the kiss, links his fingers with Changbin’s and presses it over his chest and …

Reality catches up to Changbin all at once and his eyes shoot open and he pushes Hyunjin away so hard, Hyunjin nearly slams into the wall opposite.

“Don’t … What?!” he gasps out, wipes his mouth with the back of his mind, staring at Hyunjin. He’s so fucking gorgeous like this, all flushed and wide-eyed and– 

Oh fuck.

“What the fuck, Hyunjin?!” Changbin yells, before he can think better of it. Hyunjin stumbles further back, but he opens his mouth. “Do you think I’m fucking stupid?! That I don’t know you and Y/N are seeing each other?!”

“No, Binnie, …” Hyunjin tries to say but Changbin can’t … He can’t believe Hyunjin would do this.

Hyunjin raises his hands, eyes big and entreating, and tries to take a step towards him, but Changbin stumbles backwards. It’s no longer resentment he feels, now it’s just … anger. Disgust.

“So what, are you cheating on her?! Are you trying to prove something? What the fuck?!”

“Changbin,” Hyunjin says again, but Changbin just shakes his head. Slowly, he starts walking backwards, away from Hyunjin, because he doesn’t trust himself right now.

“She deserves better than that, Hyunjin. And I deserve better, too, than to be used like this. You can find someone else to fuck with.”

“I swear, Binnie, please …”

“Don’t get fucking near me, Hyunjin. I don’t want to see your face any more,” Changbin spits, and the venom of his words feel like daggers in his own chest.

He turns, walks down the hallway as fast as he can. This time, there are no footsteps following him.

Somehow, he manages to make it through the process of undressing, of filing into the cars, without crying.

Changbin barely looks at Hyunjin, the handful of glances nearly enough to make him break down, right there, in the middle of some random shoot location. Hyunjin looks about three seconds away from crying, but he won’t stop staring at Changbin. Changbin can feel his eyes, boring into the back of his head, like he’s taunting him. He can’t get the taste of him, the feeling of him so close, out of his goddamn head.

He gets in the car first and when the others don’t join, he watches through the tinted windows as Chan mumbles something to Hyunjin and Jisung, who nod, throw weary glances at the car, before walking over to the other car.

Chan turns and makes for the car Changbin’s in, climbs in, and closes the door behind him.

“Just us today,” he says to the driver, who nods and pulls away.

Changbin doesn’t look at Chan during the drive. For an hour, he sits next to him, his chest burning with unshed tears, his fists balled at his side, his brain running amok, white noise and pain.

Somehow they make it to the dorm.

Chan says goodbye to the driver, follows Changbin into the elevator, up to their floor, down the hall. He waits patiently until Changbin has punched in the code, until the door has fallen shut behind them, and they’ve toed off their shoes. He drops his backpack by the door, follows Changbin into his room, where Changbin drops his own, shrugs his jacket off.

When he turns around, Chan folds him into a hug and Changbin breaks down.

White noise. Static. His chest like a balled fist.

“H-he kissed m-me,” he hiccups, a string of drool dripping onto Chan’s shirt. Chan hums, rubs his hands over Changbin’s back soothingly. “H-he f-fucking k-kissed me, after a-all this f-fucking time, Channie.”

Chan’s arms tighten around him, and more sobs tear out of Changbin.

“I’m sorry, hyung. I’m sorry. I love him.”

He sobs again, so hard his legs nearly give out.

Chan shushes him quietly. “I know, Binnie, I know.”

Changbin can’t even pull back, he only clings onto Chan tighter.

“H-how the fuck do y-you know,” he wails, “why are you s-so fine with th-this.”

It’s overwhelming. And it’s getting worse, the idea of Chan knowing makes Changbin wonder who else knows. Who else has been witnessing this whole train wreck knowing more than Changbin does.

His chest tightens until his sobs turn into gasps for air and Chan somehow drags him over to his bed, guides him to sit, all without ever taking his arms from where they’re protectively, soothingly wrapped around Changbin’s body.

“It’s okay, Binnie, it’s okay to love him,” he murmurs, trying to be calm, but Changbin only cries harder. He sobs, spit and tears and snot staining Chan’s shirt.

“It’s not o-okay,” Changbin somehow manages to whimper out, “b-because I l-love her, too. I love him and I love her. I love them both.” Chan’s hands freeze momentarily, before they resume their calm movements over Changbin’s shoulders and his back.

It’s like a dam has broken and Changbin can’t stop spilling his fucking guts.

“And neither of them love me,” he wails, forces the words out between sobs and hiccups. “They love each other. And they’re beautiful together, Channie, they’re so beautiful. And I thought I would be f-fine w-watching because how can I be with either of them when I love the o-other, too, b-but it’s s-so hard, hyung, it’s so f-fucking hard.”

Somewhere along the way he has started hyperventilating again, Changbin realises, because Chan is now rocking him back and forth.

“A-and n-now … he k-kissed me?! A-and sh-she kissed me the o-other … day and … we hooked up, too, Channie, right before her d-date with H-hyunjin and I don’t even know h-how that happened but afterwards it was a-awful and then I s-saw them and now Hyunjin k-kissed me?!”

Chan rocks him hard, tries to shush him, but Changbin is on a roll now.

“Like, how could he ch-cheat on her, right?! Hyunjin, of all … of all f-fucking people. And on h-her?! H-how?! How could he th-throw a chance with her away like that, when it’s a-all I’ve e-ever wanted. How f-fucking d-dare he?! And wh-why the fuck would he use m-me to do it?! There are other p-people, so many people, h-hotter people, probably lining up to kiss Hwang fucking Hyunjin. Why d-did he have to drag m-me into this?! It’s s-so c-cruel.”

“Binnie,” Chan mumbles, but Changbin shakes his head. “Binnie, don’t talk like that.”

Changbin scoffs. A wave of self-hatred washes over him, so strong it nearly blinds him.

“W-why?! Isn’t that what the problem is?! That I’m s-so f-fucking unlovable that w-who I thought were my b-best friends are just … u-using me to play some s-stupid games with each other?! Like I’m just some t-toy. B-because Changbin won’t complain.”

Chan pulls Changbin from his chest so fast Changbin can’t even cover his face, his stupid sweaty, red, face, but Chan doesn’t seem to care. He shakes him. Gently, but Chan shakes him.

“Not another word, Bin,” Chan warns, gives Changbin one of his dad looks, and it’s so intimidating that Changbin actually doesn’t dare say anything else. “I don’t know why they would do what they did, but I’m sure it wasn’t because of that.”

Changbin sniffles.

“Th-then, w-why?”

Chan sighs.

“I don’t know, but it’s not because you don’t mean anything to them. If anything, I think it might be the opposite.”

The thought of that hurts more than all the anger that came before it. Changbin starts sobbing again, and Chan pulls him back into his chest.

“It’s okay, Bin. We’ll figure it out, okay? You’ll figure it out.”

Changbin doesn’t believe him then.

But Chan stays, holds him until the worst of Changbin’s sobs have subsided, waves away his hoarse apology for crying and snotting all over his shirt. Chan brings him water and painkillers and tucks him into bed so gently it would’ve made Changbin start crying all over again, if his body hadn’t utterly exhausted itself. Chan leaves and exhaustion drags Changbin into a deep, dreamless sleep, even though it’s only 8pm.

He sleeps for 14 hours and when he stumbles out of his room the next day, Chan tells him that Hyunjin and Jeongin will be switching rooms for a while.

When Changbin asks what he told them, Chan shrugs, says he just told them Changbin and Hyunjin had a fight. Most of them knew, apparently, about you and Hyunjin dating, about Changbin and his unresolved feelings about the matter, but nobody had dared push the question. On account of “Changbin acting like a ticking time bomb”, according to Chan, which makes Changbin crumple in on himself with more self-loathing.

Nonetheless, Changbin is more grateful than he can even describe. He mumbles as much to Chan, gives Jeongin a half-mumbled thank you as well, but Chan just pats him on the back.

“Told you we’d figure it out, yeah?”

And Changbin nods; realises he should’ve talked to Chan a long, long time ago.

Chan arranges for Changbin to take a couple days off, days which Changbin spends … heartbroken. Wallowing. Crying and eating ice cream, the whole nine yards. Except it’s even worse, because he didn’t just get his heart broken by one person, but two. And along the way he also lost not one of his best friends, but both.

There’s a you-shaped hole in his soul. Every now and again, he picks up his phone, and he sees your chat pinned to the top of his KakaoTalk and the last sticker you sent, and he wishes he could message you. He wishes he could open your chat and go ‘today sucked, wyd?’ like he used to and see your little message bubble pop up immediately, always ready with some words that somehow always made him feel better, even if it was just the stupidest little joke.

And he wishes that in the mornings, he didn’t hear Jeongin’s laugh echoing through the dorm from Jisung and Hyunjin’s bathroom. He wishes Hyunjin were here and everything was normal. He wishes he could knock on Hyunjin’s door like he always did when he had a hard day. Hyunjin always knew, somehow, only had to take one look at Changbin to know. Because on those days, there was only softness, no edge to his pretend words of resistance when Changbin asked if he could come in. He would let Changbin come into the sanctuary that is Hyunjin’s room, like a parallel world, a calm refuge, always smelling slightly of the dried roses hanging from his bedpost, the paint that’s always drying on some canvas or another.

But he has nothing now. He’s in his room, alone, in the empty dorm, while everyone else goes on with their life. And he keeps wondering if somewhere along the way he went wrong.

He didn’t think he did. His love for you and Hyunjin? There was never a question of it ever stopping. And the existence of two loves, his two loves, because they were always going to be a part of him, stitched into the fabric of his heart by fate itself, meant he could never have either. Because both of you deserved more than that. It’s what he always came back to. That part he was sure of. This was always the way it was meant to play out. Right?

A few days, he has lost count in his desolation, Changbin wakes up from a nap to laughter and chatter in the kitchen. One glance at his phone tells him it’s 8pm. He must’ve slept for an hour and a half somehow, though he doesn’t remember even falling asleep.

Groggily, he peels himself out of bed, throws a look in the mirror and runs a hand through his hair before he makes his way out of his room.

Though what he sees when he rounds the corner to the kitchen, makes him freeze in his tracks.

Everyone’s here. Jeongin, Seungmin and Yongbok are unloading containers and containers of takeaway food from countless white bags, Minho and Jisung are bickering and giggling while setting the table, and Chan is talking to …

You and Hyunjin, next to each other, laughing at something Chan said, fiddling with something in a big plastic container, trying to get it out of a brown paper bag …

When your eyes meet Changbin’s, you freeze. Chan whirls around, and Hyunjin sees him last, his face immediately falling as his eyes race up and down Changbin’s sleep-mussed form with badly contained worry.

“Binnie!” Chan exclaims and everyone else turns around. Changbin wants to disappear.

“Wh-what are you all doing here?” he somehow manages to rasp out, and Chan walks up to him.

“What do you mean? It’s your birthday, Bin, do you think we would let you wallow alone on your birthday?”

Oh.

He didn’t realise … Was it really … Wait, did he forget his own birthday?!

Chan seems to see the turmoil in his eyes, because he throws an arm around Changbin’s shoulder and leads him back down the hallway, back to his room.

“Why don’t you take a quick shower, and we’ll be right here, with food on the table, when you’re done, yeah? When’s the last time you had a proper–”

“Why are they here?”

It breaks out of him, interrupts Chan mid-sentence, but Chan doesn’t let it phase him.

“It’s your birthday, they wanted to celebrate it with you. Plus, they wanted to talk to you …”

Changbin panics, opens his mouth to say something, anything, to tell Chan that he isn’t ready, that he can’t face them, especially not together, but Chan shushes him.

“I think you should hear them out. Promise me you’ll hear them out?”

Changbin stares at Chan. He doesn’t know what they could possibly say that wouldn’t end with Changbin’s heart shattered on the floor of his room all over again, but Chan looks so convinced, so optimistic, so determined, that Changbin nods.

“Okay, now off to the shower with you. I’ll tidy up in here a bit, okay? Change your sheets, let some air in.”

Changbin nods again, lets Chan steer him to his drawers to get him a change of clothes, and then into the bathroom. And when he stumbles out of the steam ten minutes later, Chan is sitting on his clean, freshly made bed, scrolling through his phone.

“There you go, much better!” Chan exclaims with one of his patented smiles, and jumps up. “Now let’s get some food before it gets cold, and they kill us because they have to wait any longer.”

Everyone’s already crowded around the big dinner table, cheers erupting when Changbin and Chan come back. Jeongin mumbles a “finally!” and Changbin has no time to think before he’s steered into one of the empty seats, Seungmin to his left, Chan sitting down to his right.

When he looks up, he meets Jisung’s eyes, who smiles brightly at him, playing with Minho’s hand in his lap.

“Happy birthday, hyung! We missed you in the studio today,” he chirps, easily, dripping with sincerity, and Changbin’s heart convulses almost painfully. He had barely thought of the group these last few days, too focused was he on his broken heart. He feels almost bad.

“None of that,” Minho chides, as if he read Changbin’s mind. Though Changbin assumes it was written all over his face anyway. Clearly, his pokerface is lacking these days. “You needed the rest.”

Jisung next to him nods, and Changbin gives them both what he hopes is a genuine smile. But it’s hard. As Chan loads up his plate, he finally dares to let his eyes stray down the table where you and Hyunjin are, sat next to each other.

To his relief, neither of you are looking at him. You’re talking to Jeongin about something, Hyunjin is busy trying to get a drink from the kitchen island without having to get up, before he gives up and does, grabbing two diet cokes, placing one in front of you automatically. The gesture is so domestic it makes Changbin feel sick with jealousy. He can’t do this. He can’t watch this. What the fuck was he thinking?!

But then Hyunjin’s eyes meet his and Hyunjin smiles. It’s small, sheepish, and impossibly soft, big eyes round, mouthing a quiet “hi” and Changbin’s chest erupts into barbed wire butterflies. He wonders how long it will take for him to get over this. He wonders if he ever will.

“Come on, Bin, eat up,” Chan exclaims, rips Changbin’s attention away from Hyunjin and to his plate, filled to the brim with all his favourite foods and when he looks up, Seungmin is smiling at him.

“Eat, hyung, we had to go to like five different places to get all of this, so you better enjoy it,” he teases, and Changbin huffs out a laugh, but digs in.

And really, he didn’t eat very well the last few days, his appetite having all but disappeared, swallowed up by the heartbreak until there was nothing left. So he lived on leftovers left by the others, off cup ramen and convenience store kimbap. And he didn’t care, but now, with all of this in front of him, he realises he’s starving.

So he eats. Lets himself be dragged into different conversations, lets Jisung whine about how fast his rap is in the song they were recording, listens to him and Seungmin discuss singing techniques, to Chan talk about this new machine his personal trainer made him use the other day.

Every now and again, he steals glances at you and Hyunjin, and he doesn’t know if you’re doing it to be kind to him, but there’s no lovey-dovey-ness between you; no whispering, no touching, no stolen glances. Changbin is grateful, but he’s also confused.

But before long, everyone’s done eating and you and Hyunjin disappear into the kitchen only to reappear side by side, holding a giant cake. Everyone starts singing the most disjointed rendition of happy birthday which should be criminal considered they’re all singers, but Changbin doesn’t care. Tears prick in his eyes before the song is even over.

The cake is pink. Impeccably frosted. And it’s dwaekki-themed. Ears, little pigtail and face and all. On the bottom it says, “Happy birthday, Changbin!” and there are at least 10 candles, burning, flickering precariously with every step you take.

You and Hyunjin carry it in together, smiling at him, placing the cake in front of him on the table just when the song ends and Changbin tries his best not to cry. Before you pull away, he can feel your hand on brush against his neck, rubbing your thumb over his skin, then Hyunjin’s stronger one, squeezing his shoulder. They’re small touches, barely anything, but his whole body erupts into goosebumps.

But he doesn’t have time to dwell. Someone hands him the knife, tells him to blow out the candles and make a wish, and he does, wishes that one day he will be able to have his friends back.

They wanted to talk to you.

Changbin tries not to freak out about the prospect of it, but when everyone’s had cake, when Minho and Jisung and Chan are done tidying up the kitchen, and everyone slowly starts to make to leave except for you and Hyunjin, it all becomes a little too real.

“Bin?”

You say his name so sweetly, so quietly.

He turns and is met with you and Hyunjin, who’s hovering behind you, gnawing at his lips nervously.

“C-can we talk?” you ask.

Changbin doesn’t respond. He has the urge to say yes, because you clearly want to. He can see the worry and the stress in your tired eyes, wants to do anything he can to alleviate it, but … he doesn’t know if he can do this. He feels like he’s made of glass and one wrong move will shatter him all over the floor.

“Please, hyung,” Hyunjin mumbles, opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but Jisung screeching in the hallway, makes him falter. “Just, please?”

So Changbin nods. He tries to regulate his breathing as everyone files out with little waves and hugs and more “happy birthdays”, and even manages to hold it together when Chan hugs him and mumbles “you can call me if anything happens, okay?”, only when the door falls shut behind them, and he’s left alone with you, he starts panicking.

He turns around and finds you exactly where you were before, aimlessly fiddling with one of the containers of leftovers, Hyunjin leaning against the kitchen island, running his hand through his hair for the nth time, his foot tapping the floor nervously.

Changbin can’t stand it any longer.

“I … I can’t be your friend. I’m sorry. I really tried, but I-I can’t,” he forces out, “or maybe I can, one day, but not right now. It hurts too much. You hurt me a lot. I need time.”

You straighten up, a look on your face like you’ve been slapped.

Hyunjin winces, takes a step towards him.

“Hyung, I’m sorry,” he starts, and Changbin’s brows furrow, but Hyunjin just takes another step towards him, “I know, I fucked up, I shouldn’t have just kissed you.”

Changbin freezes, whips his head over to you, but you don’t seem surprised. Quite the opposite. Hyunjin is right in front of him now, his breath puffing against his face, just like it did a few days ago, right before …

“I shouldn’t have done it,” he says, his determined gaze racing all over Changbin’s face, “and I should’ve explained, but it was all so … I was so confused and so unsure because I couldn’t believe you’d really want me …”

“What?!”

His disbelief is genuine. Hyunjin blushes, and nods.

“Y/Nie kept telling me, but I just couldn’t believe it? I thought you were just teasing me all these years. Ironic, because the one person I wanted, didn’t want me back. Because it was always so obvious to me that you wanted her …”

Changbin’s head spins and for a second, he thinks he might pass out. You seem to be able to sense it. You mumble, Hyunjin’s name, who blinks, then takes a quick step back. Changbin feels like he can breathe again.

“Hey, why don’t we take this to your room, Bin?” you say gently, give Hyunjin a look. Hyunjin nods, steps back another few steps, and lets you take Changbin’s hand and drag him back to his room.

You lead him to his bed, make him sit down, Hyunjin immediately taking the spot next to him, just close enough, so his knee rests against the side of Changbin’s thigh when he crosses his long graceful legs underneath him. There’s more space between them now, which Changbin is grateful for, because even just that touch when it’s just the three of you here in his room, makes him a little dizzy.

You don’t sit down, instead you come to stand in front of him. Changbin blinks up at you. He feels like he’s staring straight at the sun.

“We’re sorry, Binnie,” you announce with a deep sigh, giving Changbin a look that melts his heart, “we’re sorry we didn’t talk to you sooner. Everything was so messy, and it took us ages to figure it out between ourselves and … and we didn’t know how much you were hurting, how much we were hurting you. We’re sorry.”

Hyunjin makes a soft sound of agreement next to him.

“The thing is …” you take a deep breath, ”both Hyune and I … we both went into our date with each other trying to get over you.”

Changbin’s whole world tilts on its axis.

“I kinda … I loved you for so long, and I figured you’d never want me back, I honestly always thought you were in love with Hyunjin, ever since you told me about him, but … I don’t know, it’s been like, what 7 years, and you never made a move and when Hyune and I met, there was so much chemistry and I thought maybe, just maybe, I should try, you know? And I didn’t know if it would last or anything, but I was kinda desperate because I really needed to get over you.”

You flush, fidget awkwardly where you stand.

“But then … I don’t know, I fucked up, I kissed you, and we had sex and afterwards it was so obvious how much you regretted it, and it hurt so fucking bad to see, so when Hyunjin kissed me in the museum and my heart nearly beat out of my chest, I, uh, I was so relieved. Like, maybe there was a chance, maybe I could get over you. But I couldn’t … of course not.”

Hyunjin’s hand splays over Changbin’s thigh, and Changbin shivers.

“And neither could I …” he murmurs, voice thick like honey in Changbin’s ears. “I really tried … and I was so confused that on Y/N and my second date, I just kind of … freaked out. Told her I heard you. Told her that I was sorry but also that I wasn’t, because it … it turned me on so bad.”

He breathes out the last words, and Changbin nearly chokes on his spit.

“But also that I was really jealous and that I was pretty sure I was in love with you but also liked her and … well, long story short, we realised in a, uhh, very explicit way, that we were both in the same boat, but also really liked each other … But it almost felt like … something was missing. You were missing.”

Hyunjin moves a little closer, lets his hand trace over Changbin’s arm, down to his wrist, before linking his hands in his.

“And we wanted to talk to you, but then you were so cold to me when we were filming that last SKZ code episode, and I kinda just … lost my head. I got so scared. And I followed you because I wanted to tell you all of this, but you were so angry, and it was so hot, and you kissed me back so hard it knocked any coherent thought out of me and I messed it all up. Chan told me as much, when he came to the other dorm. Yelled at me so loud in front of the others …”

Hyunjin shivers, and you take the break in his rant to sit down on Changbin’s other side.

“When Hyunjin told Chan we wanted to talk to you, he had this big, long dad talk with us, about our feelings and our intentions,” you mumble, and shiver. “He basically gave us the shovel talk, it was scary.”

Hyunjin giggles quietly.

“But the long and short of it is,” you take a deep breath, but it’s shaky. Hyunjin’s hand leaves Changbin’s only for long enough to reach over his lap and squeeze yours, before returning to lace into Changbin’s again. “We wanted to ask you … if there was any possible way you might have feelings for us. Because we do … have, like, a lot of feelings … for you.”

Changbin’s heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest. He wants to pinch himself, to make sure he isn’t dreaming, but Hyunjin’s warm presence, his thumb rubbing circles into the back of his hand, your leg jumping nervously, it all feels too real to be a dream.

“It’s okay if you don’t,” you breathe out with an awkward chuckle, “just … you just need to tell us. We didn’t really think that far because we’re both romantics and also both kinda delusional,” you laugh again, though Changbin can hear the sadness, “That’s something we learned about each other in the last weeks. But we’ll figure something out. If you just love Hyune, it’s okay, I … I’m not mad, I promise. At least I’ll know. I just can’t pine over you any longer.”

Changbin’s head whips up so fast he nearly pulls something.

“Is that what you think?”

You shrug, avoid his eyes.

“It seemed pretty obvious,” you mumble, “with how you talked about him from day one. How much you regretted sleeping with me, how you kissed him back …”

You look so devastated, it makes Changbin’s chest ache.

He shakes his head. He reaches for you, his hand as shaky as the day you kissed him, cupping your face. His whole body is thrumming with something he can’t name.

“I … wow, is this real?!” he huffs out, with a disbelieving laugh, “Angel, I’ve been in love with you for years …”

Hyunjin hums approvingly, and Changbin’s face snaps over. Hyunjin is right there, staring at him with wide eyes.

“You …” Changbin mumbles, and Hyunjin’s eyes suddenly widen, almost in fear, “Do you think I would flirt with you for so many years without meaning any of it?! Are you crazy?”

Hyunjin pouts, and Changbin wants to kiss it off him. The thought that he might have wanted him to all along, makes him feel insane.

“Well, you never shut up about her! It was always ‘Y/N this, Y/N that’ and ‘Ah, no, Changbin isn’t coming home until later, he’s at Y/N’s’. At some point, I figured the two of you were together and just didn’t tell anyone.”

Changbin blushes hard, but before he can overthink it, he decides to be brave. He frees his hand from Hyunjin’s reaches up, and pulls Hyunjin into a kiss. Hyunjin squeals into his lips, before he relaxes, presses himself closer, until half his leg is in Changbin’s lap and his hand is ghosting up his back. And then he pulls back, blinks his eyes open and looks past Changbin, and Changbin turns and meets your eyes. Your pupils are blown, and despite all of his words, there’s something so uncertain in your face.

“Come here,” Changbin whispers, and you do. Effortlessly, easily, shimmy forward until he can wrap his arm around your waist and press his lips to yours, and he wonders once more if he’s dreaming, but when Hyunjin’s lips find his neck, your fingers travel over his legs until they find Hyunjin’s …

When Changbin pulls back, he’s dizzy. Hyunjin is all but folded around him, nuzzling his face into Changbin’s neck, and you’re staring at him so intently and Changbin has a hard time figuring out what’s right and wrong.

Hyunjin shifts and Changbin feels him half hard in his pants, and he panics a little bit.

“C-can we … can we just … can we just hang out tonight? Watch something or cuddle, or I don’t know,” he asks, shakily, squeezes his eyes closed, “this is … this is a lot, I think I need a minute.”

Hyunjin pulls back, soothes his hand over Changbin’s back and you nod.

It’s only when the light is off later, the three of you tangled into each other in Changbin’s double bed, that’s just about big enough to hold you all, with you curled up against his chest and Hyunjin’s body plastered against his back, that Hyunjin dares bring it up again.

“This feels right, doesn’t it?” he whispers into the darkness, and Changbin’s heart skips a beat. You giggle and hum out a sleepy yes against his chest, and Changbin can’t even find the words. It does.

It’s scary, so, so scary and new, but it feels right in a way that only his soul can understand.

And his soul? Well, it seems that overnight, it found its way, back to where it belongs – in the spot right next to his beating, aching heart, beating and, maybe, just maybe, if last night wasn’t a dream, no longer aching for you.

And it wasn’t a dream, Changbin notes, with a relief that makes his toes curl. Because before he even opens his eyes he can feel Hyunjin’s hair tickling his nose, your soft arm thrown over his waist, your feet tangled with his, and the sun shining in through the crack in the curtains, and he feels like he’s finally come home.

You stir against his back, arch into him as you stretch, your fingers absentmindedly slipping under his shirt, brushing against the skin of his lower stomach. You nuzzle back against him, press a soft kiss to his back, and he sighs. Gently, he covers your hand and with his, gives it a squeeze that makes you hum softly.

Hyunjin wakes then, too, huffing out a breath, the little pout on his angelic face pulling into a yawn, before he detaches himself from Changbin’s side enough to roll onto his back. Changbin watches as he stretches his arms above his head, cursing Hyunjin because he clearly knows how good he looks like this, the lean muscles in his biceps bulging, his shirt riding up enough to expose his toned stomach, the little trail of dark hair leading into his pants where …

Jesus christ. Changbin had seen Hyunjin naked before, plenty of times, and distantly, he knew Hyunjin wasn’t exactly on the small side, but right here, right now, morning wood impressively hard in just his thin cotton boxers? His cock is fucking massive. The mere thought of getting his hands on him makes Changbin’s own half-hard cock twitch in interest.

And you seem to have felt it, because you chuckle deviously and the hand that was trailing over his stomach dips lower.

Hyunjin blinks his eyes open at the sound of your giggle, a pretty little smile on his face as he faces Changbin, his eyes falling down to where your fingers are tracing the waistband of Changbin’s briefs and he hums.

“Good morning,” he rasps, scoots closer, lets one of his hands trail up Changbin’s arm, up over his shoulder, until he can trace Changbin’s cheek. He’s gentle with it, his eyes constantly on Changbin, watching every single one of his reactions with a loving diligence. But below his gentleness, simmering somewhere deep in his eyes, is a hunger than Changbin has never seen before. His cock is rock hard now, your teasing fingertips keeping him teetering on the brink of insanity.

“Please tell me you haven’t changed your mind …” Hyunjin breathes out, and Changbin huffs out in disbelief. He shakes his head and that’s all Hyunjin needs before he leans in to kiss him, morning breath and all. But Changbin doesn’t care. He’s in his bed, with the sun on his face, your body pressed against him and Hyunjin kissing him. He has never been better.

Your fingers dip underneath his waistband like a question.

“Is this okay?” you ask, your voice a breathless thing against the nape of his neck.

Changbin nods, whines a yes into Hyunjin’s lips, and then your hand wraps around his cock and he moans. Hyunjin sighs happily, pulls back only enough to murmur a pleased little “so loud” against his lips, before he presses closer and kisses him even harder.

It’s mind-blowing how good your simple touches feel, nothing grand, only your bodies pressed together, your hand sliding up and down his cock, Hyunjin’s tongue licking against his.

When Changbin’s hips stutter, Hyunjin makes a noise into his mouth and pulls back. Changbin nearly comes just from the vision of him, eyes darker than he’s ever seen them, his sinfully plump lips bitten, chest rising and falling harshly. He looks like some kind of greek god of sex, even more so when he looks past him, over his shoulder, and then pushes Changbin until he’s all the way on his back.

When Hyunjin grabs you by the chin and pulls you in for a kiss right in front of Changbin, Changbin thinks he might actually still be dreaming because holy shit. You’re greedy, pull Hyunjin in with a hand in his hair and Hyunjin matches you effortlessly, parts his lips, lets you lick into his mouth before he returns the favour, kisses you so filthily, Changbin’s belly does a swoop and his cock twitches pathetically in your hand, that’s still pumping, albeit erratically, too distracted by Hyunjin’s assault on your mouth.

But before long, Hyunjin pulls back and turns his hungry eyes back on Changbin, keeps him pinned to the mattress with them as he shoves the covers aside and slithers down his body.

“Fuck, Hyune-aahhh.”

Changbin’s words are cut off when Hyunjin nudges his nose and open mouth against his clothed cock with a hum that travels all the way up Changbin’s spine. There’s an embarrassing wet spot where the head of his cock is leaking, and it’s only getting wetter by the minute.

"Let me make it up to you, hyungie," Hyunjin purrs.

“I’m not gonna … fuck me sideways,” he moans out when Hyunjin rips his briefs down and off his legs in one fell swoop.

“Some other time, gladly,” Hyunjin teases, and Changbin would’ve made a pathetic sound in the back of his throat if Hyunjin didn’t choose that exact moment to swallow his cock into his hot mouth.

He hollows his cheeks, hums, does a little flick with his tongue against the underside of Changbin’s cock and makes a whole show of rolling his eyes before he pulls off and grins up at Changbin.

“Your cock is so perfect, hyungie,” he teases, and Changbin tries to hide his burning, probably embarrassingly pink, face with a whine, only to awkwardly bump his nose into the side of your face. You giggle.

“What? Don’t like the dirty talk?” you hum, and Changbin gives you a mock glare, one that is horribly interrupted by his eyes rolling into the back of his head when Hyunjin sinks his cock back into his mouth.

“If I’d known … fuck, Hyunjin,” Changbin moans, his hand reaching down, tangling in Hyunjin’s hair, though feeling the bob of his head only makes him hurtle towards his orgasm faster, “if I’d known you had such a mouth on you …”

Hyunjin pulls off again, his eyes watery from the effort, and lets the head of Changbin’s cock rest against his plump bottom lip and smiles up at him. It’s an image that not even Changbin’s filthiest desires could’ve cooked up.

“Then what? You would’ve let me hit sooner?”

His tongue darts out and digs into Changbin’s slit, and Changbin curses. He’s going to come, and soon.

Your fingertips trail under his shirt, up the side of his chest, until they reach his nipple. Your touch makes electricity prickle through his veins, and then you turn his head towards you and your lips find his and Changbin loses any shred of sanity.

He comes with an arch of his back and a strangled moan that’s muffled by your lips, one hand buried in Hyunjin’s hair, the other holding on to your arm for dear life. Pleasure rushes through him so fast he thinks he might black out, his whole body shivering again and again, toes curling, until he has nothing left to give, and he collapses into the pillows, breathing heavily, one arm slung over his face.

Distantly, he feels Hyunjin pull off his cock, and he tries to slur out an apology, one Hyunjin promptly ignores.

“Did he just …” Hyunjin asks, fondness laced through every word.

“Did you just come from kissing me?” you ask with a giggle, but it’s so gentle, so fond, that the embarrassment burning Changbin’s ears can’t even harshen his post-orgasm glow.

Hyunjin giggles, then there’s shuffling. Hyunjin murmurs a quiet “come here, baby” and your warmth disappears from Changbin’s side with one more kiss to his forehead, and then the bed dips on his other. When Changbin lifts his arm and cracks one of his eyes open, he is greeted with the view of you and Hyunjin kissing again, though this time it’s different. A lot softer, more coordinated.

You’re straddling Hyunjin’s waist, one knee on each side of him, draped over his chest, one hand supporting yourself in the pillows next to Hyunjin’s head, the other cupping Hyunjin’s face like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever touched. Hyunjin’s hands on the other hand, are all over you – one smoothing under your shirt and over your belly and, if your gasp is anything to judge by, grabbing your tits, the other on the back of your legs, travelling up and under the boxer shorts you borrowed from Changbin. Changbin can’t see, but when you moan and arch into his hand, he assumes Hyunjin started playing with your pussy.

Changbin’s mouth waters just watching, but then you sit back enough to pull your shirt over your head and do the same to Hyunjin and suddenly, Changbin’s mouth is very, very dry. His cock twitches valiantly.

Skin. So much skin. Your plushness against Hyunjin’s lean, wiry muscles, his strong hands digging divots into your skin, one of them wrapped around your breast, playing with your nipples. Hyunjin is still hard, straining against his boxers, and when you grind forward, dragging your core against the base of his cock, Hyunjin moans, low and melodic and needy.

Changbin’s hard again. It must be some sort of record, but how could he not, with the two most perfect people he has ever seen, making out half naked after sucking soul of out him.

When you scramble off the bed to shuck off your (his, Changbin’s brain supplies unhelpfully) boxers and see him watching you, a smile so gorgeous yet so devious it gives him whiplash, pulls at your lips.

Hyunjin scrambles out of his boxers, too, and Changbin can’t help but stare when Hyunjin’s cock springs free and slaps heavily against his abdomen because fuck, that might be the most beautiful dick he’s ever seen in his life, long and straight, beading precum at the tip. And lord knows he has imagined having Hyunjin every which way, but the thought of him putting that inside him makes Changbin a little more than just dizzy.

Changbin gets distracted by Hyunjin reaching out, wrapping his fingers around his wrist and pulling him closer.

“Get over here,” Hyunjin rasps out, his eyes hooded, and Changbin doesn’t have to be told twice.

He leans in, captures Hyunjin’s lips in his, kisses him with everything he has because, oh god, he can just do this now. He can just kiss Hwang Hyunjin whenever he wants. And Hyunjin seems to like it, because he turns into putty underneath his hands, pliable and pretty, chasing Changbin’s touch until Changbin gives in, runs his palms over his stomach, down, wrapping his hand around his beautiful, heavy cock, and stroking him, swallowing his moans, until Changbin feels the bed dip and your leg against his again. Then he trails his hands up again, over his abs, until he can run his fingers over his pecs. When he brushes over his nipple, Hyunjin gasps, throws his head back.

“Binnie,” you murmur softly, and when he looks over, you sink down on Hyunjin’s cock, taking it all the way to the hilt with a choked moan, your fingernails digging into Hyunjin’s thighs and Changbin nearly comes on the spot. Hyunjin moans prettily, one of his hands finding your waist, eyebrows knitting together in an expression of pleasure-pain that is more gorgeous than anything Changbin has ever seen.

But when he looks over at you, you, with your hair wild, your back arched, goosebumps on your glistening skin as you throw your head back, circle your hips in a slow grind – Changbin is at a loss where to look because surely this cannot be real.

Hyunjin makes the decision for him, whines, demands his attention back by sinking his fingers into Changbin’s hair and yanking him down into his lips so hard pain zaps through Changbin’s scalp, only to be replaced by molten arousal when Hyunjin licks into his mouth like a man starved. And his moans only get louder when you start bouncing on him in earnest, getting up on your knees and letting yourself fall down on Hyunjin’s cock until your legs start shaking.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Hyunjin curses out, his hips bucking up to meet yours with every one of your bounces, and you mewl, falling forward and into Hyunjin’s chest weakly.

“C-can’t, legs h-hurt, p-please,” you whimper, voice so brittle and desperate it sends Changbin into a tailspin. He mashes his lips against yours and Hyunjin moans, plants his feet and starts fucking up into you, and the sound you make is outright obscene. Changbin’s patience snaps, and he reaches down, wraps one hand around himself. The relief of his touch makes him almost delirious.

You’re still kissing him, though it’s more teeth and spit than anything, and then you turn your head and Hyunjin catches you, cradles you against him and fucks up into you harder, until Changbin’s headboard is thudding against the wall in an erratic rhythm that Changbin knows all the neighbours can hear.

“C-close,” you mumble and Hyunjin whimpers into your mouth, turns, drags Changbin closer until his mouth is in the mix, too, and it’s filthy and messy and so entirely uncoordinated that it shouldn’t be hot, but, it is, because Changbin is swapping spit with the two loves of his life.

Somehow, he comes first, spills weakly over his fist as another desperate orgasm racks through him, renders him entirely boneless, watching as Hyunjin ruts into you until you come with a choked moan, muttering Hyunjin’s then Changbin’s name, and Hyunjin’s whole body arches when he follows you over the edge, burying himself in you to the hilt with a weak moan.

Then he collapses, and you along with him, cheek squished against his chest, fucked out and gorgeous, before you slowly let yourself slide off his chest, and into the space between them. You mewl weakly when Hyunjin’s cock slides out of you and his cum starts dripping out of you, a sight that makes stars dance in Changbin’s vision and his spent cock throb.

It’s a little gross. Sweat and cum and spit drying on skin, but neither you nor Hyunjin make any effort to move. And neither does Changbin. So the three of you just lie there, basking in the glory of it all, Hyunjin and your hands linked on his chest, Changbin wrapped around your back, drawing shapes onto Hyunjin’s abs.

“Are we … are we dating now?” you ask into the silence, sheepish, and Hyunjin cracks an eye open, before he turns on his side, presses a kiss to your nose that makes Changbin’s heart flutter.

“I’d be honoured to be your boyfriend,” he murmurs, and Changbin can see your smile mirrored in the one that takes over Hyunjin’s as he looks at you.

Then you turn around, enough to be able to stare up at Changbin.

“What about you? Wanna be my boyfriend, Binnie?”

“And mine!” Hyunjin chirps. You giggle.

“And Hyunjin’s?”

Changbin doesn’t even try to play coy. He smiles, big and uninhibited, so wide he knows his dimples are probably showing, but he doesn’t care.

“I’d love to be your boyfriend,” he says. He means it more than he has ever meant anything in his life. His heart threatens to leap out of his chest.

“And mine?” Hyunjin asks, fluttering his lashes at Changbin with a pretty little pout on his lips.

“And yours, silly,” Changbin laughs out and Hyunjin smiles, leans up to kiss Changbin, then you, watches as Changbin kisses you with a smile on his lips, before he settles back down, cuddles back up to you. Changbin yawns.

“We should shower …” he says, half-heartedly, but you huff, pull his arm closer around you.

“Just … a few more minutes,” you mumble, and Changbin can hear the sleep already tugging at your consciousness.

“Yeah, this is nice,” Hyunjin adds, scoots closer until his forehead is resting against yours on the pillow. His eyes are already closed.

And Changbin? Well, what is he going to do. He ignores the stickiness between his legs in favour of the soft body of his love in his arms, and when sleep tugs at his consciousness, beckoned by Hyunjin’s soft snores, he lets it overtake him. They can always shower later. They have all the time in the world now.

A year later, on his birthday, they’re all out together at a Korean BBQ place, one that Jisung and Minho go to so often that they’ve become friends with the owners, and always get a private room in the back where they can truly have privacy.

You and Hyunjin disappear after the meat is all eaten, and then you walk back in, moments later, side by side, holding a giant cake. Everyone sings happy birthday.

The cake has a picture of the three of you on it, because his birthday is now also partly your anniversary. You usually celebrate twice, though. Not like any of you need an excuse to be sappy and romantic on any given day. You may be the sappiest couple, or throuple, Changbin knows. He loves every second of it.

In the picture on the cake, Changbin is standing in between you two, Hyunjin’s arm slung around his shoulders, you folded into his side. You took it at Namsan Tower a couple of months ago, asked a stranger to take it in front of the famous hearts, giggling when you pulled down your masks and the stranger looked confused, like he was trying to figure out where he knew you from. It was a beautiful night. You ate ice cream and stole sticky sweet kisses in alleyways and behind trees and then went home and fucked each other’s brains out until Jisung was pounding on the wall separating his room from Hyunjin’s begging you to stop.

You place the cake down on the table in front of him as the song ends. Someone tells him to blow out the candles and make a wish. He blows them out and wishes this – you, Changbin and Hyunjin – will last forever.

Everyone cheers, you squeal, wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind. Hyunjin sits back down at his place to Changbin’s right and laces his fingers with his. He gives Changbin the biggest, fondest, smile, and leans in until he's cuddled into his side. Changbin’s heart melts.

You pepper sweet little kisses all over his cheek and over his neck.

“Happy birthday, Binnie,” you whisper, happiness evident in your voice. “I love you so much.”

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No Guts / No Glory

Copyright Ⓒ 2023 by Moonjxsung

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner. Doing so will result in a legal takedown per the Digital Millennium Copyright Act and is subject to legal action.

Read part 2 here.

Pairing: Bang Chan x fem reader

W/c: 26.2K

Warnings: depictions of bodily harm, descriptions of blood, mentions of drinking, dry-humping, oral sex (male receiving)

Synopsis: Conducting a series of interviews about up-and-coming boxer Bang Chan leading up to his title fight puts you in a complicated situation when you begin to develop feelings for him.

18+. Mdni!

•

“I believe the second most intimate thing you can do with a person is interview them. If I can’t kiss you, I think it’s only fair you indulge me in a story.”

•

Calloused fingers adjust the lavalier microphone a little higher up onto the collar of his button-down shirt- knees bent, legs spread to occupy a generous amount of space, even for a guy as big as he is. A gentle noise emits from the silver chain around his wrist as he interlocks his fingers together, twiddling thumbs and placing them neatly onto his jeans. And then he takes a deep breath, as the door across the room swings open, outlining your intimidating figure.

The room is tense when you finally saunter in, clipboard balanced in the crook of your elbow as you do your best to avoid eye contact with the subject of the video while you assume your position on the chair across from him.

Your hand darts out to greet whom you can only assume to be a manager of some sort, giving him a closed-lip smile and a polite nod before taking your seat again. And when there’s nobody else in the room requiring your attention, you let your gaze fall to him at last, doing a once-over of his intimidating figure.

Warm tan skin complements his lightened brown hair, swept neatly out of his face to reveal his narrowed honey eyes. His sharp eyebrows seem to straighten, pulling down into a stoic expression as he observes you right back. His wide nose flaunts a sharp bridge, much like the masculine jawline that clenches as he remains quiet- and juxtaposed against all of it, soft, plump lips, which form into a smile as he greets you, pulling back to expose a dazzling set of teeth.

“Christopher Bang Chan,” he says to you, reaching a hand out and clasping his fingers around yours. His grasp is firm, but intentional, like he’s making every effort to seem professional. And it’s nothing you haven’t seen several times before- in wrestlers, and swimmers and boxers alike.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions,” you say to him, omitting any form of introduction entirely. “Just answer as honestly as you can.”

“Are we rolling?” Chan asks, gesturing to the camera with a wave of his index finger.

“This is just a test for my use,” you explain to him. “You don’t need to acknowledge the cameras.”

He gives an understanding nod, sitting up a little straighter and clearing his throat. And then, as the little red blinking light indicates that the camera is indeed recording, you begin to speak.

“Could you state your name for the camera? In a full sentence, please.”

“Hi,” he begins with a nervous chuckle. “My name’s Christopher Bang Chan. You guys know me as Bang Chan- or just Chan, really.”

“And you’re a boxer.”

“I am a boxer,” he affirms.

“How long have you been boxing?”

“I’ve been boxing for…” his eyes roll up to the ceiling, hand finding its way to his chin as he remains lost in thought for a moment. “About fourteen years. Started when I was twelve, never looked back. Still have my first pair of boxing gloves hanging in my mom’s house, if you can believe it.”

Amused laughter fills the room, Chan’s eyes forming little crescents as he thinks back to the bright blue Kanpeki sparring mitts that hang on a single nail in his parents’ living room.

“Chan- why boxing?”

“Why not?” He retorts with a cheeky smile. “Nah, I’m just messing with you. Seriously, boxing…boxing is… something that makes me feel alive. When I’m in the ring throwing punches like I’ve been trained my whole life to do, and people are standing behind me who’ve been there the whole way and I can hear them cheering, I’m alive. There’s nothing else that matters in that moment. It’s just pure skill, pure passion for what I do. I don’t feel that way about much else.”

His accent is thicker than you’d anticipated it to be- a sultry, Australian accent accompanies his serious intonations, and he speaks as though he’s telling a story, pulling you in captivating you with his entire being. He sounds smarter than the other athletes you’re used to, as though he could have done a variety of career paths if not for boxing. At least something relating to speaking, you’re sure, as he concludes his response with a gentle nod.

“And you’re just months away from the biggest fight of your career,” you then say, cocking your head slightly.

“Can you tell us about where you’re at with that, mentally?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s really nothing I haven’t trained for before,” Chan replies candidly. “I’m at the gym training every single day, we’re working around the clock to make sure I’m at my best for this event. And at the same time, I’m new to title fights- I really have no expectations going into it. I just want to do my best.”

Chan’s lips purse together as he scans your expression for a reaction to his statement, but all he’s met with is a nod as you gesture to the cameras.

“That’s all we need for now,” you call out to the camera crew. “You can wrap up while we finish discussing.”

Chan’s eyebrows are raised as he glances around the room curiously, staff members conversing amongst themselves as expensive-looking cameras are disassembled and stowed away into leather casing.

“I’ll give you a minute,” his manager says, rising from his spot to rush after another staff member. And just as you’d feared, it’s just Chan and yourself at a painfully close proximity.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Chan chimes in from his spot on the chair, observing the way you shuffle through a stack of papers.

“Y/n,” you say plainly. “The interviews and filming will take place over the next month. Think of it as a sort of docuseries for sports fans- the next hottest thing since last year’s boxing burnout.”

“Hottest thing?” he repeats curiously. “That’s a generous compliment, I wouldn’t call myself the hottest-”

“Up-and-coming,” you correct him. “New, fresh. Fascinating to the masses. They love you now, they’ll be itching to see how you perform. And then you’ll be in the big leagues with all the other athletes. It’s the sort of people I interview.”

Chan purses his lips together again, scratching the back of his head awkwardly and shoving his hands into his pockets.

“How long have you been interviewing?”

“No need to interview the interviewer,” you say sternly. “I don’t expect anything from you. Just show up, give me answers and don’t be late. Anything else I can assist with?”

Chan searches for something to say, wanting so badly to work some of his classic athlete charm on you the way he has for his entire career thus far. But as you pull off your glasses again, tucking them into the pocket of your blouse, he realizes he’ll just have to come to terms with the professional dynamic you’ve so boldly established here with him already.

“That’s all,” Chan says finally. “I’ll see you at the next one, then?”

“Don’t be late,” you say again.

And he can still catch a glimpse of your ponytail as you exit, swaying side-to-side in tandem with purposeful strides as you disappear from his sight.

*

“How’d it go?”

“Standard.”

“Anything notable?”

“He’s a boxer, Lin. Just like anything you’d expect from them- immersed in his sport, rich, not much substance to him.”

“Then I presume the docuseries is going to be smooth sailing from here.”

Lin prods at a particularly thick piece of lettuce in her salad, an obnoxious crunch filling the silent space that falls over you both amidst the otherwise loud cafeteria. Of course it’s natural for her to draw this simple conclusion- one of the lead producers, she’s always heads down in the editing portion of your films, trimming out unnecessary dialogue and uploading B-roll to accompany the complex story behind your subjects. But it’s always the same story- soulless, busy men, far too consumed by their own masculinity and an insatiable appetite to win, no matter the cost.

At first it’s the local media who take a particular liking to them, publishing flashy articles about all their grand endeavors and illustrating the glass shelves of trophies their parents flaunt. And then by some “miracle”, sometimes a “gift from god himself”, they land a title fight- describing the opportunity with stars in their blank eyes, all the while still media trained to project a humble image. That’s where you come in, a journalist with a keen eye to see right through them, still earning the big bucks as you assist in upholding the headache-inducing humble image they’re so set on. And following a series of interviews, once they’re far too gone to even assimilate with normal folk like yourself, they’ll win said respective fight, make it on to the biggest blogs and television publications, and then effectively lose themselves to the new celebrity title. You’ve seen it several times now- in tennis players, wrestlers, swimmers. And boxers- especially boxers.

As you watch Lin poke around at the remainder of her salad, you glance at the room beyond her seated figure, where your colleagues are busy with their own lunches and still heads down in their work, laptops propped open and hands typing away as they chew. It’s always like this when a new series of yours is in its early stages of filming, everybody scrambling to prepare their notes and film work as the schedule is finalized. Not a minute can be wasted on a project like this- the subjects’ time is more valuable than anything right now. Every minute Chan graces the studio, every word he utters is footage, publication- more money.

“Y/n?” Lin questions, snapping you out of your visible trance.

“Hm?”

“I asked if you have everything you need.”

You ponder her words for a moment, thinking back to your itinerary, to the list of printed questions still secured on your clipboard and even Chan, the image of the lavalier mic hanging loosely from the collar on his shirt replaying in your head.

“I think so,” you say finally, shrugging and prodding your index finger at the still-wrapped sandwich that rests upon the table.

“Come on,” she says with a sigh. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. You just have to suck it up for a few weeks, and the pay-off will be worth it. Remember the last one? People are still crazy about that guy, and it’s all thanks to you.”

“Yeah, I remember. I’m just tired, I guess. It’s all so voyeuristic. It’s exhausting trying to learn the details of somebody’s life like this.”

“Voyeurism can be a good thing,” she interjects. “The more intimate this process is, the better. We want the people to know every inch of him.”

“I know,” you reply sheepishly. “You’re right.”

“We have to see right through ‘em,” she responds, securing the lid on her Tupperware and rising from her seat. “Hey, I have to go edit another thing. I’ll see you when the next set of footage is done, though?”

“Yeah,” you say to her, watching as she stuffs her belongings into a canvas bag and hoists it over her shoulder.

“This could totally be another big break,” she states, as she begins in the other direction. “This could be huge for us all over again.”

*

It’s typically recommended to arrive at least 15 minutes early to every studio interview. In some cases, 30 is more favorable. And yet it’s a notion athletes just can’t seem to comprehend most days, sauntering in well past the starting time with a duffel bag slung over their broad shoulders, not so much as an apology uttered as they assume their spot across from you.

And Chan, you learn very quickly, is no different from the rest.

“Sorry,” he says as he finally enters, your gaze fixed on the wall across from you as the floodlights illuminate his muscular figure in your peripheral vision.

You say nothing in return, gently tapping a capped pen on the exposed flesh where your skirt meets your upper thigh. And Chan takes reluctant strides toward you, cocking his head slightly as he glances around the room and gestures to the vacant chair across from you.

“Is this… should I sit down? Or…”

Your figure remains turned away from him, giving a small nod as you remain in your spot, ushering for Chan to take his seat. And he does, slinging his bag onto the floor and leaning back in his chair.

“Wow, it’s bright in here,” Chan remarks, chuckling lightly.

“You’re late.”

He’s quiet for a moment, swallowing nervously as he scans your cold expression. Narrowed eyes meet his, not a hint of a smile present on your pursed lips as you convey your vexation.

“I’m sorry,” Chan says nervously, his eyes softening in attempts to reconcile the tension he’s brought upon you. “My training ran a little longer than I hoped. I tried to leave early, but my coach-”

“Look,” you interrupt, finally letting your gaze meet his and sighing frustratedly. “I interview guys like you on the daily. You show up late, zero regard for my time or my effort, play the game and then win all the prizes that come with it. This is just a stepping stone in your career- I get that. Just please, could you at least try to make this as easy as possible for both of us so that we can be done faster? We’re gonna be stuck with each other for a while, let’s not make this any harder than it needs to be.”

Chan falls silent when you finish speaking, smoothing a loose strand of hair down with his index finger and nodding politely.

“I’m sorry,” he voices for the second time today. “It won’t happen again. This series is really important to me.”

“I would hope so,” you tell him. “Now state your name for the camera. Full sentence, please.”

“This camera?” He inquires, pointing at one straight across from him. “Or that one over there?”

“Just state your name,” you repeat. “I have you at all angles. It doesn’t matter where you look.”

“Can I look at you, then?”

You sigh for what feels like the millionth time today, pinching the bridge of your nose in annoyance and crossing your legs at the ankles. You can’t quite tell if he’s doing this on purpose, or if he genuinely hasn’t conducted a formal interview like this prior to yours.

“Yes, you may look at me. That’s typically how a conversation goes.”

“Right, then. My name is Christopher Bang Chan.”

“And you’re a boxer.”

“I am a boxer,” he affirms with a grin.

“Chan, in just three months you’ll be competing in the biggest fight of your life- the Golden Gloves Championship, against your counterpart Kang-Dae, a competitive boxer who’s been training almost as long as you have. In a recent interview, he told me the two of you are making a deliberate effort not to meet just yet, despite training at some of the same local spots. Can you tell us your reasoning for that, as well as what that’s felt like up until now?”

A short breath escapes Chan’s lips, his eyes rolling to the ceiling as he thinks it over.

“I’ve heard remarkable things about Kang-Dae,” Chan begins. “It was something we made a mutual decision to follow through on. You know, just being mindful of training techniques and respecting each other’s space. It feels a little weird sometimes when I remember while I’m training- it’s like, was he using this bag before I was? I’ve sort of built him up to be this really dedicated player to the game, in my head at least.”

Chan smiles back when you do, taking note of the way your shoulders seem to visibly relax in his presence. He lets his ankles uncross, twiddling his thumbs as his legs spread loosely in front of him.

“So uh… yeah, it’s been… it’s not easy, knowing we’re going head-to-head in just one month. But I’m training really hard, and I know he is, too. I have a lot of respect for him.”

You nod at his words, glancing down at the clipboard of questions and notes on your lap in front of you.

“Chan, you’ve mentioned several times how hard you’ve been training for this. From the gym, to practice with your coach, to mentally preparing for all of this. What are you doing when you’re not training?”

The question marks the first of a series of personal ones, ones that really seek to tear down your subjects’ walls and reveal their true identity to audiences. They love the voyeuristic aspect of gory details- and your subjects love to talk about themselves.

“I’m hardly ever not training,” Chan says with a shrug of his shoulders. “But I guess I just sleep as much as I can. If not maybe… running, doing stretches, all that. I’m at the point where I have to be physically pried away from the gym by my coach. It’s that bad.”

He laughs lightly as he speaks, his eyes forming little crescents the way they always do when his plump lips pull into a grin. And then you mirror his expression, lips pulling into a smile as you pry for more answers.

“Can you tell us how you first got into boxing? What was that like?”

“First time,” he echoes. “Was when I was 12 years old. My dad bought me a pair of gloves after I saw this series about Baik Hyun-Man, an Olympian boxer who swept his category in… 1988? 89? God, he was phenomenal.”

“A docuseries?” You chime in, furrowing your brows together.

“Yeah. Think it was like, 4 episodes where they interviewed him following his sweep at the Olympics that year. I remember him being so well-spoken and fascinating.”

A small smile tugs involuntarily at your lips as Chan speaks, a sort of glint present in his eyes as he recalls the events. He seems so full of passion when he speaks of his source of inspiration, the same way he speaks of his own craft.

“That was made by our network,” you say finally. “That was one of the first series I saw, too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you reply, maintaining a keen smile. “It made me want to get into interviewing. He had such a way with telling his story.”

The room falls quiet as a sharp breath escapes Chan’s lips, a look of disbelief painted upon his chiseled features. He begins to say something, and then he’s quiet again, craning his neck at the camera to the right of your seated figure.

“Sorry,” you say with a sheepish shake of your head. “I don’t mean to get off topic here.”

“No, it’s… that’s really fucking cool. I mean, what are the odds, you know?”

It’s really not some miracle that you happened across the same formative media- you’re pretty sure every parent had Baik Hyun-Man’s docuseries playing on television on repeat shortly after it aired. The way he spoke of his achievements, so self-assured in the way he gestured directly into the camera and urged kids to chase their dreams, too. Inspiring journalists and athletes alike- it was the network’s biggest thing the year it aired. And evidently, a boxer’s dream, to put the sport on pedestal for the whole world to admire.

“Anyway,” you say finally, glancing back down at your clipboard. “You were indulging me in the details of your start to boxing.”

“Right,” Chan voices. “I was 12, with these clunky boxing mitts- blue ones, just like I asked for. And one of those inflatable punching bags hanging in our garage. At first, it was just jabs, I wasn’t really interested in classes or anything like that. It wasn’t until I started boxing with my dad, that’s when he pushed me to keep this going. Said I threw punches like a pro- at least the best I could do at age 12. I owe a lot of this to my dad, I don’t think I would’ve pushed myself to do any of this without him. And to chase this dream, of winning a title fight.”

“Well your dream doesn’t sound very far out of reach, by the sound of it,” you say to him, raising a singular eyebrow and cocking your head.

Chan just smiles, an earnest expression washing over him, and you take note of the way his ears flush a deep shade of red. He’s not one to take compliments very well- he falters somewhere between confident, yet flustered, and it’s endearing, like much of his persona is. Though it may be well-crafted, it’s still charming.

“I dunno,” Chan says with a click of his tongue. “Losing is always a possibility.”

“It is,” you affirm. “But I’m sure you’ve faced your share of losses in the past, too. What does losing mean to you?”

Chan furrows his brows together, a little thrown off by the question posed to him. He’s not sure he’s ever carefully dissected the implications of what it means to lose something- to funnel your entire being into what defines you, only for the tangible payoff to slip from your grasp and dissipate into a void of nothingness. And consequently, to familiarize yourself with the suffocating emotions of regret, pain, loss- even shame. It’s never been an option for him- it’s never even been an occurrence.

“I’ve never lost,” he says finally, a soft chuckle emitting from his lips.

“You’ve never lost?”

“I’ve never lost,” he repeats. “I’ve played matches that weren’t as good as others, or just barely scraped by with a win. But I’ve never lost.”

“So losing isn’t something you’ve even considered.”

“No, I’ve definitely considered it,” he contends. “Some matches, you take a good long look at the guy across from you, and it’s sort of like staring your future in the face. Like, this is it, this is the guy I’m going to lose my streak to.”

