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A/N: Happy February! This is part one of my (probably too ambitious) attempt to write a story a day between now and Valentine's Day. But I'll do my best!
Jooheon x Reader
WC: 1.2k
Warnings: smut, 18+
Summary: Reader tries to seduce Jooheon. It mostly works.
Patience is a virtue.
Patience started this scheme, put you on a collision course for radical action. Anyone else can visit their significant other consistently; habitually. Anyone else wouldn’t have to wait weeks for a dinner out, an afternoon off, or a weekend together.
Anyone else isn’t dating Lee Jooheon.
Patience is the foundation of your relationship, tides you over while he’s on tour. It’s the patience that enables the daydreaming, a hundred different ways to make your eagerness known... but later, not when he’s still jet lagged and you’re just grateful to be near each other.
After six weeks, what’s one more week? What’s one more night?
Patience is what gets you through dinner, feigning nonchalance despite the corset digging into your hips, despite how you’d much rather drag him back to your apartment, patient despite how good he looks in blue jeans and a sweatshirt, hair tousled around his headband.
Patient, but with no reprieve from his dimpled smile for hours, holding hands on the way home from jajangmyeon, you can’t pretend you’re not counting down the minutes until he finds the thigh high fishnets, hidden innocently under your own jeans, begging to be wrapped around his waist.
You’ve been thinking about this, planning this, for weeks.
And with the front door finally, gloriously closed behind you, it’s almost laughable – adorable, even – how oblivious Jooehon is, sinking into the couch to bring up Netflix, as if you hadn’t spent hours fantasizing about seducing him, about driving him wild with desire, fueling your time alone while you were apart.
Suddenly, patience is overrated.
---
Lust is a sin.
Lust stops Jooheon short, no time to browse, no time at all, really, before you’re tugging the remote away – tv off, music on – before you’re sliding into his lap, arms around his neck.
Legs around his waist. At last.
Lips against his neck, a warmup, a prelude to a kiss that leaves no room for confusion, captivating him with a slow, deliberate bite. Your teeth glide down his lip, threatening to leave, to pull your mouth from his before capturing both lips again, no need for air, no need to breathe anything that isn’t him.
Lust is arousing on its own, anticipation inching you closer, making you rock against him, eager for friction against the growing damp in your core. His hands are hot, burning, through your jeans as they skirt your thighs, fingers kneading flesh as he reaches around to grab your butt and back again, and he moans into your mouth. It’s a wonder he doesn’t notice, doesn’t catch the feel of fishnet under your jeans, but that’s lust.
Ordinary, everyday lust.
“What brings this on?” He teases when you break for air, but you can tell he’s not complaining, not with that cheeky grin, not when you know you have his attention, solid and gratifying between your legs, desire like lightning between you.
You’ve missed him; it’s been too long; too many nights spent with a vibrator and not with him.
So many things you dreamed of saying, sexy, seductive, enticing, but lust renders them irrelevant, strikes you dumb.
“I want you to fuck me.” It’s plain but confident, stated simply, but somehow that’s erotic enough. His lips lurch forward to meet yours, back to where you left off, hands under his sweatshirt, gliding across warm, firm muscle. You nails find gentle purchase as he breaks from your lips.
Biting and licking his way down your neck, he noses aside your collar to find the spot that makes you squirm, and then, then, he notices, tracing his hands up to cup your breasts and coming up with a handful of boning instead of flesh.
His reaction is everything you had hoped for and more, twisting you off his lap and onto your back between one kiss and the next, making quick work of your buttons until you’re on display, cleavage to your chin in your scarlet corset.
Lust chases away any lingering playfulness as he takes it in, and you’re sure he just meant to adjust himself but instead he takes himself in hand at the sight of you, and you can’t help a pleased smirk, can’t help wriggling out of your jeans, left in nothing but corset and stockings.
“I take it you like it.” Eyes dancing with mirth, hand behind your head, you don’t regret your sass when he takes it as a challenge to show you instead of tell you, to spread your legs and find home between them. You don’t regret your sass when his tongue slides between your folds, even as he circles that spot with too much skill, too much practice, don’t regret it even as he has you trembling, sliding one finger – two fingers – over and over again against your walls in time with his mouth, until you’re frantic, begging; clinging to a precipice and dying to let go.
Don’t regret it until he stops, leaves you empty.
“I like the tights, but the corset has to go.” And you don’t disagree, because the corset doesn’t feel sexy anymore, it feels awkward, uncomfortable like an ill-fitted bra, restricting your movement when you’d prefer your breasts pressed to his chest, or in his hands, or in his mouth; anywhere but crushed to your chin, with something much less pleasant than Jooheon digging into your skin, and you bob your head in fervent agreement, still aching for him to finish what he started.
Well…what you started.
Lust is a sin, after all; one in which you enthusiastically indulge.
---
But sex? Sex is awkward.
Awkward and inelegant even with experience, even after all this time, almost worse with familiarity, with less pressure. The laughter makes it better, especially when sometimes someone breaks the headboard, or when sometimes someone gets a cramp in the backseat.
Or those other times, when someone gets stuck in their corset, knot too tight to easily undo – had to last all day, didn’t it? – and the best plans for getting laid by mice and men go horribly, hysterically awry.
Jooheon tugs at the knot, picks at tight laces with the edge of a nail, but the string is too taught, too tight after carrying the weight of the day’s plans, and so he yanks at it, fixated on the string and the task at hand, forgetting that you’re attached to it.
You can’t help but let out an ‘oof’ and an embarrassed chuckle, and you barely manage to stay upright, to keep yourself from knocking the both of you over. He tugs again, trying to release enough tension to free you, and all of a sudden the mood, the planning, the all-day-seduction is lost, because you’re stuck in a corset and Jooheon is going to have to cut you out of it, and it’s just so ridiculous, so over the top – of course it would happen to you – that both of you break down in giggles until he finally gets the scissors and snips you free in a relieving pop.
It's hard not to be grateful that you weren't actually trying to impress anyone, because at this point Jooheon is practically stuck with you. If you happen to still be ever so slightly embarrassed (or incredibly mortified, who's to say), you know he won't make you feel less for it.
