🫐‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪🪻 ִֶָ☾.

"You're late," he says when you walk in. No good morning. No hello. Just a sharp glance over the rim of his clipboard and a sigh like you’ve already ruined his day.

"Good to see you too, boss," you reply, grabbing a pair of gloves and snapping them on for dramatic effect. "Try not to faint from excitement."

He doesn’t look up. "I’ve had papercuts that contribute more than you."

You grin. “Bet they’re less fun to look at though.”

You don’t mean to flirt. Not really. That’s just how you survive here—verbal sparring and slow smiles, jabbing at each other like it doesn’t matter. Like he’s not kind of devastating when he’s focused. Like you don’t kind of want to kiss him just to shut him up.

He passes you a chart with a post-it that reads: Try not to kill anyone today.

You respond by taping a band-aid to his clipboard with Emotionally constipated is still a diagnosis written in sharpie.

This is your dynamic: Petty notes. Eye rolls. “Accidental” bumping shoulders when you both reach for the gauze drawer. You tell yourself it’s fun. That it means nothing. That it doesn’t make your heart thump a little when he mutters your name under his breath like it’s something dangerous.

You tell yourself it’s just camp.

Just temporary.

But then there are the days that stretch a little longer, the nights that blur at the edges, and suddenly you’re not sure if the heat on your neck is from the busted tent fan or the way Seungmin says “move” when you’re blocking the cabinet—low, clipped, and right near your ear.

Like now.

You’re both hunched over the supply shelf, reorganizing tongue depressors after Jisung’s latest prank left the box full of glitter. He’s close. Too close. And neither of you are moving.

“You’re in my space,” he mutters.

“Get a smaller bubble,” you shoot back.

His eyes flick to yours. Sharp, unreadable. You hold the stare one second too long.

Then he turns away.

It’s nothing.

But it’s not.

And everyone else seems to know it, too.

Including Aeryn—Camp Coordinator, chaos connoisseur, and, unfortunately, all-seeing god of gossip. You’ve caught her watching you and Seungmin a few times, eyebrows raised like she’s halfway between concerned and entertained. You don’t know what’s more humiliating: the idea that she might say something… or that she hasn’t.

Still, you’re playing it cool. Kind of. Until today.

It starts with a scream.

You’re elbow-deep in the storage bin looking for new bandage rolls when someone yells from outside—loud, overacted, and unmistakably Changbin.

Before you can move, the tent flap snaps open and in bursts the man himself—sweaty, shirtless, and cradling his shoulder like he’s just escaped a warzone. Aeryn is holding him up, knees buckling slightly, but still keeping him steady.

“I think I tore something!” he announces dramatically. “I was demonstrating proper plank form to the campers and my—”  He falters slightly, eyes sliding over to Aeryn who mutters something to him under her breath. He brightens. “My deltoid gave out!”

You blink. “Deltoids don’t just—”

Aeryn holds up a hand. “Saw it happen myself. One second he’s fine, the next he’s groaning in pain and talking about ‘structural collapse.’ Figured we’d better bring him straight to you guys.”

Changbin collapses onto the cot like he’s auditioning for Grey’s Anatomy. “Pain level’s at, like, an eight. Maybe a nine when I flex.”

He flexes.

You blink again.

You are surrounded by idiots.

Hot, dramatic, annoyingly well-muscled idiots.

Aeryn just shrugs at you like sorry, I don’t make the rules, and hands you the clipboard before slipping back into character. “We might need ice. Compression. Gentle handling. Possibly a massage, but I’m not a licensed professional.”

You shoot her a seriously? look, but she only lifts one perfectly arched brow.

Changbin moans again, this time flopping his head to the side like he’s losing consciousness.

You resist the urge to throw the clipboard at him.

Instead, you press your fingers to your temples, take a slow breath, and march over to the cot like the semi-competent, slightly unhinged medical volunteer you are.

“Alright, drama king,” you mutter, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. “Let’s assess this tragic deltoid disaster.”

Changbin peeks one eye open. “Be gentle. I’m delicate.”

“You bench-pressed two campers yesterday.”

“ Fragile now.”

You roll your eyes and move to his side, doing your best to ignore the fact that his entire upper body is bare, gleaming, and inexplicably smells like coconut oil.

You hover your hand near his shoulder. “So where exactly is the pain?”

Changbin gestures vaguely. “Here. Somewhere. All over.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It radiates,” he clarifies, wincing dramatically. “Like betrayal.”

You sigh and gently press along the top of his shoulder blade. “Any pain here?”

He groans. “Only emotional.”

You glance at Aeryn, who’s biting her lip and very obviously trying not to laugh. She shrugs again, like what can I say?

“Do me a favor,” you say to Changbin. “Raise your arm—slowly.”

He lifts it partway before making a pained sound and slumping again.

“Ah! Did you hear that? Something cracked. I think my muscle’s… separating.”

“From what? Your conscience?”

He gasps, wounded.

You lean over a little to check the joint, lifting his arm carefully, your fingers brushing just below his collarbone.

Which is, unfortunately, when the tent flap opens again with all the grace of an oncoming storm.

“I said ice—”

Seungmin’s voice dies mid-sentence.

You glance over your shoulder.

He’s standing in the doorway, frozen. Clipboard in one hand. Eyes locked on your hand, currently resting on Changbin’s bare chest.

Great.

You don’t even have time to pull back before Seungmin’s already moving forward, steps clipped, mouth drawn tight like he’s swallowing an entire monologue.

Aeryn doesn’t help.

“Oh, hey!” she chirps, far too innocently. “You’re just in time. She’s checking for muscle separation. Super hands-on work. Very... intimate.”

You shoot her a glare. She grins like the devil in a whistle lanyard.

“I told her to do it,” Changbin adds, clearly sensing the power he’s wielding. “She’s got really good hands.”

You yank your hand back like it just touched a hot stove. “That’s not what this is.”

Seungmin doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t look at anyone, really. Just sets whatever he's holding down with deliberate precision and strides toward the cot like a man on the edge of an internal breakdown.

Aeryn is beaming now. You want to kick her shin. Gently. Affectionately. But still.

“Ice,” Seungmin says through gritted teeth, not breaking stride.

“I was just about to—”

“I’ll do it.”

You stare as he opens the cooler with unnecessary force, grabs the first ice pack he sees, and marches back over. Changbin opens his mouth—probably to say something that will end in his own death—but Seungmin cuts him off by slapping the ice pack down on his shoulder. Hard.

“Ow,” Changbin says flatly.

“Deltoid strain,” Seungmin says flatly. “Not a collapsed lung. You’ll live.”

“I think you bruised my soul.”

“Not my problem.”

He starts wrapping Changbin’s shoulder with a speed and efficiency that feels more like vengeance than first aid.

“I could’ve done that,” you mutter.

Seungmin doesn’t look at you. “Clearly.”

Your nostrils flare. “Excuse me?”

He finishes the wrap with a satisfying yank of the bandage and turns to face you, eyes sharp and unreadable. “Maybe if you’d spent less time massaging his chest, I’d believe you.”

Your jaw drops. “I wasn’t—”

Changbin slinks off the cot like a scolded child and Aeryn wordlessly hands him a T-shirt, nudging him toward the flap.

“Bye,” she sing-songs. “Great work, everyone.”

And then it’s just you and Seungmin.

The silence crackles. Loud. Heavy.

“Okay,” you say slowly, stepping closer, arms crossed. “What is your problem?”

Seungmin’s jaw clenches. “I don’t have one.”

“Really?” You throw a hand toward the cot. “Because it really feels like you do.”

“I just think you’re a little too generous with your hands lately.”

“Oh, screw you.”

You shove past him and rip the gloves off, tossing them in the bin. The tent is too hot, the air too thick, and your pulse is doing weird things in your neck.

Seungmin follows, footsteps heavy.

“You don’t get to be jealous.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Bullshit.”

You whip around to face him. He’s close. Too close. Again.

“Do you think I wanted to touch him?” you snap. “That I enjoyed playing nurse to a human protein shake with the acting skills of a preschooler?”

His expression doesn’t change. “You looked pretty into it.”

“Are you listening to yourself right now? Because if you’d taken ten seconds to use your brain, you’d know Aeryn set that whole thing up.”

A beat.

You and Seungmin just stand there, tension so thick it might as well be its own counselor.

And then, very quietly, he says, “You didn’t deny it.”

You blink. “What?”

“You didn’t deny wanting to touch him.”

You stare at him. Really stare.

Then step forward.

Until you’re toe-to-toe, chest-to-chest, heat curling between you like a live wire.

“I didn’t want to touch him,” you say, voice low. “But maybe I’d like to touch you. Is that what you want to hear?”

Seungmin doesn’t move.

Doesn’t blink.

You can hear your own heartbeat over the sound of the buzzing fluorescent light above you, the faint chirping of cicadas outside the tent, the ghost of Aeryn’s delighted snort echoing in your memory.

His jaw ticks. He’s staring at you like he’s trying to solve a problem—like he’s weighing the pros and cons of jumping off a cliff, knowing he’ll hit the ground either way.

And then he scoffs. Quiet. Sharp. Defensive.

“You’re delusional,” he says.

Your brows shoot up. “Excuse me?”

“You think I’m jealous? That I care who you put your hands on?” He shakes his head, eyes flicking anywhere but your face. “Please. You’ve always been like this. Flirty. Handsy. It’s just how you are.”

Something in your chest pinches. “Wow.”

“It’s not like it means anything.”

You inhale slowly, forcing down the lump forming in your throat. You nod once, the kind of nod that says fine, you wanna lie? Let’s lie together.

Then you step in even closer, lips brushing the edge of his words.

“Please,” you whisper, voice trembling with fury and something far more dangerous. “You want to kiss me so bad it’s killing you.”

A sharp, choked sound escapes him—half a breath, half surrender—and then he’s grabbing your face in both hands and kissing you like you’ve just set him on fire and he doesn’t know how to put it out.

It’s not soft. It’s not sweet.

It’s all clenched jaw and desperate teeth and weeks of barely disguised tension snapping loose at once.

Your fingers fist into the front of his shirt. His thumb brushes your cheek, tender in contrast to the way he bites your bottom lip like he’s mad at it for existing.

He pulls back just a fraction—breathless, wrecked, eyes dark and wide.

“You make me insane,” he mutters.

“Good,” you pant, tugging him back down. “Then we’re even.”

He kisses you again—deeper this time, more sure of it, like he’s decided there’s no point pretending anymore.

Your back hits the supply shelf with a soft thud, half from how fast he walks you into it and half from how much your knees threaten to give. He doesn't even give you a second to register it—he just follows, crowding into your space like he has every right to, like he’s been dying to for weeks.

And maybe he has.

His hands move from your face to your waist, sliding down slow, possessive, like he wants to feel every inch of you, like he needs to anchor himself in something solid before this spins completely out of control. You gasp against his mouth when he tugs you forward by the hips—flush to him now, nowhere to go, and no part of you that wants to.

He kisses like he argues: all control, all precision—except now it’s messy, unguarded, like he’s letting everything spill at once. Your lips part and he takes it, tongue brushing against yours, deliberate and slow, drawing a low sound from your throat you didn’t know you were capable of making.

That’s when his grip tightens.

His fingers dig into your waist like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you, like if he lets go, you’ll vanish, and he’ll have to go back to pretending you’re just another mouthy volunteer instead of the reason he’s been on edge since week one.

Your hands slide up his chest—feeling the rise and fall, the tremble barely hidden under muscle and camp-issued cotton—and then curl around the back of his neck, keeping him close. He dips his head, kissing along your jaw, down to your neck, mouth dragging open and hot across your pulse.

You shudder.

He grins against your skin, the cocky bastard. “Still think I don’t want this?”

You’re too breathless to speak, but you tilt your head anyway—offering him more—and he hums, satisfied, kissing just below your ear like he’s trying to ruin you piece by piece.

“You drive me crazy,” he murmurs again, lips ghosting over your throat. “With your stupid comebacks. Your stupid fake innocence. Your hands on everyone who isn’t me.”

“Maybe I was just waiting for you to do something about it,” you manage, fingers tugging his hair at the nape.

His body presses into yours, one hand sliding under the hem of your shirt, fingers splayed across the warm skin of your lower back. Your hips move without thinking—just a shift, a press, instinctive and needy—and his breath catches, lips parting just enough for you to taste the stunned sound he lets out before he groans into your mouth.

And oh—that noise might actually destroy you.

You pull him closer, desperate now, the kiss growing more frantic, more ragged. Teeth. Tongue. Breathless muttering between collisions of lips.

“Fuck,” he mumbles against you. “We can’t—this is—”

“You started it,” you breathe, nails scratching lightly at the back of his neck.

“I’ll finish it too.”

You nearly whimper.

Then a loud clatter from outside the tent breaks the moment—someone dropping a tray of metal camp cups, followed by Jisung’s unmistakable “My bad!” 

You both freeze.

Your chest is heaving. Seungmin’s forehead rests against yours, eyes squeezed shut like he’s physically holding himself back now.

You swallow. “So…”

He exhales hard. “I hate this camp.”

You grin, dazed and flushed. “No, you don’t.”

He sighs, straightening up, brushing his thumb against your swollen lower lip like he wants to kiss you again.

“Come by after lights out,” he mutters, voice low and dangerous. “After hours.”

And then he turns, calm as ever, grabs his clipboard, and walks out like he didn’t just kiss you breathless against a shelf of antiseptic.

You stare after him.

Still pressed to the wall. Still trembling.

Still so very, very ruined.

📄 CAMPSITE CONFESSIONAL INTERVIEW LOG: Subject: Aeryn (Camp Coordinator) Time: 4:36 PM Location: Storage shed “nobody’s supposed to know about” Status: Smug

🎥 Camera on. Aeryn is perched on a first aid cooler, clipboard in one hand, a grape lollipop in the other. She’s too calm for someone who caused a near-mutiny this morning.

“Do I regret orchestrating a fake injury to manipulate two emotionally repressed coworkers into making out in a government-issued tent?”

🎥 She licks the lollipop. Shrugs.

“No.”

🎥 A beat. She checks the clipboard like it’s a legal document.

“I run this camp. That means managing interpersonal conflict. That means morale. That means…”

She waves the lollipop.

“Strategic horniness deployment. They’ve been tension-bickering since week one. I gave it until week three before one of them either snapped or combusted. I was right.”

🎥 A pause as she leans forward.

“I gave Changbin half a bottle of baby oil, a fake injury script, and the green light. Ten minutes later, Seungmin was ready to commit murder. Then kiss her. In that order.”

🎥 She taps her clipboard once like she’s gaveling court.

“Case closed.”

📄 CAMPSITE CONFESSIONAL INTERVIEW LOG: Subject: Changbin (Athletics Coordinator) Time: 4:42 PM Location: Canoe shed Status: Shirtless. Satisfied.

🎥 Camera on. Changbin is sitting backwards on a bench press bar. He’s shirtless. Holding an unopened ice pack like it’s a trophy.

“Look. You say ‘fake a deltoid tear,’ I say ‘method acting.’”

🎥 He winks.

“Did I enjoy it? Of course. Did I know Seungmin was going to go feral the moment she touched my shoulder?”

He makes a thinking face. Then grins.

“Also yes.”

🎥 Cut to: Seungmin aggressively slamming an ice pack onto Changbin’s shoulder earlier that day.

🎥 Back to Changbin.

“I’ve seen squirrels keep it together better than him.”

🎥 He leans back against the canoe, sighs dramatically.

“They’ve been making eye contact like they’re in a war film for days. I was just the match. Aeryn lit the fuse.”

🎥 He holds up the ice pack like a trophy.

“I accept payment in protein bars and moral superiority.”

🎥 He squints at the camera. “Also, someone tell Minho I didn’t use the lake. I have a reputation.”

🎥 Cut to: Lee Know off-camera, staring into the lens like he can hear everything through time.

🎥 End.

Taglist:

m a s t e r l i s t ⋆ i n b o x

“Open your mouth.”

The command is low, a dark murmur that goes straight through you, vibrating in your stomach. Hyunjin’s thumb is on your bottom lip, pressing insistently. You can see the intensity in his dark eyes from where you’re kneeling between his spread thighs on the floor. Across the room, the TV casts a blue glow over Minho, Seungmin, and Jisung’s focused gaze.

“You heard him,” Minho says, voice flat. “You wanted to know what it felt like. So fucking take it.”

Your heart is a frantic bird in your chest. You part your lips.

Hyunjin’s thumb slips inside, pads pressing down on your tongue. It’s an intrusion, simple and profound. “Good,” he praises, his other hand coming up to cradle your jaw. His touch is warm, almost tender, a stark contrast to the crude command. “Now, stay just like that for me.”

It wasn’t supposed to go here. You were just hanging out.

The night had been normal. Comfortably numb. A Friday with the usual suspects—Jisung, Minho, Seungmin, Hyunjin—crowded into Minho’s apartment. You were all in your twenties, adults with shared history and easy camaraderie. A superhero movie you’d all seen before played on the TV, providing a wash of noise and color more than a focal point. You were tucked into the corner of the large sectional, a bowl of chips balanced on your stomach, laughing at something stupid Jisung had said.

And then somehow the topic of orgies came up.

Seungmin, stretched out on the floor, took a long pull from his beer. “It’s just biology,” he said, using the tone he used when he was about to be a shit-stirrer. “The whole monogamy construct. Historically speaking, sharing partners wasn’t exactly taboo.”

“Oh, here we go,” Minho groaned from the armchair, though a glint in his eye said he was engaged. “Professor Kim is in session.”

“I’m just saying,” Seungmin continued, ignoring him. “The idea of an orgy, a group thing–it’s about trust and greed. You want one experience, but why not have four? Or five?”

Jisung, sitting cross-legged next to you, nudged your foot with his. “You ever think about that stuff?”

You snorted, grabbing a chip. “What, orgies? My brain’s usually occupied with more important things. Like why my left boob is bigger than my right.”

Jisung glanced down at your chest and you smacked him with a pillow.

“Bullshit,” Minho said lightly. “Everyone thinks about it. The logistics. The sensations.” He let the word hang, his gaze flicking to you, then away to the TV where two characters were punching each other silently.

“Logistics are a nightmare,” Hyunjin mused from the other end of the sofa. “You’d need space. Rules. A lot of towels.” He said it so practically, as if discussing a home renovation, that you laughed.

“See? Hyunjin gets it. It’s a towel-based operation. Not sexy.”

“Everything can be sexy with the right mindset,” Seungmin countered, sitting up. “Imagine it. No jealousy. Just a group of people who trust each other, exploring. Giving. Taking.” He looked right at you. “You’ve never been curious?”

The room felt a degree warmer. You shifted, the chips suddenly too salty. “I mean, in theory, maybe. As a sociological experiment.”

“A fucking experiment,” Jisung corrected, grinning. His biceps flexed as he reached for his own drink. “Come on, you’ve never seen a movie scene or read something and wondered, just for a second, what it would actually feel like?”

You shrugged, aiming for nonchalance. “My imagination is pretty vivid. I don’t need a field trip.”

“But a field trip is more fun,” Minho said. He’d gone quiet, watching the exchange like a chess match. His quiet intensity was always more potent than Jisung’s loud energy. “Admit it. The idea of being the center of attention for more than one person. Of having hands on you from all sides, not knowing who’s touching you where next…it has to do something to you.”

Your face heated. He was too close to a nerve you didn’t acknowledge. “You’re projecting, Minho.”

“Am I?” He said with a wink.

Hyunjin swirled the liquid in his glass. “I think it could be beautiful. If it was about connection. Not just bodies, but appreciating someone fully. Letting others appreciate them, too.”

“Romanticizing an orgy, classic Hyunjin,” Seungmin chuckled, but it wasn’t unkind.

“I’m just saying the idea of sharing someone you care about,” Hyunjin continued, his gaze soft yet unwavering as it landed on you, “seeing them come apart because of you, and because of your friends. There’s a generosity in that. A kind of love.”

The word ‘love’ in the same conversation as ‘orgy’ sent a bizarre, electric jolt through you.

“Okay, but have any of you actually done anything like that?” you asked, trying to steer the conversation back to hypotheticals, to them.

A heavy silence.

Jisung scratched the back of his neck. Minho took a slow drink. Seungmin’s lips quirked. Hyunjin just looked at you.

“Asking for a friend?” Seungmin finally said, his voice dropping.

“No! I’m just…you’re all talking like experts.”

“We’re observant,” Minho stated. “And we’re honest about what we want.”

“And what do you want?” The question left you before you could stop it.

The air left the room. Four pairs of eyes, all shades of dark, fixed on you. The blue light from the screen played over their faces, highlighting the sharp line of Minho’s jaw, the slope of Jisung’s nose, the fullness of Hyunjin’s lips, the gleam in Seungmin’s gaze.

It was Jisung who broke the silence, his goofiness replaced by a startling seriousness. “Right now?” He leaned forward, his voice a low rumble. “I want to know what you taste like.”

You started coughing, tossing the bowl of chips to the side as Jisung handed you his glass of water. You took a drink before choking out, “What?”

“You asked,” Seungmin said. “We’re telling you. Me personally? I want to hear the sounds you make when you’re overwhelmed. I want to find the words that make you blush and squirm.”

Minho stayed in his seat, watching you as Hyunjin uncoiled himself from his end of the couch. He didn’t crowd you; he simply came closer and knelt on the floor in front of your feet. He looked up at you, and his expression was indeed gentle, but beneath it burned a raw hunger that made your stomach flip. “I want to worship you,” he said, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it over the movie’s explosions. “And I want to watch them worship you, too.”

Your mind blanked, then flooded with a thousand panicked, thrilling thoughts. This was crazy. These were your friends. But the look in their eyes—it wasn’t friendly. It was hungry, possessive, curious, consuming.

“This is–we can’t” you stammered.

“We can,” Minho said, standing and walking around the couch. His hands came to rest on your shoulders. Not forcing, just there. Heavy. Real. “Say no. Right now. Tell us to stop, and we drop it. We’ll watch the rest of this shitty movie and never speak of this again.”

You opened your mouth.

No was the safe word, the sane word.

A beat passed and you didn’t say it. Your silence was the loudest thing in the room.

Minho’s fingers flexed on your shoulders. “Okay then,” he murmured, and the two words were a verdict.

Things happened quickly then, a blur of decisive movement. Jisung took your hands and gently pulled you to your feet, legs unsteady. He guided you to the open space of the rug in front of the sofa. The movie played on, a silent, irrelevant witness.

“On your knees,” Seungmin instructed, his voice assuming a natural authority. You sank down, the plush rug soft beneath your shins.

Hyunjin moved in front of you again, settling on the couch in front of you. He spread his legs, making space for you between them. That’s when he’d issued the first command. Open your mouth.

And you had.

Now, with his thumb still resting on your tongue, he uses his grip on your jaw to guide you forward. His other hand goes to the button of his jeans. The sound of the zipper coming down is obscenely loud. He shifts, pushing the fabric down his hips just enough. And then he’s there, springing free, thick and already fully hard, the long, heavy length of him curving up towards his stomach.

A stunned sound vibrates in your throat.

“Eyes on me,” Hyunjin orders softly. You drag your gaze from his cock to his face. His eyes are black with want. “This is for you. This is because of you.” He guides your head forward. “Now, get my cock nice and wet for me, honey. Use that pretty mouth.”

The first touch of the velvety, hot crown against your lips makes you flinch. He’s big, thicker than you’d imagined, and the musky, clean scent of him fills your nose. You open wider, letting him slide past your lips. The weight of him on your tongue is immense, a solid, living heat. You close your lips around the shaft, and a deep, gratified groan spills from Hyunjin’s throat.

“Fuck, yes,” he breathes, his head falling back against the back of the couch. His hands come up to cradle your head, not forcing, just holding. “Just like that. So good.”

You begin to move, tentatively, learning the shape of him with your mouth. Saliva pooling, making the glide easier. You’re suddenly lost in the sensation of him filling your mouth, the sound of his ragged breathing, the sight of his abdomen clenching.

You’re so focused you don’t notice the others moving until hands are on your body.

From behind, Minho’s fingers find the hem of your shirt. You briefly pull away from Hyunjin’s cock as Minho tugs your shirt up and over your head in one swift motion, leaving you in just your bra. You immediately wrap your lips back around Hyunjin, making him groan and tangle his hand in your hair.

The cool air touches your skin, raising goosebumps. “Don’t stop,” Minho murmurs, his mouth close to your ear. His hands slide down to your ribs, his palms rough and warm. He finds the front clasp of your bra and flicks it open. The fabric loosens, and he peels it away, tossing it aside. His hands come back immediately, cupping your bare breasts, weighing them, his thumbs circling your nipples with a deliberate, rough pressure that makes you jerk and moan around Hyunjin’s cock.

“Sensitive,” Minho notes, a hint of a smile in his voice. He pinches one peak, rolling it tightly, and a sharp bolt of pleasure-pain shoots straight to your core, making your hips buck against nothing.

To your right, Jisung slides underneath you. “My turn,” he says, his voice husky. He leans in and simply replaces Minho’s hand on your other breast with his mouth. He doesn’t tease. He takes the stiffened peak between his lips and suckles hard, his tongue lashing the tip. The dual sensation—Minho’s cruel pinches, Jisung’s wet, ardent sucking—unravels you. Your moans are constant now, muffled by the cock in your mouth, your body trembling between the three points of contact.

Hyunjin’s grip in your hair tightens, watching you with rapt, dark eyes. “You feel so good. So soft and hot.”

Seungmin appears on your left. He doesn’t touch you at first. He just watches, his eyes tracking every reaction. And then he reaches out and trails a single finger down your spine. You arch into the touch. “I want to hear you,” he says directly to you. “I want to hear you gag on him.”

As if on cue, Hyunjin gently pushes your head down, feeding you more of his length. The head bumps the back of your throat, making you cough and choke on him. Four pairs of groans are released. You relax, letting him slide deeper, until your nose is meeting the base of him. Tears spring to your eyes. You are held there, full to the brim, as Jisung sucks and Minho pinches and Seungmin’s fingers trace your vertebrae.

Hyunjin pulls you back, letting you gasp for air, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his glistening shaft. “Incredible,” he whispers.

Before you could catch your breath, Minho’s hands leave your breasts and hook into the waistband of your leggings and underwear. “Lift up,” he commands. You raise your hips, and he strips the last of your clothing down your thighs, leaving you completely bare, kneeling and exposed before all of them. The vulnerability is a total, dizzying rush.

Jisung abandons your breast with a pop. “Fuck, look at you, baby,” he growls, his gaze raking over your naked form.

You’re maneuvered around and pushed onto your back, Jisung now in front of your splayed thighs. He grips your hips, his thumbs digging into the crease of your groin and leans in, his breath fanning over your wet, aching folds. “You’re soaked. Absolutely dripping for us.”

He doesn’t wait, pressing his mouth to you, a flat, open-mouthed kiss over your entire center. The contact is electric, a shock of pure sensation that rips a raw cry from your throat. His tongue is broad and insistent, licking a firm stripe from your entrance all the way up to your clit, where he circles once, twice, before diving back down.

“Jisung, fuck,” you pants, your hands finding his hair. Your hips try to roll into Jisung’s face, but Minho’s hands clamp down on your waist, holding you still.

“Stay put,” Minho says. “Let him work.”

And Jisung works. He eats you with messy, enthusiastic greed. His tongue spears inside you, fucking you with shallow, rapid thrusts before returning to lap at your clit. He sucks the sensitive bud into his mouth, applying a steady, rhythmic pressure that has your thighs shaking. The sounds are obscene—wet, sloppy, desperate.

Seungmin finally joins the physical fray. Minho moves, letting him kneel beside you. He reaches down to touch you, one hand sliding over your stomach, pressing down. The other dips between your legs, his fingers finding the slick, swollen flesh alongside Jisung’s feasting mouth. He rubs slow, teasing circles around your entrance, not penetrating, just feeling the wetness, the heat.

“You gonna come from just his mouth?” Seungmin asks you, his voice thick with lust. “Look at her stomach trembling. Listen to those little fucking whimpers.”

“Make her come,” Hyunjin urges, his fist moving up and down his length, smearing pre-come and along his flushed cock. “I want to see it.”

Jisung doubles his efforts. He slides two fingers inside you, curling them up, and his mouth locks onto your clit, sucking hard. The dual assault—the penetrating fullness, the relentless suction—builds the coil in your belly to a breaking point. The pleasure is a white-hot wire, pulled taut. You’re babbling, nonsense words and their names, your body straining against the hands holding you.

It crests without warning, a seismic release that tears through you. Your back arches violently, a broken, screaming sob rips from your throat as the orgasm crashes over you, wave after wave of convulsing pleasure that leaves you blind and shuddering. Jisung rides it out, his tongue gently lapping at you as you pulse around his fingers.

As the last tremors subside, you slump, boneless. You’re gasping, sweat-slicked, and utterly spent. But they aren’t done. Not even close.

You hear the sound of a belt, then a zipper. “You got the first one,” Minho says, his voice tight. “My turn.” He kisses your forehead. “You okay?” He asks you, pushing the hair back from your slick forehead. You nod, holding your thumbs up, making him chuckle.

And then he’s lifting you and bending you over between Hyunjin’s spread legs before positioning himself behind you on his knees. His hands grip your hips, pulling you back until your ass meets the hard, hot length of his cock. He rubs the head through your drenched folds, gathering your wetness, then notches it at your entrance.

“Look at Hyunjin,” Minho orders, his mouth at your ear.

