Insert funny title here

Minho's warmth and weight presses down upon you when voracious want encourages you to the floor. No chance you’ll make it to the bedroom now. No chance you’ll start to care.

He thoughtlessly shoves the coffee table aside, a strong, one-armed push toppling candles and scraping the carpet. There's still not enough space; his shoulders are just shy of the gap between sofa and table, cramped in tight. Breathless giggles emerge when he mumbles frustration, the position so inaccessible; his left elbow bumps the sofa when he drags your bottoms from you, your right knee catches on his hip, wedged between him and the furniture. It's desperate. Hot. Safe.

With lower body clothes removed he speaks against your lips. “Why do I only feel like myself when I have you?”

Keen lips trail to your chin, your jaw, his breath hot and tinctured boozy peach. A shiver wracks you. “Min—”

He hushes your need, his right hand disappears between your bodies. In aligning himself the gentle prod against your sensitivity melts your sense; it trickles out through your ears and forms a gooey puddle beneath your head. Minho grins, slicks his thick tip through your wetness to have you tightening around sad, frustrating nothing. Your arms wind around his neck, your back arching from the carpet, he slips his other arm under you.

“Please...”

He hums, the rumble of his chest under his thin shirt strong against where your heart rabbits. Careful is the easing thrust; he breaches you and holds his breath, the impending satisfaction so close your skin burns and sizzles, lightheaded with the sense of him. Gradually impaled by his thickness, Minho keeps you flush, curling over you when fully connected. He's so fucking big— was he always this big? He says he feels like himself when he has you. What a notion to feel so removed from earthly shackles when you take him.

“God,” he groans low. The shells of his ears are burnt beneath light strands. He stills and searches your face, eyes shimmering like disturbed winter water thawing in spring’s wake. You squeeze around him, wanting more. The little black box is wide open, contents spilling out in gloopy waves.

His jaw locks. “Fuck, baby.”

“S— Sorry.”

He huffs a laugh, kisses your breathless apology away, starts a pace that demands you feel every inch of him with excruciating slowness. Partly the restriction of the space he has to work with, partly his desire to drag this out. It’s been so long, after all. He rolls deep and firm, the glide made sultry by your arousal. He slips his arm out from under you, weight braced on forearms either side of your head. The cage restricts senses to nothing but the man above you, inside you; his musk, his raw heat, his listless breaths near inaudible if not for the strain of pleasure. You cling to him tightly, content to stay as this forever.

“D— Don’t stop,” you plead.

“Could it be anyone?” He kisses your lips. “Right now, like this? Could it be anyone?”

“No. Just you— fuck. Only you, Min. Only ever you.”

“Not only ever.” He groans. “Just right now. Right here.”

You search his burnt, beautiful face.

“It’s okay,” he says, his smile sure. “This is okay. Be with me.”

You nod, welcoming him close as he buries his head in your neck; his soft sounds in your ear, and you’re floating. Reaching up and beyond him, you clamp a grip to the edge of the sofa. Your heart pounds so erratically it might actually fail you; Minho pulls back, slips a hand under your loose shirt, closing warm over your chest— your heart.

“Breathe, darling.” He pats your skin in rhythm with the rapid thud beneath his palm. “Slowly. Properly.”

You try, the exhale breaking to a whimper as it slips from you. Minho kisses you. “Again.”

A deep inhalation, the smell of sex and sweat and lingering peach. Doesn’t reach your lungs, your body quivering as orgasm descends. He slows, stills, sheathed completely as you tighten around his thickness. He groans from the depths of his lust, jaw slacking to penetrate deep, pubic bone and base against your clit.

“F— Fuck— Minho, I— I can’t—”

“Oh, baby, you can. You can do it. Use me.”

He grinds slowly, no movement made to slide from you, the penetration still to allow you full sensation. It’s like nothing hitherto experienced. Heaven if heaven had lips and a cock.

Stimulated by g-spot and clit, by his length and the mound of his groin pressed against you, melty delight liquefies your bones, elevates you to dreamlike state.

“That’s it...” He hisses through his teeth. “Mhm, darling—”

You fall to pieces; he catches them all, wanting and waiting for the moment he may let himself go. But only when you’re done.

Only ever when you’re done.

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >

Tears break. Your feeble self-control shatters. He pulls you to the floor, and you meet him on your knees. Arms around his neck you pull him close. He melts into you, curls down until his head finds your lap. He cries quietly, no fuss made, his shoulders wracked with tremors that in turn bring your own turmoil: every sob splits your heart, a wicked drill to concrete. You card carefully through his soft locks to ease his distress, until eventually and after long moments, he breathes steadily.

He loves you.

You knew that. You know it. This is just the first time he’s said it with such intention. Ever.

“Chan and I talked,” you whisper. Both a bid to bring him back and to let him know you’ve not been taking your time apart lightly.

He sits up, curiosity glimmering through the upset. He stays close, knees touching yours.

“He apologised for everything.”

“Wow.”

“I know. I was just as floored. Turns out there are a lot of things we didn’t know.”

“I figured he had his baggage. Dude’s a walking red flag.”

You laugh gently. “He’s not so bad. He’s just trying to figure it out. As are we all.”

“So, what was his problem?”

“I... It’s not really for me to say. He was hurt in the past, pretty badly. I suppose I triggered that trauma on a level even he wasn’t prepared for. He’ll probably tell you about it if you ask him.”

Minho sighs. “I’ll let it sit for now. As long as you’re good?”

“Yeah. All good.”

“I can take him off my hit list?”

You roll your eyes, prod his knee. He smiles, features softening.

“Speaking of hit list...” Now is as good a time as any to broach it. “Jisung’s off mine.”

His smile disappears. “What?”

“I, uh... called him. The night we broke up.”

He blinks, his thick lashes clumped.

“He took me out for ice cream.”

“Ice cream? That’s where you disappeared to?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t tell you why I called him at all, so don’t ask. I was in pretty bad shape. But he was so kind to me. He’s a good person. Good for you. Better than me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true, Min.” Shame rises in your chest. “You were right about me. Sometimes it could have been anyone underneath me. Inside me. I was content to keep screwing around with Changbin knowing you were waiting for me at home.”

Minho searches your face, not a touch of shock about him.

“I wanted it all. I wanted you, I wanted Changbin. I even thought about Chan that way, too. And I hated him.”

“Jisung?” he asks.

You nod. “I’m not proud of it. Some of the things I thought about—that I still think about—they’re not right.”

“Says who?”

“What?”

“Who says the things you think about or want aren’t right? It’s not like you can control those urges, and—I hate to break it to you—but you’re not special like that. I have my own desires just as you do. There have been times my mind has wandered so far from the things I would, in practice, actually do, I’ve frightened myself to death. We just do our best to act the right way. So, if three super-hot, famous rappers are what you want, more power to you.”