“Yet it’s never happened?”

Chan clicks his tongue again, crossing his legs at the knees this time and cocking his head, the same overconfident expression painting his chiseled face.

“I don’t lose,” he states simply. “There’s always the chance that I may lose. But I never do.”

A simple nod of your head signifies the end of this portion of the interview, and Chan finally exhales a breath he hasn’t realized he’s been holding all this time.

“I think I have all I need for today,” you say to him, avoiding the meticulous eye contact he seeks from his spot across from you. “Could you just leave your mic on that table over there?”

“Did I sound a little cocky there?” Chan queries as he fidgets with the lavalier microphone. “I didn’t mean to, it’s just a stupid fact I like to toss around.”

“Facts are facts,” you respond, toying with your own lavalier microphone, yet not moving from your spot. “You’re permitted to say whatever you want. This is your series, after all.”

“Yeah, but I’m not trying to scare people here. I’m just-”

“Frighteningly competent?” You interrupt. “Well-versed in the art of boxing? Aware of the power you hold?”

He’s quieter now, lips pursed together and eyes scanning your expression for a hint of forgiveness. But you don’t grant him any- in fact, you’re admittedly a little disenchanted by his words, which seem to put him right up against all the other boxers you’ve interviewed. Impetuous words which detract from his character as a whole, emphasizing only his worst traits. Self-righteous, self-centered, disdainful, even.

“I’ve interviewed a lot of people like you,” you explain to him, for what feels like the second time this evening. “If you sound cocky, it’s because you are cocky. You’re allowed to be, though.”

“But that’s not what I want people to get from this series.”

“Then what is it that you want?” You ask Chan, rising from your seat and gathering your papers, his gaze fixed on yours still.

He’s quiet, no adequate wording passing him by that may sum up what he seeks to put out into the world. Perhaps he’s never looked so introspectively like this before- perhaps he hasn’t even considered what he wants the world to make of him.

“I’m telling your story, not writing it,” you continue.

His lips part to say something, but a silence overtakes the room once more, words which seek to defend himself dissipating in the back of his throat much like his thoughts do.

“Just something to think about,” you conclude, the lavalier microphone rolling around between the pads of your fingers as you meet his gaze finally.

His eyebrows arch in an almost pleading manner, as though he hopes you might have a change of heart and take some mercy on a skilled boxer like himself. But you don’t- not when you have the ability to see right through him like this, the same way you do with all the others.

An arrogant athlete, on an exponential and unbroken winning-streak, complete stranger to the concept of losing or being humbled.

“Losing isn’t something you’ve even considered,” your words replay in his head. “What is it that you want?”

He ponders, to no avail, as the floodlights outline your departing figure.

*

“So he’s just never lost a match?”

“Never. And he’s a cocky prick about the fact.”

“That’s unprecedented. I don’t think we’ve ever interviewed somebody with a winning streak like his.”

Lin’s fingers hover over the keyboard of her laptop, slicing footage and importing b-roll as you assume the spot next to her. She moves quickly as she always does, hardly even needing to decipher whether the clips flow into each other adequately- it’s second nature for her to know.

“This looks good,” she voices, pupils rapidly scanning the bright screen which reflects against the lenses of her wireframe glasses. “But the network agrees we need to get a little more personal.”

“What do you mean?”

She pauses her actions, pulling off her glasses and snapping them closed between her teeth before she speaks.

“You guys had a moment somewhere in there. It’s undoubtedly the most interesting bit. There’s a bit of chemistry when you’re relating to him.

“What?” You question, furrowing your brows together as she continues to work.

“Baik Hyun-Man,” she remarks. “I mean, it’s remarkable you found something in common with the guy. Knackered journalist and devoted boxer set aside their differences to agree on one thing- ‘The Iron Gentleman’ really was a sight to marvel at.”

“We didn’t have a moment, Lin. He’s watched a series almost every athlete did when it aired.”

“I’m just saying there’s something… very human, about the whole thing. Try to get to get closer to him. Corner him- find out what makes the guy tick. I need you to read him like a diary and publicize it to the masses. It’s not going to be easy- that’s why you’re doing it.”

Your gaze remains on her computer screen, eyeing the footage you vividly remember having filmed alongside him. It’s paused on a still-shot of you sitting across from him, transfixed on his chiseled features as he explains something indistinguishable to you, playing back at Lin through the chunky black headphones she wears around her neck.

The thought is migraine-inducing, to attempt to get any closer to Bang Chan than you already are. Upon your two interactions, you’ve already taken him to be as arrogant, conceited and obsessed with his sport as you’d assumed him to be. And while it rings true that there may be more to him than meets the eye- a story trying to reveal itself to you, a truth yearning to make itself known among all this superficiality, it’s likely one he’s not keen on making known to you.

“First part airs this Friday,” she states, nodding her head to some electronic background tune as she resumes her editing. “Just promise me you’ll try to get more personal with him. Find out where he trains, scope out the spots he frequents.”

“I’m not stalking the man for the purpose of a series, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“It’s not stalking,” she counters quickly. “It’s familiarizing yourself with the video subject.”

You chuckle lightly at Lin’s request, holding your hands up in surrender and rising from your spot beside her.

“Sure, fine.”

Lin’s hands cup the speakers of her chunky black headphones, finally adjusting them over her ears as she continues working. And she shoots you one last thumbs-up before you retreat from her office.

*

For several days thereafter, the thoughts consume you, to recall Lin’s requests for a more personal relationship to the interview subject. There hasn’t been an instance yet in which you’ve been made to falsify the closeness of a subject to you- in fact, you’re usually encouraged to keep your distance, knowing very well that a story can get compromising when the lines between boundaries are almost blurred.

You think back to her suggestion to scope out the spots he frequents, which seems like an impossible task when you’re already bearing the burden of trying to know him at all. And one evening, as her words replay in your troubled mind for the umpteenth time, the solution finds you first- in the form of said cocky athlete himself.

The streets are eerily dark at the hour, nothing more than the occasional pass of a car along the blackened road as you keep to the sidewalk, hands shoved in the pockets of your coat and your gaze fixed on the towering buildings ahead. It’s not uncommon to depart the office at ungodly hours during the process of filming a docuseries like this one, especially since you usually opt to keep Lin company while she makes final edits. The neighboring buildings are already cleared out for the night, the parking lots are mostly empty, and the world is quiet as you trudge the short walk back to your apartment.

At the corner of the intersection, a small convenience store, dimly lit by the ominous flicker of street lamps, and largely uninviting to the fleeting passerby. But one you’re familiar with, often opting to make a quick stop for a bite to eat before you go home for the night.

The chime of a bell on the door announces your arrival, making your way past shelves of baked goods to where the pre-packaged foods lie. And aside from the slow lull of jazz music over the muffled speakers, it’s quiet in the convenience store, nothing except the faint sounds of shuffling surrounding you as a cashier stocks produce by the register.

“Do you guys have them in yet?” A voice calls loudly as the door swings open, the bell ringing erratically with its movement. It’s piercing- obnoxious, even, to disturb the once much-appreciated peace of the shop like this. And who else present to disturb the peace at this hour, except for an athlete, a black duffel bag slung over his shoulder as he takes long strides toward the fridge.

“Oh, you do!” he emphasizes, pulling open the handle of the fridge in a hasty motion, as he begins to pile armfuls of what appear to be popsicles in the desperate grasp of his toned arms.

“Did you know these are like, three times the price if you purchase them online?”

The cashier says nothing, giving the athlete a small bow as he continues stockpiling and talking his ear off to no one in particular- and then the athlete pivots on one foot, locking his gaze with yours, a soft chuckle emitting from between his plump lips.

“Are you following me?”

“Me?” You counter, scoffing lightly at him. “I was literally in here before you.”

“I always come here after practice. I’ve never seen you around before.”

“I’m always here after work,” you argue, crossing your arms and maintaining your stance. “I could say the same.”

He rolls his eyes, gesturing to the counter with a nod of his head. “Put it down. I’ll pay.”

“What- no, there’s no need to pay for me. I’m just leaving.”

“Come on,” Chan protests. “You’re trailing after me as though I might be in here buying something seedy. It’s clever- I’ll give you that. Let me pay for you.”

Your eyes narrow in response, reluctantly approaching him and setting down your own dessert of choice onto the counter by the register. The cashier begins to scan your items, the rhythmic beep filling the awkward silence that overtakes you two as Chan keeps his gaze fixed on your standing figure. And then he pulls a black leather wallet out from the loose-fitting gym shorts he wears, grasping a card between his middle and index finger and handing it to the cashier.

He says nothing still, maintaining an almost satisfied expression on his face as the cashier bags his horde of popsicles, and then he gestures to the door once again with a nod of his head.

Chan assumes a spot on the curb by his parked car- a fairly humble two-seater. And the plastic convenience store bag sits open between the two of you as he works on his first popsicle of the evening, twirling the wooden stick between his slender fingers as the sticky residue trickles down and houses itself on the concrete below.

“How’s it coming along?” Chan breaks the silence, eyeing you out of the peripherals of his big brown eyes. “The series, I mean.”

“Fine,” you reply, doing your best not to mirror his mess as you work on a small cup of vanilla ice cream. “The first interview is all set to air.”

“I heard. I hope you didn’t have to edit out too much of my awkward conversation.”

A light chuckle escapes your lips, shaking your head as you dip the wooden spoon back into your cup.

“No, you did well. I’m actually surprised at how genuine you come off to the cameras.”

“Surprising that I’m genuine? I’ll do my best to take that as a compliment.”

“It’s hardly one,” you voice back. “All you athletes are the same. But I suppose you are well-versed in the art of boxing and media-training alike.”

You’re quiet for a moment as you observe the quiet streets across from you both.

“I’ve always said the second most intimate thing you can do with a person is interview them. You make an impressive subject.”

“All me, thank you very much.”

Chan chuckles and shakes his head as he practically chews through the remainder of his popsicle, toying with the bare wooden stick as a silence overtakes you both.

He studies the concrete for a moment, the gentle scrape of the wooden popsicle stick on the ground making itself known as he searches for the words to say. And then the soft rustle of the plastic convenience store bag, as he digs through and collects his second popsicle of the evening.

“Are you scared?” You query, your voice a little quieter than before as you prod at your vanilla ice cream with the wooden spoon.

“Scared?”

“Yeah, for the series to air. People are going to start recognizing you when you go out. It always happens.”

Chan cocks his head in response, a satisfied smile pulling onto his lips as he ponders your words. And then his expression seems to drop again, grasping the popsicle stick between his fingers as he observes the way it melts in his touch, the residue trickling gently onto the pads of his fingers and down the bases of his wrists.

“I’m not scared,” Chan says finally. “I get punched by people for a living. There’s so little that actually scares me at this point.”

You think back to Lin’s request to get a little more out of him, pondering his words for a moment as you inhale before speaking once again.

“Then, if I may ask- what does scare you?”

And deep down, you know it’s unlikely you’ll receive a substantial response- it’s like pulling teeth searching for honesty from an athlete, and Chan is evidently no stranger to this phenomenon of insincerity and projection.

The low hum of a car engine is heard as the only other car in the parking lot begins to exit. You take note of the still-flickering street lamps, the vacant roads across the convenience store. And the way Chan’s breath hitches in the back of his throat, as if he’s conjured up an answer far too heavy to relay from between his parted lips, letting it instead dissipate once more as he laps at the sticky popsicle residue on his inner forearms.

“What scares me,” he begins, tongue tracing the outline of sherbet liquid along his veiny arms. “Is the rest of these popsicles melting. Come on, I have a freezer back at the gym.”

“Are you asking me to go with you? I’m going home, not to some sweat-ridden gym with your stash of popsicles.”

“I’m not letting you walk home at this hour, if that’s what you think you’re doing. Come on, it’s just a two minute drive from here and then I’ll take you back to your place.”

“I’m fine, thank you very much.”

Chan waits for you to say something else, silently hoping you’ll just agree without protest. But when you don’t, he gathers the plastic bag by the thinning handles, steadying himself with one hand on the concrete and standing up beside you.

“I’ll meet you in the car,” he says plainly, brushing his shorts off and averting your gaze.

The blinding glow of his car’s headlights reflect off the convenience store windows across him, and Chan watches as you bring a hand up to shield your eyesight while you rise from the curb. You can’t make out his expression in the flood of light that now surrounds you, but Chan’s lips curl into a knowing smile as you approach the passenger’s side, letting yourself in beside him and shifting the bag of popsicles out of your spot.

Of course, he’ll never know that you’re only agreeing to tag along in the unique instance you can gather something of substance for the purpose of your series, the way the network is now pushing you to do.

“Two minutes,” you voice back to him. “And then I want to be dropped off at my place.”

“Seatbelt?”

Your hands find their way to the buckle, pulling it across your torso and fastening it with a frustrated sigh.

“Two minutes,” you emphasize again.

Chan just chuckles lightly, extending an arm behind your headrest as he begins to pull out of the parking lot. And then he begins toward his training gym, in the same direction as your place of work.

*

“Don’t touch anything. I’m just gonna pop these in the freezer.”

Chan takes long strides down the gym with his plastic bag in hand, flipping on a series of light switches as he passes and illuminating the space with harsh white lighting.

At one end of the room lie rows upon rows of heavy weights, scattered carelessly and in no particular order along the rubber carpeted flooring. The other end of the room houses a long line of punching bags, cylindrical black leather masses that hang from metal chains and adhere to the dark gray walls that border the gym. And in the corner of the gym, your eye is drawn to a large boxing ring, elevated onto a black square surface, with tight black ropes that line the perimeter.

Though you’ve interviewed your fair share of athletes, you’re not sure you’ve ever been so intimately close to their place of work like this before, and it’s admittedly fascinating to finally visualize the gym he speaks of when he interviews.

Your hand caresses the rope which lines the boxing ring, looped around and pulled taut around each metal pillar at four of the corners, and you wonder how many times Chan has ducked to traverse beyond these ropes in a practice run or even a match. It’s the same ring which plays a role in his winning streak- and the same ring his opponent, Kang-Dae practices in, making strategic entrances around the clock so as not to accidentally run into each other.

As you admire the boxing ring, you fish a small digital camera out from the purse slung around your shoulder, snapping a generous set of photos and zooming in to all the intricate details.

“It’s been around since the 80’s,” a voice says, startling you amidst the silence. “Home to some of the greats. I practically live here.”

Chan’s hands are stuffed in the pockets of his shorts, the plastic bag now absent as he examines the boxing ring, too.

“The same one Kang-Dae practices in,” you reply.

“Exactly.”

He nods toward the back of the room, the curls of his hair largely concealed by the black beanie he wears on his head falling loosely into his eyes as he glances over at a boxing bag.

“I’m told he’s partial to the ones at the back of the room. I never use those ones- it’s weird using the same equipment he does.”

You nod slowly at his words, imagining what you envision Kang-Dae to look like, throwing punches at the bag in the back of the room. He’s probably similar to that of Chan’s stature- lean, muscular, chiseled features. And maybe even a handsome face to go with all of it.

“Which ones do you use, then?”

Chan chuckles lightly, meeting your gaze as he answers. “Middle of the ring,” he states with a shrug. “Gotta get used to standing in it.”

You observe the way Chan glances back at the boxing bag hanging in the center of the boxing ring, the chain fastened along a metal track so that it can be moved in and out of the vast space. And then you toy with the camera in your grasp once more, your fingers delicately grazing over the shutter release as you eye the space ahead.

“Could I…record you in it?” You ask him hesitantly, averting his curious gaze when he turns to look back at you.

“For the series?” He asks, a growing smile making itself known as he gestures to the ring.

“Yes, for the series. I’m not really looking to have a personal collection of photos of you, if that’s what you think is happening.”

Chan tosses his head back in amused laughter, and then he gestures to the ring with a wave of his hand, bowing a little and instructing you to lead the way.

The ring is considerably more intimidating from the center of the elevated platform. A glance around the room feels like you’re in the middle of an active match, and you can’t possibly comprehend how Chan does this with hundreds of eyes on him, analyzing his every move and holding him to the standard of a consistent winner. In fact, you can’t imagine how anybody could muster up the courage to be stood here on their own accord.

“This is where the magic happens,” Chan says, his hands on his hips as he cranes his neck to examine the top of the punching bag.

You bring the camera up as he speaks, shutting one eye and snapping a photo of Chan next to the punching bag, adjusting the zoom a little to more closely capture the scene as you snap a few more photos. When you’ve gathered an adequate amount, you then transition to record the scene, holding the camera in front of your chest as you watch Chan position himself in front of the punching bag.

“Can you show us a few tricks?”

Chan’s eyes form little crinkles as he smiles, cocking his head and stretching his arms up above him in preparation. His black tank top rides up a little as he does, exposing the toned strip of flesh between his waistline and the hem of his shirt, and you shake your head a little when you take notice, forcing your attention back on his upper body.

“Anything?” Chan asks, glancing at the camera.

“Yeah,” you shrug in reply. “Just show us a few moves.”

His hands form fists in front of him, knees bent slightly and his legs angled toward the punching bag. And then he pulls back, chin tucked against his upper body, swiftly pushing his fist forward and hitting the bag with an echoing thump.

“That’s a cross,” Chan explains, glancing back toward the camera. “Just a straight punch.”

He pulls back once more, delivering another harsh punch to the bag, and then his right arm bends out at the elbow, striking at an entirely new angle.

“That one’s a hook,” he says a little louder this time. “Sort of how you get in from the side.”

“Show us your hardest,” you call out to Chan, adjusting the lens to capture his full stance. “Imagine it was somebody you hated.”

Chan cocks his head slightly, an overconfident smile on his chiseled face as he positions his arms in front of him. And then he retracts again, throwing a much stronger punch this time, his hand shooting upward from waist-level, a harsh thud echoing around the ring as his fist makes impact. He throws another one with the other hand now, and then another, and then several more, teeth gritting as sharp breaths escaping his lips while he throws punch after punch, the bag swaying with every firm strike.

Your camera lens adjusts as he moves, capturing the entirety of his swift movements, zooming into his skilled hands and then panning up to his face, where his nostrils flare and his eyebrows seem to slant into a frown.

He looks passionate as he moves, his whole being seeming as though it’s being overcome with intense emotion, namely some form of resentment, you think, as he strikes the bag over and over again. You watch through the viewfinder of the camera as he keeps his angry gaze on the bag, growing irate when it sways back toward him, where he proceeds to hit back ten times harder. You study his face through the grainy film, at an expression you’ve never studied on him before this. He looks different- almost scary.

“That’s good,” you call out, to no avail, as Chan delivers another robust hit to the bag.

“I got it,” you call out a little louder, and after one last strike from the angle of the exposed flesh on his stomach upward to the bag, he finally stops, catching the bag when it sways back toward him and grasping it firmly in both hands.

Chan keeps his head down, looking a little ashamed as he catches his breath. You can hear the heavy pants that escape his lips when he turns to meet your gaze at last,

his eyebrows narrowed sternly as he looks at you. And then he brings a bruised knuckle up to his forehead, wiping off beads of sweat that trickle down his temple and flicking them off to the side with a wave of his hand.

“Uppercut,” he says hoarsely.

“Hm?”

“The move,” Chan continues. “Good for opponents.”

And then he hangs his head once more, flipping up his shirt to wipe off the remainder of sweat that accumulates on his tanned skin. You force your gaze onto his concealed face, not daring to examine the toned set of abs visible to you at this proximity.

“Best for people you hate,” he then speaks into the fabric of his shirt. And you simply nod meekly in response, stuffing the camera back into the pocket of your coat.

*

“Say it again, but to the camera this time” You say to Chan between laughter, as he brings another wooden stick up to his lips, working his tongue around the base with a harsh sucking noise.

Two minutes at Chan’s training gym have quickly turned to two hours, and in all his persuasive athlete ways, he’d somehow convinced you that he required another popsicle before drawing a close to the evening.

“These are the best popsicles in the city,” Chan states, holding the half-melted treat up by his face as though he’s advertising it.

“It’s just the right amount of sherbet. Not too much, but just enough to satisfy a sweet tooth. I’m genuinely convinced there’s not a single thing that couldn’t be cured with one of these things.”

“Got fired at work,” you challenge.

“Easily cured by a popsicle.”

“Fight with your spouse.”

“Popsicle.”

“Lost a boxing match,” you voice to him, almost doubling over in laughter when he sucks in a sharp breath and cocks his head.

“It’s a tough one. But with the right amount of sherbet, I promise you’ll make it out unscathed.”

Shared laughter fills the room as he laps up the remainder of his dessert, and then he tosses yet another popsicle stick aside, swinging his legs off the ledge of the raised boxing platform and wiping his lips with the back of his hand. As you set aside the camera once more, he hoists himself up a little further as he grasps the taut strings that surround the ring, and then he lies back entirely on the smooth surface, shutting his eyes briefly as a silence washes over you both.

Chan’s hands fold over his chest, atop the thin fabric tank top that rides up again to expose the band of his boxers, and when he feels you staring, one eye opens to meet your gaze again, a curious smile on his face.

“What?” He asks.

“Nothing,” you reply quickly, shaking your head to avert his stare. Your fingers loop around the taut rope, too, plucking at the wired material and watching it vibrate with the recoil.

Chan maintains the smug smile for a moment, a little amused at your evident shyness. And then he pats the spot behind you, beckoning you to join him in assuming a spot on the floor of the boxing ring. You begin to tell him that you should really be heading home, well aware of how long you’ve already occupied the gym, likely committing some form of trespassing by staying here. But as your eyes scan his lying figure, you think back to the interviews- it’s a miracle you’ve gotten him to loosen up even this much around you. Maybe if you stay, you can coax some form of truth out of him; a story worth telling.

So with a gentle sigh, your fingers loosen their grasp around the rope, lying flat against the smooth surface of the ring, at a close proximity alongside Chan’s languid body. It’s probably prohibited somewhere within the unspoken rules of being an earnest journalist, to lie down beside an interview subject like this. But when your hands finally fold over your own chest, the only feeling present is that of calmness, of unwavering stillness, as the low buzz of the overhead lights emits from above you.

Chan keeps his eyes shut for a while, and amidst the deafening silence, it’s almost too loud when he finally swallows a knot in his throat and speaks in a voice just above a whisper.

“Sometimes I wish I could just turn my brain off,” Chan admits quietly. “I feel like I can still hear the commotion all around me.”

Echoes of training ring through his ears as though they’re lullabies engrained deep into his memory- the strikes to hanging leather bags, the heavy grunts that escape parted lips as men lift weights three times their size, the hot showers that run around the clock as athletes relish in their wins and dwell all their losses. Even with eyes shut tightly, Chan swears he can still see pairs of eyes observing him carefully, analyzing his every move and holding him to the standards of a consistent winner.

Angle your fist upward. Quicker on the footwork. Harder. Faster.

Atta boy. Be a man. Be a winner.

It’s only when his coach has gone home for the evening, when the other athletes file out of the training gym one by one, towels slung over their broad shoulders and duffel bags packed with spare gloves and changes of clothes. It’s when he’s the last shower of the night, letting scorching water roll off his toned body, steam fogging the mirrors until his own reflection is indistinguishable to him once more. And it’s when he’s concluded throwing practice punches in the now-empty ring, his muscular back parallel to the floor of the ring just like this, and his eyes fixed on the gray industrial ceilings and recess lights. It’s only then that he isn’t so easily defined by a winning streak.

In fact, his wins mean nothing in the absence of other athletes, who are also defined by the numerical realities of trophies gained and matches lost. The world feels much clearer to him like this, no longer clouded by the gym chatter and bruised knuckles that seek permanent shelter in his conscience. He’s just Bang Chan- not a winner, not even a boxer. Just Chan.

And though he allows it to consume him entirely, often replacing his curiosity for the world around him and a lingering loneliness with the insatiable appetite to fight, win, conquer- he knows deep down that it’s still not all of him. There remains a sort of fragility tucked somewhere beyond all this rigidness- there’s still a heavy humanness underneath these conjectures that he’s the ‘perfect boxer’.

What is a winning streak relative to an empty boxing ring? What is a spectator relative to a participant? What are concealed identities relative to a lifetime of falsifying new ones?

“What does it feel like?” You ask Chan, and he opens his eyes to examine the gray pipes that run along the ceilings once more.

For a fleeting moment, the dual identity he keeps tucked away makes its way to the forefront, silently admonishing how this all really feels to him- how the sounds that ring throughout his ears are far too loud at times, among a myriad of other admissions.

“It’s a bit much,” Chan responds with a deep sigh. And then he sits up once more, gesturing to the wall of photos across you, neat rows of famous boxers who once inhabited this ring so triumphantly assuming a spot within these gym walls permanently.

“See that?” Chan queries. You sit up, too, following his gaze to the largest photo in the middle, a confident smile painted on the monochrome subject’s face.

“Baik Hyun-Man,” you voice from beside him. “The boxer.”

He’s a little impressed when he turns to face you again, perhaps not having taken you very seriously the first time you dubbed yourself a fan of his, too.

“I want to be like him,” Chan confesses, his voice just above a whisper. “I want to be a winner. I want people to view me like that- always.”

Your words don’t make it past your tongue, which you bite impassively, instead nodding your head and letting a silence fall over you both. You don’t grant him the encouragement he seeks- in fact, you don’t even grant him a proper response.

You simply hum- and whether the verbalization serves as a form of agreement, or as utter dismay for concealing anything beyond the most predictable version of him he brings to you- that is for him to decipher.

*

Part one of Chan’s docuseries is aired that same week, just after five, on your network’s channel.

You watch on your television, completely immersed, as the familiar tune of your intro starts up, your phone already flooded with texts from colleagues who also tune in to the event.

“He’s so charming,” one texts you, as Chan appears on the screen, recalling stories of his early boxing days and verbally admiring the efforts of his opponent, Kang-Dae.

“Great start to the series,” your boss relays in her message to you, as Chan details his impressive his winning streak, a cocky smile plastered on his handsome face.

“I feel like you bring out something special in him,” Lin’s text reads- one which you read over several times, while your shared moment with Chan plays in the background, both of you reeling over the old documentary which preceded your careers. The very same clip you requested Lin cut out of the docu series- a clip that wasn't planned.

Your attention falls entirely on the way his face lights up as he speaks of the Iron Gentleman, contrary to the rest of the interview, where he delivers otherwise predictable responses and maintains a polite disposition. There’s a lighter tone to his voice when he’s made aware that you’ve also seen the series- and a visible sparkle in his eyes when he looks at you, impressed by the niche similarity you both share. Although unplanned, Lin is right- it’s undoubtedly the highlight of the interview, to watch him break down his walls and give the audience a glimpse into something beyond his boxing career. Part one of his series is certainly not a complete story- but it alludes to the notion that he does harbor a much more complex version of it, somewhere deep down inside of him.

And when the first reviews begin to roll in , Lin is the first to greet you, a piece of paper grasped firmly in her hands as she rushes up to meet you before you’ve even made it to your desk.

“The people love him,” she says enthusiastically, trailing beside you as you shuffle past to your desk.

“Listen to this,” she continues. “The network follows up-and-coming boxer Christopher Bang Chan as he prepares for the biggest fight of his life- in what just may be the biggest docuseries since that which preceded Hyun Man’s championship ring fight.”

“What?” You exclaim, halting your motion of digging through your purse to lock eyes with her ecstatic expression.

“I know!” she replies, practically shoving the paper toward you and directing your gaze upon the printed words. “Read the rest of it!”

Your eyes scan the dark black ink printed along the top of the newspaper, Lin’s finger directing you to where the paragraph continues with the gesture or her manicured finger.

“We were immediately captivated not only by Bang Chan’s remarkable looks, which seem to give models a run for their money, but by the essence in which he speaks of his craft- educational, yet alluring. It’s hard to ignore the chemistry in which interviewer y/n maintains as she tells his story, and we’re equally as satisfied with both subjects’ visible passion for the athletes which once dominated the network’s airtime. The series, which will air until Bang Chan’s Golden Gloves Championship fight, will follow his tale to stardom- and the underlying story he seeks to share with the world in the process.”

Lin lets out an excited squeal when you conclude speaking, patting your hand as she retrieves the paper once more and scans the bold text for the nth time this morning.

“People are seriously into him,” she emphasizes, raising her eyebrows in a knowing manner. “All these intimate looks at his life have people talking like crazy. I mean, we haven’t seen ratings this high since I can’t even remember when.”

You chuckle lightly, fishing around again for your phone in your purse and shrugging in her direction.

“Sure, he’s a little charming, I’ll give him that. People are just sorta drawn to people like him, I suppose.”

“Sorta?” Lin questions. “There’s other networks calling us to request they take over the series from here. They’re dying to know everything about him. Especially because of his winning streak.”

With your phone in hand, you pause again, meeting her gaze and furrowing your brows.

“Really? Why’s it so special to everybody?”

“Because,” she begins. “There hasn’t been an athlete competing in the Golden Gloves Championship with a winning streak like his in maybe 20 years. It makes his title fight appealing to everybody that way, not just to sports fanatics. He’s a handsome boxer and who never loses- and our network’s about to capture the biggest win of his life.”

You finally assume your spot on the swivel chair by your desk as she hovers over you, trying your best to make sense of the words as they leave her lips.

All around you, the office seems particularly busy today, colleagues chatting amongst themselves, sauntering quickly by your desk with video equipment and manila envelopes in hand. The sounds seem to crescendo as you take note of the phone lines that ring nonstop, filling the space with a constant shrill sound as colleagues rush to take messages. Amidst the overlapping voices, you can hear them conversing about ratings, requests for interviews and plans for the remainder of the series. And as you turn back to Lin, you also take note of the big smile plastered across her face- an expression you don’t typically see on an otherwise aloof producer like herself.

“You took my advice, and look where it’s gotten us already,” she says to you. “If you can manage to pull more out of him, I think we’ll have something really good here. Get closer- dig deeper.”

“I’m really trying here, but I don’t know how much closer I’ll be able to get,” you tell her.

Lin shrugs as she watches you glance at your phone, your eyes widening at the sight of several missed calls and texts.

“Took a message for you,” she says with a subtle purse of her lips. “He asked you to swing by the gym. Get out there- and bring every camera you have. He doesn’t take a breath before the camera shoots it.”

You glance past Lin’s standing figure at the giant glass windows of the office, the sun largely obscured by the cloudy weather and the towering buildings that surround it. It’s suffocating at this hour, just a little too busy for your liking, the atmosphere looming with talks of Chan and Chan and more Chan.

You know stopping by the gym will likely just irritate you more, and yet when Lin’s eager expression scans the paper in her hands once more, pupils dancing over written accounts of Chan’s passion for boxing and an underlying story the general public is somehow convinced you’ll unveil to them, you let out a frustrated sigh, gathering your purse once again and pushing your chair back in against your desk.

And Lin shoots you a small, yet knowing smile, as she observes you make your way back to the office entrance.

*

“Harder. No hooks this time.”

Hit.

“There you go! Now let’s see it all together.”

Chan ducks as his trainer throws a hit, and then his left fist darts out to deliver a harsh jab as he maintains his quick-paced footwork around the ring.

You watch from the entrance of the gym as he circles around the ring, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration and beads of sweat trickling down his clenched jaw. His punches echo thunderously around the gym, his sneakers squeaking along the floor as he ducks again to evade another hit. And then he delivers one more hard punch to the palm of his trainer’s mitt, pulling away when his trainer gives a simple nod in response.

“Very good. Take five.”

Chan lets his head hang loosely as he catches his breath, his trainer undoing the velcro mitt straps around his wrists and making his way to the equipment room with them. You approach cautiously, one hand clutching the strap of your purse over your shoulder, as the other fiddles nervously with the hem of your shirt.

Chan takes note when you approach, his head snapping in your direction from where he remains standing. And then he approaches, too, a smile on his lips as he struts toward you and adjusts the black bandages around his knuckles.

“You actually showed!” Chan remarks with a chuckle.

“You asked me to stop by,” you say in response, observing the way he pulls the wires border apart to duck and hoist himself off the platform, now standing in front of you as he leans casually against the ring.

“I know. I just didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t have much of a choice. What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” Chan chuckles lightly. “I just like your company.”

“That’s it? You know I’m supposed to be working, right?”

“Relax,” Chan assures you. “I called your office this morning. Told them we needed you here to collect some boxing paraphernalia of the sort. Didn’t get any protest from the big boss.”

Your eyes narrow as Chan reaches behind him and brings forth a plastic water bottle, bringing it to his lips and taking a generous swig. You observe the way he downs half of the bottle in one guttural swallow, his adam’s apple bobbing twice as he now finishes off the water, and then pulls it away from him once more with a gentle pop as the suction from between his lips is broken. A single drop of water trickles down beside his plump lips, and he brings one veiny arm out in front of him to wipe it with his inner wrist, careful to avoid making contact with his bandages.

When Chan notices you staring, he gestures to his bandaged hand with a nod of his head as he speaks. “They get all gross when I wet them,” he explains simply. “Ever had athlete’s foot on your hands?”

“Ew, no,” you say with a small laugh.

He holds your gaze for a moment, as though he wants to ask something, and then he rejects the idea entirely, standing up a little straighter when his coach returns from the equipment room at the back.

“Who’s this?” The man asks, a stern expression on his face as he approaches.

“Oh, uh… sorry, I’m-”

“This is y/n,” Chan interjects. “She’s the interviewer we’ve been talking about.”

“It’s you!” His coach exclaims, scoffing as does a once-over of your timid figure. He’s much broader than Chan is, his buff arms folding over themselves as he leans back against the ring beside Chan. You quickly recognize him as the gentleman who accompanied Chan during your first introduction to him.

“I watched the first part when it aired,” he states. “You somehow make him seem interesting. Didn’t know that was possible.”

Chan laughs and shakes his head, a pink blush creeping upon his cheeks as you laugh, too.

“You can call me Mr. Seo,” his coach says finally, extending a calloused hand to you, his fingers grasping firmly around yours as you shake. “I’ve been training the guy since he was just a little shorter than he is now.”

“Alllll right,” Chan interrupts with a chuckle. “You’re free to go.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mr. Seo retorts sarcastically. And then turns to face you once more, furrowing his brows as he points a finger in your direction and cocks his head slightly.

“You’ll be at the fight, correct?” He inquires.

“We’re televising it,” you respond with a nod. “I’ll be there to watch.”

Chan’s eyes flicker over your gaze momentarily, and then over Mr. Seo’s expression as he nods.

“Don’t let him fool you,” Mr. Seo says with a chuckle. “I think there’s still a person somewhere deep inside there.”

Chan shakes his head sheepishly and then averts your gaze when you turn to look at him again.

“We’re done for the day, yeah?” He asks in a low voice, practically begging Mr. Seo to make his departure from the gym.

“Yeah,” Mr. Seo responds, his eyebrows raising in your direction as he cocks his head again. “I’m on my way out. It was great meeting you!”

You nod at Mr. Seo, watching as he gathers a black bag off the floor and hoists it over his shoulder.

Chan keeps his head hung as Mr. Seo gets further away from both of your still-standing figures, and then he glances up only when he hears the heavy door push open to indicate his exit.

For a moment, neither of you say anything, a heavy tension making itself known between you. You wonder briefly what could have offended Chan about Mr. Seo’s remark- and then you make a mental note to badger Chan about it later, when he’s properly on camera.

“I need to make a little day trip,” Chan finally says with a click of his tongue. “So you’re coming with.”

“Depends where we’re going.”

“About an hour up north. I left some boxing equipment, and I need it back.”

You hold back a smile as Chan leans back against the ring once more, his eyebrows raised at the same time his lips pull back into a smirk. He maintains a knowing grin as he holds your gaze, as though he already knows you can’t decline the offer. And he’s right- despite fulfilling the role of a work subject, and being forced to spend time with him at practically all hours of the day, there’s something about him you just can’t bring yourself to say no to.

You also can’t help but wonder what’s in this for him- sure, he maintains the fact that you need video footage. And you do, still finding yourself eager to capture all the intimate moments of his life which you already know contribute to his charming persona, one which audiences have been captivated by after just one episode of his series. But you can’t help but feel as though he may possess more motives for keeping you around this closely. Maybe it’s a product of the series’ early success- and maybe it has something to do with the truths he can’t seem to utter.

*

True to the way he lives his life at full-speed, Chan drives fast. He keeps one hand on the steering wheel, making smooth turns with the palm of his hand as he sits slouched comfortably in the driver’s seat, his vacant hand resting over the center console between you.

The conversation flows with ease, as though you’ve always known him, and Chan details all the mundane intricacies that come with being a boxer for the entirety of the car ride. He doesn’t speak of anything more personal than his start to boxing, yet he upholds his privacy with such dexterity, making cautious attempts to reroute the conversation when it steers any closer to him than he intends it to. And though he makes himself out to be one of two things at any given moment, chuckling lightly as he defines himself somewhere between “perfervid and steadfast”, there’s an underlying tenderness to him, the kind you can observe only in the transient moments in which he doesn’t speak of his work.

You catch a glimpse of it when he laughs at his own jokes, eyes forming little creases under his temples when he fills the space with the melodic sound of “ha ha’s” at tales of his childhood. You notice it in the way he speaks of the people he holds close to him, dubbing Mr. Seo a “lifesaver”, a “best friend” and a “hero” in the same breath. And it’s present every time he asks you a question, his eyes full of concentration as he waits for you to detail your work to him in return, usually met with the gentle reminder that he need not interview the interviewer. Yet he remains the first athlete to try and do so in your presence- a fact you’re undoubtedly charmed by.

When Chan announces your arrival at the undisclosed location, you do a double-take, furrowing your brows in confusion when he comes around to open the passenger’s car door for you.

“Where are we?” You query, stepping out and glancing at the scenery which surrounds you both.

You’re knee deep in the suburbs and well on the outskirts of city life, the clean-paved roads lined with modest-sized homes and yellowing lawns. The overcast skies are much clearer without the obstruction of skyscrapers and billboards, and in the far distance, you can make out the euphonious hum of a mourning dove’s coo.

“I told you,” Chan replies. “Here for some equipment.”

He gestures for you to follow up the cement steps that lead to a single painted door at the front, and once you’re both positioned at the entrance, he rings the doorbell confidently, glancing down at the coir doormat and prodding at it with the sole of his shoe.

“Mom bought new ones,” he says simply, and your head snaps in his direction.

“Mom?”

Before he can properly answer, the door is swung open with the heavy creak of the latch, and you’re met with who you can only presume to be Chan’s mother, a warm smile on her face as her arms extend out to him for an embrace.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming!” She exclaims, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders and laughing lightly. Her eyes form little crinkles the same way his do, and her features robustly resemble all of his.

“And you,” she now says as she pulls away. “Must be the movie-maker.”

You smile politely at her, eyes flickering over Chan momentarily before you nod in response.

“I’m just the interviewer,” you say in response. “I do get a few pieces of footage here and there, too. It’s nice to meet you.”

Your invitation for a handshake is interrupted by her arms embracing you, too, which you reciprocate in a warm hug.

“I left my training gloves,” Chan voices to her. “Did you see them anywhere?”

“I left them on the console table. You’re always forgetting something.”

Chan smiles in response, and then he kicks off his shoes when she gestures for him to come inside. You mirror the action, following his lead into their house, and then you trail after Chan to the console table where a pair of black boxing gloves lie.

As he collects them, you take in the atmosphere, eyeing the decor curiously as his mom assumes a spot on the couch.

It’s a humble little household, no bigger than any of the other houses on the street, but there’s clear indication that it’s lived-in, from the framed photos that line the walls, to the cabinets of trophies that accompany the furniture. You thumb over the strap of your camera as you walk in strides, knowing the network will be elated you managed to get this close to your interview subject. From the photos in frames atop the glass coffee tables, to the collection of medals that decorate the space by the cabinets, every reward and heirloom is more footage, more praise, higher ratings.

And above the couch, a pair of bright blue boxing gloves hung on a single nail, exactly like Chan previously mentioned.

“Are those your first boxing gloves?” You ask suddenly, drawing attention from Mrs. Bang as she cranes her neck to look at them. Chan gives a half-smile as he turns to look at them, too, and then he nods before speaking.

“Yeah, that’s them. They were a little too big for me when I bought them.”

“I was so proud of him,” Mrs. Bang chimes in. “I had to buy a second pair just to display his first.”

You smile in her direction as she folds her hands in her lap, and then your hands run over the bag you wear slung over your shoulder.

“Could I possibly film you answering a couple questions?” You ask Mrs. Bang suddenly, fishing around for the digital camera you brought along with you. “Just a few basic ones about Chan. I promise it won’t take long.”

Your gaze turns to Chan to gauge his reaction, and you’re met with an encouraging nod as he gestures to his mother.

“Of course!” his mom says, smoothing down her dress as she beckons you over. “I’m an open book.”

You take the seat across from her, running your index finger over the release shutter as you fidget with the settings. And then you catch Chan’s gaze once more, your eyes flickering at his anticipatory expression and then beyond his figure into the hallway.

“Chan, do you mind if I interview her… alone?” You request, heartbeat quickening in your chest. “These are really basic questions. I just find that people are a little more detailed when the film subject isn’t directly present.”

Chan shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants awkwardly, chewing nervously on the inside of his lip as he glances at his mother. A silent few seconds go by, and you conclude that his lack of response indicates disapproval of the request.

“I can also just not conduct the interview if that’s better for you-”

“No, that’s fine,” Chan says finally. “I’ll wait out in the garage.”

He gives a small nod in the direction of his mother, as if to request that she uphold the self-contained image he projects, and then he pivots on his heel, disappearing past the hallway toward the direction of his once makeshift gym.

“I wanted to ask you about what Chan was like growing up,” you begin as you turn toward her again, positioning the camera on a side table and adjusting to fix on her face. “Was he always so set on being a boxer?”

“Oh, precisely,” she says, folding her hands over her crossed knees. “I couldn’t get him to do nearly anything outside of going to the gym. At age 12, he was lifting weights twice his own. And by 14, he was training with Mr. Seo. Did you know he missed his own graduation ceremony to participate in some fight?”

“I didn’t know that,” you say with a chuckle.

“He did. He’d also box himself inside that little garage every summer, just practicing. I had to drag him inside for dinner most days.”

“So he’s always had this sort of tunnel vision.”

“Yes, I think so. He was never outside with the other kids, never really had many friends. It wasn’t for a lack of making them- he just found more joy in training with Mr. Seo than doing anything else a typical kid his age would do.”

You nod as she speaks, and then you watch as her lips curl into a small smile.

“In the summer, he would practice all day long in our dingy little garage. It was always scorching hot, so I’d bring him his favorite ice cream to cool down. I think watching his excitement for those ice cream bars is the last time I can recall him feeling like a little kid. He grew up so fast.”

“Sherbet ones,” you voice to her, and she points to you with a cheerful smile on her face.

“Yes, those ones!”

You chuckle as you think of the ones she speaks of, not having guessed they were a staple which preceded his career, and not just some random fixation of his.

Mrs. Bang shakes her head as she recalls memories, and then she cranes her neck to eye the hanging boxing gloves again.

“Sometimes I worry about him,” she confesses in a low voice.

You observe the way her eyebrows furrow into an expression of concern, and you tilt your head when she hangs hers, trying your best to make sense of the shift in tone.

“What do you mean?” You ask, knowing very well these aren’t in fact, the basic questions you promised Chan you would be aiming at her.

“He gets so wrapped up in it- especially when he has a fight around the corner. It’s all he does, all he thinks about.”

Mrs. Bang shakes her head for a moment, and then she meets your gaze again, speaking in a rushed tone.

“He didn’t sleep for three days once,” she announces. “Do you know how hard it was to see him like that?”

You don’t reply immediately, taking note of the visible tears that brim her eyes, which she wipes away with the gentle stroke of a manicured finger.

“He’s so down on himself all the time,” Mrs. Bang continues. “He’s so preoccupied with being the best at what he does. And I can’t help but think there’s something keeping him down.”

“Like what?”

She sniffles loudly once, shrugging her shoulders and flickering her gaze over the camera, as though suddenly remembering she’s being recorded.

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Bang admits. “Maybe you’ll figure it out for us.”

She purses her lips sheepishly when she concludes speaking, resuming the action of wiping off her runny mascara, and then you turn to the camera quickly, shutting off the recording and collecting it in your grasp once more.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make it so depressing,” she says in a frail voice.”I think a lot of us are just worried about what this fight could mean for him. For his future.”

“No, please don’t apologize,” you say to her quickly. “It’s admirable that you’re so preoccupied with his career. I can just cut out that last part.”

Mrs. Bang just folds her hands neatly in her lap, but she says nothing to you, no verbal request to omit the footage or steer clear of publicizing the concern she houses for her own son. The thought passes you by, momentarily, to ask her if she’s okay being this vulnerable on camera- but when Mrs. Bang clears her throat and speaks again, you swallow your words, straightening your posture and turning your attention onto her seated figure once more.

“He’s a born winner,” she finishes. “I guess that comes at a cost.”

And the cost isn’t so easily visible to you at such proximity to Chan, who spends the duration of lunch shoving food around his plate with the tip of his fork, uttering a simple “yes” when asked if he’s been sleeping, and “maybe” when asked about his interest in a family trip after the big match. And then he turns the attention back to you, with a nod of his head in your direction, urging you to detail your career back to Mrs. Bang, the same way he does.

“I’m a journalist,” you tell her, politely dabbing at the corners of your mouth with a napkin. “I interview a lot of athletes. Your son’s just one of many.”

“How riveting,” she says back, resting her chin atop her folded hands. “So I assume you’ve grown rather close in the process, then?”

You chuckle lightly, biting back from divulging her in the fact that you’ve only agreed to be here because your network is keen on the confidentialities of Chan’s personal life.

“You could say that. I always joke that the second most intimate thing you can do with a person is interview them.”

Chan keeps his chin tucked, eyes glued to his plate as you glance over at him as Mrs. Bang lets out a laugh.

“He’s very talented, though,” you continue. “It’s an honor to know him like this before his biggest win.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Mrs. Bang chimes in. “And so the purpose of this is to capture his life before the title match?”

Chan’s head lifts a little to look at you, knowing very well that he’s the defining factor in all of this, and yet he doesn’t take the liberty of making it known to his mother.

“The purpose is whatever he chooses it to be,” you explain to her. “It’s a story- more like a message of sorts. Really anything that defines him as a person, not just an athlete.”

Mrs. Bang nods once more, and then her eyes flicker over Chan as he evades her eye contact.

“I’m excited for part two,” she finishes. “I think you’re doing a fine job at knowing him."

*

“He took you to meet his mom?”

“It’s not what you’re thinking,” you reply quickly, as you gesture to the camera Lin grasps between her hands. “He needed to get some equipment. It just happened to be at his mom’s place.”

She scoffs as she thumbs over the camera buttons, her lips pulling into a smile as she observes the thumbnails of your various clips.

“It’s a fucking gold mine,” she emphasizes. “This is exactly what we’re looking for.”

Lin watches curiously as one of the clips begins to play, an indistinguishable dialogue emitting from the camera as a close-up shot of his mom is shown.

“What’s the gist of them?” She inquires, toying with the camera strap.

“His mom seems worried for him,” you remark, pulling the sleeves of your sweater over the palms of your hands as you speak in a reluctant tone. “She alludes to something he’s hiding- maybe some sort of double life he leads. Of course I don’t think he’s that interesting, but he’s definitely a little closed-off when he wants to be.”

“She couldn’t say more?”

“She doesn’t know more. He’s a mystery to his own family, it seems.”

Lin lets out a singular breathy chuckle before ejecting the memory card and grasping it carefully between her fingers.

“Nice work,” she voices. “Part two is finally going to get personal.”

You think over her words momentarily, envisioning the way Chan so confidently brought you along with him that evening, allowing you to photograph the cherished corners of his childhood home, from the blue boxing mitts his mother held onto all those years, down to the sacred conversations of his mother in clear distress. And although you weren’t explicitly ordered not to publicize the footage, it feels wrong- just a little too… voyeuristic, to pass along to the network like this.

“Wait,” you say to Lin, uncovering the palms of your hands and gesturing to the memory card. “There’s a few clips on there I meant to delete.”

“Like what?”

“Just some extra footage we didn’t need. I’ll delete it and give it right back-”

“We can sort it out later,” Lin says, with a shake of her head. “I’ll give you a once-over before we publish the next part. Don’t worry about it.”

You meet her gaze as she finishes speaking, and she shoots you a small smile before setting the memory aside on her desk.

“Tell me,” Lin begins, leaning back in her desk chair. “What’s he like?”

You chuckle softly, leaning back in your own chair, as you shrug in response.

“I don’t know. He’s a perfectionist, that’s for sure. And he’s a little hesitant to be honest about himself.”

And then you sigh, locking eyes with the ceiling as you avert her gaze. A small smile creeps upon your face, as you think of Bang Chan, and the charming way he recounts stories of his career, always keen on asking about yourself in turn and maintaining his polite composure.

“He’s not as bad as I thought,” you then admit to her, after a brief moment of silence. “Of course he’s still an unbroken winner, at the end of the day. And that has its own implications. But I suppose he’s not all bad.”

Lin smirks a little at your confession, nodding as she folds her hands in her lap and raises her eyebrows.

“He seems to have taken a liking to you,” she teases. “He requests for you an awful lot these days.”

And you shake your head in response, your gaze falling to the memory card still placed on the desk in front of her.

“He just wants company,” you say to her, thinking back to the footage of him that exists on the little plastic card. “He just likes good company.”

*

And perhaps “good company” really is all which Chan seeks, you grow to realize, as the occurrences in which he’s dragging you along to some mundane task grow tenfold during part two of his series’ filming sessions. You familiarize yourself with his gym, his childhood home, even the leather interior of his two-seater when he’s speeding down the highway and indulging you in stories of his days spent training. Always a camera aimed at him, always a frame-by-frame analysis of how much he’s grown to love heavy lifting days the most, or how he’s partial to darker clothing because it offsets the paleness he flaunts when he’s been inside training all day. The monotonous setting of your office is quickly transitioned to that of Chan’s training gym, where you’ll typically occupy a bench by the gallery wall while he throws punches with Mr. Seo in the ring.

Chan is well aware of your tendency to film him during training sessions, earning the new title of a “show-off” by Mr. Seo’s standards, when he’s perfecting all his jabs in front of you, keen on his footwork and lifting weights three times his normal. And from behind the lens, you often hold his gaze a little too long, cocking your head to observe the way his brown tresses cling to his chiseled face with sweat. Or perhaps the way his thin athletic t-shirts seem to ride up his body with every punch, exposing the thin strip of flesh where his toned obliques grace your presence.

And the high ratings mean the network is eager to get more out of him, encouraging you to stay a little longer where you can, or to ask questions that scrape below the surface of who Chan really is.

Be intentional with your questions. Get him vulnerable.

And you certainly make attempts to, especially persistent at following all of his intimate moments with a camera in and hand a series of follow-up questions.

Of course Chan certainly won’t admit it, far too caught up in the pressure to maintain the image of a “perfect boxer” to let his guard down around you, but he is comfortably vulnerable in your presence, fascinated with the prospects of the series as it pertains to his winning streak, and often immersed in thoughts that don’t only involve himself.

As a memory card remains plugged into your laptop, importing clips of Chan’s conversations of carefree footage for Lin- laughing, smiling, your eyes scan the still frame of him, beaming, one popsicle in hand and a hand outstretched to the camera. He looks lighter this way- in fact, you’re not sure you would take him to be a boxer at all if not for the knowledge you possess.

When Chan concludes his round of punches, he makes his way toward you in purposeful strides, hoisting himself off of the ring and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

“What are you thinking about?” He queries, assuming a spot on the bench beside you and slouching back comfortably.

“You don’t need to interview the interviewer,” you remind him, fingers hovering over the mousepad of your keyboard. He shoots you a knowing smile, the flesh by his lips creasing as he holds it there momentarily.

When you look up to meet his gaze, he holds it- a little too long to feel appropriate, but not in a way that begs you to cease your actions. He’s still just as charming as you’d concluded him to be following your first interaction- but he’s also real, tantalizing. The look is almost dizzying when a soft hum emits from the back of his throat, as though he’s laughing at you, as though he knows he drives you mad in more ways than just one.

And his intense brown eyes seem to soften as he flickers his gaze over your contented expression.

“Let’s do something tonight,” Chan says in a mellow tone. It’s hardly a question, and more of a command, as he drums on his knees with the pads of his fingers.

“Why, you need another grocery run?” You retort with a smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as he holds your gaze.

“I like your company,” Chan confesses. “This gym wears me out.”

You turn your attention back to your computer as a blush creeps on your cheeks- Chan knows very well that your camera is now well saturated with footage- in fact, you could probably go several days in his absence and still have enough footage to pull together the next part.

“And by ‘do something’ you mean what, exactly?”

“There’s a bar down the street.”

“I don’t like bars.”

“Me either,” Chan says quickly, followed by a soft chuckle.

You turn to hold his gaze once more, narrowing your eyes a little as though you’re challenging him.

“Bad practice for athletes,” he states simply.

“Then I guess we’ll have to forfeit.”

Chan pauses for a moment, and then his lips pull into another smile, a small blush making its way on the tips of his ears before he speaks again.

“Come to my place,” he says plainly. It’s a request perhaps too bold for somebody who’s meant to serve the sole purpose of a video subject, and yet the offer is nothing short of tempting- for video purposes, and possibly for your own interest, too.

He thinks it over a moment, not having devised any form of a plan for the evening, but holding onto his hopes that you’ll agree, nonetheless.

“Just… indulge me in your presence, yeah?” he finishes.

You begin to tell him that you can’t, that this is probably going too far as it stands, to be spending every waking hour with him the way you now do. But the reminder lingers, that you’re meant to be breaking down his walls, gathering all of his private affairs for the purposes of this series. And perhaps, also, because he’s still hard to say no to.

“Can I bring my camera?” You ask him, and Chan nods, amused.

“You can bring your camera,” he affirms. “Film whatever you want.”

He keeps his gaze on yours again, his brown eyes flickering over your pursed lips as you observe him at this painfully close proximity. A single bead of sweat trickles from his temple down to his cheek, and as your hand instinctively reaches out to wipe it off of him, the echoing sound of footsteps interrupts you, your head snapping in the direction of a voice as it calls out to you both.

“Popsicles are out,” Mr. Seo says when he appears, boxing mitts grasped firmly in his grip. “I’m out of here for the evening, but you’re free to go restock if you feel so inclined.”

Your bodies almost force themselves away from each other, and you rise from the bench to give Mr. Seo a small bow when he’s stood in front of you.

“Hi Mr. Seo,” you say nervously. “I can make a quick trip-”

“We’ll go together,” Chan interrupts.

Your gaze snaps in his direction, where he’s now standing, too, and he nods again to affirm his answer.

Mr. Seo glances at you briefly, perhaps at just enough of an angle to presume that he knows your emotions are a little elevated. But then he simply shrugs, nodding affirmatively in your direction.

“Yeah,” he says plainly. “I’ll see you for tomorrow’s session.”

That same evening marks the first instance in which Bang Chan is reminded that he’s now perceivable to the masses- in the form of sold out popsicles. You watch as he cluelessly questions the cashier, furrowing his brows and recalling how they had restocked just days prior.

“Why would popsicles be sold out so quickly?” Chan voices, staring down the freezers against the wall as though his favorite dessert might somehow materialize from nothing.

And as your eyes remain fixed on the A4 paper that hangs loosely from the glass door, detailing “no popsicles” in scribbled handwriting and adhered by a single strip of masking tape, you make sense of it before you can even verbalize it.

“Because of you,” you voice with a chuckle.

“Me? That’s a stretch, I bought, like, three the last time I was here. That’s hardly enough-”

“Your series,” you interrupt, approaching the fridge and giving it a once-over. “You mentioned them in the first part. I think your fans have taken a liking to them.”

Your gaze meets Chan again, waiting for him to say something along the lines of what the athletes typically do when they’ve had their first brush with newfound fame. And yet Chan doesn’t smile back- in fact, the expression he wears on his face is anything but content, his lips pulling into a frown you can only describe as somber.

The chime of the door indicates the arrival of more people, and suddenly Chan can feel pairs of eyes boring into his soul from every corner of the convenience store, the undivided attention of customers analyzing his every move and holding him to the same impossible standard he’s become so accustomed to.

He’s aware that they’re picking apart his appearance, his mannerisms, translating his pixelated figure into the real-life tangibility of his broad stature. The girls seem to laugh into their sleeves as they traverse the store, and the men shoot him envious looks, as though any one of them might be Bang Chan’s opponent in the flesh. He thinks back to his opponent, who he knows trains in the same gym near this very convenience store. And then his eyes scan the room nervously, calculating the chances that one of these men may indeed be Kang-Dae. The men he rules out are paired against the likelihood that they’re either for him, or entirely against him, like they might actively be rooting for his downfall. Like they may eagerly be awaiting a broken winning streak.

And if the sight of an empty freezer isn’t soul-crushing enough, he may very well mistake this to be a boxing match, by the way his heartbeat quickens in his chest, eyes on him eagerly awaiting his next move and silently commentating as though they control him. The thoughts race through his mind once more, as he ponders the relativity of a winning streak to an empty boxing ring, a spectator relative to a participant. A city-wide obsession with popsicles for fleeting, superficial fame- and a voyeuristic fascination with the sacred intricacies of his personal life.

What are you so afraid of?

Your voice rings in his mind, and he cringes when he takes several steps away from your looming figure, averting the gaze of every customer in the store as his own heartbeat echoes loudly through his ears.

“Let’s go,” he says, beginning toward the door again.

“Already?” You question, glancing at the full shelves of alternative dessert options. “You don’t want to grab something else?”

“I want to go home,” Chan emphasizes through gritted teeth.

And when he’s exited the store before you, the blank stares shared amongst you, and the store clerk, and the customers who most definitely recognize him, seem to only affirm the discomfort he feels.

*

Home to Bang Chan isn’t always the one he grew up in- it’s also his humble apartment on the east side, up three stories high, the walls heavily resembling that of a bachelor pad’s. It’s not very hospitable, you quickly notice, as the room is only incrementally brightened by the on switch of a floor lamp in the corner. And as he gestures to a black leather couch across a luxurious flatscreen television, you can’t help but wonder how many girls he’s charmed into this exact position, comfortably sat on his couch as he makes his way over with two glasses of white wine.

“I’m impressed,” you say quickly, giving the living room another once-over.

“How so?”

“You have good taste in furniture. And your hosting qualities aren’t too shabby. Is white wine your go-to for journalists?”

“Very funny,” Chan says with a grin. “You’re the first to have made it this far.”

“Then can I ask what the occasion is?” You inquire, as he assumes the spot beside you. “Aside from indulging you with my company.”