Dazed, you lift your head. Hyunjin is watching, his expression one of awed, fervent lust. He strokes his cock slowly, his hooded gaze fixed on you.

Minho pushes forward. He’s thick, stretching you beautifully, brutally. The penetration is slow and inexorable, filling you up in a whole new way after the sensitivity of your climax. A low, guttural moan punches from your lungs. He seats himself fully, his hips flush against your ass, and holds there, letting you feel every inch.

“Fucking hell, you’re so tight,” Minho grits out, his fingers digging into your flesh. “Even after coming.”

He begins to move, pulling out almost all the way before slamming back in. His pace is punishing from the start, no warm-up, just deep, driving strokes that jolt you forward with each thrust. The slap of skin on skin fills the room, harmonizing with the movie’s forgotten score.

Hyunjin brings the head of his cock back to your lips. “Suck me,” he demands, his gentleness fraying into raw need. “Suck me while he fucks you.”

You open your mouth, taking him in again. This time, you have no rhythm. You’re just a vessel, your mouth being used as Minho’s thrusts rock you back and forth on Hyunjin’s length. Drool drips down your chin. You gag on Hyunjin whenever Minho hammers particularly deep.

It’s filthy, debasing, and impossibly hot.

Jisung, having moved aside, watches with a blown-out expression, stroking himself roughly. Seungmin is standing, also working his own cock, his eyes hungry.

“You like that?” Minho grunts, his pace never faltering. “You like being our little fuck toy? Filled at both ends?”

You can’t answer. You can only moan around Hyunjin’s cock, your eyes rolling back.

“She loves it,” Seungmin answers for you, his voice strained. “Look at her. She’s in heaven.”

Hyunjin’s breathing grows ragged. His thrusts into your mouth become shallow, frantic. “I’m gonna come,” he warns, his voice strangled. “Swallow it. Swallow every fucking drop.”

His release hits suddenly. A hot, bitter flood spilling over your tongue, pulsing down your throat. You swallow convulsively, some of it escaping past your lips. He keeps pumping into your mouth until he’s spent, then gently pulls out, his cock glistening and softening.

Minho doesn’t stop. He fucks you through Hyunjin’s orgasm, his own rhythm becoming erratic, brutal. “Gonna come inside this tight little cunt,” he snarls, his composure shattering. “Mark you. So they all know who fucked you deepest.”

With a final, savage thrust, he buries himself to the hilt and goes rigid. You feel the hot jet of his cum flooding you, a startling, intimate heat that triggers another, smaller, internal clench around his still-throbbing cock. He stays there, panting against your back, his weight heavy on you.

He pulls out slowly, and you feel the immediate, messy trickle of his spend down your inner thighs.

You collapse forward, caught by Hyunjin, who gathers you against his chest. You’re a wreck—breathless, used, dripping, and utterly fucked out.

Jisung and Seungmin are still hard, still stroking themselves, watching you with feral intent.

Seungmin’s dry voice cuts through the heavy silence. “My turn,” he says, his gaze fixed on your spent, glistening body. “Want that pretty pussy.”

Hyunjin kisses the side of your head before laying you down on the couch, getting up to let Seungmin sit beside you.

Seungmin’s shadow falls over you before the cushions dip with the weight of him, his arms reaching out to lift you onto his lap. Your thighs bracket his, his cock a rigid, dark line against the low light, jutting out with an impatient promise. You can see the fine sheen of pre-come glistening at the tip.

“I want that pretty little pussy. Can you ride me, baby?” He asks, framing your face with his large palms. You nod pathetically, eager to please him.

Hyunjin’s fingers stroke through your hair, a soothing gesture that feels miles away from the demand in front of you. “Be good for him,” Hyunjin murmurs into your ear, his own voice rough with spent satisfaction. “Let him have what he wants.”

Jisung is already moving, his energy a buzzing, restless thing. He scrambles around behind you, his hands landing on your bare hips. “I’m not done tasting her either,” he announces, his words a hot puff against the small of your back. “If Seungmin gets her mouth, I get this.” His palm slaps down on your ass cheek, the sound sharp in the quiet room. The sting blooms, mixing with the deep, sore fullness Minho left behind.

“Fine,” Seungmin says, his gaze cataloging your reactions. “But you follow my lead, Jisung. I set the pace.”

“Yeah, yeah, professor,” Jisung grins, but he nods.

Seungmin lifts you and then settles your dripping core against his twitching cock. “Clean yourself up first,” he instructs. “Use your fingers. Then lick them clean. I want to watch you taste both of them before you take me.”

A fresh wave of heat, shameful and intense, floods your system. Your eyes dart to Hyunjin, then to Minho who is now leaning against the armchair, watching with a lazy, satisfied smirk as he fastens his jeans. There’s no judgment, only avid curiosity.

Your hand trembles as you lift it to your chin. You gather the sticky, pearly strands of Hyunjin’s release mixed with your own saliva. You hold your glistening fingertips in front of your face for a suspended second, seeing the way Seungmin’s eyes narrow with focus. Then you push two fingers into your mouth.

The taste is musky, salty, distinctly male. You suck your fingers clean, hollowing your cheeks, a lewd, deliberate show you didn’t know you had in you. A low noise comes from Jisung behind you. “Fuck, that’s hot,” he breathes.

“Good,” Seungmin approves. “Now, the other.” He gestures to the trickle of Minho’s spend that had leaked down your inner thigh.

You bend forward, your body protesting, and run your fingers through the wetness there. This is warmer, slicker. You bring your fingers to your mouth again, maintaining eye contact with Seungmin as you lick them slowly, thoroughly. The taste is different, but the act of consuming them, of having their essence on your tongue, is what matters. It’s a claiming in reverse.

“Perfect,” Seungmin whispers. He finally wraps a hand around the base of his cock, giving it a few slow, deliberate strokes. He’s long, like Hyunjin, the veins standing in stark relief under his tight skin.

And then he’s lifting you, guiding himself to your slick entrance and letting you sink down onto him, both of you groaning in relief and pleasure.

He lets you adjust for only a second before he starts bouncing you slowly, sliding deeper and deeper with each thrust upward. You relax against him, pressing your face to his neck as he wraps his arms around your waist and does most of the work.

“Look at me,” he says, his voice slightly strained.

You force yourself to sit up, your watery eyes focusing on his face. His expression is one of intense concentration, his free hand coming up to cradle your cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin beside your mouth. “You take me so well,” he pants out, almost to himself. “Your pussy’s fluttering, trying to swallow me whole.” He lifts you slowly, until just the tip is left, before slamming you back down. “Fuck.”

He fucks into your cunt with that same measured, relentless pace. In, out. Deep, then shallow. Each thrust is controlled, a precise piston. The slapping of skin becomes rhythmic, a wet accompaniment to the slick sounds of your pussy taking him. Tears stream freely down your face now, but a strange, submissive pride blooms in your chest. You’re doing it. You’re taking all of them.

That’s when Jisung makes his move. His hands spread your ass cheeks wide. The cool air hits you, making you jolt. You feel his mouth first, not on your cunt, but higher. His tongue, hot and pointed, licks a firm stripe right over your other hole.

Your body seizes, a shock of pure, unexpected sensation bolting up your spine. You scream around collapsing onto Seungmin, the sound muffled into a guttural vibrato.

“What—” you try to gasp as Seungmin rams back in, cutting off your air.

“I said I wanted a taste,” Jisung mumbles, his voice muffled against your skin. “I didn’t specify where.” His tongue circles the tight, forbidden pucker, lapping at the mixed wetness gathered there. It’s filthy, degrading, and it sends a torrent of fresh arousal gushing from your already sensitive cunt.

Seungmin watches your reaction, his thrusts never faltering. “Shit, you’re clenching around me, tight little cunt milking my dick. She likes that. You like that don’t you? Ji’s tongue on your ass.” He snaps his hips forward, and you cry out, body convulsing. “Don’t you? You love being this dirty. Being used in every possible way.”

You can’t nod. You can only moan, a continuous, broken sound.

Jisung’s tongue presses inward, just a little, a teasing, invasive probe. At the same time, his hand slides around your thigh. Two of his fingers, find your swollen, throbbing clit. He rubs tight, fast circles directly on the oversensitive bud as Seungmin continues to bounce you on his cock.

The dual assault is unbearable. The deep, fullness in your pussy. The wicked, licking pressure at your back entrance. The ruthless stimulation on your clit. Your body is a live wire, strung between three points of overwhelming sensation. Pleasure coils, tight and vicious, deep in your gut, but it’s tangled with a raw, borderline-painful overstimulation.

“She’s close again,” Jisung announces, his voice thick with lust. “Her whole body is shaking.”

Seungmin’s control finally shows a crack. His hips stutter, his rhythm losing its perfect metronome beat. “Not yet,” he grits out. He grips your hips tighter, fingers digging into your flesh as he fucks you faster. “I want to come inside you, but I want you to come at the same time. I want to feel you lose it when I fill you up.” He grits out, hooded eyes on you. “Keep licking her ass, Ji,” he pants out, fucking up into you so hard the couch creaks beneath your shared weight.

Jisung doesn’t need telling twice. He flicks the tip of his tongue against your tight hole, both hands back to spreading your cheeks apart, his breath hot and ragged against your wet skin.

Stars explode behind your eyes, squeezed shut in blinding pleasure. Your hands come up to grip Seungmin’s shoulders, using them as leverage to ride him hard, pushing your ass back into Jising’s mouth.

The orgasm doesn’t build. It detonates.

It tears through you with violent, unhinged force. Your back arches impossibly, your body rigid between the two of them. A scream bursts out of you as you clench around Seungmin’s cock, milking him in rapid, pulsing waves. Your inner muscles flutter and spasm, a continuous, electric current of release that seems to have no end.

Seungmin feels it all, balls tightening as he feels the tell-tale sign of his orgasm starting. He lets out a sharp, shattered groan. “Fuck, yes, that’s it. I’m coming!”

His hips piston upward one last, brutal time before he stills, buried deep inside you. You feel the hot, urgent pulse of his release jetting directly into your cunt. It’s copious, wave after wave, as your own climax continues to rack your body.

Jisung works you through it, his mouth relentless, tongue painting wet, filthy circles, prolonging the shocks until you’re a trembling, sobbing wreck.

Finally, it’s too much. You go limp, a dead weight against Seungmin as slides out from your hole with a wet pop, his cock glistening and spent. Jisung slowly withdraws, giving your asshole one last, gentle swipe that makes you jerk. He then presses a soft, almost reverent kiss to the small of your back.

For a long moment, the only sounds are the forgotten movie and everyone’s ragged breathing. You’re utterly destroyed, hollowed out, filled up, and emptied again.

“Well,” Minho says, his voice slicing through the haze. “That was thorough.” He crouches down in front of you, his sharp eyes assessing your wrecked figure. “You still with us?”

You manage a weak nod, a tear tracking through the mess on your cheek.

“Good.” He reaches out and tucks a damp strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture is tender, but his eyes are already alight with a new, predatory idea. “Because you’ve had three of us. You’ve come—what, three times? Four?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “But you haven’t had all of us at once. Not really.”

He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for you. “You want to feel what it’s like to be completely surrounded, don’t you? To have no escape. To be the absolute center of our world.”

Your breath catches. The thought is exhilarating.

Seungmin places you on the couch beside him and sits back. “Logistically challenging,” he says, but he’s looking at you with renewed interest. “But not impossible.”

Jisung scrambles to his feet, his excitement palpable. “All of us? On her? At the same time? Fuck yes. How? Like, spit-roast? Or…”

“More,” Minho says, standing up.

A feverish anticipation crackles between the four of them, a circuit closing with you at its center. You close your eyes. Your body is a map of aches and tremors, of spent nerves and throbbing, sensitive flesh. You are a mess of their making. And you have never felt more alive, more seen, more worshipped.

You open your eyes and look at Minho. You just whisper, your voice shredded and raw, “Show me.”

Minho’s grin is a flash of white in the dim room.

After a quick water break and a complete shedding of clothes on the boys’ behalf, Minho goes to his room to retrieve a small bottle of lube, making your pulse race.

Now you’re perched above Hyunjin on the floor, your knees spread wide on either side of his lean torso. Hyunjin lies flat on his back beneath you, a canvas of taut muscle and simmering intensity. His cock is already fully hard, a ruddy, hot point of pressure against your lower belly as you settle into position. You can feel the tremor in his thighs, the coiled readiness.

“Look at you,” he breathes, his voice cutting through your racing thoughts. “Fucking perfect.” His hands come up to grip your hips, fingers digging into your soft flesh, anchoring you. His gaze doesn’t waver. It’s a challenge, a promise. “Let me feel you, baby.”

You don’t need instruction. You lower yourself, a slow, deliberate descent. The head of his cock presses against your entrance, a blunt, demanding pressure. You exhale, a shaky sigh, and let your weight sink down. It’s a slow, burning stretch, a delicious fullness that blossoms from your core outward. Oh god. The sensation is immediate, overwhelming. He’s big, and the fit is tight, a perfect, agonizing friction. You feel every ridge, every pulse of him as he slides deeper, until your bodies are flush, his pelvis pressed firmly against yours.

A groan escapes him, raw and unfiltered. “Fuck yeah. That’s it. So deep.” His grip on your hips tightens, urging you to move.

You start to rock. A tentative, shallow grind. The motion sends sparks up your spine. Your inner walls clench around him instinctively, squeezing, and his eyes glaze with pleasure.

“More,” he grits out.

You comply, lifting yourself up just enough to feel the delicious drag of his cock almost leaving you, then sinking back down with more force. A wet, solid sound punctuates the impact. Your own moan mingles with his. The rhythm starts to build, a primal piston motion. Up and down. Your thighs begin to burn, but the pleasure eclipses the strain. Each descent is a jolt of pure, electric satisfaction. Each ascent is a breathless anticipation.

Then, another presence.

You feel hands on your back. Large, warm palms smoothing over your spine. Jisung. You hadn’t seen him move, but he’s here now, kneeling behind you. His breath is hot on your neck.

“Don’t stop,” Jisung murmurs, his voice playful but edged with his own need. “Just keep taking him. I’m gonna join the party.”

One of his hands leaves your back and you hear the slick sound of lube, a quick, practical squirt. His fingers, cool and slippery, find the cleft of your ass. He circles your other entrance, a teasing, preparatory touch. You gasp, your rhythm faltering for a second.

Hyunjin notices. His eyes flash. “Stay with me,” he orders, bucking his hips up to meet your next downstroke, driving himself even deeper. “Focus on me.”

You do. You lock your gaze back with Hyunjin, your hips working steadily, establishing a steady, pounding tempo. Jisung’s finger presses inward. It’s a slow, insistent penetration, a foreign pressure alongside the familiar one. Your body stiffens momentarily, a reflexive resistance, but then relaxes, accepting the new invasion. The finger works in and out, a gentle preparation.

The next few minutes are filled with the claps of your ass against Hyunjin’s thighs, his grunts and your high-pitched moans as Jisung adds a second finger, scissoring, stretching you for his cock.

“Good,” Jisung praises, his voice closer now, his lips brushing your shoulder. “So good for us. Ready?”

You can’t speak. You nod, your head dropping forward, your forehead nearly touching Hyunjin’s chest. Your rhythm on Hyunjin becomes more frantic, almost desperate, as if you’re trying to anchor yourself in the known pleasure before the unknown arrives.

Jisung removes his fingers. You feel the blunt, broader head of his cock replace it, nudging against you. There’s a pause, a collective held breath in the room.

Then he pushes.

It’s a different kind of stretch. A sharper, more concentrated fullness that blooms deep in your core, a pressure that converges with the pressure from Hyunjin’s cock in your pussy. It’s overwhelming. A dual invasion that floods your senses. You cry out, a sharp, ragged sound that’s swallowed by the music.

“Shit, so tight,” Jisung grunts, his voice strained with effort and delight.

He works himself in slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until he’s seated fully, his body pressed against your back. You’re now a bridge between them, filled to an impossible degree. The sensation is indescribable. A crushing, perfect fullness. Every nerve feels lit. You’re trembling.

Hyunjin’s hands move from your hips to your ass, feeling the new join, the presence of Jisung behind you. “Fucking incredible,” he rasps. “Now move. Both of you. Move.”

The command sets the new rhythm. You begin to rock again on Hyunjin, but now the motion is amplified, complicated by Jisung’s presence. As you rise up on Hyunjin, you feel Jisung’s cock slide partially out of your ass, a slick, pulling sensation. As you sink back down onto Hyunjin, Jisung drives forward, re-claiming his depth. It creates a double-punch of pleasure, a synchronized pounding that rattles your very bones.

The sounds are filthy. The wet slap of your pussy taking Hyunjin. The softer, deeper squelch of your ass accommodating Jisung. The mingled grunts and moans from all three of you. It’s a symphony of unrestrained sex.

Your head lolls forward, your vision blurring with pleasure. Then another hand touches your cheek, guiding your face to the side.

Seungmin.

He’s lying next to Hyunjin, propped up on one elbow. His cock is in his hand, already hard and gleaming. His expression is calm, observant, but his eyes are dark with want. “Don’t forget me,” he says softly, but the command is clear.

You twist your body to the side, your mouth opening automatically. He guides himself to your lips. The taste is salty, musky, familiar. You take the head into your mouth, sucking gently, your tongue circling the tip.

“Yeah,” Seungmin encourages, a sigh of contentment. “Just like that. Keep sucking.”

So you do. You establish a third rhythm. As your hips work between Hyunjin and Jisung in a relentless, pounding dance, your mouth works on Seungmin. You suck, you lick, you take him deeper when he pushes forward. It’s a chaotic, all-consuming multitasking of pleasure. Your mind fractures, focusing on one sensation, then another, then all three simultaneously. The deep thrusts in your pussy. The insistent fills in your ass. The soft, wet pressure in your mouth. You are utterly used. Utterly claimed.

From the couch, Minho watches. You catch his reflection in the now dark TV screen. He’s sitting back, one hand slowly stroking his own cock, his eyes fixed on the scene on the floor. On you. His gaze is intense, possessive, approving. A lazy smirk plays on his lips. He’s getting himself off to the sight, to the sounds. To you being the center of this frenzy.

The knowledge adds another layer to your pleasure. You’re not just satisfying these three; you’re performing for a fourth. Your movements become more theatrical, more exaggerated. You arch your back, presenting yourself better to Jisung behind you. You grind down harder on Hyunjin, making him groan loudly. You suck Seungmin with louder, slurping sounds.

“Fuck, look at her,” Hyunjin groans, his thrusts becoming more urgent, less controlled. “Taking all of us. So greedy.”

“She loves it,” Jisung pants behind you, his hands now gripping your waist, helping to drive you down onto Hyunjin while he pushes forward. His palm lifts and comes down on your ass cheek, groaning at the loud clap and jiggle of your flesh. “Can feel her shaking. She’s gonna break.”

Seungmin just moans, his hand tightening on your hair, guiding your head as he thrusts shallowly into your mouth. “Perfect mouth,” he murmurs. “Don’t stop.”

You don’t. You can’t. The pleasure is building to a terrifying peak. The dual penetration is creating a friction that’s igniting every nerve ending. You feel a climax approaching, not from one source, but from the convergence of all three. Your pussy is clenching wildly around Hyunjin’s cock. Your ass is spasming around Jisung’s. Your throat is working around Seungmin’s.

The dirty talk escalates, fueling the fire.

“You want this, don’t you?” Hyunjin challenges, his voice ragged. “You wanted to be our little fuck toy tonight. To be filled.”

“Yes,” you manage to gasp around Seungmin’s cock.

“Tell him,” Jisung growls, slamming into you particularly deep, making you cry out. “Tell him how full you are.”

“So full,” you moan, the words distorted. “I-I’m so full.”

“You’re gonna take our cum,” Seungmin states calmly, his thrusts into your mouth becoming a little faster, a little harder. “Everywhere. You’re gonna swallow mine while they fill you up. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

The explicit promise sends a shockwave through you. Your body convulses, a prelude to the end.

Minho’s voice cuts through from the couch, low and commanding. “Let her come. I want to see her break.”

It’s the final permission.

Hyunjin’s movements become frenzied, brutal. He’s pounding up into you, no rhythm, just pure driving force. “Come on, baby. Come.”

Jisung matches him, his hips slamming against your ass, each impact jolting you forward onto Hyunjin. “Do it. Now.”

Seungmin holds your head still and thrusts deeper into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. You gag, but the sensation mixes with the others, pushing you over the edge.

It hits you like a tsunami.

A white-hot explosion of pleasure that originates from your core and radiates outward, blinding you. Your pussy clenches and spasms violently around Hyunjin’s cock, a series of tight, pulsating grips. Your ass does the same around Jisung, milking him deeply. Your entire body shakes, uncontrollable tremors wracking your frame. A silent scream is trapped in your throat, blocked by Seungmin’s cock. Tears spring to your eyes.

Through the haze, you feel Hyunjin’s release. A hot, sudden flood inside you as he grunts, “Fuck! Oh my God!” His hips stutter, pumping his cum deep into your convulsing channel.

Jisung follows almost immediately. His groan is long and strained as he pushes impossibly deep and lets go. Another wave of heat fills your ass, a distinct, separate spill joining the one in your pussy. “God…yes…fuck…”

Seungmin pulls himself from your mouth with a slick pop. You gasp for air, your mouth hanging open, dripping. He doesn’t waste time. He shifts, kneeling up, and guides his cock back to your lips. “Swallow,” he orders, and as you open your mouth, he strokes himself quickly, his release hitting your tongue in hot, salty spurts. You swallow obediently, the act feeling lewd and final. He tosses his head back before looking back down, still pumping his dick as he watches you. “Oh fuuuck, so pretty, baby.”

Minho stands from the couch and walks the few steps before kneeling at your other side, stroking his own cock. You turn and offer your mouth to him, which he takes, sliding his tip past your lips, stroking furiously with a deep groan. “I’m coming,” he grunts out, before a stream of his hot cum shoots out into your waiting mouth. “God, fuck yes,” he moans, jaw dropping as your swallow it all down.

For a moment, everything is still. A frozen tableau of completion. You’re still perched on Hyunjin, both him and Jisung still buried inside you, pulsing with their final throbs. Seungmin falls back onto the carpet, bracing himself on his palms, breathing heavily. Your own body is quivering with aftershocks.

Life hates you so much it sent Seungmin on your way, making him within your perimeter, which means him attending the same university you are in, and fuck me even with the same course you are taking.

"If I don't know any better, I'd say he's into you." It was Ryujin this time, sitting on the other side, to which made you look at her as if she said something so terrible.

"Right? You've been in 4 different sped sections in high school, but he chooses to pick fights with the sections you are in?" This time it was Jihyo, her nose scrunching and brows furrowing as she try to deduce whatever us wrong with Kim Seungmin

"Didn't he said he used to like Y/N too before because she seems to only be the one worth of competition within her class?" You rolled your eyes from Nayeon's words. You've heard those rumors so many times before and you think it's just so absurd for a thought. If anything, you'd believe it if the rumors says he hates every single atom you have on your body.

"That's a co-incidence." You replied to them, avoiding their gazes and pulling into to now Kim Seungmin who's loudly speaking outside of your classroom telling his usual shits like how their class is better at this and that— or so you thought it is a coincidence.

Until one day, he stopped. He completely stop from being that loud mouth he usually is. No more provocative speeches every 2 hours of your whole university days. The hallway to which your classroom stands is completely silent. No more of his friends dragging him out of the day because of embarassment. It's like he suddenly disappeared but he didn't. He didn't just wanna do it anymore.

First few days was so peaceful for you. It's like you've been asking for this peacefulness since high school and finally it's here. It couldn't have been any better how peaceful it is for your ears to finally rest from the noise. A day turned into 3 days, 3 days turned into a week, and a week turned into a month. You'd lie to yourself if you'd say that you preferred it this way. It is so different without the voice of Kim Seungmin plugging into your ears. It's like he's an earworm carved into your brain and now your brain is starting to look for him.

Which is why you are here, in front of his classroom peeking your head and trying to look for him but he seems to be eating somewhere else now that it's the lunch break. You took a deepbreath, slapping yourself a bit trying to wake yourself up from the thought of looking for him. So absurd!

You even ask Christopher, one of his friends about his whereabouts but you couldn't squeeze any information out of them due to them being suspicious of why you are looking for him. Not that you blame them for it though because honestly, you yourself even couldn't understand why are you looking for him anyway. Maybe you wanna check on him? Curious? Most definitely. Concerned? Maybe just little bit. Interested? Nope, definitely not. Or so you convinced yourself it's not.

But you haven't even had walked away so far when you heard some voices of girls talking. You stopped, eavesdrop as they drop the name of the person you have been looking today.

"He really did said that? I thought he was so into Y/N he literally followed her here and even took a course he doesn't like."

"He did, he said he did that just so he could get Y/N's attention all those years. But seems like he didn't succeeded. Y/N's so oblivious of it don't you think?"

"Right? Not that Seungmin's a bad catch. If anything, he's one of the good-looking ones at our department." Which is true to their words. Even though it pisses you off seeing his face on a daily basis, you can't deny the fact that Seungmin has oke of the prettiest face on your department, especially now compared to his high school self who wears thick eyeglasses.

Is all the reason why as soon as you saw Seungmin's face, walking doen the corridor with a baseball mitt on his hand, you grabbed him on his collar and dragged him on the quietest place in the university so you could ask him directly as to why he wanted your attention so badly.

"You have my attention now, so what is it?"

But instead of answering you, he just gave you his usual smirking and provacative smile, both hands fold on his chest, slightly staring down at you.

"Oh? So now you're asking after all these years?" His voice sounds so condescending as usual but how is sounds pisses you of more than usual.

“It's a mistake asking you about it. I forgot you're a fucking jerk.” You snarled, tutting your tongue, and stepping away from him.

Oh were you about to walk away, when suddenly his firm grip caught your wrist, slamming you against the wall (gently), his other hand grips on your jaw forcing you to stay still, and his lips against yours, kissing you. Mouth parted, tongue swiping against your lips tasting it and slightly biting your lip, he forces his tongue on your mouth when he felt you wince from his bite and everything just happened there. He pulled away just a little bit, breathed ragged and uneven as his forehead rested against yours. His brown orbs dilated, staring down at you as if he's trying to read what's behind those eyes of yours.

"This. This is why I want your attention. You don't know how much I wanted to ravage that fucking mouth of yours. How I want my hands gripping on your skin. How my lips trail kisses on yours. Which is why I resorted from trying to gain that stubborn attention of yours."

You could hear the wearing thin patience on his voice. Your hands gripping on his polo shirt, his lower body pressed against yours. His minty breath fanning against your face, his masculine perfume mixing on it. It makes your head dizzy, your legs slowly feeling weak from it. You're being pushed towards him, he's pulling you towards him.

"I can only take so much Y/N, so now tell me. When are you gonna give me that fucking attention of yours? Don't wait for the time we would do something we'd both regret."

You gasped, inhaling a sharp breath when he suddenly grind his hips against yours. It was electrifying, made your whole body shudder as a response. Him chuckling from how you react from it. And repeating the same action just to coax more reaction from you.

"N-now..." You quipped breathlessly, your lips parted and glistening from the mixture of both of your saliva. His hand then slipped inside your uniform, finding its way to your clothed breast, squeezing his hand on it as if its the only source of his life. Your eyes fluttering from it, almost closing, almost rolling at the back of your head. It makes you feel so hot, needy, and weak.

You didn't know what exactly happened next. You were so out of it that the next thing you knew was him dragging you on your wrist, his grip was gentle but he walks so fast you can barely keep up. Not minding all the students he bumps into, not minding all the stares the two of you is getting. But for you, you can't think of anything, other than the back of his head and how it is making your heart thump like crazy. Your knees woobling but you try to strengthen it or you two would fall down the floor, especially you. Your head is filled with thoughts you didn't even know you are capable of having. And when you two passed through his friends who also have been looking for him, all they could do was smirk, some raises an eyebrow, some gave you an unknowing look, but nothing really make sense for you right now.

Since when? You asked to yourself, but even you can't answer it.

When finally Seungmin successfully dragged you inside his dorm, the first thing he did was pin you against the wall, and continued kissing your lips like how he should have been in the first place. Ferocious, hard but gentle, all tongue and teeth but making sure you won't feel anything but pleasure on it. And it does make you feel good. Your arms all wrapped around his neck, your legs on his waist, and your hips doing its own thing unconsciously sending delicious kind of pleasure for the both of you. Your soft gasp that trapped on his nouth makes him feral even more, fisting on your hair as he pulls your head closer as if he could pull you even closer than you both are.

This. This has been on Seungmin's mind for the past 4 years he'd been trying to get your attention. This keeps repeating on his head as if its a broken record, and now that it is happening, he couldn't exactly stop himself either, neither you want to stop him anyway.

You couldn't even remember how he managed to remove your uniform let alone drag you on his bed. Your mind us clouded, you have already lost it the moment his lips pressed against you. You couldn't believe Seungmin could actually make you feel so many emotions other than irritation. Emotions you couldn't name every single of it, but one thing is for sure. It does feel good.

“Seungmin...!” You gasped out, yiur hand fisting on his hair pulling him closer. Your legs spread wide in his will, while he lap the fuck out of your pussy. Your hips lifting up from over stimulation and Seungmin does his job by oressung an arm against your belly.