When you’ve finally recovered, finally changed into one of his hoodies and sweatpants, the look he gives you isn’t the one you had planned for, too comfortable and affectionate, more love than lust, but it’s not a loss when the night ends in laughter instead of breathless sighs, not a loss when you end the night in each other’s arms regardless.
At the end of the night, sex is awkward.
What else are you supposed to do?
Valentine's Trope: Sexy Lingerie
Prompt: Patience is a virtue, lust is a sin; sex is awkward but everyone wins.
I wish I could figure out which dark recess of my brain produced this because it was hella inspired (go last year me!) I don't normally write smut - but this one was worth it.
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Summary: Reader sets aside her dignity to break the ice with the new girl, and Changkyun can't help but be charmed.
You can tell she has a sudden case of crushing regret from the way she hesitates, flipping indecisively between songs, a crease marring her delicate browline. She's already holding the microphone, though.
Too late to back out now.
She's Hyungwon's new girlfriend, a dancer, you remember from an earlier introduction, but he's not paying attention. He's been doing his level best to rile up Kihyun since the evening started, and he's finally gaining ground, if Kihyun's red face is anything to go by.
She's willowy and graceful, what you'd expect from a professional dancer. She's not showing any of the confidence, though, even in her power outfit - high heels and a flirty handkerchief skirt for a night in? What was she thinking?
It almost - almost - makes you regret your watchfulness, but you take pity on her anyway, because you remember what it's like to be new to the group, not because the guys are idols, but because they're overwhelmingly close.
Well. Maybe some of her panic is related to the whole idol business. You're not sure who picked karaoke night, but after this, you're certain it's safer for them if you never find out.
You wish you'd refilled your glass sooner. You had planned on pacing yourself. Instead you reach for the next available drink, the one someone else has been nursing.
It's whiskey and it makes your eyes water, but it's the lesser of the distasteful things you're about to stomach, so you toss it down without an ounce of reverence.
Changkyun would have been offended. It was a waste of good alcohol. He doesn't notice you slime his drink, though, so you're spared the lecture.
His arm is draped across the couch, busy laughing at Kihyun and Hyungwon’s argument, when you lean up to whisper into his ear.
"You don't get to dump me after this."
He turns to look at you, confusion across his face, but you're already leaving, abandoning your nest at his side. His eyes follow you across the room in disbelief, watch you pick up the other microphone.
Maybe he heard wrong.
Maybe you didn't spend ten minutes this morning making it abundantly clear that you would not be trying to sing in front of anything other than your bathroom mirror - tonight or ever, thank you very much.
It's too loud in here for him to make out the exchange, but the other girl visibly relaxes at your approach, and he can't help the momentary squeeze in his heart before Hyungwon pulls him back into the conversation to choose sides.
The excuse you give her is one part conspiracy and four parts entirely false. "Do you mind if I sing with you? I lost a bet with Changkyun, and I'll feel a lot better if I can sing with someone else."
She beams back at you, too wide, all white teeth and gratitude, "Of course! I was just trying to pick a song - did you have something in mind?"
"Anything but aespa." You look pointedly at the section she's hovering over. "Unless you want this party to go 0 - 100 in about ten seconds." You glance over at Jooheon, locked in an intense battle with Minhyuk, and a shudder runs down your spine.
She follows your gaze, but it's clear she doesn't understand.
"...just trust me. It'll get there."
You flip back to the top of the list, the 'most popular', and start making your way down. The songs are kind of boring, but you don't know her well enough to throw your tastes at her.
"Oh! How about this one!" Long manicured nails - you spare a moment's rueful thought to consider your own, chapped and chomped on - punch in a song 20 years out of date, and you forgive her for being so perfectly feminine.
"I love this song." You admit sheepishly, and the barest foundation of a friendship snaps into place over a shared guilty pleasure.
You take some small satisfaction from knowing no one is prepared for what's about to happen, even if it means exposing your clown card, and poke the play button with too much vigor.
Your partner smiles at you as you shimmy along awkwardly to the intro - the song is straight from your 'dancing around the living room in your underwear' repertoire, so you can't resist – but she surprises you by joining in just as uncoordinatedly, and a laugh bubbles out against your will.
Here's the thing: your actual singing? It's bad.
Very, very bad. And not in the way where professing it so brought about a chorus of pitying encouragement and praise, a cover for low esteem. It was the kind of bad that made your audience grateful they didn’t have to say it to your face.
Call it healthy realism. You know your strengths.
The noise that comes out of your mouth? It’s not one of them. Not even the most generous would call it music, though it is enthusiastic. You growl along to the lyrics in a monster voice, and startled heads whip around to look your way.
The other girl’s eyes widen, taken aback, but she doesn’t stop singing. She’d been going for an authentic attempt, scratchy and breathy, the kind that made you dread karaoke nights when you were in school, and you're grateful you’d gone for something obnoxious.
You ignore your audience, especially the slack-jawed shock on Changkyun’s face, carrying on with a wry grin – you know exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into.
The pitch drops and you follow, even though it’s a baritone and you’re a high alto at best. Your imitation of a deep voice is deplorable, nowhere near close to the right key, and from the corner of your eye you see Changkyun start to laugh. By the time you get to the chorus, he's in tears and Hyungwon's girlfriend has given up entirely. The two of you are yelling the lyrics like you're riding in the car with the volume on blast, not at all like you're honoring the solemn pasttime known as karaoke.
You don’t stop when the song is over, queuing straight into the next one, without the theatrics this time. It’s another throwback, even more fun to dance to than the last.
On the other side of the room, argument forgotten, Hyungwon is besotted, eyes glued to his girlfriend – clearly still in the honeymoon stage – so it’s Kihyun who looks back and forth from you and Jooheon, blinking rapidly.
“Yah, Changkyun. Did you know you were dating Jooheony?”
Changkyun doesn’t answer right away, mesmerized by the way you bounce around the front of the room, ponytail bobbing. He hides his smile behind the back of his hand as he turns to Kihyun and the pure mischief writ on his face.
“She’s cuter than Jooheon...but only by a little bit.”
The man in question wiggles his eyebrows back at them, beaming. He liked Changkyun’s girlfriend.
