hannie

You’re currently eight weeks pregnant. Not that far along–but it feels like months already. Every morning feels like you’re on a ferry that won’t stop rocking. And sometimes it rocks too much that dinner from the day before & stomach acid comes right out. Today was no exception.

As soon as you got to your feet, you nearly retched right then–but managed to make it to the bathroom just in time. You collapsed in front of the toilet, emptying your stomach. Tears of frustration filled your eyes, this was your least favorite part–so far. But every morning was miserable. Especially for you, who was deathly afraid of vomit.

Chan woke up a bit after you left, reaching his hand out for you on the now empty bed. It was still warm from when you were laying–which meant that it hasn’t been a while since you got up. “Babyy??” he called out sleepily, the pout clear in his voice—but the sound never reached you over the harsh echo of you retching into the toilet. Chan frowned slightly as he sat up, his hair sticking up in ways that nobody thought was possible as he threw his legs over the bed. Standing up with a groan.

You could hear his feet pad closer to you as he made his way to the noise. “Mhmm bab–” he froze by the door, suddenly feeling guilty that he was upset that you didn’t reply. You looked back, tears streaming down your face as you let out a barely contained sob “Hey hey– my sweet girl, it’s okay.” He crouched down next to her, holding her hair back with one of his large hands as the other spread out by the small of your back. “You’re doing so good, baby.” The frustration and fear slowly went away by his soothing words and comforting touch as the tears came to a halt. “See? you’re almost done.” He reassured, trying to stop the tears. And it was safe to say that his words worked–the sobs turning into soft sniffles as you leaned into his touch. “I’m okay.” You said quietly, looking up at him with a soft smile. “You sure? "Yeah." “good job” 

Not much more needed to be said, you were just happy that he was there for you. And he was just happy to have his fiance in his arms.

You’re currently eight weeks pregnant. Not that far along–but it feels like months already. Every morning feels like you’re on a ferry that won’t stop rocking. And sometimes it rocks too much that dinner from the day before & stomach acid comes right out. Today was no exception.

As soon as you got to your feet, you nearly retched right then–but managed to make it to the bathroom just in time. You collapsed in front of the toilet, emptying your stomach. Tears of frustration filled your eyes, this was your least favorite part–so far. But every morning was miserable. Especially for you, who was deathly afraid of vomit.

Chan woke up a bit after you left, reaching his hand out for you on the now empty bed. It was still warm from when you were laying–which meant that it hasn’t been a while since you got up. “Babyy??” he called out sleepily, the pout clear in his voice—but the sound never reached you over the harsh echo of you retching into the toilet. Chan frowned slightly as he sat up, his hair sticking up in ways that nobody thought was possible as he threw his legs over the bed. Standing up with a groan.

You could hear his feet pad closer to you as he made his way to the noise. “Mhmm bab–” he froze by the door, suddenly feeling guilty that he was upset that you didn’t reply. You looked back, tears streaming down your face as you let out a barely contained sob “Hey hey– my sweet girl, it’s okay.” He crouched down next to her, holding her hair back with one of his large hands as the other spread out by the small of your back. “You’re doing so good, baby.” The frustration and fear slowly went away by his soothing words and comforting touch as the tears came to a halt. “See? you’re almost done.” He reassured, trying to stop the tears. And it was safe to say that his words worked–the sobs turning into soft sniffles as you leaned into his touch. “I’m okay.” You said quietly, looking up at him with a soft smile. “You sure? "Yeah." “good job” 

Not much more needed to be said, you were just happy that he was there for you. And he was just happy to have his fiance in his arms.

You’re currently eight weeks pregnant. Not that far along–but it feels like months already. Every morning feels like you’re on a ferry that won’t stop rocking. And sometimes it rocks too much that dinner from the day before & stomach acid comes right out. Today was no exception.

As soon as you got to your feet, you nearly retched right then–but managed to make it to the bathroom just in time. You collapsed in front of the toilet, emptying your stomach. Tears of frustration filled your eyes, this was your least favorite part–so far. But every morning was miserable. Especially for you, who was deathly afraid of vomit.

Chan woke up a bit after you left, reaching his hand out for you on the now empty bed. It was still warm from when you were laying–which meant that it hasn’t been a while since you got up. “Babyy??” he called out sleepily, the pout clear in his voice—but the sound never reached you over the harsh echo of you retching into the toilet. Chan frowned slightly as he sat up, his hair sticking up in ways that nobody thought was possible as he threw his legs over the bed. Standing up with a groan.

You could hear his feet pad closer to you as he made his way to the noise. “Mhmm bab–” he froze by the door, suddenly feeling guilty that he was upset that you didn’t reply. You looked back, tears streaming down your face as you let out a barely contained sob “Hey hey– my sweet girl, it’s okay.” He crouched down next to her, holding her hair back with one of his large hands as the other spread out by the small of your back. “You’re doing so good, baby.” The frustration and fear slowly went away by his soothing words and comforting touch as the tears came to a halt. “See? you’re almost done.” He reassured, trying to stop the tears. And it was safe to say that his words worked–the sobs turning into soft sniffles as you leaned into his touch. “I’m okay.” You said quietly, looking up at him with a soft smile. “You sure? "Yeah." “good job” 

Not much more needed to be said, you were just happy that he was there for you. And he was just happy to have his fiance in his arms.

minsung who leaned in just to hear your voice again after you answered a difficult econometrics question — your voice was soft and nervous, yet the precision of your answer left the entire room, including them, genuinely impressed.

minsung who made it a mission to finally meet you — so when jisung spotted you tucked away in the library, buried in a thick novel, he didn't hesitate to softly settle down across from you. minho was right behind, quietly taking the seat next to him to study your reaction.

minsung who watched your eyes trail up from the pages as you noticed the movement — you looked up to find jisung’s face split into an adorable gummy smile, while minho acknowledged you with a subtle nod and a soft, tethering gaze.

minsung who watched you slowly process their presence as you set your book down — your lips curled into a flustered smile as your cheeks flushed at the weight of their undivided attention.

minsung who introduced themselves by mentioning you were in the same major — little did they know, you had been thinking about them since the first day, always noticing the two pretty men who shared the second bench in the middle row.

minsung who worked in tandem to make you feel at home — jisung sweetly filled the silence until you felt brave enough to chime in, while minho stayed back, dropping a few witty words here and there as he watched you and jisung get cozy.

minsung who walked you all the way to your dorm, waiting until you were safely inside before heading off. you hurried to your room with a shy smile, falling onto your bed and squealing into your pillow because their company was even better than you had imagined.

minsung who saved you a seat the very next morning, waving you over before you could even look for a spot. as you settled into the corner, jisung rambled about the grading system while minho wordlessly slid a chocolate milk across the desk, remembering your favorite drink from a single mention the day before.

minsung who heard you giggle for the first time when minho made a light joke at jisung’s expense — jisung pouted and crossed his arms, begging you to take his side and you couldn't help but laugh. that's when they both internally swore to keep the jokes coming just to see your eyes crinkle like that again.

minsung who became your absolute best friends, turning every mundane task into a shared memory — they gently coaxed you out of your shell, jisung falling for the way you handled deep conversations and minho falling for the way you’d ramble, eyes bright and hands gesturing, about your latest literary obsession.

minsung who took you to a small, hidden bookstore tucked away in a quiet alley — they knew you’d prefer the shelves of books to a loud campus bar. you spent hours wandering the aisles with them, and at one point, you found jisung sitting on the floor reading a manhwa aloud with dramatic flair while minho stood behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder to see which books you had picked out.

minsung who invited you on a study date to their shared dorm, arranging and cleaning up their room to make it more inviting for you. jisung tidied up the place, air freshner and study supplies while minho arranged for snacks.

minsung who adored you as you shyly enter the dorm, clad in a white shorts and red sweatshirt, carrying all your books. minho moved quickly and took your bag as jisung ushered you into the living room.

minsung who listened to you as you cleared the doubts they had in economics — the room was quiet save for the soft confidence in your voice, and they found themselves more focused on the way your eyes lit up while explaining complex theories than the actual notes in front of them.

minsung who you caught kissing when you were returning from the washroom — the sight of them tangled together, minho’s hand cradling jisung’s jaw with such familiar tenderness, left you momentarily breathless. it wasn't a shock that left you reeling, but rather a quiet, heavy realization that clicked into place when they pulled apart and softly told you they were in a relationship.

minsung who felt your behavior change the moment you sat back down — you became a ghost in your own seat, the air around you turning cold as you suddenly dreaded every second left in the session. you kept your head down, the words of your textbook blurring as you counted the minutes until it was socially acceptable to pack up and escape the suffocating warmth of their domesticity.

minsung who had no idea that their confession had shattered every fragile hope you’d been harboring — they didn't see the way your heart sank at the confirmation that there was no space for you in their perfect, closed circle. to you, their love was a beautiful, solid wall that you were standing on the wrong side of, leaving you feeling like an interloper in a story that was already finished.

minsung who watched you systematically avoid them in the weeks that followed — you started choosing the furthest seat in the lecture hall and stopped showing up to the library until after they’d left. every time they tried to wave you over, you’d offer a tight, pained smile and a lie about a looming deadline, retreating back into the safety of your shell where they couldn't see how much it hurt to be around them.