The noises that is coming out of your cunt was filthy and disgusting but Seungmin doesn't care any of that. He doesn't care if his face was a mess after, his goal right now is to coax a noise from you that you have been keeping to yourself ither than the constant gasp and constant calling of his name that falls of your mouth.

He imagined you to be someone who's quiet at bed, just because you're always been the type to be quiet at all times. He imagined that maybe that's the case too now that you're on his bed while he fucks the hell out of you, and honestly he doesn't really mind. Even though you don't vocalize the pleasure you are receiving from him, just by the face you are making he knows he's doing a great job and that strokes his already big ego.

So when he heard you moan when he finally slid his cock inside you, something broke inside him. He didn't expected anything from you, after spending the last 30 minutes of eating you out ang making you come thrice. But when a moan slip your mouth the moment he's inside you, something inside him has been switched up. One of his hand find its way to your throat. Gripping on it and restricting your airway making you gasped harshly. His other hand pressed against your stomach feeling himself bulge on your stomach everytime he would thrust in. Your restricted moans sending tingling sensation over him, and its making him do even more. Your flushed face, drools cascading your chin, and your eyes rolling at the back of your head is an indicator for him that you are feeling as good as he is feeling right now.

"Gonna cum now, pretty?" He cooed, leaning closer to your ear, taking your earlobe on his mouth, sucking on it. And you shrieked from the additional pleasure it gives you. Your head deliriously nodding in response, you biting on your lowerlip hard. Your toes curl as his tip repeatedly bullying your soft spot and Seungmin has veen doing it on purpose. Watching your lips fall apart every time you'd flinch from him thrusting in.

"Seungmin— please..." You pleaded, your newly pink painted nails scratching on his arms, he's sure would leave out pretty red scratch marks as your body convulse trying to impend your own orgasm. You felt delirious, overwhelmed, overstimulated but you wanted to last longer which you know won't happen in due time.

"Please, please, 'm coming!"

And when you did, shivers all over him, high pitched moans on his ear, legs wrapped toghtly around him like you don't want him to pull out, he growls from it. Pushing and pulling his hips few more times and finally cumming inside you as he ride your orgasm. His mouth against yours, trapping your moans on his mouth, filling you up so deep until the very last drop he ever had. It was dizzying, like your life force was sucked out of your body forcefully leaving you weak and limping.

"You're mine, hear me? All your fuckin' attentions are mine. All of you is mine. Say it." He breathes out, tone demanding and wanting even after he just took your ability to walk, probably. His eyes stares at you down waiting for yiur answer but you couldn't. Even if you wanted to snarl at him and tell him no, this encounter with him is a solid proof that you won't be able to escape him, not anytime soon, not that you even plan on doing so.

a/n: so for all who knows, this is an actual repost. I had to edit a lot from this because i feel cringey on how i write this one due to i have just speed write this before. AND for that matter, this piece is a birthday piece for @pvppymin!!! hi loves! happy birthday again! <333 enjoy this one even though this is isn't much <3

permanent taglist: @hime-honne, @dxllyhorror, @thepoeticpurplepotato, @verslyns, @channlust, @leewayout, @zosauce, @kloversung, @1-aria-1, @vxyselectric, @urfavleobiscuit, @written-by-music, @fanficwriter5, @minniebitesfr, @pedropacals0l0s, @iheartkentonanami, @ncityswrld, @danielle143, @persassyismysecrettwin, @trisha-dear, @pineapple-burgah, @luv4innie, @bunbunbl0gs, @marlboropuffs, @morgangrice18, @33peach33, @peskybirdysya, @ogerontheside4, @theyknowagus, @zerefdragn33l, @melodyladean, @ebnabi, @emeraldgem22, @fweakygyatt, @taekwondoe, @sue-reads, @shinygubbins, @lilmissfergy, @quokkahansung, @binniebb, @clairementsolo, @nclabels, @genuinelybrittleidol , @parkthothwa8, @daphnnie, @hyunnjynn, @sagetakami, @hanniesbubuwife, @hycnsung, @matzduo

The morning light filtered through the sheer curtains of your shared apartment, casting soft, hazy stripes across the duvet. It was late—almost noon—a luxury reserved for weekends when neither of you had anywhere pressing to be. 

You were the first to wake, though you didn’t move immediately. You were too busy watching Seungmin. He was lying on his stomach, face buried halfway into the pillow, his breathing rhythmic and deep. The sheets had slipped down to his waist, exposing the long, elegant line of his back. His skin was smooth, pale, and unblemished, tapering down to a waist that always looked too fragile in your hands, though he insisted he was fine. 

He looked harmless like this. Sweet. Almost breakable. 

Eventually, the rhythm of his breathing changed, a small, furrow forming between his brows as the world slowly pulled him back from sleep. You reached out, unable to resist, and brushed a few stray locks of dark hair away from his forehead. His eyes fluttered open, the dark irises hazy and unfocused for a fraction of a second before landing on you. A slow, sleepy smile softened his sharp features, and without a word, he shifted, burying his face into the crook of your neck with a hum that sounded more like a contented purr than a human noise. "Too bright," he mumbled against your skin, his voice raspy and thick with sleep, but he made no move to pull away from your touch. 

That was the thing about Seungmin; he was always tactile in the quietest ways. You spent the next hour like that, whispering about nothing important as the apartment warmed up around you. When you finally dragged yourselves out of bed, he followed you into the kitchen, leaning his hip against the counter while you brewed coffee. He watched you with that observant, half-lidded gaze of his, making sarcastic comments about your brewing technique but handing you the sugar before you even had to ask. 

Getting ready for Chan’s place later that evening felt less like a routine and more like an event, mostly because you took great pleasure in pestering him while he tried to decide on an outfit. You sat on the edge of the bathtub, watching him run a hand through his neatly styled hair in the mirror. "You look fine, Seungmin," you teased, watching him scrutinize his reflection for a flaw that didn't exist. "In fact, you look perfect. Very pretty." He huffed a small laugh, turning to lean against the sink, crossing his long arms over his chest. "Pretty isn't exactly the vibe I'm going for tonight, but thanks," he shot back dryly, though there was a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. "Just get dressed so we aren't late. Chan won't stop texting me." 

By the time you were both dressed and stepping out of the apartment, the sun had begun its descent, painting the city in hues of burnt orange and violet. The walk to the subway was short, but you moved slow, your hand finding its way into his without a second thought. Seungmin’s fingers were slender and cool, interlacing with yours firmly, grounding you against the bustle of the street. He listened to you ramble about your week with that specific kind of focused attention he always gave you—tilting his head just so, his dark eyes following your expression, ready to interject with a dry comment that would make you laugh. If anyone else looked at the two of you, they saw the cute couple; the soft-spoken, sharp-featured boy and his bubbly girlfriend. He didn’t seem to mind the label most of the time, walking with a relaxed posture, his shoulders slightly hunched against the wind. He was gentle, pulling you closer when a group of pedestrians hurried past, his thumb stroking the back of your hand absentmindedly. It was hard to reconcile this man—the one who double-knotted your shoelace when it came undone on the pavement—with the idea of anyone seeing him as a threat. 

The buzzer to Chan’s apartment chirped just as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. It had been a few weeks since the whole group gathered like this, and the familiar, muffled bass of music vibrating through the heavy metal door brought an instant smile to your face. 

When the door swung open, Chan was already grinning, that bright, welcoming aura practically pulling you both inside. He was dressed down in a loose hoodie, looking the picture of comfort. "Finally! I thought you guys got lost," he laughed, stepping aside to usher you in. 

"The subway was hell," you replied, kicking off your shoes. "And someone"—you nudged Seungmin lightly with your elbow—"took twenty minutes to fix his hair." 

Seungmin rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching as he toed off his sneakers, arranging them neatly next to yours—a habit you’d long since given up trying to break him of. "It’s called hygiene, Y/N. Maybe you should try it sometime," he shot back smoothly, though he reached out to gently squeeze your shoulder, instantly negating the bite of his words. He moved past you into the living room, offering a two-finger salute to the room.  

The living room was already... a lot. The air smelled like soy sauce and spices from the takeout containers scattered across the coffee table. Jeongin and Felix were wrestling playfully over a cushion on the rug, while Changbin sat nearby, scrolling through his phone with a half-eaten slice of pizza in his hand. Minho was lounging on the single armchair, legs thrown over the armrest, observing everything, lips pressed thin. He glanced up as you entered, his eyes lighting up with that specific brand of mischief reserved for Seungmin. "Look who finally decided to show up," Minho drawled, his voice lazy but loud enough to cut through the noise. "Our resident grandpa. I was just about to send a search party." 

Seungmin let out a huff of air, tossing his jacket onto the back of the sofa with fluid grace before dropping down into the empty spot next to you. He immediately reached for a piece of pizza, leaning back with one arm draped casually over the back of your seat. "Dude, talk about old. Have you seen your apartment? You literally own like, 30 cats. What does that scream if not grandpa? 

Minho let out a dry, unbothered chuckle, waving a dismissive hand in the air as if physically batting away Seungmin’s insult. "Excuse you? Cats choose you; it’s a sign of prestige. You wouldn't understand, you're too busy being the group's baby," he countered smoothly, taking a slow sip of his drink. "I bet Y/N has to hold your hand just to cross the street." 

"Please," Changbin chimed in from the side, finally looking up from his phone. He grinned, his eyes disappearing into crescents. "Seungmin? A baby? He's just... lanky. Like a baby giraffe. All legs and no coordination." 

"It's true," Felix piped up from the floor, having successfully wrestled the cushion away from Jeongin. He looked up at Seungmin with that sunshine-bright smile, which made the next words somehow sting more. "You're the softest one here, Seungmin. Remember when we watched that horror movie and you hid behind the popcorn bowl?" 

"I was eating the popcorn," Seungmin defended himself, though there was no real heat in it. He took a bite of his pizza, chewing slowly while his eyes scanned the room. "You guys are just annoying. And loud. It's not my fault I'm the only one with any class." 

Chan came back from the kitchen with a fresh tray of drinks, setting them down with a heavy clink before throwing an arm around Seungmin’s shoulders, jostling him roughly. "Come on, Seungminnie, don't get your knickers in a twist. We just tease because we love you," he laughed, his deep voice booming comfortably in the small space. "Besides, it's good Y/N here is so patient. Someone’s gotta take care of our little prince, right? Since he’s too delicate to do anything himself." 

You laughed along with them, the sound bubbling up easily as you leaned into Seungmin’s side, comfortable in the safety of the banter. You didn’t think twice before joining in, turning to press a quick kiss to his cheek. "It’s okay, babe," you teased, pinching his cheek gently between your thumb and forefinger. "You are pretty cute when you're grumpy. It’s like an angry puppy." 

Seungmin stiffened just slightly—so subtly you almost missed it—but the smile on his face didn't falter. In fact, it widened, sharp and perfect, though his eyes remained cool and calculating, fixed directly on Chan and not you. He took a slow sip of his soda, the condensation on the can dripping onto his fingers, before shifting his posture. He didn't pull away from you; instead, he draped his arm more heavily around your waist, pulling you flush against his side, his fingers tapping a slow, rhythmic beat against your hip that felt a little too intentional. "Funny," he said softly, his voice smooth like velvet over steel. "You guys talk a big game for people who couldn't get a girlfriend to save their lives. I'm literally the only person with a girl here." 

"Are you homophobic? Do men not count? What if some of us are HUZZED up, huh?" Jisung whines.  

"Oh my god, that's not what I meant. We all know your homo, ji. Good for you." seungmin groans. 

The conversation, much like the drinks, flowed freely, and perhaps it was the buzzing warmth in your veins that made you forget the subtle shift in Seungmin’s demeanor. The topic circled back—inevitably—to relationships, and Changbin was recounting a disastrous date with a laugh, waving his hands wildly. "I'm telling you, she was expecting this whole... dominant routine," he chuckled, shaking his head. "I tried, but it felt like acting. You gotta have that natural energy, you know? Some guys just don't have it in them." 

Without thinking, your eyes darted to Seungmin, a fond laugh escaping you before you could check it. "Oh, definitely not him," you agreed, leaning your head comfortably on his shoulder, completely oblivious to the way the air around him seemed to drop a few degrees. "Seungmin is all sweet talk. He wouldn't hurt a fly. The most aggressive he gets is when he's yelling at the TV during a soccer match. It’s actually kind of endearing." You squeezed his arm playfully, your tone light and filled with affection. "He's my gentle giant. Or, well, gentle... lanky string bean." 

The table erupted in agreement, Minho practically cackling as he pointed a finger at you. "See? She knows. String bean. You’re about as scary as a marshmallow, Seungmin." They were all laughing, the sound loud and raucous in the small room, but Seungmin wasn't. He was perfectly still, his jaw set tight enough to create a sharp line, his dark eyes fixed on some middle distance. The arm around your waist felt heavier now, less like an embrace and more like a shackle, his fingers pressing firmly into your side, anchoring you in place. He didn't look at you, but you felt a sudden prickle of unease, a realization that you might have just poked a bear you thought was sleeping. Then, under the protective cover of the tablecloth, his hand slid from your waist, his palm resting warmly on your knee. You thought it was a reassurance, a silent cue that he wasn't actually mad, but when his thumb began to stroke slow, deliberate circles against the fabric of your jeans, the touch felt possessive. Warning. 

Get this, seungmin would never. You had already determined that he had something against sex, because everytime you tried to initiate something? He would avoid it. Call him sexy? He'd laugh, a full hoot and holler. He didn't seem like the dominant type either. 

But the air between you and Seungmin felt suddenly charged, like the heavy static before a storm. You tried to focus on Changbin’s story, really you did, but Seungmin’s hand was a distraction you couldn't ignore. His long, slender fingers began to creep upward, slow and deliberate, tracing the inseam of your jeans with a maddening laziness. You shifted in your seat, attempting to nudge his hand away with a subtle movement of your leg, assuming he didn't realize where he was wandering in the dark. He didn't even flinch. Instead, he just tightened his grip, his fingers digging into your inner thigh with a bruising pressure that made your breath hitch in your throat. When you risked a glance up at him, he was smiling—that handsome, boyish smile you loved so much—laughing at something Minho said, but his eyes were dark, locked onto yours with a terrifying, unreadable intensity. 

"Right, Y/N?" Seungmin’s voice cut through your daze, smooth as silk, startling you. You blinked rapidly, realizing the group was waiting for a response you hadn't heard the question for. "I was just saying," he continued, his tone light and conversational, belying the way his thumb was rubbing dangerously high on your thigh, "that we don't really need to prove anything to anyone. Actions speak louder than words, don't you think?" He took a casual sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving your face, watching the panic flush your cheeks. You nodded dumbly, unable to trust your voice, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. The juxtaposition was dizzying—his friends saw the composed, sarcastic boyfriend, but you felt the heat of his palm burning through your denim, a silent, searing claim that contradicted every joke the group had made that night. You pressed your knees together instinctively, trying to stop his ascent, but he merely pushed them apart with a firm, controlled strength that took you completely by surprise, settling his hand even deeper between your legs. 

"What’s with you?" Felix asked suddenly, leaning forward with that innocent, curious gaze. "You got really quiet. You okay?" 

The question sucked the air right out of the room, or at least it felt that way to you. Your throat went dry, your brain scrambling to manufacture a believable lie while Seungmin’s fingers continued their torturous, slow exploration of your inner thigh. He was kneading the sensitive skin there now, his touch firm and possessive, a stark contrast to the gentle way he usually held you. You opened your mouth to speak, to brush off Felix’s concern with a nervous laugh, but before you could get a single word out, Seungmin beat you to it. "She’s just fine," he interjected smoothly, his voice dropping an octave that vibrated straight through your chest. He finally tore his gaze away from you, turning his attention to Felix with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Actually, I think she’s just feeling a little overwhelmed. You know how she gets when everyone is talking at once." He turned back to you, his expression softening into a mask of tender concern that was so convincing it made your head spin. "Right, baby? Is the noise too much for you?" 

You nodded frantically, latching onto the excuse like a lifeline, though your face was burning hot enough to fry an egg. "Yeah, just... a headache," you managed to choke out, your voice barely a whisper. "I think I just need some water." Seungmin hummed sympathetically, his hand stilling on your thigh, though he didn't remove it. Instead, he gave the flesh a sharp, warning squeeze that made you gasp softly, the sound quickly masked by a clatter of dishes from the kitchen. "Poor thing," he cooed, tilting his head mockingly. "So delicate. You really should take better care of yourself, Y/N. You know I worry about you." He leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, making you shiver violently. "And when I worry... I like to make sure you learn to listen to your body better." To the rest of the room, it looked like a sweet, whispered reassurance, but you could hear the dark undercurrent in his tone. 

Chan, oblivious as ever, just nodded sympathetically and took a swig of his beer, completely missing the way Seungmin’s jaw was set tight with tension. "Hyung, do you have that aspirin in the bathroom?" Seungmin asked, his voice polite and steady, though his eyes were glued to your face, watching the way your pupils blew wide with panic. "I think I should take her to lie down in your room for a bit. The light out here is probably bothering her." You stiffened, your heart skipping a beat. His room? Chan’s bedroom was down the hall, secluded and far enough away from the living room to offer complete privacy. The idea of being alone with Seungmin in that state—in this state—sent a jolt of terrified electricity down your spine. "No, really, I'm okay," you stammered, trying to pull your leg away from his grip, but he held firm, his fingers digging into your skin with a bruising force. "Nonsense," Seungmin said firmly, already standing up and pulling you with him, his grip on your hand iron-clad. "Come on. You need to rest. We'll be right back." He didn't give you a choice, guiding you away from the safety of the group with a strength that shouldn't have surprised you, but did. As you walked down the hallway, you could feel the eyes of the group on your back, their attention shifting back to their conversation almost immediately, leaving you completely at the mercy of the stranger wearing your boyfriend's face. 

But even worse, he turns. He doesn't head for the warm shelter in the winter storm. He heads for the igloo -- the kitchen, steals your purse, rummages in it, and pulls out your deepest darkest secret. 

Your fucking portable vibrator. 

"Seungmin!"  

"Shh." 

He didn't even look up from his prize, his thumb sliding over the smooth silicone casing with a terrifyingly casual familiarity, as if he were inspecting a piece of tech he’d just bought. The kitchen island blocked the view from the living room, creating a small, perilous slice of privacy that he was currently weaponizing against you. "I was looking for your lip balm when we were leaving," he murmured, his voice low and devoid of any inflection, terrifyingly calm. "Imagine my surprise when I found this instead. I didn't take you for the type to need... assistance. Or maybe," he finally lifted his head, his dark eyes boring into yours with a predatory glint that made your knees threaten to buckle, "you just have that much trouble entertaining yourself because you don't know what you actually need. Anyone could hear from here. Them not being able to see you doesn't mean we're completely hidden. You want me to show them how much of a 'string bean' I am, baby?" 

He stepped closer, backing you flush against the cold marble of the counter, caging you in with his slender frame. There was a soft click as he turned the device on, a low, steady hum that seemed to echo deafeningly in the small space, though the loud laughter from the living room continued unabated. "Is this what you do when I'm not looking?" he murmured, his voice dropping to a dark, velvety register that vibrated against your chest. "Using toys because you think I'm too 'gentle' to give you what you need? Because you think I don't know how to handle you?" He brought the vibrating tip to trace the line of your jaw, forcing your head up, his eyes locking onto yours with a smoldering intensity that made your breath hitch. "You really have no idea, do you? You think I'm just the sweet, boring boyfriend who's content with cuddles and chastity." 

Without waiting for an answer, he traced the device lower, through the expanse of your shirt, down the metal button of your pants, and to where your clit lays needy--just buried beneath the thick denim of your jeans. 

The pressure of the silicone against the denim was maddeningly indirect, a dull, teasing throb that did nothing to quell the ache building inside you and everything to heighten your panic. "S-seungmin, please," you choked out, your hands flying to his wrist, not to push him away—he felt too immovable for that—but just to hold on, your nails digging into his skin. "They’ll hear. Chan is right there." 

"Let them hear," he whispered, a cruel smirk curling his lips as he pressed the vibrator harder, grinding it against the fabric in slow, deliberate circles that forced your hips to jerk against the counter. "You seemed so comfortable sharing our sex life—or lack thereof—with everyone earlier. Don't get shy now." His free hand came up to grip your chin, his fingers rough and demanding, tilting your face back down to meet his gaze. "Or maybe you like the risk? Is that why you brought this little thing along? Because fucking yourself isn't enough unless you know you could get caught?" 

He abruptly pulled the toy away, the sudden cessation of vibration leaving you panting and dizzy, your legs trembling so much you had to grip the edge of the counter to stay upright. Before you could even process the loss, he grabbed your hand, his grip bruisingly tight, and dragged you out of the kitchen and down the hallway, past the bathroom, and straight for Chan’s closed bedroom door. 

 He didn't hesitate; he twisted the handle, shoved you inside, and kicked the door shut with a definitive click that sounded like a gunshot in the sudden silence. The room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of the streetlights outside, the air thick and still. He backed you up until your knees hit the edge of the mattress, looming over you with a dark, predatory hunger that stripped away the "boy next door" facade you’d known for eight months. "You and your little comments," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous as he crowded into your space. "You think this is a game? I'm about to ruin you, Y/N. And by the time I'm done, you won't be able to look at me—or this bed—without remembering exactly who I am. I'm going to fuck you through on our best friends bed, even leave a mess while I'm at it. Isn't that what men do, love? 

He didn’t give you a moment to process the terrifying thrill of his words, moving with a fluid, practiced aggression that shoved you back onto the mattress. You landed with a soft bounce, the scent of Chan’s laundry detergent—something clean and mundane like cedar—wafting around you, a stark contrast to the filthy way Seungmin was currently looking at you. He loomed over the edge of the bed, his silhouette tall and lean, stripping off his shirt with deliberate, unhurried movements. In the dim light, the defined lines of his collarbones and the surprising definition of his shoulders were cast in shadow, painting a picture of strength you had willfully ignored for months. "Look at you," he scoffed, crawling over you, caging you in with his limbs. "Already trembling. I haven't even touched you properly yet, and you're falling apart. Is this what you wanted? To be treated like you're fragile? Because looking at you now..." He dragged a finger down the center of your chest, hooking it into the neckline of your shirt and tugging until the fabric strained. "You don't look fragile. You look desperate." 

His hands were on you then, rough and demanding, stripping away your clothes with an efficiency that bordered on violent. There was no fumbling, no sweet hesitation—just the cool air hitting your skin and the hot press of his palms following immediately after. When his hand came down on your inner thigh, the sound was a sharp crack that echoed in the quiet room, stinging with a heat that made you gasp. "Ah, there it is," he murmured, his voice dripping with dark satisfaction as he rubbed the reddening skin, his fingers teasing dangerously close to where you needed him most. "You like that, don't you? You like being put in your place." He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his breath hot against your lips. "I heard what you told Changbin. 'Sweet talk.' 'Gentle.' You really underestimated me, Y/N. You thought because I didn't paw at you like a dog in heat, I didn't want to? I was waiting. I was being patient because I thought you needed time. But if you want to act like a brat who doesn't know how to respect her man, I'll fuck you like one." 

He reached into his back pocket, retrieving the vibrator he had swiped from your purse, the small device clutched in his large hand like a weapon. "Since you seem to love this thing so much, let's see how it feels when I'm in control," he taunted, turning it on. The buzzing hum was deafening in the silent room, and he didn't hesitate. He spread your legs wide, baring you to him completely, and pressed the toy directly against your clit, not with the muffled pressure of your jeans, but with the intent of ruining you. The stimulation was immediate and overwhelming, a sharp jolt of pleasure that had your back arching off the mattress, a cry tearing from your throat. Seungmin watched you with a hungry, detached fascination, his free hand holding your hips down when you tried to squirm away. "No," he commanded sharply. "You take it. You wanted to tease me all night? Now you stay still and take what I give you." He applied more pressure, watching the way your eyes rolled back, a smirk playing on his lips. "Look at you, soaking wet already. I haven't even kissed you yet. God, you really are a slut, aren't you? Getting off on our friend's bed while your 'gentle' boyfriend abuses your clit with your own toy. So fuckin' pretty and pathetic." 

"Aah- ah- seungmin, fuck seungmin! Oh min, we- we can't! 'm sorry, okay? i'm sorry i'm sorry, i just don't want them to hear--" 

"I love hearing you beg," he interrupted, his voice dripping with a sadistic delight that made your stomach drop. He didn't relent on the pressure, keeping the vibrator pressed ruthlessly against your sensitive flesh, watching you writhe. "But you're missing the point. I want them to hear." He shifted his weight, using one knee to shove your legs even wider apart, ignoring the way your hands scrambled weakly at his wrists. "I want Changbin to know exactly what 'unnatural energy' sounds like when it's forcing you to cum. I want Felix to realize that the 'quiet' guy in the corner can make his girlfriend scream so loud she shakes the walls. Let's see if you can keep that pretty mouth shut when you're squirting all over Chan’s sheets." 

He abruptly pulled the toy away just as you felt the crest of your orgasm begin to break, leaving you suspended in a painful, throbbing emptiness that drew a ragged, desperate whine from your throat. Your hips bucked into the air, seeking the friction he had so cruelly denied, your entire body trembling with the aftershocks of the almost-release. Seungmin smirked, clicking the device off and tossing it carelessly onto the mattress beside you before bringing his hand down hard against your inner thigh with a sharp, stinging smack. "Did I say you could cum?" he asked, his tone deceptively soft, contrasting sharply with the violence of his touch. He leaned forward, grabbing your jaw and forcing your teary eyes to meet his dark, unyielding gaze. "You don't get to decide that anymore. You gave up that right when you decided to run your mouth about my masculinity. You think I’m a joke? Fine. Then you’re just a toy for me to play with, and toys don't cum until I say so. Speaking of which," 

"Since you seem so fond of it, prove it," he commanded, sitting back on his heels and crossing his arms over his chest, his eyes sweeping over your exposed, heaving body with a critical hunger. "Touch yourself. Show me exactly how you get off when I'm not around, and maybe—just maybe—I'll let you finish." The humiliation burned hot in your cheeks, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room, but the throbbing need between your legs was a stronger motivator than your pride. Your hand shook as it moved to grab the vibrator across the bed, the buzzing sound seemingly loud enough to wake the neighbors as you brought it down to your throbbing center. Seungmin watched intently, his gaze unwavering, his presence looming over you like a storm cloud. "Don't be shy now," he taunted, his voice a low rasp. "Put on a show. You had so much to say earlier. Let's see if that mouth works as well when it's full of moans. If you stop, I'm leaving you here like this. And I'm taking the toy with me." 

The command hung heavy in the air, and with a whimper of shame, you pressed the vibrator against yourself, the pleasure immediate and overwhelming. Your back arched off the mattress, your eyes squeezing shut as you chased the high he had just snatched away, but a sharp tug on your hair forced your eyes open. "Eyes on me," he growled, his hand fisted in your locks, tilting your head back painfully. "Don't you dare look away. You look at me while you fuck yourself on that cheap piece of plastic. You look at the man you underestimated." He was terrifyingly beautiful like this, his face twisted into a mask of dark arousal and cold anger, the lines of his body taut with restrained power. The pleasure was building again, faster this time, a tidal wave rising in your gut, but just as you began to tip over the edge, his hand shot out, snatching the toy away and tossing it across the room, leaving you gasping and clenching around nothing. "No," he said again, his voice final. "I told you. You don't get to cum yet." 

He shifted then, his long fingers unbuttoning his jeans with a slow, deliberate precision that was far more terrifying than his previous aggression. The sound of his zipper lowering seemed deafening in the quiet room, a promise of what was to come. He freed himself, and your eyes widened as you took him in—thick and heavy, the angry red tip leaking with precum, proving that his control was hanging by a thread. He stroked himself lazily, his eyes locked on your wet, swollen pussy. "This is what you do to me," he murmured, his voice rough with suppressed need. "This is what I've been holding back for eight months because I wanted to be 'respectful.' But you don't want respect, do you? You want to be fucked. You want to be used. My poor baby, so sexually frustrated. Hasn't gotten cock in so long, mm? Thats too bad, really. You're not getting it." 

"P-please?" you whimpered, your voice cracking as you stared at him, utterly bewildered by the denial. Your body was thrumming with a need so fierce it hurt, your hips lifting off the mattress in a silent, desperate plea for him to just take you already. "Seungmin, I need you. Don't do this." 

He tsked, shaking his head slowly, a dark, mocking amusement dancing in his eyes as he watched you squirm. "Oh, I know you do. You’re dripping all over Chan’s comforter, look at you," he taunted, reaching out to drag a single finger through your slick folds, holding it up to the dim light to inspect your wetness before wiping it carelessly on your stomach. "But you don't seem to understand. We're here to prove a point. If I fuck you now, I’m just servicing you, giving you exactly what you’ve been whining for. That’s not a lesson. That’s a reward." He leaned back, his hand wrapping around his length again, stroking himself with slow, agonizing twists of his wrist, the slick sound of his precum loud in the quiet room. "No, tonight is about showing you who’s in charge. You want to get off? Then you do it the way I want. Keep your eyes on my cock, Y/N. Watch what you’ve been missing. Watch what you threw away with those jokes." 