She seemed to understand his thoughts, sometimes even before he did. She wasn’t too reserved, either, which was good for his friend. It meant she pulled him out of his shell more.
Most importantly, she made him laugh like he had earlier, unfettered and free.
Changkyun catches your eye, and you throw him a saucy wink as you shout along –
Mamma Mia, here I go again, my my, how can I resist you?
And then you smile at him, for all the world the only people in the room, just for a second, and honestly, he doesn’t know the answer either.
By the time Jooheon takes the stage – and it is a stage, then – you’re thoroughly satisfied with your introduction and only a little embarrassed. You make your way back to perch on the arm of the couch next to Changkyun, and he tugs you into his lap, one arm supporting your waist.
You didn’t realize how natural it’s become, showing affection in front of the others, until you see Hyungwon and his lady luck trying to situate themselves, not quite touching but clearly wanting to.
Trust Minhyuk to solve it, though, squirming his way into a non-existent seat to force Hyungwon over until they’re pressed against each other, shoulder to thigh, and he can either put an arm around her or risk pushing her off the loveseat.
He takes the safer option, hand finding home in her hair, a subtle brush against the back of her neck.
They’re cute together.
Then she brings up your earlier comment, and you take it back. “What was the bet, by the way?”
Changkyun looks up at you, puzzled, and you pretend not to notice. The lie rolls smoothly off your tongue, like you’d said it a hundred times. “I told him I could out cs him in League.” A dramatic sigh.
“Alas. Some of us show up for team fights, but others stay on their own little island, so I lost.”
“Even you’re not that delus–“
You slap a hand over his mouth playfully, but you can feel the upturn of his cheeks as he laughs at you. He does stop, though, because he recognizes what you’re doing, and when he pulls your hand away you let him keep hold of it, twining his fingers through yours.
“So, Minhyuk; who won?”
He finds you on the balcony later, seeking refuge from the constant barrage of noise. It’s a chilly but quiet, neon lights twinkling up from below. He tugs you away from the rail and into his arms, blankets you with his body.
“About this dumping you mentioned earlier…I’m pretty sure someone swore she wasn’t singing tonight.” You groan and bury your face in his shoulder, feeling your cheeks flush.
“Let’s not talk about it. Ever.”
“Why not? It was cute.” He’s teasing, rocking you, but leaves it at that. The two of you lean against each other for a few quiet moments, until Changkyun speaks up again, serious this time. “Hyungwon likes her a lot. Thanks for what you did.”
He’s not supposed to call it out like that. He’s supposed to pretend nothing happened.
Gentle hands pry your face away as you try to hide, thumbs tracing your cheekbones as he looks at you with a peculiar tenderness. He brings his forehead to meet yours and there’s no escaping him, not when his eyelashes are close enough to brush your own.
“You’re a good person.” Swift lips graze yours, stopping your protests. You know he didn’t mean it like that – not like he expected you to be an ass, given that he’s dating you – and then his lips are back on yours, lingering this time as he fills in the blanks with words that aren’t quite ready to meet air.
You fascinate me. I love you.
You respond in kind, lips moving slowly against his.
I love you, too.
It lasts for an eternity, the way only Changkyun can kiss, like it’s the only thing in the world that matters, but it’s not rushed. His lips drag against your own, soft and wet and openmouthed, and you’re too busy tasting him to hear the door slide open again.
“Yaaagh!”
That disgruntled yell can only belong to Minhyuk.
You break apart to see him with an arm over his eyes. He stumbles backward blindly. “I didn’t see anything, I swear!”
Changkyun raises his eyebrows – what exactly did Minhyuk think he’d walked in on? – but Kihyun pops out a second later, rolling his eyes.
“I told you not to come outside.”
“But it’s her turn!”
You exchange a cocky look with Changkyun, who’s been waiting for this moment for longer than he cares to admit. You’re nice, but not nice enough to go easy on Minhyuk, who’s both an insufferable braggart when he wins and a terrible loser.
"It’s only fair, I suppose. Someone has to put an end to Minkyuk’s winning streak.”
You may not sing like Kihyun, or be as ethereally beautiful as Hyungwon and his girlfriend, but kicking Minhyuk’s ass in Super Smash Bros? That, you can do.
A/N: I posted this but my brain wasn't done with it. RIP my afternoon bike ride.
Summary: Reader just needs to be left alone for a while. Changkyun gets it.
On any other day, you’d take no small pride in your role as unofficial office tech support; today you resented it.
Clearly, it was too much to ask to be left alone. To be allowed to buckle down and crank out a killer presentation for your client, without answering trivial questions about how to use Microsoft word – you'd think they'd at least google it before coming to you.
It’s difficult to say exactly what set you off, pushed you into this downward spiral: the impending deadline; training the newbie; the chatty neighbor who won’t stop pushing boundaries.
It’s not even noon – close of business feels eons away.
You can push through it, enough to finish the day, because this is your job, and so you make the rounds like you’re supposed to. But every feigned smile makes your skin crawl, a soft voice and a polite nod belying none of the turmoil, none of the screaming in your head, and you wish the eyes would go away, that the questions would stop.
It’s not their fault, and somewhere inside you know that, but knowing doesn’t make it easier, doesn’t make it less agonizing.
The nicer you are, the more you fake it, the worse it gets.
Mild discomfort becomes hyperaware torment, until even your clothing, despite the modest cut, leaves you feeling exposed. Every wrinkle seems too revealing, too noticeable, though there’s nothing remotely inappropriate about it.
The texture, the fit – it makes you want to scratch away the blouse, the bra, the skirt; to hide in something amorphous, someplace you can’t be seen.
That’s how Changkyun finds you, swimming in one of his sweatshirts, hood up in front of the computer. He’s preoccupied with other thoughts, doesn’t notice your rigid posture at first, the tension in your shoulders. He says hello, and when you don’t respond he assumes you’re entrenched in the intensity of the moment, focused on your game. It’s not until after he’s kicked off his shoes, after he’s tossed his lunch remains in the sink, that he drops a kiss to the top of your head.
“Don’t touch me.”
You flinch away without thinking, and it’s work to be kind, to not to hurt his feelings when you already feel like you’ve given too much of yourself away today, and you don’t want him to hate you for it but you’re past capacity right now.