minsung who eventually reached their breaking point and came to your dorm to confront you — they didn't knock so much as demand entry, crowding into your small room with expressions that were a mix of hurt and fierce determination. minho stood by the door, blocking your exit, while jisung grabbed your hands, his voice trembling as he begged to know what they had done wrong to make you discard them like this.

minsung who held you as you finally spilled your thoughts, the words tumbling out in a messy, tearful confession about your crush — you told them through jagged breaths that you couldn't be "just a friend" while watching them love each other, and that the only way to survive the ache was to stay away.

minsung who exchanged a long, knowing look before pulling you into the space between them — minho’s voice was a low, grounding hum against your temple as he told you they hadn't been looking for a friend, they had been looking for you. they explained that their relationship wasn't a wall, but a foundation they wanted to build a future on with you as the center of it.

minsung who took their time showing you exactly where you fit — minho’s hands were steady as he pulled you closer, his eyes never leaving yours to ensure you were with him every step of the way, while jisung’s fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you into deep, messy kisses that tasted of salt and relief. the shy introvert was gone, replaced by a girl who was finally being claimed by the two men she loved.

minsung who took off your clothes with a reverent slowness, before discarding their own to reveal the bodies you had only ever dared to imagine from afar — jisung was a beautiful contrast of soft edges and lean, hidden muscle, his skin glowing under the warm dorm lights, while minho stood before you like a sculpture, all broad shoulders, sharp collarbones, and powerful thighs that made your breath hitch.

"don't look away now." "we want you to see exactly what belongs to you."

minsung who watched your reaction with a mix of pride and raw hunger as your eyes traced the ink on their skin and the way their muscles flexed with every movement — they didn't miss the way your pupils dilated or the way your small, trembling hands reached out instinctively to touch, finally crossing the line between friendship and something much more carnal.

minsung who practically purred when your palms finally met their bare chests — jisung let out a shaky, needy exhale as he leaned into your touch, while minho’s gaze darkened, his hand coming up to cover yours and press it firmer against his heart so you could feel how fast it was beating for you.

"you have no idea how many nights we spent wondering if we’d ever get to feel you like this." "every time you smiled at us in class, it was torture."

minsung who shared you with a coordinated, hungry rhythm — jisung’s movements were all raw emotion and needy hitches in his breath as he moved against you, while minho provided the deep, grounding weight you craved, his thrusts powerful and purposeful. every touch was a promise, every groan a confirmation that the "variable" had finally found its place in the equation, leaving you spent and cherished in the quiet aftermath of their combined love.

minsung who settled you onto the center of the bed, the mattress dipping under your collective weight as they boxed you in — minho looming over you like a shadow you never wanted to escape, while jisung crawled up beside you, his heat pressing into your side as his hands began an upward journey from your ankles to your thighs.

"you're trembling." "tell us if it's because you're scared or because you've wanted this as much as we have."

minsung who laid you back against the pillows, the mattress finally yielding to all three of you as they positioned themselves to worship you — minho pinned your wrists above your head with one hand, his gaze dark and fixed on your face, while jisung’s hands finally found what they had been reaching for, his palms cupping your breasts with a reverent squeeze that made your back arch off the sheets.

"shh, just feel us baby." "you've spent so much time thinking; now you just get to feel."

minsung who didn't give you a moment to catch your breath as they moved lower — jisung’s mouth replaced his hands, his tongue swirling over your skin in a trail of heat that led straight to your core, while minho’s free hand slid down your stomach to find you already drenched and aching for them. when his fingers finally parted you, the sheer sensation of his touch against your hypersensitive clit made a jagged moan rip from your throat, your head tossing back into the pillow.

minsung who watched you unravel beneath them with a pride that was almost frightening — jisung looked up from between your thighs, his lips wet and eyes dark with desire as he watched minho work two fingers inside you, stretching you out while his thumb never stopped its relentless, circular friction.

"you're so ready for us." "tell minho how much you want him. tell us you want it all."

minsung who finally moved to fill the space they had carved out for you — minho guided them both to your entrance, the dual pressure of them stretching you slowly, deeply, until you felt completely occupied by them. as they both pushed inside your drenched cunt together, the fullness was overwhelming, a sharp, perfect ache that finally silenced the lonely voice in your head.

minsung who began to move in a coordinated, hungry intensity that left you sobbing their names — jisung provided the frantic, needy pace, his hips snapping against yours with every hitch in his breath, while minho stayed steady and deep, his thrusts powerful enough to make your vision blur. you were no longer a spectator or a surplus variable; you were the very axis their world revolved around.

"that's it, sweetheart, take all of us." "you're ours. in every way that matters, you're finally ours."

minsung who held you through the shattering peak that followed, their combined heat and weight the only things keeping you grounded as the room spun out of focus — they didn't pull away even when the friction turned to a soft, lingering glow, instead staying tangled with you in the quiet dark, proving that the story you thought was finished had actually only just begun.

minsung who shared you with a coordinated, hungry intensity — jisung’s soft moans muffled against your skin as he moved in tandem with minho’s deep, grounding thrusts. the world of economics, textbooks, and silent pining dissolved into a blur of heat and shared breath, every touch proving that you weren't just an addition to their life, but the missing piece they had been hunting for since that very first day.

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kysa's note: here's the request i've been working on for so long (lemme know if i served cunt as promised) my fav duo is here, thankyou to the nonnie who requested this !! (hoping i find my minho, amen) hope you like it, leave your thoughts in the comments, xoxo.

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klover's club

@binniebb @joyracha @b4echo @lynnslibrary @zosauce @pineapple-in-a-burgah @starlostjisung @hanjinology @hyunjinniemylove @bi-and-panicking @spiidergirlsworld @jiaaabbahng @avchannie @cchapssaltteok @unemployedcarat @hannavkk @selfproclaimedpabo @hyunjinxxs @babythisisourcinema @moch3rii @quokkahansung @persassyismysecrettwin @0felixsfreckles0 @mxmx09 @foxiebread @embobema @iownachihuahua @mylovchris @rockstarkkami @pinkyrec @pbynsstuff @gloomydietitian @leeshoeknows @mysticetti @fweakygyatt @rylea08 @mikashisus @matzduo @barbie-girl84 @soldantae @hannibugz @sssoulesss @stryscribbles @minniebitesfr @channlust @hyvnesangel @hanjisdoll @warped-rabbithole

@shadowrealm2010 My first ever mootie here. Jamie made feel less alone here and made tumblr so fun for me. My best buddy fs, I really don't know where I would be without you. We literally talked everyday almost haha, but I feel lately we couldn't talk much because of me ughh. Always likes every post of mine, whether it's me yapping or anything. I love you sososo much <33

@binniebb Belen!!! She's like my older sister and my inspiration honestly. Ngl, baby you inspired me to start writing fictions. Writes soso good and gets my changbin obsession!! Words cannot describe my love for you baby, but a song can. Everytime I listen to Lose my breath, i get reminded of you. Also a really REALLY pretty, beauutiful woman!!! I love my latina baby <33

@kloversung KYSA. Another one who's been with me since the start omg. My biggest sunshine hyper. Gets me so good. Literally the Han to my Chan. Kysa, without you im incomplete the way Changbin and Chan are incomplete without Han. I literally lurk in her blog lmaoo. Biggest sunshine cutie #1. Love ya lots babe <33

@channlust I can NEVER forget Lei in my life. Another moot that guided me thru tumblr when I was a newbie. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE check out her masterlist. It's filled with delicious fictions SPECIALLY CHAN OMG. My twin frfr. We haven't had a talk much and lei, please talk to me omg cuz I LOVEEEEE YOU <33

@eternal-stay Man I love you. Literally lol. ALSO YOUR THEME IS HOT OKAY?!!?? We recently started talking like a few days ago or so and we clicked sooooo good like oh gosh you get me so well!!! I lovee how we can jus.. RELATE to our lives. Let's keep on yapping to each other, mwahh <33

@verslyns LYNN I still remember the day we yapped so much on reblogs!!! Hahahah I had so much fun even tho I did cry a little hehe (I still remember the 143 reference for the time lmaooo) Anddd YESSS I LOVELOVELOVEEEE you. Yes. Mwah. Mwah. Two kisses because I love you isn't that valid enough?? <33

@hanjinology lol thought I forgot you? NOOO WAY HAHAH. I loveee reading sitri's works, my fav one is chan's Hometown baby (smau). Honestly writes the bestestestestest smut, argue with the wall. My most fav writer on this platform, and I giggled the first time Sitri replied to my ask hehe. Lysm babe <333

@hannibugz newbie writer whom I adore sm like my younger sibling!! Hanni, i still drool at your minho fic. Keep up babe,its one of my fav lino smuts. Let's talk more? I'd like us to slide into each other's messages and yap about writing and what not hahahha. Love yousooososososos much <33

@hnsbxby new mooties, we recently just interacted but oh gosh I love brianna already!! Positive vibes and hearts everytime we talk, I love us together babe!! Let's interact more mwahh <33

@mxnniemouse My twin. Minnie, I loved how we clicked immediately haha. We haven't talked much but I still cherish everytime we talk !!! mwahh <33

@atetheluck yes we haven't talked much because youre too cool and I ggot scared.. But YEAH- I still would loveee to talk to ya!! (Pls approach me im shy) Lots of loveee !! <33

@scarlettuce-lettuce Idk if we are mooties (for me yes we are. no going back) because DAMN you hype me up soooooo much I honestly feel so happy seeing you cheer me up. Always liking my posts, works ANYTHING I YAP ABOUT. Love you, anddd if youre hesitating to send a text in my inbox or messages, DON'T.