Chan sets his glass down on the coffee table in front of you both, exchanging it for a remote control and switching on the television.

“Something I wanted to watch with you,” he says simply. You observe as he starts up what you think to be a movie at first, his arm sprawling over the back of the sofa as he sits back comfortably. And then, when the familiar sound of an introduction fills the room, you don’t have to wait long to know what it is.

“I should’ve guessed,” you say quietly from your spot next to him, as you bring the glass of wine up to your lips. Chan nods, a smile upon his face as renowned boxer Baik Hyun-Man assumes a seat in a studio much like yours, and then begins to speak.

“I’ve been boxing for ten years,” he says, following a brief introduction. “It’s my passion. My life’s dream.”

The peripherals of your eyes shift to Chan’s seated figure, where he’s watching intently, a sort of shimmer in his eyes as he indulges in the film for what may be the hundredth time now. It’s one you remember well, too, always having memorized his graceful responses to questions and his aversion to engage in any form of slandering his opponents.

And as Chan watches, you make careful movements to retrieve your camera from your bag, starting up a fresh recording and angling it toward him.

“God, isn’t he the coolest?” Chan remarks, and you chuckle lightly.

“Yeah, he’s pretty cool.”

He gestures to the television with his index finger, sitting up a little when Hyun-Man is filmed pulling on a pair of blue boxing gloves.

“Those are the ones!” Chan says excitedly. “That’s why I picked blue ones for my first pair.”

You chuckle at Chan’s enthusiastic reaction, and then you adjust the camera so that it’s zoomed into his face a little more.

“Chan,” you voice to him, and he turns a little to face you, humming in response. “What exactly is it about him you’re so fascinated with?”

He thinks it over momentarily, and before he can answer, you’re speaking again.

“He was only a championship boxer for a whole two years, you know. He holds one of the shortest-spanning careers in your field.”

Chan purses his lips, hanging his head as he thinks over your words.

“I know,” he responds.

And he’s very knowledgeable of the fact that although Baik Hyun-Man was the first heavyweight boxer of his kind to make it to the Olympics, he was retired and gone just two years after his biggest fight. Not a product of fading relevancy, but rather a personal choice of his, to step away from the spotlight, step down from his career and live a life beyond just the sport in which he excelled at.

“You will face your share of losses,” he had said in his final speech to the masses. “And you can’t let it retract from the rest of life you have to live. It’s been an honorable two years, I’m going to live the rest of it now.”

Chan looks at the television, and then at you once more, an indistinguishable expression painted across his face.

“He didn’t want all of this,” Chan says finally. “And sometimes I don’t, either.”

He reaches forward again, grasping the stem of his wine glass between his fingers and downing a generous mouthful.

“What do you mean?”

“All the fame,” he says, pulling the glass away from his lips again. “And pairs of eyes constantly watching your every move. It gets exhausting.”

He then slouches back a little further into the cushions, shutting his eyes momentarily.

“Made worse when you’ve never lost,” he finishes, opening his eyes again to meet your gaze.

His eyes flicker briefly over your lips, and then back up to your eyes, which carefully examine the state of him. You’re hardly ever at such intimate proximity to a video subject like this, but you can tell again that he looks tired, his eyes outlined by deep, purple bags and a sorrowful expression. You wonder when the last time is that he got a full night of rest, or even consumed something that wasn’t just a snack in between training sessions and interviews.

“Is that what you want for yourself?” You ask him boldly, the tips of your fingers tracing the shutter release on the camera.

He gets quiet, a little reluctant to answer the question- and rightfully so, never having seriously thought about letting go of all of this.

“I don’t know what I want,” Chan admits after a moment of silence. He turns to face you again, shrugging his shoulders and positioning himself to face you fully now. And then he cocks his head, furrowing his brows as you continue to toy with the shutter release.

“Are you recording?” He asks with a breathy chuckle, gesturing to the camera with the point of his index finger.

You chuckle in response, too.

“It’s just for my personal use,” you assure him. “It won’t make it past this memory card. I’m just picking your brain a little.”

He seems satisfied with the response, knowing too that he’s most transparent when he has a camera aimed somewhere at him. Chan sighs, exhaling once before folding his hands in his lap.

“Everyone wants me to tell my story,” Chan says in a shaky voice. “I feel so suffocated these days.”

“Rightfully so,” You echo back at him. “There is a lot of pressure on you leading up to the fight.”

“Something like that. The worship feels… well, it feels suffocating.”

He gets quiet again, eyebrows arched as he meets your gaze, in hopes you’ll make sense of his nervous conciseness.

“Like the popsicles,” you remark, nodding your head once.

You recall Chan growing strangely quiet at the knowledge that he had not only cultivated a loyal fan base after just one episode of airtime, but that just like the audiences at his matches, they were keeping careful watch of his every move, imitating him and placing him on a pedestal like he’s bound to experience for the remainder of his career.

“Yeah,” Chan affirms. “Like the popsicles. It’s like nothing is sacred anymore.”

The popsicles, you remember, have been a childhood staple of his since he still wore the blue mitts to matches that his mother now boasts so proudly. They’re out of reach now; unattainable. Much like a life not tainted by the pressure to win is.

You nod once at his words, and then you reach out to pat his knee encouragingly, smiling when you speak again.

“You said it yourself,” you say to him. “Not much scares you these days. Maybe this is just the product of the anticipation leading up to the fight. I mean, do you really think Baik Hyun-Man wasn’t scared when he was the first boxer to-”

“Losing scares me,” Chan interjects, the pupils of his eyes trembling when he speaks. A deafening silence falls over the room, and you can make out the sound of when he swallows nervously at his own state of vulnerability.

“Losing scares the shit out of me,” Chan repeats, and it’s when you meet his gaze once more that you take notice of the tears which brim his eyes, his lower lip trembling nervously as he struggles to speak.

The only other time you’ve seen him display any emotion besides than the charming, mesmerizing persona he flaunts, is when he’s boxing- and right now, juxtapositioned against his otherwise calm demeanor, he seems almost stricken with sorrow, tears beginning to cascade down his reddened cheeks and find purchase on the sleeves of his shirt.

“Sorry,” Chan breathes out amidst the silence, hiccuping when more tears stream down his face.

For a moment, you can’t find the words to say, simply observing his state and trying to understand where he’s coming from with all of this. Yet it doesn’t require a considerable amount of thought- perhaps somewhere deep down, you already know this of him, well aware of his tendency to pull away and shut himself off from the heavy emotions he harbors. It’s made clear when he diverts from the topic of fear, directing the conversation back to Mr. Seo, or his mom or even yourself. It’s evident in the way he seems to be bothered by his own solitude, dragging you along under the guise of “good company”. And it’s made painfully obvious in the way he’s so frightened at the notion of losing all things sacred to him- remnants of his innocence, the people around him and especially a commendable winning streak.

“What if I lose this match?” Chan ponders out loud, his eyebrows arching as he shrugs sheepishly. “What’s going to become of me? Of all this?”

Your hands are the first ones to beckon for his, palms outstretched as he reciprocates with the gentle placement of his fingers in yours. And then your thumb caresses his knuckles tenderly, cocking your head as you feel the smooth metal of his silver rings in your touch.

“So what if you lose?” You question back boldly.

“Then I’m a loser,” Chan says quickly. “And I don’t want to be a loser. I know I was born to win this thing- I’ve been training for this my whole life.”

“You’ve been training your whole life,” you echo. “But this is only a fraction of it. You’re still going to do remarkable things, whether you win or lose this. Everybody loves you.”

“I don’t,” he says quickly, a breathy chuckle involuntarily escaping his lips. He holds your gaze a moment, and then his expression grows serious again.

“I hate who this has turned me into,” he continues. “I’m a… I’m a coward. I shut people out, I can’t even be honest with them about how terrified I am of being a loser. And the only time I’m honest with myself is when I imagine it’s me I’m punching in that ring. Just a shell of who they think I am. A fucking loser.”

You think back to the way Chan delivers hits to the bag in that raised platform of the gym, teeth gritting and beads of sweat collecting along his brow, as he hits harder, and harder and harder, until the bandages around his knuckles can do nothing to shield the pain of self-inflicted wounds. One hit and a black eye, two hits and a cracked rib, a myriad of strikes and uppercuts and hopefully the numbness of all the self-loathing thoughts that follow.

“I’m so tired,” Chan then confesses quietly. “Can you tell I haven’t slept in days?”

And you say nothing back to him, your eyes flickering over the apples of his cheeks all glossed with tears, the bags under his eyes appearing an even darker shade of deep gray as his eyebrows slouch down into a sorrowful expression. He looks more vulnerable than you’ve ever seen him, almost miserable, as he waits for you to say something. And when you don’t, he quickly regrets the stream of consciousness, shaking his head as he pulls back his calloused hands from your grasp.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “You’re a journalist, not a therapist. I shouldn’t have been so honest-”

“None of that makes you a loser,” you interject with the shake of your head, and then a small smile. “All your fears, and your hangups and your reservations. They’re little burdens you carry with you- but they’re all human. You don’t have to apologize for any of it. They’re simply part of the story you’re telling.”

It’s Chan’s turn to get silent, his lips parted ever so slightly as he studies the way you gauge his reaction back. It’s unclear what he thinks, and you fear momentarily that you may have somehow offended him with your response.

Nothing is spoken for a passing moment as you exchange curious glances with each other. When the camera shifts a little in your lap, you shut off the recording, pushing down on the shutter release with the dip of your index finger and letting it rest atop the crack of the couch cushions.

And then before you can utter some form of apology to him for actions unbeknownst to you, he’s leaning in a bit closer, eyes nervously darting over your lips and back up to your trembling eyes.

Chan’s heartbeat quickens in his chest as he searches for the right words to say- perhaps some thanks for the reassurance, another apology, or even a confession of emotions he’s not fully come to terms with yet. An attractive athlete like himself is no stranger to the process utilizing his eloquent flirting skills, and yet the words escape him, as he understands finally that you don’t feel like a stranger to him at all.

Not when you’re accompanying him to the convenience store by the gym for late night popsicles, or observing the way he trains from behind the lens of your camera. Not when you’re in the intimate setting of his mother's house, graciously conversing with her as he stews in thoughts of self-deprecation. Or when you’re in the passenger’s seat of his car, laughing at tales of his summer days spent confined to that dingy little makeshift gym in his garage. Perhaps the words are lost to his own doubts when he begins to confess that you’re more than just “good company”- that his world doesn’t feel so centered around a sport when he’s in your presence. That for a fleeting moment, he feels like there is a life beyond that of an athlete on a rampant winning-streak, and that the thought of losing doesn’t feel half as scary when he’s sitting beside you.

You’re no stranger to Chan- a fact that rings true when he finally presses his lips to yours, his hand rising to caress your cheek gently as you kiss him back, eager and full of a soft yearning for him.

You remain like that for a moment, aware that it’s entirely wrong and you shouldn’t even be in a subject’s house at this proximity. The flavor of his salty tears mixed with white wine upon his lips is less noticeable as you work to kiss it off him entirely. And when you pull away once more, it’s not for a lack of enjoying it, more so than your guilty conscience weighing on you.

Chan observes your expression, worried he’s crossed a boundary when you pull back gently and give him a sheepish smile.

“What is it?” He asks, one hand coming down to rest on your knee, his thumb rubbing in comforting back and forth motions over the denim of your pants.

“You taste like wine,” is all you utter in response, and Chan chuckles, not moving his gaze off yours.

“I’m not drunk, if that’s what you’re worried about,” he remarks.

“I know you’re not,” you say simply. “But… what exactly are we doing?”

“You tell me,” he says, expression unchanging. “We don’t do anything if you’re not comfortable with it.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“It’s wrong,” you voice quickly, posturing yourself a little further from him now. “This is strictly a professional relationship. We’re not supposed to be wrapped up in this.”

Chan nods just once, making no effort to try and change your mind. He knows this is a possible outcome, having replayed it in his head several times since the moment he understood that his desire to kiss you was only worsening by the day. So true to the gentleman he is, Chan pulls away, too, sprawling the palms of his hands over his knee caps and pursing his lips.

“Yeah,” he says simply. “Okay.”

“I want to,” you interject, the sleeves of your sweater swallowing your own hands as you fidget nervously. He meets your gaze again, blinking just once as he waits for you to speak.

“I think you’re amazing,” you continue. “And I think in any other context, things might be different between us. But I can’t risk your career, my career- this whole series, and whatever’s waiting for you after all of this. You’re going to do great things after your big win. I’m just a stepping stone in it.”

And there’s an ounce of truth in your words- you do find yourself drawn to Chan, thoroughly enjoying the late night escapades alongside him and getting to know his character beyond that of just a boxer. But the truth stands, that this level of intimacy only exists to uncover his story, not because you’re destined for any sort of relationship to him. In due time, he’ll be in the big leagues with all the other famous athletes, and you’ll still be a journalist. You’re just the storyteller- not a part of the story.

Chan furrows his brows, shaking his head as he replays your words in his head. He begins to piece together the admission that he’s regretful these are the circumstances, and that reducing you to the role of a stepping stone feels like an injustice for the sheer honesty you’ve managed to coax out of him.

“You’re more than that,” is all Chan can utter, with the gentle shake of his head. He’s quiet for a moment when he locks his eyes with yours, letting out a sharp breath before speaking again.

“You’re the only person I haven’t felt inclined to shut out in years. I know it’s probably just this series, and I’m supposed to be telling a story. But having you here, being honest with you and having somebody who listens to me instead of praising me for all these fleeting brushes with fame- it feels so right. It feels so right here with you.”

His words are simultaneously like a pierce to your beating heart, and the catalyst for you to kiss him just once more, your hands finding purchase on the leather beside him as you waste no time pressing your lips to his, a small gasp escaping his lips into your mouth as he shuts his eyes and kisses you back. His hands find the small of your back, assisting you toward him and onto his clothed thigh, where your legs now straddle the denim fabric of his jeans as your fingers tangle in his hair.

Chan’s breaths are heavy against your mouth as he feels you rock your hips gently toward him, practically rutting against his toned muscle as his kisses move to the column of your neck. And as his calloused hands grip your waist tenaciously, moving your parted thighs back and forth along him, allowing the rough fabric to satisfy the rhythmic ache between your legs with every slight movement, you press two hands to his chest once more, pushing him away from you gently and watching as he halts his movements.

“What is it?” Chan asks again in a low, breathy voice. You can feel his quickening heartbeat as your fingers graze the thin fabric of his t-shirt, your gaze unmoving as you position yourself off his lap and onto your knees. His entire disposition is overtaken by nerves, afraid of losing two things now, as he waits for you to speak. You take note of the visible worry on his face, the way his eyes are still glossy from crying and outlined by a clear lack of sleep. His hair is tousled from the tangle of your fingers in it, his lips remain parted nervously as he observes the way you sit up a little straighter and scan his eager frame.

He’s already pitched a tent under the fabric of his jeans, his cock visibly straining against the confines of the denim fabric, cringing to himself when he sees you eye his crotch curiously from where you’re sat. His eyes then widen when you slot yourself between his legs, his expression appearing animated for the first time in weeks, as the gray bags under his eyes seem to deepen with his confusion.

“Just relax for me, okay?” you reply in a low voice.

Chan watches as you pull a hair tie from around your wrist between your teeth, simultaneously gathering your hair into a ponytail, and then securing it back tightly, looping it skillfully around just twice, until it’s pulled taut and effectively out of your face.

He begins to say that there’s no obligation to finish the job he initiated, and that he’s in no position to contradict the truth that he’s just a video subject to you, in what’s meant to be a strictly professional relationship. But when you shoot him a saccharine smile from between his muscular thighs, hands traveling to the waistband of his jeans and unfastening his belt buckle, he can do nothing except remain fixed on the sight of your manicured fingers undressing him. Chan sits up momentarily to allow his jeans to pool around his ankles, his belt hanging open at his sides, as the gentle clink of the buckle falls upon the leather sofa beside him. And then your hand finds his still-clothed erection, cupping a hand around him and meeting his gaze once more when he lets out a little gasp.

“Is this okay?” You whisper up at him, your hand distancing itself from his cock as you await his reply.

Chan nods before he speaks, swallowing nervously as he comprehends what’s about to occur. He’ll never tell you that he’s dreamt of this for so long- that he’s fantasized about circumstances in which you’re so much more than just a journalist to him. Circumstances in which he’s permitted to kiss you in front of all the watchful eyes, or make love to you right there on the floor of the boxing ring when the gym’s already empty for the night. Ones in which you’re a lover he’s brought home to meet his mother, not just an interviewer or a stepping stone in his career. And where you’re a part of his story, not just fulfilling the mundane task of telling it.

A journalist relative to its subject- the relativity of one storyteller to another. But your relativity to Bang Chan’s- the relativity of one lover to the next, of sweet nothings left unsaid and learning to embrace the intricacies of his own vulnerability.

“Yeah- yes,” Chan vocalizes back in a shaky manner, earning a small chuckle from you, as you loop your fingers in the waistband of his boxers and rid him of those, too.

He’s bigger than you’d anticipated, and harder, the tip of his cock flushed a bright shade of red as you observe it grow against his abdomen once he’s fully exposed. Chan takes a sharp breath when the cool air grazes his bare flesh, wincing, as he watches you sit up on your knees a little straighter. Your hand reaches out to grasp the base of his cock between your fingers, not yet moving, as you gather a generous wad of saliva between your pursed lips. And then Chan’s eyebrows arch in anticipation when you near him, a small dribble of spit already finding purchase on your lower lip.

“Close your eyes,” you tell him. Chan nods eagerly in response, shutting his eyes and leaning back a little further into the couch cushions. He takes a sharp breath when he feels you stroke his length just once, maintaining a light hold of him as you bring your lips to his tip. And then he gasps involuntarily, when he feels you press your drooly mouth against his flesh, pressing a single kiss to his cock and smiling against him while you feel him writhe in your touch.

His chest rises and falls with anticipatory breaths as he waits for you to do more- and in mere seconds, you’re taking him in your mouth, his girth stretching the corners of your lips as you work yourself down halfway and back up again.

“Fuck,” Chan breathes, his eyes trembling as he struggles to keep them closed, his thighs tensing when he feels you work your mouth down his length once more, this time a little bit further down.

His hands grasp desperately at his sides, searching for something, anything, to hold, practically clawing at the taut leather as he lets out another fervent moan. And with nothing within reach, he lets his hands fold behind his neck, throwing his head back in a state of pure bliss as you continue to work him so skillfully.

Your lips grow wetter as you do, a mix of his precum and your saliva glazing the length of his cock as you move down, and up, and down once more, picking up the pace when you hear him let out a heavy grunt at the sensation. He’s tense beneath you, but still in a blissful state of pleasure, breathing cuss words into the air above him and letting his mind stray far from the burdening thoughts that typically plague him. None of it matters when your mouth is working him to his finish, your hands gliding along his shaft in tandem with the rhythmic bobbing of your head along his hard cock, gulping desperately for air when you pull away from him momentarily. He can’t possibly lose when he’s shivering in your touch and letting little moans escape his plump lips- he’s nothing but a winner like this in your presence.

Strings of saliva connect you to him still, glistening under the dim lights the same way your runny makeup now does. He exhales little pleas for a release when you attach your lips to him once more, swirling your tongue around the base before trailing little kisses down his length. And then he feels his hips jerk forward just once, squeezing his eyes shut a little tighter when you hum around his shaft.

You smile with him in your mouth, still, knowing he’s on the cusp of release, his eyebrows knitting together as he makes every effort to stave off his orgasm. You take note of the way his fists clench, intertwined with each other behind the beads of sweat that graze his neck, and then his moans seem to heighten in pitch when you swirl your tongue around his base once more.

You glance up at him from between his legs, his adam’s apple bobbing with every slight noise emitting from the back of his jutted throat.

“Fuck, that’s so good,” he gasps in response to your quick movements. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna finish.”

And it’s already evident by his facial expressions, which contort into a desperate, silent plea for a finish, as his head jerks forward in a sudden motion.

His eyes squeeze tighter, heartbeat ringing throughout his ears in combination with the erotic, squelching noises of your lips gliding along his shaft. And then you pause for a brief second with his tip between your mouth, still.

“Chan,” you say to him tenderly. “Open your eyes.”

He obeys, eyes fluttering open to marvel at the sight of your hands with his length in their grasp, your pink lips continuing to work needy kisses down his dampened flesh. He exhales sharply at the sight of your mascara, now pooling beneath the apples of your cheeks as you stare up at him through hooded eyelids.

And when you take him in your mouth again, working your throat down to the base of his cock, his hips buck up toward the back of your tongue, earning a drooly gag as you struggle to keep him there.

He practically melts into the couch while your throat adjusts to the new position, his cock twitching upon your flattened tongue as you attempt to lick a stripe up his length. And then his heartbeat quickens when you begin a rhythmic bobbing action again, his mind dizzying at the erotic sight of you like this.

The room fills again with the sound of your tongue working his flesh. And he’s strangely brought back to the memory of popsicles, on a hot day- working his tongue around the base and gathering every last drop of sherbet between his wetted lips. Ridding himself of the sticky residue that finds purchase along the veins of his forearms, tracing his tongue along his skin, the same way you do along his shaft. When his hands come down to grasp his knees momentarily, his gaze falls to your face, and he admires the way you taste him with such desperation, as though he may be the one sacred thing left for you, too. There’s such a juxtaposition between the innocence he’s brought back to- carefree days spent collecting popsicle sticks along the pavement as the consumption of his favorite dessert was made with equal desperation. And the lewd sounds of you humming around his cock, the vibration of your throat sending delicious reverberations along his flesh and causing him to let out a breathy gasp at the sensation.

“I’m gonna cum,” Chan says, for the second time this evening.

“Yeah, cum for me,” you coo tenderly back at him, pulling away from him briefly to hover over his tip with your mouth. “Want you to feel good. Just relax for me.”

Chan’s hardly ever known relaxation- not in the sleepless nights he spends thinking about his career, or when he’s standing in the ring with copious amounts of eyes on him. Not when he’s filming a series for the whole world to scrutinize, or when he’s made aware of the publicity somewhere as unsuspecting as a convenience store.

But he knows it now when he’s with you, lying parallel to you in the same boxing ring after hours, his mind completely void of any self-loathing. He knows it when he’s imagining circumstances in which your careers don’t dictate the inevitable outcome of your relationship to each other.

And he knows it when he finally cums for you, his eyes not leaving the sight of your lips wrapped around his cock as he finds his release, shooting a thick, generous amount of his milky white load onto the flat of your tongue. At first he feels almost guilty, when you finally pull away from around his girth with a gentle pop. And then he muses curiously as he watches you swallow his arousal entirely, wiping the corners of your mouth with the backs of your hands and cleaning the remainder off your fingers with the lap of your tongue.

He almost grows hard all over again watching you devour him entirely, not letting a single drop go to waste, the same way he does with his popsicles. The gentle sounds of your tongue working along the pads of your fingers, swirling around the patterns of your fingertips like they’re just stained orange popsicle sticks. His mind at ease once more, nothing but a stillness in the air and the fleeting presence of another sacred moment to him- this time in the form of yourself.

His body drapes languidly over the couch, too exhausted to speak, simply getting clothed once more as you undo the hair tie and let your hair fall loosely over your shoulders again. Chan extends his hands, helping you off the floor again, and your sore knees straddle him once more, hoisting yourself onto his lap and letting your hands find the back of his neck.

For a minute, he says nothing, completely fascinated with this side of you, as his hands find your waist again.

“Let me return the favor?” Chan inquires just above a whisper, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. And you shoot him a small smile, shaking your head in response as he cocks his head to look at you.

“I… shouldn’t” is all you breathe back, hanging your head as he tries to meet your gaze.

He begins to ask why, but he stops himself, knowing that your previous statement still stands. This is wrong- you’re a journalist and he’s just a video subject. Not to mention, he’s just weeks away from the biggest fight of his life- and neither of you intend on ruining any of that for him. He knows all of this as much as you do- but he’s still disappointed that the circumstances appear to be unchanging.

Chan nods as you hoist yourself off his lap and back onto the leather of the couch, and then he reaches for his glass of wine again, scanning your expression in his peripheral vision as you fix your tousled hair. From beside him, your gaze meets his again, giving him a small shrug.

“I’m sorry,” you say to him, toying with the stitching on the leather of the couch. “You probably have tons of girls practically throwing themselves at you as it stands. I don’t need to be another.”

Chan chuckles, shaking his head and setting down his glass of wine. He fidgets with the lobe of his ear as he admires the blush upon your cheeks when you look at him once more.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he admits shyly. “But I’m sure you have your fair share of athletes trying to score a chance.”

It’s your turn to shake your head, chuckling softly as you avert his gaze.

“Not exactly,” you voice back at him. And then your gaze lingers on him, observing the way his lips appear to be smudged with your lipstick.

“Just one,” you conclude, hands finding purchase on your own knees as you maintain a comfortable distance from him.

Chan begins to say something, but then he’s silent again, awkwardly crossing his legs once more and forcing his attention on the television. Though the docuseries continues to play faintly in front of you, it’s painfully quiet between your breathless bodies, and Chan can’t seem to stop himself from catching glimpses of your seated figure while you try not to engage in eye contact with him. You know that if you do, it’ll only result in you practically throwing yourself at him all over again, so you remain facing the television, saying nothing in efforts to not warrant anything more between the two of you. It’s Chan who breaks the silence first, clearing his throat before grasping the remote between his fingers and lowering the volume to just above a muted speech.

“What are you thinking about?” He asks, not meeting your gaze as you sit comfortably beside each other.

“No need to interview the interviewer,” you say back to him, doing your best to evoke a nonchalant disposition. You bite back a smile, as does Chan, while he observes the interview that plays on the television.

“I beg to differ,” he then chimes in. “I believe the second most intimate thing you can do is interview somebody. If I can’t kiss you, I think it’s only fair you indulge me in a story.”

The docuseries fills the silence that overtakes the room with hushed chatter as Chan awaits a response from you, and he watches as you lean forward to grasp your glass of wine between your fingers before speaking again.

“I’m just a boring journalist,” you say to him, keeping your gaze on the television. “I collect stories the same way you do medals. There’s not much else to say.”

And the statement is only half true- there’s certainly more you can indulge him in pertaining to your career as a journalist. Details of past athletes you’ve interviewed, moments you’ve shared that permanently altered your life, for better or for worse. Restless nights spent gathering footage, following orders from the crew to get closer, be intentional with your actions. You’re as enthralled in your own career as Chan is- perhaps not at the same level, but devoted, nonetheless.

“Do you like all of this?” Chan inquires a little quietly.

You’re silent for a passing moment, and then you take another sip of wine before answering.

“It’s complicated. I like telling stories. Not always the process it takes to uncover one. Sometimes it’s a little…” you ponder the words briefly, and Chan takes a sip from his glass, too, his eyes darting in your direction as he interjects.

“Voyeuristic?”

You meet his gaze again, not having taken him as someone who could read you so carefully.

“Yeah,” you respond. “That’s exactly how it feels.”

Chan slouches back into the sofa, downing the rest of his wine, and then he sighs deeply, a level of contentedness present in his tone.

“I can’t believe you got me crying on camera,” he says with a chuckle.

You chuckle, too, mirroring his relaxed posture.

“Trust me, the footage isn’t going anywhere,” you say to him. And then you pause, before speaking once more.

“Thank you,” you continue. “For being so honest with me. And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re a loser.”

Chan turns his head in your direction, shooting you a small smile and a nod. He looks much more relaxed now, his once teary eyes now replaced by the glazed appearance of his blissful state. He looks comfortable like this- happy, even.

“Thank you,” he echoes. “For letting me be so honest. And for what it’s worth, I think you do a pretty damn good job at collecting stories.”

He turns back to the television, folding his arms over his chest now, as do you. And then he raises the volume on the television again, letting Baik Hyun-Man’s words echo in the otherwise quiet space between you.

“Sometimes we win, and sometimes we lose,” the familiar words play from the television.

“And knowing that, maybe through tales like mine, of guts and glory, we find our footing in the knowledge that we tried.”

*

Sherbet popsicles remain out for the foreseeable future. Convenience stores are cleared of theme entirely, every freezer in the city decorated with an impromptu sign detailing the status of them.

The environment of the gym seems to grow heavy with anticipation as every passing day brings you closer to Chan’s title fight.

And perhaps the only thing harder than unveiling the very real fears Chan harbors toward his title fight, is resisting the urge to kiss him again.

At first you’re not sure it ever happened, when Chan greets you at the gym with a casual salute, as though he’s greeting his trainer.

“My partner in crime!” He’d exclaimed, like you hadn’t been practically pleasuring yourself on his lap just days ago, mouths breathing hot gasps into each other and hands grasping desperately at his toned muscles. As though you hadn’t devoured him entirely on the sticky leather of his sofa, the flavor of his salty release still familiar to you when you graze your fingertips along your lips.

And with the passing days, he assumes the role of a video subject painfully well, detailing all of his best techniques behind the lens and keeping a comfortable distance from your camera. Part of you is relieved, of course, as you witness Chan do exactly what he’s promised- after all, mixing business and pleasure comes at a cost to the entirety of the project. But when he intentionally averts your gaze while he trains with Mr. Seo now, or refrains from speaking of anything more personal than the mundanes of his daily routine, you can’t help but miss the Chan that was only just beginning to grace you with the details of how all of this really feels to him.

How the sounds that ring throughout his ears are far too loud at times, or that he can’t stand the way his tangible memories seem to slip from his grasp when they’re no longer sacred to him. And a myriad of other admissions, including the painful truth that he’s taken a remarkable liking to you, and yet he’s forced to pretend it’s nothing more than his erratic emotions leading up to the fight when he’s intentionally ignoring you like this.

At just a little over two weeks left until his title fight, Chan is visibly distressed, though he makes his best efforts to mask the fact, growing quiet when you’re not asking him questions, and evading any talk of his fears. It’s worrying to see him like this, and you think back to when his mother previously detailed his tendency to shut himself off from the world in response to his heightened emotions.

“He gets so wrapped up in it,” she had explained somberly. “especially when he has a fight around the corner. It’s all he does- all he thinks about.”

It’s made clear to you now when Chan trails off from his sentences, staring off into the distance as though he’s being overcome with disdain for himself. You can see what he means about thinking of himself when he boxes, as he throws particularly harsh uppercuts at the bag in the ring, his face glazed with a sheen layer of sweat as he avoids your concerned gaze from across the room. And when you find yourself alone with him again, he doesn’t so much as crack a smile from beside you, simply lying parallel to the floor as his eyes scan the now dark ceilings of the gym at nighttime.

The photographs on the gallery wall are too shadowy to make out at this hour, except for the one in the middle, the pearly white grin of renowned boxer Baik Hyun-Man beaming down upon your languid bodies as you remain there, in complete silence. Chan thinks back to his schedule for what feels like the millionth time now- a training session tomorrow in the morning, a tour of the title fight ring in the afternoon, a series of smaller interviews to fill the week and a meeting with some of the sports directors leading up to his match. And following the eventful few days, part two of the docuseries’ broadcast. It’s one of the first times he’ll spend a few days without you in a while, and it feels admittedly unnerving to him, he realizes, as he chews on the inside of his cheek.

“What are you thinking about?” You break the silence, not breaking your eye contact from the pendant lamps that line the ceiling. He’s quiet for a moment, and then he shrugs casually.

“Not much,” Chan fibs.

Fulfilling the demanding traits of a perfect boxer. The fact that he hasn't slept properly in well over three days. Winning. Losing. Especially losing.

“Getting nervous for part two?” You query, and Chan’s eyes dart to your figure briefly.

He thinks back to the docuseries and all the interviews thus far, and then he shakes his head, furrowing his eyebrows as he speaks again.

“Nothing to be nervous about,” he lies again. “You’ll make me look like a winner.”

Chan’s chest rises and falls as he grows quiet once more. He thinks back to the success of part one, where he gained more respect than perhaps ever before, thousands of fans eagerly anticipating how he’ll perform on the evening of the title fight. And then he lets out a deep sigh, shutting his eyes momentarily.

“I miss popsicles,” Chan confesses.

You don’t find the words to reply for a passing moment, thinking back to the bright orange dessert he speaks of, perhaps not having realized he hasn’t consumed one in several weeks now. Chan sighs again, and then he repeats himself, his gaze now finding the wall, at Baik Hyun-Man’s beaming smile.

“I really fucking miss popsicles,” he says a little quieter this time around, and by the way he delivers the confession, you become aware that perhaps it’s not popsicles at all he speaks of.

Rather, Chan misses his innocence, his youthful days when none of this mattered so much to him. He misses training with Mr. Seo in his garage, a bright blue pair of kanpeki mitts around his bruised knuckles as he delivered much softer hits to the punching bag. He misses days spent at his mom’s house without these heavy burdens he bears- a lifelong promise to himself to make her proud, and simultaneously pushing her away, because he knows his obsession with boxing only brings out the very worst in him. He misses the summer days he lost to training sessions, he misses the life he knew before a winning streak was ever uttered in reference to him.

And he misses you, although you remain at this comfortable proximity to him- no camera in sight and a yearning to know him as intimately as he longs to know you. But the truth remains, that you’re just here to tell his story, not be a part of it. The relativity of a journalist to an athlete- new burdens he bears, new fears he harbors.

“I have an interview with Mr. Seo,” you voice from beside him. “Anything in particular I should ask about?”

Chan chuckles at your ability to ground him once again, and then his eyes scan the ceiling as he thinks it over.

“Anything you want,” he says simply. “He probably knows me better than anybody else.”

The cogs turn as you think over the seemingly endless possibility of questions for Mr. Seo- a voyeuristic journalist’s dream.

“I’ll see you after part two airs,” you say to him, sitting up from your spot on the ring. “And then we just have your final interview, following the match.”

Chan is quiet for a moment as he sits up, too, leaning back on the palms of his hands and observing the way you gather your bag from beside you. He thinks back to the start of this series, when you’d scolded him for being late, and when he first detailed to you his start to boxing. It feels like a lifetime ago that you were first stating your introductions to each other, and now you’ve quickly become just as important to Chan as boxing is.

“Everything’s going to be different,” Chan says, as you hoist yourself off the platform and sling your bag over your shoulder. You meet his gaze with furrowed brows, humming in response, as he brings his hands forward and toys with the taut bordering wire.

“Hm?”

“Things are just going to be different after this airs,” he concludes. “It happened the first time. It’s going to happen again. I can feel it.”

Whether he speaks of his upward trajectory to fame, the likeability of him to the masses, or his relationship to you, you’re unsure. But you entangle your fingers in the bordering wire across from him, too, letting your fingers caress the stringy metal as you meet his gaze.

The vibrating sound of the wire’s recoil fills the space between your bodies, so close to each other and yet worlds apart, as you let the pads of your fingers brush against his, and then you allow his fingers to intertwine with yours, the bruised knuckles of a boxer’s embracing the silky smooth flesh of a knackered journalist.

He brings your hand up as though he’s going to seal the action with a kiss, yet he doesn’t, simply letting your fingers graze along his lips as he waits for you to say something.

“Are you scared?” You ask him again, not yet moving your gaze from his tired eyes.

He doesn’t blink, or even let his racing heart produce another beat before he’s answering you truthfully this time, his breath tickling your knuckles as he exhales a breath he hasn’t realized he’s been holding in all this time.

“I’m terrified,” Chan confesses. And from the gray bags under his eyes, to the somber expression painted across his face, you catch a glimpse of the vulnerable state only you’ve had the pleasure of becoming so acquainted with.

*

The evening of Friday is the fourth day spent in the absence of Chan.

As he busies himself with smaller interviews, meetings with sports directors and preparations for his title fight, you occupy the office space with members of the network, the common area transformed into a makeshift theater as they project part two of Chan’s series on a large screen.

“A toast,” Lin says, grasping a glass of wine between her fingers as she holds it up to clink against yours. “To y/n, who managed to piece together a hell of a story from our stubborn boxer.”

Your colleagues fill the room with laughter and praise, and you shoot them a sheepish smile, shaking your head as they start up the series.

You think back to the reserved fears Chan carries with him, and the way he’d only uncovered the rest of his story to you- all of his worries, the reality of his exhaustion with boxing and how he’d taken a liking to the one person who made all of this feel a little less important in the grand scheme of things. And it’s a story that will never exist fully in its publication, per your promise to Chan to maintain its secrecy. It’s the one thing still sacred to him- the one thing that still belongs to him.

Lin mutters quietly as Chan’s interview plays in the background, leaning in to not disturb the careful focus that falls upon the employees as they watch him speak.

“Sometimes you have hundreds of eyes on you,” he voices on screen. “You have to be intentional with your actions. You have to know what to show people.”

As he recalls one of his early matches, Lin sets her glass of wine down on a table, folding her arms over her chest and leaning into the shell of your ear.

“Listen,” she says reluctantly. “You did a fantastic job getting all this out of him.”

“Thanks,” you say with a chuckle. “Wasn’t easy, but I think it’s sufficient.”

“We did manage to go in a… different direction, than what was originally passed along.”

You pause your actions of taking another sip of wine, turning to face her as she continues to face the projection screen.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing personal,” Lin explains. “It just wasn’t the same without it. Of course we tried different angles, but the footage on those memory cards- it was a lot to work with.”

As she speaks, your gaze falls back to the projection screen, where Mrs. Bang appears, hands folded nearly in her lap as she details all of Chan’s tendencies to shut himself off from the world.

“He’s so preoccupied with being the best at what he does. And I can’t help but think there’s something keeping him down.”

And then just as you’d feared, and although you specifically requested the footage be omitted from the film, Mrs. Bang begins to cry, expressing her worry for Chan and his future.

“You kept that footage in?” You say out loud, earning a few glances from your colleagues around you.

Lin gestures for you to lower your voice, taking a sharp breath before explaining.

“It wasn’t me,” she voices in a whisper, fidgeting with a ring on her finger. “The network wanted it personal. It was still on the card when it was imported, and I was told to leave it in.”

“I can’t believe it,” you say, in disbelief as the footage continues to indulge a painful amount of personal information- albeit filmed, not intended for the docu series.

“What else did you keep in?” You say to her, heartbeat quickening in your chest when you remember your conversation with Chan. She scratches the back of her head awkwardly, failing to give an answer, and then without missing a beat, you lunge forward to collect the remote control, fiddling nervously with the buttons as you fast forward through the footage.

The room grows quiet as the footage scrolls rapidly through part two- candid shots of Chan in his car, more interviews, his blue boxing mitts, his training sessions in front of Mr. Seo.

And then before you can begin to ask her about it, your heart sinks in your chest when you’re met with the scene on-screen; one of Chan crying, his head hung in defeat as he sits on the familiar leather couch in his apartment.

“Losing scares the shit out of me,” he says between sniffles, as your camera captures him at a painfully close proximity.

All eyes are on you now, a heavy tension falling over the room as Chan continues to speak on the projection screen. He begins to detail the burdens of valuing his winning streak so much, and you can hardly make out his sentences as you practically toss the remote at Lin and gather your purse once more.

“I can’t believe this,” you say to her, scoffing as you meet her blank gaze. “That was supposed to be for my use. Not for the series. I mean, what the fuck were you thinking?”

“It wasn’t my decision,” she explains, trailing after you as you begin out of the common area. “They loved how personal it got. I’m just here to translate it into the series-”

“I should’ve known you wouldn’t listen to me. God, I should’ve checked the fucking memory card.”

“We wouldn’t have had the ratings we did for part one without this level of closeness,” Lin explains. She follows as you saunter to your desk, gathering a stack of papers and shoving them into your bag.

“I never should have listened to you,” you explain, as a stream of tears finally makes its way onto your reddened cheeks. “All this push to get closer to him, and for what? So you can get your stupid ratings? Well congrats, I hope you got what you were looking for.”

Lin pauses for a moment, and then she scowls in response. For a fleeting moment, you assume she’s going to apologize, or maybe offer to take the fall for you. But when she speaks once more, you’re disenchanted to find it’s the complete opposite.

“I hadn’t taken you to be one to put pleasure before business,” she begins. “He’s just a video subject. Unless there’s more we’re not seeing?”

“He’s a human being, first,” you interject. “His lows aren’t some sick form of entertainment for you to cash out on.”

“Then why were they filmed?” She wonders out loud, and you grow quiet at the question.

You want to argue back, and yet you can’t, not possessing a clear answer to the very fair question she poses to you.

She’s right, to some degree- perhaps in your desire to know Chan so intimately, you’d also begun to house a fascination for the way he opens up to you, recounting stories of his childhood and confessing to a long list of fears he harbors deeps down under the facade of a “perfect boxer”. The lines between business and pleasure had been blurred long ago- as were your intentions when you filmed him every chance you got. Perhaps in navigating the painful reality that you will never be more than a keen journalist relative to a charming boxer like himself, you’d put him on a pedestal the same way many now do. And now you’re no better than the voyeuristic tendencies your network pushed you to possess.

Bang Chan is not some “perfect athlete”, nor can he be reduced to the numerical value of trophies and medals. He doesn’t fit within the binary of a “winner” or a “loser”, and he certainly isn’t some cocky sports fanatic like you’d once taken him for.

He’s a human being- with tangible fears, and hopes for the future, and a profound love for the people who shaped him to be the person he is today. And though the fact remains, that he’s on an unbroken winning streak and about to participate in the biggest fight of his life, it’s just a fraction of who he really is.

“Did you really think this was going to end differently?” She voices. “You really don’t think that you played a role in his exploitation, either?”

“Stop,” you practically beg, glancing past her figure at the caravan of colleagues who’ve now exited the common room, too. They eye you curiously, whispering amongst themselves and awaiting your next move. For a moment, you’re reminded of the boxing ring in Chan’s gym- it’s as though you’re there on that raised platform, pairs of eyes eagerly anticipating your next strike from across your opponent. Your heartbeat echoes in your ears, glancing around the room with such desperation as her words play in your head over and over again.

“If I recall correctly, the second most intimate thing you can do is interview somebody,” Lin states, using your own words against you.

Her voice is like an uppercut to the jaw, leaving you breathless and full of disdain, as she gives you a small shrug. And then before you can strike back, she pivots on her heel, joining your colleagues once more as she departs from your trembling figure.

In the context of this docuseries, you’re entirely complicit in the unjustified publication of Chan’s vulnerability to the whole world.

And in the context of a boxing match- perhaps nothing more than a loser.

Part 2.

raspberry stains.

word count: 1.6k

pairing: lee minho x afab!reader

warnings: multiple orgasms, foodplay, oral sex, smut - MINORS DNI

synposis: what do you do when you see minho eating raspberries like this. what a whore. (no raspberries were harmed in the making of this fic).

“i got some raspberries from the farmer’s market,” minho’s first words to you are when you shuffle into your living room, still in your pajamas. he shows you the plate of washed berries he had been munching on, way too awake for the hour that it was. you despise minho for being a morning person, for waking up hours before you and doing things like going to the farmer’s market instead of laying in bed with you. 

“good morning to you too,” you take a seat next to him on the couch, curling up against his side. at least if he didn’t partake in morning cuddles with you he never denied you couch cuddles.

“have one,” he says, holding out a berry to your lips. his fingers are stained red with the bursted juices and they brush against your lips as he feeds you. you suck his thumb into your mouth along with the berry and his pupils shake as you hollow your cheeks out a bit to get the flavor off of his skin. the sweetness of the raspberry floods your mouth and you move away from him to chew and swallow, the wheels in your head turning as you track his reaction to what you thought was an innocent act. 

suddenly, you were wide awake; if he was going to be horny about this so early in the morning, then so were you.

“give me another,” you demand as your hands reach towards his pants, unbuttoning them and opening the zipper with expert motions. he pauses, his eyes heavy lidded as he looks at you with an open-mouthed gaze. your eyes flicker between his rapidly hardening crotch and the plate of raspberries as you wait for your words to register in his head through the horny daze. “do you need me to repeat myself?”

he shakes his head, his eyes clearing a bit as he scrambles to pick up a berry to feed to you. you let it rest on your tongue as you slide to your knees in front of him and free his cock from his boxers, pressing down on the fruit gently so it bursts in your mouth. you take the head of his cock into your mouth and you let the juice dribble out of your mouth until it drips down his length, staining him even redder than he already was. you pull away, wincing at the feeling of liquid dripping out of the corner of your mouth, but the look on his face is worth the discomfort. he looks gone, his eyes heavy on you, the weight of his awe of you hanging off of his every feature. 

“this gone and we barely did any foreplay,” you tease, sliding your hand up his cock to spread the redness around. “you must really like me.”

“if you don’t keep going i might die,” he says, ignoring your bait, completely serious. you flash him a grin before going down on him again, a sick satisfaction seeping through you when his cock jumps in your mouth. you take him as far as you can go, using your hand to make up for the rest of the space and you bob up and down, letting your saliva mingle with the berry until he’s wet and slippery. 

the flavor is divine; you always love his taste, musky and salty with the scent of his clean body wash intertwined, but the raspberry mixing with him is a cocktail that you never want to stop drinking. he slides his fingers into your hair to keep you close to him, and you give him a particularly dirty lick to his slit when you realize that it’s his clean hand - as sexy as this all is, you didn’t want to deal with cleaning the stickiness out of your hair later. 

he lets out breathy moans and pants in time with your movements and you want to edge him all day just so you can keep hearing the music he’s playing for you, but when you peek up at him you feel a tinge of sympathy for him. his neck is completely flushed and it trails up to his ears, the veins in his neck popping out from the effort it takes to hold back from thrusting up into your mouth. you pet his thigh with your free hand, a silent good boy that doesn’t go unnoticed by the way he throws his head back with a groan. you take pity on him, relaxing your throat so you could take him down and swallow around him. you stay there for as long as your body allows, only backing off when the need to breath flashes warning signals through your head. 

his moans turn into whines as you keep stroking him, a clear signal that he’s close. you open your mouth, lolling your tongue out to catch his release onto it. the picture that you make in front of him, lips stained red and mouth open for him, is enough to send him over the edge and his muscles lock as he comes with a spasm. you work him through it until his hand tightens in your hair, the tiny pinpricks of pain sending a wave of arousal through you. you swallow his release and show him your empty mouth, and his answer to that comes in the shape of a dry sob as he melts completely into the couch.

you don’t realize how wet you’ve gotten since starting this until you let him go, your attention divided between his post-orgasmic glow and the burn of pleasure you feel when you rub your thighs close together. you rest your head on his thigh as you catch your breath alongside him, and you slide your hand into your pants, content to lazily rub yourself off before sharing a shower with him to wash the berry juice away. 

“what are you doing?” he asks, his voice deep and gritty. 

“you’re not the only one who gets to come today,” you sigh against his thigh as you circle your clit with your fingers, the wetness there making the glide easy. 

“no, i mean what are you doing?” he repeats, the emphasis not making things any clearer for you. he rolls his eyes when you don’t get it before sitting up and joining you on the floor. he lifts you off your knees and pushes you towards the couch to sit so your positions are reversed with him on his knees in front of you. “this is my job, not yours.” 

he pops a couple berries into his own mouth, swirling them around his tongue as he slides your pants and underwear down to your ankles. he helps you take them off gently, tossing them aside before pushing your thighs apart. he dives into your pussy like a starved man, pushing the red juice into your folds and lapping it up again before repeating the process again and again. it’s so much better than your own fingers, the unpredictability of where his tongue was going next keeping you unprepared for the onslaught of sensations. you come embarrassingly fast, your thighs locking around his head as he slurps at you, obscene sounds filling the empty living room. 

he moves away when you start to twitch in oversensitivity and his mouth is completely stained red. it’s smeared around his lips like lipstick, and you pull him up for a kiss with urgency. the taste of raspberries mixed with both of you is euphoric, and you let out a content sigh into his mouth as your body relaxes. 

“i’m not done with you yet,” he releases your lips with a wet pop, a string of pink saliva connecting the two of you. he’s back down between your legs faster than you can register, his mouth finding your clit instantly. his tongue traces patterns against it, circles and swirls and shapes that you can’t name and it’s too much but it feels so good that any protests die on your tongue. 

“minho!” you cry out, and once his name leaves your lips you can’t stop, the five letters taking the shape of moans and whines until it’s all you can say or think. your thighs begin shaking but he doesn’t stop, eating you out steadfastly as if he was born to do it. 

“one more,” he says against your folds, his fingers joining the mess between your legs to hook into you, curling upwards. “you can give me one more, right?”

i’ll give you anything you want, you try to say, but it comes out in a series of unintelligible sounds. the burn of your orgasm comes slower this time, a fire building and exponentiating unlike the sparks of fireworks that you experienced the last time. it burns and glows brighter and brighter until it’s a white light behind your eyelids, your entire vision whiting out as you come against his lips. you can’t see it, but you can feel the smile he wears against your skin as you come down from it. 

when you blink your vision returns, just as he is climbing up to sit next to you. he pulls you into his lap, holding you close as your sluggish head tries to make sense of what just happened. you bask in the silence, your head pressed against his heartbeat, his breathing moving your body up and down against him calmly. 

“you know,” he breaks the quiet, his words a whisper into your hair. “we’re never going to be able to look at raspberries the same way again.”

“shut up.”

wc: 2.5k

warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. this is a piss fic, unrealistic shower sex, PISS like seriously, oral (m & f rec), inexperienced reader, switchy jisung (he's whiny), dirty talk, unprotected sex & creampie, brief hair pulling, brief choking

a/n: and when i said my return to stayblr would be a piss fic i meant it! AND THANK U TO 🐇 anon for commissioning this u are a babe <3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Jisung’s patient. He was ever so patient with you all along, actually, hands roaming your sides hesitantly over your t-shirt when you first made out. You had to physically move his palms onto your skin for him to take some initiative - “I’m not a virgin, Jisung,” you’d squeal, legs thrashing in protest.

You've finally gotten to the point where Jisung will touch you. He tries to initiate sex more often than not now, and you’re a happy recipient. There’s never once been a situation around him where you haven’t wanted to fuck him - he’s a beautiful person, to say the least, with his big round eyes and even bigger cock. He’s delicious.

In fact, you’re sure you’ve gotten to the peak of your sexual relationship with him until you hear the bathroom door open. It’s a normal day, save for the fact that you were about two seconds from pissing in the shower after skipping that step. It’ll save time, you can just do it in the shower - until you hear the rustling of clothes, a sweet tune being hummed, and then the shower curtain is being pulled back to reveal your honey-skinned boyfriend.

He crowds behind you in the shower, and you’re left with wide eyes. Skipping your pre-shower pee on the toilet is one thing, but you’re getting a little desperate now and you’d thought you could just let it go in the shower. Now, your boyfriend is naked, pressed against you with his nose brushing up against your neck. His hands trace your sides absentmindedly, dipping down to stroke over your tummy. His hair is already damp from the water, and it curls inwards to frame his face, tickling your skin. 

“Jisung…”

He hums, pressing a kiss into your neck. “Do you want me to get out, baby?”

You shake your head. You don’t. You don’t think you’d ever not want him around you, especially not naked. “It’s not that.”

“Let me help you relax, my baby. Can I?”

You’re getting desperate to pee now. In lieu of words you nod, shaky, and he reaches for your shower gel. Instead of squirting it on your loofah, he dribbles it straight into his hands, and the feeling of his wet, soapy palms on your back is more than relaxing. His hands run down your skin, over your shoulders, just barely tracing your breasts, and then he presses down on your tummy just that little bit firmer. 

Oh God. You feel a drop run down your thigh, and it definitely was not the water. 

“Jisungie,” You say, and Jisung pauses. He hums in response, and you sigh. “I just- I needed to pee, so I was just gonna-“

His hands pause. “Here?” Jisung says. His voice is shaky too now, and you realize his fingertips are starting to dig into your sides. “Oh. Oh, right.”

It’s a little awkward. The shower still beats down on you both, and Jisung’s hold just gets tighter and tighter until - oh. He’s hard. It presses against your ass, thick and throbbing, and you feel him shuffle a little to try and avoid you feeling it.

“You’re… hard?”

“You’re naked in front of me talking about- about peeing,” He whispers, and when you turn to him his cheeks are red. He scrunches his eyes shut, looks to be willing his erection away, but it stays unflagging. You move fully to face him, hands moving to his shoulders. “I- Baby. Would you let me see? Do it- do it on me. Or just-”

“Jisung,” You gasp, eyes wide. He’s into that? That’s new. It’s new even for your time of sexual exploration, and it has you shifting from one foot to another in decision. Can you? Will you? You realise that yeah, you will.

“I’m sorry,” He blushes. He’s still hard, but embarrassed - you know that just makes him even hornier. You’re going to do it. 

“I’ll do it. For you.”

He immediately drops to his knees.

“Will you? Oh, will you, jagi?” You’re not sure you could say an outright no. You’re nervous, sure, with how new this all is, but the water from the shower is beating down on Jisung’s honey skin so rapidly that well - you want to see him get even wetter. You let out a shaky breath, thighs trembling, and then you’re nodding. “Oh, baby. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you-“

“Jisungie,” You say, voice timid. He nods in response, runs his hands up your inner thighs, palms dewy with the water. His round eyes earnestly look up at you, bottom lip quivering. He looks innocent, and it’s almost as if he didn’t drop to his knees immediately upon hearing that you needed to pee. “Help me, honey. Help me relax.”

He has to. He dives in, mouth wrapping around your clit, and you let him nudge your thighs apart with his fingertips. It’s a little precarious, balancing in the shower, but the suction around the pudge of your clit has you gripping onto the shower curtain with trembling hands. Jisung’s nothing if not a good eater, and he always finishes his meal - his tongue dips down to your slit with a deep groan at your taste. 

“Y’ready for me now?” He murmurs into you, the vibrations making you whine. He pulls back and reaches up with a firm hand, pressing on the base of your tummy, just where your bladder rests. His eyes flicker up to you, intense and dark, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen this look on his face before. He looks downright debauched, waiting for your piss and still trying to take control of the situation like he always does. “Be a good girl for Sungie, yeah? Piss all over me. Get me dirty with it.”

“Fu-uck,” You whimper, lips falling apart. You’re heaving wet breaths, body still subconsciously fighting against the urge to let go, but a firmer press on your bladder has the trickle starting without your permission. 

“Oh, baby, yeah,” Jisung keens, his other hand moving to rub circles against your clit. When he pulls your mound backwards with his thumb, the stream erupting from your pussy only gets stronger, hitting Jisung’s chest and soaking his skin with it. It trickles down his skin, eventually hitting the smattering of his pubic hair and the base of his cock, and Jisung whines with it. “Oh my god, baby, you’re so sexy. More! More, give me more, pleasepleaseplease, be a good girl for me.”

“I am being good, Jisungie,” You moan, the relief of your bladder emptying all too satisfying. It just keeps coming, and when the stream finally trickles out, Jisung surges forward to wrap his lips around your clit. A sharp suck has you gasping out a whine, gripping onto the mess of his hair, but he can only flick his tongue over you once, twice before he’s sliding up onto his feet.

He crowds into your space once again. He turns you around, your back facing him, and the whole situation is so precarious that you’re terrified that one of you is going to break a limb. Your pussy is so wet at this point though that you know you’re going to let him take you here, just like this, raw and messy.

“Bend over,” He ushers, forcing you into the corner of the shower. The shelves containing all of your toiletries rattle with the harshness of his movement, and you squeal, gripping onto the sides.

“Jisungie, baby, I’ll fall-”

“You won’t. I-I’ve got you, jagi, I promise,” Jisung insists, and he crowds behind you once again. With a swift movement, his cockhead presses against your hole, still slick from the mess you’ve made all over him, and he uses one hand to brush it through your folds teasingly. “Do you want it? F-fuck, baby, tell me.”

Your head is spinning. Of course you want it. He always fills you up so good, and he’s so caring, so thorough with his touches. “I want it. I want it, I want it, I want it, please-”

He sinks inside of you with his own sharp keen. He’s so thick that the stretch has you reaching out to clutch onto the built-in shelves tighter, your lips parting in a deep sigh. “That’s it. G-god, that’s it, Jisung.”

“Yeah? You like it?” He moans, and you see his hand emerge over your head. He grips onto the shelf for leverage, and then his hips start to smack into your ass, eager and messy. You groan out for him regardless, with his length filling you up just right. “That’s it, yeah? You l-like it like that, baby?”

“Yes, yeah, Jisungie, I like it like that,” You nod eagerly, eyes fluttering shut. You hear his feet hit the floor in an effort to reposition himself, and when he manages to get better footing, the next thrust is so sharp it has you crying out. “Ah! There, therethere, please, please!”

He groans in pleasure at the change of angle, his cock hitting you deeper, and his hand moves upwards to tug at your hair. The movement bends your back to rest your head on his shoulder, and the water from the shower is completely forgotten - it could be ice cold now for all that you know. He’s gripping at your waist, hips, and your tits, pulling you back onto his thrusts and shaking every bottle on the shelf, and all you can do is whine and moan through every thrust. 

“It’s so- it’s so good,” Jisung huffs, head lolling against yours, and you have to turn and look at him. His hair is positively soaked by now, dripping down his face, and his lips stay parted, moans and whines tumbling out from deep inside his chest. “T-thank you, baby. For pissin’ on me, and- and this, fuck, your pussy is so fucking good, so tight, so wet.”

His voice is strained, garbled as if he’s trying to force the words out, and you gasp out at a particularly rough thrust. His thrusts are getting more uneven, less precise, and his teeth start to nibble at your shoulder. 

All of a sudden, you feel a familiar wetness flood inside of you. Jisung’s orgasm is sudden and intense, his hips stilling as he empties deep inside your pussy, his muscles trembling and his breath ragged.

“F-fuck,” He moans, pushing at your ass to slide you away from him. “Baby, on your knees. Get on your knees, please, you gotta keep it hard.”

He has at least part of his mind still intact, you assume, because he flicks the switch on the shower and leaves you both standing there drenched. Still, you don’t let it deter you, dropping to your knees to suckle at his soaking wet length. He’s covered in a mixture of his cum and your wetness, and you moan when the flavour hits your tongue, bobbing your head on half of his shaft.

“Yeah, like that, just-” He cuts himself off with a grunt, pushing your head down further on him. It makes your eyes water, but you persevere, suckling on his length. He’s getting into a headspace that he doesn’t get into often - he’s being rougher with you, more eager to take, take, take, and you can only let him. “Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck, hnng, baby, baby, suck on it. Please, please, pleasepleaseplease!”

It did work, at least. His erection stays unflagging even after him cumming inside of you, and he lets you play around for a little - you swirl your tongue around his cockhead, suckling on it a little, but it’s your tongue dipping into his piss slit that has him yanking at your hair.