“I also want you, though.”

Minho smiles. “I know, darling.”

You sigh. “I’m trying to accept these parts of me without spiralling. It’s hard, but I’ve had to learn.” You fiddle with a thread on the carpet. “Another thing I owe to Jisung, I suppose.”

He cocks his head, brows knitted.

“We’ve, uh... been pretty close. Since that night, I mean.”

“Interesting.”

“He pointed me in the direction of a good therapist. Paid for it, too. I— I’ll pay him back though, of course. I’ll find a way.”

Minho’s quiet, takes a moment to process.

“Wait.” Realisation widens his eyes. “Yesterday—”

You grimace.

“You were the friend he was with?”

“Sorry.”

“But— Why not just tell me?”

“He panicked.”

“Why?”

“He felt guilty about us hanging out without you.”

“Oh, please. I’m a charity case now?” He rolls his eyes. “I mean, it would have been nice to know all this, but whatever.”

“We didn’t mean to keep it from you. It just... never came up.”

Minho sighs. “It’s not your fault. I know I haven’t been the easiest to approach.”

He tries to smile, and reliance on expression failing him, tentatively reaches to where your hand rests on the carpet, his palm folding over it. Your heart thumps.

“It feels good to talk to you like this,” he says. “Part of me wondered if we ever would again.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Gaze on your linked hands, he says, “I really wish I'd known all this before.”

You watch his side profile, pulse throbbing steadily.

“I could have reassured you of so much. Of all of this.”

“I know. My fear got the best of me.”

“That’s okay.” His thumb runs over your knuckles. “Just so long as you stay open with me, now that you have. I don’t want to see you clamming up again. Tell me what goes through your mind. Tell me if it’s too much. Tell me if it’s not enough. Tell me, and I’ll be there, and whatever it takes to bring you back, we’ll do it together.”

You nod, tears stinging your vision. “Right.” You sniff hard. “I’m so sorry, Min.”

“Shut up,” he whispers. “No more apologising.”

He takes your chin between his fingers, soft colour blooming in his cheeks. He leans in, air shimmering. Pulsating. His gaze drops, traces your lips, flicks up. Plush lips part and a warm hand slides under jaw to your nape as he tilts and kisses you. You clasp his wrist where he holds you and fall into him, a willing victim to the desire that for long weeks has been starved— he tastes like bitter peach; like every lonely evening wish and shit decision.

Like home.

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >

With every peachy shot it’s harder to draw your eyes from the man. Much less when he complains of being too hot and stretches the neck of his shirt, fanning himself. A sheen of sweat glistens over his nape, dampens the light strands of hair. He rolls his sleeves to shoulder, the swell of bicep and veins in his forearms visible. It’s inappropriate to sit and salivate, but the little black box is none deterred. Doctor Kindelle would tell you to sit with your feelings and understand them. You’re not sure doing so is safe, in this moment.

Down with the next shot.

“You know what? You were right.”

He turns back to you, the move requiring some effort until his legs are tucked under him and his right arm is propped on the sofa.

“This is a bad movie.”

“Mhm. People only think it’s good because the remakes and sequels have been so fucking terrible. Makes them appreciate it more.”

“It’s just so... cheesy. Everything is so overdone.”

“Yeah. Nobody remembers that when they’re telling you what a cult classic it is, though.”

“I guess we only ever recall the good about the things we used to love, huh?” he says. His gaze falls.

“I guess.”

He fingers his glass, swallows thickly. Tension infects the moment. The bloody finale plays out in the background. The screams somehow help.

“Say it, Min,” you whisper. “I don’t know how much longer I can bear this.”

His starry stare coils around your self-control and squeezes. He understands perfectly what it is you struggle to contain, for he feels it himself. He’s just better at hiding it. Has always been. He’s always been better at everything than you.

“I miss you,” he says.

Fuck.

“I see you every day, and I miss you. I’m with you now; you’re right here, and I still miss you.”

Blood coagulates in your veins.

“I don’t think ending things was a mistake,” he says, voice thick. “But I'd be lying if I said I didn’t have my regrets. I wish I'd tried harder to understand how you felt about everything.”

“I didn’t even understand it, Min. You stood no chance of working it out.”

“Do you now?”

You nod. “I think so. I know that I miss you too. Terribly.”

He smiles.

“When you told me about what happened with Jisung—”

“My delivery left a lot to be desired.”

“It did. But I... should have controlled myself.”

Minho looks at you quizzically, as he has looked at you so many times before and with such desire to simply be let in.

You take a deep breath. Better late than never, you suppose.

“I have these... compulsions,” you say. “Urges. Fantasies. Call them whatever, but they make things difficult.” You can’t look at him. If you do, you’ll stop. “I managed it fine for years, but then things changed. With us. We met 3racha. It was all so much at once. Things that I'd only imagined—things that were supposed to stay as imagination—were actually happening, and I… It overwhelmed me. The heat. The lust. The endless possibilities. I wanted to do things, Min. Shameful things.”

“Like what?” he whispers.

“I wanted to be used. By all of you. In every way imaginable. I wanted to be fucked until I could no longer tell who was fucking me. Until I was nothing but sensation.” You swallow. Can’t look at him still. “But more so than that… I wanted to watch you using each other. The beauty of it just— It is sexual, but it’s more. It’s heavier. Like watching stars die out. You’d be… you would all be fantasies, right in front of me, shimmering and untouchable, and I’d watch, waiting for you all to explode right as your pleasure peaks and your bodies slide together. Then you’d die out. And that would be okay. It wouldn’t be fair to the world for you to keep existing. For me to keep watching. But I’d want you to take me, too. One bright flash and we’ll be nothing but red mist.”

Minho’s eyes shimmer in the light of the lamp. You keep going.

“When you told me about Jisung, the compulsions came back. They overcame me. I had to remove myself, and I know that made you think that I was upset or jealous. I wasn’t. I was just... trying to keep it all together. Trying to shove all the urges back into their box before I lost myself to them.”

Minho takes a breath. His mouth opens and shuts, he bites his lip. “Wow. That’s…”

“I know it’s a lot. I’m sorry. I don’t blame you for being disgusted—”

His jaw locks as he frowns. “Why couldn’t you have told me all this weeks ago?”

“You know why.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Goddamn it.”

“All I’ve ever known is having you by my side. If I'd told you the truth of what made me, who I really am, I— I couldn’t stand to lose you.” You huff a breath. Almost laugh to think of it. “Then I did anyway.”

“You haven’t lost me.”