@dalkorem Literally started talking yesterday and I love rem already!! Rem, I love how you wrote the first fics about my biases haha, lets talk more!!! Im sooo excited for other works too (secretly giddy about what you would post for chan, hehe) Love ya!!!!!! <333

m a s t e r l i s t ⋆ i n b o x

🗂️ CASE FILE: JANE DOE 326 DATE: January 14, 2026 TIME: 02:17 AM 📍 LOCATION: East Riverfront, Detroit, MI

The call comes when the city has gone thin and hollow. When Detroit feels less like a place people live in and more like a body, worn down, exhaling through its teeth.

Hyunjin is already awake.

That part doesn’t surprise him anymore. Sleep has become the kind of thing that comes in shallow pieces, never quite enough to be called rest, always leaving him with the faint impression that some part of him stayed alert through it all. He’s still sitting at the small table in his apartment kitchen when his phone buzzes against the wood, a half-drunk cup of coffee gone cold beside him, a file open in front of him that he hasn’t looked at in ten minutes. The lamp over the sink throws a low amber wash across the room, catching the edges of papers, the line of his knuckles, the fatigue settled beneath his eyes.

He looks at the screen.

Uniform response first. East Riverfront. Female victim.

For a second, everything stills.

Not because this is new. It isn’t.

The dead have a way of arriving whether anyone is ready for them or not, and the city never asks permission before handing another body over to someone else’s shift. But there is always a moment, brief and private, where he lets the fact of it land. Someone’s daughter, maybe. Someone who had a name an hour ago. Someone who walked through the day with things to do and thoughts no one else heard and a body warm enough to carry her through the cold.

Then he pushes his chair back, stands, reaches for his coat.

By the time he gets downstairs, the wind has sharpened.

It cuts across the lot behind his building and slides under the collar of his jacket the second he steps outside, clean and mean in the way only January knows how to be. Snow from earlier in the evening has crusted over at the edges of the sidewalk, turned gray where tires dragged it into the street. The sky hangs low and colorless above the city, clouds swallowing whatever weak light might have softened the dark.

He drives with one hand on the wheel and the heat blasting harder than necessary, though the car never really warms before he pulls off near the river. Red and blue lights stain the dark from half a block away, flashing against a line of squad cars, a battered chain-link fence, the frozen sheen of dirty pavement. The river itself lies beyond all that in a flat strip of black, barely moving, carrying Canada somewhere across the dark.

A uniform waves him through the tape.

“Detective.”

Hyunjin ducks under without answering right away, eyes already moving. There are too many people, which there usually are in the first twenty minutes. Officers keeping the perimeter, a pair of EMTs standing off to the side with the stillness of people who already know they won’t be needed, one crime scene tech kneeling beside an open case, gloved hands sorting methodically through tools under portable floodlights. The bright wash of it all makes the rest of the scene look even darker by comparison, the edges of the lot dissolving into shadow.

“Who found her?” he asks.

“Truck driver,” the uniform says, falling in beside him. “Pulled in around one-fifty, thought he saw somebody passed out near the fence. Came closer, called it in.”

Hyunjin nods once. “ID?”

The officer shakes his head. “Nothing obvious yet. No purse in the immediate area. Patrol’s checking the perimeter.”

No purse. No phone visible. No immediate identity. A woman reduced to outline before anyone has even given her back a name.

He doesn’t answer. Just keeps walking.

She’s near the far end of the lot, where the asphalt breaks apart into gravel and frost-stiff weeds push through the cracks. The floodlight nearest her catches first on the pale line of one hand, then the dark spill of her hair, then the stillness of her body arranged in a way that makes something low and instinctive tighten in his chest.

Young.

That is always the first cruelty. Not the wound, not the blood, not even the obvious fact of death. Just youth, visible in the softness that lingers even now, in the shape of a face that still belongs more to becoming than to having been. She can’t be more than her mid-twenties. Maybe younger. Her coat is open, one sleeve twisted awkwardly beneath her, sweater visible underneath, cheap but clean. Dark jeans. One shoe still on. The other a few feet away, tipped on its side near a patch of old snow gone pinkish at the edge where something has bled into it.

Hyunjin stops at the perimeter of the body and lets the scene settle around him.

The victim lies on her back, head angled slightly to the right, hair blown partly across one cheek by the wind coming off the river. There is bruising already visible at the throat, dark even beneath the harsh white light, and a wound below the ribs that someone will later measure and describe in cleaner language than it deserves. Her eyes are closed. Either someone did that after, or they fell that way on their own. He hopes, irrationally and without reason, that it was the second one.

He crouches slowly.

The world narrows when he does. The noise of radios and boots and people talking into the cold gets pushed outward until it becomes backdrop, until all that remains is the shape of the person in front of him and the question that follows every body like a shadow.

Who were you?

Not what happened, not yet. That comes next. But first, always, who.

A tech approaches from his left. “We haven’t moved anything.”

Hyunjin glances up. “Cause of death estimate?”

“Too early. Obvious trauma, possible strangulation. ME’s on the way.”

He nods, eyes drifting back to her face.

Under the fluorescent wash of the scene lights, her features settle into something familiar enough to tug at him before he fully understands why. The dark hair. The shape of her eyes, though one side is shadowed. The soft slope of her nose. Something about the mouth, small and slightly parted from the angle of the jaw.

He has spent enough years being looked at by people trying to place him somewhere they can understand to recognize the features that make strangers hesitate before asking where he’s from, then asking again when the first answer doesn’t satisfy them. He doesn’t need a file or a surname or a line from next of kin to make an early guess.

Asian, definitely. Korean, he thinks.

Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he’s projecting. Maybe he’s tired. But the possibility lands heavy anyway, quiet and immediate.

He has learned not to speak guesses too early at scenes. Facts matter more than instincts in the first minutes, no matter how good the instincts are. Still, the thought stays where it is, lodged beneath everything else. The dead woman at his feet feels suddenly less distant than she should. Not because he knows her, but because he knows the shape of being looked at and only partly seen. Because he knows what it means for a person to move through America with a face people flatten into whatever version of Asian is easiest for them to say. Because there is something in him that has never stopped noticing women who look like they had to become sturdy before life gave them the right to be soft.

The wind shifts. Her hair moves across her cheek again.

Without thinking, Hyunjin reaches toward the edge of the scene, stops himself before his gloved hand can break the invisible line he keeps between observation and interference. The urge surprises him anyway. Irritates him, too, that it still exists after all these years. Tenderness has never been useful on paper. There is nowhere to put it in a report.

He straightens slightly instead and looks around the immediate area.

“Any drag marks?”

“Minimal,” the tech answers. “Could’ve happened here.”

“Could’ve,” Hyunjin repeats. Which usually means they do not know.

He studies the gravel, the broken pavement, the irregular impressions preserved in the crust of snow and dirt. Tire tracks. Multiple shoe prints. Hard to isolate this early. A smear near the victim’s side. Nothing obvious enough yet to speak with confidence. But the scene doesn’t feel chaotic. No signs of frenzy. No overturned debris, no wild spray of personal belongings, no messy panic in the surrounding space. Whatever happened here happened with enough control to leave the lot looking almost undisturbed from ten feet away.

He looks back at her.

People who don’t know him well tend to call him quiet first. It is rarely meant kindly. Quiet, in a precinct, often translates to difficult or cold or too self-contained to be trusted until proven otherwise. When he was a rookie, silence was read as arrogance by half the men who trained him and insecurity by the other half. He learned quickly that neither interpretation mattered. They had looked at him and seen what was easiest. Too pretty, one had said to another detective one night, not low enough for Hyunjin to miss it. Too polished. Too careful with his hair, like vanity and competence were things a man had to choose between. Others had done what people always did when they thought they were being harmless.

Chinese, right?

No?

Japanese?

They would wince at his name, mouth the syllables wrong, laugh like the failure belonged to the language instead of them. A few had asked if he had something easier to go by, something American, something that could be shouted across the bullpen without making everyone feel like they were being tested.

He had been twenty-three and too tired to turn every correction into a lesson, too ambitious to let stubbornness slow him down. So he had made it simple for them.

Jay, he’d said. Jay is fine.

And because people are always relieved when you sand yourself down on their behalf, it stuck. At first in passing, then in reports scribbled too casually, then at bars after their shift, then from mouths that had known him long enough to know better. It had worked exactly the way it was supposed to. The room got easier. The pauses disappeared. No one looked embarrassed when they said his name because they no longer had to say it at all.

Then his mother had heard it.

Not from him—from one of his old academy photos on social media, captioned by somebody else with a congratulatory post and that smooth, easy little name sitting where hers should have been.

Jay Hwang.