The humiliation was scorching, flushing your skin a deep, fiery red, but you couldn't tear your gaze away. He was mesmerizing, his head thrown back slightly, his jaw tight as he worked himself over, the muscles in his abdomen flexing with every movement. "Spread your legs wider," he commanded, his voice straining slightly, betraying his own arousal. "Rub your clit for me. But don't you dare cum. If you cum, I walk out that door and leave you here to explain the mess to Chan." Your hand moved between your legs automatically, your fingers finding your sensitive bud and circling it frantically, matching the rhythm of his hand on his cock. It was a twisted, erotic tableau—him getting off on your humiliation; you getting off on his dominance, the threat of discovery hanging over you like a guillotine blade. "Look at you," he gritted out, his strokes becoming faster, his breathing ragged. "Such a desperate little slut. You look so good like this, Y/N. So needy. So mine." 

The sight of him losing control, of his composure finally cracking as he chased his own pleasure, pushed you dangerously close to the edge. The friction of your own fingers was maddening, insufficient yet necessary, and the sound of his groans filled the room, mixing with your own ragged breathing. "Seungmin, please, I can't—" 

"Yes, you can," he panted, his eyes snapping open to pin you with a fierce, burning intensity. "You will hold it. Because I said so." He slowed his hand, dragging out the torment, his cock twitching in his grip. "Look at the mess you're making. All for me. Do you think I'm 'lanky' now? Do you think I don't have the stamina to ruin you? I could go all night, Y/N. I could edge you until you're crying, until you're begging me to kill you just to make it stop." 

He suddenly stilled his own hand, his chest heaving with the effort to restrain himself, leaving you hovering on that agonizing precipice without permission to fall. "Stop," he commanded, his voice raspy and absolute, and the sheer authority in it forced your hand to freeze instantly, your fingers trembling against your slick heat. He leaned over you, caging your head in with his arms, the tip of his cock hovering tantalizingly close to your entrance but refusing to grant you the relief of being filled. "You look ruined," he whispered, a dark chuckle vibrating against your lips as he took in your glassy eyes and quivering body. "And I haven't even really started yet. But look at me, Y/N. Really look at me. Do you see anyone here who can't handle you? Because all I see is a girl who is two seconds away from begging for my cock like it's the only air she can breathe. Tell me," he demanded, his hand wrapping around your throat, not squeezing, just possessing, his thumb resting heavily on your pulse. "Tell me I'm not a man. Tell your 'twink' of a boyfriend how badly you need him to wreck you right now." 

You shattered under the weight of his gaze, the humiliation burning through the last of your resistance. "You're a man," you choked out, tears spilling over and tracking hotly into your hairline. "You're so much more than I—I thought. I need you, Seungmin, please. Only you. You're the only one who can handle me, I swear." The confession seemed to snap something fragile inside his restraint. "Fuuck, good girl. But not good enough. on your stomach for me." 

The command was sharp, leaving no room for hesitation, and your body moved to obey before your mind could fully process the shift in position. You flipped over, burying your burning face into the scent of Chan’s linens, feeling exposed and vulnerable with your ass in the air. The mattress dipped under Seungmin’s weight as he settled behind you, the heat of his body radiating against your back. "Good girl," he murmured, his voice a low rumble of approval that sent shivers down your spine. His palms ran over the curves of your ass, kneading the flesh almost appreciatively before pulling away. "But you still haven't learned. You still think you can run that pretty mouth without consequences." The air whistled a split second before the impact—smack—his hand coming down hard on your right cheek. The sound was obscene, a sharp crack that seemed to echo in the quiet room, and the sting bloomed instantly, hot and biting. You cried out into the duvet, your hands gripping the sheets, but he didn't stop. "Count them," he demanded, delivering another stinging blow to the left side, making your whole body jolt. "And don't you dare lose count, or I’ll start over from zero." 

"O-one!" you sobbed, the humiliation burning hotter than the pain on your skin. He set a punishing rhythm, his hand raining down spanks that were precise and calculated, alternating cheeks until you were squirming, your skin throbbing with a heat that seemed to permeate your entire body. By the time you reached ten, your voice was broken, tears soaking the fabric beneath your cheek, but the throbbing need between your legs had only intensified, traitorous and overwhelming. "Look at you," Seungmin taunted, pausing to run a cool hand over your heated skin, soothing the sting before digging his nails in slightly. "Crying from a little spanking? But you're soaking wet for me, aren't you? You love this." He leaned down, his chest pressing against your back, his lips brushing the sensitive shell of your ear. "I can see your twitching from here. You're desperate to be filled, aren't you? My poor little slut." 

Suddenly, the weight on the bed shifted. The empty dull throb was replaced by the sensation of a long, slender, but thick digit. 

He didn't ask for permission; he simply slid his middle finger inside you, the intrusion sudden and effortless given how thoroughly you had soaked yourself for him. The sensation was overwhelming—a sudden, blinding stretch that made your walls clench instinctively around the digit, dragging a ragged moan from your throat that you couldn't hope to stifle. He curled it immediately, finding that spongy, sensitive spot inside you with a terrifying precision that made your vision white out, his other hand pressing down firmly on the small of your back to keep you from squirming away. "So tight," he gritted out, his voice vibrating against your spine. "And absolutely drenching me. Is this all for me, Y/N? Did pretending I was some harmless little boy get you this wet? Or is it the thought of getting caught on Chan’s bed that has you dripping like a filthy whore?" 

Before you could catch your breath, a second finger joined the first, scissoring inside you with a deliberate stretch that burned just enough to ground you in the reality of what was happening. He set a rhythm that was nothing short of punishing, pumping his fingers in and out of you with wet, obscene squelching sounds that seemed to amplify the silence of the room, each thrust forcing your hips forward against the mattress in a friction that teased your neglected clit. "I can feel you fluttering around me," he taunted, picking up the pace, his palm slapping against your ass with every deep thrust. "You're close already, aren't you? You're so greedy, clenching around my fingers like you're trying to keep me inside. But remember the rules." He abruptly withdrew his fingers, leaving you clenching around empty air, a desperate whine tearing from your lips at the loss. "Not yet. You don't get to cum on my fingers. That's too easy." 

The mattress shifted again as he moved, his hands gripping your hips and yanking them up even higher, forcing your face deeper into the pillow and arching your back into a vulnerable, presenting position. The blunt head of his cock nudged against your entrance, heavy and hot, and for a terrifying second, you thought he was finally going to give you what you needed. Instead, he simply slapped the length of it against your dripping folds, coating himself in your arousal, sliding through your wetness without entering. The tease was excruciating—the friction sending sparks of pleasure up your spine but never enough to satisfy the ache. "Beg for it," he commanded, his voice dropping to a low growl that seemed to settle in your bones. "Tell me exactly what you want me to do to you on this bed. Tell me how much you need this cock. and maybe, if you sound convincing enough, I'll think about stretching you open properly." 

The words tumbled from your lips in a broken, desperate rush, your pride dissolved. "Please, Seungmin! I need you to fuck me," you cried out, your voice muffled by the pillow but loud enough to carry the sheer desperation of your plea. "I need your cock, please, ruin me, prove them wrong, just—please, fill me up!" The silence that followed was deafening, heavy with his scrutiny, until a low, dark chuckle vibrated through the mattress, his grip on your hips bruisingly tight as he finally, mercifully, began to press forward. The stretch was intense, a slow, deliberate burn that forced your body to accommodate him, inch by devastating inch, and he didn't stop until he was fully seated, his hips flush against your stinging ass, forcing a ragged gasp from your throat at the sheer fullness of him. "Good girl," he rasped, leaning over to press a kiss between your shoulder blades that felt more like a brand. "That wasn't so hard, was it? Admitting that you're mine to ruin?" 

When he began to move, any illusion of the gentle boyfriend you thought you knew was completely obliterated. His pace was punishing from the very first snap of his hips, a rhythm designed to drive you out of your mind, withdrawing almost entirely before slamming back in with a force that made the bed frame slam against the wall. The sound of skin meeting skin was loud and obscene, echoing in the quiet room, and mixed with your broken moans and his heavy breathing to create a cacophony of pleasure that felt dangerously loud. "Is this what you expected?" he gritted out, one hand tangling in your hair to pull your head back, forcing your arch to deepen. "Or were you expecting me to ask if it feels good? I don't care if it feels good. I care that you take it. I care that you remember exactly who is splitting you open right now." He drove into you with a calculated precision that hit that spot inside you that made your vision blur, reducing you to a whimpering, trembling mess beneath him. 

His control seemed unbreakable, a stark contrast to the way you were falling apart, your fingers clawing helplessly at the sheets as he used you for his own pleasure. "ohh, fuck yeah. so fuckin' good, so fuckin' tight, my perfect girl. Let them hear you. Take that pretty face out of the sheets, moan as loud as you can. Need them to hear everything," He encourages by moaning loudly himself, making your stomach drop at the sound. You obeyed, tilting your head back to gasp for air, your voice cracking as he forced another cry from your lips with a particularly harsh thrust. "You feel that?" he hissed, leaning down to bite sharply at the junction of your neck and shoulder, marking you where the others would see. "Feel my cock sliding in that pretty pussy? Marking you up?" 

He didn't give you a chance to answer, his hips snapping forward with a renewed vigor that stole the breath from your lungs, the friction overwhelming. "Ah! Oh seungmin! Fuck yes, fuck yeah! Oh yeah, right there! Mmh, yes!" you yelled, and finally, the men outside grew dead silent. 

The sudden, suffocating silence that fell over the living room was heavier than the music had been. It was a tangible shift, the raucous laughter and clinking of glasses cutting out as if someone had pulled a plug, leaving only the muffled bass of the stereo and the unmistakable, rhythmic thumping of the headboard against the wall to fill the void. Every sharp cry you let out seemed to magnify in the quiet, echoing down the hallway like a declaration of war. Seungmin didn't falter; if anything, the knowledge that he had an audience seemed to spur him on, his grip bruising your hips as he drove into you with a merciless precision that was calculated to be loud. "They hear you, baby," he panted, his voice laced with dark triumph, sweat beginning to bead at his temples. "Hear how well you take me? They know now. They all know exactly what I'm doing to you. God, fuck." 

The shame burned through you like wildfire, but it was laced with a twisted, molten heat that made your toes curl. You were vividly aware of everyone sitting just feet away, likely staring at the closed bedroom door with wide eyes, listening to the wet slap of skin and the desperate, broken moans Seungmin was tearing from your throat. Outside the bedroom, chan sit with his mouth agape, looking back at the group then at the door. 

"Are they—?" Changbin started, his face draining of color as a particularly loud, rhythmic thud vibrated through the floorboards, accompanied by the high-pitched, broken keen of your voice that didn't even sound human anymore. Felix let out a choked noise, halfway between a wheeze of disbelief and a whimper, burying his burning face in his hands as if that could block out the unmistakable, graphic sounds of Seungmin’s hips snapping mercilessly against yours. Even Hyunjin, usually the one to stir the pot, sat in stunned silence, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes, finally understanding that the quietest of them all was currently the most dangerous man in the apartment. 

Bangchan was the worst off, shifting uncomfortably on the leather couch as he tried to adjust his stance without drawing attention to the obvious. He stared resolutely at the floor, his face burning a hot, mortified red, but his body was betraying him completely. The raw authority in Seungmin’s voice—usually so quiet and composed—now growling commands through the wall, combined with your helpless, broken moans, was hitting a primal switch in his brain he couldn't turn off. "I can't believe this is happening," he muttered, running a hand through his hair, his voice tight and strained. "I'm never going to be able to look at him the same way again. Or Y/N. Jesus."  

But he wasn't the only one suffering. 

Seungmin slowed his pace, the relentless slapping of skin against skin ceasing abruptly and leaving the room in a suffocating silence filled only by your ragged breathing. You whimpered at the loss, clenching around him desperately, trying to keep him inside, but he chuckled darkly and pulled out completely, leaving you feeling empty and throbbing. Before you could protest, he flipped you over onto your back with surprising strength, manhandling you as if you weighed nothing. He loomed over you, his chest heaving, his eyes raking over your disheveled form with a look of possessive hunger that made your stomach flip. "Look at you," he murmured, reaching out to brush a stray hair away from your sweat-slicked forehead, his touch surprisingly gentle compared to the bruising grip he’d had on your hips moments ago. "Tears in your eyes, makeup ruined. You look thoroughly debauched." 

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that was all teeth and tongue, tasting your desperation and claiming it as his own. Then, without warning, he spat into your open mouth, a deliberate, degrading act that made your eyes go wide with shock. "Swallow it," he commanded, his voice low and rough, watching your throat convulse as you obeyed instinctively. "Good girl. You take everything I give you, don't you? Even the filthy things." He sat back on his heels, his eyes darkening as they fixed on your chest. Your breathing was labored, your breasts rising and falling rapidly, and a dark, twisted idea seemed to take root in his mind. "I've been holding back for months," he mused, his hand coming up to tweak one of your nipples, rolling the sensitive bud between his fingers until you gasped. "But I think I want to leave marks where everyone can see them. I want Chan to have to look at this bed tomorrow and remember exactly what I did to you here. But I also want you to have to look in the mirror tomorrow and see exactly who you belong to." 

He didn't wait for an answer. He lowered his head, his hot breath fanning over your skin before he bit down hard on the side of your neck, not a playful nip, but a possessive, stinging bite that made you cry out and arch your back. He soothed the sting with his tongue, only to move to the other side, leaving a matching mark. He worked his way down, sucking and biting bruises into the skin of your collarbones, your breasts, anywhere he could reach, marking you as his territory. The pain was sharp, bright, and overwhelming, mingling with the lingering throbs of pleasure to create a maddening cocktail of sensation. He traveled lower, bypassing the place you needed him most to bite into the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs, his teeth sinking in hard enough to leave indents that would surely blossom into dark purple bruises by morning. His hot tongue finally slid between your weeping slit, collecting the steady flow of fluids, before it completely plunged inside. His tongue was more filling then you ever could have thought, and fuck, it felt good. 

The intrusion was wet and relentless, his tongue curling inside you with a precision that told you he had mapped out exactly what made you tick long ago, even if he hadn't acted on it. He ate you out with a terrifying kind of focus, his nose grinding against your clit as he fucked you on his tongue, the sounds of his consumption lewd and echoing in the quiet room. Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft strands you loved to run your hands through, but now you were pulling, yanking, desperate for something to anchor you as the pleasure mounted to a breaking point. Just as you felt the familiar tightening coil in your lower belly, the sign that you were about to tumble over the edge, he pulled away, leaving you cold and gasping. "Not yet," he said, his chin glistening with your arousal, a cruel smirk playing on his swollen lips as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "You know this by now." 

"But, you can grind yourself on my cock. No entering. Just rub that pretty little clit on my cock. That's all you get." 

The desperation was so acute it tasted like copper in your mouth. You didn't care about the degradation or the insane conditions; you just needed friction. You scrambled to straddle his thighs, hovering over him, and reached down to align his length with your dripping slit. The moment his hot, heavy shaft grazed your swollen clit, you let out a shattered moan, your head falling back as you instinctively rolled your hips. The friction was electric, sliding the velvet-soft skin of your folds along the rigid length of him. It was maddening, having him so close, feeling the thick vein pulsing against your most sensitive spot, yet being denied the stretch of him inside you. You set a frantic rhythm, grinding down with reckless abandon, using him like a toy to chase the high that was just out of reach, your slick coating him until he gleamed in the dim light. 

Seungmin watched you with a lazy, predatory hunger, his hands resting lightly on your waist but not guiding you, forcing you to do all the work. "That's it," he taunted, his voice dripping with mock encouragement as he thrust his hips up slightly to meet your downward grind, sending a jolt of pleasure through your core that made your vision blur. "Look at how desperate you are, humping my cock like a bitch in heat. You're soaking me, Y/N. Literally dripping down my balls. Is that good? Does it satisfy that little ache?" He knew it didn't. The angle was perfect for torturous pleasure but impossible for the release you craved. You were trembling violently, your thighs burning with the exertion, tears of frustration leaking from your eyes as you hovered on that agonizing edge, unable to fall over without being filled. 

Suddenly, his grip on your waist tightened bruisingly, halting your movements mid-grind. You cried out in protest, your body hovering suspended over him, throbbing and empty. "Did I say you could stop?" he asked, his voice dropping an octave, turning cold and hard. "I didn't tell you to stop, I told you to ride. So keep going. And while you do it, you’re going to look me in the eye and apologize." He sat up slightly, bringing his face inches from yours, his dark eyes boring into yours with an intensity that pinned you in place more effectively than his grip ever could. "Apologize for calling me soft. Apologize for thinking I couldn't ruin you. Say it. Say, 'I'm sorry for underestimating you, Seungmin." He waited, his expression unyielding, the throbbing heat of him still pressed tantalizingly against your wetness, a silent reminder of exactly what you were missing. 

Your vision swam with tears of frustration as you forced your hips to move again, the friction agonizingly insufficient yet maddeningly necessary. The words caught in your throat, tangled around a moan as you dragged your clit against the rigid length of him, the stimulation sharp and overwhelming without the relief of being filled. "I'm sorry," you choked out, your voice barely a whisper, trembling with the effort of holding yourself back. "I'm sorry for underestimating you, Seungmin." He raised an eyebrow, a silent demand for more, and you sobbed, grinding down harder, desperate to prove your obedience. "I'm sorry for thinking you were soft... for letting them talk... for not knowing you could be like this. You're not soft, you're—god, you're so good, please, I'm sorry." 

A dark, satisfied smirk curled his lips, the sight of you broken and begging clearly feeding the beast he’d unleashed. "Better," he murmured, his hands releasing your waist to slide up your torso, thumbs brushing over your nipples and sending shockwaves down to your core. "On your back. wanna see your face when I make you cum on this cock." 

The command barely registered before you were moving, the desperation to have him inside you overriding any lingering pride. Seungmin moved with a languid, predatory grace, his eyes never leaving yours as he settled between your legs. He didn't enter you immediately. Instead, he grabbed your ankles, pushing your legs up and out, folding you nearly in half and leaving you completely exposed. "Look at this mess," he taunted, spitting directly onto your swollen clit, the mix of his saliva and your own arousal making you twitch. "All because I got a little rough. You really are just a dirty girl." 

He finally lined himself up, but instead of the punishing rhythm from before, he sheathed himself in one agonizingly slow, deep thrust that forced a cry out of your lungs. He paused once he was hilted, his hips flush against yours, buried so deep you could feel him in your stomach. "Tight," he hissed, dropping his forehead to rest against yours, his breathing ragged. "You're milking me, Y/N. Try to relax." He pulled out slowly, almost leaving you empty, before thrusting back in just as slowly, grinding his pelvis against your clit. He kept this maddening tempo, dragging his cock against every sensitive inch of your walls, forcing you to feel every ridge, every vein. It wasn't the fuck of a desperate teenager; it was the calculated, possessive stroke of a man staking his claim, ensuring you felt the shape of him for days. 

"Touch yourself," he commanded suddenly, his voice cutting through the haze of pleasure. Your eyes fluttered open, confusion warring with the overwhelming need to obey. "I said touch your clit," he repeated, snapping his hips forward harshly to emphasize the point, his eyes boring into yours. "I want to watch you fall apart while I'm inside you. Rub it for me, slut. Show me how much you love being stuffed full of me." Trembling, your hand slid between your bodies, your fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves. The added stimulation was electric, your back bowing off the bed as you circled your clit in time with his slow, deep thrusts. "That's it," he groaned, his composure finally cracking as he watched you debauch yourself for him. "Make yourself cum on my cock. I want to feel you squeezing the hell out of me when you do. Just like that, my pretty baby." He leaned in to press his lips against yours, a wet, messy clash of teeth and tongue as he began to pick up the pace, fucking into you with shallow, sharp thrusts that aimed directly at your sweet spot, his eyes locked on your fingers working between your legs. 

The coil tightened to a breaking point, the friction of your fingers and the relentless drag of his cock pushing you further. "Mmh, move. Let me." and you did, removing your own sloppy fingers and letting the sensation be replaced by his practiced, fast, rough digits. 

The difference was electric. Your own clumsy desperation was replaced by a calculated, rhythmic pressure that had your eyes rolling back in your head almost instantly. Seungmin knew exactly how to touch you, how to circle that swollen nerve with a precision that bordered on cruel, matching the sharp, shallow thrusts of his hips. "Look at that," he groaned, his voice thick with arousal as he watched your face contort in pleasure. "You needed this, didn't you? Needed someone to take control because you can't even make yourself cum properly without my help." The dual stimulation was overwhelming, the drag of his cock inside you perfectly timed with the relentless friction of his fingers, pushing you higher and higher until your entire body felt like a live wire ready to snap. 

When the orgasm finally tore through you, it wasn't a gentle wave but a violent, shattering crash. Your back arched off the mattress, a silent scream tearing from your throat as your walls clenched down on him like a vice, your whole body shaking uncontrollably. Seungmin didn't stop; if anything, he fucked you through it harder, his fingers still working your clit with ruthless efficiency as he chased his own high. "Thaaat's it," he gritted out, his hips snapping erratically now, losing that polished rhythm as the pleasure mounted. "Yeah, fuck. Say my name baby. Say it." 

"Seungmin! Seungmin, oh god, yes!" The name tore from your throat in a ragged scream, your voice cracking as the intensity of the overstimulation bordered on pain. He groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating against your own chest as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his rhythm finally fracturing into something erratic and desperate. He abandoned your clit to grip the headboard with both hands, using the leverage to fuck into you with a brutal, deep pace that punched the air out of your lungs with every thrust. 

He pulled out suddenly, leaving you feeling achingly empty and gasping, your body still twitching with the aftershocks. Before you could even process the loss, he stripped the condom off—if he had even remembered to grab one in the haze—and stroked himself furiously, pushing himself back in. 

The raw, velvety friction of him inside you without the barrier was blinding, a wet heat that felt infinitely more intimate and overwhelming. You gasped at the sensation, your walls fluttering wildly around the bare intrusion, but he didn't give you a moment to adjust. He snapped his hips forward with a reckless abandon he hadn't allowed himself before, chasing his release with a singular focus. "Oh fuck, yes, yes, yes. Ooh fuck, so good." He grit out. 

Those groans rapidly transitioned into full fledge moans, a stark contrast to what he sounded like before. It was extremely lewd; pornographic, in a way. 

"Fuck seungmin, might cum again." 

"No." he growled, though the strain in his voice suggested he was hanging on by a thread. He drove into you with a desperation that bordered on feral, the wet slap of skin against skin sounding deafening in the quiet room. The lack of barriers meant every ridge and vein dragged against your sensitive inner walls with excruciating clarity, the friction so intense it bordered on unbearable, stoking the fire in your belly back to life despite your exhaustion. "I want to feel you cream around me. I want to make a mess of this pretty pussy until you can't remember what it feels like to be empty. You're going to take every drop, aren't you? Good girl, milk me dry." 

His rhythm became erratic, his hips snapping forward with short, jabs that hit so deep you saw stars, his control finally splintering under the weight of his own need. "Look at me," he demanded, his voice cracking into a high, breathless moan that was so uncharacteristically vulnerable it shattered something inside you. His eyes, usually so sharp and guarded, were glazed over with pure, unadulterated ecstasy, his mouth hanging open as he panted against your lips. "I'm gonna—fuck, I'm gonna fill you up. Gonna ruin you for anyone else. You're mine. Say it! Tell me you're mine!" 

"I'm yours!" you sobbed, your fingernails digging into his shoulders hard enough to draw blood as your body was wracked by the force of his thrusts. "Fuck yeah. Say my name, say it loud." 

"Seungmin!" you screamed, his name tearing from your throat with a raw desperation that seemed to shake the very foundations of the room. It wasn't just a name; it was a plea, a prayer, and a surrender all at once, loud enough that you were certain it bled through the thin walls and silenced the living room completely. The sound of his name falling from your lips seemed to be his undoing. With a guttural, broken moan that sounded more like a sob than anything else, he buried himself to the hilt one last time, his hips stuttering violently as he finally let go. "Take it," he gasped, his face contorted in pure ecstasy as he spilled inside you. His eyes were rolled completely back, mouth agape, moans spilling out of his mouth. Seems like the first time he's came in his life. 

The heat of his release was intense, flooding you in thick, pulsing waves that seemed endless, marking you from the inside out with a possessiveness that stole the breath from your lungs. You could feel him throbbing against your sensitive walls, coating you in the evidence of his pleasure, a sensation so raw and intimate that it triggered smaller, echoing aftershocks deep within your core. He collapsed on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress, his face buried in the crook of your neck as he shuddered through the final spurts of his climax. Miraculously enough, he managed to get right back up, body still trembling but motives driven by you. His fingers slowly formed a curl as they entered you, drawing a whimper from you. "A-ah min, you don't need to. Rest. I'm okay."  

"Shh. I'm not done until you've squirted on these sheets, remember? My cock being limp doesn't mean anything." 

"Min, please, I can't," you whimpered, your voice wrecked and trembling as your hips tried to shy away from his touch, but he held you firm with a hand splayed across your stomach, pinning you to the mattress. "You can," he corrected, his voice a raspy purr against your ear, laced with a dark, terrifying certainty. "I know your body better than you do, Y/N. I felt how close you were. You’re going to give me one more, right here, right now." He curled his fingers upward, finding that spongy, sensitive spot inside you with unerring precision, and rubbed it in a ruthless 'come here' motion. The stimulation was sharp and overwhelming, bypassing your exhaustion entirely to send a jolt of electricity racing up your spine. Your back arched off the bed involuntarily, a broken sob tearing from your throat as he forced you to take it, his other hand moving down to press down hard on your lower belly, increasing the internal pressure until you felt like you were going to burst. 

He watched your face with rapt attention, his dark eyes cataloging every flutter of your eyelids and every gasp of breath, drinking in your undoing like it was the finest wine. "That's my baby. So pretty, look at you. My angel." he hummed, kissing a gentle line down your neck. 

The juxtaposition was enough to make your head spin; the sweet, reverent tone of his voice contrasted violently with the ruthless, mechanical precision of his fingers. He was treating you like a fragile doll while simultaneously dismantling you, the pressure bordering on unbearable as he worked that spot inside you without mercy. "You're trembling," he observed softly, pressing a wet, open-mouthed kiss to your racing pulse, his fingers hooking deeper, faster, dragging a broken cry from your throat. "Is it too much? Or just enough? Come on, angel, let go. Don't hold it back for me. I know you're full. I want to see it." 

Your body was no longer your own; it was a live wire pulled taut, vibrating under his command. The pressure built to a crescendo, a white-hot knot in your stomach that demanded release, terrifying in its intensity. You tried to clamp your legs shut, to escape the onslaught of sensation, but he was nestled firmly between them, his shoulder holding you open. "Min, please, I— oh god, I can't, it's— No! N-Not on his bed, for fucks sake! I cant!" 

"Too late for that," he dismissed with a cruel, breathless laugh, his eyes glinting with a wicked sadism that made your stomach drop. "You should have thought about that before you let me bend you over it. Besides, look at you—so desperate to hold it in, but your body is begging to let go. Be a good girl and make a mess for me." He didn't let up; if anything, the heel of his other hand ground down harder on your lower abdomen. At this point, it just felt like he was forcing you to pee. "Min! Stop! This-- what are you doing??" 

"Shh, trust me," he murmured against your sweat-slicked skin, though the dark, challenging glint in his eyes betrayed his sadistic intent. He increased the speed of his fingers, the wet, squelching sounds obscenely loud in the quiet room, driving you closer to that terrifying precipice. "It feels like you need to, but I promise you, it's not that. It's just pleasure. Too much of it." He pressed down on your lower belly with his free hand, the pressure forcing your hips to buck off the mattress involuntarily, the stimulation so intense it blurred the lines between pain and ecstasy. "Feel good? Like it when I press?" 

"Fuck," is all you could manage. 

He took your broken curse as a surrender, sealing your lips with a kiss that was surprisingly tender given the way his fingers were currently wrecking you. It was a slow, deep melding of mouths that tasted of salt and desperation, his tongue lazily stroking yours while his hand worked you over with a brutal, efficient cadence. The dual sensations—the soft worship of his mouth versus the ruthless devastation of his fingers—short-circuited your brain, leaving you floating in a hazy limbo where the only thing that mattered was the pressure building low in your gut. "I can feel it," he whispered against your lips, his voice smug and dark. "You're squeezing my fingers so tight, baby. Don't fight it. You're going to make a mess, and you're going to look so pretty doing it." 

When the release finally tore through you, it was violent and unfamiliar, a gushing rush that shattered your self-control completely. Your vision went white, a high, keen sound tearing from your throat as your body locked up and then convulsed, fluid gushing around his fingers and soaking the sheets beneath you. The sensation was shocking, an overwhelming flood of relief mixed with a deep, burning embarrassment as you felt the wetness spread beneath your thighs, proof of exactly how thoroughly he had dismantled you. Seungmin didn't pull away; he groaned deeply in approval, milking it out of you with slow, deliberate thrusts of his fingers, pressing down on your lower belly to prolong the flow until you were a trembling, sobbing wreck beneath him. 

He finally withdrew his fingers, the loss leaving you feeling hollow and throbbing, your chest heaving as you tried to remember how to breathe. He brought his hand up between your faces, his fingers glistening and dripping with your release, his dark eyes locked onto yours with a heavy, satisfied gaze. Without breaking eye contact, he brought those fingers to his lips, sucking them clean with an obscene, wet sound that sent a fresh jolt of electricity through your overstimulated system. 