“But we—”

“I love you, you stupid girl. I love your fucked up way of thinking and the things you try to hide from me. I love them. I love you.”

Oh.

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >

Bringing his freshly roasted marshmallow to his mouth, Jisung blows on it gently, watching the golden-brown surface. He can barely contain his excitement to savor the perfectly toasted treat and as soon as it cools down, he stuffs it whole into his mouth. One side of his cheek puffs up even more as he stores the marshmallow there, wanting to savor the sweet flavor that melts on his tongue as slowly as possible.

Grabbing another marshmallow from the package and putting it on his stick, he manages to mumble through his puffy cheek. "So...who's gonna sleep in which tent?"

Jisung's eyes lift from the marshmallow, and he looks around for an answer from his friends. However, they all seem too occupied with their own marshmallows to pay attention to Jisung.

With a groan, Jisung huffs "Hello, anyone listening?" as he continues to stuff another newly grilled marshmallow in his mouth.

His mouth is barely closed due to all the marshmallows he has been stuffing in it for the past 10 minutes since the group sat down to grill marshmallows.

Catching sight of him, you can't help the faint chuckle that escapes. His expression is priceless, eyebrows furrowed, mouth full of marshmallows threatening to fall out, and a pair of eyes that are flickering around.

Deciding to go camping with the other memberd wasn't that bad of an idea after all. At first, you had been hesitant to join, worried about being an outsider in a close-knit group. The thought of tagging along with Jisung and the boys was fun but you wondered if they might prefer to keep things just between themselves, without someone's girlfriend intruding on their fun. However after some convincing from both Jisung and Chan you finally gave in.

Your worries soon faded once the trip started. To your surprise, the boys acted completely at ease, they carried on as if you were just another one of the guys. Watching them joking around with the explicit jokes that men often share with each other and laughing heartily over jokes that only they seemed to understand. It was a relief that they remained unchanged in front of you and you realized that being with them was not only fun but also made you feel more connected to Jisung and the rest of the group.

Realizing that nobody is paying him any attention, Jisung grows increasingly frustrated. In a moment, he reaches over and pinches Hyunjin hard on the arm, who is sitting beside him.

"OUCH!!" Hyunjin screeches after feeling the sudden pain. He quickly brings up his free hand to rub the spot where Jisung has pinched him, trying to soothe the sting that lingers on his skin. "Dude, what's that for?!" Hyunjin hisses, shooting a glare at Jisung, clearly irritated.

"I asked a question and nobody answered, and you happen to be next to me" Jisung replies dispassionately with a shrug, nonchalantly reaching over to grab another marshmallow to roast over the flickering flames.

"Why did you pinch me when Y/N was even closer to you?!" Hyunjin protests. His eyebrows knit together in confusion as he gestures toward you, who are enjoying the sweet marshmallow.

Jisung only rolls his eyes in response, uninterested in defending his action, while Hyunjin stares him down. After not receiving an answer from Jisung, he decides to let it slide, only this time. Hyunjin let out a frustrated sigh before he shifted his focus back to his own marshmallow which is probably done by now.

But as he lifts it up from the flames his excitement quickly turns to distress. Instead of his carefully roasted golden-brown marshmallow, he was met with a charred ball on his stick. Hyunjin's eyes widen in disbelief as he examines the state of his once-perfect marshmallow, which had turned into a blackened, burnt husk.

"Dude!" he hisses, glaring at Jisung, who is unaware of the chaos he has caused.

"You distracted me, and now I've burned my precious marshmallow!" His tone is full of disbelief as he holds the ruined treat up for everyone to see, as if it were a tragic victim in an unfair battle. But all Hyunjin receives in response to his complaint is a loud snort from Jisung, followed by mocking laughter from a few of the other boys around the campfire.

"Your fault, don't blame it on others," Jisung adds, a mocking grin reaching his lips as he stuffs a marshmallow in his mouth, completely unbothered by Hyunjin's growing frustration.

"You were clearly the one—" Hyunjin begins, but before he could finish his sentence, Minho's voice cuts through the banter like a knife.

"Can't you guys shut up for once?" Minho interrupts. His tone is flat, laced with annoyance as he looks sideways at the two of them, though he doesn't bother to meet their eyes directly. Minho takes a slow sip of his beer as he leans back in his chair, attempting to enjoy the peace of the night despite the chaos around him.

Not wanting to get on Minho's nerves, Hyunjin keeps his mouth shut, though he doesn't forget to shoot a final glare in Jisung's direction. Jisung, however, only chuckles with a playful smirk on his face. The other boys start to laugh at the chaos unfolding between them, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth.

Just to further irritate Hyunjin, Jisung decides to put on a show and suddenly wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face into the crook of your neck. "Hyunjin is so scary!" he exclaims in a mockingly dramatic tone, his voice muffled against you.

"I just want to ask something simple and he makes a scene out of it, I'm so sad," Jisung pouts, his lips forming a cute little frown as he nuzzles deeper into you, clearly enjoying the attention. You can't help but chuckle at Jisung's antics, gently patting his head as he clings to you with a playful glint in his eyes.

Changbin shakes his head at the ridiculousness of it all, then finally chimes in to steer the conversation back on track. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulls out a neatly folded piece of paper.

"Alright, alright. I’ve already made a list for the tents," he announces, holding up the paper for everyone to see. "Tent one will be Jeongin, Felix, and Seungmin. Tent two is me, Bangchan, and Minho. And the last tent is Hyunjin, Y/N, and Han."

Hyunjin's jaw drops and he throws his hands up dramatically. "Ain’t no way I’m sleeping in the same tent as those two lovebirds! What if they start fucking or something?" His expression is pure horror, and his exclamation sends the group into a burst of laughter. You can feel a warm blush spreading across your cheeks as everyone teases you both.

"You might even get to join them, Hyunjin!" Seungmin teases, laughing so hard that he nearly doubles over.

The playful suggestion only adds fuel to the fire and Hyunjin shakes his head furiously as if trying to shake off that thought from his mind.

"Ain't. no. fucking. way"

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

As you settle into your sleeping bag, you turn over to face Jisung who is lying next to you, looking surprisingly awake despite the long day.

"You think everyone's asleep?" you whisper to Jisung as you see a smile creep into his face.

"Probably" Jisung chuckles quietly, his face still slightly flushed from the laughter from the evening. "Bet Hyunjin is having the best sleep of his life right now."

You laugh, trying to keep quiet while imagining Hyunjin's dramatic fuss. "It took him what? Twenty minutes to talk Minho into switching places?"

"More like an hour," Jisung whispers back with a grin. "At least now we won't have him glaring at us for breathing too loud or whatever."