She hadn’t raised her voice when she brought it up. She never needed to. He remembers standing in her kitchen in Dearborn with a bowl of cut pears between them, remembers the smell of soup on the stove, remembers how she dried her hands on a dish towel and said, in Korean so steady it felt sharper than anger.

“I named you Hyunjin for a reason.”

Nothing dramatic after that. No lecture long enough to call a speech. Just a sadness she tried not to show and failed at anyway, not because he had chosen convenience, but because he had chosen it so quickly.

“It’s your name,” she had said. “You should not have to give it away for other people to feel comfortable.”

He still uses Jay sometimes. Less now. Mostly with people who knew him that way first, or in moments when he is too tired to measure whether a correction is worth the effort. But reports are Hyunjin Hwang. His badge says Hyunjin. Victims get their names, and so does he.

He looks down at the woman again.

No name yet. The thought lands wrong.

“Detective?”

He glances over. The medical examiner has arrived, coat unbuttoned beneath a reflective shell, expression already arranged into professional neutrality. Hyunjin steps back to give room, watching as the body is approached with the familiar care of practiced hands.

“Female,” the ME says. “Young adult. We’ll know more after transport.”

Hyunjin nods.

The officer who met him at the tape returns holding a clear evidence bag with the first collected contents from the victim’s coat pockets. “Got this.”

Inside is a transit card, a folded receipt gone damp at one corner, and a key ring with two keys and a small acrylic charm shaped like a cartoon peach. No wallet. No driver’s license. No phone.

The receipt catches Hyunjin’s attention. “Let me see that.”

The officer passes it over. Hyunjin reads through the blur of half-faded ink. Convenience store. Koreatown-adjacent stretch near Troy. Time stamp from earlier that evening. Cheap instant ramen, bottled water, a packet of hair ties, cough medicine.

Normal things. Human things. The kind people buy while in the middle of a life they fully expect to continue.

“What else?”

“Nothing on her.”

He hands the bag back, gaze snagging briefly on the peach charm before he looks away.

The tech near the body shifts position, sweeping a light along the victim’s clothing, the ground around her, the edges of the open coat. It glances off grit, a wet patch, the line of a seam. Then something darker than the pavement catches under the beam.

“Hold on,” she says.

Hyunjin turns.

The tech lowers herself carefully near the victim’s left side, not touching, just angling the light and leaning closer. For a moment all Hyunjin sees is the crease where coat meets sweater, a fold of fabric near the hip. Then the beam steadies, and there it is.

A strand.

Thin. Fine enough that it could be missed entirely if the light hit from the wrong angle. Caught against the rough wool of her coat, just above a darkened spot near the hem.

Red.

Not bright or festive. Not the kind of red that belongs holiday ribbon. Deeper than that. A muted burgundy with brown in it, almost black at first glance until the light finds its undertone and pulls the color free.

The tech reaches for tweezers. “Looks like fiber transfer.”

Hyunjin’s gaze doesn’t move.

Something in him goes still.

It is not the red itself, not exactly. It is the way it sits there, stubborn and delicate all at once, too visible once noticed, impossible to dismiss after the fact. It should be ordinary. God knows scenes collect fibers. Clothes shed, cars transfer, environments cling. Evidence is often made of smaller things than people want to believe. He knows that. Has built entire cases on less.

Still.

“Bag it separately,” he says.

The tech glances up. “From the rest of trace?”

“Yes.”

She hesitates for half a beat, then nods. “Got it.”

He watches the tweezers close around the strand with impossible care. It lifts from the coat almost reluctantly, catching the light one last time before disappearing into the sterile anonymity of a small evidence bindle. Suddenly the scene feels rearranged around it, as if the body, the lot, the river, the night itself have all shifted one degree off what they were a minute earlier.

“What?” the officer asks beside him, reading his face badly but trying.

Hyunjin does not answer immediately.

He doesn’t have one. Not a real one. Not yet. Only a sensation, sharp and low, that something has brushed past him and left the air changed. A detail too small to deserve instinct and too specific not to earn it anyway.

He looks back at the victim.

At her exposed sweater cuff. At the bruising at her throat. At the cheap coat and the missing phone and the peach keychain. At the fact that someone will call her Jane Doe until someone else is made to come identify what remains. At the fact that she almost certainly had a name people mispronounced. A name maybe shortened for convenience. Maybe softened so strangers would stop asking her to repeat herself. Maybe not. Maybe she held onto it harder than he did his.

Maybe she arrived here alone.

He thinks, inexplicably, of his mother at twenty-two, stepping off a plane into a country that promised more than it welcomed, one hand unconsciously braced over a life no one else could see yet. He thinks of the stories she told him only in fragments, never like tragedy, never like sacrifice either. Just fact.

I was scared. I kept going. I learned what people assumed when they looked at me and what they decided when I spoke. I learned to work before I had the language for everything they wanted from me.

He has spent most of his life watching women like her move through rooms as if they owed everybody evidence of their right to be there.

This one does not get to speak anymore.

A familiar resolve settles into him, quiet and cold and complete.

“Run missing persons,” he says. “Detroit first, then Wayne County, then expand it if we have to. Check recent reports from Korean community centers, churches, campus housing, anywhere somebody might’ve noticed she didn’t come home.” He looks at the officer. “And find out if there are cameras on the road in or out of this lot.”

The officer blinks once, already scribbling. “Got it.”

Hyunjin turns back to the tech. “I want the fiber prioritized.”

She gives him a look he knows well, not dismissive exactly, but skeptical in the way people are when they think you have fallen in love with something too early.

“It could be nothing.”

“It could,” he says.

She waits for more. When it does not come, she seals the bindle and labels it anyway.

Behind them the river keeps moving, black and patient, carrying the reflected pulse of emergency lights in shredded ribbons across its surface. Somewhere farther down the road, a truck horn moans once into the dark.

The body is prepared for transport. The lot begins the slow transition from event to documentation, from shock to process, from a woman in the cold to a file number somebody will type into a system before dawn.

Jane Doe 326.

Hyunjin hates it already.

He stays until they zip the bag.

Even after that, he lingers a moment longer than he needs to, hands in his coat pockets, shoulders set against the cold. Around him, the scene continues in clipped voices and procedural language, everyone doing exactly what they are trained to do. He should move. He knows he should. There will be paperwork, calls, canvassing, all the dull machinery required to drag meaning out of violence. But his eyes keep returning to the spot where the thread had been, to that nearly invisible line of red against dark fabric.

A small thing. Easy to overlook.

He has built a career, piece by piece, out of noticing what other people leave at the edges.

When he finally turns away, it is not because the scene has released him.

It is because it hasn’t.

And by the time he gets back to his car, the city stretched around him in cold blue silence, he already knows he is going to carry that strand with him long after the reports are filed. He already knows he will go back through old case photos if he has to do it alone. He already knows that whatever this feeling is, however irrational it sounds before dawn with nothing but a dead woman, a river lot, and a single red thread to justify it, he is not going to let it go just because everyone else can.

The heater shudders to life when he starts the engine. Warm air crawls slowly through the vents. He rests both hands on the wheel and stares through the windshield at the wash of lights still staining the night behind the tape.

Somewhere, in another part of the city, his mother is probably asleep by now, the television low in the background because she hates a silent house. Somewhere, a line has already begun connecting this woman to everyone who will lose her by morning. Somewhere, a name is still waiting to be put back where Jane Doe now sits.

Hyunjin reaches for the small recorder in the console, clicks it on, and gives the first notes for the file in a voice so even it almost hides how awake he has become.

“January fourteenth,” he says. “Initial scene assessment. Female victim, unidentified. Approximate age mid-twenties. Found East Riverfront lot by civilian caller. Signs of struggle limited. Possible ligature involvement, pending ME confirmation. Personal effects recovered. One trace fiber, dark red, collected separately for analysis.”

He pauses and looks once more toward the river. Then, quieter, like he is saying it to the night as much as the machine, he adds, “Find her name first.”

The recorder keeps running a second longer before he shuts it off.

And somewhere beneath exhaustion, beneath routine, beneath every lesson he has learned about not trusting instinct until he can prove it, something pulls taut.

A thread. Invisible, for now.

But there.

𖤘 JOIN THE TAGLIST

You woke up from your dream — which felt a little more of a nightmare. Wait, why was he everywhere in your dreams?

The guy from the gym. 

You only saw him once, and now he somehow managed to occupy every single thought in your mind. 

This is so wrong. Very very wrong. You had a boyfriend. Kind, smart, handsome, talented. The type of boyfriend every girl wishes for in her life. He loved you, made you feel the spark like you were some kind of a college girl dating for the first time. And yet your mind somehow drifted to the guy in the gym you barely had a conversation with. 

His presence was never loud or attention-seeking. Yet whenever someone entered the gym, they would look at him naturally. He carried a certain aura, intimidation, and confidence. Quite a contrast to your loving and sweet boyfriend of three years.

The dreams started slowly, without you realizing it. At first, it was normal. You chatting with him, or some sort of random activity like noticing him in another familiar place. 

They later grew.. Inappropriate. Shared close proximity, intimate moments, everything that screamed wrong.

There were a few moments of interaction that fueled your sexually charged dreams of him. Moments that seemed normal for others, yet for some reason made your heart race with excitement because it was him. 