The very thought of contact, physical or emotional, makes your breath stutter in your throat, scrambles your brain. It takes no effort – too little? – to let the world slide away, to throw yourself into your game, because not thinking is the easiest way to not feel.
Not quite victory…but stasis is better than nothing.
Even if you wanted to explain it, the ‘why’ that makes you feel hunted, the cause of the howling and burning in your soul, you don’t have the words.
You can’t help feeling feral. Trapped. Like fight or flight has kicked in and you’re backed into a corner, even though no one said anything egregiously offensive, nothing too threatening on the horizon.
You apologize to Changkyun anyway, though you think he would eventually have forgiven you.
It’s not necessary.
He sees the look on your face – hears the strain in your voice, even as you try to rein it in, for his sake – and he gets it.
He’s no stranger to feeling naked in front of a crowd. Even though he’s confident, experienced, used to the chaos…some days are just like that. Sometimes it comes home, unannounced and unwanted, burying itself in your head, making you doubt your very existence.
He looks sad, though he gives you a small smile – maybe that’s what makes you believe him when he says he understands, backing away.
He doesn’t say it, that the look, the worry in his eyes, isn’t because of you. It’s that he wishes you didn’t feel like apologizing for having a bad day.
He wants you to be comfortable expressing yourself around him, good and bad, but he can respect the desire to be left alone, and so he does exactly that, settling himself for a quiet night in.
It takes time to resituate, to ease the extra tightness in your chest, to let the worries about what he thinks – about not spending time with him – fade away.
He goes about his business like you’re not there, doesn’t even try to start up a conversation – for which you’re grateful.
His only concession to your presence is the cup of tea that manifests at your elbow, fragrant and steaming, but it’s not unusual for him to make a pot to share, so you let it slide.
And when he switches from the overheads to the fairy lights, well. That’s him, trying to unwind.
Same for the music in the background, something soothing that you can’t quite place over the sound of total annihilation.
It takes a drop in ranking – six straight losses this evening – to interrupt your fixation enough to make you move.
Changkyun is reading quietly on the couch, but his eyes follow you over the rim of his glasses as you wander into the kitchen, and he smiles to himself when he hears the soft ‘ooh!’ of interest – he’d left dinner on the counter. He waits until he hears the microwave beep before he tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear and flips the page, satisfied with a job well done.
You eat in the kitchen, hovering in front of the window, slurping down noodles like you haven’t eaten in days, and that something inside starts to unravel.
It feels like you can breathe. Slow, deep breaths that bring you back a little at a time, and if you hate yourself for being like this, at least you’re capable of interacting again.
Or at the very least, capable of apologizing again to the man who did nothing to earn your aversion.
Changkyun’s long legs are splayed across the seats, and though he doesn’t so much as twitch as you make your away back into the den, sharp nose deep in his book, it’s the work of a moment to cover his body with yours.
Arms wrapped around him, face buried in his chest, this time it’s not an apology – it’s muffled gratitude that escapes. “I wasn’t going to come tonight, but you work so hard to make time for me. I didn’t know how to tell you I needed to cancel. I was hoping I’d get over it before you came home.”
His returning embrace makes you bolder than you feel.
“It just happens, sometimes. I didn’t mean to ruin tonight.”
A gentle hand strokes down your back, and the hum he lets out reverberates through his chest. He’s choosing his words thoughtfully. “This is good, too.”
You peek up at him, unable to hide disbelief, and this time the smile is all contentment, all genuine. “It’s nice to be…off, with you.”
His self-conscious chuckle is both endearing and confusing. “Not that I don’t like doing things together, but some days just plain suck, and unwinding like this is pleasant. Even if we had other plans.”
You take his words at face value, quietly inhaling the scent of him as he returns to his book, and it's better than any aromatherapy
It doesn’t completely erase the guilt burrowed in your heart, but only time will fix that. For now it’s enough that he trusts you, wants to be with you even like this.
It’s hard to say if the slow, hypnotic slide of his hand though your hair does it, or the leeching warmth of another person, but some combination of the two has your body melting into his and before you know it, you’re drifting off to sleep – and it’s strange, because you’re not normally the homebody type – but…maybe he’s on to something.
Maybe it's nice to have someone who doesn't need you to bring the sunshine and smiles – someone who likes you even when you're gloomy, who understands that on some days, you have to accept the occasional rain, too.
A/N: Life catches up to you in strange ways, but I'm glad to be back, even if it's just another h/c indulgence.
Consider this my corpse being driven across the finish line in a hearse. Obviously I can't be trusted with multi-chapter fics...
Let's just pretend I posted this a year ago, yeah?
Malignatas, a KihyunxReader mini-series
Chapter 5: The Storm
WC: 2.2k
Summary: You and Kihyun thought you knew what you were getting into when you decided to make your relationship public. Neither of you were prepared for a curse from a spiteful fan, cast to keep you apart forever.
[Chapter 1] [Chapter 2] [Chapter 3] [Chapter 4]
It’s a lot to take in, hearing it second hand.
It’s not the shock floors that you, leaves you stupefied. It’s that you didn’t see it coming. And somehow, it seems like you should have.
The recording continues, but you don’t hear anything else. Kihyun’s frozen face, a mirror to your own, looks like he still can’t believe what he’s telling you. It would be funny in a different lifetime. Today, it’s lost on you.
An avalanche of thought drowns out the silence, and you don’t notice the others coming back, voices talking amongst themselves.
Does the board know? It seems unlikely. They're usually more concerned about keeping the company profitable, and cutting into Kihyun’s practice time is unlikely to get them the results they desire. Which means it's personal?
But why? And why Kihyun? He can’t have been the first idol to date someone; in fact, you know for fact that he’s not the first to have a relationship, let alone a longer one.
Were you the target? Did you do something to offend someone, other than dating an idol? Hard to see how, when you were no one of any import.
Should you even stay? Is it worth pushing back against Starship of all people, when Kihyun is still under contract; when the others are still under contract? Will fighting back now just bring everyone else down with you?