Before you can respond, Minho's voice cuts through. "Trust me, it was more than an hour," he mutters, making both you and Jisung jump in surprise because you thought everyone was asleep by now.

"He's lucky I agreed at all. I'd have gladly let him stay and suffer" Minho adds with a shrug. "I'll have you both know that I'm a hero in this story. Gave up my cozy tent to protect Hyunjin's innocence, and I'd appreciate a little gratitude."

Jisung snorts, holding back a laugh. "Sure, real heroic of you to dodge Chan's snoring" he teases, nudging Minho's sleeping bag with his foot.

Minho opens one eye, squinting at Jisung. "Whatever," he says before rolling his eyes at Jisung.

"By the way," he adds, "You guys should keep it down. I'm trynna fall asleep here." He raises an eyebrow at both of you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I didn't sign up for a front row seat to your late-night bonding session."

"Oh, come on we're not that bad and don't pretend you don't like having us around. You'd be asleep by now if you really wanted peace and quiet."

"Hmm" Minho mutters, pretending to be in deep thought "You're probably right. But the second you two get all touchy-feely, I'm switching back with Hyunjin and sending him over here to glare at you instead."

"Noted, mom" Jisung quips, rolling his eyes. He gives you a playful grin while mouthing 'He's all talk.'

But Minho catches it and lets out a soft laugh. "Oh, keep underestimating me, Jisung. You'll learn."

Jisung stifles a laugh, his eyes glinting with mischief as he turns to you. "Guess we're gonna have to keep it down, huh?" he whispers, dramatically covering his mouth as if even a whisper would earn a scolding from Minho.

As you lay back, the tent fills with a comfortable silence, the sound of distant crickets and the soft crackling of the fire outside the tent becoming the only sounds around you. You feel Jisung's warm embrace wrap around you, his arms secure yet gentle. His steady breathing matching the comforting sounds of the night and you feel more at peace than ever. Nestling closer to Jisung, your eyelids grow heavy as you soon begin to drift into sleep.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Sleeping in peaceful slumber, you are suddenly stirred awake by something moving around your waist. Blinking groggily, you realize that it is Jisung's hands on you. Assuming that he simply wants to cuddle, you instinctively lean your body closer to him, seeking his warmth and coziness. His hands slowly and subtly start to wander, his fingertips tracing patterns along your skin.

His movements are unhurried, almost absentminded as though even in his half-asleep state, he still can't keep his hands to himself. Your skin tickles and heats up despite the cool air of the night, unsure of whether he is awake or simply acting on instinct.

"Jisung?" you whisper, your voice barely audible, worrying you'd wake Minho sleeping a few feet away up if you even breathe too loud.

His hand pauses for a moment before resuming, this time moving with more deliberate intent, his finger slightly brushing the underside of your breast.

"Hmm?" he murmurs, his voice in a sleepy rasp.

"W-what are you doing?" you ask, your breath hitching slightly as his fingertips trail a bit higher up. You have no idea how he’s managing to stay awake, considering the fact that you all went hiking earlier in the day. 

A smile creeps onto his lips, his lips brushing lightly against the back of your neck as he speaks. "Nothing... just keeping you close" he whispers, his tone teasing yet tender. His arm tightens slightly around your waist, pulling you even closer until there's hardly any space between your bodies.

Your heart flutters, the closeness, the warmth, the quiet hum of his breathing all feel oddly perfect, even as your mind races to process the moment. You let out a soft sigh, deciding not to question it further as you nestle into his embrace, allowing the sleepiness to take over again.

However, keeping you close doesn’t seem to be the reason behind Jisung’s tactics. His touch is light as it carefully grazes the smooth skin of your breast. And then his finger slightly brushed your nipple which made you jerk in surprise, a soft gasp escaping your lips. The sensation made your heart race, your body reacting before you could fully process it.

"Jisung..." you trail off, your voice trembling slightly both from the unexpected sensation and the growing warmth spreading through you.

Hearing your soft voice, he hums playfully against your neck but he doesn’t stop. His hands keep moving, his fingers teasing you with a playful rhythm. "Just wanna play..." he whispers, his voice soft but teasing, as his warm wet lips press against the delicate skin of your shoulder. You squirm slightly, growing more eager as Jisung continues to tease the sensitive skin on you.

"N-not now, Han Jisung..." you manage, bringing a hand up to stifle the whimper that threatens to escape your mouth, careful not to wake Minho up.

His gentle hand is now cupping your tits. His fingers curl around the soft flesh, warm and steady as they mold to your shape. Jisung's movements are rhythmic as he toys with them, alternating between gentle squeezes and grazes. His fingers sank into the plush surface, only to release and let it spring back into its natural shape

"Oh, come on" he whispers, his warm breath tickling your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. The soft sensation makes an involuntary sound escape your lips, a quiet mix of surprise and amusement as the hair on your arms and neck stands on end.

Jisung chuckles, clearly enjoying your reaction. "You're so cute when you try to be serious" he continues, his voice low and teasing, carrying a playful edge that makes your face heat up. His fingers are now trailing downwards as if testing just how much he can get away with.

You know exactly what he is trying to do. This isn't just about 'keeping you close', that was just the excuse he used to mask his mischievous intent. His teasing touches, the playful lilt in his voice, the way he leaned in just a little too closely and the way his growing boner is pressing against you, all gave him away.

Sliding his hand across your tummy he then reaches the hem of your shorts, fingers brushing against the waistband before dipping them beneath. The warmth of his fingers sends sparks skittering across your skin as they hover over your clothed core.

When the pad of his fingers presses gently against your pulsating nerve, a soft relieved moan escapes your lips before you can stop it.

"Look at you, baby" he murmurs, his tone lacing with playful mischief. "Your body doesn't seem like it wants to stop".

Pulling your panties to the side to dip his fingers between your folds, Jisung can't help but growl at how wet you are. Jisung's lips latch to your skin, gently at first but depend with each passing moment as his fingers rub between your moist folds. He sucks and nibbles on the skin that will eventually leave round cherry-colored marks behind. His teeth grazed lightly against your neck before soothing it with his warm tongue. 

"Jisung, they're going to see..." you whisper, voice shaky as you try to keep your composure. But no matter how hard you try, your body instinctively part your legs to give Jisung better access to your throbbing cunt.

"Let them" he murmurs against your skin.

"You know" he begins, his voice soft but teasing "I think this one's my best work yet."

His fingers brush over one of the marks he has left, his touch tingling against your burning skin. "Maybe I should leave one right... here."

Before you can respond, he tilts your head slightly, exposing your whole neck to him. His lips hovering over the area, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. "What do you think, baby? Should I make this one a little darker? Or maybe leave it as a secret just for us?"