He hummed around his digits, a low, vibrating sound of satisfaction that seemed to mock your shattered state. When he pulled them from his mouth, they were clean, glistening only with saliva, and he leaned down to capture your lips again. The kiss was slow and filthy, forcing you to taste the salt and musk of your own release, a deliberate, branding gesture that stole the air from your lungs. "Tastes like heaven," he murmured against your mouth, his voice rough but laced with that terrifying, soft affection that disarmed you more than the violence had. He pulled back to look at you, his gaze sweeping over your wrecked expression, your tear-stained cheeks, and the debauched mess of your body spread out before him. "You okay?" 

You could only manage a weak, breathless nod, your body still twitching with the ghost of the pleasure he’d forced upon you. The reality of where you were crashed down around you—Chan’s room, the thin walls, the absolute silence that had fallen over the apartment. Seungmin seemed entirely unbothered by the consequences, his focus narrowing down to the aftermath, the cleanup, the care. "Does it hurt? Thirsty, at all? I don't mind going out to grab you a glass of water." 

"Water," you rasped, your voice sounding like sandpaper against the rawness of your throat, the single word, the only thing your battered mind could conjure up. Seungmin just nodded, that familiar, softness returning to his features as if a switch had been flipped, though the dark, satiated glint in his eyes remained a testament to what had just transpired. He climbed off the bed with an easy grace, completely unashamed of his nudity, and began to redress with methodical calm. You watched him through half-lidded eyes, your body feeling heavy and boneless, unable to do anything but track the movement of his lean muscles as he pulled his clothes back on, the domesticity of the action bizarrely jarring against the chaotic mess of fluids cooling on Chan’s sheets. 

"I'll be right back," he murmured, leaning over to brush a stray hair away from your sweaty forehead, pressing a kiss to the skin that was so gentle it made your heart ache. He didn't bother to close the door fully when he slipped out. 

The apartment was steeped in a heavy, suffocating silence, the kind that feels physical in its weight. As Seungmin stepped into the living room, he was met not with laughter or judgment, but with seven pairs of eyes wide, fixed on him. "Yeah, sorry about that chan. I'll clean up, only because that's my girlfriends' residue. I wouldn't bother to otherwise." 

Chan didn't even respond with words; his mouth pressed thin as he hummed. 

 "Seungmin." Changbin mustered up. The next thing he was able to manage was "Sorry. So sorry. Sorry. I feel like i should have left. I dont know why I didn't. That was bad. Not you. Me. Well, okay its your fault. But its only natural. it's not her. it's not anyone. It's..." 

"It's nature," Seungmin finished for him, his voice devoid of any shame, carrying that same dry, matter-of-fact tone he used when correcting someone’s grammar. He walked past the frozen group toward the kitchen, the silence stretching tight enough to snap. "You all spent months talking about me like I was some sexless house pet. Did you expect me to stay celibate forever because I’m polite?" He let out a short, cynical chuckle, filling a glass with water from the tap, the sound shockingly loud. "News flash: being gentle doesn't mean I'm incapable. It just means I have control. Though, I think I proved I can lose that just fine when the motivation is right." He took a slow sip, his eyes sweeping over his friends' stunned faces, savoring the shift in the atmosphere—from mockery to something akin to intimidated awe. 

He turned back toward the hallway, ignoring the way Changbin was covering his face with his hands and Chan was staring resolutely at the ceiling as if asking the cosmos for strength. "If anyone asks, Y/N isn't feeling well. She had too much to drink," Seungmin said, gesturing vaguely with the water glass, rewriting the narrative with effortless command. "And if I were you, I’d burn those sheets, Chan. Seriously." He didn't wait for a response, turning on his heel and heading back into the bedroom, the click of the door shutting out the judgment of the living room and sealing the two of you back in your own world. 

The atmosphere inside the bedroom was thick, heavy with the scent of sex and sweat, a stark contrast to the sterile tension of the hallway. Seungmin’s expression softened the instant his eyes found you, the harsh dominance melting back into that familiar, gentle warmth as he sat on the edge of the bed. He helped you sit up, guiding the glass to your lips with a tenderness that made your head spin, his free hand stroking your hair back from your face. "Easy now," he murmured, watching you drink with dark, satisfied eyes. "You did so good for me. Took everything I gave you." He set the glass down on the nightstand and pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin. "Let's get you cleaned up and home, hmm? I'll setup our bed, get you some good sleep... Unless your hungry?" 

"I could eat," you admitted, your voice barely audible as you leaned into his touch. "But it's not food that I'm hungry for." 

thank you so much for reading! sending you a kiss, quick, catch it . . . ᥫ᭡

Your boyfriend was incredibly talented. He was a dedicated, caring, and hardworking individual and you honestly believed he could do anything he put his mind to.

The problem was that sometimes he just didn't care to put his mind to it.

Because he was a menace. 

One of those such things that he brushed off was baking. After the initial disaster of a Pancake Incident he and Felix had a few years ago, you and he had decided to take a few cooking lessons. He honestly picked up on it fairly well, and you knew he wasn't going to just, burn the kitchen down if you turned your back.

The problem is, he likes that cooking is “vibes based.” You can add and remove seasonings at your will. You can check something and keep cooking it longer if needed without worrying about the structural integrity of it. Those sorts of things.

This was not true of baking. You knew this. Deep down you swore he had to know, too, but at this point you were pretty sure he was just getting a kick out of messing it up.

That had to be the case, right?

Please?

Now you enjoyed baking. From time to time, when you came over to visit Seungmin, you and Felix would bake together. You didn't do it all of the time, but you had a few go-to recipes you liked to whip out for special occasions.

Either way, you considered yourself to be a decent baker. Sometimes Seungmin would help mix things, but otherwise you'd basically forbid him from touching the ingredients when you baked.

So maybe the trainwreck you were currently watching was partially your fault.

Seungmin and Felix were filming a Racha Vlog today. They were supposed to be baking two different recipes: a banana bread cake and cookies.

Felix had wisely decided to take the banana bread recipe for himself and gave Seungmin the cookie recipe.

The team hadn't been able to find a hand mixer, earlier, so Seungmin was currently trying to break apart the butter with a whisk.

A whisk.

Honestly you preferred using your spatula over your hand mixer, anyway. Who the hell gave him a whisk for mixing solids like butter?

As Seungmin was trying to get the excess butter out of the whisk with a random knife he'd found, one of the staff members came back with a hand mixer. The cameras shifted to focus in on Felix for a moment while they switched Seungmin over to the other device.

Seungmin stepped behind the cameras, grinning at you cheekily.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You're doing this on purpose aren't you?” You whispered to him.

“It said to use powdered sugar!” He protested, still grinning.

You jabbed him in the chest lightly. “That is not what I mean and you know it. Who the hell gave you a whisk instead of a spatula?” 

Seungmin put a hand up to his ear. “Oh, they're calling me back to set, sorry.”

You huffed, crossing your arms and raising an unimpressed eyebrow at him. He just winked and walked back out to the table the staff had setup the mixer at.

You had to cover your hand to stifle a laugh when Seungmin immediately splattered butter across the table when he flicked on the mixer. He grumbled and whined about how messy it was as he tried again anyway.

It truly isn't that easy to fuck up a cookie recipe. The instructions were all right there. You just had to follow them. It didn't even involve difficult techniques like folding or getting stiff peaks! 

The key words there, however, were follow the recipe, which Seungmin seemed very determined not to do.

You winced as you watched him dump the powdered sugar into his bowl without measuring it first. A part of you wished you could see the recipe too, but maybe ignorance was bliss in this case.

And now he was just, using the hand mixer while it was turned off to mix the ingredients together. You swore you could feel your eye twitching while you also tried not to laugh at the situation.

“Ah- why is the butter disappearing?” He questioned as he stared at the bowl.

You knew what was happening as he mixed together powdered sugar and butter, but he seemed more confused than ever. He glanced up, eyes moving over to you for one second, pleadingly.

You just gave him two thumbs up and he sighed, resuming his manual mixing.

“Felix, how’s it going over there?” Seungmin asked, trying to get the attention off of him.

Eventually, he took his mix back over to where Felix was valiantly greasing a cake pan. 

And now he had a spatula in hand, finally.

“It looks okay so far, right?” Seungmin asked, showing Felix the mixture as he tried to scrape more of the excess off of the mixer.

“Okay next is cake flour, or wait… I think the eggs are next.”

Seungmin grabbed an egg and glanced down at the tablet that was showing him the recipe.

“How many eggs- egg whites?” He read, tilting his head in confusion. 

He huffed, staring at the screen and then glancing between the egg and his mixture. “Surely it doesn't matter. Yolk is yummy.”

You blinked once. Twice. 

Surely he could feel your glare from across the room, because he glanced up, immediately locking eyes with you. He took in your expression and huffed out a laugh. “Okay, okay, I'll try…”

In his defense, he did indeed try. He gingerly cracked the egg and tried to keep the yolk inside of the shell while pouring out the whites.

He paused, glancing down at his bowl. “The yolk cracked…”

He tried to scoop some of the yolk out into the sink before shrugging and calling it “good enough.” 

You could see the yellow in the bowl from across the room.

After he dumped the “egg whites” into the mixture, he grabbed the bowl and took it back over to where the mixer could be plugged in, clearly determined to try again.

Both you and the camera man took a step back as he turned on the device.

Seungmin looked up and turned off the mixer, puppy dog eyes on full blast. “Wait, why are you backing away?”

You snorted and covered your mouth again immediately, but Seungmin clearly heard you. He beamed and looked back at the bowl. “Let’s pre-mix it first.”

So he gave it a few stirs before turning the mixer back on. He did much better this time, to be fair, and he even partially shielded the edge of the bowl to prevent any extra mess.

Seungmin took his batter back over to the island Felix was working on so he could reference his recipe video again. He tapped on the screen to turn it back on and looked at the video before looking back at his bowl.

“Why is mine so much more yellow than theirs?” He asked himself, staring at his batter, as if expecting answers.

Obviously the added yolk couldn’t have anything to do with it.

He shrugged it off and started working on the cake flour. He cut open the bag, laughing to himself as powder spilled onto the counter top. You smiled. God his laugh was probably your favorite sound next to his singing.

You were glad he was having fun at least.

As he started to pour the flour into the sifter, his eyes suddenly widened. “You have to slow down!” He said to the YouTube video. “You can’t skip ahead- I’m just a beginner!”

You pressed your hand firmly over your mouth so the cameras wouldn’t pick up on your laughter.

“Why do I even need to sift this anyway?” He asked as he continued to sift it and watch the video at the same time. “Can’t we just put it in?”

You shrugged. You wanted to give commentary so badly, but you knew you couldn’t.

He had a point, though. For simple butter cookies it really was a superfluous step.

“How much am I supposed to add?” Seungmin asked himself quietly as he continued to shake the flour in.

My god, how could one possibly know? Maybe the recipe video they were watching?

Seungmin started to sing to himself as he moved on to adding cocoa powder into the mix.

Which he also didn’t measure, but really what did you expect at this point?

For some reason, he figured this step needed the electric hand mixer also instead of the spatula. So, he brought it back over to the other station, winking at you as he walked up. He brought over a pan and used it to try and shield the bowl as he turned on the mixer again.

Yet the cocoa mix still got onto the table somehow.

“What am I doing wrong? Should I just use the spatula?” He asked, glancing over at you.

You nodded eagerly. “Please,” you mouthed to him.

He chuckled. “I’m not stressing you out am I?” He teased, knowing you couldn’t answer as he walked back over to Felix.

“I think this is the best I’ve done,” he announced proudly.

Again, he wasn’t wrong. You just weren’t sure how sweet these cookies were going to actually be.

A staff member slid Seungmin some piping bags, staying just out of view. They were set up for him to use, piping tips already waiting at the bottom of the bag, so he couldn’t possibly mess it up.

He scooped the brown dough into the bag and you had to agree, it did sort of look like poop.

It held its shape like poop, too.

As he tried to encourage the batter to go further down the bag, you let out an audible sigh, staring at the very much still sealed base of the bag.

The staff did the right thing. Your boyfriend, however, was very much becoming an honorary member of paboracha.

You were staring at him with all of your might, trying to get him to look up at you. Alas, you still weren’t telepathic, so he moved, trying to get the other half of the batter into the other piping bag. He stared at it and just started laughing, causing Felix to laugh, too.

At least he wasn’t frustrated by it, though it took a lot to really frustrate him.

“Yahhh, help me,” he whined as he brought the bags right over to you. “What am I doing wrong?”

Your eyes widened, not expecting him to come up to you, but you also were intensely relieved that you could finally step in. You huffed, looking up at him fondly. “Well, it’d help if you actually cut the tip off so that the air and batter had a place to go.”

Seungmin stared at the end of the bag and smacked the middle of his forehead. “Oh my god,” he laughed. Then, he leaned in and kissed your forehead. “Thank you.”

You grumbled and shoved him away. “You can thank me by keeping the cookies to yourself.”

“Yah! They’re gonna turn out great!” He argued as he started to step back into frame.

“Fine, you try it first then!” You laughed.

“I’ll save you a slice of cake,” Felix promised, looking up at you and winking.

Seungmin stepped back into frame and cut off the tips, explaining his brilliant thought process as he went. You snickered to yourself, knowing he hadn’t exactly thought of it himself, but who were you to steal his thunder.

Besides, Stay didn’t need to know.

He started trying to pipe out the batter but the consistency just wasn’t working with him. It came out in small chunks, reminding you a lot of poop.

Very appetizing.

Seungmin was quick to point it out, too, making Felix double over in laughter.

“It’s fine, I don’t need the piping bag,” Seungmin said, now trying to scrape it back out the other way. 

The two roommates kept snickering back and forth. Felix was valiantly trying to stop laughing, but he just made himself start tearing up instead as he couldn’t keep it in. “I’m actually crying,” he wheezed, wiping his eyes.

Seungmin decided that he didn’t need tools anymore and started spreading the batter onto the baking sheet by hand, much like one would with playdough. You sighed to yourself. 

Seungmin looked up at you. You swore your sigh hadn’t been that loud, but maybe it had been. “I promise my hands are clean!” He said, looking back at the dough. You knew he was talking to you.

You shook your head fondly and Seungmin glanced back up, grinning at your reaction before returning to his work.

Next to Seungmin were two cookie molds: a puppy one and a bird one. The goal was going to be to make little BbokAri and PuppyM cookies.

You knew better than to jinx it, trying your best to just will him on, but as he tried to stamp one of the cookies, the batter got stuck inside of it.

You tilted your head back to stare up at the ceiling. 

Maybe if you asked the director nicely he’d let you step in. At least they could be a cute shape still then-

Seungmin stared at the cookie batter as if offended by its stubborn stickiness. Felix just started laughing again.

“What am I supposed to do after this? It’s supposed to stamp a face but-” Seungmin laughed as he finally managed to get one face stamped successfully. 

He glanced over, pretending to look at the camera, but you were right behind it. “Do you want some?” He asked.

You shook your head viciously and he laughed. “I washed my hands!”

You raised an eyebrow as if to say, “You know that’s not what I care about.”

Felix finally got his cake into the oven as Seungmin struggled to make a few shapes. Some of the cookies were thicker than others, but at least they were recognizable.

Since he had nothing else to do, Felix stepped over and started playing with some of the extra batter Seungmin had. He giggled to himself as he molded it into a very recognizable poop pile.

My god they were such boys.

Seungmin had a few shapes cut out now, and he eagerly scurried over to you. “Help me pick out the best ones please.”

“Still not eating them,” you grumbled softly as you chose the best shape of each color.

“Yes you will,” Seungmin sang as he scurried back over in front of the camera.

He proudly showed off the four cookies to the camera before setting the cookies aside while Felix worked on making whipped cream icing.

Felix even used the hand mixer without a problem.

“What- how?” Seungmin asked, inspecting the area Felix used the mixer in, which was noticeably free of flying pieces of whipped cream.

“It’s not that hard to not make a mess mong mong,” Felix teased.

The moment Felix’s timer was done, Seungmin was dragging the banana bread cake out of the oven and getting it set up for his cookies.

“Wait, it doesn’t look done yet,” Felix said as he inspected his cake.

“Well my cookies are in there now, so,” Seungmin shrugged.

“What temperature is it at? Mine needs to go a little longer.”

The two bickered playfully for a moment before Felix slipped his cake back into the oven.

Then, it was clean up time while they waited.

Seungmin turned his cap backwards (like a menace) and started working on cleaning some strawberries for Felix, who was putting the finishing touches on the icing he was making.

You had to stifle laughter again when Seungming started going on about the “ear buds” Felix must be wearing to make him unable to hear him. He glanced over at you at one point, meaning he was partially dragging the bit on just to see you smile.

Missing accomplished.

Finally, the cake and cookies were both relieved of their fiery prison and it was time to decorate.

Of course, neither boy gave them time to cool, which led to some questionably melty icing, but it was fine. They’d still taste the same either way.

Felix’s turned out really cute, and even Seungmin’s piping job made the cookies look adorable. He proudly showed them off to you and you gave him two thumbs up, making him smile.

The two plated their creations and took them to the nearby table so they could taste test them.

First, they cut into the cake. You shuffled over to this part of the room, excited to see how their creations turned out.

Felix had a bite first and his eyes widened excitedly. “Oh! It’s pretty good isn’t it?” He said as he waited eagerly for Seungmin’s reaction.

You could tell from the look in Seungmin’s eyes that he liked it, but immediately he covered his face, acting as if he was struggling to not spit it out.

“Stop acting!” Felix told him.

“It tastes like a low-sugar carrot cake,” Seungmin deadpanned once he swallowed the bite.

Felix scoffed. “Low sugar? I put in so much sugar!”

“It said 15 grams but you dumped in 31 grams,” Seungmin agreed, snickering.

Felix suddenly looked over at you. “No seriously, try it!” He said, grabbing his plate and eagerly scurrying behind the camera.

Felix held out his fork to you and you leaned in to take a bite. You covered your mouth to be polite as you chewed. Felix stepped back, looking at you excitedly. “How was it?”

You nodded and held a thumbs up. “I like it.” You said softly, making Felix beam and point at Seungmin.

“Hah! I knew you were faking,” he said.

Seungmin just ignored him, though you saw his mouth twitch in a slight smirk. Currently, he was contemplating the cookie he had on his plate. He hesitated before taking a bite.

Felix was walking around behind him and didn’t see the way he recoiled at the flavor. You instantly had to step back from the cameras as you desperately tried to hide you laughter.

“Mmmm, it’s so good,” Seungmin said, trying to sound convincing.

Felix, the beloved sunshine he was, didn’t hesitate to take a bite of his own cookie.

“Yeah it tastes just like something you’d get from a cafe,” Seungmin continued, grinning to himself as Felix looked like he was having an out of body experience.

“Okay but, how much sugar did you put in these?” Felix asked, pointing at the cookie on Seungmin’s plate.

Not enough.

Though maybe he just put too much flour in.

Either way.

“Mine’s low-sugar,” Seungmin joked. “I didn’t add any.”

Felix glanced over at you, looking for confirmation, but you just held up your hands. Yes your boyfriend was a menace, but you always played along. He wouldn’t be getting the truth out of you.

Felix looked back at Seungmin. “Really?”

“I added sugar powder, not sugar,” Seungmin finally admitted, grinning to himself as if he’d just told the biggest joke.

Felix looked back at you. “You sure you don’t want to try a cookie, too?”

You immediately held your hands up in an X shape in front of you, shaking your head rapidly side to side. Both boys laughed.

“Alright, well, that was great baking today,” Seungmin grinned, showing off the remaining “Mad PuppyM” cookie he had.

“Great baking!” Felix agreed, waving his knife at the camera as the two signed off.

Once the director yelled cut, the two boys relaxed and you finally stepped into frame.

Seungmin grinned cheekily up at you. “Cookie?” He offered.

You squinted at him. “I saw what you did to them. Way too much flour, not enough sugar. You were rolling them out with your hands!”

“They were clean!” He laughed, pushing the cookie towards you one more time with a pleading look.

You glared at him before hesitantly taking it.

You were curious.

You took a small bite and immediately wrinkled your nose. “God, nope. I’m okay.” You said, spitting out the small piece.

Seungmin and Felix laughed. “Maybe you should be my recipe guide next time,” Seungmin suggested, winking. “Your cookies taste much better than these.”

“Let’s not go blaming the recipe for this one,” you countered. “You didn’t measure anything Kim Seungmin.”

“I don’t need to when I have you there,” he continued cheekily.

You huffed, rolling your eyes, but you were smiling. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Cuter than him?” He asked, holding up the remnants of the “mad” PuppyM cookie.

You laughed. “You know what? Yeah, you’re cuter than this specific version of PuppyM.”

Seungmin gasped. “I’m telling him you said that next time I see him.”

“I don’t think he’ll be offended by my comment,” you countered. “He’ll be more offended by the fact that you called this-” you held up the cookie “-a PuppyM!”

“The BbokAri one was pretty cute,” Felix said, showing off the remaining cookie.

“You know, it’s hard enough you could probably keep it and it wouldn’t go bad,” you joked.

“Hey!” Seungmin laughed.

You looked at him with a raised eyebrow and knocked the Mad PuppyM cookie against the table.

It didn’t break.

“Nooo you’re hurting my feelings,” he whined. “You must repay me by making me cookies tonight when we get home.”

“I think you’ve had enough sweets,” you said.

“No come on, you can show me how to do it better,” he said as he stood up. “You could put your arms around my waist and- well, you can’t really see over my shoulder if you do that-”

You playfully smacked his shoulder, making him laugh. “Maybe I do need you to help me make cookies more often so you aren’t a total disaster next time.”

“Oh no, spending quality time with my girlfriend, what torture,” he drawled, smirking.

“Just for that, Felix gets to lick the spoon next time,” you declared, turning and walking away.

“Yes!” Felix called, catching up with you quickly.

“No!” Seungmin whined, scurrying to walk on your other side. “He gets to lick the spoon when he makes brownies already. It’s not fair!”

You turned to make a remark but Seungmin swooped in and gave you a peck on the lips, causing you to lose your train of thought.

He smirked at you.

You sighed playfully. “Yeah, fine, you can lick the spoon.”

“Yes!”

“Hey! That’s not fair! I can’t kiss her-”

“Exactly, and now you can’t lick the spoon either-”

“Oh my god neither of you are going to get to lick the spoon.”

“No no we’re sorry.”

“We’ll shut up.”

“That’s what I thought.”

The following days go by as usual.

Work, messages, the occasional silly photo, a random 'have you seen this?'. Amidst all of that, you manage to set a date for your next outing: lunch at that ramen place he mentioned.

Friday, 9:00 PM. Ramen and complaining about the world.

Sounds like a good plan.

Friday arrives.

And you arrive… absolutely exhausted.

You wake up with a throat like sandpaper, your head feeling heavy, and your body as if you’d slept under a truck. You sit up in bed, swallow hard, and you know—even before looking in the mirror—that you look terrible.

It’s not just a simple case of “I don’t feel like it.” You’re sick.

You stay there for a while, fighting with yourself, because the idea of canceling is hard to swallow. But you also know that if you go out like this, besides possibly getting him sick, you’re going to collapse at the first corner.

You grab your phone.

Hey. I think I’m going to have to cancel today. I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.

Not even a minute goes by.

Define “truck.” Fever? Just tired? A cold?

You half-laugh, in spite of everything.

Headache. Throat feels like shit. Probably a fever. And zero desire to get out of bed.

So, a full-blown cold. It’s fine to cancel. I don’t want you dying into your ramen.

You’re surprised by the relief you feel seeing that he doesn’t take it the wrong way.

I'm sorry anyway. I was looking forward to complaining about the world with you.

We can keep complaining over text. But eat something. And take something for the fever.

You write with your eyes half-closed.

I don’t have anything here. And I don’t have the strength to go downstairs. But I think I’ll survive.

A few seconds pass. You know you’re bordering on being dramatic, but you also know it’s real: right now, the idea of getting dressed and going down to the supermarket feels like science fiction.

His reply arrives quickly.

Don’t be stubborn. I’m bringing you something.

Your eyes fly open.

No. You’re crazy. I’ll definitely infect you. And I don’t want to be responsible for you dying too.

I’m not planning on letting you die without me. I don't want to be left without my date partner.

The word hits you hard: dates.

“Dates”? Dramatic.

Call it whatever you want. Give me your exact address. And the code or whatever. I’m not going to bother you much, just leave you some things and that’s it.

You look at your apartment door. You look at yourself: in pajamas, messy hair, looking like a total mess.

Your pride fights a little longer, but you’re way too exhausted to win.

You already know how to get here, idiot... Door code: XXXX Floor X Apartment XX If you knock loud enough, maybe I’ll manage to get up.

Don’t get up. I’ll open the door. I’ll be there in half an hour. Don’t run away.

You roll your eyes, but you feel something strange in your stomach: gratitude. And nerves. And a kind of relief you don't want to analyze too much.

You drop back onto the bed, phone in hand.

Not much time passes before you hear the building's front door downstairs, then footsteps on the stairs, then your door code.

“I’m going to assume you don’t have hired assassins with the code” his voice echoes from the entryway.

“They wouldn't be very discreet” you reply, your voice half-hoarse.

The door opens all the way.

Seungmin walks in with a bag in each hand.

He’s wearing comfortable clothes: a hoodie, jeans, his hair a bit messy. He’s also wearing an expression somewhere between worry and “I told you so.”

He stops in the doorway of your bedroom.

He sees you in bed, curled into a ball between blankets and pillows, your hair a disaster and your face flushed from the fever.

“Wow” he says. “Pure glamour.”

“Shut up” you mutter, but without any strength.

He drops one bag on the floor next to the bed and pulls out of the other:

A large bottle of water. A box of paracetamol. Tissues. Some simple food (instant soup, some bread, some fruit). A couple of sweet treats “just in case.”

“I brought the basics” he lists. “Plus some junk that seemed like a good idea.”

“You sound like my mother” you complain.

“Your mother wouldn't have put up with this much sarcasm” he retorts, opening the box of paracetamol.

He hands you a pill and the water bottle.

“Take this” he says.

You obey. You don’t have the energy to argue.

He sits on the edge of the bed, without fully getting in.

“Have you taken anything before this?” he asks.

“No” you reply. “I woke up an hour ago, stared at the ceiling, and decided that dying was a viable option.”

He shakes his head, holding back a smile.

“You’re not dying today” he says. “I have plans.”

“Your plans are always just arguing” you grunt.

“Not today” he answers, more softly. “Today it's just watching movies and you sleeping.”

The natural way he says “today it's just watching movies” in your room, sitting on your bed, throws you off.

“You don’t have to stay” you say, out of habit.

“I’m not here because I have to be” he answers. “And I’m not going back home just to ask you every half hour if you’ve eaten.”

He looks at you for a second.

“Besides” he adds, “my presence improves any illness.”

“Or causes it” you retort.

He smiles and, without answering, kicks off his shoes and leans back on the empty side of your bed, on top of the covers, with his back against the headboard.

“What are you doing?” you ask, half-indignant.

“Starting a movie” he says, already holding your TV remote. “And making sure you don't get up.”

You feel like protesting more. But the truth is, the idea of having to move to turn anything on feels like too much work.

“I’ll accept it only because I’m weak” you mutter.

“You’ll accept it because it’s a good idea” he corrects.

The movie he picks isn't complicated. Something light, easy to watch, something you’ve seen before.

You lie back on your side, facing the screen. He’s on the other side, one leg stretched out and the other bent, arms crossed but in a relaxed posture.

Every so often, you notice his gaze on you more than on the TV.

“Does your head hurt a lot?” he asks after a while.

“Less” you respond. “The pill is doing something.”

He nods. Suddenly, he reaches out and touches your forehead with his fingers, quickly.

“You’re hot” he says.

“Thanks for the scientific observation” you grumble.

He pulls his hand back, but lets it rest on the covers, close to you.

You spend quite a while like that: the movie playing in the background, you making sporadic comments, him laughing every now and then, and some complaints from you about your own body.

You start to feel that characteristic lethargy of a fever starting to break: a heavy tiredness, eyes closing on their own.

“If you fall asleep, it’s fine” he says, as if he had read your mind.

“You’re going to get bored” you mutter.

“I’m used to seeing you sleep” he responds, hinting at the car.

You try to fire back a quick comeback, but a huge yawn gets in the way.

He chuckles softly.

“Sleep” he repeats.

And, without meaning to, you listen to him.

You don’t know the exact moment you fall asleep.

All you know is that when you lose consciousness, you’re on your side, facing the screen, with the blanket only halfway up.

Your body, however, has other plans.

In the middle of your sleep, you move. You turn over. You search for warmth. You search for something solid.

You end up turning toward him.

Your forehead finds his shoulder. Your hands, by instinct, close around the fabric of his hoodie. You press a little closer. Your knee brushes against his leg.

He tenses up for a second, caught off guard.

Then, his body gives in too.

He doesn’t pull away.

On the contrary: he lowers his arm until it’s around your back, letting it rest on your waist, holding you loosely.

With his other hand, very slowly, he brushes a strand of hair away from your face so it doesn't bother you.

His fingers stay on your head a second longer than necessary, making an almost automatic stroking motion: soft, up and down, through your hair.

He doesn’t know at what point he went from “I’m here to bring her medicine” to “I’m lying in her bed with her hugging me.”

He isn't sure if he should move, either.

He doesn’t.

He feels you breathing against his neck. He notices your warmth, now a little less intense thanks to the pill. He hears a small sound you make as you settle in—something between a sigh and a sleepy mumble.

His arm pulls you a little closer.

At some point, without realizing it, he falls under too.

The movie keeps playing in the background, but there’s no one left watching.

You wake up with the feeling of being far too comfortable to be alone.