It’s a torrent of agony; yes, I want this over with and but what about everyone else, pitting you against your compassion, your friends. What if confronting them isn’t enough? How can you possibly stop someone at that level, prevent them from lashing out again later?
It takes more than one knock at the door to startle you out of your reverie. Changkyun eventually has to stick his head in, carefully looking anywhere but at you, and it’s his voice that grounds you.
“Noona? Are you…okay?” He bites his lip, and you choke down your panic. The answer is “obviously not”, but it’s hard to know what else to say besides "yes".
You can’t blame him. “We brought you fried chicken. You can’t eat in here, though.” He doesn’t say alone, but you hear it anyway.
You fake optimism until your cheeks hurt and you’re sure the mask is fading, impatience crinkling in your eyes. They do their best to distract you, to fill you in on the details of their plan – none of them seem to share your concerns, not thinking past having an end in sight. You wish it could be that easy for you, and you know you’re being ungrateful because they’ve had a long night, and they’ve clearly been thinking things through – Jooheon and Minhyuk fall asleep against each other on the couch before you’re free to sneak away, when Hyungwon and Changkyun, too calm to drown out your thoughts, can’t keep the anxiety at bay any longer.
It calls for another round of poorly scrawled messages for Kihyun, a personal diary cum deeply emotional penpal letter. You outline drawbacks, potential solutions, things he maybe hadn't quite thought of, yet.
It’s not that the plan is lacking; between what you gathered earlier and replaying the end of Kihyun’s video message, the whole thing is rather sound. It has padding built-in, enough to support the most pressing outstanding question – how much time does you have during the eclipse?
Packing the go-bag is harder than it looks, but it makes for a nice distraction. The outfit you feel strongest in, the most put-together – no reason to show up slovenly; you don’t want to give Kim Ha Jun the satisfaction of even a minute victory.
***
When the day finally comes, they leave Kihyun to fend for himself. The backpack goes with Minhyuk to one of the nearer practice rooms, close enough to barrel down the hall if needed; secure enough to wait a few hours if she changes at the beginning of the eclipse.
Kihyun eyes the door before him, the gold lettering glinting at him like a challenge, and grits his teeth. He would be CEO one day. He would make Starship a better place for all idols, for anyone in the entertainment industry. A refuge. At the helm of Starship, he’d take the K-pop industry to a future they’d hardly dared to believe in.
Eventually.
But first things first. A calming breath, straighten the sweater – a knock at the door.
The appointment was scheduled; he’d been expected. But Kim Ha Jun feigned surprise at his presence, anyway. A joyous, imagine-seeing-you-here response to his knock, gesturing him in like they hadn’t seen each other in years, offering refreshments.
Kihyun perches uncomfortably on the edge of the leather sofa and tries to ignore it, just like he’d always politely ignored the man’s terrible taste in cologne, secure in the knowledge that he’d always have warning before Kim Ha Jun showed up.
“Kihyun!” The man bellows. “Have you seen your charts for this month? Streaming is still high – better than we expected, don’t you think?” The man who was CEO of Starship wasn’t endowed with a fatherly aura, but it didn’t stop him from trying. The result was a discomfiting dissonance of corporate interest and the misplaced boundaries of an overly-friendly uncle. “You have great things ahead of you, my boy, great things!”
Kihyun suppresses a shudder and smiles instead. “Only with your vision and guidance, sir. None of us would be here without you.” Ha Jun smiles, pleased with the compliment, and Kihyun glances surreptitiously at his watch. He’d prepared conversational topics – questions, ideas – in the event that he has to stall for up to an hour.
Except right now, he can’t remember any of them, and it’s been less than ten minutes.
He falls back on the safest, most surefire way to keep oneself out of a conversation with a narcissist:
He asks for Kim Ha Jun’s opinion.
---
When you walk through the door nineteen minutes and thirty-six seconds later, Kihyun could nearly melt with relief, and not just because he’s seeing you in person for the first time in over a year. That part feels too surreal to even put a thought to, like an apparition he’d caught out of the corner of his eye, except it was standing in front of him.
You were standing in front of him. In front of both of them.
Kim Ha Jun, though, looks more surprised than anything. Eyebrows raised to the sky, he frowns. “You’re still around?”
The way he says it scares you, a free admission of guilt. Confronted with a problem he thought resolved ages ago. As if you were meant to have vanished entirely, a speck of lint flicked carelessly off his lapel.
A lapel you only barely restrain yourself from grabbing, from shaking until the last oily strands of hair fell from his head.
“I don’t believe we’ve met in person.” You say, rigid with anger at his dismissal. Kihyun moves to your side, lends you the protection of his presence. “But yes, I am still here. I’m here and I’m pissed off, in case you were wondering. You took away six months out of my life, out of Kihyun’s career, which for all intents and purposes should be a major detriment to the company and for what? Because you didn’t like me? Because I wasn’t good enough for your idol?” With no attempt at moderation, your tone rises, and you find yourself trying not to lose your breath by the end.
Kim Ha Jun still looks unaffected. He doesn’t disrespect you further by refilling his glass, but he inspects it as if it were tempting.
“It wasn’t meant to last. You were a distraction. You would become more of a distraction. Kihyun is in the prime of his career. I can’t afford to have him moping about over a heartbreak – let the other companies lose their fortunes over women and relationships.”
“How was this not a distraction?!” Kihyun bursts. “Do you know what we’ve been through? How agonizing it has been? I wouldn’t have thrown away my career over a break-up – I’d have been sad and gotten over it, like anyone else. That’s normal. That’s life.”
The glass slams onto the table, and you both startle. Ha Jun braces himself on the desk. “It wasn’t meant to be a continued distraction.” He says, eyes flashing. “I was…expediting the matter. Once she was over you, once she decided that ‘idols were too much effort’ – “ he says it mockingly, and suddenly it’s very, very clear that this is about more than you and Kihyun – “then *poof*. You’d be all back to normal Kihyun, and she’d be out of your life for good; all problems solved.”
“And what about her? What would have happened? You think we just…wouldn’t see each other again, that I wouldn’t wonder what had happened to her?” Kihyun is bristling, his face bright red.
Ha Jun smiles a slow, nasty smile. “You’d have a new, one of kind watch, my young flexer.”