"You're so perverted, Jisung..." you manage to let out, your voice a mix of teasing and breathlessness as you test the waters.

He freezes for a moment, then lets out a low chuckle. "Oh? Perverted you said?" he murmurs, his tone playful but with an edge of challenge. "Well, why don't we see just how perverted I can be then?"

"Ji-" you barely manage to get a syllable out before Jisung's fingers easily slip inside your hole. The unexpected sensation sent a jolt through your body and you let out a startled whimper before throwing your head backward at the pleasure that you had been logging for.

"Shhh baby" Jisung whispers as he leans in close, his warm breath tickling your ear. His free hand gently cupping your mouth, muffling the sounds. "Don't wake Minho up now, do we?"

You squirm beneath his touch, muffled moans escaping behind his hand as his fingers continue to slide against your walls. You know that you guys shouldn't be doing it here. What if Minho woke up? The thought sent a jolt of fear through you, but it wasn't just fear.

The idea of being caught, of Minho turning over and catching the two of you tangled together with Jisung's hands all over your body, sent a strange thrill coursing through you. Your heart is racing, not just from his teasing but from the tension of it all. You are scared, yes, but you can't bring yourself to stop him either, especially not when his finger repeatedly hits your sweet spots so deliciously.

Jisung, despite the confidence in his voice seems to be losing his own composure as well. His breath comes in short, uneven puffs as he as he ruts himself against you.

"Wanna feel you" You plea, voice barely above a whisper trembling with the need of being stuffed with his cock.

Jisung let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating against your eardrums as he hums softly in your ear.

"Looks like someone's not too worried about being caught" Jisung whispers against your ear, his voice low and teasing. His breath brushed softly against your ear, tickling you and making you squirm involuntarily. 

Your cunt let out a wet squelch as he drives his fingers even deeper into you with one hard thrust, making your eyes roll back at the feeling of him reaching places that you didn't even know exist.

"Fuck-" Jisung mutter under his breath, his voice is low and strained as he feels just how hard you're clenching around his fingers. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, jaw tightening as he fights to keep himself under control. But it was no use. The way your body responds to him, the noises your cunt makes is driving him past his breaking point.

He wants to give you what you have been pleading for the past minutes, to just stuff your pretty cunt with his cock. Like the way he has been stretching you out for the past few nights before this camping trip, but he can't, not here, not now. Waking up Lee Minho wasn't an option and besides that he hadn't brought any condoms with him.

Jisung's original plan was to fluster you a bit, to enjoy the sight of you squirming under his touch that's why he didn't bring any condoms. But why does he find himself getting more and more worked on?

This was definitely not included in his plan.

"Damn it" Jisung curses under his breath, his voice filled with frustration. He's regretting it, regretting that he hasn't brought any condoms. But it's too late now, too late to take back his teasing, too late to stop the heat coursing through his veins, too late to just not fuck you.

Without any further thoughts he pulls his fingers out of you and is now already tugging at your pajama shorts and panties, dragging them down to your knees. 

The loss of his fingers and the cold air that hits your cunt all so suddenly makes you whine out. However, the uncomfortable chillness was soon replaced by the feeling of Jisung's bare cock pressed against you. A deep, satisfied moan rumbles from his chest as he slid between your folds, coaxing his cock with your essences.

"Fuck-" he groans lacing with relief and overwhelming pleasure. His hands are gripping your hips tightly, grounding himself as he savors the feeling of his raw cock pressing against you.

"Pretty princess, close your legs for me," Jisung whispers, his voice low that tingeles with desire as he burry his face in the crook of your neck. 

Compiling to his request you squeeze your thighs together, enclosing him even tighter, the new sensation drawing another low groan from deep within his chest.

"That's it" he murmurs.

You choked out a moan, the sound muffled as you bit down on your lip, desperately trying to keep yourself quiet. The sensation of him resting warmly between your folds was almost too much, a burning heat spreading through your body as if every nerve was set aflame.

His hands gripping your hips firmly, his fingers pressing into your skin as he begins to rut himself between your folds. You could feel every ridge, every vein, sliding against your sensitive nerve making you gripping down to the mattress under you for support.

Jisung has never taken you raw before, and the thought alone send a shiver through him. Just the sensation of sliding himself against your slick warmth was enough to ignite his imagination, vividly picturing how heavenly it would feel to sink into you completely, to just stuff you full.

"God" he mutters under his breath, his grip on your hips tightening. "You don't even know what you're doing to me."

The slow, deliberate rhythm he set sent waves of sensation rippling through your body, making it impossible to focus on anything else. Each movement was purposeful, his hips rolling in a way that have your breath hitching with every thrust.

All you could do was nod, your mind too clouded and too dumbfucked to muster a proper response. Words felt impossible, your breath coming in short, shaky bursts as you were entirely consumed by the sensations coursing through you.

"I know what you're doing" came a voice  thick yet drowsy, slicing through the suffocating tension that had built between you and Jisung.

The words hit like a bucket of ice water, freezing both you and Jisung in place. Your breaths stilled, eyes snapping wide as you turned to Minho.

This is it. You'd been caught. Caught in your most vulnerable state, caught with Jisung's pretty cock nestling between your thighs. The blood draining from your face as you brace yourself for the shame that is coursing through your veins.

But then to your surprise, you noitice that Minho's eyes are still tightly shut. His hands wave aimlessly in the air as he continues to mumble nonsense.

"Don't try to lure me with your pudding!" he said while jabbing a finger upward, pointing toward the ceiling as if he's addressing an invisible enemy. "I ain't getting kidnapped by you!"

A wave of relief washing over you as you realize he was sleep-talking, one of his late-night habits you'd heard so much about.

As your breathing begins to steady and your heart finally slowed to a somewhat normal pace, you suddenly felt Jisung’s movements start up again. His hands and hips start their slow rhythm before resuming to their earlier rhythm again. 

“Jisung!” you hiss, turning your head back to face him, your voice barely above a whisper. “He’s going to wake up!”

But instead of finding concern in his expression, you were met with a sight that made your stomach twist. Jisung’s face was completely blissed out, eyes half-lidded and lips slightly parted showcasing just how far gone he was. He looks utterly lost like the world around him didn’t exist anymore, like nothing else mattered but the way you're squeezing him.

Shifting your eyes back at Minho you can still seeing his lips mumble something incoherent, you can't help but clench down at nothing by the sight. You don't even know why you're this turned on, but the sight of Minho sleeping peacefully completely unaware of what's happening around him, only seems to intensify the feeling. 

The mere thought of how easily this moment could shatter, how Minho could open his eyes at any second and see everything, has your pulse racing and your body reacting in ways you can't control.