The one moment that’s stuck in your head for a long time is about a week ago. 

The gym was loud with music, dumbbells clicking, gym-bros flexing muscles in front of the mirror like their life depended on it. Nothing out of the place. Until your gaze fixated on him. 

You did not know his name, yet somehow your brain remembered everything about him. How his face scrunched up slightly while bench-pressing, how the beads of sweat dripped from his forehead all the way to his jawline, how his torso strained against the compressed shirt he wore to the gym, how his adam’s apple would bob while lifting heavy weights. 

He wore a sleeveless black shirt that day. Unhealthy for your sanity apparently, when his biceps were on full display while you tried — and failed, to not ogle at him. 

He was nearby. Existing and drinking water, while you were completing your last rep on the seated cable row. Did he stand nearby to distract you? You wondered. And before you knew it, your hand twisted slightly while pulling the weighed cable.

"Be careful."

He warned, holding your hand gently. He was behind you in an instant to correct your form, close enough to feel his presence, as he guided your grip.

Was he doing this on purpose? Does he correct every other girl’s form so closely?

And while it may seem normal for everyone else, it — once again — was not normal for your mind.

He backed off as soon as he corrected, making sure to keep a good distance between the two of you. After all that intimacy, you thought.

"I'm Seo Changbin, by the way. " He introduced himself.

"Oh. Okay." You shook him off, thinking that you did a good job at acting unbothered.

"Thought you'd want to know after staring at me since the past few weeks."

No shit. What a tease.

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Turns out the Seo Changbin guy was your boyfriend’s best friend. 

And oh boy was he a provocative menace after knowing his best buddy is your boyfriend.

The day you got to know it was the day of your doom. Hyunjin, your sweet boyfriend of —  three years — had reminded you that his best friend would be visiting and he would be a little late. You were alright with that because you’ve met his other friends before — Chan, Felix, Yeji, and everyone else. 

“He might stay for dinner too, so please make dinner for three okay? He’ll love your cooking.” And oh how could you say no to your doting boyfriend? So you prepared dinner and tidied up the house. And to say you were in shock would be an understatement when you saw someone you didn’t want to see, in front of your shared apartment’s door.  

Seo Changbin.

The guy you shared glances that spoke too much.

The guy who appeared in your wet dreams.

The guy who knew he was testing your boundaries in the goddamn gym and was enjoying it.

“Uhm..?” You mustered up a polite, tight smile waiting for him to clarify as to why exactly he was at your doorstep at 7 in the evening. 

“This is Hwang Hyunjin’s apartment I suppose?” He raised a brow, a subtle amusement laced in his intonation. And thank the universe when you noticed your boyfriend approaching. Changbin followed the direction of your gaze, and hugged Hyunjin just as he saw his friend. 

The next few hours were.. awkward. For you, at the very least.

And Changbin liked to poke your boundaries too — which made the case worse. For example, He sat beside you on the couch — closer than necessary, while Hyunjin went to the kitchen to bring wine for the three of you. His arm on the head of the couch, behind you. Not quite touching, but still a presence to remind you. 

You didn’t shift away. 

That was the issue.

Changbin pretended he did not know you. He introduced himself formally and smiled like it was your first time meeting and seeing each other. It was not. 

He left a little later that day, and you knew this was not good. Whatever was approaching ahead was gonna be wrong.  

So wrong.

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Hyunjin was not clueless. 

Sure, he acted stupid sometimes, but not clueless. And he definitely felt the tension during his girlfriend and bestfriend’s interaction, no matter how chill they pretended to be on the outside. And he was.. not insecure about it. Instead, he found it interesting — like a game. He was so invested in this game.

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Ever since then, Changbin would visit your place often. And you start to get more and more comfortable in the shared space, because he would sometimes stay the night over. For you, it started to become a regular thing. But for Changbin? He was now infatuated with you.

Seeing you in short skirts, tight tops, or just Hyunjin’s shirt with nothing below was making it harder for him to think straight around you. Oh, and he didn’t seem to be interested in fixing the problem. 

He liked to have you around. Because you looked pretty. His gaze lingered longer than it should have. Not on your face. And he didn’t bother hiding it anymore.

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The tension grew as days and interactions passed by and he was getting more and more attracted to you. His actions weren’t inappropriate. 

They were.. lingering. 

Arms brushing even when there was enough space to walk through. A hand on your waist a second too long. Knuckles brushing on your hip-bone. 

Enough to make you think about it.

Not enough to make you call it out.

You could’ve told Hyunjin about it. You didn’t. 

There were a few moments you wish to not recall. Moments that felt.. As if you were doing something wrong.

“You two seem to get along well.” Hyunjin once mentioned, tone light and playful. His eyes weren’t.

You couldn’t understand if it was a question or a confrontation. 

Changbin just smirked at his friend’s statement. 

The breaking point was approaching. You felt it in the air. Because every time you and Changbin made contact, neither one of you would drift away. The pull was magnetic, even when your boyfriend was around.

Once you were at the dining table, organizing the flower pot when Hyunjin went out to bring groceries. And Changbin apparently was again left alone, with you. 

He called you. You turned around, and he was close. He spoke up with a voice too quiet, too serious — a starking contrast to his sly, light tone. 

“You’re not even trying to avoid it.”

“Avoid what?” You questioned back, holding eye contact.

“Whatever we had. Or have right now.”

You averted your gaze. 

“He sees it, you know.”

You didn’t know what to respond with. So you opted for the best option — to walk away.

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You and Hyunjin were cuddling one normal evening. All sweets and giggles, he was tickling you, and you were laughing hard. He stopped after a while, pulling you closer.

“You trust me, right?” 

A question that lingered in your mind, longer than necessary. Not accusatory, not doubting. Just.. placed. Like he gave you a hint that could unravel all of your  doubts.

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“Tell me to stop, and I will.”

Changbin speaks up. He had you caged between his arms, locked. Not permitting you to run away this time. He was close. Leaned closer. Your breaths mingled. You were living your dream — but it was wrong. 

Wrong because you have a boyfriend.

Wrong because Hyunjin was in the next room. Sleeping peacefully.

Wrong because this was your boyfriend’s best friend.

The silence stretched like a thin wire about to snap, after being pulled for a long time.

And yet, despite the hesitation visible in your eyes, you closed the gap between the two of you. It was slow, neither rushed, nor confident.

Your lips met his in a way that felt wrong from the very first second — wrong and overdue. There was a brief pause, like both of you were waiting for the other to pull away and end this all.

Neither of you did.

His hand tightened slightly at your waist, not pulling you closer — just enough to make sure you stayed.

That was all it took.

The hesitation cracked.

The kiss deepened slowly, like testing something risky. Careful at first, uncertain, your breath catching when he shifted just enough to press closer. 

Your fingers curled into his shirt without thinking, grounding yourself in something real, something you could blame. 

You could hear your heartbeat, it was too loud, too fast and uneven — you were afraid he might hear it.

Or maybe that was just your guilt catching up.

For a second, your mind flickered—

Hyunjin.

The next room. Unaware of what the two of you were doing. You should’ve pulled away then. But instead, you kissed him harder. Like drowning. Like proving something you didn’t want to say out loud.

His hand slid slightly, barely there, but enough to make your breath hitch into the kiss. He exhaled softly against your lips, something quieter than his usual teasing—something almost… relieved.

You broke the kiss first.

Not because you wanted to.

Because you had to.

Your gaze dropped immediately, anywhere but him, your breathing uneven, your lips still tingling like they didn’t get the message yet.

And even then, he didn’t say anything.

Didn’t move away.

Just looked at you.

That’s when he noticed.

And when you followed his gaze—

Hyunjin.

He was there.

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You swear a moment ago you were caught by Hyunjin when you kissed Changbin.

How did you end up sandwiched between your boyfriend and his best friend?

Hyunjin was behind you, guiding Changbin through your body. You hadn't drank any alcohol or liquor, yet it felt like you were high, on cloud nine or shit.

You could never in your wildest dreams have imagined that Seo Changbin would be on his knees, just to pleasure you when your boyfriend, Hyunjin caressed you, guiding his best friend. 

And yet, here you were. On the edge of the bed, Hyunjin’s chest acting as a support for your back while Changbin took his time to undress your bottoms agonizingly slowly. He was having real fun teasing you.

Changbin removed your shorts first — kissing all the way from your knees to your upper thighs. Stopping exactly near your heat. 

“We haven't even started yet bunny, and you’re soaking.”

Changbin spoke up, definitely in a mocking way. You knew this didn’t make sense — they had asked only for your consent before starting. Yet you didn’t care, not in the moment at least.

He harshly sucked a few purple marks and licked it softly, on the inside of your thigh. Oh they would be hurting later on. 

All while Hyunjin fondled with your bra-covered breasts. It felt slightly uncomfortable due to the rough material of the pink lace bra inside your top, but the friction was stimulating nonetheless.

They both started extremely slow and gentle at first — no fighting for dominance, just wanting to make you feel loved. But it all started getting slightly messy when Changbin finally discarded your panties haphazardly in some corner of the room. 