Jisung pulls you upwards, tongue immediately pressing between the seam of your lips while his hand wraps in your hair, and then he’s ushering you out of the shower. “Over the sink,” He says, breathless, his eyes round and wide. “Please, baby. Let me fuck you over the sink.”

“O-Okay,” You respond, voice hoarse, but it’s a quick movement for you to hop out and bend over for him. Jisung’s back inside of you in his own swift movement, cock stretching you out once more, and the hand that swats at your ass makes you gasp. “Jisung-”

“I have to make this pussy cum,” Jisung rambles, and you nod eagerly, hands propping you up on the sink. You see your reflection in the mirror, Jisung’s hair soaking wet and water dripping down his chest, and the sight makes you clench down hard. He gasps, sharp and loud. “Ah! Ah, baby, careful, lemme- lemme make you cum, please. Been- been so good for me, pissin’ so nice and then sucking me- let me make you cum, let me-”

“Harder,” You insist, fingers wrapping around the edge. Your gaze is focused on the mirror, on the way your bodies move together while Jisung fucks into you. He listens to you, hips slapping against your ass harder while also fucking into you deeper, which is just as hard to handle. His cockhead kisses the bottom of your cervix with every thrust, making your eyes roll back into your head with a sharp keen. “Yeah! Yeah, yesyesyes, baby, Jisungie, more, just a little- a little more, I’ll cum, I’ll cum-”

“Yeah?” He groans, dragging you upwards with a firm hand around your throat. His lips press a kiss into your hairline, quick and swift, and you see his face appear right next to yours into the mirror. It’s then you notice how fucked out you look - your lips are swollen, hair wet and messy, drool slicking the bottom of your chin. “Cum for me, baby. G-good girls cum nice and easy, just like this, right? C’mon, jagi, cum nice and pretty for me.”

You can’t help it. It only takes a few more thrusts, well-calculated and deep enough inside you to have you shaking, and you’re coming apart around him. You feel his cock get wetter with your release and it’s as if he can’t help himself either - he presses his hips against you, firm and deep, and he’s filling you with his cum for the second time. It’s less than it was the first time, but it still fills you with warmth and makes you whine, hips trying to buck backwards for more, more, more.

“So pretty, jagi,” Jisung whispers, pecking your cheek with a way too innocent kiss. You groan in response, body feeling completely worn out, and he slides his softening length out of you with a whine.

“We’re going to have to shower again,” You murmur, half-collapsed on the sink. Jisung only coos, wrapping his arms around your middle and nuzzling into your back.

“Let’s take a bath this time, jagi,” He suggests, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss into your skin. “That way we can lay down this time when we fuck. Duh.”

“Jisung!” You shriek, swatting at him. He giggles in response, scurrying off to flick at the taps of the bath. You huff, slowly peeling your body off of the ceramic. “Don’t be so crude.”

“Baby, you just pissed on me. I think that’s, like, the definition of crude. You're crude.”

📹ᡣ𐭩₊˚⊹ free, when you’re here with me lee minho x f!reader x han jisung

summary: one time you and jisung tease minho while he's live. another time you and minho return the favour. and the third time ... well, let's just say they're both live that time.

word count: 9.6k words

author's note: first fic back from sea may rise is my brand - minsung and exhibitionism. I have had this idea in my drafts for half a year now and I finally got around to writing it. straight filth. enjoy!

warnings: sexting and getting hard on live; porn without plot; established relationship; canon compliant; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it & pee after sex, guys); daddy kink; big on the exhibitionism; sexting and images and videos of sexual acts; sex toys; size queen behaviour from our reader; masturbation; oral; pubic hair bc it's sexy and I said so; they keep talking about tanghulu because it's canon and they need to be freed from these repetitive questions

skzms' masterlist

ᡣ𐭩 ONE

“‘Hi Lee Know, how are you today?’ Hiii, I’m good, how are you?” Minho singsongs, dutifully, throws a look at the camera propped up on the table in front of him, then back down at his phone where Bubble is open.

At least he’s alone in the room today. It’s always much less awkward when there are three staff members watching him provide fan service and make faces at a phone.

“’How was your day?’ My day was alright. Had a schedule this morning really early, but we finished around noon. I got galbitang for lunch, ate it with Kim Seungmin.”

He watches the chat predictably explode into messages about him and Seungmin, about Seungmin’s new show, whether he’d seen it. He gives it a second.

On the top of his screen, a message pops up.

In miny/nsung🍡 from: jisungie 🐹🍑 who allowed you to look so damn good when you’re not here

Minho doesn’t bother to hide the smirk that takes over his face as he reads the message.

“Ah, Kim Seungmin’s Song By, yes, I watched it. Who knew dogs could sing like that, huh.”

He knows this simple sentiment will buy him enough time to respond to Jisung.

from: minho got nothing better to do than watch my live?

The reply is instant. It’s a picture of Jisung and you, cuddled up together in what Minho can clearly tell is Jisung’s bed, based on the dark grey, checkered sheets and the orange and purple glow of Jisung’s LED lights.

from: y/n 😻 we just miss you :(

Minho resists the urge to roll his eyes, fondness dangerously squeezing at his chest. He swipes back to Bubble, takes a quick look at the chat, but everyone’s still talking about Seungmin’s show.

“Ah, yes, the song. I know it. He talked about it for a week before filming. He was very worried about his choice, but he chose it well.”

Quickly, he swipes back and is greeted by the picture again.

It’s adorable. Your head, pillowed on Jisung’s arm, eyes scrunched up in a smile as you lean up and into his neck. Jisung’s smile is soft, his cheek squished against your forehead. You’re both still dressed exactly like how he left you, Jisung in his oversized sweatshirt, you in one of Minho’s t-shirts. God, he wishes he could be there instead of here.

from: minho I left like an hour ago

Then he goes back to Bubble.

For a few minutes, there’s no new notification. Minho even finds himself swiping back to your group chat to check, but you and Jisung are suspiciously quiet. He answers a question about Soondoongdori, but secretly he wonders if your words, the fact that you missed him, weren’t true at all.

But then, four messages come in in quick succession.

from: jisungie 🐹🍑 sorry, hyung, we got a little distracted wanna see? turn your volume off

The thumbnail of the video is blurry, but Minho can make out the colours of your clothes. He doesn’t know if he hopes it is what he thinks it is or if he should hope it’s something much more innocuous.

And Minho shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t open a video while he’s live on Youtube with thousands of people watching. But if there’s one thing that he loves more than he loves his job, it’s you and Jisung, and especially videos of you and Jisung. The photo gallery of his secret private phone is proof of that.

So he puts his phone on mute. Clicks the volume down until it shows it’s silent, and then clicks the lower volume button 30 more times for good measure. Angles his phone, so nobody can see, though he knows they can’t. And he clicks play.

It plays silently, Minho notes with an internal sigh of relief, but that fact is soon forgotten when he takes in the view. The framing is as gorgeous as it is simple. The camera hovers over you and Jisung’s upper bodies, cutting off right above your noses and right below your chests. You must be holding it because Jisung’s hand is cupping your cheek, your chin, black painted nails digging into the meat of your cheek as he absolutely devours you.

Or really, you devour each other, swapping filthy, wet open-mouthed kisses, tongues meeting somewhere in the middle, laving against each other. Then Jisung wraps his plump lips around your bottom lip and sucks, making your body arch into him, your hand scrambling to wrap around the back of his neck to get better access and arousal hits Minho like a tidal wave. You kiss Jisung harder, drag your nails over his scalp as you lick into his mouth, so deep Minho thinks he can hear the phantom of Jisung’s moan in his ears and Jisung kisses back, a dribble of spit running down the soft skin of your chin and the video ends.

And Minho realises he’s live.

It takes all of his idol training to swallow down his panic, to seemingly calmly swipe back to Bubble and check the messages when his brain feels hazy, and he can feel his cock pulsing in his sweats. But nobody seems to have noticed. All the messages are just the usual ‘notice me’s or ‘make a heart!’s.

His phone vibrates in his sweaty hand.

from: jisungie 🐹🍑 I can’t believe you watched the video on live I’m so fucking hard that’s so hot

from: y/n 😻 don’t worry, it wasn’t obvious our pro idol <3

Minho bites back a scoff.

from: minho you two are fucking crazy

He shoots the message back and swipes back to Bubble.

“’Lino-yah, do you prefer kimchijigae or doenjangjigae?’ Kimchijigae, always!”

from: y/n 😻 does that mean you don’t want another video?

Minho could not give less of a fuck about Kimchijigae right now. The seconds he waits for another video to come in are agonising. He tries to respond to as many comments that fly past as he can, while he still can, before the message finally pops up.

from: y/n 😻 <kjs3js9asu8.mp4>

He swipes across and nearly lets out a groan at the thumbnail. Jisung’s bare, broad shoulders and brown, curly mop of hair, between your thick soft thighs, bathed in purple and orange lights. It looks like art.

Minho punches the volume down button another few times for good measure and hits play.

In the top of the frame, the ends of your, no his t-shirt, rucked up enough to expose the soft curves of your waist, your belly. Jisung is settled between your soft thighs, one of them slung over his broad, honey skinned shoulder, his hands wrapped around your thighs, holding you in place, ringed fingers digging into your skin. Minho wants them in his fucking mouth.

Jisung’s face is buried in your pussy. Nose-deep, hair bobbing with every lave of his stupidly talented tongue, his eyes fluttered closed in what Minho knows is ecstasy. His legs are spread, hips grinding into the mattress, his pert little ass in his sweats just about visible from how you’re holding the camera.

And then Jisung takes your clit into his mouth, flutters his glassy eyes open and sucks, and Minho watches the muscles in your belly ripple and your back arch. Jisung’s eyes are still on you, but then he flattens his tongue and licks at you obscenely and makes eye contact with the camera, and Minho’s cock throbs.

Your fingers thread into Jisung’s hair, pulls his head back so hard his eyes roll, and his mouth falls open, purple lights making the juices on his chin glisten. You shove him back down, and he goes willingly, dives lower, head bobbing harder, pink tongue peeking out from his rosebud lips. Then the video ends.

Minho is rock hard in his sweats. He forces himself to swipe back to Bubble. Half crazed, half out of his fucking mind, he looks for something to reply to.

“If Lee Know sees this comment he’ll wink,” he reads, looks at the camera with a deadpan expression and does a silly wink.

He wants to end this live right now and run home, but he promised their manager he’d stay on for longer today.

He swipes back to your chat.

from: minho did jisungie make you cum?

The answer is immediate.

from: y/n 😻 mhm yeah he did so good <IMG_363762.jpeg>

A picture. Of your face. Flushed and fucked out, hair messy against the pillow, a pretty little smile on your bitten lips. Minho is about to fucking lose his mind.

Subtly, he shifts in his chair, bites back a hiss when his cock drags against his boxers in a way that feels a little too good. Then he forces himself back to Bubble.

But the top of his screen lights up with another notification.

from: jisungie 🐹🍑 when are you coming home, jagi? we want you so bad you and your stupidly big cock I bet it’s so hard right now

“My favourite song off the last album is Blind Spot,” he half growls out. His leg is jumping, his heart thundering in his chest. The chat goes wild. Hannie’s song! Minsung is real, guys.

Possessiveness always comes easier when his cock is hard, and he’s thinking about them.

“Exactly,” he just says. No indication what he responded to. It’s all he’s allowed to. But hopefully enough of them will know.

From: y/n 😻 <97jdn2yns.mp4>

He swipes over immediately.

Jisung. Filmed from your vantage point, clearly, if your bare thighs on either side of his beautiful waist are anything to judge by. Then your hand, manicured nails reaching up to Jisung’s mouth, tapping your middle and ring finger against his lips. Jisung blinks slowly, then opens his mouth, dutifully. He swallows your fingers down greedily.

inho has to actually bite back a moan. His cock twitches pathetically in his sweats. He hums a random melody, trying to distract the people on his stupid live from the fact that he hasn’t said anything in a couple of seconds.

But his brain, his cock, his entire nervous system – it’s all attuned to you. Jisung, flushed and fucked out, sucking on your fingers, his eyes rolling into the back of his head like he’s in some fucking hentai. Minho adores it.

The angle changes. With your fingers still in Jisung’s mouth, you lean over, prop up the phone against something on the other side of the bed, brows furrowed in a concentration so adorable it makes him want to ruin you, before you return to straddling Jisung’s waist, Jisung’s pretty hands splayed over your thighs.

Jisung sucks on your fingers harder, his eyes threatening to flutter shut as you lean forward, closer until you finally remove your soaking wet fingers from his lips. Jisung sucks in a breath and Minho knows that if he had his sound on, he would’ve heard the most delicious whimper.

With bated breath, Minho watches as you and Jisung stare at each other, before you dip down and replace your fingers with your lips. Jisung surges up, his hands wrapping around your waist like a man starved, and Minho swears he gets dizzy for a moment.

He doesn’t think he blinks once for the last few seconds of the video, watching you kiss Jisung into the mattress, watching Jisung’s hands grab at you wherever he can reach, kneading your ass, your hips, your waist, rucking up your shirt until he can pull it over your head, your naked tits pressing against Jisung’s chest.

The video ends and Minho swears his ears are ringing. His whole body is burning with a desire that makes his teeth ache. His cock is so hard it fucking hurts, pulsing where it lies against his thigh, hard and leaking and neglected.

He forces himself to swipe back to Bubble again.

“‘If Lee Know oppa doesn’t see this, it means we’re married’,” Minho reads with a shaky voice, and it shocks a laugh out of him.

The only people he’s married to, mind, soul, body, entirely, stupidly, are you and Jisung. He wishes he could scream it from the fucking rooftops.

“Ha,” he answers out loud, smirks at the camera, “well, it can’t be helped. Guess we’re not married.”

He feels crazy. Insane. He wonders how much longer he has to be live when another message comes in.

from: jisungie 🐹🍑 fuck, hyung, I can hear it in your voice please come home please <093knahi2.mp4>

Minho holds out long enough to answer one more question, something about a trendy new street food snack, before he scrolls back to their chat and clicks on the video like a man possessed.

It’s Jisung’s perspective this time. Jisung’s point of view of your naked, beautiful body, glowing shades of orange and purple, sheen of sweat making you shimmer like a thousand diamonds, twirling your hips up and down on Jisung’s cock.

Minho’s spit catches in his throat, and he nearly drops his phone, so harshly does it make him cough. His face is burning, probably bright red, but at least now he has an excuse.

“Ah, sorry, everyone,” he groans out, gives the camera a sheepish look.

Then he looks down again. He missed a few seconds of the video, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t scroll back.

There it is again. Your body, the body he knows so well, your tits, your belly, the dip of your waist, the plush of your skin, the little patch of hair right over your cunt, which is, oh fuck, perfectly, snugly, wetly wrapped around Jisung’s cock. Your juices are shimmering in the light where they’re wetting the coarse, short curls around the base of Jisung’s cock. Your head is thrown back, eyes screwed shut, bottom lip trapped between your teeth.

Jisung’s hand is resting on your waist, then trailing up, guiding you up and down in a slow, deliberate grind, before it snakes up, and he grabs a fistful of your tits in his big hands, rubbing his thumb over the hard bud of your nipple.

Minho has to pause the video.

His underwear is wet. He hasn’t said anything in at least a minute. He … fuck, he’s actually out of breath.

Bubble he reminds himself. He swipes over clumsily, answers the first thing he sees.

“’Have you ever had Tanghulu?’ Aaaah, yes, of course. Everyone’s had it, right?” he actually sounds out of breath, fuck. He wonders if they’re still watching. If they’re seeing him, flustered, out of breath, or if they’re too busy fucking each other’s brains out. “I don’t typically like sweets. The texture is nice, though. The crunch is good. And the fruit is sweet.”

He knows what’s sweet, and it’s the sounds you make when you get fucked just right. It’s the skin behind Jisung’s ear that he could suck on for hours. It’s the pre-cum that drools out of Jisung’s cock, the taste of your chapstick in the morning when Minho licks it off your lips.

He’s had enough.

“Ah, would you look at the time, Stay. I’m gonna go and devour some tanghulu right now. Bye!”

He reaches over with shaky fingers, pushes the end button.

Everything happens in slow motion. He double-checks that the live ended, locks the phone, places it facedown on the table for good measure.

Then he swipes back to your chat. He finds the last video. He clicks play cranks up the volume, and shoves his hand into his sweats.

Moans, so much sweeter than candied fruit. Jisung’s, high and needy, yours, a little further away, breathless, desperate.

“Fuuuuck, baby,” Jisung moans into the microphone and Minho throws his head back with a moan of his own. His cock drools.

Minho starts working his hand over his cock faster, the slide slick and loud in the empty room. You whimper, lean forward, your hands coming to rest on Jisung’s chest, digging your nails into his skin if Jisung’s gasp is anything to go by.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Jisung groans, and Minho nearly cums. His eyes roll back and his cock throbs.

“J-Jisungie,” you whimper and Minho has to dig his nails into the skin of his thigh to keep his composure, “need m-more, pl-please.”

“Ah, fuck, baby, fuck,” Jisung keens, “yeah? You want it? Don’t want to wait for Min?”

Minho twists his wrist and pleasure zaps up his spine.

“C-can’t,” you whimper, and then there’s the sound of rustling. When Minho looks back at the video, it’s no longer pointing at you, but instead at the ceiling. But he can still hear you.

Punched out little ahs, falling from your lips in a never-ending stream, perfectly timed with the wet smack of skin against skin. Jisung fucking up into you, no doubt. Jisung swearing, a litany of curses and baby’s and so fucking good’s.

Minho whimpers into the empty room. The moans, the sound of skin against skin, the desperate pleas, your voice teary and broken, Jisung’s tone shifting higher and higher, cooing and praising you, it’s all too much.

Minho’s orgasm careens through him with the weight of freight truck. His hips buck up into nothing, trying to shove himself harder into the tight ring of his fist, his whole body locking up in pleasure. His vision whites out, and he vaguely registers himself moaning, hears you and Jisung fall apart, Jisung’s telltale hiccuping moan, your choked sob.

Then the video ends and Minho slowly comes down and there’s a gigantic wet mess in his boxers and utter silence in the room, except for the blood thumping in his ears.

ᡣ𐭩 TWO

“Hi Stay,” Jisung mumbles. Deep breath in, deep breath out. It’s just a stupid live. “How are you all today?”

He tugs at his shirt, then his over-shirt. Checks his expression in the little window that shows what he looks like. A strand of hair is sticking up a little, and he tugs it back into place.

People keep trickling in, the chat on Bubble picking up slowly but surely.

It’s not like he’s horribly nervous. Just a little. Being live, being expected to entertain, with no way to rest or edit, it always sets him on edge a little bit.

“I’m sorry it’s been so long. How have you been? Have you been well?”

His voice wobbles a bit, but then it settles. He takes a shaky breath in.

In miny/nsung🍡 from: y/nie 🌸💦 deep breaths, jagi you’re doing great

The smile that steals onto his face is real, his heart doing a little flip in his chest.

“I’ve been well, thank you,” he says, looks up at the camera, “you’ve been giving me lots of strength.”

He’s saying it to the audience, yes, but he hopes you know it’s also for you.

from: y/nie 🌸💦 ah I love you so much you’re so cute

Okay, he’s blushing now. Jisung leans back, watches his own glowing cheeks.

“I-I just got these earrings,” he hurries out, tugs at the little silver rings in his ears, “do you like them? I’ve been liking wearing earrings lately.”

The chat flies past. They do seem to like them. It makes him feel a little calmer.

from: hyung 😼🍆 the cutest

Jisung blushes harder, kicks his feet a little bit under the table. It doesn’t go unnoticed by the chat.

Ah, you’re so cute, Han-ah Why are you shy?

“Ah, I’m shy because you’re all very nice to me,” he says, blinks up at the camera, then back down, when his heart starts to race. But the spell of the first nerves is finally broken.

He chats here and there. Answers some questions, takes a few sips of his Iced Americano. Then a familiar comment pops up. It makes his smile dim.

“You can see my beard marks?” he asks, laughing awkwardly, “I shaved this morning and I even put on make-up, and you can still see them?”

Almost immediately, a message pops up on the top.

from: hyung 😼🍆 did they say something bad about your beard

Jisung can feel the protectiveness from here. It makes his cheeks warmer.

from: hyung 😼🍆 don’t listen to them, jagi your stubble is so fucking sexy you’re gorgeous

Jisung takes a deep breath, swipes back to Bubble. Similar messages greet him there, people defending him, calling it cute. Some people still question it, but he no longer cares.

from: hyung 😼🍆 our pretty boy our perfect boy y/nie thinks so, too

Jisung breathes out a flustered little chuckle, his cheeks burning hotter. Quickly, he opens the group chat.

From: jisung hyunggggggg stop ittttt I’m liveeeee

Jisung can hear Minho’s little chuckle in his head. You’re probably lying on his chest, reading their conversation. Absentmindedly, he brings the back of his hand to his cheek, trying to cool down.

He swipes back to Bubble and is about to answer a question someone sent about his most recent song when another message pops up

from: hyung 😼🍆 such a nice voice, too getting someone all riled up and needy in my lap

Jisung’s mouth runs dry. He mumbles something about having slept at 3am before he swipes back to the group chat.

from: jisung hyung…

from: hyung 😼🍆 what, baby? you don’t want to see?

Jisung fidgets nervously. Oh, this is so payback for last time when you and him did this to Minho. And he’s already half hard about it, heat pooling in his abdomen, cock filling out even faster because he knows how many people are watching.

from: jisung you know I do …

from: hyung 😼🍆 yeah? ask nicely, then

From: jisung 😑 hyungie pleasseeee~~~~ let me see her let me see you

The response is instant. Like the video was already filmed and Minho only had to click send. Damn him. He knew Jisung would fold.

from: hyung 😼🍆 <j29shl1998k.mp4>

It takes everything in Jisung to be patient, to swipe back to Bubble and find a message he can answer to buy himself some time. He mumbles something about tteokbokki being too spicy while he’s already swiping back again.

He clicks his volume down a million times, double, then triple checks it, and then finally holds his breath and presses play.

The video is only 10 seconds long. You’re lying on Minho’s chest, between his spread legs, but he can’t see you or Minho’s face. All he can see is your hips, your ass in your favourite sweats, subtly, slowly grinding, forwards. Jisung wishes he could turn up the volume because he knows you’re probably making the sweetest little sounds, and Minho is probably murmuring filthy nothings into the camera that would make a shudder run down Jisung’s spine.

Without the sound, it’s easy for Jisung to focus on all the details he can see, though. On the way your toes are curled in your socks. The way Minho’s legs spread wider, the muscles in his thigh jumping with a particularly good roll of your hips.

It ends all too soon.

He wants more. So much more. But he knows he can’t let that show or Minho will break this whole thing off. So he swipes back to Bubble, raises his head, his glowing cheeks stupidly obvious in the camera. He can play it off with Stay, can say it’s warm in the room. But you and Minho will know better.

He watches the comments run through, lets himself get distracted as he waits to see if Minho will do anything else.

“13 reached 3 million views on Youtube? Really? I didn’t know that,” he exclaims with a smile at the camera, and he’s actually impressed how normal his voice sounds. And three million! For a SKZ Record, one that is so dear to him, too.

A message pops up at the top of his screen.

from: hyung 😼🍆 did you watch it?

Jisung grins to himself. Maybe he wasn’t being as obvious as he thought.

He picks his next words carefully.

From: jisung I did

Then he swipes back to Bubble.

“Ah, yes, I still watch EXchange, though not as much as I did when I wrote that song. Life has been busy lately.”

Who has time to watch EXchange when there are almost always one or two people in your bed, indulging your need for naps and cuddles and blowjobs and unimaginably filthy marathon sex.

“Yes, we’re working on music. Of course. We always are!”

That, too. But the filthy marathon sex …

As if on cue, another message from Minho pops up.

from: hyung 😼🍆 jisungie, are you playing coy with me? do you think I don’t know you want more

Leisurely, Jisung swipes back to his messages.

from: jisung of course I want more, hyungie but I was trying to be patient be good for hyung

from: hyung 😼🍆 are you hard?

from: jisung a little … :3

from: hyung 😼🍆 I am someone got so needy she needed something in her mouth and you know how good her mouth is

Jisung’s body responds almost instantly. His cock twitches. Of course, he knows how your mouth is.

Jisung knows he could play coy again. He could wait it out, bait Minho into asking him again. But the knowledge of thousands of eyes on him and the thought of you, back at the dorm, in his bed …

From: jisung ok, hyung, I’ll bite pleaseee? can I see???

He swipes back to Bubble as fast as he can.

“‘Is it raining in Seoul?’ Ah, it’s not. It’s sunny,” he mumbles before he looks at the camera through his lashes. “The weather is really nice today.”

from: hyung 😼🍆 😺 <j39sh2kl478.mp4>

Jisung swipes back to his chat and nearly chokes from the thumbnail alone. Your head between Minho’s thick thighs, Minho’s hand in your hair.

But before he can click play, another message comes in.

from: hyung 😼🍆 fuck, baby the weather’s nice, huh fuck, I love you

It’s like Jisung can hear how turned on Minho is, and it sends him reeling. He punches the volume down button on his phone another few times and finally clicks on the video.

Minho is still in the same place he was on the bed, but his sweatpants are rucked down, pushed down enough to expose his cock. You’re lying in between his legs, back arched prettily, one of your hands wrapped around Minho’s thigh, your head bobbing up and down.

Not much is visible from how Minho is holding the camera, your face, and mouth obscured, but you’ve got him deep, your nose bumping into the trimmed hair above Minho’s cock, and it makes Jisung dizzy with want.

Minho’s hand is laced into your hair, leaving you to do as you please, until he suddenly pushes you down. You go willingly, let Minho wiggle your head back and forth before he pulls you back and up, pulling your mouth off his cock slowly, inch by inch, your unfocused eyes staring into the camera. It’s fucking obscene how much of his cock was inside your mouth, and Jisung thinks he might pass out. When the head of Minho’s cock pops free, and it slaps against his abdomen, Jisung nearly moans out loud.

Minho lets go of your hair and Jisung assumes he said something to you because the prettiest little smile tugs at your lips before you give Minho the filthiest bedroom eyes, right past the camera, and lean back to suck his cock back into your mouth.

When the video ends, Jisung wants to scream.

Still dizzy, he clears his throat and swipes back to Bubble. His mind is anywhere but here, but he dutifully scans the questions and babbles something about American cheesecake at some restaurant they went to.

Directly in his eye line, just below where he’s holding his phone, his cock is now rock solid, tenting the front of his sweats. There’s a little wet patch darkening the fabric, and Jisung has what he thinks is his best idea yet.

He looks up at the camera with an innocent smile, acting like he’s staring at Stay, but really he’s gauging just how far down the camera can see. He figures it’s high enough. He leans back, slouches a little, pretends to be engrossed in Stay’s comments, even lets out a little laugh like someone just said something funny.

Carefully, he swipes over to his camera app. Then, with his heart beating in his throat, he carefully grabs his waistband and tugs it up enough so his hard, leaking cock is visible. He snaps the picture, swipes back to Bubble.

“‘Is Alien still your favourite song?’ I think so! Though I have written a lot of songs that haven’t come out yet,” he comments casually, though he thinks he can hear his arousal in his own voice. It’s just a little more gravelly. A little lower.

from: hyung 😼🍆 you really watched it, huh I can hear it in your voice fuck, you’re so fucking hot when you’re turned on

Minho doesn’t usually say things like this, not on their main phones, not so candid, not with so many swear words – not unless he’s really turned on. And Jisung is about to put the final nail in the coffin.

From: jisung hyung :( look what you did <IMG_83792871.jpeg>

Jisung blinks up at the camera, his cheeks still flushed, his pupils blown to shit. 50 thousand people are watching. His cock twitches. He smiles.

from: hyung 😼🍆 jisung you didn’t oh my fucking god tell me you didn’t take that just now while you were live

Hook, line, and sinker.

Jisung takes his time. Talks about tanghulu, how he tried it with Felix, how he liked strawberry the most. How he heard that tomatoes aren’t really considered a sweet fruit.

from: hyung 😼🍆 jiji it’s y/nie had to confiscate min’s phone he was blowing my back out and just nearly came when you sent that picture

Jisung nearly laughs out loud.

you’re so fucking gorgeous our gorgeous gorgeous boy your live is still playing I can’t stop looking at you

Heat. All the way up to his ears. And pooling in his abdomen.

Gingerly, he reaches down, wraps a hand around his cock loosely, through the thick material of his sweats. He just squeezes once and pleasure cascades down his spine. He lets out a shaky sigh.

from: hyung 😼🍆 it’s hyung again come home right now <j39sln8jmn2.mp4>

Jisung doesn’t even look at the video yet. He takes a deep breath, every one of his nerve endings on fire, his body screaming out for some relief, for him to touch himself, for them to touch him.

“Stay, I will have to leave now,” he purrs at the camera, gives them his biggest doe eyes, a sweet, innocent smile. He lets his voice drop even lower. “Thank you for keeping me company today. Thank you for talking to me. Thank you for everything you do for me. I love you. Have a good day. Bye.”

And he smiles again, winks when he gets close to the camera, right before he turns the live off.

When it’s off and silent in the room, he blinks, double checks that it’s off. Closes the app and turns off the company phone for good measure. Then he rips his hoodie from the back of his chair and shoves it between his legs.

The first grind of his hips is heavenly. He slides down the chair, his head thudding against the back of his chair with a dull thud. He’s so sensitive it almost hurts.

Gingerly, carefully, he sets a slow rhythm. On a particularly good thrust, a tiny moan falls from his lips.

Dimly, he remembers the video, but he’s got other plans. He unlocks his phone with shaky fingers, opens the camera and sets it to selfie mode, hits record. Then he props it against the tripod that was holding the company phone for the live.

It’s better than the live because he knows who will watch this one. He smiles at the camera, turns sideways so he’s perfectly in frame, and grinds his hips up. He doesn’t hold back his moan, lets his eyes flutter shut, his head loll back against the seat again.

He builds up a rhythm again. It’s erratic, choppy, his hips jittering up inconsistently because he’s been so hard for so long that every brush against his cock nearly sends him over the edge. If it wasn’t for them, he would be embarrassed. But he knows they will love it. Eat it up, the fact that he’s humping his sweater, about to cum after three minutes just from Minho’s filthy words, some lewd videos, one of which he hasn’t even watched.

The thought of it makes him chase his high harder, grind his hips deeper into the soft material, his fingers fisting into the hoodie until the rings on his fingers bite into his skin.

“A-ah,” he breathes out, “c-can’t … w-won’t last.”

His voice is breathy, whiny, scarily loud in the empty room. But it only adds to the thrill. That someone could walk by and hear him. Minho would call him desperate. You would call him a filthy pervert, would probably wrap your hand around his throat and slap his cock.

His back arches, his whole body locks up, and he’s cumming. He fucks up into the soft warmth of his sweats, his hoodie, unloads ropes and ropes of his sticky cum, making a show of it for the camera, bucking his hips, milking himself dry.

He reaches for his phone before he’s even come down, a particularly delicious aftershock making him visibly shiver as he grabs for the camera.

Looking at himself, he preens. He looks deliciously fucked out.

“Thanks f-for keeping me company today,” he rasps into the camera.

He shuts off the recording, swipes over to the chat and sends it unseen.

It doesn’t even take ten seconds before Minho replies.

from: hyung 😼🍆 get the fuck home right now

ᡣ𐭩 THREE

“… we are Stray Kids,” Chan announces into the quiet of the hotel room. Jisung bows and says it with him on autopilot, at this point.

They’re all piled into Changbin and Hyunjin’s hotel room, scattered over one of the beds, Jisung and Minho leaning against the headboard, Chan sitting right in front of Minho with Felix nearly splayed over his lap, Hyunjin and Changbin leaning against the foot of the bed. Jeongin is in a seat off to Jisung’s right, and Seungmin lounges on the bed in front of him.

It’s not late by any means, but jet lag has Jisung in a vice grip. He was already half asleep, snuggled into your arms in your hotel room down the hall, when Chan called them all together to go live. Minho had to bribe him with snacks, you had to promise him unlimited kisses, before he finally hauled himself out of bed, shoved a beanie onto his head and let Minho drag him down the hall.

But now the soft, padded headboard against his back, the pillow on his lap, Minho’s soft breathing next to him … he can feel himself getting drowsy again. As carefully as he can, he stretches his leg out until his knee rests against Minho’s thigh.

Minho looks over at him immediately, cocks an eyebrow, but he doesn’t move away. It makes Jisung feel all warm and fuzzy inside. A yawn tugs at him, and he pulls the collar of his sweater up over his mouth, but when he does, he is hit with a whiff of your perfume. It makes him yawn even harder. What he would give to be able to sneak out, back down the hallway, and slip under the warm blankets with you, soft skin all sleep warm and ready for him to glue himself to.

“Yah,” Changbin yells, and Jisung startles. He makes a small, unhappy sound in the back of his throat and out of the corner of his eyes he sees Minho throw him a sweet little smile, eyes brimming with love. His pinky stretches until he can gently graze Jisung’s knee. The small touch sends shivers all over Jisung’s body, and Minho sees that, too. He rewards him with another raised eyebrow.

But Jisung is already far gone again. Felix is saying something about a fashion show he went to recently. His phone buzzes where it’s lying between his thighs and Jisung picks it up without a second thought.

When he unlocks it, he’s greeted with a picture of your bare legs on the white hotel sheets next to your laptop with the live open, Jisung’s boxers stretched over your thighs, little white ankle socks hugging your feet. Pretty.

In miny/nsung🍡 from: y/nie 🌸💦 <IMG_2763379.jpg> supporting you from 4 doors down also tell chan I want my cuddle partner back :(

Jisung bites back his smile, lets his eyes linger on the skin of your thighs for a second longer, before he swipes back to Bubble. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Minho open the message. He doesn’t really react, but he looks at the picture for a long time, before he clicks on the message bar. Jisung watches as he types.

from: hyung 😼🍆 your cuddle partner is about to fall asleep live on youtube

from: y/nie 🌸💦 free him 🗣️🗣️ let him come back to me I promise I’ll treat him so well

It’s just a throwaway comment, most likely innocent, but in his hazy state Jisung’s brain immediately goes down a very different path. Maybe if he asked really nicely, you would wrap your soft hands around his cock. Or even suck him off. He’s always out like a light after a good blowjob.

Minho looks over at him and huffs out a laugh.

from: hyung 😼🍆 your cuddle partner is getting horny

from: y/nie 🌸💦 😼😼😼 I think I know how to keep him awake

from: hyung 😼🍆 y/nie be good

from: y/nie 🌸💦 of course, daddy when am I not 😇

Minho fidgets next to Jisung and Jisung giggles quietly.

Drowsily, he tunes back into the conversation around them. Chan is talking about a moment at a recent fan meet, where the pyrotechnics didn’t go off as planned. Jisung speaks up a little, mimics Chan’s hand movement, laughs with Felix when he mimics Chan’s confused, disappointed face.

When his phone buzzes, he doesn’t even notice. But Minho next to him does. He freezes for a solid three seconds, before he scrambles to turn down the brightness.

As inconspicuously as possible, Jisung lets his eyes trail over and oh. You sent another picture.

You’re no longer in bed, no, you’re kneeling in front of the full-length mirror that’s attached to one of the walls next to the bed. Your little socks are still on, and so are Jisung’s boxers, but you have one thumb hooked into the front of them. That and you have Minho’s shirt rucked up all the way to your chin, your tits bare. Jisung salivates.

Minho is still typing out a response when another message comes in. A video this time.

Minho’s thumb finds the volume buttons immediately, clicks them down so aggressively his phone almost flies out of his hand. Jisung will definitely tease him for his eagerness later – when he’s not equally desperate to see.

It’s not a long video, and it takes Jisung a minute to figure out how it’s different from the picture you sent, but then he sees it. Your hand. Down the front of your … his … boxers. The subtle movement, your legs slipping further and further apart, your hips grinding in small motions.

Jisung scrambles for his own phone so fast he bumps into Seungmin, who turns around and eyes him suspiciously. But Jisung just mumbles out an apology before he unlocks his phone, already punching down the volume and sliding down the brightness to the minimum.

On his own phone, one he can hold so close to his face, the video is even better. The motion of your fingers, your chest heaving a little when you touch yourself just right. His fucking boxers. He’ll steal them and wear them tomorrow, and then Minho can suck your scent off his cock when he blows him and …

Jisung’s wide a-fucking-wake now.

from: y/nie 🌸💦 aw looks like that worked looks like jisungie liked it did you like it too, daddy?

It’s brazen, calling Minho daddy twice like that …

Jisung shudders at the thought of the potential punishment Minho might dole out later. But really, Minho mostly looks flustered. His face is unreadable, but his breath is coming quicker and his ears are a dangerous shade of red.

from: hyung 😼🍆 careful, kitten don’t want our jisungie to get hard here where everyone can see

from: y/nie 🌸💦 what about you, daddy? not scared you’ll get hard?

from: hyung 😼🍆 I have a little more self-control than that, sweetheart

from: y/nie 🌸💦 hmm sounds like I need to try harder thankfully, I have just the thing

Silence for a second, then a picture. Jisung nearly chokes on his spit.

Two silicone dildos. One bright pink, veiny, big. Another almost translucent purple, a little smaller, also veiny, with a bulbous head. They’re almost like …

from: y/nie 🌸💦 it was really hard to find ones to match your sizes :( it’s the best I could do I brought them all this way just for you do you like them?

Minho takes a shaky breath next to Jisung, and Jisung’s fingers move before Minho can even finish his thought.

from: jisung fuck 🤤 I do, baby

from: y/nie 🌸💦 I knew you would, Jiji I also got a double ended one it’s at home maybe we can try it soon

Next to Jisung, Minho swallows thickly, grabs his hoodie from next to him and drapes it over his lap.

from: y/nie 🌸💦 does daddy not like them? :(

from: hyung 😼🍆 kitten, I’m warning you

from: y/nie 🌸💦 but daddy it feels so good inside of me

Without warning, another picture pops up, and this time Minho actually does drop his phone. Thankfully, it lands screen down on his lap because Chan in front of him turns around instantly. He takes one look at Minho’s burning cheeks, looks from him to Jisung, who’s equally flushed, pressing the pillow on his lap harder against his crotch, and furrows his brows.

“Behave,” he mouths at them, and Jisung nods quickly.

from: y/nie 🌸💦 aw, did I fluster daddy?

He unlocks his phone, holds it as close to himself as possible to make sure Jeongin doesn’t accidentally see … you, still in front of the mirror with your shirt rucked up over your tits, but with your lower half bare now, sitting on the massive pink dildo, your wet folds wrapped around the thing snugly.

Jisung’s cock fills out so fast it makes his toes tingle.

Jeongin narrows his eyes at him and Jisung blushes deeper, making Jeongin give him a look that says You’re doing something weird. I’m onto you. Jisung doesn’t even pretend to be offended. He’s never had a poker face.

Mercifully for them (and tragically, for Jisung’s raging boner), you don’t send any more pictures or messages for a few minutes. Seungmin ropes Minho into a joke, Jisung has to say something about his instagram posts.

And just as his hard-on is starting to go down, finally, with all the talk about work, all the eye contact with his members, his phone buzzes. Minho’s holding his, Bubble open, reading through the live chat and Jisung watches as he freezes again, but this time, he pales. Then he swipes over to the chat.

His fist tightens in the material of his hoodie so hard his knuckle cracks, and Jisung has never unlocked his phone so fast in his life.

The sight that greets him makes him briefly squeeze his eyes shut. When he opens them, Jeongin is staring at him again, but Jisung ignores him. Instead, he makes double, triple, quadruple sure his phone is on silent, before he clicks on the video.

Mirror. Floor. You, perched in front of it. Naked now, except for those stupid little socks that make Jisung light-headed. Sitting on the pink dildo, still, but also … Jisung swallows hard … also the purple one.

Your pretty lips are parted, your face flushed with the effort. Your eyes are hazy as you blink at the camera with so much desperation, Jisung gets even dizzier. You’re supporting yourself on the side of the bed, your free hand digging into your thigh as you languidly bounce on the dildos, both of them, squeezed together, disappearing into you again and again. With a pretty toss of your head, you roll your hips a little more, and it makes your back arch beautifully, head falling back in what Jisung knows must be a beautiful moan – one he can’t hear.

He thinks the video is about to end but then you lift yourself up, up, until first the smaller, then the bigger one slips out of you, before you make a beautiful, dizzying, absolutely obscene show of sinking down on them again, your fingers sliding down to your clit. Then the video ends for good.

Jisung’s mouth is as dry as sandpaper when he tries to swallow.

He thinks he might go insane. You’re down the hall, only a few rooms away, fucking yourself on a piece of silicone when he’s– when they’re right here, stretching yourself out on two dildos that you bought with the intention of them feeling like them, and they’re talking to a camera about Felix’s fucking tanghulu.

Chan claps his hands so suddenly both Minho and Jisung nearly jump out of their skins.

“Well, let’s wrap it up,” he exclaims and makes to get off the bed. Oh no.

Jisung … panics. He throws a glance over at Minho, who is frozen, the tips of his ears still bright red, eyes glassy and panicked as he watches Chan walk over to the phone.

As subtly as he can, Jisung experimentally presses the pillow on his lap down, and he almost shudders. Yep. He’s rock fucking hard and there’s a rapidly cooling wet spot in his boxers that, if he’s unlucky, has soaked through his sweats.

“Goodbye, Stay, say goodbye everyone!” Chan singsongs, and Jisung mimics him, forces a smile and a big wave. Chan shuts off the live and everyone starts chattering.

Jisung meets Minho’s eyes, who just blinks at him, then nods to the door.

Jisung turns and comes face to face with Jeongin, who’s staring straight at him, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“What were you two doing?” he asks, and Jisung pales. Seungmin in front of him turns around and eyes Jisung.

“What happened?” he asks and Jisung blinks at him, too, his brain scrambling to come up with something, anything to say.

“Minho-hyung and Jisung-hyung were being weird,” Jeongin explains to Seungmin before he turns back to Jisung. “Were you sexting Y/N or something …?

”He clearly means it as a joke, but when Jisung doesn’t respond and only blinks at him dumbly, his eyes widen.

“Oh … my fucking god. You were, weren’t you. You were sexting during the live,” he screeches, his voice getting progressively louder until Jisung realises everyone is staring at him. And he just … breaks.

He squeals, throws the pillow off his lap and runs out of the room, scrambling down the dull, carpeted hallway, all the way to your hotel room. In front of the door, he pauses, tries to catch his breath, but his heart is pounding in his ears and his cock is still so fucking hard, and you’re right on the other side of the door and Minho … oh God, he really abandoned Minho.

Should he go back? How could he have just left him there?! Minho’s probably hard, too. He was so pale. And now … with Jeongin announcing it to everyone.

He’s just about to walk back when Minho appears in the hallway. He looks murderous as he stalks towards him, a pretty blush on his cheeks and an even prettier bulge in the front of his sweats. His gaze pins Jisung in place, his heart thumping louder the closer he gets. Jisung takes a few steps backwards, until his back hits the wall. Minho comes to a halt dangerously close to him, so close, Jisung’s panicked breaths puff against his full lips.

“‘M sorry, hyung,” Jisung squeaks out, “I … I panicked …”

Minho’s gaze falls down to his lips, and Jisung’s tongue instinctively darts out to wet them.

“Unlock the door,” Minho growls.

When Jisung doesn’t immediately move, he gets closer, all but pinning Jisung against the wall.

“Unlock. The fucking. Door, Jisung,” Minho warns, and this time Jisung moves. He shoves his hands into the pocket of his sweats and pulls out the keycard, scrambles over to shove it into the slot.

The lock clicks open and Jisung doesn’t even have time to react before Minho pushes the door open and shoves Jisung inside. Jisung stumbles into the room and the first thing he sees is you. You’re still perched in front of the mirror, a shit-eating grin on your fucked out face.

“Took you long enough,” you hum, and Minho pushes past Jisung, who watches breathlessly as Minho hauls you off the floor and up into his arms before he crashes his lips into yours.

It’s a greedy kiss, tongue, teeth, punishment and desire, and it makes more heat pool in Jisung’s abdomen. Absentmindedly, he palms the front of his sweats, one hand travelling under his hoodie, touching his skin.

Minho spins you around and pushes you onto the bed so hard you yelp and bounce on the mattress, before he turns around to Jisung.

“Clothes, off. On the bed,” he orders and Jisung complies so fast he gets all tangled up in his sweatshirt and his t-shirt, then nearly falls over when he tries to step out of his sweats.

Jisung feels Minho’s eyes glued to him as he approaches the bed, strokes his cock twice as he looks at you, spread out and smiling up at him as if you hadn’t been the world’s biggest temptress for the last hour.

Jisung crawls over you, and at the first touch of heated skin on heated skin, he mewls out. It’s what his body has been craving ever since Minho dragged him out of bed earlier.

You meet him happily, soft lips finding his in a kiss that’s sweet for only a second before it turns hungry, dragging him closer until his chest is flush with yours, his cock trapped between you, rubbing against your belly with every one lick into his mouth and Jisung swears he’s in heaven.

But then Minho’s hands find his hips and when he turns around, Minho is shirtless, squeezing at his cock through his sweats as he watches you and Jisung on the bed, and Jisung thinks that this, this is all he needs for the rest of his life.

“Fuck me,” you pant out below Jisung and Minho squeezes his cock harder. “‘M all ready. Stretched myself out for you. For you both. I want you.”

Jisung’s cock twitches helplessly between you, and he grinds his hips forward. His head falls into the crook of your neck, nipping at the soft, slightly salty skin there.

“Jisung, on your back and you, kitten, sit on his cock,” Minho orders and Jisung happily complies, flips the two of you over and shimmies you up until his back is against the sheets, his head in the pillows. You kiss him one more time, slow and deep, before you sit up and line yourself up with Jisung’s cock.

The slide is so easy it punches a guttural moan deep out of Jisung’s chest. You bottom out immediately, making the prettiest sounds, your pussy so hot and wet and tight around his stupidly sensitive cock that he has to bite his lips hard so he doesn’t come immediately.

Minho winds his fingers into your hair and yanks your head back, making you clench hard around Jisung’s cock, tearing another pitiful moan from him.

“Let’s see if you need those stupid little toys, hm,” he rasps, his voice betraying just how gone he really is, before he drags you into an open-mouthed kiss, prying your jaw open with his tongue, until he can lick inside. It’s so possessive it makes Jisung shiver underneath you, his hips stuttering up, desperately seeking friction.

When Minho pulls back, a string of spit connects your lips to his and Jisung is about to surge up to lick it off their lips when Minho places his hand between your shoulder blades and pushes you down until you’re flush against Jisung’s chest.

You blink up at him blearily, and you’re so fucking beautiful like this that Jisung can’t resist. He dips down to kiss you, tenderly, dipping his tongue into your mouth to taste Minho on your tongue, as his arms wind around your waist, pulling you ever closer.

When he pulls back, he meets Minho’s eyes. He’s fully naked now, hovering over the two of you, and he stares Jisung right in the eyes as he pushes the head of his cock against your hole, against the sensitive underside of Jisung’s cock.

You moan headily into Jisung’s neck.

“Gimme … give it to me. I’m ready,” you whine, and Minho responds by pressing his hips closer, until the head of his cock pops in.

You and Jisung moan out at the same time, the added pressure of Minho’s hot, pulsing cock, sliding against his, it’s almost too much. And yet Jisung craves more.

Minho rocks his hips forward carefully, fucks in deeper and deeper with every thrust, moulding his way into your body until you’re shivering, panting in Jisung’s arms. He winds them tighter, soothes fingertips up your naked spine, presses kisses and soft words into your forehead and your cheeks.

When Minho finally bottoms out, the head of his cock pushing against Jisung’s, he’s a flushed, sweaty mess. Jisung watches a droplet of sweat run down the side of his neck and down the valley between his pecs, and he wishes he could lean up to kiss it. But you’re still on top of him, your cunt pulsing around them, slicker and slicker with every passing second.

When Minho shallowly pulls out and fucks back in, he rubs against Jisung just right. His head falling back against the pillows as pleasure shivers up his spine. He doesn’t realise Minho has folded himself over them until he feels Minho cradle his face and pull him in for a kiss that is way too soft for the position they find themselves in.

As if to highlight just that, he pulls back and fucks into you hard, making you mewl against Jisung’s shoulder and Jisung himself moan into Minho’s mouth, Minho’s lips sliding down to his chin, leaving a hot trail of spit behind.

“Fuck,” Minho groans, and fucks in again. “Fucking perfect.”

You shudder with the praise.

As your body adjusts, the slide gets easier, wetter, until Minho’s cock is ramming into you at an unforgiving pace, jostling you up into Jisung’s arms, and Jisung further and further up the bed, until he has to press a palm against the headboard to keep himself in place.

When he cautiously starts rolling his own hips in time with Minho’s thrusts, pleasure hits him so hard he nearly blacks out. His mouth slides open, and he feels drool slip down his cheek, but there’s nothing he can do but take it, shallowly fucking upwards as Minho fucks you both into the mattress.

Jisung’s orgasm creeps up on him slowly, but it overwhelms him so suddenly that it sends him reeling, Minho’s cock, your fluttering pussy, milking him, prolonging the pleasure until his whole body feels numb.

“Do you … fuck, do you want to pull out, Jisungie?” Minho asks, slowing his thrusts down enough for Jisung to catch his breath, but your walls fluttering, Jisung’s cum slowly running down his cock, coating your walls and making the slide impossibly slicker, it makes it hard. Jisung shakes his head.

“N-no, keep going,” he mumbles, “I like the way it hurts.”

When Minho picks up the pace, fucks in impossibly deeper alongside Jisung’s spent cock, the oversensitivity makes Jisung’s entire body spasm. Against his chest, you’ve turned into a babbling, drooling mess.

“See, baby,” Minho growls, noses at your shoulder as his hips stutter, “you don’t need those stupid toys when we can fuck you so much better.”

You don’t even open your eyes, just nod, another weak moan, tumbling from your slick lips.

“So good, Min, s-so much better, oh, s-so fucking g-good oh, I’m cumming, I’m cu-cumming.”

And cum you do, nails digging into Jisung’s shoulder, your moans muffled in his sweaty shoulder, clenching so hard around Jisung that the overstimulation makes tears prick in Jisung’s eyes.

Minho fucks you through your high before he leans forward, buries his teeth in your shoulder, shoves himself as deep as he can go, and lets go. The feeling of his cock, pulsing, shooting ropes of cum into you, enveloping Jisung’s spent cock in more heat.

One of Minho’s arms gives out, and he almost collapses on top of you, only lets himself fall onto Jisung’s free side at the last second. He crashes against Jisung so hard it punches the air out of his lungs.

But he forgets any complaint he wanted to make when he feels Minho’s hot breath, his nose nuzzling into his neck.

After a few moments of silence, Jisung tries to move underneath you but finds himself entirely trapped under two hot, sweaty bodies.

“You’re very heavy,” he presses out, and you giggle, press a soft little kiss against his shoulder. Minho just hums against his neck.

“Just one more minute.”

Jisung sighs, wraps his left arm around you, and his right arm around Minho, and closes his eyes.

“One more minute.”

skzms' masterlist // ko-fi

GENERAL TAGLIST OPEN 🔖 (please be 18+ and have your age in your bio, otherwise I won't add you)

taglist: @puppyminnnie @like-a-diamondinthesky @lyramundana @laylasbunbunny @minsflannelwrap148

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@realrintaro @kpopsstuffs @4l17h4 @ihrtlix @lalal-99-reads

@p0eticjust1c3 @pheonixfire777 @dandelions-143 @hyunjins-dimples @chrizzztopherbang

@milf-ivy @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @ms-too-delusional @skzswife @cotton-candycloudz

@adorepjw @drunkewok

cam!smau [skz]

insta posts : jisung (+ y/n, changbin, hyunjin, minho)

[a fun little smau if stray kids + y/n were all camboys/camgirls!!]

more installments to come !

-

"do you think that's good enough?" jisung turns the phone screen to you so you can see the photo, which you just end up smiling at. it's faceless but you're sure every fan of his will know it's you immediately. you're pretty much the only woman he films with - because you're both close, he's picky, and you're perfect.

"i think they'll drool over it." you grin, swinging your legs over his lap. his hand finds home on your thigh and caresses over the soft skin lightly, squeezing as his free hand taps along his phone to post the photo. and you're right - people eat it up right away. (especially a certain friend of yours that you haven't seen in a while)

"come here," hyunjin hums out, head tipping to face jisung the moment he hears the shutter click. caught red handed, the smaller of the two just grins and moves in closer. the bath is lukewarm by that point and there's a light milky-white tinting what would be clear water. he huffs out as he slips into hyunjin's lap, their positions switched only an hour ago when they took a short but heated video of themselves fucking in the bath - partially clothed, too. lower halves hidden. one short but sexy teaser for what could be in the future.

jisung lets his arms drape over the other's shoulders and as hyunjin's hands wrap over his slim waist, their lips connect. jisung's phone pings and he peeks a glance while he feels lips connect with the warm skin of his neck, giggling at the notification. minho's username would never fail to make him laugh.

jisung beams. he fixes the glasses perched on his nose and you whine at the sight of him all dressed up. not even dressed up - but dressed for the film. he'd taken the role of the uncle-turned-father to your.. imaginary daughter? and you'd been the mother who'd cheated on her husband and -- augh, there's lore to it, okay?

"you look so sexy," you'd whine, swaying in closer. he just chuckles at your antics already and wraps his arms around you to sway alongside your frame, pressing closer. he's already half hard, jeans so tight that his cock's already straining against the fabric.

"you think so?" his brow cocks in interest. and when you nod, he smiles again and leans in to press a kiss to your lips - all tongue first, sloppy and wet. but it's a perfect appetizer before the real meal.

📹 .˳⁺୨୧ part 2 - everyone else camboy!felix x chan camgirl!reader x changbin camboy!jisung x camboy!minho

summary: miscellaneous posts and a changbin x reader love story from the same universe - or lix's friends <3

word count: 2.2k words

author's note: have some more fun posts and story of the other characters aksjhdkjh idk this is v random but I hope you enjoy

warnings: non!idol au; exhibitionism & voyeurism; camming; mxm content; somewhat implied sexual poly!skz; implied romantic chan x felix, jisung x minho, reader x changbin

<< 📹 .˳⁺୨୧ part 1

Your phone buzzes once, twice, three times, while you're waiting for your take-out to arrive. You expect Felix asking you to hang out tomorrow, maybe even Hyunjin, requesting emergency outfit help for another one of his ill-fated dates. But's neither of them. It's an unknown number. Leaving five messages. Your phone buzzes again. Six messages?!

from: xxx-xxx-xxxx hi! it's changbin, chan's friend the one he, hopefully, told you he would give your number to haha otherwise this will be very awkward ... I'll shut up now

You can't help but giggle.

You reach for the remote, click down the volume of the TV until it's only a steady hum in the background.

Chan told you about Changbin a few weeks ago, a few hours into dinner the first night Felix finally introduced you two. He had dropped it casually, tongues loosened by copious amounts of Korean BBQ and soju and a very awkward moment where you weren't sure if Chan was aware that Felix had been balls deep inside of you on camera before. But it turned out he did know, and he didn't mind.

He mentioned Changbin as he poured you another shot of peach soju.

"I swear, I'm not trying to set you up, but I really think the two of you would hit it off."

You shrugged, gave him a playful wink.

"I mean, sure. Do I at least get to see a picture of him before you whore me out?"

Felix broke out into giggles, tumbling backwards into Chan's shoulder, knocking his knee so hard against the table that you had to stop your glass from toppling over.

Chan gasped, blushed furiously. But to his credit, and to your joy, because you knew this was the kinda guy Felix needed, played along nonetheless.

"For that comment alone? No."

"Oh, so he's ugly?" you countered. Not like you cared. Beauty was subjective after all.

Chan had scoffed.

"Trust me, he's not ugly."

Felix nodded gravely next to him, giving you a sly smirk.

"I've seen him, Y/Nie. He's hot. And exactly your type."

You raised an eyebrow at Felix.

"And how do you know what my type is?"

Felix huffed, tossed his head prettily. You couldn't help but notice how Chan's eyes were glued to him.

"Let's just say you loooove complaining about the type of men you never get to have when you're drunk."

Your phone buzzes again, pulls you back into the present where you're perched on your sofa with a stupid grin on your face.

from: xxx-xxx-xxxx fuck, did I already scare you off I swear I can shut up I'm just nervous

God, he's cute.

from: me hiii~ you really don't give a woman much a chance to respond before jumping to conclusions, huh

from: xxx-xxx-xxxx oh no, that's not ha ha fuck I'll see myself out pls pretend I never messaged and don't tell chan, please, he'll laugh at me if he hears how bad I fucked this up

You actually chuckle out loud this time. You click on his number, create a contact.

from: me aw no changbinnie don't go :( I think it's cute~

from: changbin 👀 changbinnie.... I'm so normal about that If I haven't fucked up yet, I'd love another chance but full disclosure I kinda know you wow that sounds creepy I mean ... what you do on the internet

You falter. That sentence is usually not a good sign. The sweet pink bubble you were floating in pops abruptly. You take a deep breath in. Better to know early than to get your heart broken again, you remind yourself. You still hate it.

from: me oh is that a problem?

His reply is instant.

from: changbin 👀 NO! I mean, no, of course it isn't

from: me so ... did you know before chan gave you my number? is that why you texted me?

from: changbin 👀 no!! I mean I did know but that's not why I texted you at least not in a gross way I ... fuck, this is embarassing

There's a moment of silence. Changbin's little bubble appears and disappears over and over again. The next messages that pop up takes your breath away.

from: changbin 👀 basically – chan told me about lix, and then, when he met you, he told me about you, about how you went on a 5 minute rant about the perfect dipping sauce for hot pot when you were out and I was like damn, a woman after my own heart and then when he said our senses of humour aligned and he thought we would get along and you said you were okay with him giving me your number he did also say what you did. like, that you do camming, solo, with lix, with other friends, all that so I may have looked you up just a tiny peek, I swear and ... uh fuck basically I think you're a goddess and I want to worship the ground you walk on and no, camming is not a problem, god, it's so sexy, actually and what's even sexier is that you like a vinegar base for your hotpot dipping sauce anyways ... if you want to block me, that's fine!! but like, I really really need you to know that I would love to take you out on a date sometime

Your whole face is burning by the time you reach the end of his message. He's so ... honest, and it's so oddly charming. You nearly jump out of your skin when the doorbell rings. You scramble to the door, barely able to face the poor delivery guy's eyes when he hands you your food, before you slam the door in his face. You make a mental note to tip him really well later.