There is something warm under your cheek. Something rising and falling in a steady rhythm. It smells like soap, like a hoodie, like something that isn't your pillow.

It takes a few seconds to put a name to what you're feeling:

An arm around your waist.

A firm chest beneath your head.

A thigh pressed against yours.

You half-open your eyes.

You see gray fabric first. Then, as you lift your gaze slightly: a familiar jawline, a throat, a relaxed chin.

Seungmin is asleep.

His arm is wrapped around your back, his hand resting somewhere on your side. You are practically on top of him, tucked into his side, one leg draped over his.

Your first reaction is to freeze.

Your second reaction is to feel your cheeks flush, even through the fever haze.

Your third reaction—inexplicable—is not to move immediately.

He breathes peacefully, his chest rising and falling beneath your cheek. His brow is slightly less furrowed than usual. One of his hands is tangled in the fabric of your T-shirt, as if, even while asleep, he couldn’t quite let go of you.

You realize that at some point, he must have hugged you back.

And that you, sick and all, went straight looking for that hug.

You stay like that for a few more seconds, listening to his breathing, feeling the weight of his arm.

You know that as soon as he wakes up, something is going to change. For better or for worse, but it will change.

And yet, in that specific moment, with the fever breaking, his body wrapped around yours, and the world reduced to just that bed, a thought occurs to you that scares you even more than the cold:

You don’t want to move.

You decide not to think too much.

Your body feels heavy, his breathing is steady, and the warmth you share is pleasant. You close your eyes again, settle a little deeper against him—just a tiny movement—and let sleep pull you under once more.

This time you fall deeper, into a dreamless rest.

You don’t know how much time passes before you surface again.

You don’t wake up on your own, but because the “mattress” beneath you moves.

Seungmin opens his eyes before you do. The first thing he notices isn't your weight, but the numbness.

His neck is stiff, his back is half-twisted, and one arm is completely asleep.

He blinks, trying to remember. He sees your hair, your face pressed against his hoodie, your hand still clenched around the fabric. His brain puts the pieces together.

Oh.

He tries to move carefully. His arm—the one around you—feels like rubber. He shifts it inch by inch, trying not to wake you abruptly.

But as soon as he changes position, you let out a moan somewhere between a dream and a complaint, and you half-open your eyes.

“Mm…” you mutter, disoriented. “What…?”

You feel the movement beneath you, the arm slowly pulling away. You lift your head.

You see him looking at you from very close, his hair flattened by the pillow, his eyes still half-asleep.

“Good morning” he says, his voice deep with that "just woke up" rasp.

It takes your brain a second to remember exactly how you were positioned.

Then, the realization hits you all at once.

You were practically hugging him. On top of him. With his arm around you.

You sit up a bit, still half-wrapped in the blanket.

“I’m sorry” you mutter, not entirely sure what you’re apologizing for.

He chuckles softly, flexing his numb arm.

“I think I’m the one who should be apologizing” he says. “I can barely feel this arm.”

He shoots you a quick look, checking on you.

“How are you feeling?” he adds, more seriously.

You take advantage of the question to slide a bit toward your side of the bed, hiding the urgent need to put some space between the two of you.

You sit up until your back is against the headboard.

“Better” you reply. “Less… like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

He sits up too, beside you, and then stands up slowly. His joints creak a little as he stretches.

He raises his arms above his head, turning his neck from side to side.

“I slept like some weird statue” he comments. “My whole body is stiff.”

You don’t say out loud that you slept better than you could have ever imagined while hugging someone.

“You should go take a shower” he says then. “It’ll do you good to wash off the rest of the fever and wake up.”

“You don’t have to—” you start.

“I’m going to make some breakfast in the meantime” he cuts you off, not looking at you this time because he’s already on his way to the door. “It’s not negotiable.”

“Seungmin” you protest. “You’ve done enough. Really. You should be at home resting, not here playing nurse.”

He turns in the doorway, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m not going to argue about this with you right now” he says, calm but firm. “Shower. Then eat breakfast. Then you can argue about something else.”

Your immediate impulse is to keep contradicting him. But you’re tired, and the idea of hot water sounds far too good.

You give in, for this once.

“Fine…” you mumble.

He nods once and disappears toward the kitchen.

You get up slowly. You notice your body feels lighter, your head less heavy. Your throat still hurts, but less so. You go to the bathroom and look in the mirror: tangled hair, puffy eyes, but your skin tone is no longer "fever-red," just something more normal.

You shower slowly, letting the hot water wash away some of the heaviness. You put on clean, comfortable clothes: an oversized T-shirt, sweatpants.

When you return to the kitchen, the smell welcomes you.

There’s coffee, toast, some sliced fruit—the table set in an improvised way.

Seungmin has his back to you, stirring something in a pan.

“I told you it wasn't necessary” you repeat, but this time it sounds softer.

“You also told me it wasn't necessary for me to come” he responds without turning around. “You see how much I cared about that.”

He turns off the burner, slides what he was making (some decent-looking scrambled eggs) onto a plate, and sets it in front of you.

You sit down, still feeling a bit embarrassed by the whole situation.

He pours himself a coffee but barely eats; it’s obvious his priority is you.

Between bites, you look at him.

“Seriously” you say finally, lowering your voice a bit. “Thank you. For everything. You’ve done more than anyone else would have.”

He shrugs, brushing it off.

“It’s not a big deal” he says. “I don't like seeing you like that. And if I can prevent it… I try.”

The sentence hits you with unexpected force.

“I don’t like seeing you like that.”

“If I can prevent it...”

There are a lot of things there that aren't being said out loud, but they’re definitely felt.

You press your lips together, swallowing hard.

You finish breakfast. He clears some of the things, takes out the trash, and washes his hands.

Then, he checks his watch.

“I have to go” he says. “I’ve got things to do this afternoon. But I’ll text you later to see how you’re doing.”

You get up with him, walking him to the door.

You lean against the frame for a second, watching him.

“Really” you repeat, because it feels like words aren't enough. “Thank you for coming, for putting up with me looking like a total mess, for… everything.”

He tilts his head slightly, as if accepting the thanks but without making a big deal out of it.

“You don’t need to say it so many times” he responds. “I’ve already heard you.”

He turns toward the door.

You realize you don’t want him to leave yet.

Because, damn it, you like being with him. Because he took care of you. Because you slept better pressed against his chest than many nights alone.

He takes a couple of steps into the hallway.

“Seungmin” you call out.

He stops. He turns.

“Yeah?”

You don’t give yourself another second to think about it. You walk toward him, crossing the small distance between you. Before your brain can scream at you to stop, you lunged forward and hug him.

Not a shy, two-pat hug. You really hold him: your arms around his torso, your forehead almost bumping against his chest.

He goes stiff for an instant from the surprise.

Then, you feel his hands move up your back. One rests between your shoulder blades, the other a bit lower, returning the hug with restrained strength.

Your heart is beating far too fast for someone in recovery.

“Thank you for everything” you whisper once more, your face pressed against his hoodie.

You feel more than hear the soft laugh that escapes him.

“You’re welcome” he murmurs, close to your ear.

The moment lingers a bit longer than you had planned. You realize that if you don’t let go now, you’re going to stay glued to him all day.

With an effort, you pull away, taking a step back.

You don’t look at him directly; you know your face must be as red as a tomato.

“Well…” you stammer. “Get some rest. And… yeah.”

You turn almost at a run and head back into your apartment, closing the door before he can say anything else or see your full expression.

You lean against the wood, your heart racing, the fever already nearly forgotten, and a certainty that pricks you like a sweet, annoying needle:

You are freaking head over heels for him.

And, for the first time, you don’t even try to deny it to yourself

You slowly started to recover.

The fever broke completely, your throat stopped hurting so much, and your body stopped feeling like you’d been run over. You went back to your routine: work, quick meals, the couch, the occasional night out with friends.

But your head didn’t go back to the routine.

Your mind kept drifting back, over and over, to that day with Seungmin:

To him walking into your apartment with bags.

To his hand on your forehead.

To his body on your bed, and yours reaching for his while half-asleep.

To that hug at the door, with his breathing so close it almost hurt.

And, above all, to a truth you could no longer sugarcoat: you liked him. A lot.

A few days later, when you're already feeling almost a hundred percent, a message from him arrives.

Are you still alive? Or did the truck put it in reverse?

You smile to yourself.

I’m still alive. The truck has been downgraded to a bumper car.

Enough to last through a date. I still owe you a ramen dinner. It’s weighing on my conscience.

The word appears there again, plain and simple: date. You’re no longer hiding behind humor to dodge it.

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that ramen. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.

Perfect. I’ll pick you up tonight. But remember we’re meeting the group beforehand today. We can go after dinner if there’s time, or another day.

You sit on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, feeling a silly kind of happiness settle in your chest.

Sounds like a plan.

You spend the rest of the day checking the clock more often than you’d like to admit.

When it’s time to start getting ready, you choose your clothes knowing you're doing it for him… even if you don't say it out loud.

Flattering jeans, a blouse you love the fit of, ankle boots, and a coat that’s a bit nicer than what you’d wear for just any outing. You put a little more effort into your hair, applying your makeup with care.

You look in the mirror and, for the first time, you don’t feel silly for dressing up so much "just" to see him.

You smile to yourself.

You allow yourself that much.

At the agreed time, his message arrives, right on schedule.

I’m downstairs.

You go down to the entrance.

You see him leaning against his car, just like so many other times. Simple clothes, but you can tell he took his time too: a shirt, a clean coat, his hair styled.

He opens the passenger door for you without a word, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“Hey” he says, with a smile you’ve come to recognize as yours.

“Hey” you respond, feeling something inside you loosen up.

The drive to the bar where you’re meeting the group passes with soft conversation, jokes, and a song or two on the radio that you both know.

Nothing extraordinary.

Just the comfortable feeling of being exactly where you want to be.

When you arrive at the bar, you can already hear the noise from the street.

You walk in together.

You first, him a few steps behind. But close enough that anyone can see you arrived at the same time.

“Hey!” one of your friends greets you, raising a hand. “Look who’s showing up together.”

A friend looks you up and down, then at him, then back at you with a mischievous grin on her face.

“Did you guys come... together?” she asks, drawing out the word as if it were some juicy secret.

You notice several stares and some soft laughter.

Seungmin doesn’t seem phased at all.

He just smiles slightly, ignores the comments, and sits in one of the open spots, leaving the one right next to him free just as you approach.

You sit there.

The silent message is clear: it’s not a coincidence, and he isn’t trying to hide it.

During dinner, the dynamic doesn't go unnoticed:

He pours you water when your glass is half empty without saying a word.

He passes you the salt without you asking for it out loud.

When someone teases you too much, he finishes the joke, but looks at you to make sure you find it funny.

Your friends catch on. For once, they decide not to say too much. They like what they see. Just a few stray comments, a knowing smile here and there. Nothing aggressive.

You know they’re watching you. You know they’re watching us. For the first time, it doesn’t bother you that much.

The night lasts just long enough. Laughter, drinks, stories. After a few hours, people start to leave.

“I’m heading out now” you say, buttoning up your coat.

“Me too” Seungmin adds.

Nobody makes a face or puts on a show anymore.

“It makes sense that you’re heading back together” one friend says, with a sincere smile.

“Take care of her” another adds, half-joking, half-serious.

“I try” he responds.

You step out of the bar, and the night air greets you both.

The drive back to your building has become almost a ritual: conversations that shift from serious to playful, and comfortable silences in between.

He parks in front of your building.

He gets out first.

He walks around the car and opens the door for you. You keep pretending that this isn't something that makes you melt a little inside.

You walk together to the entrance of your building.

You stop and take out your keys. You turn slightly to look at him.

“Well…” you say. “Thanks for tonight. And for the free taxi ride.”

“You’re going to end up owing me way too much” he responds. “I’m going to have to start keeping track.”

You smile.

You turn toward the door, the key halfway to the lock.

And then, you feel something warm wrap around your wrist.

His hand.

You stop.

You turn your head back toward him.

He’s closer than he was just a second ago. His fingers are still wrapped around your wrist, soft, not squeezing.

Your eyes flicker from his hand to his face.

He looks you directly in the eyes.

He takes a breath.

“If I don’t do this now” he says in a low voice, with a sincerity you’ve never heard from him before, “I’m going to go home regretting it. Like I always do.”

You don’t have time to ask “do what?”

You already know what he means.

His hand lets go of your wrist to move up, slowly, toward your cheek.

He cups your face with care, as if you were something precious that might break.

He leans in.

The first brush of his lips against yours is soft. Almost a test. Barely a contact, as if he were asking you without words: “Is this okay?”

Your answer isn't verbal.

Your body moves a little closer to his.

Your lips move, responding to the kiss.

Seungmin notices.

And the restraint breaks.

His other hand slides to your waist, pulling you toward him, pressing your body against his until there’s almost no space left between you. His mouth presses more firmly against yours, the angle shifts, and the kiss deepens.

You feel the heat rise from your stomach all the way to your face.

You open your mouth just a little more to welcome him. His lips move with a perfect mix of urgency and care, as if he’s been imagining this for far too long and, at the same time, is afraid of moving too fast.

Your free hand clenches the lapel of his coat, holding him, pulling him even closer.

The world around you blurs: the sidewalk, the door, the night, the cars passing by. Nothing exists but his mouth against yours, his hand on your waist, your chest against his.

There’s a moment where the kiss slows down again, as if neither of you wants it to end, but you both know that if you don't slow down, nothing that comes next will be slow.

He pulls away just barely.

Your lips are still so close that you’re almost brushing against each other as you speak.

Both of you are breathing a little faster.

You find yourself staring at him, not quite knowing what to say. A thousand possible sentences are piling up on your tongue.

In the end, you manage one that sounds less ridiculous than you expected.

“I hope…” you whisper, “that you don’t regret it then.”

His eyes drop to your lips for one more second before meeting yours again.

There’s something resolute in his gaze.

“I promise you I won’t” he replies.

There isn't a hint of doubt in his tone.

And, for the first time since you met him, there isn't any in you, either.

Since that night in front of your doorstep, something changed. It wasn't all at once. There was no "what are we now?" conversation. It just… flowed.

The messages kept coming, but the tone was different now. Fewer excuses, more desire. Coffees turned into dinners. Dinners turned into late-night walks that ended with long kisses leaning against his car, against your door, against whatever wall happened to be nearby.

There was no longer any doubt.

When you were together, his hand would find yours without a second thought. When you laughed, he’d lean in to kiss your temple, your cheek, or your lips if he caught you off guard. When you argued —because you still did, of course— it always ended in crooked smiles and comments like:

"You're unbearable."

"And yet, you're still here" you’d fire back.

"Bad life choice on my part" he’d say, right before kissing you to shut you up.

The group knew. No one had made an official announcement, but they didn't need to. It was obvious in the way you always sat together, how he’d instinctively put his arm around your shoulders, and how you’d steal food from his plate while he just let you.

"It finally happened," a friend said one day with a satisfied smile. "I knew you two would end up together."

"We haven't 'ended up' anywhere" you replied. "We're... a work in progress."

"A long-term project, I hope" Seungmin added by your side, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

And that sentence stuck with you more than you expected.

One afternoon, after work, while you were on your way home on the subway, the idea hit you.

Seungmin had been taking care of you for weeks: taking you places, paying for dinners even when you protested, bringing you things when you were sick, and showing up whenever you needed him—even if you didn't ask out loud.

You wanted to give something back.

Not in some grand, over-the-top way. Just… to do something for him.

So that same night, you texted him.

Hey. Do you have plans for Friday night?

Depends. Are you asking me out?

I want to invite you over for dinner. At my place. I'm cooking.

You cooking? Are you sure that’s a good idea?

Shut up. I know how to cook. I just don't do it very often.

That sounds like 'I'm going to poison you by accident'.

If I wanted to poison you, I would’ve done it by now. Are you coming or not?

A few seconds passed.

I'm coming. What should I bring?

Nothing. Just you.

I’m bringing wine. It’s non-negotiable

Fine. But don’t complain if it doesn't pair well with the food

I won’t complain. I never complain with you.

Liar.

You left your phone on the side table, a silly smile plastered on your face. You were already thinking about what to cook.

Friday arrived faster than you expected.

You spent the afternoon getting everything organized: you cleaned the house more thoroughly than usual, put on some background music, and set the table with more care than was strictly necessary. Nothing over the top, but it was… nice.

You chose to make something simple that you knew you could pull off perfectly: pasta with a sauce you’d perfected over the years, salad, and bread. Nothing pretentious. Just delicious.

You showered and put on something comfortable that you liked: soft jeans, a long-sleeved shirt that fit you well, and your hair down. A touch of perfume. No heels or excessive makeup. Just you, in your space, waiting for him.

At 8:45 PM, the doorbell rang.

You frowned, checking the clock.

He was early.

You answered the intercom.

"Hello?" you said.

"It’s me" his voice replied. "I know I’m early. I thought I could help you with dinner."

You smiled to yourself.

"Liar" you whispered, but you pressed the button to let him in.

He came up the stairs. You heard his footsteps approaching down the hallway.

You opened the door before he could even knock.

There he was: dark jeans, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, a light jacket slung over his shoulder. In one hand, a bottle of red wine. In the other, nothing, but his eyes swept over you from head to toe the moment he saw you.

"Hi" he said, with that half-smile you already knew all too well.

"Hi" you replied, stepping aside. "Come in."

He walked in, leaving his jacket on the coat rack. He handed you the bottle.

"As promised" he said.

"Thanks" you said, taking the wine and looking at the label. "This looks expensive."

"Not that much" he replied. "But it is good."

You set it on the kitchen counter. He followed you, looking around with restrained curiosity.

"It smells good" he commented.

"I’m not finished yet" you said, heading back to the stove. "That’s why you showed up early, right? To 'help'."

He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.

"I wanted to see you sooner" he admitted, point-blank.

That direct honesty caught you off guard. You turned your head toward him, your cheeks warming up.

"Well, here I am" you said, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Yeah" he responded, without taking his eyes off you. "I see that."

The air thickened for a moment.

You cleared your throat, turning back to the pan.

"Well, if you really wanted to help, you can slice the bread" you pointed to the loaf on the cutting board. "And open the wine, since you brought it."

"At your service" he said, moving through your kitchen with a natural ease, as if he already knew his way around.

Cooking together turned out to be… dangerously comfortable.

He sliced the bread while you stirred the sauce. He handed you things without you even asking: the oil, the salt, a towel when you splashed a bit on the counter.

At one point, you moved toward the sink to wash something. He was right behind you, grabbing glasses from the cabinet.

His hand rested on your waist, soft, as he leaned over you to reach the top shelf.

"Sorry" he whispered, close to your ear. "I just need to…"

His voice so close sent a shiver down your skin.

"It’s okay" you replied, trying to make your voice sound normal.

But you noticed how his fingers lingered for a second longer than necessary before pulling away.

When you turned around, he was already on the other side of the kitchen, pouring wine into two glasses as if nothing had happened.

But you knew he had done it on purpose.

A few minutes later, you were tasting the sauce. You blew on the spoon a bit and brought it to your lips.

"Is it okay?" he asked, stepping closer.

"I think so" you said. "You try it."

You handed him the spoon. He took it, tasted it, and nodded.

"It’s perfect" he said.

He left the spoon in the sink and, before you could react, his hand was back on your waist, firmer this time. He gently turned you toward him.

"What are you doing?" you asked, though your voice came out lower than you intended.

"Nothing" he replied, looking into your eyes. "Just… making sure everything is in order."

His eyes dropped to your lips.

"Seungmin" you warned, though without much conviction. "Dinner is going to burn."

"The stove is off" he pointed out, correctly.

Damn observer.

You smiled despite yourself.

"You’re annoying."

"And you’re bossy" he shot back, leaning in a little closer.

He kissed you. Softly, slowly, as if he had all the time in the world. His other hand moved up to your cheek, holding you as he deepened the kiss just a little more.

When he pulled away, you had to remind yourself to breathe.

"Okay" you whispered. "Now we really have to finish cooking."

He smiled, stepping away with an irritatingly calm demeanor.

"Whatever you say, chef."

Dinner went well. Better than well, actually.

You sat at the table, face to face. The candles you’d put out (on a last-minute impulse) cast a soft, warm light.

You talked about everything: work, the latest drama in the group, a ridiculous anecdote that had happened to you that week. He told you about a project that was keeping him busy. You talked to him about a book you were reading.

The conversation flowed. Like always. But now with an extra layer of complicity, of intimacy.

Every now and then, his eyes would linger on you a bit longer than necessary. And you let it happen.

When you finished, he stood up before you did.

"I’ll clean up" he said.

"You don't have to" you protested. "You’re the guest."

"Exactly why I should" he replied, already carrying plates to the sink. "You cooked. I wash."

"That’s not fair" you said, standing up as well.

"Life isn't fair" he shot back, turning on the faucet.

You stood beside him, drying what he was washing.

You worked in a comfortable silence, with occasional brushes: his arm against yours, your hand grazing his as you handed him a plate.

Small gestures. But loaded.

When you were done, the kitchen was clean and the two of you were still standing there, facing each other, with not much left to do.

"Well" you said, drying your hands with the towel. "That was… efficient."

"Teamwork" he replied, leaning against the counter.

He was looking at you that way again. As if he were memorizing every detail.

"What?" you asked, crossing your arms.

"Nothing" he said, shaking his head. "Just that… this has been nice."

"The dinner?" you prodded.

"Everything" he clarified.

The air thickened again.

You cleared your throat, breaking the moment before your heart could completely race.

"Shall we watch something?" you suggested. "The couch is free. And I think we have some wine left."

He smiled.

"Sounds perfect to me."

You both got settled on the couch. You grabbed the remote, scrolling through the movie list.

"What are you in the mood for?" you asked.

"Whatever" he responded, stretching out his legs. "You choose."

You put on something you’d seen before, a movie you knew was entertaining but didn't demand too much attention.

At first, you sat with space between you. You on one end of the couch, him on the other, each with your glass of wine.

But that didn't last long.

Ten minutes in, Seungmin set his glass on the side table and turned toward you.

"Come here" he said, extending an arm.

"What?" you asked, playing dumb.

"Come here" he repeated, with that half-smile. "You’re too far away."

You rolled your eyes, but you set your glass down too and moved closer.

He pulled you toward him effortlessly, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. Your body tucked against his naturally: your head resting near his chest, your side pressed against his, his fingers distractedly brushing your arm.

"Better" he whispered.

You tried to focus on the movie.

You really tried.

But it was impossible to ignore the warmth of his body against yours, the scent of his cologne mixed with something that was just him, the way his hand moved slowly up and down your arm, almost without realizing it.

You noticed how his breathing changed when you moved a bit to get more comfortable. How his grip grew a little firmer when you pressed closer to him.

You turned your head slightly to look at him.

Big mistake.

Because as soon as you did, you realized just how close your faces were. His lips were barely inches from yours. His eyes weren't on the screen anymore.

They were on you.

"Is the movie boring you?" you asked, your voice lower than you intended.

He tilted his head slightly, without looking away.

"I’m distracted" he replied.

"Is it that bad?" you tried to joke.

His hand stopped moving along your arm. It slid slowly up to your waist, resting there firmly.

"It’s your fault" he said, his tone turning more serious.

Your breath hitched.

"Mine?" you asked. "What did I do?"

His eyes dropped to your lips. Then they flicked back to yours.

"I can't have you like this" he whispered, his voice raspy, heavy with tension. "This close... and just stay still."

The air between you vanished.

Your heart was beating so hard you were sure he could hear it.

"Then don't stay still" you whispered.

That was all he needed.

He leaned in and kissed you.

It wasn't soft this time. It wasn't a test.

It was hunger.

His mouth captured yours with an intensity that left you breathless. One of his hands moved up to the nape of your neck, tangling in your hair, holding you as he deepened the kiss. The other tightened around your waist, pulling you even closer to him.

You responded instantly, turning completely toward him, your hands sliding up to his chest, gripping the fabric of his shirt.

The kiss grew more urgent. His tongue brushed yours, and a small sound escaped your throat before you could stop it.

He noticed.

And something in him snapped.

He pulled you firmly, tugging until you were practically on his lap. Your knees on either side of his thighs, your body fitting against his in a way that set your entire skin on fire.

His hands moved down to your hips, holding you there, pressing you against him while his mouth continued to devour yours.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling slightly, and he let out a low growl against your lips.

"Fuck" he muttered, pulling back just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against yours. "You’ve been driving me crazy all night."

"You started it" you panted. "In the kitchen."

He let out a raspy, dark laugh.

"You started it" he corrected, "by inviting me here. In those clothes. With that mouth."

He kissed you again, slower this time, but no less intense. His hands slid up your back, exploring, memorizing every curve beneath the fabric.

Your body reacted instinctively, arching toward him, searching for more contact, more heat, more of everything.

When his lips left your mouth to trail down your jaw, down your neck, a shaky sigh escaped you.

"Seungmin…" his name came out like a plea.

He paused for a second, lifting his head to look at you. His eyes were dark, filled with desire, but also something else: a silent question.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice raspy but firm. "Because if you tell me to stop, I’ll stop. Right now."

Your response was immediate.

You took his face in your hands and kissed him with everything you were feeling: the desire, the need, the absolute certainty that this was what you wanted.

When you pulled back just a hair, your lips still brushing his, you whispered:

"Don't stop."

His eyes darkened as he heard your words.

"I’m not going to stop" he promised, his voice deep, heavy with intent.

And he didn't.

He kissed you again, with more hunger, more urgency. His hands moved down your back to your hips, pulling you firmly against him. You could feel everything: the heat of his body, the growing hardness beneath you, the way his breathing became more irregular.

Your hands moved down from his hair to his chest, unbuttoning the first button of his shirt. Then the second. The third.

He pulled back just a bit, looking at you with hooded eyes, breathing heavily.

"Help me," you whispered, tugging at the fabric.

He didn't need to be told twice.

He pulled the shirt over his head in one motion, letting it fall to the floor without a second thought. Your gaze swept over his bare torso: warm skin, defined muscles, the line trailing down from his abdomen and disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans.

Your hands settled on his chest, exploring, feeling his breath hitch under your fingers.

"Your turn" he said raspily.

His hands found the hem of your shirt. He looked at you one more time, seeking permission.

You lifted your arms.

He pulled the fabric up, slowly, as if he wanted to memorize every inch of skin as it was exposed. When the garment hit the floor next to his, his gaze swept over you, lingering.

"Fuck" he muttered, almost to himself. "You’re..."

He didn't finish the sentence.

Instead, he pulled you toward him again, his lips finding your neck, your collarbone, moving down slowly while his hands slid up your back to the clasp of your bra.

He unhooked it with an ease that surprised and turned you on in equal measure.

The garment fell between you, and for a second, you felt exposed. Vulnerable.

But the way he looked at you—as if you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen—erased any trace of insecurity.

"You’re perfect" he said, with a certainty that made you tremble.

His hands moved up to your breasts, caressing them with a mix of reverence and desire. When his thumbs brushed your nipples, a moan escaped your lips, completely beyond your control.

He smiled against your skin.

"I like that sound" he whispered, before lowering his head and taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

Your back arched instinctively, your fingers tangling in his hair, holding him there while his tongue traced slow, torturous circles.

"Seungmin..." you gasped.

He switched to your other breast, giving it the same devoted attention, while one of his hands slid down your stomach, coming to a rest at the button of your jeans.

He looked up at you from below, his lips still grazing your skin.

"Should I keep going?" he asked.

"Yes" you answered, breathless. "Please."

He undone the button. He lowered the zipper. His fingers slipped beneath the fabric, brushing over your underwear, and that simple contact wrenched a shaky moan from you.

"You're so..." he muttered, feeling the heat through the lace. "Fuck, I need to touch you."

"Then touch me" you said, your voice breaking.

He didn't need anything else.

He lifted you slightly off his lap, just enough to slide your jeans down along with your underwear, stripping them off completely and letting them hit the floor.

Now you were completely naked on top of him, while he still had his pants on.

His hands traveled over your thighs, moving up slowly, caressing, exploring. When his fingers reached your center, barely brushing you, your entire body shuddered.

"Look at you" he whispered, his voice dark. "So perfect. So ready for me."

A finger slid between your folds, finding your clitoris with a precision that made you moan out loud.

"There" you gasped, clinging to his shoulders. "Right there."

He traced slow, firm circles, watching your every reaction: the way your breath hitched, the way your hips moved searching for more, the way your eyes fluttered shut in pleasure.

"Open your eyes" he ordered, soft but firm. "I want to see you."

You obeyed, finding his gaze locked onto yours, burning, filled with desire.

Then, he slid a finger inside you.

Your mouth opened in a silent moan, your body adapting to the intrusion, tightening around him.

"Fuck, you're so tight" he groaned, starting to move his finger slowly, in and out, while his thumb continued to work your clitoris.

He added a second finger, stretching you, filling you, and the pleasure intensified until it became almost unbearable.

"Seungmin... I can't..." you gasped, feeling the tension building in your womb.

"Yes, you can" he whispered, picking up the pace. "Let go. I want to feel you come on my fingers."

His words, his voice, the way his fingers curved inside you hitting that exact spot...

You broke.

The orgasm crashed through you like a wave, making you tremble, moaning his name as you clung to him. He didn't stop, prolonging your pleasure until you collapsed against his chest, breathing in ragged gasps.

"Gorgeous" he whispered against your hair, withdrawing his fingers slowly, making you shudder again from the sheer sensitivity.