Maybe, just maybe, you're as perverted as Jisung after all.

The temptation is unbearable, and Jisung know it all too well. The way your body moves against his, the way you gasp and squirm under his touch. 

It is painfully clear just how easy it would be. All it would take was a slight shift of his hips, angling himself just right and he could be buried deep inside you, stretching and filling you completely.

The thought alone makes his grip on your waist tighten, his breathing hitch as he wrestles with his self-control. He has been imagining this before, to let the warmth of you wrap around him as he fills his seeds deep inside you, to just knock you up, to just watch it all ooze out of you as he stuffs them back with his cock again.

But no. He couldn't.

He wouldn't.

You aren't on the pill, and no matter how badly he wanted it he wasn't about to risk it. Even though the idea has crossed his mind more times than he'd ever admit, this wasn't the time.

Jisung squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will the thoughts away, but the overwhelming desire only grew. 

Focus

He thought to himself. 

If he let his mind go any further, he'll lose what little restraint he had left and he would actually end up putting on a show in front of Minho. He'll then be unstoppable even if Minho wakes up.

Jisung is trembling. His breath shaky and uneven as he presses against you, so achingly close to the edge. "Just...a little bit...tighter" his words tumbling out between desperate gasps.

Obeying his request, you squeezes your legs tighter together, the sensation drawing a shaky groan from both of you. The friction is electric, his length gliding against your clit in a way that sent shockwaves through your entire body.

You bit your lip, doing everything in your power to stifle the sounds bubbling up from your throat, but it was no use. The pleasure was overwhelming, spilling out as a moan that grew louder and louder.

Jisung's eyes widen, panic flashing across his face as he clamps his hand over your mouth.

"Shhh, baby" he whispers though his own voice was trembling. Soft whimpers and broken gasps escaping his lips despite his efforts to stay quiet. His hips bucking against you harder, needier, and his hand slipped, leaving your lips free to let out another string of moans.

Desperate to keep things under control, Jisung tilts your head back toward him, capturing your lips in a hurried kiss. His mouth moves against yours hungrily, biting down softly on your lower lip to stifle his own whines. The kiss is messy and urgent, a way to drown out the sounds of the both of you.

With one final, desperate thrust, Jisung's body tenses against yours, his hips pressing firmly into you as he reach his peak. The sensation sends you over the edge as well, your body arching as waves of pleasure coursed through you.

Your muffled cries were swallowed by his lips, his mouth capturing every sound you made in a kiss that was as intense as it was necessary. His hands holds you firmly, grounding you as the both of you rode out the high together. His breath is hot and uneven against your mouth, and even after the both of you had calmed down, he still refuse to let go hugging you tightly as his chest is pressing firmly against you. 

Your thighs are slick with his release mixing with your own arousal. The sensation of coming undone on his cock without him inside you was overwhelming, leaving every nerve on your body arching painfully for more. It was like you’d been brought to the edge only for it to hover just out of reach. 

A frustrated whimper escapes your lips before you could stop it, his name spilling from you in a desperate plea. 

“Jisung…please...”

His eyes softene at the sound of your voice. He presses a gentle kiss to your shoulder, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your hips as he whisperes “I know, baby, I know.” His voice was low and apologetic. “I’ll make it up to you when we get home, okay?”

You nodds faintly, your body still trembling from the aftershocks and despite the mess, despite the lingering ache having Jisung close to you like this was enough. His arms tightened around you, holding you close as he buried his face in your neck, murmuring soft reassurances against your skin. 

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

"So Minho hyung, how was it?" Seungmin asks with a mischievous grin, leaning forward from the front seat "Did they fuck? Did you get to join in?"

The car, still heavy with the drowsy energy of the morning, was immediately interrupted by Seungmin’s question, causing everyone’s attention to snap toward Minho, you, and Jisung, who is sitting in the middle row of the van.

Minho remains silent for a moment, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Sadly I didn't get to join" he says as he glances at the both of you. 

"Oh, shut up, hyung! We didn’t do anything" Jisung shot back almost instantly, the words tumbling out too fast to sound convincing.

His head whipped toward Minho, voice slightly pitching higher than normal and the faint tremor betraying his attempt to sound unbothered.

His palms quickly found his jeans, wiping them nervously as the flush on his face deepened under the weight of Minho’s smirk.

The sharp reaction plungs the car into an awkward, heavy silence. The usual hum of the engine faded into the background, overpowered by the deafening thrum of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. You turn your face to the window, pretending to watch the scenery blur past but the heat of Minho’s piercing gaze bore into you, making the silence even harder to bear.

Minho then breaks the silence "Just kidding we all slept like a stock" he says grinning as the rest of the boys finally erupts into laughter.

“Like a stock, huh?” Felix teases, turning around from the passenger seat to flash a knowing look. “Guess that explains why you look so well-rested.”

Jisung forces out a weak laugh as scratches the back of his neck. “Y-yeah, totally” he mutters, avoiding eye contact with everyone.

Meanwhile, your hands are fidgeting in your lap, your face burning as you desperately try to blend into the car seat. The air felt thick, and every giggle from the boys felt like it is aiming directly at the two of you.

While the other are still cracking up questions and jokes Minho's eyes lingers on you for a second too long. Leaning back against the seat, replaying fragments of the night in his head. 

He remembered being half-awake in a haze where he recalled the faint sound from the night before that he couldn't really pinpoint where it came from. The soft muffled noises that had pulled him from the edge of sleep but never fully woken him. It had been so faint that he’d dismissed it as his mind playing tricks on him. 

His gaze drops lower, lingering on the edge of the fabric covering your neck. Something caught his eye. 

Peeking out from under the edge of your hoodie, an odd choice in the middle of summer, were faint cherry-red marks. 

And the realization hits him. 

He knows now, he knows what those soft noises were, he knows where those come from, knows who they belonged to. 

He tries to ignore it, tries to ignore the images that clogged his mind, tries to ignore the heat that he's starting to feel, ignoring the arching tension that grows in his pants. 

Reading, cleaning, fussing and tidying. Nothing occupies you properly, your mind too wired and body too unsettled to focus. You still feel to be walking on razor blades, and beneath those are the long-abused shells of rotten eggs.

When your phone rings, you pounce on it.

“Hello?”

“Hi, baby.”

Changbin’s voice scrapes pleasantly against your ears.

“How are you?” he asks.

“Oh, you know.” You shrug. “Surviving.”

“Surviving is good.”

“So I've heard.”

“What are you up to today?”

You start pacing. “Nothing much right now. Hanging out with Minho later.”

“Minho, huh?” He pauses. “That a good idea?”

Seriously.