The enormity of his implication makes the silence stretch around it. Diabolical enough to forcibly separate you, but setting it up to make you disappear, to punish you for choosing yourself over the farce your life had become? Rather than murdering you outright?
A cold shiver runs down your spine, and your hairs stand on end. In a different world, you might wonder who hurt you? Instead, you fight the gaping maw of terror that's opening, the rapid realization of how horrible a person you face.
"That was not your decision to make!” Kihyun is angry; you both are. But he's also scared, and you can feel his body quivering where it brushes yours. "She had every right to leave me. She had more right to leave me because of you. And she didn't, and I'm grateful. But I never would have blamed her. I would have wanted her to be happy, just like she would have wanted for me." His hand slips into yours, maybe for show, maybe for solidarity. Maybe just for strength.
Neither of you has to do it alone.
"Do you know what that's like? To want someone else to be happy? Whoever she was, she didn't belong to you, Kim Ha Jun." Quieter this time, you're not asking so much as wondering aloud. "She deserved every chance to make her life better, and if being with you didn't improve her life, she had every right to leave."
"She chose me; it's true." Kihyun says, and it's hard to tell who is gripping who harder; both of your knuckles are white, like a storm may come and blow one of you away. "But I also chose her." He glances at you, and you see sorrow in his eyes. "I wish I could have chosen her more often."
It's a confession, but not one you weren't aware of. He'd always worried more about you than himself, would have had you spend your time working your career, your passion, rather than chasing traces of myths and magic.
When you respond, it's to him, and not to Ha Jun. "I love you."
Not "I would do it again"- you'd really, truly rather not. And not "you're worth it", either, because no one could be worth that total loss of self agency. But knowing you could be better? Working together towards that improvement?
That's the partner you want.
Who knows how it may have turned out, without the misdirected vengeance of Kim Ha Jun? Would you be the same people? Would you have become the same strong couple?
In the end, there is no storm. There's no whipping winds or flashes of lightning; just light. Painfully, impossibly bright, it floods the room, blinds you until the only tangible sense you have left is the deathgrip that connects you to Kihyun.
When it fades, Kim Ha Jun is gone.
Standing in the middle of the room, finally free, you find yourself alone with Kihyun at last, both of you human and heaving, emotions still running high. A blanket of silence hovers between you as you lock eyes, and it might have lasted an eternity if not for the alarm on Kihyun’s phone marking the end of the eclipse.
All it takes is one ragged crook of the lips – it’s from one of your playlists, nothing he’d have ever picked for himself – and then you’re flinging yourself into his arms. You’re not sure who’s holding who, laughing and crying at once as you sink to the floor in a trembling heap.
Surely only a matter of minutes, it still feels like hours could have passed before the rest of the group bursts in, expecting the worst.
The ensuing chaos is a good excuse, but the reality is that neither of you was in any state to notice. It's not until Minhyuk starts to usher everyone back to the dorms for a proper celebration and privacy that someone finds Ha Jun's empty glass lying on the floor in front of the desk.
Next to it is a little analog clock, its little analog brain tick-ticking quietly away. It looks cheap for the room, black plastic and an acrylic cover, more at home in a garage sale from the 90's than in a CEO's office.
You're not sure what will become of it when the board appoints its new CEO, but you don't find it in yourself to care much, either. The door closes soundly behind you, and you don't spare it another thought.
You have the future to consider.
A/N: Epilogue coming tomorrow! Thanks for reading!!
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It has no bearing on anything relevant, but I quit my job today and I just want to shout it to the world. I was miserable at work and living with an incredibly toxic roommate, and now I'm freeeeee!
I'm so giddy, I don't think I need jetfuel to get this plane off the ground.
Changkyun x Reader
Summary: Reader on the journey to baby bi. Changkyun is supportive.
Warnings (in the interest of fairness): some angst/comfort, commitment-phobia/fear of relationships, caretaker-codependent, gender roles are silly, coming out to boyfriend.
It’s never been too much of a bother, people mistakenly assuming your sexuality. Why should it matter if a guy you wouldn’t sleep with on the first date comforted himself with thinking you were a lesbian? Or if Jane from accounting insisted that your standing lack of a boyfriend meant you liked girls? At the end of the day, it was no one’s business but yours; yours, and the person you were interested in.
It’s nice on paper; to think it that way.
You’d like to be so self-assured in the face of invasive questions into your personal life. The reality is that sometimes, it does it hit home. Long periods of being single make you question whether or not you’re genuinely pursuing other interests, or if all these strangers somehow know something about you that you don’t, something holding you back in the dating department.
The immediate reality, however, was more straightforward: man or woman, the concept of dating was overwhelming.
Juggling another person’s feelings in the balance with your own, knowing the relationship wouldn’t last because you have Things You Want To Do and you don’t want to be beholden to another person.
Trying to gauge when either party developed Feelings, even if it was casual, and having to end it, knowing it’s for your own good but feeling like a terrible person, anyway. The sense of being trapped, the heightened awareness of someone else’s emotions. Always waiting for the shoe to drop.
Not every relationship Has To Go Somewhere. You’ve reminded yourself before, for all the good it does. Your last relationship lasted four years, and looking back, you must have been insane. You’d tried twice to end things, because it made sense when you’d moved apart after graduation, made sense when you realized you didn’t want to move in together out of the blue.
It was harder to end it when things were otherwise fine. He was a genuinely nice guy, if with some flags you may have overlooked. He didn’t understand when you tried to call it off, and you faltered, questioning your own judgement.
And so you stayed.
In the end, he breaks up with you. You cry and he doesn’t. Maybe it’s more a sense of failure than any lingering feelings, because the sobbing makes you feel lighter, and you don’t try to convince him to stay.
Later you’ll understand that you should have stood your ground when the roles were reversed.
That when someone wants to break up with you, the best thing you can do is let them. You wish he’d given you that courtesy, saved both of you years of anxiety and remorse, but here you are.
Overstaying is your specialty. Work. Friendships. A pathological inability to walk away, to say “no.”
It’s like you never learn your lesson. That, more than anything, is what stays your hand. Even as you yearn for physical touch, companionship – a little bit of vitamin D.