You were glistening wet under the soft lighting in the dimly lit bedroom. Changbin’s breath fanned over your cunt, the hole fluttering around nothing in response. His gaze drifted up to your face, only to find you looking at him. He maintained eye contact and licked your clit — to which your hips bucked instantly. He wrapped his lips around your bud, sucking it like a candy. 

You whimpered in a pitch so high you weren’t even worried about the neighbours hearing you.

Your head was thrown back on Hyunjin’s shoulder, as his hands massaged your breasts. He unhooked your bra and threw it somewhere, pinching both of your nipples and twisting them while Changbin switched from sucking your clit to kitten-licking your entrance. You whined in overstimulation, hands pulling Changbin’s hair while the other kneaded on Hyunjin’s thigh like a cat.

“Hyun.. ‘s too muchh — nghh..” 

You whined, to which Hyunjin kissed you. His kiss was soft, gentle, familiar — a contrast to his ministrations on your breasts. 

You feel his breathing get uneven every time you let out even a small whimper. You had that effect on him, as per his say. 

Changbin pulled away with a plop! sound, replacing his mouth with two of his fingers, and you swear you saw stars when his thick fingers stretched you out in an indescribable way. He curled them, going knuckle-deep, making a “come hither” motion trying to reach your sweet spot. 

Your hands were replaced from his head to his biceps — his thick, veiny biceps. Nails digging into his arms, while Hyunjin held your thighs apart, prohibiting them from closing together. You were stuck in the best way possible, and you were loving every moment of it.

“Love how my buddy’s making you feel?”

Hyunjin asked, leaving soft kisses on your neck while Changbin sucked on your nipple. You were too far in the wrong now, and there’s no going back to the rational way. You nodded in pleasure, and just as he reached the sweet spot that made your mind falter, Changbin pulled his fingers out, and you whined in annoyance.

“So desperate for my fingers? Don’t want my cock to stretch you out?”

He teased, and you nodded in ‘no’. 

“Who do you want first, me or him?”

Changbin asked. This felt like one of the most difficult questions to even answer, and the frown your face adorned said it all. This was wrong, very much wrong. Yet it felt—  

“Say it quick baby. Don’t wanna keep us waiting, hm?”

Hyunjin spoke up, and you pointed at Changbin, with a slight pout on your face. Changbin just smirked, and it was until he removed his shirt that you realised you were the only one naked between two men who worshiped your body, with their clothes still on. Unfair, but still hot.

You reached to unbuckle Changbin’s belt while he removed his shirt, and he chuckled seeing you struggle pulling his belt out. 

“So desperate for my cock bunny?”

Hyunjin chuckled at Changbin’s statement, his hands wandering south to mindlessly play with your clit. He was hard, and you felt him throb behind you every time you let out a sound. 

Hyunjin. He’s right there— 

Changbin was huge, and it was even more obvious the second he removed his boxers. He was not long like Hyunjin, but he was definitely girthy. You reached out, gently stroking in a testing way as the precum oozed out from the tip. He felt heavy in your hands, precum acting as a lubricant. His breathing grew ragged, hips bucking in your grip every time you rubbed his tip with your thumb. 

Hyunjin continued his ministrations on your cunt, spreading your labia and entering just enough to make your breathing uneven as quiet gasps left your lips, but not quite reaching the point where you need it. 

He didn’t look away. Not even once.

“F-fuck bunny..”

That was the first time you’ve heard his voice crack, and to your dismay, he pulled your hand away. 

“I’d like to feel your pussy first, bunny.”

Changbin aligned himself to your entrance, looking up at you to make sure you’re okay. He rubbed the tip to your clit and your entrance, spreading and mixing both of your slicks. 

“Bunny, are you sure you want this? Just tell me to stop and I will.”

Changbin checked up, which somehow made you even more wet. You nodded as a ‘yes’ enthusiastically, to which Changbin slapped his dick on your fluttering hole, a brow raised as he looked at you. The eye contact felt familiar, grounding you to the realization that Hyunjin was still here. And that somehow felt more intimate rather than a one-time thing.

“Use your words baby.”

Hyunjin whispered in your ear, licking and biting on the earlobe.

“Yes. Pleaseee hurry, need’chu in me—”

Changbin smirked at your plea, sliding his cock inside you slowly. The stretch hurted slightly, but it was nothing you couldn’t bear.

“Aaah fuckk— oh baby you’re..”

Changbin was losing his control, and you let out a loud moan when he finally bottomed out. He gripped on your waist harshly as if he would go insane from the tightness of your cunt, as he leaned his forehead to rest on your shoulder. You were clenching around him, growing more and impossibly more wet from the stimulation Hyunjin was giving you by his ministrations. Having four hands pleasuring you at the same time was overstimulating in the least.

Changbin pulled out till only his tip was inside you, and thrusted right inside immediately. He railed you, rearranging your insides as he threw your legs over his shoulders, bending forward slightly to reach impossibly deeper. 

You were seeing stars, blabbering incoherent words, pleading for god knows what. Hyunjin kept on fondling and playing with your breasts, and after one particular thrust that made you whine in an even higher pitch, he reached lower to harshly rub and stimulate your clit. You were messed up in the best possible way — overstimulated, greedy for more, breathing ragged, whimpering and chanting Changbin’s name — making you cry for more. 

“Changbin... nghhh— gon’- ahh pleasepleasepleaseeeeee”

Changbin felt you clenching uncontrollably around him, making him reach his high quicker. All the sass and dominance was forgotten the moment he felt you flutter around his shaft. 

“Bunny, fu– ahhh, wait for me? Please– nghh”

His shallow breaths and desperation evident in his voice was what made you reach your climax quicker. You clenched around him, Hyunjin’s fingers working roughly to stimulate your clit, sending shocks of pleasure throughout your body.

He’s still watching— 

You came undone with Changbin still inside you, tip kissing your cervix as he chased his high. His thrusts grew frantic, hips stuttering while overstimulating you. Hyunjin slowed his rubs on your clit, riding you through your after-shocks.

“Q-quick bunny. Where?—”

And hearing no response from you, he pulled out suddenly, jerking off as he unloaded white spurts of cum, painting your stomach till your chest. He collapsed on you, breathing heavily as you both came back to reality. 

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The room felt quieter than it should have—not completely silent, but different in a way you couldn’t quite place. Like something had shifted, and none of you knew how to put it back where it belonged.

Your breathing was the first thing you became aware of, still uneven as your body tried to catch up with everything that had just happened. Then came the rest—the lingering warmth, the closeness, the sudden, overwhelming awareness of where you were and who you were with.

Too much awareness.

You didn’t move at first, not trusting yourself to without making it all feel more real than it already did.

Hyunjin’s arm was still around you, steady and familiar, grounding in a way that should have comforted you—but instead, it made your chest tighten. Changbin was still close, though he shifted slightly so you wouldn't feel his weight.

That was new.

No one spoke, and for a brief, fragile moment, it almost felt like if no one acknowledged it, maybe it wouldn’t exist at all.

Your gaze dropped to a random corner in your bedroom as you adjusted nothing in particular, just to give yourself something to focus on—something other than the silence stretching between the three of you.

“…You okay?”

Hyunjin’s voice broke through softly, careful in a way that felt almost too deliberate.

You nodded a second too quickly.

“Yeah.”

It came out quieter than you intended, like the word didn’t quite belong in the space you were in.

Changbin let out a short breath that almost sounded like a laugh, though it lacked any real humor. You couldn’t tell if it was tension or something else entirely.

You didn’t look at him.

You couldn’t.

Not yet.

Another pause followed, heavier this time, settling into the room like something tangible.

“We should—”

Hyunjin started, but the sentence never finished. It didn’t need to.

All three of you knew what he meant.

Talk about it. Define it. Decide whatever this was.

None of you did.

Changbin shifted slightly, leaning back just enough to create space, and somehow that made everything worse. Because now there was distance, and with it came the undeniable reality of what had just happened.

Your throat felt dry.

“This… doesn’t change anything,” you said, the words leaving your mouth before you could stop them. They sounded wrong immediately.

Hyunjin didn’t respond right away.

Changbin did.

“Doesn’t it?”

His voice was quiet this time, stripped off of its usual teasing edge, which only made it land harder.

You looked up then — another mistake.

Because the both of them were already looking at you. Not confused. Not regretful. Just… waiting. For your decision. Commitment. Anything. 

That was the problem.

No one here was pretending it hadn’t happened.

And maybe, somewhere deep down—

You didn’t want to either.

Maybe you wanted both of them.

At the same time.

That’s what made it worse. 