You absentmindedly drop the bags on your coffee table and pick your phone back up. You take a deep breath, before you finally reply.

from: me I don't even know what you look like chan refused to show me a picture you could be a 60 year old axe murderer for all I know

from: changbin 👀 OH well, that would be weird, if chan was friends with a 60 year old axe murderer, don't you think but uhm here let me send something real quick before I start overthinking it

from: changbin 👀

Suddenly, you remember exactly what night Felix was referring to. The one where the hot buff guy at the bar had very kindly rejected your tipsy advances. You were covered in glitter, drunk off fruity cocktails, leaning on Felix's shoulder on the bus, whining about 'just wanting to be thrown around a little'. "I just like ... I want a man who thinks of me as an equal every day except in bed, ya know?! But most of them can't do that."

Then you'd gotten existential. Then horny again. Then you'd thrown up. And Felix had brushed your teeth and cuddled you to sleep, giggling and mumbling how he was sure one day you'd find an intelligent, hot buff dude who would not want you to be a housewife but also rail you into the mattress.

Not your proudest moment.

from: me oh

from: changbin 👀 ... oh? what does 'oh' mean? were those weird pictures to send? I'm sorry if they were, I even asked chan-hyung because I never do this and he said they were good was the gym one too much?!

from: me changbin, oh my god, shut up

from: changbin 👀 😳 🤐 yes ma'am (that probably shouldn't have turned me on, huh)

You don't blush. Years of masturbating and having sex on camera have made shyness a stranger. And men don't exactly sweep you off your feet.

And yet here you were. Blushing at a text message from a stranger. A stupidly hot stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. Well, Chan's friend. Your best friend's almost-boyfriend's best friend.

Your food is long forgotten on the table in front of you. You can always heat it up in the microwave.

from: me I'm going to be so serious right now I need you to take me out on a date asap

from: changbin 👀 oh oh my god yeah, no, absolutely I would love to when's the earliest you can do that doesn't make me look weird?

You giggle stupidly to yourself. If you kick your legs a little, too, that's between you and your fuzzy socks.

from: me saturday?

from: changbin 👀 ... this saturday? like in three days?

from: me only if you have time!! now I'm the one who sounds crazy, aren't I

from: changbin 👀 god, no, you don't sound crazy you sound many things but none of them are crazy at least not in a bad way I'll shut up again now saturday is great I'll text you the details

from: me sounds good~~ I'm glad you texted me, changbinnie I'm looking forward to it

from: changbin 👀 me, too, darling you have no idea

📸 @/min_knows posted 2 photos

you want it? j_one ohhhh DADDY j_one grrr bark bark bark grr woof j_one oh wait you prefer cats j_one meow meow mrrrroowwww hiss hiss seungmong @/j_one you are pathetic wtaf

📸 @/j_one posted 2 photos

love being friends with photography majors (by @/hynjn) min_knows oh j_one @/min_knows hi 🥰

📸 @/lixieixie posted 2 photos

fuck a soft launch when this fine piece of ass is finally mine 😈 mine alone 😈 now everyone help me convince him to stream with me

from: y/nie 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 lix sos im not your strongest soldier i need this man in my guts yesterday tell me not to put out on the first date tell me it's a bad idea

from: me holy..... 😳😳

from: y/nie 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 back off 🤺 that's my man you have your own hunk now please tell me not to drag this man into bed and let him fuck me 25 ways into next thursday on the first date

from: me I just asked chan and apparently, changbin has never even brought home a one night stand so like I'm prettyyyyy sure if you wanted to you could like he wouldn't run away after if you know what i mean chan says he's not the type to hit it and quit it like at all he's a hopeless romantic actually and he's like super obsessed with you :)

from: y/nie 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 lix 😩😩😩😩 this is not helping

from: me i mean do you like him???

from: y/nie 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 😭 so much he's so perfect almost too perfect, like it scares me a little

from: me then do it! follow your heart! chan says to go for it changbin apparently hasn't stopped talking about you since he texted you he's so down bad for you! and chan says he'll treat you right though when I asked if he means in bed he made a disgusted sound so idk about changbin's sexy skills but with those arms!! he would just have to lie there and look hot and I'd happily do the rest

from: y/nie 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 🤺 i am spraying you with a water bottle like a cat okay I'll see how it goes but god, if he kisses me, I might not survive it he's the most beautiful man I've ever seen oh and he's so kind! and so thoughtful and his eyes!!! like i can barely look at him where has chan been hiding him all these weeks i might marry him

from: me ok ok calm down wait until you know how his stroke game is at least before you make life-changing decisions

from: y/nie 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 ok lixxxxx i gotta go now wish me luck!!

from: me good luck!! go get your man!!

from: y/nie 👩‍❤️‍💋‍👨 good morning, sweet lixie, my bestest friend i'm marrying him

📸 @/min_knows posted 2 photos

hi hiii~ j_one you are actually so beautiful min_knows in a best friend way or ... j_one oh! yeah! haha absolutely seungmong nevermind, you're both pathetic

📸 @/j_one posted 1 photo

happy birthday to me 🧁 getting topped by a beautiful man is my only birthday wish. beautiful man please make it happen min_knows happy birthday sungieee~~ min_knows but for the record, your cock is too pretty not to sit on j_one oh haha ... in a best friend way? min_knows absolutely not j_one please come over seungmong kys seungmong but fucking finally

📸 @/y/nnn posted 2 photos

brb 🖤 j_one uhm hello?!?!?! j_one TEXT ME RIGHT NOW

📸 @/j_one posted 2 photos

finally mine 💘 stream tonight! he's gonna fuck me real nasty to celebrate us finally becoming boyfriends! y/nnn we all cheered! y/nnn wait does this mean y/nnn lmk if you ever need a third 😃 for a stream i mean spearb uh ... min_knows four sounds good, too, you know 😘 spearb UH... seungmong i can't believe the day has finally come min_knows just say you're happy for us, minnie. it won't kill you seungmong ugh. happy for you. or whatever seungmong still mad i had to watch you both pine and jerk off to each other for years j_one what the fuck??? you said you couldn't hear me??? seungmong I told you what you needed to hear seungmong plus I'm your stream mod so ... nothing I haven't heard before seungmong same moans, just more "minho! daddy! please!" in between. tomtato tomato j_one oh my god shut up?!?!?!? j_one im gonna die

<< 📹 .˳⁺୨୧ part 1

skzms' masterlist // ko-fi

taglist gen 1: @puppyminnnie @like-a-diamondinthesky @lyramundana @laylasbunbunny @minsflannelwrap148

@caitlyn98s @straystays2345 @3rachasninja @maximumkillshot @sungprotector

@stayconnecteed @mellhwang @chlodavids @kookiesbunny @noellllslut

@warren-thedarkangel @kidrauhlschik @anyhow-everything @krishastumblernow @cutiespaghetti

@hobi-szn @usagi---mochi @stolasisyourparent @steadysuitenthusiast @queen-in-the-shadows

@ayoitschannie @starsandrqindrops @redstayrosie @vitrealisbunny @seukijeuxq

@bakedlilgoonie @bookworm731 @jazziwritesthings @katsukis1wife @minhos4thkitty

@gbskzlover @armystay89 @chuwii3o @foivetimesacharm @palindrome969

@luvyev @binnies-binna @gimmeurtmi @ashareeboobear @seochangbinnnnnnnnnnn

@staysinbloom @f1wh0r3 @mnwrld @linocz @linosssss

GENERAL TAGLIST OPEN 🔖 (please be 18+ and have your age in your bio, otherwise I won't add you)

HYUNJIN for ELLE KOREA & CARTIER

blackholes

=͟͟͞♡ jisung × fem!reader

=͟͟͞♡ parallel universes au

word count: 7.4K

synopsis: you can delude yourself and wait for the paint to dry and take away the evil. but the only truth, unique and unchanging, is that pain only creates more pain. you can close your eyes and believe otherwise, imagine another ending. but when you wake up, jisung is still sick and his illness is eating him from the inside.

content warning: explicit sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), angst, depression, mention of suicide, drinking and smoking, sufference, eventual happy ending (?)

=͟͟͞♡ please, consider reblogging if you like my works!

A drop of crimson red paint is tapping on the ground at a regular rhythm. At first glance, to someone who is not trained to know how to observe, it might even look like blood. The fingertips from which the paint is dripping off are moving slowly over the paper, searching for the weak spot on the canvas. There is always one, where the fabric gives in and the color soaks deeper. The fingers probe its full extent until a small smile of intimate satisfaction appears in your face.

The breaking point is within the body portrayed on the canvas, right in the center of his forehead. It sparkles a little like an Indian diamond, and you dip the tip of your brush in the red paint that previously soiled your fingers. At the bottom corner to the right, near the tapered shape of the feet you have just finished painting, you trace a few words.

pain creates love.

The young man on the canvas is dazzlingly beautiful. His eyes are night onyx, deep as lagoons. His lips are the color of ripe cherries, swollen and tumid. He is portrayed nude, legs spread wide and arms outstretched toward the viewer. He exudes eroticism from every angle, yet he is far from vulgar. A few strands of inky hair hide the pale, flushed skin on his cheekbones. Slender, elegant fingers are stretched out to their full length as if to grasp the air. There is no background. The only foreign element to that body is the canopy on which the boy is slumped. The draped sheets caress his figure enhancing his nakedness without covering it. The only dissonant note in that marvelous sensual work, the only weak point, is the too-hinted blush on his forehead. It's almost not noticeable if you lose yourself in the full beauty of the portrait, but you see it, because you painted it and because it's part of the canvas, part of the subject. And it is singular, as him.

"It's a masterpiece".

The voice is off-screen, as if it's coming from another world. You don't turn to check who it belongs to, but you keep staring at your painting. The sound of small footsteps unravels in the air of the room. The parquet floor creaks at every inch.

"I am not fully satisfied with it".

You run the back of your hand over the fabric, as if the epidermis could erase the color and replace it with a different image. The voice approaches you from behind and blows a crystalline laugh as his shadow reflects off the picture, obscuring the white of the canopy.

"Don't be too hard on yourself. What's wrong with it?"

As you move your gaze from the painting to turn around, the exact copy of the boy portrayed on the canvas stands out in all his glory in front of you. His shower-wet hair frames his ephebic features like a wreath, and a tiny smile illuminates his face in a cascade of light.

"It's not like the original".

The boy shakes his head and time freezes. A few drops of water land on your neck.

"It doesn't have to be".

Sharpened fingers curl around the closed collar of your shirt and begin to loosen it. Button by button, the fabric slips off your figure and the young man in front of you kneels down to slip off your shirt and deposit hundreds of tiny kisses on your hands. When he stands up again, he approaches your body and touches it, appreciating every inch of it and covering it with attention. You lift you face and bite his cheek, losing yourself in the soothing smell of Sunday sex.

Pain creates love, you are quite certain of it. Loving someone who suffers means loving every single portion of their pain and making it your own. It is not easy to desire something so abstract, but there are people who try, with soul, body, bones and sweat. Some succeed, some fail, and some keep trying. You cannot identify yourself in any of these categories. You only knows that you love, unconditionally, without a specific goal. You love so much that the pain is now only the frame to a picture of yours, you love so much that the Indian diamond on the boy's forehead becomes almost invisible to your eyes. Almost.

You can delude yourself and wait for the paint to dry and take away the evil. But the only truth, unique and unchanging, is that pain only creates more pain. You can close your eyes and believe otherwise, imagine another ending. But when you wake up, Jisung is still sick and his illness is eating him from the inside.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

You meet Jisung in the twilight of his nineteen years, when he is just a little lump of insecurity and imagination. He clutches a vanilla coffee in his left hand and a briefcase in his right, crammed with story incipits that he will never finish. He dropped out of school to become one of those freelance writers you see on the covers of magazines for intellectuals, the ones who live in unpronounceable French towns and smoke mint cigarettes while sipping aged cognacs. It must not be bad, he thinks, to be envied while basking in your self admiration.

When Jisung sees you, he is leaving creative writing school, and you are leaving art school. You have a white palette under your arm, open apron smeared with oil paints, and nose sniffing the air. In fact, Jisung doesn't really have time to see you, because fate plans to make him trip over you, causing his vanilla coffee to spill all over your pants.

With his face on fire and the excuse of dry cleaning to repay for the damage, you two get acquainted. Jisung discovers that you smoke mint cigarettes, like French writers. No cognac though, you say. You prefer gin. It goes down faster and helps me come up with new ideas for painting.

Jisung asks to see one of your works, but your condition is of him posing as a model for your next portrait assignment, because you had been looking for a face like his for months. Jisung lets you beg for a while, but then he capitulates in front of another coffee.

You live alone in a loft on the fifth floor of a suburban building. The apartment is a hellish mess and it almost looks as if a tornado has swept through the living room, bathroom and kitchen, mixing the different furnishings together. You invite Jisung to sit wherever he wants, assuming he can find a seat.

You silently eat two bowls of instant ramen and then dangle awkwardly in front of each other, thinking about what to say. After a few minutes Jisung breaks the silence and asks you to see your portraits. You dig through the easels piled against the wall before handing him a few palettes.

The portraits are not refined. In fact, that's the reason you are going to art school. You cannot seem to maintain proper proportions between the various body parts you draw. In the first painting you show Jisung, the woman's hands on the canvas are too big and stubby, in the second the eyes are exaggeratedly spaced apart, and in the third the legs are so crooked that they almost seem to belong to two different people. In spite of everything, Jisung fails to give those mistakes the connotation of flaws, because there is something that compels him to stay looking at them without speaking.

While Jisung stares absently at the portraits, you flip through the half-told stories you found in his briefcase and reads fragments of disconnected sentences with a lazy smile on your lips. Jisung reflects for the time of three cigarettes before looking at you and stating that he is ready to be drawn.

When you get up to gather your brushes and paints, out of the corner of your eyes you see the boy becoming pale and widening his eyes. A split second later, the canvas slips from Jisung's hands, crashing to the floor with a reverberating noise.

You don't have time to process what happened because Jisung runs quickly toward the exit, almost crashing against the walls. He runs down the stairs as fast as he can, tripping over his feet, hitting the steps with each step and leaving you, alone in your apartment, one hand extended toward the door, clutching the rarefied air.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

"You remind me of someone I've seen before".

The second time you and Jisung met, he has the time to hide behind an alley, because it's easier not to be asked questions if you have something to hide. In this case, you happen to turn on that very alley and you find yourself in front of Jisung, curled in a quivering ball of shame. After assuring him more than once that you don't care if he broke the canvas and ruined the portrait, you convince him to have another cup of coffee together because you will never find a face like his for your painting.

You drink unsweetened black espresso, steaming hot to the limits of what is possible to drink. Jisung looks at you with an horrified look as he opens the third sugar packet and melts the grains inside his vanilla drink.

"Who?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure. Your hands".

Jisung glows and hides his flushed face behind his coffee.

"What's wrong with my hands?"

"They are vaguely erotic".

You lazily runs your fingers over Jisung's manicured nails.

"Thank you?"

"I'd like to paint those too. If you want to. You must promise not to run away and leave me alone like an idiot though".

Jisung stares out the coffee shop window and counts the drops that go condensed in the corners of the glass, Your voice is just a shade in the picture in front of him.

"Mh".

"Can I read something you wrote?"

"Didn't you already do that at your house a few weeks ago?"

"Jisung, come on, I want to read something serious".

"I'll pretend I didn't hear".

You smile andd curl your lips around your glass.

"You don't tell me that's all you wrote?"

"No. Of course not".

"Thank God. Those stories were really cheap".

You barely have time to shield your face behind your arms before Jisung's indigned look - along with his fists - dumps a shower of insults on you. It takes him a few minutes before he realizes that, hey I was just kidding, and he stops swearing.

You stand outside of the coffee shop shortly afterward, huddling under a horrible slime colored umbrella. You shove a mint cigarette between your lips and ask Jisung if he wants to try.

Jisung spends the next half hour coughing and cursing in all the languages of the world.

"You're not really suited to be a writer".

Jisung kicks you lightly and chuckles half offended as he watches you prance around on one foot yowling like a wounded puppy. Then you pull him by the hood of his jacket and smother your last words over his mouth. His comment on the kiss is anything but an insult. Jisung bites his lips and thinks that maybe you are right.

He doesn't tell you, though.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

"What happened the first time at my house?"

"What are you talking about? "

"The painting".

"I thought we had already talked about that".

"Indeed. I'm not interested in the painting itself".

"It slipped from my hands".

Jisung looks down and you don't believe him for a second. You finish brushing the bluish sky and wipe your hands on the apron. You watch the canvas, but it's useless. You weren't able to paint decently for months.

"It doesn't matter. I couldn't paint anything anyway".

Jisung barely nods and closes his eyes. He squeezes his thighs together and rocks in his chair, absorbing the faint winter rays of light on his skin.

"Do blind people dream?"

You watch Jisung tensing his back like a cat and stretching slowly, making his spine creak.

"It depends. If they are blind from birth maybe they only dream of sounds".

Jisung opens his eye and observes you, illuminated by the light. He looks almost like a beam of the whitest sun, his hair is tousled and his lips chapped by the wind.

"What do you think is worse, being born without sight or losing it over time?"

"Why are you asking me this?"

"I don't know".

You twist your mouth because Jisung tells that he doesn't know to a lot of things and you can never figure out if it's because he doesn't want to answer or because he really doesn't know. You pretend to be mad at it, but the facade doesn't even last two seconds. Jisung is like that anyway. You love his everything or you don't love anything at all.

"I think it's worse to never have the chance to see colors, or the sun".

He gets up from the stool and sits in your lap, staring at an indefinite spot on your face. You stand still for several minutes without speaking, then Jisung rubs his forehead against your cheek.

"If I couldn't see, what would you do?"

"I'd be painting with words".

Jisung kisses you and you end up flying outside the universe, navigating purple galaxies in the space constellation, running through the Milky Way and on a bridge leading to the end of the world.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

"I don't feel like playing anymore".

Jisung, sitting on the wooden chair, looks at the window in an absorbed manner. He crosses his ankles and wrinkles his nose as if to chase away an annoying thought.

"I am bored. I've been sitting in this position for almost two hours".

You let out a soft grunt as you pick up a multitude of dried up tubes of paint from a ceramic jar.

"You are just being bratty", you comment, resting the brush on the coffee table and rubbing your hands against each other to scrape off the remnants of color on your nails.

"What do you feel like doing?" you ask as you look up at him.

Jisung smiles and gets up from his small chair by sliding down part of the sheet that covered his hips.

"You are dirty", he says, beginning to absentmindedly touch his lower lip with his fingers.

"I will take a shower after this".

Jisung shakes his head slowly. He moistens his index and middle fingers with his pink tongue, sticking out of his mouth.

"I don't think so".

Another handful of small steps and he is in front of you, already crushed against the bones of you pelvis. With his hands he brings your neck close to his face and licks the skin exposed by your shirt, from your ear down to the collarbones. There he stops and sucks just enough to leave you with a red bruise.

"I'll clean you up", he moans, biting the patch of skin at the nape of your neck, near your hairline.

You scramble to the kitchen chair, pushed by Jisung's hands that are slipping off your shirt, and it's pointless to tell him that I can't be dirty there because he is wetting a path of bare skin down to your belly button. He sticks his tongue out and he swirls it slowly inside of it, then continues on the dimples above your hip bone.

You feel your leg muscles contracting and you clasp your hands around Jisung's shoulders, pushing him down and allowing him to curl up on the floor, a hungry expression on his face.

Jisung spreads his legs and you let your head loll against the wall behind you as he bites your skin and removes your pants. You feel a tender, raspy tongue lazily sucking on the inside of your thighs and nibbling at them slowly. His fingers cup your already sopping cunt and start moving, circling your entrance and smearing the slick on the skin around it.

Jisung's mouth is searing and his black eyes bottomless. His saliva seethes on your flesh as you tense your legs with tiny spasms each time you feel him biting closer and closer to your aching pussy. Maybe he is sucking away something else, buried deeper somewhere inside you as well, but you have no strength to think about it when Jisung finally makes up his mind and sucks your clit in between his lips.

You hold your breath and all of your blood drains from your brain to focus lower, warming where the other's mouth failed. The wet sound is obscenely filthy as his lips slide up and down along your drenching pussy, lapping at the thin, swollen skin of your lips.

Jisung alternates between spitting dribbles of saliva on your cunt and sliding his fingers inside of you, massaging your aching walls for a long time. When he harshly sucks your clit inside his mouth, he lets out a satisfied meow and closes his eyes, completely enraptured by his own ego, fulfilled while listening to your moans. His fingers grab the tender flesh of your butt and he sinks his nose into your cunt, sucking as vigorously as possible on your puffy clit.

When he feels the walls of your pussy contract around his fingers, he starts to thrust them slowly and takes his time to give kitten licks at your hardened nub, sucking only the tip of it with undulating motions.

You squint your eyes, press your hands on the back of Jisung's neck and you finally cum with a dull gasp. Jisung presses his thumb against his own lips, smearing your release on them. He stares at you with vicious eyes and swallows slowly, wiping his crimson lips with his fingertips.

"You are clean now".

You kiss him, biting hard on his lips and licking his chin and cheeks to remove all of the traces of your slick from his face. When you inhale the smell of his skin, you thank whoever is above or below for allowing you to possess him.

"You are my masterpiece".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

The spring of Jisung's twentieth year has the dull, bland taste of rain. It rains all the time, every day. Flowers fail to sprout and the few that succeed, eventually rot.

Jisung began to smoke, even though he gave up on his writing career. It wasn't really suitable, all things considered. He smokes your mint cigarettes and lets the fresh flavor fill his mouth before blowing away the residue. When he looks out from behind the window glass at the water drops tapping on the puddles, he sighs sadly.

You are splayed on the sofa with your legs curled on the floor. You snort, and your voice is hoarse as if you had just woken up.

"Would you like some tea?".

"Uh".

Jisung throws the cigarette in a jar filled with soil. He clicks his tongue against his palate and heads to the kitchen to boil tap water in the pot. He looks for the fruit tea filters behind the pantry doors when he stops all of a sudden, feeling the flesh under his skin instantly freezing. He tries to focus on something, anything. He stares at the wall, he opens his lips and, instead of a cry, what comes out is a whisper.

"Baby".

Jisung trembles and stretches a hand out in front of him. His eyes water and overflow like rain. He squeezes the air with his fingers and his veins swell on his wrists, pulsing his blood down.

"Baby", he slurs again.

You lift your head from the back of the sofa and look at your boyfriend's shoulders hunched forward.

"What's the matter?"

Jisung crinkles his eyes even more and doesn't hold back a tear that lines his cheeks and wrinkles his round chin. He squints, and thousands shades of colors disappear. His muscles relax involuntarily, and he hears the sound of shattering shards as if his brain had detached from his own skullcap to navigate inside of the the cerebral fluid.

"Baby, where am I?"

You sprint to your feet at lightning speed and you hold up Jisung before he can crash to the floor. His head, as an unconditional reflex, lunges forward and slams back against your forehead.

"Where are you?"

Jisung thrashes against your chest and continues to shake with convulsive spasms. He grits his teeth and tries to slip out of your tight embrace.

I love you say I love you and you see me I see you tell me.

"I am here. I am behind you. I won't leave you", you try to soothe him.

He turns around in deluded strength and fumbles with his fingers in search of you face. He taps lips, eyes, hair, cheekbones, squeezes knuckles and bites his own tongue.

"I don't see you".

Jisung's voice trembles. He opens his mouth two or three times, but his words dry up like a desert. A breath of wind, and he speaks feebly.

"I see nothing".

no no no no no no no

"The painting too. I couldn't see it anymore. It didn't slipped from my hands".

Jisung is gushing like a raging river and in a split second he becomes aware of herself, of you, of everything floating in his mind.

"It wasn't there".

say I'm there and you see me because I'm here and I won't leave you say that-.

"It was just a black hole".

please

"I lied to you".

I don't want to

"I never told you how my mother died".

"Jisung".

"No. You have to listen to me".

You feel your throat burning as if someone was smoking inside your stomach. You can feel the aftertaste of ash in the mouth of your esophagus and you try to swallow. But nothing goes down.

"Do you know what glaucoma is?"

"I don't think I want to know".

"It's a disease that affects eyesight. Your eyes accumulate water until the internal pressure is too much. You can't feel pain. That's why it is diagnosed too late. It's like your eyes are drowning in tears".

You die a little with each word, as if Jisung is spewing ink, and you are an inkwell collecting phantom waste.

"She couldn't stand the idea of not being able to see anymore".

"You could not have-"

"I have it".

You feel like falling. You stumble and fall. You fall for an endless time, and you fall into a dark well. You don't touch the bottom and keep falling into the cold. You try to scream but that requires oxygen, and your lungs contract, spitting out carbon dioxide because there is no more oxygen in you. So you cling to the walls, crawl your fingers and flay you skin. A cry rumbles out, but the voice is not yours.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

The first time you make love, Jisung feels broken. Not in the external sense of the act itself. He feels broken in a deeper place, where you cannot touch and where he didn't even know he could feel something. This is the reason why, in the middle of the intercourse, he starts crying and wets the sheets with salty tears. He cries so quietly that you don't even realize it.

"Paint me".

"What?"

Jisung rolls up between the covers and straddles you.

"I wish you would paint all the colors of the world on me".

He moans and rubs his nose against the protruding bones of your neck. Tears dry on the skin of his cheeks. When you taste the salt on your tongue, you softly bite his chin.

"Paint is bad for your skin, you know that?".

Jisung bursts out laughing, and you laugh too in response.

"I know, but I would like a sun on my stomach. Or on my back".

You clasp Jisung's hips in your hands, anchoring him to your waist.

"You are bright already".

"And a meadow, too, all over my arms. And light, everywhere. Beams of light all over my face. I want to shine in the night".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

"You'll be there right? After".

"Where?"

"On the other side".

You slide the brush over Jisung's shoulders, lying on the floor with goose bumps caused from the cold tiles.

"Don't move".

There are empty liquor bottles scattered on the floor, with a bittersweet smell lingering in the room and permeating the walls. No light. Many unlit cigarette everywhere, a few blood stains - or perhaps paint - on Jisung's feet. You keep painting without seeing where you are passing the brush.

"I will follow you everywhere, if I can".

"You know that it won't be possible for you".

"I know".

You kiss the colors on his skin and Jisung tastes like sweat and burnt wood.

"But maybe it's better this way".

Jisung reaches out his arm and tentatively finds the neck of a bottle, brings it to his lips and drinks the clear liquid, letting a few drops slide down his chin to his nodular neck. Jisung picks up the alcohol with his fingertips and brings it to his eyes, pressing a little. It stings at first, but then he begins to see stars in front of him, so close he thinks he can gather them in the palm of his hand.

"Do you want me to open the window?" you ask.

Jisung shakes his head and pushes you against him, causing the brushes to fall from your hands. He clings to your back and pet your hair, smelling it and tasting it with his tongue.

"Did you take your medicine?"

Jisung shakes his head and searches for cigarettes inside his pants. He manages to find one and places it between your lips.

"It won't be so bad".

You inhale the smoke and blow it out somewhere in the darkness of the room. You rest your lips on Jisung's without kissing him, the dry taste of tobacco invades his throat and he smiles with the corners of his mouth.

"I have to take you to the sea, near the cliffs. I can paint the waves on your cheeks. We can even jump from very high if you want. Or you can sleep on the sand and taste the water".

Jisung pulls the smoking stick from your fingers and takes a wide puff of smoke, holding it inside himself as much as possible, then pulls you against him and opens his mouth, breathing into you.

"It will be fine, Jisung".

Jisung laughs and feels his throat tighten in a thorny grip. He gasps and pushes the lit cigarette on the back of his hand. He grits his teeth.

"How come I'm not sure?"

You take his lips in between your fingers and squeeze them until they open wide, then you move closer and whisper everything to him. You whisper the world and the universe.

you are light you are white and red you are scarlet you are perfect you are alive alive alive you are not the rain because it keeps raining and I will always wait for you on the other side always because you are alive and you are here it will be okay

And it should be okay, it should be right. Jisung would have kissed you and said it's true, it's always okay when you're here. But no, he pushes you on the chest and shrugs, his eyes blazing and his lips frozen.

"Listen to me. Outside, somewhere in this infinite universe, there is a parallel world. I know for a fact that it exists, just as I know that in that world everything is right, as it should be here. There is a Jisung running across the grass on a sunny day, and you are chasing after him and falling down in an attempt to catch him. There's the two of us laughing and drinking until dawn, throwing ourselves on the ground and hugging each other so we don't get cold. We have flowers on the balcony and dew in our hair. It never rains. The sun always shines. This world really exists, and it's beautiful. But what you have to understand - what I want you to understand - is that this world, this one, it's not that. This is the reality that hurts, the one where you have to pay a price for your life. We can't run across a meadow here, because you picked me and adopted me out of pity. You even managed to fall in love with me, and that's the wrongest thing you could have done. Because you could really be bright, you could really shine, have flowers on the balcony and dew in your hair. But you chose me. And this is not the world in which everything is right. This is the world in which I am fading, the world in which I am losing the color that you are so desperately trying to put on me. But look what happen, look".

Jisung gets up and you can feel his small body clawing in the dark inside the room to open the balcony door and go outside. The apartment is suddenly pervaded with a gray light, reflecting the color of the sky. You look at Jisung, naked, stiff and trembling under the raindrops falling from above.

Jisung pulls his lips up in a distorted smile.

"See?"

Water runs down his back and the paint drips on the soles of his feet, sliding down to his short, pink nails.

"The color melts under the rain. It only lasts a few seconds before I come back to be as transparent as your canvas. And this is not the world where the sun shines. These are blackholes. Life, light, nature, they are all projections in my head. But you. You can still make it. You don't have to follow me. Don't follow my selfishness".

"Jisung, I have to".

Jisung trembles and the water rushes over him. The reality mocks him and everything he can love.

"No, you want to".

don't come with me you are my love

"Don't follow me to the other side. You will fade too".

You clench your fists and watch the drops wetting the ephebic figure in front of you. Jisung comes to you and blows desolate words into your face.

"When I ask you to paint me, don't. When I ask you to pity me, don't. When I beg you to come with me, please, don't".

"No. I must follow you. Everywhere. As long as there are black holes, I will be behind you. As long as this world sucks. As long as I breathe".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

One night you close your eyes and, instead of the sea, you see boundless steppes and barren grasslands. After what seems like miles and miles of dry lands, inside a small depression - almost a pit - you see Jisung, curled onto himself, all naked and with his limbs tangled together, hidden from the world. You don't ask yourself why you can see such a small body at such a distance, but your muscles set into autonomous motion and you find yourself running in that direction.

After endless minutes, you reach what seems to be the final destination, but the pit gradually moves away from you. However, for some reason, you can still see Jisung swinging himself with his face pressed into the dry earth.

You speed up your run and you begin to feel your throat tightening as the first drops of sweat make their way onto your forehead. Shadows cast themselves in the barren ground, but they are distorted by the shadow of your own body and of the dim, suffocating light of the sun. The image of Jisung blurs for a few seconds, and when it becomes clear again, those same shadows are catapulted onto him as well. You lift your head and you see dozens, hundreds, thousands of hawks flying in circles over Jisung's ditch, which tightens and lengthens as it becomes deeper.

The last steps of your run are slow, while the first hawk descends in slow motion on Jisung's soft face and begins to do something to his cheeks. You see Jisung's cheekbones become parched, almost to the point you fear that a gust of wind will blow them away. The second hawk glides beside the other, and you cannot get the soles of your feet off the dusty ground as it begins, slowly, as if it was foretasting a feast, to peck at Jisung's moist eyes.

Soft tears continue to gush, tiny raindrops that can nothing against the infecundity of the place where they stand. The thousands of hawks fly inside the pit and peck at the remnants of that dead body, tearing it apart with their hooked beaks. They chew the skin and swallow Jisung's life, paralyzed in his grave.

After what seems like centuries, they soar together in their cruel dance of farewell. Your feet finally unclench, but it's no longer necessary, because Jisung now stands in front of you, perfect. The tender, rosy flesh barely flushed on his cheeks and the slender, trembling body almost hairless, beautiful.

without

eyes.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Jisung is tired. June is an agony of dampness spent under the sheets, and you spend countless nights hoping that Jisung's sobs will cease and he will finally sleep. July is no better. The heat is starting to get unbearable and Jisung wants to keep the windows closed, hooked shut, so that not a single draft of clean air can penetrate into the apartments. Along with that, he stops drinking.

You keep opening the windows, even if Jisung screams and cries like a baby, and you force his lips open with the help of your fingers, making him swallow some liquids. August is definitely a torture when he stops taking his painkillers and his stomach turns over, forcing him to vomit all day and all night.

There is no turning back now.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

"Tell me".

There is so much smoke inside the room that even if it wasn't that dark, it would be impossible to see more than an inch away from your face. You are lying half on the floor, half on Jisung's sticky thighs, smoking a cigarette that seems to be his only remaining foothold in his earthly existence.

"What?"

Jisung's voice is hoarse and distressing. It has changed exponentially in the past two weeks, since he refused to let you go outside to buy something to eat. You fighted against it, and he bit your hand viciously before starting to cry in shame.

"When you want to leave, tell me".

"You can't come with me. We've already discussed it".

"No, you have already discussed it. By yourself. You don't listen to what I say".

Jisung opens his lips and raises a graceful hand as if he was trying to slap you in the face. Eventually, the hand sags and the slap becomes a trembling caress.

"Jisung, please", you become pleading, tired and desperate. With your bandaged fingers you caress Jisung's thin knuckles, one by one.

"Just tell me. I won't follow you, I promise".

Jisung laughs. His head rests against the wall.

"You will follow me".

"Please".

Your lips meet in the compact darkness and they rub, dry, against each other in the memory of an old, worn-out passion.

"I love you, and you are a liar".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

When you manage to drag Jisung out of the house in September, you almost gave up. You don't know if it is because of the faint light or the clouds, but Jisung's once tan skin is now grayish, and it makes his figure looks unhealthy and contagious at the mere sight. You also brought out brushes, hundreds of them, and half-squeezed tubes of color.

"Why did you bring me here?"

The grass under Jisung's shoes rustles in response. You are in a park just outside the city, a destination for a few couples and students with nothing to do.

"You asked me to paint you".

"That was a long time ago".

You pick up the brushes from your bag and pull a forced smile between you lips.

"And you, quite a long time ago, told me you wanted to shine. Here, then".

The tube of yellow paint curls against the wooden palette and the brush bristles wet in contact.

"Lay down".

Jisung tries to deny it, but then he seems to see in you the edge of a precipice, and maybe he feels a rush of pity and compassion for both of you. He wonders how it is possible to have reached that point without someone having the heart to save you both. Or save at least you.

With an awkward movement he leans over the lawn and lies on his back, shivering from the drops of water trapped between the blades of grass. You kneel beside him and barely lift the edges of his shirt, uncovering his belly and round hips. Jisung closes his eyes and trembles when he feels your open mouth kissing the flesh near his navel. You begin to trace marks near that spot, dipping your brush occasionally into the color. When you finish that first step, you keep painting all around radially, as if the first object was the focal point of the entire image. With your fingers you caress his petite chest, the spots uncovered by the color, the skinny hips, and as much of Jisung as you can.

Once you are done, you lean forward. Jisung reaches out and gently touches your hair, entwining it between his index fingers and anchoring you to him. Jisung's entire chest is a cerulean expanse of sky. There is sky everywhere, interspersed with green tree foliage intertwining on the sides. Down, just above his pelvis, a clear sea joins the sky in a blue line of horizon. And in that small, hidden spot of the kiss, you painted a sun.

"Do you like it?"

Jisung opens his eyes and instead of your face he sees a black universe. He feels two tears sting and run down his cheeks, his chin and to his chest, wetting his lips folded into a smile.

"It's perfect".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

It's December when you think you feel Jisung moving on the bed and kicking off the covers. You also think you can feel his lips kissing you softly and his arms wrapping around your neck before sinking into the oblivion of sleep with his words in your mind.

remember you promised

But when you wake up, Jisung is not really there. The mattress is empty next to you and the sheets are tangled at the bottom of the bed. You snap to your feet, ignoring the dizziness and the fact that the room seems to be moving in circles around you.

"Jisung?"

You call him in a choked, shrill voice, a knot forming in your throat. You hear a ringing noise in you ears and you begin to search everywhere inside the apartment. You want to hope, you really do, that he just went out, but you cannot force yourself to believe in it because Jisung, by now, hasn't been out alone for months.

"Jisung?".

You look again, inside the shower stall, in the small balcony, under the couch, in the closet where you keep you painting canvas, inside the closet in the bedroom. But it's just when you are about to leave the house that you see it. On the living room table, between the keys and the fruit basket. A farewell letter.

You don't even understand how you actually got to pick it up, unfold it, and start reading it, that you tear it in two in your hands, teeth gritted and tears beginning to overflow from your eyes.

"Jisung".

You run outside without even closing the front door, engulfing the steps in trembling, messy strides. You reach the street and the only thing that you can think about is that I promised you, but you should have told me when you were about to go, you should have told me. You run on the road, crossing the roadway, risking getting run over, running on the sidewalks, running over people, running for hours. Until you see him.

For a moment you don't even notice him, caught up in the heat of your research. Yet it's him, standing in front of you. Perfect and naked, with a red dot on his forehead, like in your painting. Beautiful and full of life. As he has never been. As in an iconographic image branded in your head. And it's so perfect, and beautiful and full of life that you give in.

and yet you promised not to follow me

You close your eyes and take one step in his direction. Jisung smiles and spreads his arms wide, and so do you. An inch apart, and Jisung kisses you.

I love you.

You push back your tears.

"I am ready".

and you follow him.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

You are 23 years old when you die. You are found in your apartment, lying on the floor, completely naked and smeared with paint. That's suicide, it is obvious, but nobody take a guess on why you decided to end your life.

When they take your body away, a dirty brush of yellow paint slips from your hand and ends up stepped on by the coroner.

Nobody finds dozens and dozens of canvases depicting the same boy. Nobody finds intact packages of painkillers. Nobody finds mint cigarettes and bottles of gin. Nobody finds a shredded letter saying "I am going". Nobody.

"You said you wouldn't follow me".

"You knew I would".

"I love you, and you're a liar".

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Outside, somewhere in the infinite universe, there is a parallel world. There's a Jisung running on the grass on a sunny day, and you are running after him and falling down trying to catch him. There's the two of us laughing and drinking until dawn, throwing ourselves on the ground and hugging each other so we don't get cold. We have flowers on the balcony and dew in our hair. It never rains. The sun always shines. You could really shine, have flowers on the balcony and dew in your hair. But you chose me.

You chose me.

©️ jilixthinker, 2023. please do not copy, translate, or republish my works anywhere.

RIDING MEAN DOM SEUNGMIN PLEASEPLLEAS PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE IM BEGGING DACRYPHILLIA TOO OH I FEEL LIKE IM GOING TO GO FERAL

no ‘cause how did u know seungmin’s been wrecking me lately!!!! honestly i don’t think i’m good at writing dom!skz but i hope you enjoy this anyway!!! 🤧🩷

tw: afab!reader ; dom!seungmin ; seungmin’s dick is big ‘cause i said so ; he slaps reader’s ass a few times ; he calls reader a brat and the word slut is used a few times but they love each other very much i promise ; dacryphilia if you squint ; ♡

wc: less than 1k ; ♡

smut! minors dni. 18+ only.

seungmin watches closely as you sink down onto his length.

he’s got one hand tucked under his neck in a cocky pose, the other on your hip, eyes fixed on your face not to miss a single reaction of yours as his cock fills you up slowly inch by inch. he’s big and hard and the initial stretch is kinda painful, but you like it that way. a cocky smirk appears on his stupidly handsome face when you finally take all of him inside of you and a huff leaves your mouth.

“’s big, yeah?” his question is rhetoric, he knows it well.

you nod, eyes glistening a bit due to the slight burning sensation between your legs. seungmin is quick to react, his hand leaves your hip, and he taps your mouth with his pointer and middle finger. you open your mouth, wetting seungmin’s fingers with your own spit. after making sure they’re wet enough, he pulls them out and places them on your clit, touching you to get you to relax around him. it works.

“’s big, but you’re gonna take it like the brat you are, yeah?” you hum in agreement, but it’s not enough anymore. seungmin stops stimulating your clit, and before you know it, he lands a slap on your asscheek. you let out an obnoxious moan and your walls clench around his cock, squeezing it tighter - it catches seungmin by surprise, too. “words.”

“y-yeah. ‘m gonna take it. ‘m gon’ ride your big cock,” you bite on your lip, lifting your hips and finally starting to move up and down his length.

your legs give in, like, after a couple of minutes maybe, and seungmin notices the way your movements are slowing down. another slap on your ass that makes you whimper. “i can’t believe you’re tired already.”

“‘m sorry, minnie,” you halt your movements, resting your hands on his chest.

seungmin chuckles, shaking his head disappointedly. “ah, i spoiled you too much, didn’t i? made you a pillow princess,” he grabs your hip, looks you in the eye, “you want me to take control and fuck you, yeah?”

you nod. “please. please, minnie-“ you beg with tears in your eyes.

“not tonight. not now, at least,” he chuckles, squeezing your hip. he grunts when he sees your lips quiver and your teary eyes. “the things you do to me, fuck…”

“please. i’ll be your good gi- i’ll be your good slut. please, please fuck me,” you try to convince him.

you’re sitting on top of him. his cock fully sheathed inside of you, its leaking tip practically kissing your cervix and you’re begging him to fuck you. he could switch positions in the blink of an eye if he wanted to. if. wrap his delicious arm around your waist and flip you onto the bed, on your back, your legs spread to accommodate him, and he could fuck you mercilessly then and there. the thought is tempting, he has to admit.

“let’s make a deal, yeah?” he knows he’s got your attention now. “you ride me nice and good until you make your slutty pussy cum around my cock and then i’m gonna fuck you. in your favorite position, yeah?”

you shake your head as a no. seungmin raises his eyebrows, genuinely surprised by your rejection, but before he could open his mouth to speak - “i want’ you to fuck me in your favorite position.”

seungmin’s eyes roll in the back of his skull. you feel him twitch inside of you and maybe getting a little bit harder. “you want that? you want me to fuck you like that? ass up, face down?”

you nod, biting your lip. seungmin swears under his breath.

“you’re gonna be the death of me,” seungmin sighs. “c’mon, fuck me. make yourself cum on my cock,” he grabs and squeezes your asscheek.

“min… feels big, min-“ you choke on your own moans, tears in your eyes as you fuck yourself on his cock. “i think i might-“

he smirks. “you think you might cum?” he mocks your tone. “already?”

“miiin…” you whine at his teasing.

“ah, you just love this cock, don’t you, brat?”

you sniffle, then nod, riding him just a little bit faster. you feel sore already. “i do. feels good. feels so good inside of me,” you pant. “‘m close, min, ‘m so close.”

“cum on this fat cock,” seungmin grunts, feeling your tight pussy squeezing him even tighter. “fuckin’ soak it, brat.”

“‘m cumming, ‘m-“

seungmin watches in awe the way your lips part as your body trembles and shakes before you collapse on top of him, resting your head on his chest, completely spent. he rolls his eyes, pretending to be annoyed.

“ah, you’re such a brat. making me do all the work every time,” he taps on your asscheek a couple of times, “c’mon. ass up, face down you brat. we had a deal, remember?”

and don’t think he doesn’t notice the smirk on your face. that’s how he knows this was your plan all along.

-> if you read this and you liked it, consider reblogging. it’s cool and it lets me know you actually enjoyed reading my work! ♡

AUGUST IS A FEVER — kim seungmin

pairing: kim seungmin x fem!reader genre: smut, fluff word count: 12k warnings: 18+ minors dni!!! mild jealousy, mean(ish) dom!seungmin (he's mean in a nice way okay), face fucking, hair pulling (f. rec), thigh riding, overstimulation, dumbification, mild degradation/humiliation, aftercare

summary: seungmin is the picture of self control around you—the perfect gentleman with no interest in you at all. maybe that is why you are so obsessed with seeing how far you can push him before he breaks. OR, hyunjin is convinced that seungmin is into you, and you are determined to prove him wrong.

"Stop looking at him like that," Hyunjin sighs.

"Stop looking at him like what?" You ask innocently.

"Like you want to jump his bones."

"I have no idea what you mean."

"...Two minutes ago you said you wanted to, and I quote, "lick the sweat off of his face.""

"Really?" You ponder. "That doesn't sound like me."

"Yes it does!"

You groan, fanning yourself with your hand. "Whatever! Can you blame me? He just looks so hot!"

The view from where you are sitting on the sidelines is spectacular, glorious even—so much so that you can almost forget the sun beating down on you as you wait for your friends to finish up their game.

"Nope," Hyunjin covers his ears. "I am not going to agree while you objectify my best friend."

"Okay... Well, it's not my fault that your best friend is the sexiest man on the face of the Earth."

You have always thought that Kim Seungmin looks the hottest when playing sports, and it is rewarding to (yet again) find yourself proven correct. Today, he is the main event: with his brow furrowed in singular determination, his hidden competitive nature full on display, his lean body hidden underneath a deceptive white tee and black joggers...

There isn't anything overtly provocative about him today, and yet you still have to stifle the urge to strut onto that field, grab him by the wrist, drag him behind the bleachers, drop to your knees, and suck him dry.

"I'm literally right here!" Hyunjin cries.

On the field, Jisung clumsily passes to Seungmin, who dribbles the ball down the field and swipes a sharp left, kicking the ball straight into the goal past Chan.

A small, self-assured smirked hooks onto the edge of his mouth when he walks back to his position, and you have to fan yourself to stop the heat on your cheeks from spreading down your neck.

"Oh honey," you tut, only momentarily distracted by the glorious view in front of you. "It's okay, I still think you're cute."

"That is so condescending coming from someone who can't confess their feelings to a guy who is obviously into them," Hyunjin scoffs. "And I'm not cute! I'm sexy."

"I don't know how many times I have to tell you this," you roll your eyes, gaze still trained on the field. "But Kim Seungmin is not into me."

"Yes he is."

"No... He isn't."

"And who are you to tell me that?" Hyunjin narrows his eyes. "I think I know my best friend well enough to know how he feels, thank you very much!"

You swat at the back of his head.

"Hyunjin, you are literally one of the most oblivious people in the world," you point out. "Forgive me for not taking your word for it."

"Okay, b-but!" Hyunjin splutters. "Not when it comes to this. I'm telling you, Seungmin is so down bad for you, it's actually painful."

"And how do you know that?" You ask, mostly just to humor him.

"Because it's obvious!" He exclaims. "Literally everyone knows. Everyone."

"Mhm," you nod along. "And... Has Seungmin ever told you this?"

Hyunjin pauses for a moment.

"...W-Well—"

You click your tongue. "That's what I thought."

"He doesn't have to say it for me to know," Hyunjin insists.

"Uh, really?" You snort. "Because it sounds to me like you're just pulling things out of your ass."

Across the field, Jisung cheers as Seungmin scores another goal. By now, they have been playing long enough in the heat for rivulets of sweat to carve their way down his face, and the thought comes to mind once again—you would love to lick it off his face. Desperately. Maybe if you begged nicely, he would let you have a taste...

Would he like it if you begged?

"Dude," Hyunjin deadpans. "All he has to do is look at you and he pops a boner. I think that's a pretty good indication that he's into you."

"Really?" You ask, momentarily stupefied by the thought of Seungmin's dick.

"Yes."

"No way," you exclaim a moment later, shaking your head. "Seungmin would never."

"Be attracted to someone? Yeah, I used to think so too..."

"No!" You pout, pinching his arm. "I mean he's such a gentleman. There is no way that is true."

"Yeah," Hyunjin scoffs. "If being a gentleman means jacking off as soon as he gets home from hanging out with you, then sure."

"Don't talk about him like that!" You pull him into a headlock. "Just because you are a nasty little shit doesn't mean that he is, too."

"Oh, god," Hyunjin groans in agony. "Yes, he definitely is."

Your grip on his neck tightens and a choked wheeze passes through his lips. A vindictive smile slips onto your face at the thought of making him suffer for putting strange thoughts about Seungmin into your head, and your grip tightens even more.

It is only when you chance a look up at the game and find Seungmin staring in your direction that your chokehold on Hyunjin slackens. Under the heated weight of his stare, the blush that you spent so long trying to fight off comes back in full force.

"See?" Hyunjin hisses. "I told you he's into you! Oh god, he looks like he's plotting my murder."

"I dunno," you sigh. "I think he looks kind of dreamy."

You drop your arm completely, and Hyunjin wrestles himself free from your grip. Seungmin smiles at you before turning back to the match, and you swoon on the spot.

"Wow," Hyunjin wrinkles his nose in disgust. "In the most offensive way possible, I think you two are meant for each other."

"Aw, you really think so?" You beam.

"Unfortunately..."

You frown. "Well... If Seungmin is so into me, why hasn't he made a move yet?"

"Because you're a psychopath?" Hyunjin guesses.

"Hwang Hyunjin, keep it up and I'm going to be the one murdering you," you threaten.

"Okay, okay!" He holds his hands up in surrender. "I dunno. Maybe he's just a pussy?"

"He's twice the man you are," you sniff.

"You're only saying that because you want his dick in your mouth," Hyunjin notes drily.

"No I'm not!" You protest. "...Well, that's not the only reason."

Jeongin runs past you, the ball between his feet as a mischievous cackle escapes his lips, and the slight tailwind he provides only grants you a moderate amount of solace from the heat beating down.

"Believe me, don't believe me..." Hyunjin trails off. "I don't really care."

"Rude," you pout. Jeongin misses the goal, and Seungmin runs a frustrated hand through his hair as he turns to face him.

"All I'm saying is that there is a foolproof way to figure out whether or not Seungmin actually wants to fuck your brains out."

"And that is...?"

"He rolls his eyes. "Duh. Just seduce him."

"I'm not going to do that!" You hiss. "He's going to think I'm a gross little gremlin that's trying to get into his pants and then he's going to reject me!"

"But you are a gross little gremlin trying to get into his pants."

"Not true! I like Seungmin for more than just his body, thank you very much."

"Okay..." Hyunjin says. "Well, as I've already said, he's definitely not going to reject you."

"You don't know that." You glare at him. "When was the last time you saw him accept anybody's advances?"

"Literally never because, again, he's into you!" Hyunjin exclaims.

"As if."

"Whatever!" He throws his hands up in the air, his face growing redder by the second. "You know what, do whatever you want. I don't care. I tried!"

Hyunjin pushes himself up from the ground, dusting his pants off in a tight and jerky motions.

"Wait," you begin. "Hyunjin!"

He doesn't spare you a glance as he stomps off towards where the rest of your friends seem to—finally—be wrapping up their game.

"Where are you going? Hyunjin? Come back!"

A nice cold shower is exactly what you need after a morning of watching a sweaty Seungmin in his element.

Which is why the moment that you and the guys make it back to Seungmin and Hyunjin's apartment, you waste no time in claiming Hyunjin's bathroom for yourself.

He refuses to speak to you the entire way back, and you decide to take your revenge by making a break for his bathroom. Maybe it's mean, because you know he's had to pee for the past twenty minutes, but you find a little bit too much joy in seeing him suffer to actually care.

You are grateful to find your shampoo is still in the same spot you left it last week when you stayed over. Hyunjin might be your best friend, but you wouldn't put it past him to use it all up—that was the fate of your facial cleanser last time you left it at his place.

The steady stream of water pelting your back is soothing as you wash yourself, and the lukewarm water does wonders for your horniness.

"Hurry the fuck up," Hyunjin whines, bursting through the door without a second thought. His irritating voice only helps quash your horniness further.

The shower curtain is solid enough that you can only make out his vague outline through it, but you don't have to wonder what he is doing in here for long—the sound of him peeing is undeniable, and you wrinkle your nose in disgust.

"You're so annoying," you shout at him.

"Whatever," Hyunjin gripes, washing his hands. "I'm hungry, so like... Hurry the fuck up."

"Yeah, yeah," you dismiss. He lets out a huff, then exists without saying another word.

Your shower lasts a little longer than usual—mostly because you know that it will piss Hyunjin off. By the time you are finished, only five stray thoughts about jumping Seungmin's bones have passed through your head, which you consider an accomplishment.

A warm blanket of contentment settles over you as you towel yourself dry. It is only after a few moments without the stream of the shower dulling your senses that you get the odd feeling that something is off.

It takes another moment for you to realize that the apartment is awfully quiet. The faint buzz of the TV streams in through the walls, but other than that... Nothing.

For a moment, you wonder if your friends have finally learned how to act like normal people and actually use their inside voices—but then you remember that Minho and Changbin couldn't shut up even if they wanted to. Which means that either someone has finally snapped and forcibly gagged them, or... They aren't here.

The urge to go investigate is so overwhelming that you decide to skip blowdrying your hair altogether (scandalous, you know), but when you reach for your clothes, you realize they are not where you left them.

In fact, a quick survey of the bathroom reveals that they are nowhere to be found at all.

"What the...?" You gnaw on your lip.

Then it clicks. You knew Hyunjin had been too quiet earlier when leaving the bathroom. He must have taken your clothes...

Which normally wouldn't have been that big of a predicament, considering that you have no shame when it comes to stealing his clothes, except for the little fact that his bedroom is on the opposite side of the apartment.

Great.

You pinch the bridge of your nose before wrapping your towel around yourself resolutely and opening the bathroom door.

"Hyunjin?" You call, only peeking your head out.

In the living room, you hear the distinctive sound of footsteps, but your best friend remains silent.

"Hello?" You try again, but still, silence is the only thing that greets you.

You narrow your eyes, irritation welling up inside of you.

"Hyunjin," you squeeze out through gritted teeth, pushing the bathroom door all the way open. "I'm actually going to kill you. Where did you put my clothes?"

Despite the anger in your tone, he still has the audacity to ignore you. Unsurprisingly, you quickly reach the end of your fuse.

"You're so—" You seethe, storming into the living room.

And then, you promptly come to a screeching halt.

"Oh!" You squeak out, a rush of embarrassment striking you in the chest. "You're not Hyunjin."

"No," Seungmin says mildly. "I'm not."

He is sitting alone on the couch, his hair damp, and you are not too surprised to notice how sexy he looks like this—domestic and relaxed. The black joggers from earlier have been replaced by sinful gray sweats, and you only have a moment to lament how unfair that is before you remember that you are standing basically naked in front of him.

To his credit, Seungmin doesn't seem fazed. In fact, his eyes remain focused on your face, his gaze cool and collected as you flounder for the right words.

You are half-satisfied, half-disappointed by his reaction (or lack thereof) because on one hand, it means that Hyunjin was wrong and Seungmin is decidedly not into you at all... But on the other hand, it means that Seungmin is not into you at all.

"Ahem," you clear your throat. "D'you know where he is?"

"Him and the guys went to get food," Seungmin tells you.

"Bitch," you mutter bitterly.

Seungmin raises a brow at you, and your eyes widen.

"Not you!" You clarify. "I'm talking about Hyunjin. I mean, he's a little bitch who took my clothes while I was showering and then went off to get food without me."

You pause, not noticing the amused look on Seungmin's face.

"Wait," you pause. "Why didn't you go with them?"

He shrugs. "Thought it was kind of a dick move to leave you here all alone."

You perk up. "Aw, thanks!"

"Although," Seungmin points out, "it was also kind of a dick move to eat his last yogurt, so I guess you guys are even."

You gasp. "Seungmin, I thought you weren't going to tell him!"

His mouth turns up in a lopsided smirk. "I never said that."

Your mind flashes back to last week when Seungmin caught you sneaking the last yogurt cup, and you frown. Technically, you realize he's right—but you had shared the yogurt cup with you, so you thought you were partners in crime.

Although, it was kind of sexy how ruthless he is...

"You're evil," you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. Then, you remember you are clad in only a tiny little towel, and your promptly uncross your arms.

He cocks a brow. "Would an evil person offer to lend you clothes in a time of need?"

The thought of his clothes, on you, is enough to make your brain short circuit.

"Really?" You exclaim, your voice pitching an octave higher.

He pushes himself off the couch with a nod.

"Kim Seungmin, you are an angel," you gush. "I could kiss you right now."

You trail after him towards his room, not noticing how your words make him freeze.

"Or, like," you blabber on. "buy you ten bags of Hot Cheetos!"

"Only ten?" He teases.

"Eleven." You bargain, and he tilts his head as if he is considering the offer.

It is right as you are considering just how puppy-like he looks that he hands you a stack of clothes.

"You can change in here," Seungmin says, and then like the gentleman he is, he walks out the door and closes it behind you.

It's strangely humbling to be in this position—in his room, with only a towel wrapped around you, as he walks out and leaves you alone without so much as a spare glance.

It's equally humbling just how hot his indifference is. Instead of making you want to back off, Seungmin's reaction only makes you want to see just how far you can push him...

To distract yourself from your horny thoughts, you unfold the clothes he has given you and take the opportunity to look around his room.

Despite how long you've been friends with Hyunjin—despite how much time you've spent in this apartment over the past two years, this is the first time you are seeing the inside of Seungmin's bedroom.

Somehow, it looks exactly how you imagined it would. Clean gray linen sheets line his simple bed, which takes up most of the center of the room. Two bookshelves stand flush against the wall, stacked with a plethora of books. His desk is a picture of perfection—white and spotless and so Seungmin, much like the rest of the room.

In a word, it is pristine. Clean. Polished. The mirror of absolute control.

You can't help but wonder if he is this controlled in every aspect of his life. If he was under you, would he still exhibit that perfect restraint? Or would you be enough for him to snap?

The thought is so electrifying that you dress in a record time, slipping out of his room before you have the chance to do something you might regret.

Even the clothes, you notice, are so him. The navy blue shirt is simple yet perfectly pressed, as if he has just bought it, and the gray sweatpants he has given you are the carbon copy of the ones he had been wearing earlier today.

"Thanks again for the clothes," you say as you walk back into the living room.

Seungmin is sitting on the couch exactly where he had been when you first came out of the bathroom.

When he looks up at you this time, however, his gaze seems to linger on you. Under his scrutiny, a flush of heat creeps up your spine and your mind blanks.

If you were a little bit more lucid, you would have registered how absolutely insane it is that one single look from him is enough to turn you on. Instead, all you can focus on is how enticing his calculating stare is.

"Your shirt is on backwards," he says then, and you flush once more—this time in embarrassment.

"What—" You begin, looking down in panic. "Oh. Haha, really funny Kim Seungmin."

Your shirt is, in fact, not on backwards. The smirk stretched across his face when you look back up tells you that Seungmin definitely knew that.

You can't find it in yourself to be annoyed at him when he looks so good, so instead of yelling at him the way you would have it if it had been anyone else (ahem, Hwang Hyunjin), you opt to take a seat next to him instead.