The prospect of having twice as many options to disappoint people doesn't exactly propel you into exploration.
It’s exhausting just to think about, let alone pursue. It doesn't stop women from crossing your mind; just that, even feeling men as the only viable option, you're afraid to date.
It makes it all the more amazing that you fall into this thing with Changkyun. It's easy.
He's easy.
He doesn't come on too strong, doesn't bowl you over with enthusiasm.
He listens when you talk; genuinely listens, doesn't just hear what he wants to hear.
He doesn't demand every moment of attention, doesn't need you glued at his side to feel secure with you.
Dating Changkyun is...a relief.
The mutual respect and care is liberating - you have the sense that if you felt the need to separate, he would support you, even if it pained him to let you go.
It's that sense of safety that allows you, eventually, to process those niggling doubts about your preferences.
It's an unremarkable moment, when you're watching netflix together, that reminds you of this unsolved business.
"So, cupcake. What will it be: man...or woman?"
A quick glance at Changkyun's face, still glued to the tv, means he didn't notice the way your heart had just skipped a beat. Watching the flustered love interest in the show stumble through the next few scenes, you have to remind yourself to breathe normally.
You allow yourself to tuck the thought away for later consideration, because you don't need to know right this moment.
It is, in fact, the first you've even processed it as a possibility. And happy as you are in your current relationship, it's deserving of exploration. Even if it's just for you.
Days turn into weeks, checking your reactions to actors and actresses, replaying a backlog of slightly odd interactions with women throughout the years. Monitoring your reactions to women throughout the day.
The longer you think about it, the more natural it feels.
It's not every woman, just like it's never been every man.
But you remember catching eyes with a girl at camp, the 'hot damn' you'd felt and written off as envy, given how cool and effortlessly attractive she was.
Late night Google lets you know that questioning "do I want to be you, or do I just want you" is common when you don't realize you're attracted to women. And maybe, occasionally, it's a little bit of both.
It's not the only time you've felt that way.
It would be false to say that this period of reflection is painless, that one line in a television show caused everything click into place until all was right in the world.
It's...stressful. To fight your internalized bias. To be in a relationship with a man and acknowledge that you could also be in a relationship with a woman - not that you want to, right now.
Just that you could be. If you wanted to.
It’s a secret to no one that Changkyun likes looking pretty - that beyond the stage makeup and the camera glam, he enjoys the chance to press against his boundaries.
Well polished, well manicured nails make him smile, bringing bright spots to dark days.
A dab of power lipstick brings more satisfaction than power underpants, and he revels in the feel of eyes lingering on one of his favorite features.
Accessories – necklace, earrings, watch – give him a sense of fulfillment, bringing any outfit to the next level. The sparkles don’t hurt, either.
It doesn’t make him less of man; no more so than an ability to wield power tools makes you less of a woman.
You've always known that men don’t have the flexibility in self-expression women do, that the gates of masculinity are much more carefully guarded. It's why you've always been advised to 'date someone who toes the line' and not someone too far to either side.
You’ve heard him, and the others, quip “duality” at each other before; you’ve never asked, but understood on an intrinsic level that it referred, in part, to this back and forth, a fluidity in gender expression not afforded to most men. The balance between the attitude, makeup, and accessorizing required by his profession, versus his preference.
His quiet confidence, his ability to reflect and evolve. They're all things you admire about him, on top of the demonstrated attraction.
Maybe that's part of why he's the first person you're willing to trust with this self-discovery, even if it's his reaction you should be most concerned about.
Knowing, deciding to share, is one thing. How to approach it is an entirely other. You spend a few silly hours imagining some grand proclamation, an earth-shattering statement, plotting appropriate moments to reveal something so deeply life-altering.
In the end, it's almost nothing. A side bar to your day.
It happens on impulse one night while you're cooking dinner. Changkyun is sat at the counter with a glass, making idle conversation while he catches up on his internet fix for the day, and it slips out.
Of all the scenarios you considered, it comes out sheepish. Part confused as to how you'd gotten here, part embarrassed that it had taken so long. You could have just as easily been saying "Honey, I think I burnt the bread."
Instead you say, "Babe...I think I might be bi."
He looks up from his phone and blinks a few times, and you rush to fill the sudden silence.
"It's not that I want to date anyone else!" You wring your hands in the apron, searching for something to occupy them. "I'm really happy with you, and I love you. There's no one else, and I'm not trying to see other people, or get freaky and bring someone else into our relationship or anything! It's just...I think I also find women attractive and I wanted you to know." You finish lamely, searching his face for a response.
"Okay." He says, and of course he makes it simple. You echo it back to him, like the word is foreign, and then he smiles and beckons you over.
He looks up at you from his seat, tugging you closer until you're stood between his legs, his hands warm and reassuring on your hips.
"Yes, 'okay'. I trust you." He rocks you gently, like he's cementing the point. "I always trust you. And thank you for telling me."
"It's not weird for you?"
"It could be a little weird, but I'm not worried about it. Just keep me in the loop if you do decide you want to act on any of those feelings, 'kay?"
You feel liberated, afterwards. Like saying it aloud removed a weight from your shoulders, like you've finally given yourself permission to accept it as a part of your identity.
You don't see any need to shout it from the rooftops, or explain it to everyone you know, just like you'd never bothered to explain away not being a lesbian.
It's enough that you know, that your best friend and partner knows, too. That the next time he sees your gaze lingering on a woman, reveling in the ability to do so, he can lean in to whisper:
"She's cute."
"...yeah. Yeah, she is."
His commentary is a welcome reminder, as you adjust, that it's okay to notice, to appreciate, despite not wanting to explore in depth.
We are deeply grateful for all the love and support MONBEBE is sending to MONSTA X from all around the world.
Lately, MONSTA X members SHOWNU, MINHYUK, KIHYUN, HYUNGWON, and JOOHONEY have renewed their contract with Starship Entertainment. As all six members share the same thoughts and affection towards the group and MONBEBE, I.M has agreed to continue and participate in the group's future plans.
We will do everything to support members based on the mutual trust we have built together. Our commitment is to provide our artists with undivided attention and systematic support.