♡ Minnie's note: I had to drop this idk yall im hiding behind the curtains now BYE— 

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your heart pounded against your ribcage as you leapt up from the bed the second you saw the text. smoothening down your clothes, you tucked your hair behind your ears and took a deep breath in, mentally preparing yourself for his presence. your heart was racing at the possibilities of what might happen, the air in your flat suddenly feeling too thick to breathe. you paced the length of your bedroom, the ghost of his voice and the heat of his gaze from the kitchen earlier still clinging to your skin like a fever.

you had just entered the living room when the bell rang. a shiver ran up your spine as you opened the door.

minho stood there looking as if he had run a marathon. his chest was heaving. his brown hair was all disheveled as if he had been running his hands through it in a frantic loop. clad in a black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, his sharp gaze locked with yours, and for a minute, neither of you could look away. the hallway light behind him cast a long, intimidating shadow into your living room, but all you could focus on was the way his nostrils flared with every jagged breath.

as soon as you had sent that picture, minho knew he was done for. he had paced around his apartment so frantically that he was surprised joonie hadn't woken up. he contemplated for a while whether this was the right move or if he should get a grip on himself, but as he was reminded of the ethereal image you had sent him, he knew you wanted this as bad as he did.

he had spent the last hour trying to be the "polite neighbor," the one who brings over aglio olio and teaches you how to stir a pan, but the chocolate lace had been the killing blow to his civility.

you had wanted him to snap — and he finally had.

he rushed to your apartment and rang the bell, eyes meeting with the most beautiful sight.

he didn't know you could look prettier than you had in the afternoon, when you had slid your hoodie off one shoulder to give him a glimpse of that powder blue lace. but here you were — a deep blush covering you, your hair in a messy bun as a few pieces framed your face and lips bitten a deep red out of pure nervousness. you were still wearing the same top as in the photo, except that it was zipped up completely. and it was driving him crazy.

the mystery of what lay beneath that zipper was a siren song, pulling him across the threshold.

your eyes slowly moved upwards, locking with his as you both stood staring at each other — your breaths communicating in a way you couldn't have imagined. the air between you was heavy, charged with a magnetic pull that felt like it might physically drag you toward him.

"can i — can i come in ?" minho rasped, leaning on the doorway — his control hanging by a single, frayed thread. his voice was lower than usual, a gravelly, honeyed velvet that made your knees buckle.

"y-yea sure," you murmured, heartbeat escalating as you moved toward the living room, minho following after you and locking the door behind him with a final, heavy click.

the tension in the room was too charged, too tangible for you to take a seat. your system was in overdrive with merely breathing the same air as him, so you stopped beside the couch. your heart was doing a violent somersault in your chest, and as you stood there, minho didn't just look at you — he consumed you. his eyes were dark, pupils blown so wide that the honey-brown of his irises was just a thin, shimmering ring around a void of pure, unadulterated hunger.

the sound of the lock was a period at the end of a long, agonizing sentence. there was no turning back now.

minho stopped exactly a foot away from you, the distance both a mercy and a torture. he was half gazing, half worshipping you as if you were the finest delicacy in the world. his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his eyes dropping to your lips and fixating on the target.

it was signal enough that he was finished with controlling himself — his resolve had crumbled right at your feet. the "gentleman" had left the building, replaced by a man who looked like he wanted to ruin you and treasure you all at once.

"may i ?" minho asked, his eyes flicking up to catch yours already searching his.

you couldn't have nodded faster.

the second the consent left your lips, he bridged the distance. his hands came up, his long, veined fingers finding the dip of your waist and digging into the fabric of your top as he pulled you flush against him. the contact was electric, a jolt that traveled straight to your core as he pulled you into the towering, heat-radiating wall of his body.

minho's lips crashed onto yours in a kiss that tasted of cherry lipbalm and a sweet, beautiful longing. he groaned softly as he tasted you, the sound reverberating in his soul as a soft moan slipped from your throat. his tongue swiped against your lower lip, a silent command that you answered by parting for him, a sweet sound escaping you as your fingers tangled in the soft, disheveled mess of his hair.

minho tasted exactly like he sounded — warm, sweet, and intoxicating. as his lips came to caress yours, every thought escaped your mind. all you could think about was his mouth on yours, his lithe fingers on your waist, and the proximity that had finally vanished into thin air.

it took minho an entire minute to finally wrap his mind around the fact that he was finally — fucking finally — kissing you. your lips were the softest, slightly bitten and good god — absolutely delectable. he pulled back for a split second, his forehead resting against yours as you both panted into the small space, before he dove back in, more desperate this time.

minho walked backwards with you in his soft embrace until your back hit the cold surface of the hallway wall — the very wall you’d spent so many nights leaning against, listening to each other and revelling in each other's company. the irony wasn't lost on either of you — it was this same wall that had kept you apart, and now it was the only thing supporting you as minho pinned you to it, his body a solid weight that made you throb in places you hadn't even fathomed. he shifted his weight, pressing his thigh between yours, and you let out a strangled whimper at the friction.

with both his hands on your waist, his kisses turned frantic, moving from your mouth to the sensitive line of your jaw, then down to the curve of your neck. you couldn't help but bare your throat, giving him more space as he nipped at the skin there. your hands hugged his head, his teeth grazing the pulse point that was drumming a frantic rhythm against his lips. he was marking you, claiming the territory he had studied from afar for so long.

"i've been seeing that blue lace in my dreams for days," he whispered against your collarbone, his voice a raw, jagged rasp. "and then you sent that fucking picture — show me the brown one, hm love ?"

"minho —" you gasped, your head falling back against the wall as his hands moved from your waist to the metal tab of your top.

you bit your lower lip and smiled shyly, nodding. with agonizing slowness, he dragged the zipper down, the sound of the metal teeth parting deafening in the quiet flat. he let the shirt slide off your shoulders, pooling at your elbows, as you stood there in your bra and sweatpants, the air feeling cold on your exposed skin until the heat of his gaze warmed you right back up.

as the dark brown lace was revealed, minho’s breath hitched, his eyes darkening as they fixed on the contrast of the dark thread against your honey-toned skin. your supple breasts sat nestled into the bra, nipples slightly pebbled beneath the lace. the deep v shape showed your cleavage beautifully — seductively — and the pace at which blood ran south in minho's body gave him whiplash. he couldn't tear his gaze away. it was a work of art — a masterpiece he had been dying to taste.

"i bought it for you," you whispered, your voice trembling as you blushed profusely. "i saw it and i just — i wanted to know if you'd like it."

you had gone to the lingerie store, looked at the bra, and wondered if he'd love it on you ?

minho nearly moaned at your words.

you bought it for him ?

and you had confessed to it so sweetly, all adorable, as if you didn't have him hard at the mere sound of your voice. his jaw tightened, a vein at his temple feathering as he looked at you. his thumbs traced the scalloped edges of the lace, his touch so light it made you shiver.

"i don't just like it, baby," he murmured, his hands coming up to cup your face, his thumbs tracing the line of your cheekbones. "i want to worship the girl wearing it."

before minho could put his words to action, he heard you whisper in his ear, "c-can you take it o-off ?" slightly tugging onto his t-shirt.

the shirt was on the floor in less than three seconds.

and jesus fucking christ —

his body

you were staring at a masterpiece of broad shoulders and lean muscle. his chest was a solid landscape of pecs and abs that looked like they were sculpted from marble, yet felt like burning silk.

seeing him bare was a total sensory overload. your eyes raked over the broad, expansive landscape of his shoulders, the muscles in his chest defining themselves with every heavy breath he took.

his biceps and forearms were mapped with faint, enticing veins that spoke of the strength in those hands you had craved for so long. a gold chain hung around his neck, catching the light as he stood there in nothing but his sweatpants.

he looked devastating — a lethal mix of sharp angles and soft heat that made your knees feel like water. your brain was a chaotic loop of him, him, him, wondering how you were supposed to survive the sheer, overwhelming reality of lee minho being this close, this bare, and this much yours.

minho didn't give you much time to admire him before he was lifting you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. you let out a tiny gasp as he carried you into the bedroom, the moonlight filtering through the window and casting a silvery glow over everything. he laid you down gently on the bed, hovering over you.

"are you sure ?" he asked, his voice thick with a sudden, heavy affection. "i don't want to rush you — even if it's killing me."

"i've never been more sure of anything," you whispered, reaching up to pull his head down to yours.

the kiss this time was deeper. he began to explore you, his hands roaming over your curves as if he were trying to memorize you through his palms. he focused on your breasts, his thumbs rolling over the peaks through the lace until you were arching into him, a soft cry escaping your lips. the friction of his sweatpants against your legs made you aware of the growing bulge — the undeniable proof of how much he wanted you. you tried to grind against him, seeking some relief from the ache building between your thighs.

"patience, love," he murmured against your skin, echoing the words from the kitchen.

he reached down, his fingers hooking into the elastic waistband of your sweatpants. his knuckles grazed your hip bones — a touch so brief yet so searing it made your breath hitch in your throat. with a slow, agonizingly steady pull, he slid them down your legs. he didn't rush. he let the fabric pool at your ankles, leaving you standing there in nothing but that dark, chocolate lace.

the silence in the room was absolute, broken only by the frantic, uneven rhythm of your shared breathing. minho stayed on his knees for a second longer than necessary, his gaze traveling up the length of your legs until it settled on the matching lace set. his jaw physically tightened, his eyes darkening into a shade of black that felt like it was pulling you under.

the matching lingerie was a death blow. it wasn't just that you looked beautiful — it was the intent. the realization that you had curated this entire look, from the powder blue tease to the chocolate brown finale, specifically to dismantle his sanity. his throat bobbed as he let out a jagged, broken exhale, his forehead briefly dropping to the soft skin of your stomach as if he were seeking strength.