For your own mental sanity, you maintain at least a few inches of distance between you, even as you pull your legs onto the cushions and burrow your way deeper into the sofa.

"Do you want to watch something?" Seungmin asks.

"Sure," you nod. "Anything good on?"

You don't actually care what you watch—he could put on anything for all you cared. Knowing you, you were going to spend the entire time trying not to focus on him anyways.

He says something about some new reality show and you agree immediately. Before you know it, the two of you are three episodes deep and somehow, equally invested in the messy relationships.

It's right as the tension of the episode reaches the peak that the lock of the front door turns.

"Hey guys!" Changbin strolls in, a grin on his face and a takeout bag in his hands.

Seungmin barely nods in acknowledgement. You, on the other hand, leap up from the couch immediately when Hyunjin and his stupid face come into view.

"You."

"Yes?" He responds, unaffected by the way you are glaring at him.

"I'm going to kill you," your murderous gaze narrows.

"Hey now," Jisung interrupts, popping up from behind Hyunjin. "That's not very nice—"

"Nobody asked you," you turn your glare on him, effectively shutting him up.

Changbin plops down on the couch next to Seungmin, offering the takeout bag to him. Jisung, afraid of your rampage, scurries after him, leaving you and Hyunjin alone in the kitchen.

"Where the fuck did you put my clothes, asshole?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," he shrugs at you.

In the background, the hum of the TV is loud enough to drown out Changbin's voice.

"Really?"

Hyunjin raises a brow at you, giving you a once over. "Well, you seem to have found clothes somewhere. I don't see what the big deal is."

You gasp.

"Hwang Hyunjin, did you do this on purpose?"

"...I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Yes," you say, noticing the red tinge to his ears. "You do!"

"Okay, fine!" He bursts. "You and Seungmin have been so irritating, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. Sue me!"

You are silent for a moment.

"And how exactly does stealing my fucking clothes equate to taking matters into your own hands?"

"Oh, I don't know," he says sarcastically. "How does leaving you, naked, alone with Seungmin factor into my plan to make you seduce him?"

You gape at Hyunjin.

"Literally what the fuck goes on inside your head?"

He glares at you. "I can't believe I set up the perfect scenario for you guys and you still managed to fumble the bag! What do I have to do, fuck Seungmin for you too?"

"Not fair," you pout. "At least let me fuck him first."

"What—?" Hyunjin chokes. "That's like, exactly what I'm trying to make you do!"

You roll your eyes. "Okay, yeah, but again, Seungmin is not into me."

"I don't understand," Hyunjin complains. "Nothing happened when we were gone? Like, for real?"

You think about how Seungmin didn't even spare you a second glance when you came out in nothing but a towel, how he barely even looked at you when he led you into his room.

"No," you roll your eyes. "Because, guess what? He's not into me!"

"But—"

"Which," you continue. "By the way, brings me back to my first point. Where the fuck did you put my clothes?"

"They're in the bathroom cupboard," he sighs finally.

You stare. "I literally could kill you right now."

"I don't understand, though..." He mutters to himself, still confused even when you turn to head back into the living room.

When you look up, you find that Seungmin's gaze is focused on you and Hyunjin, staring intently even as Changbin continues to talk to him.

And you swear—when his eyes meet yours and hold your gaze without flinching, your heart skips a little.

Only a little.

The next time you see Seungmin is a week later when Hyunjin tells you that clubbing is on the agenda for the night.

Enough time has passed that you are (mostly) no longer pissed at him for stealing your clothes and ditching you to get food, and so you agree without a second thought.

After all, any situation in which Kim Seungmin and alcohol are involved sounds like the situation for you.

When you arrive, you are greeted with a shot at the door (courtesy of Changbin) and a sloppy kiss to the forehead (courtesy of Jisung.) It is only the pregame and yet both of them are absolutely sloshed. The strobe lights have been pulled out of the closet and the music playing inside is so loud you could hear it down the hall when you were coming up.

"Oh, thank god," are the first words Hyunjin says to you when he finds you in the kitchen.

"Nice to see you too."

"Shut up," he waves you off. "That dress is, like, the only thing you've done right recently."

Your fingers automatically go to the hem of your short black dress. When you picked it out of your closet, you did think it was particularly cute, but something about the way he says that makes you worried.

"...What do you mean?"

Hyunjin rolls his eyes. "Black is Seungmin's favorite color. Maybe he'll finally get the hint tonight."

You stare at him.

"I'm so glad to have a friend like you."

"Thank you!" Hyunjin exclaims.

"If I ever feel delusional," you continue, patting him on the cheek. "All I have to do is look at you and then I remember there are people much worse off."

He gasps. "I'm not delusional!"

You reach out and grab Felix's arm right as he is passing by.

"Felix," you ask, "do you think Hyunjin is delusional?"

He looks at you, then Hyunjin, then back to you.

"Oh, most definitely."

"Traitor!" Hyunjin screeches as you let go of Felix and he walks away."

"Anyways," you roll your eyes. "What does one have to do to get a drink around here?"

"Did you say drink?"

As if summoned by your words, Seungmin appears behind you, holding a red solo cup in his hands. He offers it to you without a word, and both your heart and your pussy throb at the thoughtfulness of the gesture.

The visceral effect of his presence is only exacerbated by how fucking hot he looks—simple jeans and black t-shirt are somehow already a deadly combo on him, but today his hair is up and the unfiltered view of his forehead has your thighs clenching.

"Thanks," you say breathlessly.

Hyunjin looks at you in half-awe, half-disgust, as if he knows how such a simple action has you all hot and bothered. You take a deep breath in an attempt to steady yourself, but when you look down at the cup and see the pink liquid inside, you swear, you swoon.

Of course Seungmin had to be sexy and sweet by remembering your favorite drink.

"No problem," Seungmin responds. "Couldn't leave you without a drink if you plan on spending the night around Hyunjin."

"Good call," you nod seriously.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Hyunjin pouts.

Seungmin shrugs his shoulders right as you say, "that you're fucking annoying."

"You guys always gang up on me," he sniffs. "You know what, I'm going to go somewhere where I'm actually appreciated."

He turns over his shoulder dramatically, glaring at the two of you as he goes, but the sly wink he throws at you right before storming off tells you all that you need to know.

"Glad to see that you haven't lost any more clothes recently," Seungmin says, his eyes trained on your black dress as he says it.

He leans against the counter behind him, a lazy smirk stretching across his lips. He looks so good right now that its hard to think—would he look this composed, this assured, while fucking you? Or maybe—

You take a quick sip of your drink to distract yourself.

"Who says I haven't?" You say over the rim of your cup after you swallow.

"Oh?"

You shrug even as our heart beats a mile a minute.

"I don't kiss and tell," you say.

For a moment, Seungmin doesn't do anything except watch you, his gaze piercing from under his eyelashes. The attention alone is enough to send tingles down your spine.

And then, he smiles.

"We'll see about that," he says.

You choke on your drink. "W-What?!"

Seungmin raises a brow. "I just meant that if you've lost any more clothing around here, I'm sure it will show up eventually."

Your face flushes.

"C'mon, losers!" Jisung hollers from the living room, saving you from having to come up with a response to that.

"The Uber's coming in five, we're doing shots before it gets here!"

You groan, the cup in your hands still heavy. "But I already—"

"Chug it!"

You pinch the bridge of your nose, pausing for a moment, but nonetheless do what he says. The sound of Seungmin's laughter accompanies the sharp sting of alcohol in your throat as it burns your throat.

Needless to say that by the time your group actually makes it down to the Uber, the liquor coursing through your veins has started to take effect.

That is probably why you don't notice the current dilemma facing you and your friends until it is too late.

"There's only four seats," you vaguely hear Hyunjin say.

"Someone's gonna have to sit on someone's lap," Changbin agrees.

Jisung, far more drunk than you, wiggles his eyebrows.

"All you had to do was ask," he grins, even as Changbin shove shim away.

The night is dark and cold, but you hardly feel it as you stare cluelessly out onto the lamplit street.

"What about the other Uber?" You ask, thinking about where Chan and the rest of your friends had disappeared to.

"Already left," Seungmin says.

A sneaky smile flashes across Jisung's face.

"Well ,you guys have fun figuring this out," he says gleefully as he climbs into the passenger seat before anyone can stop him.

Changbin sighs. "Well, I guess there's no choice. Hyunjin can sit on my lap."

Hyunjin scoffs, his face twisting as he opens the door to the backseat and shoves Changbin in. "As if!"

Changbin grumbles as he goes, but eventually concedes. Hyunjin follows suit, taking the middle seat.

Which leaves you and Seungmin as the only ones outside the car.

You reach for the door, about to climb in after Hyunjin, when it hits you—you, Seungmin, and only one available seat.

Fuck.

"Uhhh—" You begin, your eyes wide. "I—I can just—"

"You can sit on my lap," Seungmin interrupts.

Your jaw drops. "What?!"

"Unless you want me to sit on your lap?"

The look he gives you is half-teasing, half-reassuring. You bite your lip, considering your options. It isn't fair how he makes such a difficult choice sound so easy.

Eventually, though, you have no choice but to agree. Still, even when he gets into the car, you hesitate.

"Hurry up!" Hyunjin gripes from inside.

"Fine..." You mutter.

Your face blazes as you carefully climb in, barely breathing as you take a seat on the edge of Seungmin's lap.

The heat of his body sends you into overdrive and you barely notice when he pulls the door closed behind you. Blood thrums through your ears, loud enough to drown out the soft melody of whatever song is playing.

"A-Are you sure this is okay?" You crane your neck to look at him.

Seungmin huffs out a laugh.

"Yes. You can sit comfortably, I won't bite."

Even if he did, that wouldn't be a problem for you. Then again, nothing he could do would be a problem for you...

The car eases into drive and you scoot back a little in an effort to relax. You are still gingerly perched on the edge of his lap, however, no matter how hard you try.

Eventually, Seungmin just sighs and wraps his arm around your abdomen, pulling you so that your back is flush with his chest.

"Better, right?" His breath tickles your neck, and you swear, your heart stops beating.

"What's wrong?" He asks innocently, as if he has notices the visceral reaction.

"N-Nothing!" You squeak.

To your right, Hyunjin and Changbin have started bickering. In the front, Jisung has struck up a conversation with the driver about God knows what.

Even though you are surrounded by your friends, it feels as if you are caught in a bubble, just you and Seungmin. It is strangely intimate, and the thought only sends a food of heat through your core.

The drive is ten minutes at most, and yet it feels like a lifetime—both excruciating and delicious as you squirm on Seungmin's lap.

The issue isn't that you aren't enjoying this. On the contrary, the issue is that you are probably enjoying this a bit too much. All you want to do is turn around kiss Seungmin senseless, to beg him to have his way with you. But—despite how much Hyunjin might claim it to be true—there is no way that Seungmin is into you like that.

Even now, the arm wrapped around your waist remains respectful, barely touching you. He doesn't seem flustered the slightest by your proximity... Not the way you do.

The alcohol running through your veins does nothing to help your overthinking or your horniness. It is a weight off your shoulders (and Seungmin's lap) when you finally arrive at the club.

"Woah—" Seungmin starts when you almost fall onto the pavement in your haste to get off of his lap. "Are you okay?"

"Yup!" Your face is ablaze once more, this time with embarrassment.

It is only by sheer luck that the other guys arrived earlier than you and are almost at the front of the line to get into the club. You almost cry when you see Chan—because it means less time waiting outside in the cold, and it means more distance between you and Seungmin before you accidentally do something bad, like try to jump his bones.

"Shot?" You ask Chan when you finally make it through the doors.

"Uh..." He looks around, but the rest of the guys have already branched off through the strobe-lit club, leaving the two of you alone.

"Yeah, sure."

"Great!" You grin, wrapping your hand around his wrist and dragging him towards the bar.

The bass of some awful EDM song thrums straight through your chest, practically shaking the walls as Chan orders from the bartender. You are too busy looking around to pay attention to what he asks for—you have never been to this club before, and everything is new.

The walls are a melting mural of neon colors, a balcony overlooks the dance floor a few feet away, and there is even a clear slide that snakes through the club.

On the opposite side of the room, across a sea of people, you spot Seungmin and Hyunjin. They are on the outskirts of the crowd, drinks already in their hands, and your heart leaps into your throat.

Even from so far away, Seungmin looks good. Great, even. Yummy might be the right word to describe it, actually...

"So..." Chan interrupts you from your daydreams, handing you a cup.

Your eyes light up and you down the shot in one go. The burn is barely there, masked by the smooth, buttery taste of butterscotch.

"You and Seungmin, huh?"

"What?"

Chan frowns. "Isn't there something going on there?"

"Uh..." You narrow your eyes. "Did Hyunjin say something to you?"

"No? You both just spend so much time staring at each other, so I assumed..."

"Stoooop," you pout. "Don't say things like that. You're going to get my hopes up."

"Say things like what?" Chan asks cluelessly.

You are half-tempted to order another drink, but the edges of your vision have already begun to blur, and you know it probably isn't the best idea.

"Chan," you sigh. "I'm already delusional enough. Why does everyone keep trying to convince me that Seungmin is into me?"

"...Because he is?"

To his credit, Chan doesn't sound half as annoying as Hyunjin when he says it.

"Stop it," you frown.

"Hey, I'm sorry," he says immediately. "We can, um, like, dance or something?"

You nod. "Yup. Dancing! I love dancing."

In truth, you don't care much about dancing, but this is a club and you are just drunk enough that your limbs feel weightless, and you have the strange feeling that you might be able to float if you tried hard enough.

Chan is skeptical as he follows you onto the dance floor, but he remains silent nonetheless. The heat of the crowd is electrifying, and coupled with the drunken haze you have slipped in, you feel invincible.

You roll your hips in time with the music, laughing carelessly as people jostle you from all sides. Chan looks worried as you grab his hand.

"C'mon, let loose a little!"

"I don't—" He begins, but the rest of his words are drowned out when the music picks up, blasting even louder through the speakers.

And yet, even as you try your hardest to stop thinking about Seungmin, he remains at the forefront of your mind. Despite your best efforts, you find your gaze drawn towards his corner of the club.

Only—this time when you look at him, you find Seungmin staring back. His dark gaze is piercing even at such a distance and your breath catches in your throat. Even when he realizes you are looking, too, he doesn't look away.

Slowly, he takes a sip of his drink. When he pulls the cup away, the edge of his lips are curved up. you aren't sure why, but such a simple action sends a thrill down your spine.

Your eyes remain on Seungmin as you continue to dance, distracted by the promising look in his eyes. They remain on Seungmin even when someone approaches you, a flirty smile on his face.

"Hey," the guy grins.

"Hi," you say, dragging your gaze away from Seungmin after a long moment.

The guy in front of you is tall and—if you weren't so deeply obsessed with another man (Kim Seungmin)—you would probably think he was cute, too.

"D'you want to dance?" He asks.

"Already am," you giggle.

"I know," he says bashfully. "Just thought it might be more fun if you were doing it with me."

You shrug, a wide smile still across your face. He takes a step closer to you, close enough that you can see the light smattering of freckles across his nose. Emboldened, you reach up and wrap your arms around his neck. Any distraction from Seungmin is a welcome distraction, and, well, at least this one seems fun.

The guy takes the opportunity to place his hands on your hip, just low enough to be flirty but not low enough to be indecent.

The crowd surges and he stumbles forward, his lithe body pressing against yours.

"So," he asks in your ear. "D'you come here often?"

You laugh, and he has the decency to look embarrassed.

"Not like that! Just—I haven't seen you here before, is all."

"It's my first time."

The music changes tempo, slowing down to a sultry electro-beat.

"Well, I'm glad you came out tonight," he says. "What's your name?"

"Hmm..."

Instead of answering, you unwrap your arms and take his hands into yours, turning around so that you don't have to look at his face. You then take his hands and place them back on your hips.

"Thought you wanted to dance, not talk," you tease.

"Touché," he leans in. His breath is warm as it ghosts your neck, and the familiar sensation brings you back to the car earlier. Thoughts of Seungmin, and his lap, and you on his lap, and him under you, blossom in your mind. Your chest grows uncomfortably warm and against your will, your eyes trail to where he had been standing before.

Your heart stutters when you find him still watching you.

His expression is blank, a puzzling inscrutable look that sends your mind spiraling, and yet his eyes remain on you.

You are astutely aware of the distance between the two of you, even as the blood thrumming through your ears dulls your senses. The only thing you are aware of is his stony gaze. You hardly even notice when the guy behind you asks if something is wrong.

"Sorry..." you say distractedly. "I think I'm, um, going to go to the bathroom..."

"Oh, yeah, of course—"

You don't wait for an answer before disappearing into the crowd. It baffles you how you can feel Seungmin's gaze follow you even now.

Your horny thoughts and confused feelings swim through your head, a nasty cocktail of anxiety that is amplified by the alcohol. A bathroom break is exactly what you need—oh, how you wish tonight was a girl's night instead. They would know what to do in this situation, but alas, your only point of reference is Hyunjin...

Yeah, you would rather fend for yourself at that point.

The corridor leading to the bathroom snakes around the back of the club and is considerably more quiet than out in the main room. The muffled bass matches the padding of your footsteps as you continue down the hall.

You stumble slightly when you turn the corner, bumping into a firm, warm body.

"Oh—" You let out when large hands reach out to steady you.

"Sorry about..." the words die on your lips when you look up to find Seungmin staring down at you.

The same expressionless look is still on his face, but up close, you can see his eyes more clearly—how dark they are, piercing, but something more too.

"Y/N," the curve of your name on his lips sends a shock through your system.

"Seungmin," you breathe.

"You okay?" He asks gently.

"Hmm?"

"That guy," he clarifies. "Was he bothering you?"

Seungmin's face remains impassive as he asks, but the way he chews on his bottom lip catches your attention. It seems almost as if he is on edge about something... But what?

"Who?" you ask, momentarily stunned. "Oh! No, he wasn't bothering me."

Seungmin nods once, releasing his lip from where it was snagged between his teeth. Almost imperceptibly, his shoulders relax.

"Okay, that's good."

"Seungmin..." You narrow your eyes. "Were you worried about me?"

His lips purse into a thin line. A moment elapses where he remains silent, and an elated gasp bursts from your lips.

"Oh my god, you were!"

"Didn't know it's surprising that I care about the safety of one of my friends..."

"Nooo, it's sweet that you care!" You coo. "But we were just dancing!"

"I wouldn't call that just dancing," Seungmin mutters.

"What is that supposed to mean?" You pout.

He just shrugs, not responding.

If you didn't know better, you would say that Seungmin is jealous. But of what? Your head spins and all you can think is how good he looks like this—mildly annoyed, dressed to impress, towering over you. And his hands are still on your waist, which really isn't helping your current situation.

"Seungmin..." You begin. "This is going to sound really crazy, but I have a question for you."

"Everything you say sounds crazy."

"...I'm going to ignore that."

He bites back a smile.

"Do you..." You hesitate. "Are you—or, well, would you say that you—y'know, are interested in me?"

"What?"

"It's just that Hyunjin has been telling me for ages that you like me," you blabber. "At least, that you like me the way that I like you, but that's not possible right? I'm probably just making things up in my head—"

"I do," Seungmin interrupts.

"See, that's what I—wait, what?"

"I do like you," he says.

Your jaw drops. "Like... as a friend?"

"As more."

He says it so casually you think you have misheard him.

"B-But—you've never shown any interest in me!"

He rolls his eyes. "Yes I have. It's not my fault you're so oblivious."

"No I'm not."

"You were eye-fucking me from across the room all night and I was reciprocating," Seungmin says.

"Don't be mean!" You squeal.

His eyes are bright as he takes a step towards you.

"You love it," he murmurs.

Your face warms and you take a step back, the feeling of the cool wall behind you soothing the heat flowing through your body.

"You're... you're not joking with me, are you?"

"I've been dropping hints for literally months," he laughs.

"Seungmin..." You breath. "Can I ask you another question?"

He raises a brow.

"Can I kiss you?"

"I don't know," he teases, his eyes flickering down to your lips. "Can you?"

"You're so annoying," you gripe, pushing yourself up on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around his neck.

"Now who's not being nice?"

He leans down, his breath fanning over your face. Your heart thrums loudly in your chest, and in the background the music from the dance floor changes again right as you lean up and press your lips against Seungmin's.

The kiss is wet and hot as you move your mouth against his, savoring the feel of his plush lips under yours. He tastes of vodka and mint, a strange combination that has you pressing further into him. You lick a strip against the seam of his lips in hopes of deepening the kiss, but Seungmin teases you, pulling back so that your lips are barely touching.

A breathy whine escapes you as you chase his lips. His hands on your hips tighten, holding you in place.

"Min," you pout, your mouth only centimeters from his.

"So needy," he says.

You nod your head eagerly, and Seungmin seems satisfied by your easy admission.

His teeth snag on your bottom lip as he kisses you again, sucking against it in way that feels so delicious you can't stop the moan that bubbles up inside you. Your mouth parts slightly and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue inside, moving so perfectly against yours that your legs shake.

Seungmin's grip on you is the only thing keeping you upright as he crowds you against the wall, kissing you methodically in a way that has you thinking he has perfected the art of kissing. His hips rut slightly against you, the outline of his hard length pressing deliciously against your stomach.

His mouth works its way from your mouth down the column of your neck, and you pant as he licks and bites at your skin. Your legs rub together, your underwear uncomfortably wet.

"Hey, there you are, I've been—" a voice interrupts. Seungmin's mouth pulls away from your skin.

You open your half-lidded eyes just in time to see Chan rounding the corner. He freezes in his path when he sees the way the two of you are wrapped around each other, his face paling.

"Um..." you begin.

"I didn't see anything," Chan says, lifting his hand to shield his eyes. "I didn't see anything!"

"We were just making out," Seungmin rolls his eyes, his grip bruising on your hips. "No need to be so dramatic."

"Well," Chan clears his throat. "Um, carry on. I'm—leaving."

"Yes, please do."

"Seungmin!" You hiss.

He just shrugs, not even bothering to look ashamed. He remains pressed against you even after Chan practically sprints down the hall, taking a moment to look at you while considering what to do next.

When he finally pulls away, though, Seungmin looks as composed as ever. The only indication that he had been seconds away from making you come untouched a few feet away from the club bathroom are his swollen lips and his blown out pupils. It sends a shot of arousal through your core when he grabs your hand and says simply, “let’s go.”

“What?” You ask, the haze of lust over you clouding your senses.

He raises a brow. “Are you into exhibitionism?”

“…No?” You respond, confused.

“Then let’s go,” he tugs. “Because I’m five seconds away fucking you right here for everyone to see.”

“Oh,” you breath, your thighs clenching.

“Unless you don’t want that,” he says, completely serious. 

“N-No,” you shake your head. “I want it!”

His mouth lifts in a wicked smirk. “Desperate, are we?”

You hardly notice as he leads you away from the bathroom and out of the club, nor when he orders the Uber back. Your mind is too clouded by the thoughts of Seungmin fucking you and, more pressingly, the way his thumb rubs soothingly over the back of your hand as the two of you wait outside.

It has your heart swelling and makes you want to get down on your knees and show how much you appreciate him. Instead, you decide to exercise self control and instead stare longingly at him with a pout on your face.

“What’s wrong?” Seungmin asks.

“Nothing,” you mumble.

“Really?”

You nod, the cool night breeze nipping at your arms.

“I don’t believe you,” he tells you.

Seungmin’s eyes are dark as he leans down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“How can I give you what you want if you don’t ask for it, baby?”

Your breath catches in your throat and your eyes are wide when he pulls away, an innocent smile on his face.

“Maybe if you beg, I’ll give it to you. Maybe.”

You are saved from responding by the car that pulls up to the curb. Seungmin, like the perfect gentleman, opens the door for you and lets you slide into the car first. Dumbstruck by his words, you stare blankly at him, before finally noticing that the Uber is here.

The entire drive back, Seungmin doesn’t touch you once. He barely even looks at you, in fact. Your underwear is drenched, you can see the outline of his dick through his pants, and yet he pretends like the two of you are nothing more than friends, even as you squirm impatiently next to him.

It’s humiliating how much his indifference turns you on. Seungmin is already edging you, and he hasn’t even laid a hand on you.

Even as you ride the elevator up to his apartment, he remains two feet away from you. The silence is suffocating and heady at the same time. 

Your heart threatens to beat out of your chest as Seungmin opens the apartment door. He is unhurried, languid even as he slides his shoes off of his feet and places his keys on the counter.

The thrill of knowing he is most definitely going to fuck you senseless tonight, even as he does something as mundane as washing his hands, is almost too much for you to handle. Almost. You feel on the precipice of bursting, of falling to your knees and begging for him.

“Do you want something to drink?” Seungmin asks as you perch on one of the barstools.

You shake your head and then watch as he pours you a glass of water and hands it to you anyways.

His eyes watch you expectantly and you drink it without a word. The water is refreshing after the club, and you find yourself feeling much more sober after the drive back.

“So,” he says, still standing on the opposite side of the counter as you. “Aren’t you going to apologize?”

“Apologize…?” You ask, confused.

“For being such an attention whore earlier.”

Your lips part in astonishment, and yet you can’t help the rush of heat that floods your core.

“I-I wasn’t—”

He raises a brow, and you fall silent immediately. 

“I guess you just can’t help it,” Seungmin says. 

He steps out from behind the counter, holding his hand out for yours. 

“We’ll just have to fix that, won’t we?”

You stare at his hand for only a second before placing yours into it. 

“Are you…” Seungmin begins. “Are you sure you want this?”

“I do,” you say shyly. He looks at you for a long moment before sighing, leading you out of the kitchen.

“Green is for if you’re doing okay,” he says as he pulls you into the bedroom, “and red if you need me to stop. If it gets too much, just say the word. Okay?” 

You nod when he sits down on the bed, perfectly made, and he shakes his head.

“Use your words. I know you can.”

“Yes,” you breathe, standing in the space between his thighs. 

“Good,” he says. “But it’s not going to be too much, is it?”

You shake your head shyly.

“You still haven’t apologized,” Seungmin says, placing one hand on your hips.

“F-For what?”

“For that stunt back at the club, hmm?” He asks, the other hand still entwined with yours. 

“What was that? You like me,” he mocks, “but you were ready to fuck anybody who gave you a chance, huh? Are you that easy?”

“No,” you shake your head, a pout on your lips. 

“Really?” He scoffs. “You’re such a slut, I bet you would do this f0r anyone else.”

“Would not,” you insist, eyes wide as you look down at him. “Only for you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s true!” You insist. “Only you.”

“Hmm,” he clicks his tongue. “Prove it.”

His gaze is calculating and cold as he looks at you, and it makes your mind hazy.

“Prove this cock is the only one you want. And you better make it believable.”

He takes his hands off of you and places them on the bed beside him. His words have you sinking to the floor slowly, falling to your knees.

Your hands drift up to his pants, hovering over the zipper. Wordlessly, your eyes look up to him for permission, but he doesn’t say anything as he stares down at you.

After a moment of hesitation, you slowly drag the zipper of his jeans downwards. One of your hands drifts to palm over the bulge in his pants. You consider your method of action before finally deciding to reach into his boxers. 

It is awkward, pulling his dick out while he just sits there and watches you, but there is something enticing about the humiliation of it. You can feel yourself growing more wet, and your mouth waters when you take your first look at him. He is long and hard and pretty, and your breath catches in your throat.

Curiously, one hand holds him by the base while the other swipes an exploratory thumb over the head. You look up to see Seungmin with the same expression, almost bored. 

Still, he doesn’t say anything as you continue to get a feel for him.

He is so warm and firm in your hands, and you are having so much fun with your light touches—but you have something to prove. You give him one more pump before leaning down and spitting. 

The spit dribbles out of your mouth and onto him as you look up again, making eye contact with Seungmin. Then, still looking at him, you place a small peck on the head of his cock. The salty taste of his precum invades your sense and sends your mind haywire. Emboldened, you wrap your lips around him, suckling the head lightly before taking him as far as you can into your mouth.

He is so long that you can’t fit him all, gagging as he hits the back of your throat, and your hands reach up to wrap around the rest of him. The only indication that he feels anything is his dark pupils, but it is enough to motivate you to continue. 

Ignoring the burn in your throat, you bob your head on his length, building up a steady pace with your hands and your mouth. The room is silent except for the lewd sounds you make, sucking and squelching as you work. The noises are so erotic they send heat flushing through you, and you clench your thighs together in an attempt to ease the pressure. 

The silence is interrupted by the buzz of a cell phone. You pull mostly off of his dick, swirling your tongue around the head. Seungmin reaches for his phone and you release him with a pop.

The phone continues to buzz, and he turns his gaze down on you.

“Did I say you could stop?”

Your face flushes and then his cock is in your mouth again. Your eyes look up at him, but instead of saying anything more, Seungmin swipes right on the call and lifts his phone to his ear. 

“Hello?”

You freeze. On the other end of the line, music blares and the fuzzy sound of someone talking reaches your ears. 

Seungmin keeps the phone against his ear with one hand while he reaches the other down, placing it on the back of your head and pushing you forcefully further down his cock. The sudden movement has you gagging, a choked noise coming from the back of your throat.

“Calm down,” Seungmin sighs. “I already left.”

You inhale deeply through your nose, trying your best to remain still. Seungmin, of course, has a different idea, and pulls you off for a moment so you can catch your breath, before pushing you down his cock once again.

“Yes, Hyunjin,” he rolls his eyes. “You’re the one who left me for some girl, remember?”

Your eyes water as you choke on his length, overwhelmed by the feeling of him in your mouth.

“Y/N?” Seungmin says then, looking down at you. “Yeah, I took her home with me.”

You whimper around him, gaze blurry as you look into his eyes.

Another moment passes before he eases you off of him again.

“Okay, bye Hyunjin,” Seungmin says. He ends the call and then tosses his phone away.

His attention turns downwards to you, readjusting his grip on your head. His hand grabs a fistful of your hair, wrapping it around his fingers, and then he yanks so that you are looking up at him.

“You couldn’t even do that right, huh?” Seungmin asks. “I thought I asked you prove that you want this cock.”

“I do,” you whine. “Please.”

Instead of responding, Seungmin positions you so that your mouth is once again over his dick. His grip on your hair is tight enough to sting, but the pain mixes with the pleasure to make a heady concoction of horniness. 

Then, he pushes you down. He inhales sharply when your gagging around his cock turns into a drawn out moan, and then pulls you up. His dick twitches in your mouth when you tongue at the slit on the head, and he pushes you down once again.

Seungmin builds a torturous and steady pace, fucking himself with your mouth as you gag and moan around him. The way he uses you is so sexy that you can’t help but sneak one hand downwards towards your soaked center. 

Your dress has bunched up on your waist, which makes it easier for you to slip your hand into your panties and touch yourself. You rub your clit at the same pace he fucks your mouth, sending tendrils of pleasure all throughout your body.

It is only when your moans slowly devolve into whines that he notices.

He pulls you off, his hand leaving the back of your head to smooth down your hair in a surprisingly tender gesture. 

“What are you doing?” Seungmin asks softly, cupping your jaw.

Your hand stills.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?”

“N-No, but—”

“Up,” he offers you his hand. On shaky knees, you rise to your feet.

“Clothes off,” he demands, sneaking one finger beneath the band of your underwear and pulling it back so it snaps against your skin.

Your face blazes when he stares at you expectantly. Slowly, your hand reaches up to push the straps of your dress off your shoulder. You shimmy it down your waist, letting it fall into a heap on the floor and leaving you in just your underwear.

Your fingers trail down to the waistband, but you hesitate, feeling shy under his gaze.

“Color?”

“Green,” you tell him, and then take your panties off too.

Seungmin nods in approval as his eyes darken, but his gaze remains firmly trained on your face. It is almost as if he is punishing you and himself by refusing to look at your body.

“Come here,” he motion. Obediently, you pad over to him.

His hands rise to your hips, pulling you down onto his lap. A yelp leaves your lips as he pushes your core over his right thigh, your feet folding under you onto the bed.

“Since you’re so desperate to get off that you can’t even wait for me,” he says, one finger tipping your chin upwards so that your eyes are level with his. “Get off like this.”

You whimper, squirming under his gaze and he raises an eyebrow.

“Ride my thigh, and maybe we’ll see if you deserve to come.”

As if to prove a point, his hands on your hips pull you closer to him, and the delicious drag of your clit against his thigh has your mouth parting with a breathy moan.

Of their own accord, your hands rise to grip his shoulders. Your fingertips press into the divot of his collarbone as you roll your hips slowly against his thigh. His dick, hard and wet from your mouth, is pressed against his shirt by the waistband of his pants. It doesn’t escape you that he is fully dressed while you are completely naked.

The creases of his pant leg create a delicious friction that has you whimpering as you begin to move your hips faster, using your hold on his shoulders as leverage to press your cunt against him. You are so wet—have been since he first kissed you in the club, especially when you had your mouth on him—and you can feel your slick accumulating below you.

You’re too embarrassed to look down but you know, undeniably, that there must be a dark, wet spot on his pants. At some point, the thought of embarrassment fades away as the pleasure begins to build, a slow cresting wave inside the pit of your stomach. 

You roll your hips against him faster, sloppier, and you bit your lip to stifle the loud whines leaving your mouth.

“Look at you,” Seungmin murmurs. “Making such a mess on my pants. So desperate, hmm?”

“Mhm,” you moan in affirmation.

His arm wraps around your back, pulling you closer to him. Your chest presses against his and your hands go from his shoulders to loop around his neck as you bury your face into his neck.

“Feels good?” He asks mockingly.

You nod without lifting your face.

“I’m not even doing anything and you’re already so fucked out,” he sighs. “Could you come like this?”

“Yes,” you whimper, “yes, please.”

His hand wraps around the nape of your neck and pulls you back, forcing your face right in front of his.

“You’re going to come without me?” He pouts. 

“Please…” Your eyes glaze over, the precipice of your orgasm so close that you can taste it. Every nerve is on fire, your cunt clenching on nothing. 

“I’ll let you choose,” he says. “Come now and we can wash up after. Or hold it, and I’ll fuck you the way you need it.”

“Min,” you whine.

“Choose,” Seungmin breathes, his hands taking over for you as he grinds you down against his thigh. “Or I’ll choose for you.”

“Ngh,” you choke. “T-The… oh, the… The second one!”

He smiles at your answer. And then, instead of pulling you off his lap like you think he is going to, he begins to move your hips faster, pressing his thigh upwards to provide even more pressure to your clit.

“Seung—” you start, a loud moan escaping your mouth. The sensation is overwhelming, the pleasure excruciating, and your orgasm hurdles even closer than before. Your moan devolves into a high pitched whine.

“N-No,” you whimper. “I’m going to—g-going to, mmmph.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and Seungmin laughs in your ears.

“You’re going to come?” He says. “You don’t want me to fuck you?”

“I do,” you whine pathetically. “Please, don’t—”

“It’s your choice, remember? If you don’t want to come, then hold it.”

You shake your head. “I c-can’t.”

Your thighs clench, your climax building inside of you.

“Hold it.”

Your breath comes out in pants, and you try to think of the unsexiest thing you can, you try to ignore the solid feeling of his thigh underneath you—you try your hardest to not come.

Seungmin continues to move you against him, but his pace slows down until he is barely dragging your messy cunt over his thigh.

Eventually, he stops completely, watching as you quake in his lap.

“Good girl,” he coos, and he sounds both condescending and comforting. A hand lifts to cup your face, running a thumb soothingly over your face.

You can hardly focus on anything more than his touch, still quaking from the after effects of your almost orgasm. Your mind is blank, a resolute desperation worming its way into your heart as Seungmin lifts you off of his lap and lays you down on the bed. 

You watch through glassy eyes as he pulls his shirt off in one motion before his hands go to the waistband of his pants. 

“You did so good for me,” Seungmin praises. “So obedient, hmm? Didn’t know you could do that. I guess a little desperation works wonders.”

You moan at his words, watching as he pulls his pants and boxers off, leaving him just as naked as you. He produces a condom, unwrapping it in a record time, and you push yourself up onto your elbows to watch him slowly roll it onto his hard length.

Your mouth waters again at the sight of it. He felt so big and full in your mouth, so you can’t help but wonder how he will feel inside your cunt. A gush of wetness floods you, and your pussy throbs at the thought of it.

It’s painful, how slowly he moves as he situates himself in between your legs. You push yourself up further and use your hands to pull your legs apart, watching as his dick gets closer and closer to where you want him the most. 

He holds himself by the base, and then in one fluid motion, pushes himself all the way into you.

A long moan escapes your lips at the sudden fullness and you collapse flat onto your back, the pure bliss of how hot and big he is inside of you taking over every sense. 

“So tight,” Seungmin grunts, bottoming out. 

You nod your head quickly, not really processing what he says.

He pulls out completely, before pushing into you again. This time, it feels even better than the first as the ridges of his cock slide against your walls. You moan again, this time louder. 

“Feel good?” He asks, building a slow and torturous pace that has your eyes rolling back into your head.

“S-Soooo good,” you whine.

Seungmin’s movements are sharp and controlled, rolling into you with precise depth and force. It is like he knows what you need before you even say it, the head of his cock rubbing against the bundle of nerves inside of you.

His thrust speed up and a string of whimpers, each louder than the previous, fall out of your mouth. The orgasm you had been denied of begins to bubble up inside of you again, this time somehow warmer and more consuming than before. It feels like liquid fire as it burns through your veins, mounting higher and higher still.

You have no control over the noises escaping your lips, a combination of loud whines and moans as Seungmin continues to fuck you so good you see stars behind your eyelids.

He’s quiet as he fucks you, but the few pants and moans that slip out as he rolls his hips against you are the hottest things you have ever heard. He sounds so pretty as he fucks you, and the image of his furrowed brow, his bitten lips, his sweaty hair—its enough to almost push you over the edge.

A particularly deep thrust has you moaning loudly, your mouth falling open.

“You’re so fucking loud,” Seungmin grunts, his thumb pressing against your bottom lip. “Shut up.”

His words have the opposite of their desired effect as you whimper at the dark tone of his voice. At the noise, his eyes narrow, a dangerous glint in them.

“I said,” he pushes the thumb past your lips into your mouth. “Shut up.”

You nod, your lips wrapping obediently around his finger. 

Your tongue swipes over the pad of his thumb right as he resumes his deathly pace, breathing heavily through his nose. His face remains stubbornly blank except for the slight crease of his forehead.

Trying your hardest to keep your moans down, you suckle on his finger like you had his cock earlier, and he moans quietly at the feeling. The sound spurs you on, and you bite down lightly on it.

Seungmin pulls the thumb out of your mouth and moves his hand downwards, pressing unforgivingly against your clit. He doesn’t move it, only applying pressure and he continues to fuck you, but the feeling is enough to push you close to the edge.

“Close?” He asks.

You nod, unable to form the words as your lips part. Your eyes are glassy and your expression fucked out as your brain struggles to catch up with your body.

“Say it,” Seungmin hisses through his teeth and you whine.

“Aw, are you being fucked too dumb to speak?” He coos, and you nod again.

“Nope. Not good enough,” he tsks, pulling his finger away from you. “Beg me to come, or don’t come at all.”

“P-please!” You cry out finally, clenching down on him as he moves. 

“Hmm.”

“Please, Min, please. L-Let me come, oh—”

“Well,” he pants. “Since you asked so nicely."

Seungmin thrusts speed up, deeper and sloppier in the most delicious way, but what ends up pushing you over the edge is when he leans down and captures your lips with his, his tongue moving in a messy kiss against yours.

He swallows your whimpers as you come, fucking you deep through you orgasm as your cunt spasms around him, and then with one harsh grunt, he comes a moment later.

You collapse boneless on the bed, your legs still twitching as you come down from your orgasm, and Seungmin slumps over you, his sweaty body a comforting weight on your chest.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, still the endorphins lighting up even the very tips of your fingers.

“Are you okay?” 

Seungmin’s question is half-worried, an amusing juxtaposition to the way he was just fucking you.

“Yes,” you laugh. “I’m better than okay.”

He frowns at you, his bangs plastered over his forehead, and then he pushes himself off of you.

“Noooooo,” you moan. “Come back.”

“I will,” he says gently. “Just give me a moment.”

You lay there, cold and tired, as Seungmin disappears into the bathroom. He comes back with a wet towel and kneels at the foot of the bed, gently wiping you down.

“You—”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks. “I didn’t do too much, did I?”

You push yourself up, a hand lifting to caress his jaw as he focuses on his task.

“Seungmin, I’m fine, really.”

“Really?”

“That was the best sex of my life, so yeah.”

He purses his lips. “…Okay.”

“And besides,” you say, pulling him up from the ground onto the bed besides you. “Do you think I suck dick like that for just anyone?"

“Well….” He trails off bashfully.

“The answer is no,” you giggle. “Now come here and cuddle me!”

He lets out an annoyed huff, but listens anyways, climbing onto the bed and pulling the covers over the two of you before wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

“By the way,” you begin. “If I haven’t said it already, I like you Seungmin. I really like you.”

A soft smile stretches across his lips. “I really like you.”

Seungmin presses a kiss against your hair. The sound of his heartbeat echoes in your ears and serves as the soundtrack playing as you fall asleep.

And the next morning, after Seungmin eats you out and then fucks you, when you come out of his room wearing nothing but his shirt, Hyunjin almost weeps.

"Finally!"

if you enjoyed, please don't forget to reblog and leave your feedback/opinions! tysm for reading!

𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.

— volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.

words・15.2k

pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)

genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. hyunjin is a huge flirt. mc #DGAF. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!

warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.

playlist・collision by stray kids・value by ado・waiting for us by stray kids・eternity by bang chan・dreaming by smallpools・fly high!! by burnout syndromes

a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡

“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”

Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”

Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Look at me.”

“No.”

“Please, angel.”

“No! Leave me alone.”

Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”

At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you. 

When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”

Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”

You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.

The air between you curdles like sour milk.

Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.

You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere. 

“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”

“Because you’re so scholarly.”

“I am not scholarly.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”

“I need to get my steps in somehow!"

“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”

“—ugh, I learned so much about you that day."

“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”

“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Is it?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”

He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.

But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. He’s reminded that it’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at you at the same time.

He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.

“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.

You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”

He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.

“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”

“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”

All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.

“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.

Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.

“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”

“Thanks, cap.” Useless.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”

“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.

From: Jinyoung Park «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Not good See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his mid term paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP JP Sent from my iPad

Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”

“Yep.”

From: Kyeyoung Kim «[email protected]» To: Jinyoung Park «[email protected]» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin To Director of Athletics Park, I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his midterm paper. It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him. Regards, Kyeyoung Kim Professor of Anthropology

“That’s bullshit!”

“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says?”

“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman.

“No way you just had that.”

“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”

Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard of—”

“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”

He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”

Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.

“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.

The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.

Then comes the yelling.

“The Trolls movie? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me, Hwang?”

“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”

“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”

Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.

“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”

Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.

He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.

“Beats me,” he lies. “Typical junior year stress, maybe.”

“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?” 

Hyunjin shudders.

It just might, actually.

Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.

It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.

At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.

Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.

Piazza replied within the week.

For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.

But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.

He cards a hand through his air, regaining his focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”

“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”

Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.

“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”

Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.

Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”

Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”

A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.

“I thought you said your order was complicated.”

You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.

“Was it not?” You ask.

“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”

“What? Really?”

“No.”

He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest; you’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.

“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”

“I do, but you don’t.”

Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.

“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”

“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.

You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”

Hyunjin dabs it up mid-sip. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”

“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.

You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I would relinquish all of my rights for you” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it’s hilarious.

You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.

He’s thinking.

That can’t be good.

Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”

“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”

“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”

“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the year. It was so funny.”

Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”

Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the larceny thing. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”

“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”

The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”

“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”

Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”

“I can see it.”

“I can see killing myself, maybe.”

The next time you reach for him is to smack his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall, and Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.

“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.

Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”

Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.

“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”

You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.

Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.

“I didn’t like that at all.”

“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”

“You have a kid, don’t you?”

“Hello—who do you think I am?”

“The one-night-stand’s poster child,” you reply. “The champion of the contraception industry.”

“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”

You can’t argue with that.

“What do you have to tell me?”

A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.

“I’m failing anthro.”

So much for a serious conversation. 

“Come again?”

He repeats the mystifying statement.

“You’re joking.”

The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair.

“You’re failing anthro?”

“I just said that, yes.”

“You’re failing anthropology?”

“Mhm.”

“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”

“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”

This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”

“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”

Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.

“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”

You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”

“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”

“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Just tell me the deal, boy.”

“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class—I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”

Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”

“On which part?”

“All of them. Everything.”

Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”

You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.

He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.

“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”

“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Please continue.”

“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”

“Let me guess. Not for you.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”

“To dinner or to practice?”

“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”

He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.

“—you should manage our team.”

“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”

“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”

“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”

“Me!”

Oh, right. “But you hated it!”

“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”

Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”

“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”

“It’s a good plan.” He slings the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”

You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”

He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class.

“No fucking wonder you’re failing.”

“What is this, mock trial?”

The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.

“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”

“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”

“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”

“I would never.”

“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”

“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”

You stiffen. “I haven’t—”

“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”

You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—

Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.

“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”

He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”

“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.

He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.

You do kick him under the table, though.

The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.

“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.

The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.

“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”

“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”

“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”

Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.

“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.

“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”

“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”

“I’m pretty sure Quizlets were made.”

“Three, to be exact," you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”

Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”

The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.

You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.

“Go easy on me, yeah?”

While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.

“I can’t promise anything.”

With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.

A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.

Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.

“You’re not nervous, are you?”

“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”

“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”

“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”

“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”

“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”

You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.

“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”

The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.

“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”

One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.

So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath. 

Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.

Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.

Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”

He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.

“Caring about me.”

Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.

“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”

“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”

It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.

As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”

“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”

You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”

The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.

The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.

You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.

Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.

“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.

Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”

“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”

The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”

He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.

It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.

A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you. 

“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”

You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”

“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”

You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.

“Motherfucker!”

He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”

You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle. 

“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”

The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.

“You should’ve opened with that,” you grumble.

“I tried! Someone distracted me.”

“Read it before I change my mind.”

You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.

You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.

Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.

With that, his attention span has run its course.

“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”

You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.

“I suppose I am,” you concede. “Will you keep working tonight?”

“I think so. I hit my stride.”

“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly. 

“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know,” you murmur.

“Why is that?”

“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”

“It really is.”

“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”

“I really would.”

“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”

“Didn’t you come up with that?”

“No, hello? I live in that village.”

He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”

“What I’m trying to say,” you cut in, “is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”

Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”

“Really?”

“No.”

You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.

“But I do give a fuck about you.”

There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.

He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.

Then he opens his texts.

Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡

He picks you up at 7:53.

You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.

“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.

Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey, you! So glad you could join us!”

You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”

“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”

“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”

“You can’t fire me, Minho.”

“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”

“I want nothing to do with this.”

When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.

“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”

“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”

He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”

“I’m okay, I think.”

“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.

You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”

“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.

You purchase an hour.

One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.

But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.

“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.

You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.

You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.

“I already did,” you finally answer.

“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”

“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”

“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”

Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.”

He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”

“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”

“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”

“Then you’re smarter than you look.”

“Well, you look—”

His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.

“What was that?”

“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin' blocks.” 

When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade. 

He has hair the color of dark chocolate, the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.

Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.

Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.

“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”

“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”

“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”

“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”

He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”

“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you on Monday.”

You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment. 

Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.

He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.

“Do you want to be alone?”

You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes. 

“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.

When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting. 

Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.

You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.

Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.

Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything  your schedule allows. 

Last week, you could be found helping Minho put down the volleyball nets, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You’d spent more time in the gymnasium in those ten days than you had in the last ten years.

Then came the arcade.

Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything. 

In person, that is.

That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.

Then you listen to it again.

And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.

As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.

Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.

“It’s been a while,” he greets.

“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”

“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”

You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”

Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.

Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation. 

Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.

You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.

“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.

His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.

“Is this enough space?”

More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.

“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”

Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.

The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.

The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.

There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights. 

“How do you see under these things?”

“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”

“And?”

“He made them brighter.”

“Sounds about right.”

He spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.

But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.

This cannot be his burden alone.

You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes; the lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.

“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”

You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”

The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.

“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”

“Your role model?”

“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”

The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”

“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.

“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he would—”

You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.

Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.

You stop thinking after that.

You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.

You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough that your lips would meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lost your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.

“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”

His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.

“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”

“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”

You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before. Does he do the same?

“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs of sneakers my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.

“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.

“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”

Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.

The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.

“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”

Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.

“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.

“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”

“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.

“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”

Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”

The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?

“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”

When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”

You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.

“How the fuck are you still sweaty?”

You think you like his cologne after all.

Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.

A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead. 

Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.

“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”

You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”

He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”

You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”

Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.

“Traitor.”

Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration. 

“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.

You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?” 

“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”

He stops speaking.

“Is that all?”

“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”

“You are about to be a professional athlete.”

“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”

“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”

Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.

“Let’s get this over with.”

At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.

At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.

You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.

Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.

“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”

Hyunjin is already out the door.

A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.

“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass. 

“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”

Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”

Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”

Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”

“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”

“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”

“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”

“She really is.”

A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.

Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.

It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.

At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.

Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know? 

Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.

Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago. 

“Yeonwoo, right?”

He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.

“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”

“Also a singer?”

He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”

“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”

Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.

“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.

“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”

“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”

“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”

“The arcade wasn’t enough?”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Whenever you want, then.”

“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”

“Bet.”

They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.

“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”

Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek. 

Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.

But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.

He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.

It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?

Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”

Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.

“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”

Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.

Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.

Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district’s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.

But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer grimacing in the middle of your anthropology classroom.

You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.

You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.

It has always been him.

The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes. 

It’s not awkward this time.

Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.

He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration. 

He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.

The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.

He balls his fingers into fists.

“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”

An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.

“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”

His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.

He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.

“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”

Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a lawless affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.

The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”

Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”

Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.

“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off. 

“Love you too, Bin.”

Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.

“The short answer,” she deadpans.

He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.

In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.

Hyunjin thanks you.

You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.

What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.

You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. They are the only ones to deserve you, they'd argue; you’re wasting your potential among humans when you belong to the sky. They’re right.

Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed. “Why the fuck am I still talking to you?” 

“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an affronted glare. He shrugs.

He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.

He calls out to you.

You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.

You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will. 

Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.

“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.

A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”

Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.

He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.

“Hwang, I need you in my office.”

Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.

“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”

“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.

Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.

Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”

From: Nicola Daldello «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game Christopher, Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza. It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki. Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club. I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all. Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano

“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”

In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.

“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”

You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you couldn't live like this anymore.

“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back. 

She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.

Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s the opp today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?

He’ll be here in eight minutes.

You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.

Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.

You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.

He finds you a sobbing mess.

“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”

“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”

“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”

“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”

“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”

Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.

Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.

“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline. 

He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.

You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”

He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”

“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”

“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”

You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”

He returns in a flash. “You love me.”

You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.

“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”

“No, no. The opposite, actually.”

Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”

“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.

“Duty calls, my love.”

“Tell me your thing later too?”

“Of course.”

You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”

He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.

“Hypocrite.”

Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]

This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.

I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.

As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. Sometimes.

You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It truly fucking does.

I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I would’ve committed first degree murder if I had to do this all over again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.

Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.

🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・@automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8・@weedforthoughtz・@hyunverse

© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡

can’t get you off my mind

all good love stories start with a drunk stranger, don’t they?

warnings: mentions of alcohol, fem!reader

genre: fluff, comfort

word count: 4k

it starts at a bar. 

or really, it starts with a man at a bar. one that you’ve seen before in passing, a familiar face in a sea of more familiar faces. someone who you’ll later learn is one third of your best friend changbin’s production team, someone who you should have met years ago probably, someone who you would find is the perfect puzzle piece that fits into your jagged edges.

but right now, he is just a man at a bar with a beer in hand and a ridiculously dopey smile on his face. 

“marry me, please,” he says, absolutely serious but it’s a bit diluted from the way his words were slurred around the edges. “or i’ll have to kidnap you.”

“excuse me?” you raise a brow at him, his image swimming a bit as you turn your head to fully take him in. you’re not drunk, but youre a couple glasses of wine deep and you’re not known for being fully articulate whilst sober anyways. 

“i swear i’m going to marry you,” he says, eyes wide as he looks at you. “you might be the most perfect person i’ve ever seen.”

you’re not overly fond of men you haven’t met hitting on you, but this one seems a bit harmless. if you ignored the part where he said he would kidnap you. at least he wasn’t grabbing onto you or trying to touch you - that would have sent your fist flying towards his face and probably a swift exit from the bar. it was a little weird that you didn’t find him weird, but in retrospect you must have known, even then. 

“okay, listen,” you put your hands on your hips, giving him an unimpressed look. “if you find me when you’re sober, ask me again and maybe i’ll reconsider.”

“okay,” he nods, hair moving along with his movement like a puppy’s ears. “i can do that. i’ll find you, i promise. i’m gonna marry you, did you know?”

“so i’ve heard,” you roll your eyes, already feeling a bit fond about him. you didn’t think you’d meet him again, but you were sure that you’d look at this night with a fond smile later. 

he sends you the brightest smile you think you’ve ever seen on a person and scampers off, and you stand rooted to that one sticky spot in the bar for longer than you want to admit.

–

he’s in the back of your mind when you wake up the next morning, in a better mood than most - you never liked waking up early, it always took you a good hour and some coffee to be able to stand without grimacing. this morning though, you float around your apartment as you get dressed with a small smile on your face. 

a cute stranger who kept his boundaries and called you perfect? that wasn’t something that happened often, at least not to you. 

the floatiness followed you all the way through your morning routine until you found your feet stopping outside the coffee shop that you and changbin all but owned. you had no stock in it, but you’re sure that you supply them at least half of their revenue, you probably sit on their rickety chairs more often than your actual couch at home. this place has nursed you through every college class and job interview preparations and beyond, and if it ever closed you might lose time off of your life span. 

your movements from the door to the counter to your usual seat were robotic, muscle memory taking over while your head did somersaults through the clouds. it’s only when you take the first sip of coffee, the bitterness and heat hitting your tongue in a delightful dance, that you notice it. 

another man is sitting next to changbin. a man that looks awfully familiar, and it takes you a moment to realize why. it’s the man from the bar. 

“changbin?” you keep your eyes on the other man as you direct your question at changbin, trying hard to keep your face neutral. “explain?”

“i’m chan,” the man interjects before changbin can answer, reaching his hand across the table for you to shake. it’s warm, his grip somewhere perfectly in the middle of too hard and too soft, and he lets go after an appropriate amount of seconds. despite the neutral passivity of the gesture, you feel something ignite within you, and it threatens to sputter out when you catch no spark of recognition in his eyes. was he that drunk last night that he doesn’t remember you? do his sober eyes not find you as perfect?

“he crashed at my place last night,” changbin’s voice filters through your turmoil, and you finally break away from chan’s gaze to level him with a look. “and he needed coffee, so i brought him along. chan, this is y/n, my best friend.”

the conversation that followed flowed more freely than the coffee dripping from the machines behind the counter, and you almost hate how much you like it. chan is a little goofy, the man from the previous night shining through moments of seriousness and rapt attention. 

by the time you had to leave to go to work you felt like you knew him. you learned where he lived (close to you!), that he worked with changbin (he’s a producer!), and that he loved all animals but he adored dogs (he has one named berry!). just an hour of casual conversation had led to you needing more of him in every aspect of your life, but still in the back of your head lived the thought of him not remembering you from the night before.

changbin leaves first, citing some meeting he had to run to in the middle of a yawn, and when you were left with chan the embarrassment began to set in. 

“i’m going to marry you,” he blurts out, startling you so much you almost jump out of your seat. 

“what?” you ask, a mixture of surprise and disbelief combining into a confusing vortex within your head - was he going to go through this again? you didn’t know if your heart could take it. 

“i mean, i remember you,” he says before you could awkwardly excuse yourself and commit to getting to work early for the first time in a year just to escape being in a room alone with him for much longer. “i’m sorry, i was just embarrassed. i didn’t want to make a fool out of myself in front of changbin.”

“oh,” your breath leaves you all at once and you slump into your chair, understanding hitting you like a train. “that makes sense? i think?”

“i’m going to marry you,” he repeats, a mischievous glint in his eyes, the boy from last night shining through. “one day. i’m going to do it.”

“take me on a date first,” you tease back, a genuine smile stretching across your lips when he laughs, a full bodied thing that drew in eyes from the patrons across the room. for once, you didn’t seem to care that others’ eyes were on you. he made you feel comfortable. 

“what are you doing tomorrow?” his mouth turns upwards into a beautiful smile that you can’t help but return. 

“eager, are we?” you open your phone, sliding it across the table with the new contact page open on it. “i’m free.”

“you’re the most perfect person i’ve ever laid eyes on,” he says, as serious and genuine as the way he had proposed to you last night as he taps his number into your phone. “sorry if i’m a bit desperate.”

“don’t apologize,” you take your phone back, making a mental note to text him later. “i like it, for some unearthly reason. you’re cute, chan.”

the sound of his delighted laugh follows your footsteps all the way to work. 

— 

he picks you up for your first date at noon, right on the dot. he wasn’t a minute late, a polite knock sounding through your apartment just as the hour turned, as if he had been waiting and watching the time outside the door. 

god, is everything about this man endearing? 

he’s wearing shorts and a light sweater, looking like something out of a posh magazine. his hair is curly and swept off his forehead and he’s wearing a smile with the most adorable dimples shining through. 

he leads you to his car and you have to hold back an impressed whistle. you knew changbin and his team did well for themselves, the name 3racha all over the credits of songs on the radio, but this car was nice. you were going to have a talk with changbin about why he still drove the same beat up sedan he’s had since college but that was a thought for later. right now all you wanted to think about was the man who held the door open for you to slide into the passenger seat and was now holding your hand over the middle console. 

“do i get to know where we’re going?” you ask, peering at the map open on his phone but it tells you nothing more than that your destination was 15 minutes away and that he had to make a right turn in one mile. 

“it’s a surprise,” he says, voice a little nervous but it was masked with excitement. wherever he was taking you, you would be happy to be there if he was this happy the whole time. 

four songs on the radio later, one of which you teased him for when he revealed that he wrote it, he was pulling into a parking lot illuminated by flashing colorful lights. he had brought you to the fair. 

“i’ve never been to the fair!” you bounced a little in your seat, wriggling in excitement. “i’ve always wanted to go, how did you know?”

“lucky guess?” he shrugs, avoiding your gaze as he cuts the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt. 

“changbin told you, didn’t he,” you smile at the thought of chan asking his friend about what you’d like. it was cute, a word that you were probably exhausting when thinking about him even after a day of knowing him. 