“It’s kind of overdue. We need to talk. We haven’t in so long.”

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in so long.”

“You saw me a few days ago,” you laugh.

“Still too long.”

“Greedy.”

“Damn right.”

God. Everyone should have a Changbin. Just not yours.

“How is Chan?” you ask.

“He’s good. Like, actually good. He asks about you. So glad you managed to work things out.”

“Me too. I wish we’d done so sooner.”

“You couldn’t have known what was going on with him. Even I only had suspicions. Though, if it had gone on much longer, I’d have been forced to lock you two in a room together until you fought it out,” he laughs.

“Glad it didn’t come to that, then.”

“Me too. My money would have been on you.”

You laugh gently. “I’d like to see him.”

“Yeah. He’d probably like that too. I was thinking about suggesting we all do something together. Like, the five of us.”

“You don’t think that’d be disastrous?”

“Nah, man. It was only ever you and Chan that had beef, and now you guys have squashed that and are working through your shit, everything should be fine.”

“In theory.”

“In theory.”

Silence falls, prospects settle.

“Maybe one day?”

He hums. “One day. For sure.”

The rattle of keys draws your attention.

“I better go. Minho’s home.”

“Boo. Have a good time.”

“Text me?”

“Of course, baby. Later.”

Minho traipses into the apartment; loose dance gear drowns him, the vest sleeves so wide it reveals every bump of his ribs and the occasional flash of nipple. His hair is swept back under a wide-rimmed bucket hat, his earbuds snug. The little black box swoons on the spot.

He startles on the sight of you, right earbud falling out. “Jesus.”

“Forget I live here?” you laugh.

“Just not used to seeing you here.”

He picks up the rogue bud, drops it and the other into a case retrieved from his pocket. You wince when he snaps it shut.

“Are we still on for—”

“Bad movies and bad food?” You point to the kitchen counter where plastic bags of snacks are gathered. “Way ahead of you.”

Minho nods, eyes flicking from the counter to the television, where Netflix scrolls idly through the top ten selection. “Alright. Let me go shower.”

“Want me to bring you a towel?”

Risky. Last time you cracked that joke he lost his mind. Referral to past affection gets him that way lately, and you’ve a good idea why. You think. This time there are no such dramatics. He simply huffs, strips his vest from over his head, soft waves of abs and honey skin setting your blood to a low simmer.

“Only if you plan to get in with me.”

He disappears down the corridor. Leaves you to stew in arousal with a pinch of shock. If not so committed to chastity you’d see yourself cleared of it by three fingers.

Half an hour later, Minho emerges. Ashy hair fluffed and light. Comfortable shirt and loose sweats. No glasses. Fresh and soft. You could eat him alive.

He joins on you on the sofa, foot slung to the coffee table, long legs stretched out.

“What are we watching?” He eyes the snacks laid out. All his favourites.

“I thought we’d start with an oldie.” You scroll to the end of the ‘horror’ genre row, where you last saw Friday the 13th.

“Oh yeah? Interesting.”

“You’re not down?”

“No, I am. I just thought this was about bad movies.”

So ensues a debate on the alleged glories of the 1980’s original (genius cinematography among them, according to Minho), until you’ve no choice but to settle in the middle, where proof may be found in the proverbial pudding.

Settling into it is easy. Minho rests comfortably, a bowl of chilli Doritos in his lap. At the other end of the sofa, you’re curled up with your blanket. Never used to be space between you. You want to fill it with flowers or bricks or something that makes you feel less alone. Your focus is diverted, split between the dramatic happenings of Camp Crystal Lake and his stunning side profile. At this late afternoon hour the sun is on its lazy descent, golden rays trickling through the blinds. The standing lamp casts him in shadow where the natural light falls short, his features so striking all emphasised. Soft yet cutting. His jaw feathers as he chews, pink tongue sweeping Dorito dust from his lips. His blinks are slow and heavy, the fan of his lashes framing curious eyes. When he swallows his Adam’s apple bobs; you used to press your tongue to it and feel the life in him.

He shifts, sinks into the cushions, thighs flexing. You feel it in your centre. The little black box salivates like a starving lioness.

“Thirsty?”

“What?”

Minho blinks. “Are you thirsty?” he asks again.

“O— Oh. No. I mean; yes. Please. Water.”

“I was thinking something a little stronger,” he says. “What do we have?”

You pause the movie. “I don’t know. Might be some of your soju left somewhere.”

Minho rises, pads across the hardwood, rifles through cupboards until he exclaims in delight. He emerges from the kitchen holding two shot glasses and two clear bottles labelled pastel pink. The brand names are in Korean.

“Peach soju,” he grins.

“Told you.”

He sets the glasses down, gives the bottles a wicked shake for the bubbles inside to spin and twirl. For whatever else has changed about him, drinking rituals apparently remain.

“You partaking?” he asks; an afterthought as he’s about to fill the second glass.

“Sure.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Pour me the damn drink, Minho.”

He smirks, does as instructed, and passes you the tiny glass. Fingertips brush as he hands it over.

“Thanks,” you mumble.

“Cheers.”

The sweet, sharp liquid slides down your throat. Minho smacks his lips, pours another round. He sits cross-legged on the floor, thighs thick and strong. Straining against his sweats. Muscled.

You play the movie.

Pretend the pillows in your lap are covered in grass.

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >

Thinking about it sets your heart to a cool pound. Makes your skin thrum as though electric insects crawl and skitter. Makes you giddy and just a little lightheaded, even more so because you can’t seem to stop thinking about it.

Jisung never seemed to express much interest in you beyond the platonic. He did once tell you that he falls fast— not so fast as to a lone act of chivalry, surely? Maybe he’s just lonely. Maybe the absence of intimacy from his boyfriends is having more of an impact than he realises, driving him to find the next warm thing. A disservice to think of him that way, perhaps, but he’s as human as you when all is said and done, and you know well the nature of your own proclivities.

Today is a rare day off. No shift at the coffee shop, no session with Doctor Kindelle, no plans other than to make them. The apartment is peaceful. Early light beams through the drawn blinds, slicing the cream carpet. Rich notes of coffee hover, drawing you to the kitchen where your roommate sits at the table, a newspaper folded in one hand, a mug of coffee in the other. Gold-rimmed glasses sit on the bridge of his nose, the planes of his upper body on bare display, for he’s neglected a shirt. Silky strands of hair are pushed back from his face; he’s the very image of domestic bliss. Toned. Lean. He has the build of a dancer, God forbid you should forget. The little black box trembles with glee, drools with want.

He looks up on your entrance, his serene features shadowing.

“Morning,” you say.

He looks back to his paper.