When you caught your breath a little, you sat up to look at him. His lips were swollen, his gaze dark, and the evidence of his arousal pressed against you through the denim of his jeans.

"Too many clothes" you said, reaching for his belt.

He smiled.

"Then take them off."

You unbuckled the belt with trembling but determined hands. You lowered the zipper. He lifted his hips to help you slide his pants and underwear down.

And then you saw him.

Hard, thick, the tip already glistening with arousal.

Your hand closed around him almost by instinct, and he hissed through his teeth, throwing his head back.

"Fuck..." he groaned as you started moving your hand up and down, slowly, squeezing just the way you felt he liked by the way his hips moved, searching for more.

"Wait" he said suddenly, his hand closing over your wrist, stopping you. "If you keep going like that, this is going to end way too fast."

He looked at you with intensity, his eyes blackened by desire.

"I need to be inside you" he whispered, his voice raspy. "Now."

You nodded, your heart beating so hard you felt it might burst from your chest.

"Wait," he said, reaching into the pocket of his discarded pants. "I have..."

He pulled a condom out of his wallet. You looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Prepared?" you asked, with a half-smile.

He had the decency to look slightly embarrassed.

"Hopeful" he corrected, tearing the wrapper open with his teeth.

He put it on with quick, efficient movements, and then his hands returned to your hips, positioning you over him.

"Ready?" he asked, the tip pressing against your entrance.

"Yes" you whispered.

You began to lower yourself slowly, feeling how he stretched you, filled you, inch by inch. It was intense, almost too much, but perfect at the same time.

He watched your face closely, holding his breath, letting you set the pace.

When you finally took all of him, you both let out a simultaneous moan.

"Fuck" he groaned, his fingers tightening on your hips. "You're... perfect. So perfect."

You stayed still for a moment, adjusting to the sensation of having him so deep inside you. Then you began to move.

Slowly at first. Up and down, finding a rhythm, feeling how every movement sent waves of pleasure through your entire body.

His hands guided you, helping you, while his mouth found your breasts again, licking, biting softly, making you moan louder.

"Like that" you gasped. "Just like that."

He began to move as well, thrusting upward every time you lowered yourself, reaching deeper, making you see stars.

"Faster" he groaned against your skin. "You can go faster."

You picked up the pace, riding him with more intensity, the sounds of your bodies filling the apartment's silence along with your ragged moans.

One of his hands reached down between your bodies, his thumb finding your clitoris and tracing firm circles.

"Oh, God..." you moaned, feeling the tension build up again, even more intense this time.

"That’s it" he whispered. "I want to feel you come again. Around me this time."

His words, combined with his touch and the increasingly deep thrusts, pushed you over the edge.

"Seungmin... I’m going to..."

"Do it" he ordered, his voice strained. "Come for me."

And you did.

The orgasm hit you even harder than the previous one, making you tremble, screaming his name as your body tightened around him in waves of pleasure.

He groaned low, feeling how you contracted around him, and his movements became erratic, more urgent.

"Fuck, I’m going to..." He didn't finish the sentence.

With one last deep thrust, he came with a raspy groan, burying himself inside you as his entire body tensed up. His fingers dug into your hips with force, holding you against him as he spent himself, your name escaping his lips like a prayer.

You collapsed onto his chest, both of you breathing heavily, his arms wrapping around you immediately, keeping you pinned to him.

For several minutes, neither of you said a word. Only the sound of your breathing filled the space, while your hearts beat wildly, one against the other.

His fingers traced lazy patterns on your back, moving up and down your spine, sending small shivers across your skin.

"That was..." you started, not knowing how to finish the sentence.

"Incredible" he finished for you, his voice still raspy. "Fuck, that was incredible."

You lifted your head to look at him. His hair was messy, his lips swollen, a thin layer of sweat covering his skin. You had never seen him look more handsome.

He looked at you with a soft, almost shy smile, so different from the intensity of moments ago.

"Hi" he said.

You couldn't help but laugh.

"Hi" you replied.

He leaned in and kissed you, slowly this time, with tenderness. When he pulled away, he stroked your cheek with his thumb.

"I should..." he made a vague gesture downward.

"Oh, yeah" you said, getting up slowly.

Both of you winced as you separated, the sensitivity making itself known.

He carefully removed the condom, tying it off.

"I'll be in the bathroom for a second."

When he disappeared down the hallway, you sat there on the sofa, naked, processing what had just happened.

You had just slept together for the first time.

And it had been… intense. Perfect. Overwhelming.

So different from everything you had imagined when you first met him, back when you couldn't even look at him without wanting to argue.

Right now, the idea of being without him seemed impossible.

You heard the water running in the bathroom. You stood up, searching for your T-shirt on the floor and putting it on along with your underwear, suddenly feeling the need to cover up a bit, to process all of this.

When he came back, he was only wearing his boxers. He stopped when he saw you dressed, a small smile curving his lips.

"Hiding from me already?" he teased, stepping closer.

"I'm not hiding" you protested. "I just... needed a second."

He sat on the sofa, pulling you to sit beside him. He tucked you against his side, wrapping his arm around you.

"Hey" he said softly, kissing your temple. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah" you replied, snuggling closer to him. "More than okay."

"Are you sure?" he insisted. "Because if it was too fast, or if..."

"Seungmin" you interrupted, turning to look at him. "It was perfect."

He smiled—that soft smile he reserved only for you, so different from the mocking grins of the beginning.

"Good" he murmured, stroking your cheek. "Because it was for me, too."

You both stayed in silence for a moment, simply looking at each other.

"You know?" you said finally. "I never thought we’d get here."

"Here?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Here" you repeated, making a vague gesture. "You and me. Like this. When I first met you, I thought you were unbearable."

He let out a laugh.

"You weren't exactly a charm yourself" he replied. "Always arguing with me about everything."

"Because you started it" you protested.

"Because I liked you and I didn't know how to handle it," he admitted, shrugging his shoulders.

Your heart skipped a beat.

"Really?" you asked. "From the beginning?"

"From the very beginning" he confirmed. "Why do you think I was always looking for excuses to talk to you? Even if it was just to argue."

You shook your head, smiling.

"You’re an idiot."

"Your idiot" he corrected, kissing you softly.

And he was right.

He was your idiot.

From that first kiss that changed everything, to all those "dates" you didn't call dates but clearly were, to every text message, every time he walked you home, every gesture that spoke louder than words.

You hadn't needed to define it. It just happened.

And now, after this—after giving yourselves to each other in the most intimate way possible...

"What are you thinking about?" he asked, studying your expression.

"About how much things have changed" you admitted. "About how we went from not being able to stand each other to... this."

He smiled, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm.

"Do you regret it?" he asked. Although his tone was light, you could detect a hint of vulnerability in the question.

"Not at all" you responded without hesitation. "Do you?"

"Regret sleeping with the most incredible girl I know?" he said, pretending to give it some thought. "Let me think... no."

You gave him a playful swat on the chest.

"Idiot."

"We already established that I'm your idiot," he replied, trapping your hand against his chest. "You can't take it back now."

You laughed, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Not even if I wanted to."

You stayed like that for a while, in a comfortable silence. The movie was still playing on the TV, completely forgotten. Both of your wine glasses were still on the side table, untouched for who knows how long.

"I should go" he finally said, though he made no move to get up.

"Should you?" you asked, looking at him.

"Well, it's late and we both have work tomorrow" he reasoned, but his arms tightened around you even more, contradicting his own words.

"Or..." you started, distractedly playing with the waistband of his boxers. "You could stay."

He went still.

"Do you want me to stay?" he asked, his voice more serious now.

You lifted your head to look at him.

"Yes" you said simply. "I want you to stay."

A slow smile spread across his face.

"Then I'm staying."

"Good."

"Good" he repeated, kissing your forehead.

You got up from the sofa, holding out your hand to him.

"Come on. I’ll lend you something to sleep in."

He took your hand, letting you lead him down the hallway to your bedroom. Once there, you searched through your closet, pulling out a large T-shirt you knew would fit him.

"Here" you said, tossing it to him.

He caught it, looking at it with amusement.

"Is this from an ex?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"It’s mine" you replied. "I like oversized clothes."

While he changed, you went to the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. When you returned, he was sitting on the edge of your bed, curiously observing the room.

You turned off the main light, leaving only the bedside lamp on, and climbed into bed. He followed, sliding under the covers beside you.

For a moment, neither of you knew quite how to position yourselves. It was the first time you were sleeping together—literally.

Then, he extended his arm.

"Come here" he said.

You snuggled against his side, your head on his chest, his arm around you. You fit together perfectly, as if you were made for this.

"Comfortable."

"Comfortable?" he asked, his voice already heavy with sleep.

"Very comfortable" you murmured against his chest, feeling exhaustion finally start to take hold.

His fingers traced lazy circles on your back, a gesture so natural it felt as if you’d both been doing it for years.

"Hey" he said after a moment of silence.

"Mmm?"

"Thanks for dinner" he whispered. "And for... everything else."

You smiled against his skin.

"Thanks for coming over. And for... everything else" you said, echoing his words.

You felt his laughter vibrating in his chest.

"We should do this more often" he said.

"Dinner?" you asked, playing dumb.

"That too" he replied, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "But I meant sleeping together. This... having you like this... I could get used to it."

Your heart swelled in your chest.

"Me too" you admitted in a low voice.

He kissed the top of your head, pulling you a little tighter against him.

"Sleep" he whispered. "We have an early start tomorrow."

"Don't remind me" you groaned, but you could already feel your eyelids growing heavy.

"Goodnight, gorgeous."

"Goodnight, Seungmin."

You fell asleep listening to the steady beat of his heart, feeling safer and happier than you had in a very long time.

@little-mix-fan-forever @emeraldgem22 @honeyyyy21 @doliveiraa @blackbrumous @ stellasays45 @iconicallyher @nebugalaxy @ karlee10261990 @susu6944 @parkairis18 @quokkahansung @wheresangel @bunbunbl0gs @lostinmusicals @euonna @nebugalaxy @karmaghostjess93 @hanniesbubuwife @blindspotquokka @idkimobsessed @newlifepaths @embobema @majessticallyme

He loves all of them, he does. He would gladly find scissors if fate’s string ever tries to pull them apart. Sometimes, though, being around anyone at all frays him in a way that’s unpleasant for everyone, especially himself, only reset back to normal through peace and quiet. 

Peace and quiet could not have come at a better time. He’s more of a grand gesture person when it comes to expressing his emotions. Talking things out inherently requires someone else, listening and remembering and potentially bringing up again. That’s too much. He just needs to identify his jumbled emotions, put a label on them, and neatly pack them away to shove deep into his mind’s junk drawer.  

All of that is without even considering how you fit into everything – which, for the record, Seungmin is always considering how you fit into everything. It’s a mess, but he’s confident he can sort it out in the next hour or so. 

Setting off in the direction of home, he pops in his earbuds (don’t tell his manager), zones out (especially don’t tell his manager), and ruminates on some of the stranger happenings. 

He supposes the best place to begin is the beginning. 

THE JEONGIN SUBVERSION

Hindsight is a bitch, isn’t it? 

Looking back, the too peaceful drive should have been a sign of what was to come. But it was 2:30 in the morning, and Seungmin was barely conscious after Felix – the bastard – yanked his blanket off him while declaring “Get up we’re going to be late!” thirty minutes beforehand.

They were not late. They were the first ones to arrive at the SUVs idling at the curb for them. Seungmin felt entirely justified waiting until Felix made his choice to climb into the opposite car, where he practically melted into a window seat in the back row and would try to catch a few more minutes of rest. 

Shortly after, Chan, Changbin, and Han created the world’s sleepiest single-file line to settle into the remaining seats. Changbin and Han opted for the back row with him. Han draped his legs over Changbin’s lap, let his head fall onto Seungmin’s thigh, muttered “Wakem’upwhenwegetthere,” and promptly fell back asleep, like he was never even awake in the first place. 

Instinctually, Seungmin began carding his hand through Han’s soft hair. He felt an odd sense of pride when Han emitted a satisfied noise and snuggled further into him. 

Chan greeted him with a tired smile and took the seat in front of Seungmin, immediately opening his laptop and getting back to work. His screen glowed brightly in the dim lighting. Seungmin’s willing to bet the oldest does not even register the eye strain anymore, and resolved to hunt down some painkillers during their first break. 

With Chan’s keyboard clacking and Han drooling on his leg, Seungmin should have been more annoyed, but try as he might, he couldn’t muster up that feeling. Mostly, he just felt nearly complete – like the majority, but not all, pieces of himself were finally sliding into place. 

Speaking of. 

You appeared in the open doorway after Chan, looking entirely too composed for the hour. Seungmin wasn’t necessarily surprised to see you – it’s more of a surprise when you’re not around – but he didn’t expect you would come over this early. Another one of his members must have let you sleep on their couch. 

He wasn’t jealous. Even if he was, nobody knew, so it remained fine. 

Your gaze settled over Chan, resolute. Seungmin has been on the receiving end of that look, and he’s not eager for a repeat experience. At least, not in public. You have a particular talent for making him feel like he’s been called to the principal’s office – which, okay, he’s not complaining, but it absolutely does not help his nervous system working overtime around you. 

Chan, seemingly, did not even notice. 

“Move,” you said, determined. 

At that, Chan did glance upwards at you, but only for a second before he returned to his laptop. “Why?” he asked, eyes glued to the screen. 

“I wanna sit by Minnie.” Your eyes flit to Seungmin, who was doing his best to school his expression into neutral. A ghost of a smile haunted your lips, for nobody but him, and Seungmin concentrated hard on being normal about that. She smiles at you every day, get it together. 

“What if I want to be beside Minnie?” Chan mocked the nickname by putting extra emphasis on it, which Seungmin did not appreciate. Seungmin expressed this displeasure via a kick to the back of his seat. 

He resolutely ignored Changbin’s good-natured, “Real mature, Minnie.” 

Luckily, that was the extent of the conversation, mainly because Han shifted on Seungmin’s lap and murmured a distinct threat detailing what would happen if everyone kept making noise. So Chan moved, and you took his place, and the staff member in charge of them drove off before Han had the opportunity to act on his threats. 

They were heading to rehearse choreography. The whole group protested the ass o’clock start time, but it was the only time everyone’s schedules were free at the same time for the next week. As much as it sometimes seemed like it, you were not actually a part of Stray Kids, which meant you could have easily slept in this morning and skipped accompanying them to rehearsal. 

You would definitely fall asleep on them later, but that didn’t matter. Seungmin was glad you chose to stay with them. He hoped you never stopped choosing to stay with them. 

“How’s my third favorite doing?” you whispered while simultaneously reaching back to obnoxiously pinch his cheek. 

“I hate you,” he said, yearning. 

“Yeah, I hate you too. Here, I brought you this,” you reached into your bag and held out his favorite muffin from the good bakery down the street. “It’s a little stale, I got it yesterday. Hope it’s still good?”

Seungmin practically snatched it from your hands. “I don’t hate you anymore,” he said between bites, reveling in your laugh. Crumbs landed in Han’s hair. Seungmin left them. 

Their SUV leisurely drove through familiar streets. The second car carrying everyone else followed closely behind them. Seungmin made the right choice with this one.

His gaze settled on you in front of him. He tried not to; he tried staring at the stars, or trying to peek at Chan’s laptop screen, but he always returned to you. How could he not? Bathed in low light, shadows playing with your features, you were absolutely beautiful.

You weren’t even paying attention to him, and that was perfectly fine with him. He could stare without needing an excuse. 

The ride ended too soon. 

Jeongin, damp hair clinging to the back of his neck, was already storming towards them when they disembarked. 

“Hey!” Jeongin shouted into the chilly night air, and Seungmin – no matter how Chan retells this story – did not yelp like a scared puppy. He yelped like a brave puppy. “Don’t use my towel, asshole!” 

Seungmin only saw it because he was studying for Chan’s reaction – the flicker of genuine exasperation, the gut instinct to snap back that he pushed down for the sake of being a good leader. Still, Chan took several seconds to breathe before turning to face the youngest and saying, “I didn’t use your towel.” 

“Bullshit,” Jeongin said. A small crowd began to form around them – members and staff entering the building dropping their tasks to watch. “I’ve asked you not to before, and my towel was wet this morning. That was my last clean one, man.” 

“Then maybe you should do your own laundry, instead of expecting me to do it for you.” 

“I asked one time! You-” 

“Sorry!” Your voice rang out, interrupting the insult Jeongin surely had poised on his tongue. He startled slightly; he must not have seen you behind Changbin and Han. Easy, you placed yourself between them, facing Jeongin. “I think that was me. Is it blue?” 

Jeongin took a moment to collect himself before shaking his head. “No, red.” Annoyance still laced his voice, but significantly less than ten seconds beforehand. Seungmin definitely did not feel a stab of jealousy that you stayed over with Chan and Jeongin – and, apparently, had enough time to take a shower this morning. 

“Ah, that was me then,” Han piped up beside him. “I’m sorry, I thought it was Chan’s.” 

Seungmin watched Jeongin deflate. “Oh, that’s okay then,” he answered. If Seungmin didn’t know better, he would almost call the youngest’s tone gentle. 

The small number of onlookers began to disperse, exchanging looks with each other, speechlessly regretful they didn’t get to watch a bigger fight. 

Usually, on a normal day, both Jeongin and Chan forget about their one-off outbursts almost as quickly as they begin, provided nobody gets hurt or there isn’t a bigger issue. However, that day, Jeongin was irritated by virtue of not being a morning person and Chan was irritated by virtue of being yelled at before the sun rose. Neither one of them felt like kissing and making up right at that moment. 

“Hey, wait, what the fuck?” Chan’s earlier calmness fractured. 

Seungmin had the same question. How many people showered at their dorm?

Jeongin shrugged. “Honest mistake, it happens.” 

“You were ready to kill me!” 

“You’re exaggerating, it was fine.” Jeongin didn’t give Chan a chance to respond, very purposefully turning on his heels and following the dissipating trail of people into their building. 

Being ignored, of course, only made Chan more upset, not that Jeongin was there to see it. 

Chan’s eyebrows rose in disbelief, and Seungmin decided Jeongin had the right idea getting out of there. Seungmin, as a rule, generally becomes a target for people’s irritation (granted, he causes it most of the time, but still), and he absolutely did not want to stick around for that to happen. 

As he speed walked to the entrance doors, he passed you and Chan. 

You were whispering something to Chan, and he was smiling, goofy, back at you. He pulled you in closer to him, and both of you laughed like you shared a private joke. Seungmin would not have believed Chan was about to forge a warpath if he hadn’t witnessed it firsthand. 

Out of nowhere, Seungmin’s mind conjured up fantasies of what it would be like if Chan smiled at him like that. If Chan held him, shared his body heat in the cold, if Seungmin could just whisper something and melt his leader’s stress. If Chan would lean on him, instead of trying to hold everything together all the time. Sure, they’re close now, but it’s not the same; it’s not the ease he seems to emanate with everyone else. 

It caught him off guard, to say the least. 

He didn’t have time to unpack those thoughts – it probably had something to do with the remnants of sleep tugging him down, anyway. Shoving it out of his mind, he continued to scramble to their practice room before Minho could get onto him for his lateness. 

Rehearsal was tense, in the beginning. Jeongin and Chan still had frigidity, but as the day continued, the ice melted between them. By their second break, they were back to their usual selves; Jeongin annoying Chan, Chan taking every possible opportunity to drape himself over the youngest. 

During that break, Seungmin went searching for you. It had been a while since you excused yourself from watching and slipped out the door. He found you curled up asleep on an out-of-the-way bench, just like he knew you would eventually. Gently, to not disturb you, he took off his hoodie and covered you with it. 

If he took a picture because you looked cute, that’s his business. 

Seungmin shakes his head, doing his best to rid himself of that memory. He’ll come back to that one. On to the next. 

Living with Felix gives him whiplash sometimes.

It could be argued he knows Felix better than anyone. He’s seen him blossom in front of adoring fans, he’s seen him cough into his phone’s speaker to convince management he really is coincidentally sick when The Game Awards streams, he’s seen him cry himself dry after a particularly brash photographer weaseled under his skin. 

Ninety percent of their last decade has been spent together. Words aren’t necessary for routine conversations at this point. Last week, Felix glanced at him for less than a second and knew Seungmin wanted strawberry jam instead of his usual grape. That one still freaks him out a little. 

But every so often, Felix does something that makes him question whether or not he’s been kidnapped and replaced by an evil twin. 

(They went down a conspiracy theory rabbit hole a few nights ago. Felix is convinced Avril Lavigne isn’t real.)

Take, for example:

THE HYUNLIX COLLISION 

There is a certain dignity in failure. Granted, it has negative connotations, but Seungmin would genuinely prefer to first fail than to immediately succeed. 

Failure precedes learning. Failure builds resilience. Failure means growth, not just in the attempt, but as a person. It’s a raw and honest reflection of the human spirit in a way nothing else can attempt. 

Seungmin was blank-staring at his opponent’s fuckass long fatality sequence when their front door burst open. 

Felix was first through the door, but only on a technicality. With Hyunjin pressed up against him, it was nearly impossible to tell where Felix ended and Hyunjin began. Felix’s arms wrapped around Hyunjin’s neck, leaving no other option but to remain flush against each other. 

They were falling all over each other, sloppily making out as much as gravity allowed, both men giggly in the way liquor makes them. 

The last thing Felix said to Seungmin before leaving hours ago was, “Be safe, love you.” He definitely would have remembered a Hey, by the way, I’m gonna need the dorm to myself tonight. And also, Hyunjin and I are hooking up. 

That was probably the wrong thing to focus on, he thought, as Felix let out a particularly needy whine. The two men didn't seem to notice nor care that they are not alone. 

Seungmin sat unnoticed, unmoving, under a rock the size of a large rock. He wanted to say something, don’t get him wrong, but he felt too much like he was teetering on the edge of an endless abyss. One wrong move, or one move at all, and he would freefall forever, never to be seen or heard from again. 

So he remained slack-jawed, staring. 

They were moving as one in the general direction of Felix’s room, however, they kept getting distracted by each other. Hyunjin angled himself to press hasty kisses onto Felix’s jawline. The image of Felix’s flushed cheeks, coupled with his fingers tugging into Hyunjin’s hair, branded itself into Seungmin’s eyelids. Hyunjin’s whispered praises reverberated around his ears. 

Their living room’s temperature rose approximately one thousand degrees. It was batshit insane that Seungmin was the only one who felt it. The entire world could have turned upside down at that moment, and he would not have noticed. 

Then, the world did turn upside down. 

Something — rather, someone — shifted in his peripheral vision. Maybe if he noticed you sooner, he would have been more prepared. Maybe he could have stopped the strangled noise he emitted when he laid eyes on you. 

Maybe, but probably not. 

You had followed Hyunjin and Felix into the room, eyes also trained on the two and a large smile on your lips. However, you also noticed him almost immediately. “Seungminnie!” you exclaimed, a smidge too excitedly to be sober. 

“Uh-h,” Seungmin eloquently stammered. His face was dangerously hot, approaching cause for concern. He was suffocating and overheating and not doing a single thing about it.

Over your shoulder, the two men stopped stumbling through the dorm in favor of Hyunjin subtly palming Felix through his jeans. As subtle as he could, that is, which is to say not subtle in the slightest. Felix’s resulting moan nearly caused him to choke on air. 

Hyunjin finally looked over at Seungmin. “Hey, my love,” he said, and Seungmin suddenly was receiving far too much attention. He wished he could go back to when nobody knew he was there. 

Not one to be outdone, you crossed the room and nearly collapsed into his side. He had to loop one arm around your waist to keep you from overshooting it and ending up facedown in his lap. He was the only one in the room who would have a problem with that, if Felix’s excited gasp and your smile were anything to go by. 

You could definitely feel his racing pulse. Hell, you could probably hear his racing pulse. He was more certain of that than he’s ever been about anything. 

Your perfume stuck to your skin throughout the night, and it invaded Seungmin’s senses. Sickly sweet, mixed with sweat (probably from dancing with someone else, Seungmin’s brain reminded him). It’s so familiar, so you, so unattainable, yet it was the only thing keeping air in his lungs right then. Manually breathing wasn’t far off the table. 

Belatedly, Seungmin realized his game’s home screen music was still playing through their TV speakers. That moment of clarity dissipated when you glanced over your shoulder to Hyunjin and Felix, and somehow shared a silent communication with them.

Seungmin couldn’t read the glint in Hyunjin’s eyes.

You turned your attention back to Seungmin. “We’re gonna go to Lixie’s room,” you started, eyeing him hopefully. Then you leaned in, closer, closer, and Seungmin had never known anything except the warmth of your skin against his or your hair brushing against his cheek. 

“Wanna come?” you purred into his ear, breath ghosting over his earlobe. Goosebumps erupted across his skin. 

whatthefuck whatthefuck whatthefuckwhatthef-

“God, yes,” Felix growled at the same time Hyunjin found amusement in your wording. 

You could ask him to do nearly anything, and he would oblige without question. This, however, felt like a cruel joke. It’s not your fault. He wants the real thing too much. You would know. Hyunjin and Felix would know. Everybody he cares about would know. 

Besides, he was the only one there thinking clearly, and he was positive you would regret touching him like that in the morning. He should not have even let you get as far as you did.

He opened his mouth to tell you as such, but Hyunjin beat him to it. 

“He’s not going to, you know that,” Hyunjin murmured, disconnecting from Felix long enough to talk again. He wasn’t unkind – he was nearly sympathetic, even, which crushed Seungmin further. He said it so casually, so matter-of-fact. Then, because he’s Hyunjin, he followed it up with, “And our boy here’s getting impatient, hm?” 

He paired his words with some caressing, judging by the obscene noise Felix let out. 

“Yeah,” you responded. “Let’s take care of him, yeah?” 

With that, you stood up, leaving Seungmin alone and strangely cold, even as his skin still burned. 

Seungmin didn’t stick around to see what happened once you reached them. He didn’t want to see. He couldn’t see. His imagination would be cruel enough to him. 

As soon as your back was turned, Seungmin took the opportunity to dart off the couch and into the relative safety of the hallway. In reality, the whole scenario probably took no longer than five minutes, but Seungmin felt like he had aged decades by the time his front door closed behind him. 

He wasn’t proud of running away, but he absolutely could not stay in that dorm with the three of you. Part of him regretted not taking you up on your offer. A larger part of him regretted being in the dorm at all. 

His feet carried him to Changbin’s door. 

Changbin, like he always did, opened up immediately and ushered Seungmin inside and onto his couch. Changbin, like he always did, knew when something was bothering Seungmin. He didn’t even need to tell him. 

He didn’t, but he tried anyway. “Hyunjin and Felix–” he started, unsure how to finish. Changbin nodded, encouragement to keep going. “And she–” he cut himself off, not trusting himself to get through this with a straight face. Changbin wouldn’t judge him, he knew, but he still couldn’t. 

“Yeah,” Changbin said softly.  “How are you feeling? With that?” 

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” Seungmin murmured. Again, he thought, he was running away, but he’d deal with it later. He’d think about everything later. In that moment, he just needed to exist and be distracted with Changbin. 

That’s exactly what he got. He and Changbin artfully avoided the heaviness lingering around Seungmin, and instead talked about absolutely nothing until Seungmin drifted off to sleep on his couch. 

Seungmin sidesteps a crumpled, discarded bright pink flyer – it reads EVERYONE’S A STAR!  – and grumbles in irritation. He’d asked you about it after that night, but you had made it into a joke every time. Either you’d wink and say he could return the favor, or you’d just extend the same offer again (“But join us this time!” “I don’t drink that much.” “Who said anything about drinking?”). 

He gets it. Now that he’s had time to relive it, he feels either hauntingly inadequate or gnawing jealousy, depending on his mood. 

Why not him? Bitterness. Envy. Towards which person – Felix, Hyunjin, or you – he’s not sure. The obvious answer is he envies both Felix and Hyunjin for sharing a bed with you, but that’s not entirely true. 

He doesn’t wish to replace anyone. He wants to be involved, is all. And he was – you, quite literally, threw yourself at him, and that stings so much worse than anything else. He doesn’t want to be a joke; he wants to be included in a real way, not when everyone involved is simply looking for a good time with the nearest person available. 

God, what a sad thought. 

He needs to move on before he spirals. 

THE MINSUNG CONTROL VARIABLE

Some things would be stranger if they didn’t happen. 

THE CHANGBIN REACTION 

It started out as a surprise for fans. As a surprise to the rest of his group. A love letter, of sorts, for their dedicated, unwavering support, from the early years where odds of success were stacked against them through their sold-out stadium tours. A love letter to his members, who never let him cave into himself and constantly remind him of his worth. 

A love letter to Changbin, specifically. For holding him together. For being a pillar, for loving him extra in his low moments, for being Changbin. 

The official itinerary for their Fanmeeting alloted time for a “Seungmin Solo”. Everyone, including his members, believed he would sing “As We Are” – they were under that impression because Seungmin told them that’s what he would sing. Nobody except himself and the relevant staff knew the truth. In reality, he would be performing “ULTRA” again, complete with a recreation of Changbin’s tour outfit tailored for his own proportions. 

Changbin loved when Seungmin did it last, so why not do it grander this time?

Seungmin made the last-minute decision to bring Changbin on stage with him, to give him a chair and have a camera dedicated to capturing his live reaction. A mistake if he’s ever made one. 