“yes, but,” he flushes, the tips of his ears burning red. “i asked him after i had decided to come here, just to make sure it was a good idea. i didn’t steal it from him.”

“hey, it’s okay,” you squeeze his hand in yours that he had yet to let go of in what you hoped was a comforting gesture. you didn’t know what brought him calmness yet, but you wanted to learn. you wanted to learn everything about him. “now, take me to the fair, bang chan. i was promised a date.”

he finally meets your eyes again and he’s grinning so happily that you feel like you had just won a prize. who needed a fair when you had your very own carnival game right here? 

it turns out, you did. by the time the sun was beginning to set, your arms were full of various plushies that chan had won for you, each one earning him a hug and a kiss to his cheek. you treasured every single one, the fluttering in your chest when he stepped up to the booths to throw and shoot various things never ceasing. 

“let’s go to the ferris wheel,” you tug at him with your free hand, thanking the skies when you see no queue there. “i bet the sunset looks beautiful from the top.”

he’s quiet when he follows you there and into the carriage, his thigh pressing against yours as he slides in next to you, but you don’t notice in your excitement. it isn’t until the wheel ticks to the top and stops that he grabs your hand again, trembling a little. 

“chan? are you okay?” you ask, concern warping your voice as you turn towards him. your movement rocks the carriage a bit and he turns pale, ducking his head into your neck to hide. 

“yeah, ‘m okay,” he murmurs, his eyelashes ticking your skin when he blinks his eyes shut. “just don’t like heights very much.”

“oh my god, why didn’t you tell me?” you cry out, jumping a bit and regretting it when you rock the carriage again. “nevermind that, what can i do? it’ll go down soon, you’ll be alright.”

“just keep holding my hand?” he squeezes your fingers lightly and your heart melts. you may have made a joke that he was just trying to trick you into holding his hand any other time, but the fear in his shaking body was real and you’d never tease him for that. 

“of course,” you press a kiss to his hair, moving your other hand slowly to wrap around your intertwined fingers. the wheel begins to turn again, swaying the carriage as it descends. you keep your grip on his hand tight the entire time, all the way until you’re on your feet again on steady ground. 

“i’m so sorry,” you begin to say, the horror of subjecting him to his fear creeping up now that the crisis has passed. 

“i’m going to marry you,” he says, cutting off your apology and lifting your hands to his mouth so he could press a kiss to the back of yours. “no one’s ever been able to keep me that calm. thank you.”

you were left speechless after that and all you could do was smile at him, the ghost of it not leaving your face for the rest of the night. 

–

your thirty first date with chan ends with you crying into changbin’s arms, utterly confused and the feeling of despair creeping up your veins. you had met him your cafe as you had done several times since the fair, but when you arrived he wasn’t there. he came late, dark storms in his eyes and a hard set to his jaw and you didn’t understand what had made him like that. the usual smile and twinkle in his eyes were missing, and when you and asked him about what was wrong he had snapped at you in a way you hadn’t been talked to in years. 

you had left after that, brushing him off when his eyes had widened and he reached for you while calling out your name. you know that you should have given him a chance to explain, but at the time you were too hurt to consider it. 

you made your way to changbin’s apartment without thinking, your feet taking you to safety before your head could catch up. changbin had taken one look at your face before wrapping you up in his arm, walking you to his couch so he could cuddle you properly while words spilled out of you like a leaky faucet. you felt like you were back in college, crying and blubbering over a boy who had rejected you at a party, and you hated it. 

you didn’t notice changbin sending an angry text to chan, but the sound of changbin’s door opening with a bang startled you out of your tears. chan bursts in like a whirlwind, his hair sticking up at weird angles and a look of panic on his face as he takes you in. he reaches the couch in a few strides and falls to his knees in front of you, holding a crumpled bag from the cafe in his hand and taking your cheek gently into his other. his thumb wipes at the tear tracks there and you could practically taste the guilt emanating off of him. 

“love, i am so sorry,” he starts, ignoring changbin when he scoffs at the apology. “i shouldn’t have snapped at you, i had no right to do that. i got some bad news this morning and i wasn’t feeling my best, and i should have been honest with you. i’ll never do anything like that again, please forgive me? i’ll do anything.”

it was more his voice than his words that did it - he sounded so desperate, like he was trying to hold

onto a ledge that was crumbling, threatening to hurl his body into eternal nothingness. you knew him, you knew he was sorry, and against your first instinct you trusted him when he said he wouldn’t do it again. 

“is that an almond croissant?” you eye the bag in his hand. 

“it’s two almond croissants,” he nods fervently, his hair swishing back and forth with the movement. you sit up, sliding out of changbin’s arms and onto the floor in front of chan. chan’s arms replace changbin’s easily when you lean into him, and it feels like coming home. 

“it’s not like i have a nice couch you could be sitting on,” changbin mutters as he leaves, shaking his head fondly at the two of you before making himself scarce. 

chan kisses you, cradling your head gently into his hands, and they’re so warm. he slides his lips against yours, slowly like he’s taking his time memorizing the planes of your mouth to commit to memory. even after kissing him dozens of times you still find new things to learn about each other. 

“i swear,” he says, pulling away to meet your eyes. “i’m going to marry you, someday.”

“keep getting me croissants as apologies and we’ll see,” you say, sniffling into his neck. 

—

your eighty seventh date was spent in your bed, your head spinning like both hands on a clock simultaneously and your body exuding more sweat than you ever have. 

chan is wringing out a cool cloth to place on your forehead and it feels so nice that you moan. 

“i’m sorry,” you mutter, and chan has lost count of the amount of times you’ve said it at this point. “we had a date and i ruined it.”

“we were going to see a movie,” he says, running a hand up and down your spine. “and we will. we don’t need a movie theater when we have a screen right here, hmm?” 

“but the popcorn,” you complain, closing your eyes in bliss when he runs a hand through your hair, scratching gently at your scalp. an apology for being so sweaty was at the tip of your tongue but you hold it back in favor of enjoying the feeling of his touch. 

“i’ll make you all the popcorn you want when you’re feeling better,” he promises, dropping a kiss to the side of your head. “for now, how does soup sound?” 

“popcorn soup?“ you ask, a wave of dizziness taking over your body; if you weren’t lying down already, you’re sure that too would be falling over. 

“yeah, baby,” and even in your delirium the fondness in his voice was prominent. he couldn’t hide it even if he tried. “i’ll make you some popcorn soup. get some rest okay?”

you’re asleep before he leaves the room, and you only wake up when he shakes your shoulder a bit and helps you into an upright position. he feeds you bites of what is definitely not popcorn soup after putting a movie on your laptop, the screen sitting at the foot of your bed. the both of you fall asleep before the movie finishes, but you don’t mind. 

he stays with you for days, making you soup and tea and toast and feeding you medicine and being an all-around angel as he nurses you back to health. by the time you’re better you think you’ve fallen back in love with him several times. 

as you had expected and warned him about, he catches your sickness the next week, and now it’s your turn to be his nurse. you try and do the same job he did, but his delirium seems worse. the silver lining is that his fever isn’t as bad, so you’re babysitting a babbling boyfriend more than a sick one. 

the night before his fever breaks is the worst, since he doesn’t even recognize you. you shake your head at his silliness when he asks who you are and calls you pretty. you smile when he takes your hand in his and asks you to come closer. 

you tear up when he tells you that he has a girlfriend that he loves very much and so even though you’re pretty he can’t do anything else because his girlfriend is the prettiest one in the whole world. you let a tear slip when he tells you that he can’t wait to propose to his girlfriend and that he’s going to marry her someday. 

you tell him that you have a boyfriend that you're going to marry someday, trusting that he wouldn’t remember it in the morning. 

—

your hundredth and fifth date was not unlike your fifth, or your tenth, or your ninetieth. two and a half years later, you were just as endeared by him and he was just as obsessed with you - even more so, if it were possible. 

he takes the time to tell you how gorgeous you look when he picks you up just like he does on every date, and you hide your disgustingly fond smile for him behind his back like you do every time you see him. 

he parks and runs around the car to let you out like he does every time you habit this restaurant, a little fancier than your usual best but it was a favorite of the both of yours - across the street from the bar the two of you had met at. 

you start walking before he does, letting him jog to meet you and complain about how you left him, just like you do every time. before him. you might have thought the monotony would have gotten tiring, but he had a fantastical ability to make every moment feel like the first despite their practiced nature. 

he calls your name from behind you right on schedule and you hum in acknowledgement, turning towards him absentmindedly. the second you lay eyes on him you’re completely alert, though; he isn’t jogging after you, but rather he’s kneeling on the sidewalk, a small box in his hands as he smiles up at you. 

“i’ve told you that i’m going to marry you more times than i can count,” he starts, eyes shining like the stars twinkling in the night sky above you. “but this time i’m asking you.”

“chan,” you choke out, hands coming up to cover your mouth as it quivers. tears spring to your eyes and you silently curse yourself - you always thought you’d be level headed when you got proposed to, but nothing could have prepared you for this, not even the thousands of declarations he had made to you prior. 

“i love you. you’re the only one in the entire universe that i need more than blood or breath, you’re the song that runs through my heart and the fire that leads my path when i’m lost,” his voice is thick, like he’s trying to hold back his emotions long enough to get his words out. “i never thought that i would feel so strongly for someone, i never thought that i deserved a love like this until i met you.”

he pauses as you walk closer to him, letting you approach him before he continues. 

“my love, my eternal light,” he’s tearing up now, blinking fast to keep the salty water at bay. “will you marry me?”

“chan,” you start, kneeling down next to him and taking his wrists in your hands. “i never told you this, but ever since that first day i knew. i knew that the drunk idiot that was hitting on me would be my husband.”

he chuckles, smiling delightedly as the tears finally spring from both of your eyes in unison.

“so?” he trails off, searching your face with his eyes, waiting. 

“oh!” you tighten your grip on him in an apology. “of course i’ll marry you, gosh i love you so much.”

𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝 - college au american footballers!lee minho & han jisung x cheerleader!fem!reader

wc: 14.3k

cw: some boy x boy action, mc is inexperienced but a secret perv, mc is dumb and forgets what polyamory is, subsequent polyamorous relationship, reader is described to be smaller than minsung, smoking weed, getting drunk, hyunlix are menaces, SMUT MDNI.

synopsis: you’re not too experienced in the world of dating, parties and talking to people, but these two american footballers that you cheer for just seem to get it.

a/n: SORRY :D! as usual, smut warnings under the cut :3

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: making out when drunk, spit kink (a lot of it), cumplay, making out with cum involved, rimming (m rec), boys kissing, anal fingering (m&f rec), oral (m&f rec), threesome, handjob, A LOT OF DIRTY TALK, minho’s mean but affectionate, painplay, degradation, slight? humiliation, breeding kink, pet names: jagi, baby, kitty, gorgeous

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Throughout high school, and everything that came before it, you were never into sports. You were the girl that got shouted at by the rest of the team in P.E because you’d flinch as soon as the ball came near you. You had a sick note every lesson towards the end of high school. You’d walk the mile instead of run. You just weren’t cut out for physical activity.

It was the same reason you’d been so unpopular in school. Popularity went to the athletes, the girls who were svelte and toned, and although your mother would swear you were beautiful, you never had much luck making friends or getting boyfriends growing up.

Of course, when you came to university, you chose a non-bodily exhausting major. Fine art was a fair bet for you since you’d always been good at drawing, and you decided you could go for something you were skilled at so you could still enjoy the university experience. It was a win win. Then, you’d surprisingly befriended Hyunjin, an ethereal man with the beauty of a model out of a magazine - and then came along Felix, his other best friend who studied computer science. They’d actually helped you lose your virginity with your first - and thus far, only - one night stand. Although the experience was less than enjoyable, more awkward, you were still thankful.

It was a month later that they told you they were both cheerleaders for the American football team. You grinned and said how cool it was. They’d asked you to join. You said no. They were popular, too - always going to parties and events, and you considered that would be your fate if you joined. It was terrifying. This went on for the rest of your first year. The trauma from high school P.E lessons prevented you from even considering it, even while they told you that it wasn’t really that tiring. Cheering was still a sport, and that’s what kept you back from joining.

Until you finally gave in.

“I don’t know, isn’t the skirt a bit… Too short?” You mumbled. You stood in front of the full-length mirror in Hyunjin’s room, letting Felix fiddle with your hair and slide a red and white bow on it. It matched the rest of your uniform, a bright crimson mixed with a more subtle ivory. It was your university’s colours, and the same colours the American football players would wear. Felix was behind you and Hyunjin stood beside you - both in their matching uniforms, skirts and all.

Felix looked like he was about to ascend with the happiness on his face. You felt like you could die from the anxiety.

“It’s meant to be short, darling,” Hyunjin quipped, smoothing down the pleats on your skirt. “You need to look so good for tonight.”

You squeaked. Felix rolled his eyes, glaring at Hyunjin. He’d given away the secret. “What’s tonight?”

Felix sighed. His face appeared next to you in the mirror, half of his hair pulled up with a bow matching yours. His hands stroked down your shoulders with a soft smile, as if he was scared to release this information unto you. You stared at his button nose, covered in freckles, too anxious to look into his eyes. “So… there’s an initiation when you join. Sort of a ritual, it happens every year with the new recruits.”

Hyunjin was now sprawled on his bed, hands fiddling with some rolling papers. A baggie of weed was on his lap, over his pleated skirt. You grimaced at the audacity, despite knowing you were inevitably going to ask for some.

“It’s a party,” Hyunjin said, sprinkling weed into the paper. “It’s nothing terrifying. Just that the new recruits have to all be handcuffed to a member of the football team, and they have to play Truth or Dare to be set free.”

“Well, I just won’t play then,” You decided, nodding your head at the reflection in the mirror. Felix bit his lip, staring at you. Hyunjin’s movements paused. “… What is it?”

“We already nominated you. There’s an uneven number of recruits, too, so… you’re handcuffed to two.”

“Two?! No, you’re both deranged. It’s not happening.” Hyunjin simply raised an eyebrow at your words.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

It was definitely happening. That much was clear when you all arrived at the party, adequately stoned and just as tipsy from your pregaming at Hyunjin’s. You were fiddling with your skirt, trying to pull it down just a bit lower, but Felix slapped your hand away with a playful glare. Felix pushed the door open and entered as if he owned the place. The location of the party was some massive house on campus, full to the brim of sweaty, gyrating bodies in different sports uniforms. You were out of your depth.

Felix and Hyunjin noticed your awkward demeanour almost immediately and dragged you into the kitchen. Once he’d found a bottle of alcohol, Hyunjin poured all three of you vodka shots each to drink. He was hoping it would get you out of your shell, a wistful smile on his plump lips.

You grimaced as the burn hit your throat, nose scrunched. Felix giggled, and then he spun you around, hands on your waist. “Okay, so. We’re going to steal this bottle of vodka, take it into the living room, then you get handcuffed to your American footballers of choice.”

You blinked. “Choice? Who chose?”

“Jihyo,” Hyunjin replied, appearing on your other side. He handed you a plastic cup full of a strange coloured concoction before pushing his long, dark hair out of his eyes.

You knew Jihyo, actually. She was the captain of the cheerleading team and had been nothing but lovely to you since you joined. She’d even saved you the embarrassment of auditioning in front of the vice captain, letting you just cheer in front of her alone with the routine Felix and Hyunjin drilled into you. You hoped she’d be lenient on who she chose for you tonight.

Letting yourself be dragged into the living room by Hyunjin, you clutched your cup to ensure you didn’t spill it with the jostling. It tasted bad, but you drank it anyway, ignoring the taste. It would cure your anxiety - or at least act like a placebo effect.

The living room was even more crowded than the hallway and the kitchen. It had you on edge, fingers quivering around your cup despite Hyunjin and Felix hanging off of your either arm. These were the exact types of parties you hadn’t been invited to in high school, and now you were there. Honestly? It was kind of underwhelming, despite the amount of people.

“Okay, it’s time to meet your two footballers!” Felix sounded excited, almost bouncing. When you turned to him, Hyunjin was standing on his other side with blushing cheeks and a just as excited smile. You sighed. This was going to be awkward. There was a circle of footballers and cheerleaders sitting around in a circle, an empty bottle being spun around and landing on whoever was going to be asked truth or dare. The other new recruits were already handcuffed - oh, no. Were you late?

“You’re late!” Jihyo shrieked, shooting up from her spot on the floor. That answered your question. Her skirt was just as short as yours, which made you feel better. She wore it as if it was meant for her, though. You knew you just looked weird. She flicked her short, dark red hair out of her face before pointing at two males in the circle. “You’re partnered with Jisung and Minho.”

“Who?” You whispered, before Felix giggled loudly.

“Jihyo, that’s evil. Not those two! Especially not Minho!” Felix yelled, making your jaw drop.

You were suddenly very intimidated. You already were, but now the guy you were forced to be handcuffed to was, well… you’d have to ask. “Oh, no. Is he nasty?”

Jihyo shrugged, a smile playing on her lips. “Ask him yourself.”

All of a sudden, you were being pushed down by Jihyo into the large, uneven circle of people into the gap between the two football players. You could literally feel your hands sweating and just hoped to God that the two boys beside you couldn’t feel it. Felix and Hyunjin had moved to the opposite end of the room, not part of the circle but still monitoring the situation. Jihyo kneeled in front of you, fiddling with two sets of handcuffs until they were successfully attached to both of your wrists.

It was time to bite the bullet. You looked to your left as Jihyo was attaching the other end of your handcuffs to one of the football players. You were met with feline-like eyes, plump lips and broad shoulders appearing even broader with the shoulder pads from his uniform. His eyes flitted to you and he looked to be holding back a grin. Were you that ridiculous? The guy was beautiful. It made you feel slightly insecure even just sitting next to him.

Turning to your right, you saw your other assigned football player. You were met with softer features this time - round, chocolate brown eyes and a doll-like mouth, surrounded by the cutest pouty cheeks. Unlike the first guy, this one raised his spare hand with a little ‘hello!’ and you smiled, waving back. He was cute when he smiled at you, his teeth gleaming in the low light. He seemed friendly, so you introduced yourself.

“Hi! I’m Jisung, that one on your other side is Minho. He’s kinda grumpy, but he means well,” Jisung told you, making you giggle. Minho tried to reach over you to swat Jisung, but the handcuffs prohibited his movements. “Damn! Okay, okay, he’s not grumpy.”

“I’m really nice,” Minho said, smiling softly at you. You took a mental note of his cute bunny teeth. “I’m definitely not grumpy. Not to pretty girls, anyway.”

You could literally feel yourself blushing.

“Um, okay,” You blurted. Jisung choked on a laugh. “So, what’s the rules of this whole thing? How do I get set free?”

“You have to drink every time you refuse to answer a question or do a dare. Once you’ve answered five questions or when you’ve done five dares, we get set free,” When you turned to Jisung upon him speaking, it seemed like his face was closer. You blushed. His hair was long but pushed relatively back, and his red and white uniform looked to be cinched around a very slender waist. He was fucking hot. It had you imagining - would they both fuck you if you asked? At the same time? They seemed to come as a package deal. “It’s super simple. I bet it’ll only take, like, an hour.”

“An hour?!” An hour of being locked up to these two sexy men. You’d die.

“Yep,” Jihyo chirped. When she spun the bottle, sitting on the other end of it to you, it landed on you as if she’d planned it. You groaned. Jisung was pouring extra vodka into your cup. “Okay, truth or dare?”

Truth seemed the safest. “Truth.”

“Do you think anyone in this room is sexy?”

A giggle brought your attention to Hyunjin, legs splayed over another football player. You thought it was Chan, one of the Aussies that Felix was close with. “She obviously thinks I’m hot. I mean, everyone does.”

“Hyunjin, shut up,” Minho said, but he sounded fond. Interesting. So your best friends knew these sexy ass guys, and didn’t introduce you to them. How selfish.

“I’m going to have to drink, unfortunately. I don’t really want to make it awkward..” You mumbled, taking a large gulp from your cup. Unfortunately, Jisung had poured vodka in it and nothing else, so you grimaced as the burn travelled down your throat. Jisung giggled again from beside you. Evil. He was evil. “Jisung!”

Jisung only laughed louder, refilling your drink after the massive amount you’d downed. Minho, however, was still staring at you with an unreadable look.

“Really?” He questioned. “You won’t even admit it?”

You blushed. “I-“

“Leave her alone, Lee Minho! If she wants to drink, she can drink,” Felix shouted to your defence. You gave him a smile, very thankful. You didn’t want to be interrogated by the exact person you found sexy. Well, one of the two.

Unfortunately, the rest of the game went quite similar to the first round. You’d be asked a personal question, or told to do a dare that was definitely too unruly for you, and then you’d drink. Always drinking the straight vodka that Jisung gave you had an impact, too - before you knew it, you were slurring your words and your head was fuzzy with the effects of being tipsy. Jisung was laughing at you, just as drunk, and Minho was looking between you two with an amused expression.

Minho being a tease was another thing you managed to work out. You grumbled at one point, yanking on the handcuffs. “Jihyo, can I be let out now? I’ve drunk more than anyone else and ‘m tipsy, please!”

Minho chuckled, inching closer to you. “You don’t wanna be attached to me anymore? That’s a shame.”

“Never said that,” You mumbled, making your own cheeks blush as you looked at your hands. On your opposite side, Jisung was just as tipsy as you and looked to be giggling at something Felix had said. All of the other recruits were free and had left, but there you were - still looking dumb sat cross legged in your little cheerleader skirt.

“Bestie, should we take you and Hyunnie home? I’m sure you can set her free now, Jihyo,” Your eyes flitted to Felix, and then to Hyunjin, utterly stoned next to him. His eyes were a hue of red and he had a permanent smile on his face. He needed food, and then sleep.

Jihyo nodded hesitantly in response to Felix, and with a swift move, she undid your shackles. You were more than thankful to be free, but - oh. You didn’t want to go. You were kind of having fun drinking with Minho and Jisung. They were easy on the eyes, and all.

“I don’t wanna go!” You whined. “Can I stay? Minho and Jisung will look after me, right?” You knew you were slurring your words, but the way Jisung slung an arm around you made you feel content. Minho even laughed, shaking his head in a fond manner.

“We’ll look after her if she wants to keep drinking, Lixie,” Minho said, his tone hushed. “You know we won’t do anything weird.”

Felix shrugged. “I trust you both. Okay, have her back safe later! I’m gonna carry this lug to get food. Jihyo, you coming?”

When the rest of the room left, you suddenly realised that you were left with Minho and Jisung. You’d only met them that night, and in all honesty - it was kind of awkward now that it was just the three of you. Clearly you were the only one feeling the awkwardness, though. Minho stretched out leisurely like a cat, and Jisung was already in pursuit of a few ciders he found in the corner.

“So, my vote is that me and you wind down with a few ciders, and then Minho rolls us a joint,” Jisung chirped, settling in closer to you. “I’m so buzzed right now, I’m having such a good time. Hey, why have I never seen you around before? You’re friends with Lix and Hyunjin.”

“Ah, parties aren’t really my whole thing. I’m… I’m not very good with lots of people in one place, to be honest,” You felt like you were admitting way too much, too quickly, but Jisung nodded in agreement.

“I’m the same. It’s a bitch, but I’m glad you joined cheerleading. You can knock back vodka like a pro! Even Minho thought so,” Jisung points at Minho. He’d been quiet until now, but the tips of his ears burned a tell-tale crimson.

“It was quite impressive, I have to admit,” Minho nodded. “What made you join cheerleading? Sorry about the twenty-one questions, but you didn’t answer any during the game.”

“Yeah. That’s to do with the whole ‘not good at talking to people’ thing, y’know? But… Now that it’s just the three of us, I think that I’m okay,” You gushed, words slightly slurring together. The two footballers nodded their heads understandingly anyway, Jisung handing you an opened cider. You took the drink gratefully, sipping on the bitter apple taste. “Hyunjin and Felix convinced me to join, to answer your question. I wasn’t a big sports person in school.”

“Same here. I used to do boxing, but never football,” Minho leaned back on his hands, legs stretched out in front of him. Jisung still sat cross-legged, much closer to you than Minho was. “I only really took up football in my senior year of high school, because I knew I wanted to come here and they have a pretty good football team.”

You nodded, humming. “What about you, Jisung?”

“I’ve always played,” He swigged back a large amount of cider. His fingers played with a loose thread on his uniform top nervously, until Minho swatted his hand away. Jisung giggled, then carried on talking. “Me and my elder brother play. It’s kind of a family thing, I suppose. Hey, Minho, what’s the status of that joint?”

Minho groaned, stretching his arms above his head. “My weed’s in our room,” Minho’s eyes flickered between you and Jisung, and then he bit his lip. Bunny teeth dug into plush skin, and you found your eyes settled directly on it. Minho soothed the bite with his tongue, and then he nodded decisively. “Do you wanna come up and get high, watch a movie with us? No funny business, I promise.”

You shrugged. The alcohol had made you considerably less shy. “Why not? I chill with Felix and Hyunjin like this a lot, it’s all good.”

“Yay! You’re actually going to roll one?” Jisung looked elated, grinning at Minho. Minho sighed, standing up.

“Why don’t you just roll one yourself, Ji?” You elbowed Jisung playfully. You had no idea where the nickname came from, but Jisung pouted anyway at your statement.

“I can’t roll. I’m so bad at it. Do you roll?”

You tried to suppress a smile, but it was impossible around these two. “No. Hyunjin rolls for me.”

“God! You’re both like weed princesses. Like pillow princesses, but with weed,” Minho’s fake-insult made you and Jisung fall about in a fit of giggles. “C’mon. I may have something that you can wear, so that you’re more comfortable.”

You and Jisung stumbled up the stairs behind Minho, still giggling when you arrived at their room. It was bigger than you expected, two twin beds pushed apart with one side of the room reasonably clean. You assumed that was Minho’s, because the other side contained an unmade bed and rap artist posters that just screamed Jisung’s energy to you. There was quite a large TV situated in the middle of the room, between the two beds and pushed against the wall.

“Are we pushing the beds together?” Jisung asked, as if this was a normal occurrence. Minho hummed dismissively, starting to dig through one of his drawers. Jisung started moving the beds in front of the TV just as Minho pulled out a decent looking t-shirt and shorts, passing them to you.

“You can change in here, we’ll turn around. I’ve gotta roll us a joint anyway,” You nodded at Minho’s words. You watched as Minho walked over to the desk, back facing you and you wiggled out of your uniform. You had to remember to bring that home the next day - it was the first game tomorrow.

It hit you that you were in the shared room of two boys you’d met for the first time that night. Jisung was laid on the bed solemnly with his eyes shut so he couldn’t see you, and Minho was facing away while he rolled the joint. They were respectful, but nonetheless this was so, so out of character for you - you were even putting one of their t-shirts on while you were having an internal breakdown. Weirdly, you trusted them. They were open, friendly with you from the get go.

“I never do stuff like this,” You admitted, blushing. When you finally turned around, now fully clothed, Jisung was only in pyjama bottoms. You had to avoid the urge to freak out because where was he hiding that body? He was broad but lean, the hint of abdominal muscles on his tummy. He was sexy, and his waist was just as slender as you thought. You shrugged it off anyway, and Minho turned to face you, licking the joint. That almost also caused an internal freak out, because why is he keeping eye contact while he’s licking it like that?

“Like what?” Minho mumbled, staring at his work of art.

“I’m normally first to leave the party. I never stay late and chill with people in their homes. I’m just… not like that.”

“I get it,” Jisung agreed, shifting on the bed sheets. He patted a space next to him and you climbed onto the makeshift double bed obediently, laying down with your hands folded over your tummy. “It’s the people thing, right? But, you’re being bold. We’re about to get high. The most important thing is… are you having fun?”

Were you? God, you were. Two attractive men were about to smoke weed with you, one of your all time favourite pastimes to get rid of your anxiety, and you were going to chill and watch a movie too. That’s your top idea of fun. You found yourself smiling, nodding up at Jisung, to which he smiled back. He understood.

When you finally turned away from Jisung after a second too long, Minho had changed too, into some grey shorts and a t-shirt. You stared at his thighs while he cracked open a window, and then he was on the bed in front of you.

“The guest of honour should light the joint,” He mused, handing it to you. “It’s the rules.”

“Um.. I need an ashtray. Is it really okay to smoke in here, like-“

“Everyone in this house smokes in their rooms,” Jisung comforted you. After that, he was handing you a small transparent dish. “Ash it in here. We’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

The first inhale of the joint was delicious. You much preferred being high and open minded than drunk and open minded - it was more fun that way. You tended to just brush things off with a laugh rather than overthink them. After a few tokes, you passed it to Minho, and he asked the most important question.

“What film should we watch?” Jisung looked at you. You looked at Jisung, and then you were both looking at Minho. Minho sighed, exhaling smoke in your direction. “You’re both going to make me choose.”

“Yup!” Jisung chirped, snatching the joint out of Minho’s hand. Minho grumbled, displeased but still smiling as he reached for the remote. Within a few minutes, he’d clicked on some random comedy film on Netflix. The joint was passed around until the room was sufficiently hazy and all three of you were laying on the bed, you in the middle.

You felt a little trapped, but not in a claustrophobic sense. The boys were so, so close to you, and even though you three were all relaxed and laughing at the film, the secret pervert inside of you couldn’t help but rear its head. You could make out with them right now. You won’t, but you could. It’d be way too bold for you to do that, and-

“We should make out,” Jisung’s voice cut through the giggles. Minho swatted him, still laughing but chiding as if Jisung was a child. You, however, were wide-eyed.

“M-Make out?”

“Making out is better when you’re high,” Minho explained, his cheeks blazing red from the effects of the weed. “He always asks me to make out too.”

You blinked. Your eyes flitted between the two men, Jisung still gazing at you. “You two..?”

“We make out all the time. Sometimes we fuck, no strings attached. It’s fun,” Jisung said, shifting on the bed so that he was closer to you. “You wanna make out?”

Could you? You’d been extremely bold, and that was even further than bold. You couldn’t lie and say you hadn’t been thinking of it all night, though, and if Hyunjin and Felix could see you now, they’d be so proud.

You answered Jisung’s question by grabbing his head, one hand on the back of it and yanking him down to kiss you. He squeaked in surprise, but he was quick to let his tongue press into your mouth, pouty lips wet against yours. He was half-laying on top of you, the position a little awkward but God, he was right. It felt so much better making out with someone when you were high. You let your tongue press against his, the kiss more of a sloppy exchange than a real, precise kiss.

You pulled away with a wet noise, humming. “‘S better, you were right.”

“Yeah?” Jisung asked, his eyes trained on your lips. “Again, then?”

“Yeah.” This time, he was initiating the kiss, his hands going to your waist. His touch was light, but you squirmed to feel more of his hands on top of you. You wanted more, especially when his teeth lightly nipped on your bottom lip and his lips sucked your tongue into his mouth. It was filthy, and it had something burning in your gut in the most delicious way.

“You two look fucking amazing,” Minho. You’d kind of forgotten he was there. When you pulled away again, you turned, staring at him. His eyes were dark and his cute teeth were biting into his bottom lip again, looking pillowy and plush.

“Min,” You murmured, grabbing his hand. Jisung let out a puff of air, amused. “C’mere. I wanna kiss you too.”

“You sure?” Minho asked, but he was already moving from his place on the pillows to where you were, just a bit further down. Jisung moved off of you, obediently letting Minho take his place. Minho’s hand came up to your face, one thumb swiping along your bottom lip. It was still wet from Jisung’s mouth. “I’m not going to fuck you. You’ve had too much to drink, and smoke… But I’ll make out with you, is that okay?”

“Mm, yeah. This is super bold for me,” You giggled. In the same breath, you took Minho’s thumb into your mouth. You sucked on it, just a soft suction, but Minho still sighed deeply, eyes trained on your mouth.

“I think you’re sexy when you’re bold. You’re cute otherwise, too,” Jisung chimed in, making you smile. Before you could answer, Minho was leaning down, his dark hair tickling your forehead as he pressed his tongue into your mouth. He was more calculated than Jisung, his hand that was on your face previously now enveloped in your hair, pulling the strands just a little. It made you whine against his mouth, squirming, and he replied with a bite to your lip. “Is it good? He’s a good kisser, isn’t he?”

You hummed, still pulling Minho in for more. His shoulders were shaking as if he wanted to laugh at how eager you were, but he continued with kissing you filthily instead. When you started to squirm again, he pulled away, his thumb pulling your bottom lip down instead.

“I think you need a little more,” He mused, nose still brushing against yours. His eyes were enrapturing, as if they held a thousand secrets behind them. You wanted to know more about him, and more about the cute Jisung who was just as anxious as you. Could you be greedy and have them both?

“I want more,” You agreed, nodding. Minho hummed, and then he was collecting spit in his mouth. He let it drop into yours, and you heard Jisung whine, before he was shimmying back towards you. He gently pushed Minho out of the way, and you kept Minho’s spit on your tongue as if you knew what Jisung wanted to do.

“Oh my God, ‘s so hot,” You heard Jisung mumble, before he was pressing his lips against yours again. You felt him lick the collected spit out of your mouth, before he was pushing his own onto your tongue. He sucked your tongue again, whining into the kiss. You could feel something moving on the bed, and eventually, you worked out it was Jisung pushing his hips into the mattress impatiently. When he pulled away, his lips went to your neck instantly, sucking a deep red mark into your collarbone.

“Sungie,” Minho mumbled. “You need to calm down. She’s drunk a lot tonight. Maybe another time, yeah?”

Jisung looked at Minho with stars in his eyes. You nodded, hands gripping Jisung’s biceps. His skin was delicate, honey-toned and muscly, showing the effects of the sport he played. He was fucking sexy. You wanted Minho to be shirtless too. “Another time,” You agreed. “I want you both another time. Can I…? Is that too much, I-”

“We want you too,” Jisung turned to you, his forehead pressed against yours. Now that he was closer again, you let your legs spread, welcoming him to press against you. He was hard, solid in his cute pyjama bottoms, and you wanted to whine. “We want to have you. But, tonight isn’t the best idea. You may regret it.”

“I’d never regret it-”

“Gorgeous girl,” Minho cooed at you, soft as he pressed a kiss into your hairline. They were both enveloping you, warm, soft bodies that were just as toned as they were delicate. Your heart rate was so fast you were convinced you could die. “Gorgeous fucking girl. We’ll take you another time, yeah? Not tonight. You can sleep tonight.”

All of a sudden, sleep sounded amazing. You let yourself hum in agreement, and Jisung moved off of you, curling around your side. “‘M actually quite sleepy, yeah.”

“Thought so,” Minho chuckled, sidling up to your other side. He let you wiggle closer, head on his chest, and Jisung followed you, his chest pressed up against your back. It was comfortable, cosy on the two beds pushed together. “Go to sleep, gorgeous. We’ll be here when you wake up, okay?”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You woke up delirious. You could feel your head pulsating with the beginning of a hangover, and you were just so confused - where were you?

It only took one look at Jisung, lips parted and soft snores coming from his chest to remind you. Oh, yeah. You looked towards your other side, seeing Minho stretched out and full, heavy breaths reverberating around the room from his deep slumber. You’d made out with them both. You didn’t feel any regret, either. You’d done something that was so unusual for you, and it had worked out brilliantly. You’d had the best time.

You knew you’d be embarrassed when they woke up, though. You managed to detangle yourself from the two boys, wiggling out of the makeshift bed and finding your uniform quite easily. You’d tried to make as little noise as possible, but the sound of sheets rustling from the bed caught your attention.

“You’re leaving?” Minho. You turned around, blinking at him. He looked almost insecure, leaning up on his hands and tilting his head at you in question. “Do you… regret what happened?”

Shaking your head quickly, you moved back to the bed. You let one hand caress his cheek and he leaned into the touch, eyes soft and bleary from sleep. “I don’t regret it at all, Min. I had the best time. I just… I need to get home, and see Hyunnie and Lix, you know? But, um…” You felt awkward, anxious again. One look at Minho convinced you that you didn’t have to be. “I want to see you both again. Is that… a little weird? I just, I really enjoyed, and I-”

“Absolutely,” Minho agreed. He moved to sit closer to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you onto his lap. “Give me your phone.”

You blinked. Where was it? Digging through your uniform, you found it tucked into one of the inside pockets of the skirt, and you triumphantly handed it to him. You watched him make two contact names, and send both a quick ‘hi’ text so that they had your number, too. It was still shocking. You couldn’t quite believe it. Could you be greedy, and have both? Jisung was still asleep and snoring, and you found yourself smiling at him. He was bundled up in the blanket like a little burrito.

Minho handed your phone back, kissing your forehead. “Let me know when you get home safe.”

You practically ran out of the house, in all honesty. You were still dressed in Minho’s clothes, and once you’d slid your shoes back on, you started to walk back to your own home. You were pretty sure it wasn’t a long walk, and it wasn’t, all things considered - you were back home within five minutes, and you swung the door open.

Wait. It was unlocked? It was unlocked the whole night, while you’d been out acting like a fucking celebrity, and now someone had probably broken in, and-

You tiptoed into the living room, almost terrified, and then you saw Hyunjin and Felix. Both were eating cup noodles, staring at the TV where some random drama was on. Do hangovers just not exist for those two? Why hadn’t they even text, to see how you were? What the fuck was wrong with them?

“You’re home!” Felix said, cheerful as always. You furrowed your eyebrows, staring between the two. They have their own homes. Why were they there? They were showered, wet hair visible and with fresh clothes on. Your clothes, you noted. The t-shirt was a little too tight on Hyunjin’s shoulders.

“Why aren’t you at your own fucking houses, guys?” You scoffed, sprawling on the sofa. Your head landed on Hyunjin’s lap, and he spoonfed you a serving of noodles. You chewed it happily. You did love them, deep down.

“You’re confident after last night,” He mused. With his spare hand, he yanked down your - no, Minho’s t-shirt, and you were too slow to stop him from seeing it. Bright as day, the mark that Jisung had sucked into your skin was darkening as the time went on, a perfect giveaway of what you’d been up to the night before. “Oh my God. Felix, look!”

Felix leaned over, the three of you intertwined like a pretzel, and then his jaw dropped. “Oh my God. Who- which one was that?!”

You felt almost smug as you sat up, pulling the t-shirt back into place. “That was Jisung.”

Hyunjin gasped. Felix was grinning, wide and blinding. “That leads me to believe you may have had fun with both of them, right?” Hyunjin giggled, poking at your side. You scoffed, kicking him in the leg.

That brought back your anxiety, however. You’d had fun with both of them, made out with both of them, and they were both fucking gorgeous and so, so kind to you. They both seemed interested. They had to be, or why would they both kiss you? “Um… Yeah, I did, but… I want to see them both again. I can’t, though, like… it’s not logical.”

Felix tilted his head to the side. “Why not, sweetie?”

“Because there’s two of them? Like, what kind of a question is that-”

“What kind of a person are you if you’ve never heard of polyamory?” Hyunjin berated you through a mouthful of noodles. Your eyebrows raised in shock. He had a point. That had never even crossed your mind. “I mean, they have their own thing going on. They’re soulmates, everyone knows that.”

“But.. they’re not together. Sungie told me it was just a no-strings-attached type of thing-”

“Sungie?!” Felix squealed. “That’s so- so cute!”

Hyunjin glared at Felix, trying to get him to shut up so he could speak. “They’re soulmates, but they’re not together. It’s like best friend soulmates, except they make out and fuck sometimes. It makes sense for them both wanting to date the same girl is what I’m saying,” Hyunjin shrugged as if you’d thought of this before. You felt dumb. Why hadn’t you thought of that, actually? “The game’s tonight, too. You’ll see them again.”

“So… I should go for it?” You asked, feeling slightly insecure. You’d gone for it last night, and nothing ended badly. Could you do it again, though?

“Absolutely,” They both agreed, literally at the same time. You sighed, before nodding. You could do this. But you’d forgotten to text Minho, so that had to happen first.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[11:31am] Minho: Looking forward to seeing your ass in that skirt again tonight.

That text had been running circles in your head all day. Felix and Hyunjin had screamed when you showed them what he’d said. If anyone asked, you’d never admit that you’d put on some nice pink lace underwear underneath your skirt just in case. You felt a blush spread across your face as you reread his text.

A feeling of anticipation spread through you as you waited for the game to start. Cheerleaders were meant to take to the field first, and then the footballers would come on afterwards. It wasn’t a serious game, just one of the preliminary ones against another university team that could be considered as amateur. You could still feel your heart rate picking up as you all flooded onto the field, Felix dragging you along with his arm wrapped around yours comfortingly. The pom poms were literally almost slipping from your hands with how nervous you were, clammy and hot under the stadium lights.

As it wasn’t a serious game, the stands weren’t that full, which made you feel a little more relaxed. Jihyo had chosen this game for you to start for a reason, clearly. You were still yet to get used to having eyes on you, eagerly awaiting a cheer to sprout from your mouth. It was anything but ideal, and you would have rather been anywhere else at that moment.

Thankfully, your cheer routine to introduce the game went without a hitch and Hyunjin high fived you afterwards. When the subsequent clapping and cheers from the stalls died down, you nervously anticipated the footballers’ arrivals. They were like kings in your university, after all, and now you’d found yourself embroiled in something sexy and almost… heartfelt with two of them. You felt a little bit silly. You were definitely reading too much into things too quick.

Then, the captain arrived. Chan was someone you were vaguely familiar with, since he was extremely close with Hyunjin and you’d actually seen him the night before. He didn’t spare any of you a second glance as he bounced onto the field, the cheers starting back up again, but you hadn’t expected anything different. In all honesty, you’d expected Jisung and Minho to ignore you all, too, because it was game time. They needed to have their game faces on, quite literally. Waving at the cheerleaders would distract from that.

You could literally hear Felix and Hyunjin both snickering at you as your two love interests bounded onto the field. You elbowed them both sharply, making Hyunjin groan and attempt to fight back before Felix was yanking him back by his hair.

Surprisingly, Jisung halted on his journey across the field. He was almost directly in front of you. You stared at him with a confused expression while he used his hand to cover the massive lights dotted around the university stadium, spinning around in a circle until he saw you. Your expression quickly morphed into shock as he dropped his helmet on the floor, grabbing Minho by the arm and bounded over to you.

“You left before I woke up,” He pouted, out of breath from running. Minho was just snickering beside him, arms crossed over his chest with his red helmet still in hand. You gaped, jaw dropped.

“I- Jisung, you have a game to play,” You hissed, pom poms now dangerously close to slipping from your sweaty hands. Jisung simply laughed, inching closer to you.

“Don’t care. Can I come over after the game? Minho’s busy with an assignment, he’s such a smarty pants,” Jisung reeled off statements, each one as quick as the last one. Minho just watched him, staring at you both with an amused look. You just stood there, staring at Jisung. Felix and Hyunjin were giggling. You could hear them. Pricks. Everyone on the stalls had started to murmur amongst themselves, wondering why two of the star players were talking to some random cheerleader. “Oh my God, I know I’m being weird but stop staring at me. I promise I’ll shower before I come over.”

“Jisung! Yes, you can come over but people are starting to stare, please go to your team-”

“Alright! See you later,” In the most shocking turn of events to date, in all of history actually, was that Jisung pressed a sweet peck to your lips and skipped back to his team. That was bad enough. What made matters even worse was Minho kissing you, too, just as chaste as Jisung’s kiss. He ruffled your hair and followed Jisung off to the other end of the field.

“Well, that answers our question,” Felix said, resting his head on your shoulder. “You’re all dating.”

Hyunjin swatted Felix, still staring in the direction of Minho and Jisung. “Don’t say that. They need to actually ask her first. She’s not settling for less than that, you know?”

Unsurprisingly, the boys won. Minho and Jisung were grinning at you when the score was official, 22-16 to your university. You watched wordlessly as they bounced towards the locker room, everyone cheering and slapping each other on the backs. You knew what would happen now. Jisung would shower, and then he’d wait for you outside for you to get changed, too.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“I got loads of sweets from the vending machine,” Jisung babbled once you reached your front door. You had wondered what the plastic carrier bag in his hand was, slapping off of his jogger-clad leg while you walked home. “I wanted to show you this super cool documentary I found. It’s about this really small cat, but it’s really brave. Minho liked it.”

He was so fucking endearing. He was still going on about the documentary as you just smiled and nodded, leading him to your room. Your room was slightly embarrassing, something you noted as he stepped inside of it. It was very pink, very girly and the double bed had multiple cute pillows scattered all over it. He picked up a heart shaped one anyway, sprawling on the bed with it clutched tightly to his chest.

“So,” you began, throwing yourself onto his bed next to him. You were glad you’d taken comfortable clothes to change in after the game - you still had the nice underwear on, y’know, just in case. “Tell me more about this little cat.”

“Oh my God,” Jisung gushed, thrashing around as if he couldn’t handle how cute the cat was. You giggled, grabbing his arm to stabilise him. “It’s this little cat. He's so tiny, but he’s really brave. He’s all spotty too, like a little leopard. He’s so cute but he’s really daring. It- it kind of-” Jisung trailed off, staring at the wall.

He was getting shy. You rubbed your hand over his arm, smiling softly. “Kind of what, Sungie?”

“Kind of reminded me of you,” Jisung mumbled. His hands clenched around the pillow. “Like, it was really cute, but so brave. I showed it to Minho this morning, and - he agreed. It’s like you. You’re so brave, and cute, and you’re quite small, too. Smaller than us, I mean. You were really brave last night. I could tell you’re kinda shy, but you still spoke to us, and opened up to us. It was nice to see. I’m- I’m interested in you. I like you, I guess, we both do. I know it’s early, but-”

You cut him off with a kiss to his lips. When you pulled back, he was wide-eyed, fingers tight on the pillow. You smiled, nuzzling your nose against his. “I am shy. But I don’t feel that shy around you and Min, because… I guess I like you too. I enjoyed last night way too much to be healthy. It is early, but I’ve decided I don’t care.”

“Yay,” Jisung mumbled, and then he was kissing you again. He threw the pillow to the side, hands enveloping in your hair and pulling you closer. Kissing Jisung was like heaven. It just felt right, and it felt like a reward both times you’d done it. You wanted to do it a lot more. When your thigh shifted to get closer to him, to feel him more, you felt a solid obtrusion in your way. You blinked, forehead against his so you could stare down at his pants.

“You’re hard..?” You questioned, staring at the sizable tent in Jisung’s trousers. He blushed crimson at your statement, and yanked on his trousers to try and cover it.

“Yeah, I’m hard because you’re fucking hot,” He mumbled, looking up at you with dark, round eyes. You tilted your head, confused.

“I’m… hot?”

“You’re even hotter because you don’t know it!” He huffed, finally giving up on hiding it. He sprawled back against your bedsheets, hair fanned around his head. Now that he’d stopped moving, you could really look at it. It was clearly hard, length pressed tightly against his joggers and a spot of precum leaking through onto the grey fabric. “I came over just to talk to you, just to chill and tell you about that cute cat, and now… my dick is fucking hard.” He sounded distraught, and you giggled. Time to bite the bullet, yet again.

“Want me to help?” You asked, shifting so that you were on top of his lap. He jolted, hands coming to grab your hips with wide eyes. He moved so that he was leaning up against your pillows, and his t-shirt rose a little with the movement, exposing that delicious honey toned skin. Your eyes were fixated on it immediately. “I want… I want to fuck you, so bad. I can ride you. If you want.”

Jisung huffed again, blowing hair out of his face with the puff of air. “We can’t. Minho will want to be here the first time all three of us fuck properly.”

“Oh?” That was cute, actually. It was nice knowing that he did like you as much as you liked him, this quick, after just one night of chatting and making out. You were all down bad, all three of you. “I can jerk you off though, right?” You were talking a lot of smack for someone who’d never actually jerked off a guy before.

“Oh God, yes, please,” He whimpered, and you rolled your hips down on top of him teasingly. It made him gasp, before he was pushing you off, yanking his joggers down impatiently. You almost choked on air in shock - no wonder you could see everything, the fucker had gone commando after his post-game shower. He gripped his cock, a tight ring around the base as if to show you just how hard it was. When you looked at him, now positioned on his thighs, his eyes were watery and pleading.

“I… I’ve never done this before, so you’ll have to guide me. Tell me what you like, ‘kay?” You ordered, and Jisung nodded, releasing his cock so you could grab it yourself. The head peeked out from beneath his foreskin, wet with precum and dripping onto the smattering of pitch black hair at his base. It was thick, not overly long but a perfect length, actually. It had you dripping into your nice panties, and you internally grimaced. They’d be ruined after this. You wanted him to see the effect he had on you, and you gripped his shaft tightly, pumping experimentally.

“Oh,” Jisung whined, “tighter around the head. And- and, please, spit on it, make it wet, I-” You obliged, spitting on the head and wrapping your fingers around it just a bit tighter. It was noisy after that, making a slick noise every time you got to the head and pulled a bit more. His hips were kicking up, fucking up into your fist as he let out unabashed whines.

“You sound so pretty,” You admitted, kissing his cheek. He managed to catch you in a kiss, whimpering as your tongue swiped over his. His eyes were even glassier when you pulled back, clear tears adorning the dark chocolate colour. “I want to fuck you so bad, Jisung.”

“Yeah? You do?” Jisung asked, his hands reaching out to grab your wrist firmly. You barely managed to continue pumping past his tight grip, grinning when you saw the head of his cock get wetter. You gasped as you felt his grip on your wrist tighten even more, the pleasure-pain radiating through your body. You felt an electric shock when you felt his breath on your neck, his soft lips leaving a trail of kisses as you continued to pump his erection. You watched his thighs clench, partially obscured by the fabric caught beneath you, and his eyes shut as he let out an incoherent moan. “I’m- gettin’ there. Gonna cum soon, gonna-”

It was sloppy and messy, but you didn’t care. You felt yourself getting wetter the more you pumped, and Jisung moaned in response. His thighs clenched and unclenched as he got closer and closer to orgasm, and you knew he was about to cum. All of a sudden, you had a wanting inside of you to taste his cock, and you shifted down his legs to engulf the head in your mouth. It had a slight salty taste, not unpleasant but unfamiliar. The look on Jisung’s face was worth it. His eyes were wide, jaw dropped as you swirled the tongue over his head.

“Oh, yeah, look at me,” You obliged, looking up with doe eyes as you sucked harshly on his cockhead. You used your hand to continue pumping, and as if it was unexpected, he gasped and let out a loud whine. “So beautiful, what the fuck? I can’t handle it- oh. Oh, I’m cumming-”

The taste flooded your mouth, hot cum hitting your tastebuds. Again, it wasn’t unpleasant, just unfamiliar. You had many plans to get used to the taste. Jisung’s hand clutched your head as he writhed throughout his orgasm, deep sighs and pants coming from his lips. You ran your tongue around him one more time, before pulling off and smiling at him.

“Jeez, that was- what? You swallowed?” You nodded. Were you not meant to? You thought you were. Jisung whined, covering his face with his hands. “That’s so sexy. You’re so sexy. Can I eat you out, please?”

“Is that… will Minho be okay with that?” You replied, but you still let Jisung push you back into your sheets. Jisung nodded, yanking down your trousers. You’d almost forgotten about the underwear. The second delicate, pink lace met Jisung’s eye, his jaw dropped, and he was gasping as if he’d only just finished his match.

“Is it… does it match?” Jisung asked, and you nodded. You hesitantly grabbed your shirt, yanking it up to show the pink balcony bra that matched your thong. Jisung looked like he’d seen God, eyes wide and almost comical with the way his soft cock was pressed against the sheets. He was looking at you like you hung the fucking moon. “I gotta FaceTime Minho. Can I? He’s gonna fucking die if I show him this.”

“Woah-” You jolted as Jisung reached over, grabbing his phone from the joggers at the end of the bed. You got a nice view of his ass as he bent over, peachy and with a cute little hole begging to be teased. Okay. You’d need to address that mentally later. “You can call him, but isn’t he working?”

“Yeah, but he’ll wanna see this,” Jisung mumbled. You watched him flick through contacts until he was phoning the other counterpart to your love triad, and it only took two rings for Minho to answer. “Minho. Look.”

You wanted to hide, exposed with your top pulled up above your tits and your core clenching around nothing. Jisung hadn’t even given Minho a chance to speak, but you could hear Minho’s sharp inhale of breath through the phone.

“You better not have fucked her, Sungie.”

“No, he- we didn’t have sex, Min, promise,” You said, urgently trying to make sure the other man wasn’t angry at you. Jisung flipped the camera around again, nodding solemnly at him. “He- he wants to, um…”

“I wanna eat her out, and I’m going to. You wanna see, hyung?” Jisung was cocky when he said it, waiting for Minho’s reply with a raised eyebrow. You were baffled - you could’ve sworn you’d never heard Jisung address Minho like that. Perhaps it was only a bedroom thing? Minho obviously gave his affirmation to seeing you, because Jisung handed you the phone. You were kind of hazy from the whole conversation, and you looked confusedly at the camera when it showed you and not Jisung settling between your legs.

“Hey, gorgeous. You look tasty,” You giggled at Minho’s words. He had glasses perched on his nose and his hair was pushed back, a casual grey hoodie over his shoulders. He was so fucking cute. “Wanna turn the camera so I can see Sungie eating that pussy?”

“Mm, yeah, okay,” Jisung was nosing over your underwear when you flipped the camera around, and you obediently kept it at an angle where Minho could see your tummy and your lace-covered core. He groaned when his eyes focused on the expanse of your skin, soft under the lighting of your bedroom.

“Sungie’s really good with his tongue, gorgeous,” Minho said, and you hummed. You’d never been eaten out before and you were on edge, thighs shaking. On Jisung’s phone, you could see where the camera had started to shake from your nerves and Minho’s hand had crept into his trousers.

“Min, I wanna see you,” You groaned, head falling back against your pillows. Jisung snickered between your legs, and then he was hooking his thumbs into your underwear, pulling them down. Minho shook his head, groaning at the sight of your swollen clit pressing against Jisung’s lips.

“You can see me another time, I need to see that pussy. Is she wet, Sungie?”

Jisung ran his tongue through your folds and you jolted, legs automatically spreading wider. The sensation was so intimate, so personal and so fucking hot. “She’s fuckin’ soaked, hyung. Tastes amazing,” Jisung murmured. Then, like a man starved, he was diving into your folds. His tongue drew zigzags along your slit, licking up the accumulated slick and letting it lube your clit when he got to it. Pouty lips wrapped around the little button and sucked hard, and you whined, hips bucking into his mouth.

“He’s good, isn’t he?” Minho asked, and you hummed, eyes fixated on the mop of dark hair between your legs. Jisung looked up at you, eyes round and blown with lust, and you felt yourself gush onto his tongue. Minho groaned, clearly feeling the effects of seeing Jisung’s eyes so dark. “Tell me how it feels, jagi. I want to know what he’s doing.”

Jagi? Oh God, you could die. “It’s- he’s licking my, um, hole, and then he’s licking my clit, and it’s- ah, ‘s so good, so good, never had this before, I-“

“No one’s ever eaten that sloppy cunt before?” Minho questioned, and you moaned, letting out a small confirmation. Jisung was ravenous, head bobbing as he let you ride his tongue with the bucks of your hips. “That’s a shame, jagi. You’ve got us now, yeah? Jisung loves eating pussy.”

“I do,” Jisung added, pulling away. Then, two fingers breached your entrance and Jisung was curling them up, rubbing right against your g-spot. You hadn’t even managed to reach this spot when you were alone, let alone with the one guy you’d slept with, and you let out a squeal, almost dropping the phone. Jisung hissed, kitten licking over your clit. “This pussy’s tight, hyung.”

“Yeah?” Minho’s voice was strained all of a sudden, and you watched as he threw his head back against his computer chair. “I can’t wait to fuck you, jagi. I can’t wait to fuck you, and I’m gonna- gonna fuck you raw, and-“

“Oh my God, I’m gonna cum if you keep talking,” You whined, thrashing around on Jisung’s fingers. He didn’t pump his fingers, only rubbing his fingertips against your g-spot and sucking over your clit. It was like he knew your body, playing it like it was an instrument until it made the most beautiful noise.

Minho groaned, and Jisung had the biggest grin on his face as he watched you get closer to your climax. “Yeah? You like the idea of me fucking you raw? Maybe- maybe I’ll fucking breed that cunt, yeah?”

“Oh, fucking- shit, shit, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna- hnng, Ji, Sungie, please don’t stop, I’m gonna-“

“You’re kinda dirty, y’know, about to cum to the idea of hyung breeding you,” Jisung mumbled, but the look on his face signified he knew what he was doing. You clenched on his fingers and let out a stuttered breath, just balancing precariously on the edge of your orgasm. “Maybe I’ll fuck you raw too. Then you can have both of our loads dripping out of this cunt, yeah?”

That did it for you. The idea of them both taking you raw, fucking you until their cum spurts inside of you, both loads of cum - you wailed, sent headfirst into your orgasm. You had stars dancing all over your clenched shut eyes, the arousal leaking over Jisung’s fingers in the most powerful orgasm you’d ever had, including when you’d make yourself cum. Oh, well. You’d just have to come back for more.

When you opened your eyes, Jisung slid his fingers out of you with a wet noise, popping them into his mouth and sucking them clean. Heavy breathing directed your attention to Minho who still sat on the call, but now with his chest heaving and cum splattered on his hoodie. He grimaced, looking down at the fabric.

“Oh, no,” Jisung whined, staring up at you. You raised an eyebrow in question. “I didn’t even get to take your bra off!”

You giggled, kicking him playfully. “Are you a boob guy, Sungie?”

“Yes! Minho likes ass, I like tits. That’s why you need us both.”

You rolled your eyes. “I guess I can’t argue with that reasoning.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Your life was turning out to be a fairytale.

You hadn’t seen the boys for a week at that point, the night of yet another party. You insisted you weren’t going, but of course Hyunjin was Hyunjin and had roped you into the tightest skirt you owned and made you come. It was only made relatively comfortable by the fact you, Minho and Jisung had been texting in your recently made groupchat, and they’d be attending the party too. You could hopefully sneak away from the party with them, since you knew it wasn’t Jisung’s preferred scene either.

You pulled at the hem of the skirt, reminding you of the way you had behaved the night you first met your love interests. Hyunjin swatted your hands away this time, and Felix threw a pair of fishnet tights at your head.

“Put these on,” He commanded you. “Minho will go insane.”

He did, when you’d arrived. Felix and Hyunjin had made a beeline for the kitchen when you got to the massive house - which you now knew was Minho and Jisung’s, along with the rest of the football team. You’d wanted to psych yourself up a bit, get yourself ready to see the boys, but you’d come face to face with them as soon as you’d entered the room.