You help yourself to coffee—nobody does it quite like Minho, he even barista’s better than you—and debate sitting at the table with him. If the hostility rolling from him isn’t hint enough of his wish to be left alone, his downright miserable posture would be. Still, Jisung was right: you need to talk to him.

“Any plans for today?” you ask from the kitchen.

“Teaching soon.”

You hum gently. After a minute, you ask, “Are you okay?”

He scoffs under his breath, sips his coffee.

Okay.

You pull out the other chair at the table. He glances at you.

“Can I?”

He nods. “Sure.” And quickly finishes his mug with one gulp, folds his paper and rises.

“Minho—”

“What?”

“Could you stay a minute?”

He blinks. “What for?”

“We don’t have to avoid each other like this. We’re supposed to be friends.”

“Supposed to be,” he says. “There are a lot of things that are supposed to be.”

“So we’re not even friends now? Is that what you’re saying?”

Minho chucks the paper to the table. “Things are just... different between us.”

“Of course they’re different.” You almost laugh. “Everything is fucking different. You made it different when you kissed me.”

“Right. It’s all my fault. Sure.”

“That’s not what I—” You stop. Rephrase. Remember what therapy taught you. “I acknowledge the part I played in making things different, too. I kissed you back. I consented to everything that happened after that. I wanted it. But it’s changed us, and that’s a fact. We are not the same people we were a few months ago, and it’s dumb to pretend otherwise. I just thought that, despite it all, no matter how different we became, we’d always be best friends.”

Minho nods. “Yeah. Me too. But that’s not how it ended up working out. I don’t feel close to you at all.”

“What can I do to fix that?”

“I don’t know.”

“What if we— You said you were teaching this morning?”

He hums, hand running over his gently muscled bicep. You tear your eyes from him when the heat begins to flush your nape. Perhaps if he were a touch less beautiful, this might be easier.

“Let’s hang out,” you suggest. “After.”

He blinks, long lashes grazing his cheeks.

“Just the two of us,” you press. “Like we used to. Bad movies, bad food.”

“You don’t have anywhere else to be?” he asks.

“No.”

He looks surprised. “Alright.”

“Okay. Good.”

Relief brings a smile, albeit tentative. The boot lifts from your lungs, and the next breath doesn’t feel like it’s through a pinhole. Minho’s lips twitch, but he turns from you before anything more is conveyed. It’s not right, right now. You know that. But it’s a start. Sunlight streaks his broad, tan back as he crosses the room. The gentle closing of his bedroom door seals the moment, but you’re left with hope.

Bad movies, bad food.

Bad people, wanting nothing more than to be good for once.

𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >

𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >

He glances over his shoulder, catches your eye and ducks around a narrow, branching alley.

“What the hell is he doing...?”

You jog to keep up and round into the alley; there’s a mesh metal gate closing it off. Jisung stands behind it, mischief lighting his eyes. “Come on!”

“Jisung, you shouldn’t be back there!”

He reaches around the gate, pulls you through it, hand warm around your wrist. He checks the street, and void of passersby or anyone with reason to scold you for your trespassing, he pulls you in deeper, to a nook stacked high with cardboard boxes and discarded packaging.

“What are we even doing here, this is—”

He crowds you against the closest brick wall, concealed in shadow. Your heart springs to your throat, the iridescence of his eyes so unfamiliar— heavy and wanting, he searches your burning face, cups your cheeks.

“This is your fault,” he whispers.

He gingerly captures your lips: can hardly comprehend it until he pulls back, breath slow and warm, tinctured strawberry. It’s too quick. So soft. Seconds pass where the gravity of what he’s done sinks in, and finding nothing other than a well of creamy anticipation, you find purchase in his collar to drag him close, to feel the press of his chest and the cold stone at your back. Jisung grins lazily, nose nudging yours.

“That was so hot of you,” he mutters, voice silken treacle.

You blink at him, dumb.

“Standing up for me. Protecting me.”

“I... I just did the right thing.”

“You’d be amazed how many people are too chicken shit to do that.”

His heavy lids slide closed; still unconvinced that this isn’t a wonderfully realistic hallucination, you refuse to do the same. He kisses you again. Plush and warm, he explores the shape of your lips, hands releasing your cheeks to curve around your waist. What is first so tentative soon devolves; arms around his neck you indulge in the smoothness of his skin, hands wandering from his nape into his hair. You drag his beanie off, his hair lush between your fingers. His listless groan sets something to swell in your belly, arousal thickening when he nips your bottom lip and tugs for the flesh to spring back. He huffs a wanton breath, maps the indents of his teeth with his tongue. Presses against your thigh, the rigidity of his groin so thick and long.

Fuck. The little black box dusts itself off, comes out of hiding.

His right hand drops to your thigh, fingers skimming the hem of your skirt to lift it gently. Your skin zings where his fingertips linger, a gathering of heat in your lower belly such that you haven’t felt since beginning your therapy. It makes your head light and your hands tremble; when he touches where you ache, a featherlight pressure over your underwear, you gasp as though drowning.

“Jisung—”

He hums, nudges your jaw, nuzzles the sensitive skin of your throat. Every sense is attuned to him, exacerbated by the tenebrous alley. There’s nothing to take away from this. Nothing but the trill of your senses that, despite every instinct crying at you, urge you to do the right thing. It would be easy to fall into him. Easy to let old habits dictate your next choice. He wants you, and there’s nothing so empowering as the feeling of being desired. If only it didn’t wear off so quickly.

The little black box wails with despair as you press gentle hands to his (surprisingly) broad chest, firm enough to indicate needing a moment. Jisung withdraws but stays close, nose and cheeks glowing with want.

“We shouldn’t.”

He hangs his head. “I know.”

The pulse of his heartbeat is strong under your palm, rabbiting intently.

“I want to.”

He huffs a gentle laugh, gaze flicking up. “I know.”

“It’s just—”

“I get it. There’s too much right now.” He straightens up, kisses you once more softly, steps away. Sweeps a hand through his hair and pulls his beanie back on. “Let me walk you back?”

You pull your skirt down with a shiver. “Won’t the others be missing you? You’re supposed to be recording.”

He shrugs. “I’m already late.”

He holds his hand out expectantly. You take it when he urges, fingers slotting together, and so it is that J One takes you home, his jacket pulled close and collar risen, head ducked when passing groups of girls that look to be in the right age bracket for recognising him. If only they knew what their beloved rapper had just been up to. If only they knew what he usually got up to.

At your apartment lobby, he kisses the back of your hand.

“Call me.”

You promise you will.

“No regrets, right?” he asks before he leaves. The little black box pouts, and this time, you almost feel sorry for it. This is for the best. It is.

“Never.”

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