"you're trying to ruin me, aren't you ?" he rasped against your skin, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat straight to your core.

then he stood, his hands moving to the waistband of his gray sweatpants. his gaze never left yours, a silent challenge in his eyes as he pushed the fabric down. he stepped out of them with a fluid, lethal sort of grace that made your heart perform a violent somersault.

and god — your brain actually short-circuited.

it was the kind of body that belonged in a museum, yet here he was — standing in the center of your bedroom, stripped of his cool exterior, looking at you like you were the only thing in the universe that mattered. he looked dangerous. he looked perfect. he looked like the only person who could ever truly satisfy the ache you had been carrying for months.

he didn't give you a chance to recover from the sight of him. minho moved with a predatory, focused grace, bridging the final gap until his chest was inches from yours. the heat radiating from his bare skin was intoxicating, a physical force that made your head swim. he reached out, his hands sliding up your arms to cup your face, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones with a tenderness that felt even more dangerous than his hunger.

​"i've spent so long wondering what it would feel like to have you here," he murmured, his voice dropping into that dark, honeyed register. "to have you look at me like that."

​before you could answer, he was lifting you, his hands hooking under your thighs with a strength that made you feel weightless. you let out a tiny, breathless gasp, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as you clung to his shoulders. he carried you those few steps to the bed, the movement fluid and driven by a singular, focused intent. as he laid you down onto the soft duvet, the moonlight caught the silver of his bracelets and the gold of the cross at his neck, making him look like a fever dream you never wanted to wake up from.

​he hovered over you, bracing himself on his forearms, his broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the world until there was nothing but him. he looked down at you, eyes roving over the chocolate lace and the way your hair was splayed across the pillow, and you could see the exact moment his last shred of restraint snapped.

​"please minho — please, i need your fingers," you whimpered, your head tossing on the pillow as the ache between your thighs became unbearable.

​"i've got you, my love" he whispered, his voice a low vibration that settled deep in your bones.

​he moved your panties aside, his long, veined fingers finding the drenched, sopping heat of your center. he didn't rush in — he was a perfectionist, even now. he circled and teased, his thumb finding your clit and working it in a slow, hypnotic rhythm that had your eyes rolling back. you arched into his hand, a broken sound escaping your throat as he mapped the slick, sensitive folds of you.

​then, with a slow, agonizingly deliberate push, he slid one finger inside. your walls clamped around him instantly, a desperate, pulsing welcome.

​"so tight, fuck —" he hissed, his jaw tightening as he felt the sheer heat of you. he leaned down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as his pace began to pick up. "can you take more, baby ?"

"yes yes — fuck — a-anything for you" you whimpered, his finger working literal magic into your pussy.

minho groaned at the sweet words falling from your lips. adding a second finger, he increased his pace as he began to pump his digits inside you. at the same time, he leaned down, sucking on your breast through the lace, his teeth grazing your nipples in a way that had you clenching around his hand. minho could sense that you were close, the tension winding tight until you were almost shaking. but just when you were about to shatter, you reached down and caught his wrist.

"w-wanna cum on your c-cock, min-minho" you panted, your voice a wreck.

minho let out a guttural groan, a reaction that sent a thrill through you. you reached for the bedside drawer, pulling out a condom — the correct size, as you well knew from the lift incident. your hands were slightly shaky as you offered it to him.

"can you put it on for me, love ?" he asked, his eyes dark with a raw, emotional weight.

you sat on your knees, shyly rolling it onto his length as he watched with an intensity that made you feel exposed in the best way. when it was done, he kissed you deeply, his hands cupping your face.

minho’s hands stayed on your face for a heartbeat after the kiss, his thumbs brushing over your burning cheeks as if he were trying to memorize the texture of your skin. the room felt impossibly quiet, the only sound the heavy, ragged pull of his breath and the frantic drumming of your heart. you were still on your knees before him, looking up at the man who had been a mystery behind a wall for so long, and now, he was entirely, devastatingly yours.

his gaze dropped to where you were still holding him, his pupils so blown they nearly swallowed the brown of his eyes. the air was thick, charged with a tension that felt like it was about to snap. he looked like he was vibrating with the effort not to just take you right then and there — like he was waiting for you to lead the way into the final crash.

"c-can i r-ride you ? " you whispered, your voice a fractured, shy breath that seemed to vibrate in the small space between you.

the reaction was instantaneous. the way his pupils dilated until they were just dark, bottomless voids was all the answer you needed. a low, guttural sound erupted from his throat, somewhere between a groan and a prayer.

without a word, he sat back against the headboard, his movement fluid and feline. his broad shoulders were squared and his legs spread to make room for you. he didn't pull you closer — he just watched, his heavy, dark gaze an invitation to your throbbing core.

you moved, your knees trembling as you crawled over him, straddling his thick thighs. the friction of his skin against yours was electric. you reached down, your hand trembling as you held his cock, guiding him to the entrance he’d already spent so much time prepping. you gave him a few slow, tentative strokes, your eyes locking with his as you felt the sheer, hot weight of him. he let out a jagged exhale, his head dropping back against the wood as his knuckles turned white where he gripped the mattress.

then, you slowly sank down.

"ohmygod — min, fuck —" you whimpered, your head falling back as you felt him stretching you, filling every empty corner of you until there was no room left for anything but lee minho. "so fuckin big —"

he moved with a sudden, revitalized hunger, his hands sliding under your knees to pull you toward the very edge of the mattress. your heart was still hammering from the first peak, your breath coming in short, jagged gasps, but the sight of minho — eyes dark with a fresh wave of possessive need — had your blood humming all over again.

he readied the second condom with efficiency, his movements sharp and focused. then, he draped your legs over his broad shoulders. the position was vulnerable and incredibly intimate, exposing the drenched, swollen heat of you to the moonlight and his heavy gaze.

"let me do all the work — you enjoy, love," he murmured, his voice a low, honeyed rasp that made your toes curl.

he didn't rush the entry. he stayed there for a beat, his thumbs tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, before he slowly guided himself back inside. because you were already so sensitive, so wrecked from the first round, the feeling of him stretching you open again was borderline overwhelming.

"christ — min —" you hissed, your fingers clutching the sheets as he slid in, deep and slow, until he was buried to the hilt.

"i've got you, baby," he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours.

he started a steady, rhythmic thrust that was entirely different from the frantic pace of before. this was deep, calculated, and powerful. his biceps flexed and corded as he braced himself, his hands moving to your waist to anchor you as he drove into you. the slapping of skin meeting skin echoed in the quiet room, a raw, primal rhythm that matched the frantic beating of your heart.

the angle was devastating. with your legs on his shoulders, he was hitting a spot deep inside that had you seeing stars, your walls fluttering and clenching around him in a desperate, involuntary rhythm. you were a mess of whimpers and broken confessions, your head tossing on the pillow as he worked you with a fluid, lethal grace.

"you feel so good," he groaned, his voice breaking as he increased the pace, his thrusts becoming harder, more desperate. "sopping wet for me — just taking all of me."

the sheer intensity of him — the weight, the heat, the way he was looking at you like you were his entire world — finally broke the dam inside you.

you could slowly feel the tension building again, a sharp, electric coil in the pit of your stomach. you reached out, your hands finding the solid planes of his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as the world began to blur.

"minho... minho, i'm —" you gasped, your nails digging into his flexed biceps, leaving small, red crescents in his skin.

"i've been so in love with you — since the first time you played that song — since the kitchen — just you, it’s always been you."

the confession was the final blow to his restraint. minho let out a guttural roar, his head falling back as his thrusts became jagged and deep, seeking every inch of you.

"i know, baby, i know," he rasped, his voice wrecked with emotion. "i've had you under my skin for months — i've loved you since the day i moved in and heard you through that wall."

the world shattered into a thousand shards of light. you arched off the bed, a high, broken cry escaping you as your internal muscles squeezed him in a vice-grip. he followed you over the edge seconds later, his body shuddering with the force of it as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his final, deep pulses sealing the promise he’d been making all night.

the silence that followed was heavy and sweet, filled only with the sound of your shared, exhausted breathing. minho stayed between your legs for a long moment, his forehead resting against yours, before he gently pulled away to take care of the cleanup.

the aftercare was a soft, hazy blur of gentle touches and quiet words. he returned to the bed with a warm cloth, his touch incredibly tender as he wiped away the evidence of your night. he didn't just clean you; he worshipped you, dropping soft, lingering kisses on your inner thighs and the curve of your stomach.

"0801 and 0802," you murmured, your eyes heavy as you leaned your head back against his shoulder, breathing in the intoxicating scent of cedarwood and him. "the wall is finally gone."

finally, he pulled you into the center of the bed, tucking the heavy duvet around you both until you were a warm cocoon of limbs. he pulled you flush against his chest, your back to his front, his arm draped over your waist to hold you close.

"it was never really there, love," he replied, his voice a soft, protective rumble that vibrated through your back as he kissed the top of your head. "it was just waiting for us to find the door."

as sleep finally began to pull at you, you felt him tighten his grip just a fraction, a silent promise that he wasn't going anywhere. the game was over, the heat had been reached, and it wasn't bitter at all — it was the sweetest thing you'd ever tasted.

"goodnight, my baby," he whispered into the dark.

"goodnight, minho," you sighed, a sleepy, mischievous smile tugging at your lips. "and tell joonie he has a mom now —"

what a happy family hm ?

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