“Oh,” Jisung blurted, eyes trained directly on your thighs. Minho was engrossed in conversation with Chan, but when Jisung grabbed him by the arm to turn him towards you, his jaw dropped. His eyes scanned down your body, completely bypassing the skirt and fixating on your semi-exposed legs.

It had you staring at him, too. You had Jisung in a sexual context, but you were yet to see what was hidden between Minho’s legs. They were both dressed in tight leather trousers, Jisung pairing his with a sleeveless black blazer and nothing underneath. Minho, however, was in a sleeveless khaki tank top, and you thought your heart had stopped. You needed to take it off. He looked built underneath, now that you weren’t seeing him in his baggy football jersey or a comfy t-shirt.

“Oh,” You returned Jisung’s statement. Minho had tits, built pecs that deserved your teeth sinking into them. You couldn’t believe you were being such a pervert, but when you finally looked up at Minho’s face, he was smirking.

Jisung giggled. “Okay! I think we need to get you two upstairs. Lovely to see you, Hyunjin, Felix,” You watched Jisung nod at the two in greeting. The two bastards you called best friends were grinning, elbowing each other in glee as Jisung linked arms with you and Minho. You let yourself be dragged upstairs, and it took everything in you not to fall over drooling at the sight of Minho’s thighs in those tight trousers. When you arrived at their shared room, Jisung shut the door behind you, before staring at you and Minho with an incriminating look. “Are you two in fucking heat or something? Like, damn- oh. Okay.”

He was cut off by Minho throwing you against the wall, one hand yanking your hair back to force his tongue into your mouth. You whined, letting him dominate your lips with his own, and your hands came up to grip his biceps.

When he pulled away, you chased his lips only for him to reach up with one hand and wrap it around your throat, pinning you back to the wall. “Please tell me you’re going to fuck me,” You huffed, eyes flickering to Jisung. “Both of you. I haven’t drank anything, you stole me before I could.”

“Please don’t tell me you’re a brat,” Minho retorted, his nose nuzzling against yours as if he was about to kiss you again. He didn’t, only a teasing brush of his lips. “I’ve already got one bonafide brat to deal with.”

Jisung gasped. “Hey!”

Minho shrugged. “It’s true,” His eyes turned back to you, blown with lust. You could see his erection pressed against his pants, and you fixated on it, licking your lips. He chuckled. “Alright, gorgeous. I’ll be nice to you today. Get on the bed.”

You blinked, moving over to the makeshift bed. They’d pushed them together again, and you weren’t sure if they’d just left them like that after last time or if they’d done it tonight. Either way, you were pleased at the idea of you all curling up and sleeping together again.

“Sungie, c’mere,” Minho mumbled, and then in a scene that could have only come from your wet dreams, he was kissing Jisung. His hand was on the back of his head, and the other rested on his waist, pulling him close to kiss him deep and hard. It was filthy, and you squirmed against the sheets, pouting. You wanted to kiss Jisung too.

“Me next,” You blurted. Jisung pulled away, giggling, and then he was climbing onto the bed to loom over you.

“Greedy. I told you I like it when you’re bold, ‘s so sexy,” His lips met yours with a wet noise, tongue automatically pushing into your mouth. The way Jisung kissed always enraptured you - dirty, filthy and open mouthed always, whereas Minho was more precise. You liked the way they balanced eachother out.

“Sungie, you can fuck her first. I want to find out what she likes,” Minho commanded, joining the two of you on the bed. He managed to position you so your back was to his chest, and Jisung was in between your legs, crotch pressing against yours in those fucking leather pants. “I’m guessing you like me talking to you, gorgeous.”

“Yeah, ‘s hot,” You replied, shifting so your hips grinded up against Jisung’s bulge. Jisung sighed, moving to join you in the teasing push and pull. His shaft brushed up against your clit, and you could feel everything from his base to his cockhead. Even just dry humping him felt fucking delicious.

“She likes the idea of being filled up with cum,” Jisung contributed, his lips moving to suck marks into your skin again. He seemed to love doing that.

“My question is, do you like it rough? Would you want me to slap you around a bit, hurt you?” Minho said. His lips were brushing against your earlobe and you whined, bucking up into Jisung sharply.

“I dunno- I dunno, I’ve never tried it,” You admitted, and Minho hummed. Then, with a swift move, his hand was coming down to smack sharply onto your thigh through your fishnets. You gasped, and a gush of wetness flooded your panties. “Oh.”

“She liked that, I fucking felt it,” Jisung mumbled, hair floppy over his eyes. His lips were wet, and you grabbed his head and traced the pouty flesh with your tongue. His hands went up to your top, pushing it up and exposing your bra to both of the boys. Minho was helpful in unclasping it and dropping it from your shoulders. You felt like a doll, lying there surrounded by them both while they touched you all over. It was worth it for the look on Jisung’s face when he saw your tits, and then he was sucking one of your nipples into his mouth.

You were so on edge it didn’t take long for you to babble. “Oh, fucking God- Ji, Sungie, harder, suck harder, bite them-“

“Bite them?” Minho scoffed. “You do like pain, huh?”

Jisung’s teeth nipped at your bud teasingly, and you squealed, chest arching to meet his mouth. He pulled away, grabbing both tits in his hand and burying his face in between them. “These are magnificent.”

“I’m really happy for you that you like them, Sungie, but I think she might die if she doesn’t get anything inside that cunt soon,” Minho sighed, and you wanted to kiss him in gratitude. You really were about to die.

Jisung nodded obediently, and then he was giving Minho another chaste kiss before inching your skirt up your legs. He struggled with the tight material of it, before he finally got it situated at your waist, and then he couldn’t get the fishnets down. He was struggling, you could see that, and Minho reached over with a sigh and positively ripped the fishnets open.

“Jesus, Minho! They were Felix’s!” Minho shrugged, and then he took the extra, most annoying step and ripped the lace of your panties open, too. Jisung sat there slack jawed, palming his erection over his tight trousers when your pussy was revealed to him, glistening wet in the light.

“You’re soaking, my baby,” Jisung murmured, eyes fixated on your folds. You wiggled eagerly, making Minho pin your hips down. “Do you want my cock?”

“Yes! Wan’ it, wanted it since I saw it,” You whimpered, and Jisung grinned. You watched as he yanked his blazer off, revealing that tiny waist, and then you moaned when he pulled his trousers down and his cock sprang out. It was leaking for you once again, hard as a rock and he pumped it twice, moaning. “Stop teasing, Jisung.”

Minho leaned over, running two fingers through your slit before humming. “Jisung, fuck her. She doesn’t need any prep.”

“You sure, hyung?” Jisung looked at him with wide eyes. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

The way they were talking about you like you weren’t even there had more arousal burning in your gut. Minho just grinned, pinching your thigh again just to hear you squeak. “I’m pretty sure the pain will only make it better for her.”

Jisung nodded, and then he was positioning his cockhead at your entrance. You were wet, embarrassingly so, and he teasingly rubbed his cock against your slit a few times. “You still want it raw?”

“Please, oh my God,” You simpered, whining as his tip breached your hole. It was a stretch, but you loved the feeling of it, the large vein on his cock providing the best friction you’d ever felt. The hair on his pubic mound grazed your clit once you’d bottomed out and you gripped Minho’s forearms from where he sat behind you.

Jisung immediately started thrusting feverishly, his hair hanging over his eyes as he felt your drippy hole clench around him. You could feel yourself gushing, covering his pubic hair and his shaft with an embarrassing amount of wetness. You whined when Minho pinched your nipples, his chuckle shaking his chest where it pressed against you.

“Look at my greedy kitties, huh?” Minho cooed. Jisung whined in response, leaning down to suck more marks into your neck. You arched your back, trying to get more friction on your tits. “Fucking each other so desperately like that. It’s so fucking cute. Should I play with these?” He brushed his fingers over your nipples again, and you nodded eagerly, jolting when his fingers pinched the buds meanly.

“Hyung, ‘s so wet, oh my fucking God,” Jisung’s voice was high pitched, his eyes rolling back into his head. “You’re gonna fucking die when you get inside, I can’t- can’t handle it, I-“

“I think you’ve driven him pussy drunk, kitty,” Minho mumbled in your ear, making you giggle. “Is it good for you?”

“Hnng, yeah, he feels so thick,” You were sure you had a permanent, blissed smile on your face while you let yourself get fucked up into Minho. Minho grinned back at you, kissing your hairline. Jisung was drooling into your neck now, thrusts uneven but still feeling so, so good inside of you. “Mm, I want it deeper, please, Ji.”

“D-Deeper? Yeah, yeah, I’ve got you baby,” He nodded, pushing your legs up against your chest. “Hyung, hold ‘em. Please.” The ‘please’ seemed like it was added as an afterthought, but Minho chuckled and held your legs up anyway. You felt a bit disappointed his hands weren’t on your tits anymore, but when Jisung began to thrust again, it hit your g-spot incessantly with his quick pace. You whined, throwing your head back against Minho. The jolt of ecstasy that you’d felt when Minho slapped you was something you were absolutely desperate to feel again, however.

“I- I wanna be slapped again, please, Min-“

“My hands are busy, filthy girl,” Minho hummed. “Jisung. Slap her across the face.”

“The- the face?! Hyung, oh my God-“ Jisung looked wide eyed between you and Minho, but you didn’t miss the way his hands tightened on the bed sheets next to you.

“Slap me, Sungie, please. C’mon, I know you’ve got it in you, I know you want to-“ You were cut off with Jisung’s hand raising and slapping you clean across the cheek, and then you were cumming. You gushed around Jisung’s cock, wondering why it felt so, so wet all of a sudden, and Jisung let out a deep moan.

“You are a fucking menace. Greedy, filthy, oh my God, squirted all over my cock, like what the fuck?” Jisung whined, and you lifted your head up, looking down. You had, actually, and you’d had no idea. “I’m going to cum. ‘S too wet now, hyung, I’m gonna cum.”

“Cum then,” Minho sighed. “But you better be eating that cum straight out of her pussy and letting her taste.”

You whined, nodding, and then Jisung was cumming. His hips stalled as he came, one long, drawn out moan falling from his pouty lips. You felt the warmth fill you up, and you looked up at Jisung with doe eyes. He pulled out, his cock softening, and you expected Minho to let go of your legs - he held you further up, instead, baring your gushing hole to Jisung’s mouth when he shifted down to stare at it.

Then, his tongue was licking through your hole with intensity, scooping up his own cum and holding it in his mouth. He leaned over you, and you let your tongue loll out of your mouth to accept the mixed flavours of you and him. It was so fucking dirty, but you could feel your pussy getting wet all over again. Just when you thought you were meant to swallow, Minho was pulling you back by your jaw and kissing you filthily, swallowing the taste of yours and Jisung’s cum. You moaned, shifting to move onto Minho’s lap and straddle those beautiful fucking thighs.

“Need you, now,” You murmured against his lips, licking along the seam of them. Minho smirked, before he was pulling your head back by your hair.

“I think I decide what you fucking need, don’t I?” He replied, eyes dark and staring into yours. Jisung snickered from next to you, sprawled leisurely and with a now-hard cock again. What the fuck? Did his refractory period not exist, or?

“You’re in for it,” Jisung chirped, and you blinked hazily.

“Are you going to be mean to me, Min? Haven’t even seen your cock yet,” You pouted, and Minho laughed, shoulders shaking. That answered your question.

“Why don’t you take it out then? Have a look at it, kitty,” He laid back, and you nodded. You felt a little silly, fishnets ripped all over, tits out and your skirt in a strip of fabric around your waist, but you didn’t care. Minho was looking at you like you were the best meal he’d ever seen. You shifted backwards, undoing his trousers and trying to yank them down his thick thighs.

Woah. That was the first thing you thought, looking down at the massive bulge in plain black boxers with a small amount of precum leaking through. Fucking big. Thick. You wanted to make grabby hands and throw a tantrum, but you held onto the last bit of dignity you had and pulled his length out of his underwear. Fuck. His shaft was flushed, long and thick, with a perfectly shaped mushroom head leaking small pearlescent drops all the way down onto the shaft. The dark, coarse hair was perfectly trimmed above his length as if he'd planned this. How could his cock be pretty too? No wonder he walked with such an air of confidence.

“I’m g’na sit on it,” You blurted, staring at his length. Jisung chuckled, and when you turned to him, he was pumping his cock again. Seriously, what the fuck?

“You’re going to do what I fucking tell you to do, kitty. Face down, ass up. Put your head by Jisung, c’mon,” Minho commanded you. When you moved to get up, you watched him rip the rest of his trousers off and pull his vest top off, exposing the expanse of his body. He was ethereal - dusky pink nipples on built pecs, and his arms were so fucking big when paired with the rest of his slight frame.

You flipped over nonetheless, trying to calm the panting breaths flooding from your lungs. Jisung spread his legs and let you rest your head on his thigh, only a few inches from his cock. Oh. That’s why Minho wanted you like this. Jisung grinned down at you, and when you tried to get his cock in your mouth, you were alarmed by the sensation of Minho’s cock pressed against your hole.

“Ready for me, kitty? Are you ready for me to breed this slutty fucking hole? I am going to be a little mean to you, you know,” Minho said, his tone low. You nodded, nuzzling against Jisung’s thigh affectionately. He returned it with a soft scratch to your scalp, one hand still pumping his cock. You watched the muscles of his tummy clench as he did so, humming in appreciation. They were both so sexy.

“Give it to me, Min, I can take it,” You murmured, and then he was bottoming out. He was longer than Jisung, hitting your g-spot with minimum effort from the position you were in, and you whined out, legs thrashing.

“I thought you could take it,” Minho scoffed. “You’re talking big for someone with such a tiny little fucking hole, huh?”

“I can take it-“

“Occupy your mouth with something else instead,” He interrupted you, and then he pointed at Jisung. “I don’t want to hear you whining, either. Legs up.”

Jisung’s eyes went wide. “Hyung-?”

“Do you want to make your Sungie feel good, kitty? It’s not fair he has to jerk off while watching his two loves fuck, right?” Minho cooed. His hips were slapping against your ass, making you gush and moan around him. You hated the way he sounded so unaffected while you were struggling to put sentences together. “There is something he really likes.”

“Yeah, y-yeah, I wanna make him feel good-“

Minho rewarded you with a slap to your ass, before yanking your head up by your hair. “Jisung. Legs up.”

Jisung obliged, pulling his legs up and apart. From this angle, you could see his hole, fluttering around nothing. It was as if he realised what Minho was planning the same second you did. “Oh, a-are you gonna lick me there, baby?”

“Mm, I want to,” You moaned, trying to escape Minho’s firm grip on your hair. “Min, can I?”

“Good kitty for asking,” He dropped your hair, moving his hand underneath you to rub your clit in precise circles. It heightened the pleasure tenfold, and you gasped, pushing your hips back against him. “That’s it. Fuck your hips back on my cock and lick his hole, fucking slut. Our slut, yeah?”

“Your slut, both of you,” You confirmed, nodding, before your head was delving between Jisung’s legs. He squealed as soon as you licked over his hole, something you’d wanted to do since you saw him grab his phone in your room. You let your ass bounce on Minho’s cock, his hand slapping your flesh every now and again and the other massaging your clit.

You realised very soon that you were going to cum for the second time, and you broke away from Jisung’s ass to look at Minho with pleading eyes. “Please, please, Min, m’close, need it…”

“What do you need, kitty? Do you need more?” Minho asked. You nodded, laving your tongue over Jisung’s balls and making him whine. You felt his hand move from your asscheek to trace his thumb around your second hole, making you jolt, until you were closing your eyes in anticipation. Minho chuckled. “Oh. You want this?”

“I- I’ve never…”

“It’s fuckin’ amazing. Hyung, finger her ass. She’ll love it,” Jisung contributed, and when you looked at him, his hand was pumping his cock again. You let your head delve down to lick over his asshole once more, with renewed fervour this time, and you giggled when Jisung moaned loudly. You were glad the party was still going on, music drowning out any noises that could fizzle from the room.

Minho slid his thumb into your ass, and you felt your legs tremble. Being filled like this was insane, his cock still bullying into your pussy and you couldn’t help but imagine it being the both of them - Jisung in your pussy, Minho in your ass, or vice versa.

“God, we’ll have to both fuck your holes at some point,” Minho grunted. The noises from your pussy were erotic, slapping wet noises and keens coming from your mouth, too. “That ass looks so fucking tight. Would you like that?”

You nodded, whining. “I want you both to cum in both holes, fill me up- oh, oh my God, I’m gonna cum, Min!”

“Ah, really? You want one of us in each hole? That’s fucking dirty, kitty,” Minho’s hand slapped your clit, one, two, three times, making you gasp and lean upwards to suck on Jisung’s cock. It made him jolt, and he pushed it into your mouth, groaning with a tight grip on your hair. “C’mon, then. I think you deserve to cum. You’ve been such a good girl, taking my cock like this, huh?”

You let yourself pop off of Jisung’s length, drooling on the tip. “T-Thank you! Thank you, Min, I’m gonna cum so hard, for you, for you both-” The orgasm exploded in a more full-body sensation than your last one, but you could feel your wetness leaking all down Minho’s shaft. It still pistoned in and out of you, lengthening your orgasm and making you squeal in delight. It felt like you’d been coming for about ten minutes straight, until Minho was leaning over you, pressing his chest to your back. Jisung was pushing your hair out of your face and still pumping his cock steadily, staring into your eyes.

“I’m gonna breed this fucking hole. Such a slut, letting me go raw,” Minho mumbled, almost to himself, hips making you shift up the bed. You took Jisung’s cockhead into your mouth again, sucking hard, and then he was jolting. “Cum in her mouth, Sungie. I’m going to fill up this fucking pussy, so perfect for me, molded to my fucking cock…”

You moaned when you realised you’d be taking two loads that night - probably even more from them both when the party was over - and then Minho was bottoming out, filling you up. It dripped out around his cock with the sheer amount of it, and when you caught sight of him over your shoulder, his ears were flushed a crimson red and his lips were parted, letting out a deep sigh. He looked gorgeous.

Unshockingly, Minho wasn’t at all talkative after he came, and he collapsed on you with an ‘oomph’, cock still inside you. He watched you jerk Jisung’s cock, and chuckled when Jisung whined and his toes curled.

“Need’a cum again,” Jisung moaned, his chest dewy with sweat. “Fuckin’ need it, hyung, baby, shit, please help me, I need more-“

In another brief moment of confidence, you kept pumping Jisung’s cock and sucked one finger into your mouth, slipping it into his hole beneath heavy balls. It only took one, two thrusts of your finger before he was gasping, and cum spurted out like a fountain over your fist. After you kept pumping steadily, he pushed your hands away with a whine from the overstimulation.

“That was…” Jisung spoke, chest heaving. “Jesus. So good.”

“I loved it,” You cooed, running your hand through Minho’s hair where his head leaned on your shoulder. “Minho, your mouth is fucking dirty, you know that?”

“I wish I could talk like that in bed. I get too shy, I just blabber,” Jisung admitted, and when you looked at Minho, his cheeks were burning the same shade as his ears. His eyes were flickering between you, and then he bit your shoulder softly, playfully.

“You’ll both learn!” He chirped, pulling out of you and walking over to get some towels from the shared wardrobe.

“C’mere. Cuddle time,” Jisung chirped, and you giggled, sidling up to his side with your head on his chest. He still had cum on the bottom of his tummy, and you still had cum dripping out of your pussy onto the bed, but you didn’t care. You didn’t even care you were still in most of your clothes. Minho did, however, and he groaned in exasperation with a white towel in hand when he turned around and saw you two.

Minho crept onto the bed, wiping your folds and then Jisung’s tummy. You both giggled when he kissed both your foreheads before tossing the towel onto the floor, cuddling in behind you. You were in the middle again - just the way you liked it. Minho ripped your fishnets the rest of the way off and somehow managed to get the skirt detangled, leaving you in just your top, now rolled down. You shifted onto your back, letting them both cuddle into your chest.

“I get too shy too. I just beg, apparently,” You murmured. “I wish I was better at talking. Inside the bedroom and outside.”

“Do you ever wish… that someone could fix you? Like, fix what’s wrong with you?” Jisung asked, eyes staring at the ceiling. “I always wished someone could fix the way I am. How awkward and shy I can get, and stuff.”

“I don’t want someone who’s going to fix me,” You said, head falling onto Minho’s shoulder. Jisung stared at you attentively, eyes wide. “I just want someone who’s going to hold my hand while I try to fix myself.”

Jisung looked at Minho. It was like two seconds of unspoken conversation, then he spoke up. “How about two people?”

Right, that’s what you’d wanted to ask.

“Guys, I wanted to ask… are we… dating, like all three of us?” You mumbled, twiddling your fingers.

“I thought we were, yeah,” Jisung responded quickly, kissing your cheek. Minho scoffed.

“I want to ask you both properly. God knows neither of you are going to ask me,” Minho pulled you both into him, and you turned over and sidled up to him obediently. His chest was still flushed, a blotchy rash on his skin from the intense bedroom activities.

Jisung, however, tries to push him away, resuming his position behind you. “Hey! I totally would have asked.”

“No you wouldn’t, and that’s okay,” He kisses Jisung’s forehead, and then yours. “I like both of my shy babies.”

YOU WATCH ME BURN

pairing: felix × fem!reader

words: 2.1k

about: where felix counts every single red flag he has missed, looking at you through rose tinted glasses and he realizes: love has an expiration date

warnings: toxic relationships, manipulative behaviour, swearing, bruises, implications of cheating, mentions of alcohol abuse, exhaustion and overexertion, reader is a grade A asshole, allusions/mentions of hickies

a/n: a wild fucking ride fr

“ wake up and start a big fire in our one room apartment, but I'm too tired to have a pissing contest.”

Felix Lee — a bad liar with a savior complex. He’s more than that though. He’s in love with love, a staunch believer of fairy tales. He’s an idealist, a sentimental dreamer. He makes love look like an art form, looking at the world through rose tinted glass.

And you? A realist.

Turning corners at the last but one crossing of the junction, Felix decides: love has an expiration date. He falls in love easily and the fall-out is painful.

With each step towards, he is dreading being home. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s what he is yet to say. Maybe it’s all the expectations weighing his back from Chan, Jisung and Minho. But whatever it is, it’s fucking unfair.

Time ticks by painfully fast. His watch feels heavy on his wrist, it’s ticking in sync with his heartbeat, in sync with his steps, in sync with his derailing thoughts. And this synchronization is distressing.

And soon enough, he’s there — that one room apartment he’s been dreading. You on the sofa, cross legged, so unassuming, so fucking indifferent. Your eyes leave the TV to meet his, some rom-com continuing mindlessly, and you smile.

He does too, instinctually.

Your eyes are red-rimmed. Your cheeks tinted red. Have you been crying? His resolution all but crumbles.

Because despite who you are, despite his fragile ego, you are the tears of his crying.  You are the starlight in the evening, the smell of the rain. You’re spilt coffee and his teenage spirit — his twin flame. And Felix is a hopeless fucking romantic.

But he’s tired. He’s far too exhausted. And he needs to let go of every emotion he has left unexpressed.

 “W-we need to talk.”

Felix curses himself for the stutter. His voice is unfaltering, his stutter being his only show of vulnerability. He’s never heard himself like this. He has never been like this. But it all comes back to you — you bring out the best in him. You bring out the worst in him.

He watches your smile drop, as you shuffle further away to make space for him on the sofa. It’s cold, this proximity no longer giddying for him. He feels your eyes on him, intense and scrutinizing.

He inhales deeply, holding his breath for counted seconds before releasing it in a staggered exhale. It’s unhealthy, he tells himself. Whatever it is between you and him, it’s fucking unhealthy.

“This,” he says, gesturing the little space between both of you. “This is not working. And you know it.”

His eyes sting. It isn’t supposed to be this hard, goddammit. Words are caught in his throat, so easy to swallow, so hard to let go.

“Felix, you—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts. He sees you; sees your eyes well up, hands moving quickly to wipe any possible show of vulnerability. He wants to reach for you, wipe off your tears and hold your face in his hands — index finger behind your ear as always — but he stops himself.

“We’ve been through this. And whatever this is, it’s eating me alive from the inside, goddammit,” his voice breaks, a deep baritone and occasional silence. “And you know it. I love you; I love you; I fucking love you. But this? I can’t do it anymore.”

“Felix.”

You sound timid, broken. Nothing he has ever heard from you, ever. Felix walks a tightrope with you, his name is enough to make him consider swallowing his words to have you back in his arms.

But he won’t. He cares far too much.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t want to do this.”

You. It’s always been about you. Since the day he exhausted his collected confidence in sliding his phone to you across the table for you to save your number in his contacts, it’s always been about you. He is an expert in making himself smaller to watch you grow, to see you flourish. It has always been like that.

Felix doesn’t love. He falls in love; dives in headfirst and skids ten feet deeper. And now, he was breathless, drowning. He wanted out.

“I need to do this.”

You stare at him, wordless. Perhaps even speechless. You’re a wreck — smudged mascara, swollen eyes, tearstained cheeks. Hell, he’s a mess — a well represented mirror image of you.

“Do you want me to leave?” He asks. He’s prepared to leave, only awaiting permission.

“Yeah.”

He stands up, quick, no hesitation. He dusts off his sweatpants, fixing the creases before glancing at you: a mess through and through. He moves to leave, the open door so inviting, only to be stopped by your voice.

“Felix?”

“Yeah?”

“I hate you.”

Unexpressed emotions never die, brewing within you to show up in their ugliest forms. Felix, convinces himself.

The walk to the dorms is exhilarating and liberating, somehow all at once. The winter breeze blowing unforgivingly at his face was his stone-cold grounding to reality. Felix is a dreamer, of the sentimental sort; but this flat sobriety, he chooses to indulge in.

How long has it been? Days, weeks, months since he had spent a night in that crammed bedroom, a shared space for him, Hyunjin and Minho. He had priorities, places to be. Every trail of thought returns to the same thing — you.

Chan is the first face he sees — of course, worried, tense, empathetic. Chan hopes for the best and prepares for the worst. And so he did today, at the sight of Felix’s red rimmed eyes.

“I told her.”

Realisation. These three words are simple but explanatory. Chan all but combusts, his grin stretching from ear to ear, dimples at full display. And if Felix spots correctly, a touch of pride.

“You guys are done?”

“We’re done.”

Done. Such an easy way to put it. So complete within itself. A clean end with a well punctuated full stop. Nothing like what he feels.

“Fucking hell, Felix.”

A third voice joins: Minho. Rejoicing. Positively fucking glowing. What did they all spot that Felix managed to miss?

He is enveloped in hugs. Once. Twice. Thrice. Each of the boys holding him for what seems like forever. As if he were a lost child with his found family. Staggered breaths and hearty laughs. They loved him for him. Lee Felix, not Felix from Stray Kids.

12:35. And he's alone again, this time by choice. He lies on his back, wide eyes staring at the glow in the dark stickers peeling off from the ceiling. He missed this. He missed the forced proximity the dorms brought to him and his members. He missed having a life that stretched beyond you.

He can hear Minho's breathing from the bunk below, slow and sustained, somehow giving him a sense of tranquility.

Minho positively hated you. From day one, when you walked into the dorms, your hand carefully held in Felix's. And Felix had smiled, introducing you to the members with the title: my girlfriend. And you had smiled too, staring up all wide-eyed and innocent at Chan, Hyunjin and Minho.

Chan and Hyunjin had indulged for their friend's sake, breaking into wide grins and cheers of "Lix, you got her, man," and "She's sweet, take care of her, Lix."

Minho only stared, eyes narrow and speculative as he took in your appearance. A white Celine t-shirt — Felix's — tucked neatly in a black pencil skirt, fucking pretentious.

And Felix had glared at Minho, for the first time, before he finally obliged and smiled at you, quickly excusing himself and slipping into his dorm room.

Minho knew. So did Hyunjin and Chan. They had counted every red flag he had missed, looking at you through rose tinted glasses.

Felix remembers inviting you to watch their dance rehearsals. You sitting comfortably on the sofa while he worked on the muscle memory of the choreography. Minho corrected him; once, twice, thrice. His shoulders were too stiff, his footwork too messy, his beginning was off beat and his isolations not sharp enough.

He could feel your eyes on him, sometimes glazing over to Minho. His ears only burnt a darker shade of scarlet with every mistake.

He remembers Minho pulling him to the corner by the sleeve of his shirt.

"This is not working out, man. Either spend time with your girl or work on what pays our bills. Not both at once."

Felix saw red. What was his fucking problem with you? Deep breaths to talk himself down from all the choice words that were yet to be thrown at Minho. He clenched and unclenched his fists behind his back.

And smiled, so alluring. So easy.

"Yes, Hyung."

But Felix was a hopeless romantic. His problems subside when he looked back at you. Love fixes everything.

Now he knew ofcourse, the bittersweet aftertaste of your love still so fresh in his mouth. Love can't fix everything. Hell, love can't fix a damn thing.

"I can't believe you guys can dance like that," you lean back, your shoulder pressed to his. "Like how you move? It was so. . ."

Your voice wanes as you look for the best way to describe what you had seen.

Felix had grimaced, memories of Minho's corrections still fresh in his mind, " Wasn't that good. My shoulders were stiff and clumsy footwork."

You grin, relentless.

"But still. And Minho. Fuck, how is he so . . . fluid?"

He shrugs, half-smile still on his lips. He did admire Minho for the sort of unwavering effort he put in.

"He's like that. There's so much to learn from him."

You're talking. And Felix is not listening. His eyes wander to your face, the way your lips move, your hands gesticulating wildly. He likes you. He likes how you look in his hoodie — so cute, tousled and relaxed. He can't help himself.

You're cut off mid sentence, words caught in your throat as he holds your face in his hands, his lips assuredly on yours. He handles you so carefully, as if you're a cut of glass waiting to be shattered further. His vision wavers and his heart swells. He's kissing you.

He pulls back, breath staggered and heartbeat uneven. You're staring at him, blinking.

"Maybe I should watch you and Minho rehearse again sometime."

And fuck, if only he knew.

There were nights spent going out, getting drunk in the corners of shitty clubs with music even shittier. But he'd do it, just for you.

And those nights, where he'd have to carry you home. Despite you hanging off of some stranger's arm not less than an hour ago, the smell of drink that stranger bought you still lingering in the air.

Nights when he had to hold your hair back as you were bent over the sink, whispering his constant assurance of "it'll be okay" despite being the one without a drop of sleep the past week through.

And your voice would break the silence while you both sat with your backs pressed to the cold tiles of the bathroom wall, so timid, so fragile.

"Felix?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

And he all but falls in love again.

He had never smiled brighter. Despite his muscles aching from hours of practice, his smile stretched from ear to ear, so complete with the rose blush on his cheeks.

Love fixes everything. It always did.

Felix was past the point of a breakdown. Seeing you lie so unruffled on the couch in that pink satin clubbing dress he bought you — so unbothered. Alcohol in your breath, your arms littered with bruises from you running into furniture while dazed and most importantly, the big red bruise on your throat that stared back at him so tauntingly.

It was a pretty colour. Almost turning a purple-lilac in its edges, so close to the colour of your dress. But all appreciation of the colour went out the fucking window because he wasn't the one who gave it to you.

He was tired, muscles aching from the three hour long practice session when he had gotten a call from Yeji. And so utterly in love, he had drived half an hour out of town to that god forsaken club to pick you up.

Your words are so soft under your breath, terribly close to going unheard.

"Felix?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you so fucking much."

And that's was when he decided, it was too fucking much. You. Him. Everything.

And now? Months later, Felix is still learning.

He is learning to forgive the past — that the most beautiful of things come to an end; that sometimes time isn't right, sometimes the person isn't right, you weren't right.

He is learning to wake up alone in the middle of his bed, that just because he doesn't love doesn't mean he didn't love. He's learning how to hold his own hand, how to take up space by himself, how to stop filling voids and start healing them.

He is learning how to love himself.

hes too fine im genuinely going to piss and shit my pants

he’s smooth with it …

… i think i feel smth for meruem… from hxh… jus a lil smth… maybe the tiniest of crushes like THE ABSOLUTE TINIEST OF CRUSHES

toy wagons & heartbreak ✧ huang renjun

✧ pairing: artist!renjun & dancer g/n! reader

though dancing is not as touched upon for reader as artistry is for jun

✧ wc: 4.4k

✧ genre: fluff, angst; best friends to lovers

✧warnings: language, brief description of a nightmare, cheating, suggestive? sorta.

"shove off, you bastard. i hope your mom chokes on a bag of cocks today and your dad gets his beer bottle shoved up his ass!"

the sudden and very vulgar outburst brought attention to the relatively short male in the back of the classroom. no one knew who he was. hell, they didn't even realize he could even speak. he was always mute and his ‘cool’ demeanor didn't help his case. silence followed for the next few seconds until a certain individual cracked, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"dude, what type of fake british accent was that? you sounded like marie antoinette, but male. and very, very american. and she had had her head cut off already!"

the male that seemed to prattle off nonsensical insult after insult, lee felix, was doubled over. your fellow classmate’s arms were wrapped around his sides, laughter practically deranged. but, it helped. the merriment and joy the laughter brought.

it eased the tension in the room. soon, the whole class had reached a volume that could only be described as boisterous, cacophonous laughter permeating into every corner of the classroom. even the assistants in the class laughed. the teacher had a very strong look of distaste on her face. but, even the corners of her lips were turned up.

"jun! what the heck? i said at lunch, not in the middle of math class!"

another voice rang out. it was yours. the sentence wasn't heard very clearly, though. even you were laughing. the room seemed to be alight with a positive aura. and not even the quiet kid at the back of the class, huang renjun, (who also doubled as your best friend) could hide his smile. not even he could deny how relaxed the atmosphere had gotten.

of course, all good things must come to an end, right? and that moment of seemingly infinite bliss? oh, that was simply too good of a thing for you to experience. it was such a blessing of a moment, that you ought to have deemed it a curse.

your dream quickly turned for the worse as the vivid colors flashing behind your eyelids darkened, the joyous laughter from before transforming into something more sinster. you had no idea what was happening, the younger you being replaced with you from the present as you were being caged in by-

—

you awoke with a start, a hand clutching your chest. that wasn't exactly a memory you were fond of. you probably would've been close to forgetting about it if you hadn't dreamt of it tonight. when you took in your surroundings, the realization that you weren't in the dance studio anymore hit you.

that was the last place you remember leaving your room to go to, planning on venting out your frustrations in a form of art. and seeing as drawing and making music weren't exactly your forte, perfecting choreography was your next best choice.

seeing as how someone had to come and find you, that may not have exactly gone according to plan. every time you moved your legs, sharp pains shot throughout the rest of your body. sure, you could call it ordinary soreness. but, unfortunately, you have become painstakingly aware of how many bruises seemed to accumulate when you danced while upset.

but, that was beside the point. the pain could wait. right now you’d rather focus on the fact that you were in a bed. a very nice one in fact, although there was something wrong. you couldn't quite place your finger on it but maybe it had to do with the person sleeping next to you.

wait, there's a person in the bed. next to you. sleeping. next to you. and they’re…shirtless?

you had to stop yourself from emitting a scream that would've awoken the penguins in antarctica. instead, you settled on scrambling out of the bed, relieved to find that you still adorned the clothes you had left the house in the previous night. the sleeping person turned their body so they were facing you.

'more like sleeping beauty. jesus christ. he's so fucking pretty, oh my god. and his lips, oh my god. his lips. fuck. i bet he has a really pretty smile, too? oh god, he does, doesn't he? oh, fuck me.'

a smile adorned the unknown male's lips. well, 'unknown' is a false statement. the shirtless male was in fact your childhood best friend, and self-proclaimed platonic soulmate, huang renjun. he had gotten used to this behavior in the early morning. it was something you went through often when he had to pick you up from the studio.

he hadn’t been asleep at all. he woke up an hour ago, your movements in the bed much too erratic to even attempt sleeping through. the clock had stated that it was an alarming four-thirty in the morning. the sun wasn't even close to rising, yet here you were.

"aw baby, if you like my lips so much, why don’t you kiss them already, hm?"

that's when you seemed to snap out of your very sleep-deprived daze and you looked at renjun, your shock obvious on your face.

"...what?"

"unless you're all bark and no bite."

"okay, wait, you- what's that supposed to mean exactly?

"ah, so you're unaware that you said all of that out loud like two seconds ago. figures. although i gotta say, i especially liked the part about my lips. do you think about them that often?"

you blanched and stared at the male across from you incredulously. you couldn't have said that out loud. you were just having very, very loud thoughts. you were sure of it. until y'know, just now, you'd reckon.

"oh, jun. i'm sorry if that made you uncomfortable. i didn't mean that—"

"you didn't mean it," a pout took over renjun’s lips, his bottom lip jutting out which only made it seem fuller than it was. and all the more inviting— "a true shame. i would've liked a kiss from you."

there was a hint of sadness in his voice. no, not a hint. he didn't even try to mask it. all the emotions in that sentence were clear as day. disappointment, as well as sadness, were crystal clear.

"okay no, because what's that supposed to mean?"

a breath. a pause. a sigh.

"nothing. just go back to sleep."

and just like that, it was as if renjun was never awake in the first place. he was out like a light. which only left you with so many questions as to what just occurred. 'what the fuck?' seemed to be the most frequent one you asked though.

then, something happened that threw the both of you for a complete loop. you found yourself getting back in the bed, only this time you sat directly on top of renjun. he awoke easily, eyes wide and void of any sign of fatigue.

he blinked up at you blankly, unsure of what to do with you or with his hands.

"may i…help you?"

"cut the act and just kiss me."

renjun leaned in, much to your surprise, even if you had told him to do it in the first place, and placed a bruising kiss on your lips. it was intense as if he was trying to convey all of his emotions into a sloppy transfer of spit. you weren't even sure if this could be called a proper kiss, but your brain was functioning too slow at the moment to catch up to what was happening right now. hands roamed across any surface they came in contact with, yours eventually resting atop renjun's chest and his wrapped around your waist.

when you pulled away from each other, he busied himself with wiping his mouth of the spit at the corners with the back of his hand, while you attempted to hop off of his lap only to be pulled back down by his free hand.

renjun sat up, eyebrow raised at your attempt at a hasty getaway, grabbing your hips again in attempts to pull you closer still. he said nothing, which left you to internally panic in the mildly uncomfortable silence. unfortunately, your mind was on the edge of going completely blank as you tried to let your brain catch up to what just occurred. and what was currently still very much happening.

but catch up it did not, seeing as renjun pulled you in for another kiss. only this time, it was much softer. there wasn't any real urgency behind it. it was as if you melted together, breaths soft and eyes closed. it was only the two of you and that was all renjun needed. that was all you needed, even if you hadn't come to that conclusion yet. your arms moved to wrap around his neck, fingers softly combing through the hair at his nape, renjun’s hands grasping onto your sleep shirt.

this time when you pulled away, you didn't rush to get off of his lap. silence filled the room, the only sound being your combined breathing as you swallowed nervously. okay, so 'what the fuck?' was what you wanted to say. it seemed to be your favorite phrase lately. until renjun beat you to it and broke the silence himself. with a much more sophisticated question.

"uhm, do you wanna talk about that?"

"no. let's just be quiet for now."

but, quiet never lasted long when it came to the two of you.

"i think i’m in love with you."

the words weren't loud. they were soft. and you thought that if they had been any quieter that you wouldn't have caught them at all. but, you're sure you did. you're so, so sure of it.

"what?" a whisper.

it was dead silent in the room. the only sound that could be heard was the soft tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall in renjun’s bedroom.

"i didn't say anything."

renjun uttered out, cheeks aflame with embarrassment.

"but, you did. you,” a quiver in your voice made itself present. “you said you were in love with me. didn't you? you did. you did, right?"

the worry couldn't stay out of your voice as much as you had wanted it to. your heart rate was increasing, panic settling in now as the weight of everything started to creep up on you, planting itself atop your shoulders little by little.

you were scared.

scared you were still dreaming, and that just made this whole scenario up.

scared that you and renjun didn't just kiss twice.

scared that the boy whose lap you were sitting on wasn't actually underneath you at all.

scared that your feelings weren't unrequited after all. scared that they were.

you were terrified, actually.

renjun could sense that. he'd be a fool if he didn't, seeing as the air in the room is so still that he automatically picked up on when your breath hitched and became more of a panicked pant rather than a steady inhale-exhale cycle.

"okay, hey, wait. hi lovebug, i’m right here,” he rubbed your back gently, attempting to get you to calm down.

“i did say it. i’m pretty sure that i’ve been in love with you since fifth grade."

"fifth grade?"

your voice cracked and renjun finally took this moment to look back up from his legs and at you. your eyes were filled with unshed tears, both from your panic and from the situation in general. you were just so overwhelmed and were struggling to process any of this fully.

yet, that's not what renjun wanted. he didn't want teary eyes and soft voices. he wanted to hear the same words uttered back to him. he wanted a kiss, a touch, anything other than the silence that's filled with tension so high-strung that choosing to break it could be a very dangerous game at this point.

yet, some part of you convinced yourself that this was some sort of cruel joke. you liked renjun, loved him even. yet, you were so unsure. so you opted to remain silent. and a hush fell upon the room.

—

the words circulate through your head for hours on end. you're still at renjun’s house but you’ve moved away from his room and into the little office space he considers his art studio. You’re careful not to touch any of his pieces, fearful of messing one up.

as your thoughts race, you look around and analyze his works. while you’re not an artist and don’t have a keen eye for detail yourself, you’ve gone with renjun on enough trips to the art museum that you deem yourself knowledgeable enough for this.

the small pile of blank canvases spread across the floor that are intermixed with unfinished designs reminds you of something. he had told you recently that he’s hit an artist’s block, a ‘very hard, and a very mean one’, according to him.

he had confessed this to you in a joking manner but you knew it was affecting him more than he let on. how could it have not when it was what he’s done his whole life? none of his art coming out the way he wanted, none of the messages he’s trying to convey shining through.

you glance at the crumpled sheets of paper that lay about the trash bin, some torn from his sketchbooks, others from plain college-ruled notebooks. it was if you could feel his frustration emanating from that pile, his own perception of failure that had been weighing down on him, the standards far too high.

if only he could see how wonderful he is, you wished. you’ve drawn before sure, whether it be begrudgingly for a school project or for fun while you’re at the park. but, you truly believe that renjun’s art belongs in museums. he’s on a different level than you, something that was made well aware when you took that art class together in grade school.

you always tell him that the fruits of his precocious labor deserve to be shown off internationally, to be appreciated by all. he'll brush you off with a shy smile and change the topic every time but it never affected your admiration for him. it only made you say it more often.

the corners of your mouth lift up in a small smile as you catch a glimpse of the piece he made up back in your sophomore year of high school. you asked for a portrait, not of yourself but of things he associates with you.

“so, you want a collage then?”

“no, make it in the shape of me, just not of me.”

he still understood the assignment despite your confusing instructions and came over to your house to give it to you a month later. you brushed off his rushed apologies for how long it took and held out your hands so he could hand your the finished project.

your expression was nothing other than pure joy as you took in his art. the outline was the shape of you sitting with your head back. ‘’must’ve been a photo he took of me while we were hanging out’, you thought as your eyes moved slowly across the canvas. you picked out certain things, like pokémon and anime characters, sheet music and a tiny break dancer. each thing you recognized brought an ecstatic giggle out of you and renjun breathed out a quiet sigh of relief.

while he knew you’d like anything he makes no matter what, this work stressed him out because he saw you as way more than the things you have interest in or made a part of your life. but seeing your satisfaction and how your eyes shine with wonderment, he thinks he genuinely did a good job.

your arms engulfed him in a tight hug, thanks spilled from your lips as his arms came around your stomach.

“thank you junbug. i really like it.”

you pulled away and he flashed you a bright smile.

“anytime, sugar.”

the petname earned him a pinch on the cheek but he still thinks it was worth it.

—

as you pull yourself out of the memory, a smile on your face, you realize a couple of things.

renjun’s love was always evident, obvious even, but he always masked it under the guise of your best friend. he’d always done anything he can for you, offering up a helping hand no matter how grueling the task. even if he pretended to not like you sometimes, he was always ready to risk it all.

yet, he also protected you often. like tonight, for example. you wouldn’t have stopped until you literally couldn’t move anymore at the studio. and maybe you couldn’t when he had come to pick you up, you can’t recall. but the outlying fact is that he knew where you were in the first place. you wonder if that was the first place he went or if he had to think about it. nonetheless, it doesn’t change the fact that he knew.

you thought back on your feelings, on your relationship with your best friend, and your feelings for said best friend.

you always thought he’d be a good boyfriend to somebody, not specifically to you but you can’t lie and say you haven’t entertained the thought. nor can you say you’ve never thought about kissing him.

you had a crush on him before, it was always a random occurrence. a wave of emotions far more than platonic for renjun coming up all at once on more than one occasion.

but, do you harbor those same feelings now? is the question you can’t answer.

—

you padded softly back into renjun’s bedroom. you didn’t exactly expect to find him sleeping again but you can’t say you expected to find him up drawing either.

“hey.”

it was soft, hard to catch and laden with emotions you couldn’t decipher.

“hi.”

and silence befell the room again. you at the doorway and him on his bed. he had yet to look up from his notebook while you focused your gaze on the ground.

maybe if you stared hard enough you could fall through it, and avoid this. the entire interaction. maybe it’ll be one of doctor strange’s portals and you could go back in time to before the confession.

renjun sighs before putting his items on his nightstand and looking up. if you won’t start, then he might as well do you both a favor and get this over with. it’s simpler that way anyway, he’s never been a ‘beat-around-the-bush’ person, as far as anyone else knows.

“i understand if you don’t reciprocate my-,”

“i like you, too.”

you had started talking simultaneously, as your head finally lifted in order for you to meet his eyes.

your confession shocked yourself as much as it shocked renjun. he had prepared himself for rejection, having accepted it as his fate already.

“you, you, you what?”

“like you? back?”

you didn’t doubt yourself but, it was hard not to consider you had let yourself say whatever you felt right at that moment without inhibition.

“are you sure? i’m completely fine with being rejected, y’know. i can get over it-,”

“no need to, jun. i’m sure.”

you took your first step since having walked back into the room and sat on the edge of his bed. you looked at the wall in front of you, which adorned the pieces that had been recognized in competitions, all of them earning nothing less than the ‘gold’.

“are you, sure you’re sure, though? like-,”

before renjun could continue on any further, you moved close enough to cover his mouth with your hand. you sent him a bright smile before speaking.

“yes. quite, actually. so, if you may be so inclined, could you be my boyfriend?”

you let your hand fall from his face and he sent you a playful glare before replying.

“despite the fact that your question was grammatically incorrect, i’m quite sure my answer is yes.”

“hush you.”

you looked into his eyes, and the both of you broke into a wide grin before he pulled you into a quick kiss.

"hold on, you said ‘like’. i said ‘love’, there is a difference in the-,”

you placed your finger on his lips and tilted your head as you smiled.

“i love you, too. is that better?”

“much.”

—

fifth grade was what renjun had said to you that night. you're in your last year of high school now. the confession was said a little more than 1 year ago. yet, your dynamic has changed remarkably.

you two don't just talk while expertly skipping over any hints at a love life anymore. you don't just hold hands ironically, only to pull apart with an offhand remark towards the clammy state of either of your hands anymore. you don't just eat lunch together because he’s your only close friend anymore. now, you do so much more than that. all the little things that were considered platonic, all the actions that the two of you did due to how close you were to each other had so much more significance to them now.

the times you two locked eyes across the hall, or a classroom, a smile would find its way onto your face, a warmth blossoming throughout your chest.

or when it’s ass’o’clock in the morning, yet not actually morning, renjun finds himself in his room, texting you. as if it’s routine, there’s never any real topic of conversation, he just wants to talk to you. you're half asleep yet you're doing everything in your power to send mildly coherent responses. it's not exactly going too well.

long after you've stopped replying for the night, and after the crickets have stopped chirping and the moon is shining her brightest, renjun wraps himself up in his thoughts. they used to shroud him in darkness, leave him cold, and choking on his sobs in the middle of the night. holes and spirals he'd go down, the escaping so much harder than the fall.

but now?

they wash over him gracefully, a cascade of emotions that can only be summed up to true happiness. he had you to thank for it. your smile, the way you hit something, or someone, every time you laugh, the way you don’t feel as if you have to act polite and cute in front of him.

he used to admire you from a position he thought he would stay in forever, so close to you yet so far from where he wanted to be. but now, you’re within his reach, within his grasp.

and it’s obvious from the closeness of your bodies as you walk the streets of seoul late at night, to the secret moments you share in bed together. the soft kisses exchanged, the questions you ask each other that the both of you may have to thank TOK courses for having the ability to answer. the intimacy of it all, it was addicting. it made both of you feel wanted, appreciated, and loved by the other.

which is why the night when renjun walked in on you sharing that intimacy with someone else, it hurt. the closeness of your bodies, the flirtatious giggles, all of it.

it hurt him so bad. he couldn't fathom the reality of it all. he questioned himself as he took in th scene before him. was he not enough? was he merely just an object now? no longer the person that made you happy? that made you feel loved anymore? did you not want him anymore?

his questions were answered when he heard you utter the words 'i love you' to the unknown person. his heart dropped. tears clouded renjun’s eyes as he stormed into your shared bedroom, heart torn in two. sadness and rage dying down to a mere dull ache in his heart.

you looked up quickly, eyes widening. your hair stuck to your forehead, face flushed and covered in a sheen of sweat. immediately, you pushed the other person away, who had attempted to cower under the covers.

"renjun...i-,"

he shook his head, still in disbelief but unwilling to near any sorry excuse you had at the moment. his eyes bored into yours, excpet they weren't relaying the love and compassion you had grown used to. it was anger.

"save it. i spent most of my life loving you. for an entire 10 years, my heart was yours. i didn't look at anyone else with the same adoration i held for you. i didn't even think about anyone else. you were it for me. you were the only one i truly thought i could spend my life with. but i'm pretty sure i won't be thinking of you like that for a long time now. so, i hope the person under the sheets knows that you're a fucking dick. and i hope you know that, too. especially you.”

as renjun’s ramble dies down, his heart swells tremendously, with emotions he can't describe, tears slipping down his cheeks.

he shakes his head again, bottom lip quivering. he wipes the backs of his hands across his cheeks as he turns on his heels and leaves. he hears his name get called as you rush to pull yourself together and chase him out. he doesn't listen, he keeps walking.

a hand catches his wrist, and he doesn't turn. he keeps walking, dragging you behind him without a single care.

"hey, i'm not a fucking toy wagon, stop fucking walking."

"why should i? why don't you go back to fucking around with that boy you love so much? he seemed cute. and if you don't want to get dragged, get the fuck off of me then."

"if i let go, you'll leave. i can't lose you, jun . i’m sorry, i’m so sorry from the bottom of my heart. just, please, don’t leave me. i can’t lose you, i can’t. i, i can change? it was stupid, that was stupid. i wasn't thinking straight and i'm so, so sorry. junnie please, i can't lose you.

he scoffed, still not glancing back.

"you lost me the moment you decided that that was a good idea. the moment you went behind my back to satisfy your need for something i obviously wasn't giving you. you haven't ‘had’ me for however long that’s been going on. get that through your thick, fucking skull."

at that, renjun pulls his wrist out of your grasp. you were spared no attention as he walked away, blending into the crowd.

oh, and then it started raining. well, that's always fun.

— © jijiluvr 2021, all rights reserved

THSI WAS SO BEAUTIFUL BUT SO SAD?!!? I LOCE IT SM BUT JAEM </3333

water fountain

pairings: lee donghyuck x reader, na jaemin x reader

genre/s: suggestive, angst

warnings: suggestive content

word count: 0.8k

a/n: a little surprise lolol, hope you enjoy!

tags: @neowritingsnet @czennienet @kpopscape @nct-writers @culture-cafe @ultkpopnetwork

—

Stars glow bewitchingly under the noxious night, enchanting anyone under its gleam. In the serenade of late night’s dim glimmer, the stars act as a choir; singing in infinite patterns.

The extravagant Chevrolet Corvette stays parked exquisite, allowing heads to steal glances as it appears deluxe; proving that luxury is a definite thief of scrutiny.

Graciously, Donghyuck grabs you by the hips; pulling your delicate body in as you fall breathlessly onto his figure. The Lee catches your plumped lips in his after brief departure, despising any loss of physical contact. He repeatedly leaves honeyed whispers into your ear, allowing your breath to get stuck up your throat in bewilderment.

Donghyuck holds your body tighter inside his arms, guiding your body towards the Chevrolet Corvette’s back seat as it is more spacious in comparison to the passenger seat.

Your hands find their way towards his soft locks, plunking them eagerly as your lips move together messily; not exactly in concurrence. Donghyuck’s hands continuously travel on your exquisitely breathtaking body, feeling every inch of it on top of his own.

“My phone-” You whisper breathily as the bothersome noise of your phone ringing agitates you both. Donghyuck lets out a groan in grievance, stretching out his arm in order to reach for your phone; acknowledging that it could be extensive.

“Who is it?” You ask as he stares at the caller id, letting out a chuckle afterwards.

“Na is calling, cute.” Donghyuck states as a smile out of mockery commences to play on his face.

“Did you have a date or something?” He questions gravelly, dropping her phone onto the passenger seat as his lips find their way back onto yours.

You throw your head back as his lips come in contact with your bare neck, one of his hands rests on your hip as the other fiddles with the hem of your top.

You hardly succeed in letting out a “Yeah” since Donghyuck’s lips sucking on your neck don’t exactly allow you to put together meaningful words.

“You’re bad.” Donghyuck whispers on top of your lips as he reaches towards your phone once again, switching it to silent mode.

“Tell me about it.” You roll your eyes, stating one last as time before the phone is long forgotten.

The two of you focus all of your attention on each other for the night inside the Chevrolet Corvette, bodies pressed tightly onto each other. You feel exceedingly captivated by the burnette, much more than you would like to admit. From the way his body delicately dances on top of yours to the way your name easily slips between his lips. Everything about Lee Donghyuck is more than enchanting and you seem to lose yourself under his spell even more as time passes, melting into every touch.

Though, things don’t feel as euphoric for the Na. A bouquet of dazzling red roses sit loosely inside his grip, about to fall any moment. Jaemin stands still in front of a water fountain, the water fountain you had told him to meet up with you just hours prior.

His expression is dull, no emotion seems visible yet he feels as though tears can stream down his face any second if someone ever slightly touches his figure.

Na Jaemin is absolutely broken. He blames himself for falling in so deep to the point where he has no idea how to get up.

You were the one who reached out. You were the one who told him to wait for you by the water fountain, where you had first confessed your love for him.

Oh, Jaemin swears that he would give up anything and everything to go back to those times. To the times where you visibly held so much adoration for him. To the times when his love received some type of reaction, some type of response.

I guess this is the reality of life, he whispers the bitter truth to himself as the tears he had been holding in for so long finally escape his eyes, coming in contact with his cheeks.

By now, Na Jaemin drops the bouquet made of alluring red roses onto the ground. He is crying, he really is crying because of you. The Na feels pathetic, absolutely pathetic. Yet he can’t seem to help it. He can’t seem to put a stop to the tears falling from his eyes.

That day, his hope gets destroyed. His plans of confessing the amount of adoration he holds for you get crashed.

Na Jaemin couldn’t tell you he loved you by the water fountain, though his tears sure were an accompaniment to the water falling out of the fountain.

After all, water fountains are always crying. How could be have expected to live through a pleasant experience with you in front of a broken water fountain?

starry night sky ✧ ten lee

summary: stargazing and handholding, eyes locked and mouths upturned in smiles. yeah, he loved you.

wc: 671

genre: fluff; best friends to lovers sorta kinda??

warnings: none

there you were. as you sat on the blanket you had set out only moments before, the boy next to you had his eyes on you as you had your eyes on the stars above.

he contemplated saying a corny joke, ‘the stars are beautiful tonight’, yet he’d be looking at you, as you marveled the wonder that was night sky.

ten could’ve sworn he saw your eyes twinkle as you watched the sky in awe.

a small smile had found itself on ten’s face as he inched his fingers closer to yours. unfortunately, the reaction that the action brought out of you wasn’t necessarily what he was hoping for.

when you had felt the warmth atop your hand you practically screamed, thinking a bug or something of the sort had crawled onto you. you just about snatched your hand away, the feeling of fear swelling up quickly.

but, when you looked over at your hand to find ten’s hand suspiciously close to where you just jerked your hand away from, you put the dots together.

“okay i’ll admit that hurt my feelings a little, but are you like, okay?”

an apologetic smile on your face, you intertwined your fingers with his, looking at him.

“i sincerely apologize for hurting your feelings, but yes i am. i thought your hand was like a bug or something.”

“okay, that's a bit demeaning, don't you think? these are worker’s hands, y/n. they are not to be compared with that of a measly bug.”

“you’re such a fuckin’ dork, oh my god.”

your words may have seemed harsh but between the fondness found in his gaze and the smile that's subconsciously spreading across your face, there was no malice to be found in your banter.

however, his eyes had held you captive for a bit longer than what was comfortable. your face grew warm under his gaze and you let out a nervous laugh.

“hey you, whatcha lookin’ at? i got something on my face?”

you tease, leaving ten’s face to flush as he realized his ogling hadn’t gone unnoticed.

he turned away with a nervous chuckle of his own, scoffing as he did so. he was so obviously trying to play it cool but, right now it sounded like he was imitating a dying cat. it was surprisingly on point, all things considered.

you bit your bottom lip to try and hold back the peals of laughter that you wanted to let go so bad, but nothing could slip past ten. after all, he's your best friend.

“whaddya think you’re laughin’ at, shortstack?”

he rolled over, crawling on top of you. his face hovered over yours and he stared into your eyes, wondering if you'd allow him to get lost in them for as long as he wanted. your breathing was shallow as your eyes went from his eyes to his nose, to his lips and back up.

“hey, ten?”

"yeah?”

“your hands are small. they're not at all like worker hands.”

you giggled as you said it, and he decided he had enough of your teasing for the night.

"oh yeah?”

“yeah. also, i don’t know who you’re calling short stack. we’re the same height. if anything, i’m taller. so, your statement is fal—"

you were cut off by a sudden pressure against your lips. your eyes widened in surprise as you realized it was ten’s lips against yours. your shock subsided and he pulled away. slowly, the realization of what he did dawned on him.

“shit. shit, shit, shit. i’m so sorry. i just really wanted you to shut up, and trying to pull that movie cliché is not like the best course of action. also, i like you but that’s no excuse. y/n, i’m sorry, like genuinely, and—"

this time you shut him up. you kissed him, your heart swelling in your chest as blood rushes to your face. you pulled away, breathless. “i like you and your bug hands, too. don't worry.”

— © jijiluvr 2021, all rights reserved.