Although discussions with I.M have undergone for a long period of time, we have mutually agreed to end the contract for the best of both parties. Our sincere appreciation goes out to I.M. for the hard work and dedication he has shown over the years.
We will support him wholeheartedly for both his participation as a member of MONSTA X and an individual artist.
It has been a month since MONSTA X took a break. We are working on various plans with the members to return the unconditional love we have received from MONBEBE.
Please continue to send your unwavering love and support to the six members of MONSTA X.
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Beauty is pain. Anyone who says otherwise is selling something.
You've heard it before.
But when every step is torture, it's more than theory, and you can't help thinking maybe beauty is overrated.
At the end of the night, as the alcohol and adrenaline wear thin and physical awareness returns in slow waves, you remember why you hate events like these.
In the beginning, it's fun. Idle chitchat with friends you haven't seen, sipping champagne and exchanging compliments, groaning about the early start but jubilant nonetheless.
It doesn't last.
Too much time to sit and think, too much waiting waiting waiting, despite being surrounded by noise, and no one notices the anxiety mill before you're all scrambling to find peppermint and ginger for the bride, breaking into the phone-a-friend pharmacy.
Hours of prep, an eternity standing and waiting, ensuring hair and makeup stay perfectly in place. Photos photos photos, so many photos, to remind you of a happy event you barely get to enjoy, let alone the bride and groom.
She's resplendent in her happiness, seven years in the making, breathtaking in white lace and tulle; would have been even without the weeks of dieting, the surgery and heavy makeup.
He looks like he always does, and you can't help but hate that she'll forget all the effort she put into this look, that fifteen years down the road she'll look at all those photos and think she's past her prime, but it's not your place to judge. You smile because this is what she wants, and you're proud to be there as witness.
Then dinner and more alcohol, dancing because it's your solemn duty as a member of the bridal party to provide other guests the illusion of invisibility, too many people too proud to look foolish in public, but the DJ can't go to waste and you won't let the bride dance alone.
Sneaking out for a breather and buzzed selfies, except then you're fishing the maid of honor out of a fountain, torn between horror and hilarity at a cute shot gone horribly awry.
The bride is unimpressed, but the worst is over and she can't bring herself to care; there's a hair dryer to salvage the dress and she turns away, faces the whirlwind of congratulations from old friends and distant relations.
Heels too high, dress too long, no party flipflops for you. When your feet start to ache, not for the first time, you sashay over to the bar with a wink and a smile; another cosmo for the lady.
It holds until midnight, when you see them out to their limousine, just a handful of party goers to accept leftover flowers and unclaimed favors. You consider changing first, a moment of longing for soft pants and bare feet, but your ride is here and going home is arguably a better reprieve.
Whimpering in the hallway, propped against the wall for support, you slide off one sequin-studded shoe and then the other. You must have made too much noise because then Kihyun is there, looking unfairly comfortable and amused.
He trades water and a tug at your zipper for a sloppy kiss and your clutch, dignity for sanity, a better deal on your part, and even though he's seen your texts from earlier he's still floored by the dramatic eyelashes and berry lipstick.
He's not going to tell you that, though. He's also not going to tell you how hard he'd tried to get out of his schedule for today to be your plus one, even if you'd insisted it was fine, that you'd barely see him even if he could attend.
He settles for the chance to take care of you, following your trail of destruction to the bathroom. You're quick for a drunk person, already dressed in a stolen shirt and sweatpants, staring yourself down in the bathroom mirror when he catches up.
Too single minded, too focused on off, you don't even think about the cosmetic remover, but he knows better, stops you from scrubbing at your face until it's red and raw.
He plants you on the toilet seat, breaks out his wipes, and you wilt at long last, dropping your head onto his shoulder. It should be cute, romantic, but he clicks his tongue and pushes you away, steadies you so he can pull glue from your eyelashes, just decisive hands that stand between you and sleep.
You admire those talented hands, no matter that his fingers aren't long or graceful, because they can do so many other things, steady and sure. You tell him, cheering on his ministrations until he makes you blush with a suggestion of his own.
No intent, just playful banter when you're so easy to tease like this, and maybe you also meant it a little like that, but not tonight, and instead you let loose your suppressed opinion, because even if he disagrees his feelings won't be hurt.
"Promise me that won't be us. Promise me we'll be better." It's a hard conversation to have sober, thoughts heavy on a distant future, but a night of reluctant longing brings it out.
You like the concept, the warm glow, the thought of staring into his eyes and seeing the future in his gaze, holding hands like no one else exists, but none of the rest makes sense, the expenditures and the registry and the pre and post events.
"I don't need all that. I just want you and me.
...and maybe cake. I like cake. And a honeymoon. Can we just have a honeymoon and a dinner?"
He'd been to the rehearsal dinner yesterday, an unusual plus one in apology for his absence from the main event, and he couldn't help but see it again, close friends and family together where they could talk and mingle, reunited despite time and distance, and he thinks you may have a point.
Kihyun pulls you from the toilet, steadies you as you find your balance again. His grip on your shoulder is firm and warm as he gives you a push towards the bedroom and the promise of comfort.
He leaves you there, alone beneath the covers, and you think he's not ready for bed and you're right, but it has nothing to do with the television and everything to do with the giddiness he's been holding in check since you all but said you wanted to marry him one day.
He can't even pay attention to the movie, though he turns it back on, an accompaniment to his thoughts, and tries not to read too much into your drunken chatter, on the part where you were thinking the thoughts he was, too.
The quiet is overwhelming, lonely after spending the night surrounded by people, and by all rights you should be passed out but you don't last more than half an hour before you're slipping from the covers, padding into the living room towards light and noise.
He's a good sport about it, shares his throw despite your squirming as you get comfortable, head on his thigh and even though the world is still spinning you feel more centered, more grounded, than you have all day.
Those fingers of his, back again, carding through your hair as you nuzzle your cheek against his leg, and even though your feet are half numb and half agony, you find yourself drifing off to sleep.
And even though he's going to regret it in the morning, he slides out from under you to hold you to his chest, allows himself doze off on the couch in perfect contentment.
The worries about a stiff neck, about planning a future together, can wait until another night. In the meantime, he has everything he wants in his arms, and that's good enough for now.