Changbin’s attention on him burned hotter and resonated louder than any screaming fans. He did not speak a word, but he didn’t need to. Every time Seungmin looked over, Changbin was looking back at him, relaxed and all too glad to keep watching. Sometimes he was grinning, his tongue prodding the inside of his cheek. Sometimes he leaned forward to study Seungmin closer. Every time, he was cocky, his body language screaming out desires.

Seungmin had not considered Changbin would dial up the fan service. All the more embarrassing that it affected Seungmin more than it should. At a certain point, he had to stop looking over entirely and just focus on getting through his performance without stuttering or tripping over himself. 

Afterwards, he was absolutely positive that the SeungBin shippers had enough fuel for the rest of their lives. More than enough fuel. Wildfires would be envious of the kindling Changbin provided out there. Seungmin could only pray that the sunglasses and stage makeup were enough to hide his reactions. 

Seungmin stared at himself in his dressing room mirror. He had two minutes to ready himself for going back out onstage, and he was absolutely nowhere near close to it.

He was still staring, trancelike, when the door to his left opened and closed. And just like that, there was another, heavy presence. The same one Seungmin couldn’t decide if he should cling to or run far away from. Finally tearing his eyes away, he turned and saw Changbin staring at him, confused. 

“You can’t do that to me,” Changbin said. 

The instinct to push back kicked in, and Seungmin responded, “There’s thousands of fans out there who would disagree.” He didn’t even know what Changbin was saying he couldn’t do. He needed normalcy, and that was the quickest way. 

Changbin chuckles without humor. He took a step towards Seungmin, then another, and another, until he was right in front of him. Inches away. Seungmin could count his eyelashes, could trace the lines on his skin if he wanted to. He could easily lean in, if he wanted to. 

Something flickered across Changbin’s face. Once again, his hyung knew what he needed. Changbin’s voice dipped low, huskier than Seungmin had ever heard it. “God, all this time…” he trailed off, eyes flitting down to Seungmin’s lips. 

Seungmin didn’t want to move. He wanted the two of them to stay right there while the world passed them by. He wanted Changbin to keep talking and to keep looking at him like he hung the stars in the sky. 

Changbin continued, “Chan made me promise, you know? He knew. He knew I’d already fallen for you a long time ago. He knew I would have the hardest time controlling myself.” 

Changbin stared, his eyes drilling into Seungmin. Seungmin had to look away, for fear that Changbin would drill too deep and all of his fantasies would spill out. 

“Hey, no, eyes on me, yeah? There you go.” Changbin’s praise sent a shiver up Seungmin’s spine. “But you don’t want me to control myself, do you?” 

Seungmin wasn’t aware when they started moving. His back hitting the wall behind him came as a complete surprise, but he wasn’t willing to tear his eyes away again. Changbin’s arms caged him in on either side. 

“You want us, yeah?” Changbin asked. 

The door slammed open. 

It was a bucket of ice water dumped all over the moment. 

“Oh! Am I…” Jeongin trailed off, wriggling his eyebrows, shit-eating grin firmly in place. “Interrupting something?”

Changbin looked at Seungmin, as if waiting for him to answer. Seungmin was bolted to the ground. Every one of his limbs was frozen.

Was he interrupting something? Does Jeongin know? 

No. There’s nothing to know. Jeongin was just being a menace, as usual. 

Still, Changbin stared at Seungmin, at Seungmin’s lack of a reaction, and that was all the answer he could give. Eventually, after a few seconds or a small eternity, Changbin dropped his hands. “No,” he answered. “You didn’t interrupt anything. Come on, we’ve gotta get back out there.” 

So he did what he was best at. He followed Changbin, and he performed, and he ignored the persistent ache in his chest. 

Seungmin has never been good at keeping up with group texts. Sue him. 

His main source of updates is Chan informing him of schedules about thirty minutes in advance. Seungmin plays along – his yes, I already know, go away expression is truly a work of art – even though they both realize Seungmin would be lost without him. 

That quality is part of what landed him in this mess to begin with. 

That quality is entirely the reason for what he will call 

THE OT8 CLUSTER(FUCK)

He almost walks right past their dorms, too wrapped up in himself to realize the familiar, hulking building that has not once moved nor changed its appearance is, in fact, where he lives. 

He’s out of time with absolutely nothing to show for it. If anything, he’s even more confused, and now he has to face the very people causing this. He doesn’t think he’s ready for it – but he has to be. He can’t exactly hide from his band forever. He could barely hide from them for an hour.  

Briefly, Seungmin considers taking a lap around his usual path. He discards the idea almost as soon as he has it. Their manager probably already warned Chan to be expecting Seungmin, and Chan is probably waiting with a pile of more work for them. Their leader is in one of his moods; he absolutely will not let up until he passes out with exhaustion, unless it’s for something he deems more important. Not a lot of things have ever been more important. 

Scrubbing a hand down his face, he pulls open the entrance door, waves to their security guard, and gets in the elevator. 

Whatever happens, he’ll be along for it. During their trainee days, when they weren’t sure if the outcome would be worth their effort and each day was harder than the last, Chan used to tell them the only way out is through. He said it so often, Seungmin and Jeongin would place over/under bets concerning how many times they would hear it any given week.

So, the only way out is through. If only trainee Seungmin knew where he’d end up. 

If that means he keeps hurting, so be it. It’ll be worth it to stay around. 

The elevator dings. The doors open, and his hallway sprawls unending in front of him. Starting towards his dorm, he begins to think up excuses to dodge Chan’s near-certain extra work. All he wants is a long, hot shower and to sleep forever (he’s not being dramatic, no.) 

Faking sickness or an injury won’t work – everyone saw him right before he started walking home. They also have access to his schedule, so he can’t claim he has something else to go to. Well. That leaves him out of options. 

Chan’s dorm is closer to the elevator than his. He’ll pop in, get an idea of what’s up next today, then sneak out again to take a shower. 

Simple. 

Easy. 

As he approaches Chan’s door, he tells himself work will probably actually be good for him. He’s good at what he does and he enjoys doing it, he really couldn’t ask for anything better. So what if things get complicated every now and then? 

Reaching for the door handle, he’s almost glad to know what he’s about to walk into. He’ll be productive. It’ll serve as a nice distraction. Besides, he thinks he hears the others inside – he won’t be alone with his thoughts any longer. 

He’s made as much peace with the rest of his day as he possibly could by the time he swings the door open. 

Seungmin yelps. Like a scared puppy. 

The eight of you spring into action, but it’s far too late. Han bolts to hide behind a pillow. You rush to throw on the nearest shirt. It’s the last thing Seungmin sees before slamming the door closed again. 

A cacophony of noise resounds from behind that same door, but it’s drowned out by the buzzing in his own head. Reality crashes into him all at once. The force of it staggers him backwards, and his back hits the drywall behind him with a thud. He leans against the wall all the way to the carpeted floor. 

He should have realized sooner. 

The whole time, everything was right in front him. Jeongin flipped like a switch for you and Han. Hyunjin and Felix could not have been more obvious if they tried. Changbin might as well have outright confessed. What’s so wrong with him that he couldn’t see it?

What’s so wrong with him they didn’t want him? 

Seungmin stares at the ceiling as if it will provide answers. Their perpetually-dead lightbulb is now on. It’s been burned out ever since they moved in, years ago. He wonders who fixed it, and when it got replaced. He wonders when everyone started– nope. He’s not thinking about that right now. 

He’s aware he’s flailing – however, being aware and stopping are two completely separate things. He’ll get up off the ground when he’s more stable, but until then, he’ll sit in denial. 

He’ll leave them alone, like he’s been doing, without him. 

At some point, Chan’s door opened again. Seungmin steeled himself for the inevitable, but Chan was quiet when he joined him in the hallway and sat opposite him. Both of their legs stretched out in front of them, as mirror images of one another. Chan sat there as if this was a normal day. Not rushing, not putting pressure on him. Just existing with him. 

Every so often, Chan brushes his leg against Seungmin’s, but makes no mention of it. They stay in the same position for a few more minutes, which gives Seungmin time to slow his mind a miniscule amount. 

He’s panicked before. Twice, he’s done this exact thing, and he keeps kicking himself for his inability to say anything. That’s not going to happen. He’s going to speak this time, and he knows this situation requires tact and grace, and he will not mess this up again. 

He simply can’t help that he’s a bit dumb right now. 

“You’re wearing pants,” he says. 

Chan, for what it’s worth, is not jarred by Seungmin pointing out the obvious. “Yeah, I am,” he responds. 

“That’s new.” 

“Listen,” Chan says with a grimace. “I’m sorry you saw that. Felix was supposed to let you know to hang out at your place for a bit.” He does seem genuinely regretful Seungmin walked in. 

Seungmin pulls out his phone, and sure enough, Felix did text him ten minutes ago. The notification sits at the top of his screen. “Oh, now he texts me,” he mutters. 

“What? Did he just text you?” 

“No – it doesn’t matter.” Seungmin puts his phone back in his pocket and braces his palms against the ground. “I’ll get out of your way, I don’t think you guys want me around right now anyways.”

He’s met with complete silence. He stops himself from standing and looks up at Chan. His leader’s expression is beside himself, stricken and confused. 

“Is that what you think? That we don’t want you around?” Chan nearly whispers. Seungmin had to strain to even hear it. Chan continues, his voice faintly rising. “We thought you were still getting comfortable with us. We were – shit – we were giving you your space. Of course they like you, Min.”  

“You - huh?” 

“I mean, I know she, Jinnie, and Felix slipped up, they told me about that. But did you actually think we didn’t want to be with you too?” He sounds desperate now, hoping Seungmin will give him any other answer than the one he already heard. 

Seungmin can’t. 

They want him. 

They want him in the same way he wants them. In the same way he’s spent all this time pining after each one, so convinced it would never happen for him. Forcing himself to accept the painful closeness, because at least it was better than being apart. 

“Seungmin.” Chan’s voice brings him back. 

“Hm?”

“Do you want to go inside?” Chan must have seen Seungmin’s hesitancy written on his face, as he adds, “I made them put on clothes, I promise. They’d just like to see you, if you’re okay with that.”  

Seungmin nods, and Chan rewards him with another smile. It’s the same smile he showed you, all those nights ago. 

This time, the scene on the other side of the door is drastically different. For one, Chan was right, everyone is wearing clothes. Seungmin allows himself to feel disappointed about that, because he can and because you want him. 

For another, a multi-sided war is about to break out, localized entirely within Chan and Jeongin’s living room. 

Minho sits on the floor with his arms around Han, who’s animatedly talking and gesturing to Changbin and Hyunjin on opposite sides of their couch. He’s going at the speed of light, but Seungmin definitely hears his name and drove him away. 

You, Felix, and Jeongin aren’t faring too much better, exchanging hushed words in the relative privacy of Jeongin’s doorway. 

Chan clears his throat. Everything stops. 

Every head turns, as if on a synchronized swivel, to stare at Seungmin. Seungmin is eerily reminded of walking in late to his school classrooms. 

Han is the one to break the silence. “Do you… You’re here,” he says, wide-eyed.

“I’m here,” Seungmin confirms. 

“To stay?” Han brings his hand up to clutch Minho’s. He does it slowly, like any sudden movements will scare away Seungmin. Not a bad move, all things considered. 

His eyes find yours across the crowded room. You’re watching him intently, nervous but trying to hide it. He could recognize your specific behavior anywhere. “To stay,” he confirms again. 

“I need to hear you actually say it,” Hyunjin speaks up. “You’re staying with us, like, romantically? Ow! Why?” he groaned in response to Jeongin lightly pushing him. 

“He got the romantically part,” Jeongin whispers, loud enough for everyone to distinctly hear him. 

“He obviously didn’t!” Hyunjin protests. 

Felix, luckily, takes over before they can devolve further. “What they’re trying to say–” Felix shoots a pointed look over at them, “–is that we want to be as clear as possible in telling you that we would love to have you join this with us. Obviously, we’d go as fast or as slow as you’re comfortable with.” 

“And you’re sure?” Seungmin questions, about all of it. His heart never calmed down, but now it stands still and frozen, whether it will keep beating entirely contingent on the answer. 

Minho barks a disbelieving laugh. 

“Are we sure?” Changbin repeats, looking at him as if he said something stupid. “Yes. One-thousand percent sure. We’ve had conversations about how sure we are.” 

One by one, each of you echo Changbin’s sentiments, confirming Seungmin’s long-since buried hopes in various ways. It will take a while for Seungmin to get used to the pure relief floating him through air. He feels weightless. There’s nothing to hide anymore. 

He takes a deep breath. “Then yes, I want to be part of.. whatever this is. Please.” There was probably a better, more eloquent way to phrase it, but Seungmin doesn’t care. He doesn’t think anyone else does either. 

The dam breaks. 

Seungmin hardly gets any warning at all, just a blur of movement, before Han crashes into him, sending him stumbling backwards and directly into Chan’s chest. He’s completely engulfed in seconds. With Han wrapping himself around his chest and Chan at his back, it’s hard to find any more space, but as always, everyone finds a way. 

“Aww, Minnie, you love us!” Jeongin’s teasing lilt rings out above everything else, his own smile taking up half his face. 

Seungmin is unable to contain his matching grin, but he doesn’t let that stop him from rolling his eyes and muttering, “Shut up, I hate all of you.” 

Everything about him immediately betrays that lie. 

Before, he would have either pushed them away or slipped out, armed with an excuse to protect himself. He would have ignored it as best he could, and would have only allowed himself to feel the extent of his hurt once he was truly alone. 

Now, Seungmin chooses to believe that he is desired just as much as he desires, if not more. That his strongest fantasies are real, and the reality far outweighs even the best ones. He will need time to fully convince himself of that, but he finally has unrestrained time with the people he loves. He accepts your love with open arms. 

weeks later, seungmin gets home from a long walk to find everyone in a ludicrously gigantic cuddle pile. changbin and minho are both holding controllers. changbin looks overjoyed. minho, less so. mileena’s fuckass long fatality sequence is playing on screen. 

☆ note: it's published!! this specific draft has been driving me absolute bananas for longer than i'd like to admit. every time i tried (and i did try) to abandon it i'd hear it calling to me like the green goblin mask. as always, ty for reading, love you <3

You tried to focus on the series playing on the screen, but your attention kept drifting down to him, the way his lips parted slightly with each contented sigh, the subtle shift of his muscles under his thin shirt, the growing warmth of his body pressed against yours. His free hand had begun to wander, fingertips tracing slow, teasing circles just beneath the hem of your shorts, sending little sparks of heat dancing across your skin.You were more than content with this, perfectly satisfied.

Seeing Chan like this, completely worry-free, his handsome face soft and unguarded as he melted under your touch… it was everything. You loved being the reason he could finally let go, the only one allowed to witness this rare, private version of him—the one stripped of leader burdens, cameras, and expectations.

This was the Chan you adored most: relaxed, heavy, and pliant in your lap, his body warm and loose, muscles melting with every caress. His eyes fluttered half-closed in pure pleasure, lips parted around soft, contented sighs that made heat bloom low in your belly. Your fingertips trailed lightly over his scalp, then down to the sensitive spot behind his ear, earning you the sweetest little shiver that ran through his broad frame.

That peaceful bliss lasted until the sharp ring of the doorbell cut through the quiet apartment, startling you both.

You let out a soft sigh, reluctant to move. For a moment, you cradled Chan’s head gently between your hands, savoring the warmth of his cheek against your thigh. Only then did you carefully lift his head, guiding him to sit up beside you. His dark eyes blinked open, still heavy-lidded with relaxation, a faint pout forming on his full lips at the sudden loss of your touch.

"Wait here, baby," you murmured, brushing one last lingering caress across his cheek. "Let me see who’s at the door."

You glanced at the front door camera, and your brows immediately furrowed in confusion. Seungmin stood there, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, waiting patiently.

“Channie, baby… come here,” you called softly, not taking your eyes off the screen.

Chan was by your side in seconds, his warm body pressing close behind you as he peered over your shoulder at the monitor. His chest brushed lightly against your back, one hand resting possessively on your hip while the other reached around to steady himself on the wall.

“Are you sure he said yes to your offer?” you asked, still frowning.

Chan nodded slowly, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. “Yeah, he did.”

You tilted your head, skeptical. After what happened with Felix last time, the same filthy arrangement you and Chan had proposed, you found it hard to believe the biggest brat in the group had shown up after denying it so firmly.

Chan’s lips curved into a lazy, knowing smirk as he licked a slow, wet stripe along his lower lip, eyes darkening with amusement and something far more sinful.

“He said, and I quote…” Chan’s voice dropped into that low, husky tone that always sent heat pooling between your thighs, “‘Fuck off. I’m not doing that.’”

You pressed the button on the intercom, your voice coming out bright and cheerful despite the late hour.

“Hi, Minnie! It’s kind of late… what are you doing here?”

Chan remained exactly where he was, his tall, warm body still pressed flush against your back. His strong arm stayed wrapped possessively around your waist, fingers splayed wide over your lower stomach, holding you close as his breath ghosted hot against the sensitive skin of your neck.

Seungmin’s voice crackled through the speaker, calm and slightly impatient.

“Is Channie-hyung over? I just want to ask him something.”

You smiled softly, leaning back into Chan’s solid warmth.

“Yes, he’s here. Wait up… let me just call for him.”

You released the intercom button, then slowly turned in Chan’s arms to face him. His hands slid smoothly around to your hips, thumbs tracing lazy circles just above the waistband of your shorts. Up close, his eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, still carrying that lazy, post-relaxation haze mixed with something far more sinful. His hair was deliciously tousled from your fingers, and his full lips were slightly parted, still glistening.

You reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead before murmuring against his lips.

“You go talk to him, baby. I’ll wait for the both of you in the room.”

Chan’s grip on your hips tightened just a fraction as he leaned in to steal a slow, teasing kiss, deep enough to leave you wanting more. His tongue brushed lightly against yours before he pulled back with a wicked little smirk.

“Be naked when we get there,” he whispered hotly against your mouth, voice rough with promise.

It took nearly twenty minutes before the bedroom door finally clicked open. You looked up from where you lay sprawled across the large bed, heart already fluttering in anticipation.

Chan stepped in first, a wide, satisfied smile lighting up his handsome face, his eyes immediately darkening with hunger the moment they landed on you. Behind him trailed Seungmin, who was clearly trying, and failing, to look unbothered. The younger man’s usual sharp, bratty frown was fixed in place, but his cheeks were flushed a soft pink, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his black hoodie. His dark eyes kept darting nervously between you and the floor, betraying the obvious tension in his narrow shoulders.

“Hi baby,” Chan greeted warmly, his voice low and affectionate as he climbed onto the bed. The mattress dipped under his weight as he crawled toward you, eyes raking slowly over your body with blatant appreciation. You were wearing your favorite set of delicate black lace lingerie—the kind that barely covered anything. The sheer fabric clung to your curves, the intricate lace doing little to hide the swell of your breasts or the soft dip of your waist, the tiny matching panties leaving almost nothing to the imagination.

Chan leaned down and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your cheek, his lips warm and soft, before trailing them teasingly along your jaw. His large hand slid possessively up your bare thigh, fingers brushing the edge of the lace as he murmured against your skin.

“Sorry it took a while.”

Then he pulled back just enough to glance over at Seungmin, who was still standing awkwardly near the foot of the bed, eyes wide as they drank in the sight of you in nothing but delicate lace.

“Seungmin here apparently changed his mind,” Chan said with a smug, husky chuckle, his thumb still stroking lazy circles on your inner thigh. “He’s asking if your offer still stands.”

“Hm?” You tilted your head, giving Seungmin a soft, understanding smile while trying not to overwhelm the clearly nervous boy. “Didn’t you already turn it down? I was really sad about it, but we don’t want to force you into anything you’re not comfortable with, okay?”

Seungmin kept his head lowered, cheeks burning a deeper shade of pink as his long fingers fidgeted restlessly in front of him. His usual sharp tongue and bratty confidence had completely vanished, replaced by this rare, almost shy version of him that made heat curl low in your belly.

“Well… I’ve been thinking about it the past few days,” he mumbled, voice quieter than usual. “And I think… it wasn’t such a bad idea after all.”

A soft, amused chuckle escaped your lips as you stared at him, utterly captivated. The normally blunt, sharp-mouthed Seungmin was standing there looking like a nervous little puppy, desperate to be petted and praised. His shoulders were slightly hunched, his full lips pressed into a tight line, and the faint tremble in his hands only made him look even more endearing… and fuckable.

“Then… mind if you join us, pup?”

The moment the soft, teasing nickname left your lips, Seungmin let out a quiet, involuntary whine—high and needy. His ears flushed bright red as he slowly walked toward the bed, eyes glued to the floor, steps hesitant yet unmistakably drawn to you both. The second he reached the edge of the mattress, Chan moved with practiced ease. In one fluid motion, he grabbed Seungmin by the waist and pulled him onto the bed, maneuvering the younger man until he was trapped deliciously between the two of you. Chan’s strong arms wrapped around Seungmin from behind, one hand splaying possessively across his chest while the other pinned his wrist gently but firmly to the sheets. Seungmin’s back pressed flush against Chan’s broad chest, leaving him with nowhere to go, his body already trembling with a mix of nerves and growing arousal.

You watched with dark satisfaction as the usually sharp-tongued brat melted so quickly, his breath coming in short, shallow pants, the front of his sweatpants already starting to tent noticeably.

Seungmin let out a shaky whine, hips jerking involuntarily as you wrapped both hands around his throbbing length. Your fingers looked so delicate against his heated skin, yet the grip was firm and confident. You started slow at first, twisting your palms in opposite directions as you stroked him from base to tip, thumbs pressing lightly over the sensitive head on every upward glide.

"Such a pretty cock, pup," you murmured, voice low and sweet. "Already leaking for us..."

Then you picked up the pace—fast, tight, relentless strokes that had his head falling back against Chan's shoulder with a broken moan. Chan held him firmly in place, one arm locked across Seungmin's chest, the other hand gently gripping his jaw so he couldn't hide his face. Seungmin's hips bucked desperately into your fists, chasing the pleasure as slick, wet sounds filled the room.

You worked him expertly, twisting, pumping, squeezing just right, until his thighs started trembling and his cock swelled even harder in your hands, the head glistening with precum.

Just as his breath turned into desperate little gasps and his stomach clenched tight, signaling he was right on the edge...

You stopped.

Both hands froze completely around his pulsing cock, denying him any friction.

Seungmin's eyes flew open, a wrecked, frustrated whine tearing from his throat. "N-no— please—"

You only smiled, sweet and innocent, while his cock twitched angrily in your still grip. After a few torturous seconds, you started again, slow, teasing strokes at first, then building back up to that fast rhythm.

Again and again you brought him right to the brink, only to stop abruptly the moment he was about to tip over. Each ruined orgasm left him more desperate, more sensitive, more pathetic, his cock throbbing painfully, leaking steadily over your fingers as frustrated tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

Chan chuckled darkly against Seungmin's ear, voice dripping with amusement. "Look at him, baby... our bratty pup is falling apart so nicely already."

Seungmin could only whimper helplessly, trapped between Chan's strong hold and your cruel, perfect hands.

You continued working his oversensitive cock with fast, twisting strokes, thumbs pressing firmly over the swollen, cum-slick head. His hips jerked wildly, trying to escape the overwhelming pleasure-pain, but Chan's strong arms held him firmly in place.

"Shhh, pup," you cooed softly, voice sweet and cruel at the same time. "You're not done yet."

When you finally pushed him over the edge the second time, it hit him violently.

Seungmin's back arched sharply off Chan's chest, a raw, shattered moan ripping from deep in his throat as his cock jerked and pulsed. Thicker, more powerful spurts of cum shot out in messy arcs, splattering across his stomach, chest, and even reaching the delicate lace covering your breasts. His entire body shook uncontrollably, thighs trembling violently while his hips bucked erratically into your merciless hands. His voice cracked into silent, gasping sobs as you milked every last drop from his overstimulated cock.

Only when his spurts finally weakened into weak, pathetic dribbles did you finally slow your hands, giving him one last slow, twisting stroke before gently easing off. Seungmin collapsed back against Chan, completely boneless and panting like he'd run a marathon, his cum-covered chest heaving, cock still twitching weakly, flushed dark red and glistening.

Chan let out a deep, satisfied chuckle, pressing a soft kiss to Seungmin's sweat-damp temple while his hands soothingly rubbed over the younger man's trembling stomach.

"Fuck... look at our pup," Chan murmured, voice thick with lust as he glanced at you with dark, hungry eyes. "Came so hard the second time he almost passed out. Such a good, messy boy for us."

You let your cum-slick hands slide off Seungmin's spent cock. Instead, you gently placed both palms on his stomach, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breathing beneath your touch. Your fingers began to move in slow, soothing circles, rubbing warm patterns over his cum-splattered skin.

"Shhh... easy, puppy," you murmured softly, your voice low and tender now, laced with affection. "You did so well for me. Such a good boy... just breathe."

Seungmin's head lolled heavily to the side, resting against Chan's strong arm. His chest heaved as he tried to steady his breaths, lips parted around shallow, ragged pants. His usually sharp eyes were half-lidded and glassy, fluttering shut every few seconds as exhaustion crashed over him. Sweat glistened on his forehead and along the column of his neck, his body completely limp and boneless between the two of you.

Seungmin let out one last, tiny, exhausted whine before his eyes fluttered shut completely. His body went slack, head nestled deeper into the crook of Chan's arm as sleep finally claimed him.

The room fell into a soft, intimate quiet, broken only by the faint sound of Seungmin's steady breathing.

Chan glanced over at you, his dark eyes sparkling with lingering lust and warmth as a slow smile curved his lips.

"He really passed out... our poor little pup couldn't handle it," he murmured, voice husky. "You wrecked him so beautifully, baby."

You chuckled softly. "Do you think Minho would let us do this to him?”

"Only way to find out, baby. I'll ask him tomorrow."

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Being an idol has a plethora of perks, but it has downfalls, too. People say suck it up. They talk about how grateful you should be that you’re getting attention from people. Your bank account is full of money now, but they don’t talk about the struggle and desperation of the journey to becoming. Back when funds were limited. Back when the company provided the basics, but you wondered if your dreams were just dreams. 

When Bang Chan asked you to join the group, it sounded like a dream come true. You were the last member to join, but you already had an idea of how it planned to work. Songs would be produced by your group. Chan even discussed the possibility of you being able to write your own lyrics at some point. 

In the midst of idolization, too many fans forget about the hard work you’ve pumped into creating this life. The company keeps certain aspects quiet. They don’t know about the week you collapsed multiple times in the dance practice room with a fever. Your body needed rest, but a performance was only a few weeks away. The guys needed you to perfect your part. 

Not even the guys knew about the time a staff member followed you into a room and berated you about your weight. On a break two weeks before, you’d left your dietary restrictions behind. For a few days, you were reminded just how much you loved salts and sweets. By the time she was done and stormed off, you weren’t sure your relationship with food would ever be the same again. 

Because in some people’s eyes gaining five pounds means gaining five hundred. It means letting yourself go and giving up on yourself. Letting go of your health means low self-esteem and zero self respect. Apparently. 

Why was it so wrong to want a greasy cheeseburger with a side of french fries when you’d been spending months on small portions of food to keep a specific weight? 

The fans don’t know about the time your group nearly broke because an album had a slow start. It didn’t gain traction until a few weeks later. They didn’t know about the previous manager that tossed a clipboard in a fit of rage. The threats he made. The voice that bounced off the walls that made a freshly debuted group feel so small, they nearly walked away from it all. 

For so many fans, when you become an idol, you stop being human. You no longer breathe the same air and they think you become enlightened. They forget it’s your job. You should be able to clock in and clock out at any time. That’s not the case when you’re an idol, they see you as an object. 

If you would have known how much you sacrificed to get to this point, when your anxiety was at its worst, you weren’t sure you should have picked this path. 

You weren’t the same person now as you were then. You’d grown in certain ways, but you’d never been able to shake all the anxiety. If anything, it grew worse. The more and more fans you gained, the more pressure you felt. You weren’t the picture-perfect person that fans wanted you to be. The industry demanded your loyalty and you weren’t sure how much more you were willing to sacrifice for a life like this. 

Fans lined the stadium. You caught glimpses of the line while you scrolled through social media. People tagged your account and the official Stray Kids account. Plenty of people dressed up with photo card holders along the way. Mini plushies of Skzoos, big smiles, and sparkling eyes. 

While the makeup artist covered the bags beneath your own eyes, you glanced up at the plastered ceiling. Tiny dark pinprints speckled it. Your fingers dug into your knees and you tried to ignore the way your fingers shook. A beauty blender dabbed concealer into your skin. You hoped it was enough to hide your lack of sleep. 

Tonight was your first concert back. For the past two months, you'd been on a hiatus for your mental health. Fans were fully aware of your anxiety. After an incident with a sasaeng two months ago, you broke down in tears. 

It went on for months. It started out small, you noticed the same supposed fan appearing at concerts. Concerts. Fan signs. Fan meets. Video calls. At first, you assumed it was a privileged fan. You were smitten that someone would consider spending so much money on the group. Specifically, someone who said they biased you. 

And then she showed up at your favorite cafe one day. You didn’t notice it until the flash of a phone camera went off. Through your face mask and baseball cap, you questioned how someone knew it was you. Your face wasn’t fully visible. You’d just come from the JYP building and needed a little caffeine before heading back to the dorms. 

It spiraled. 

She found you coming out of the JYP building day-after-day. When you started to use a different door, she continued to follow you. No matter where you went, she showed up. The same dark eyes and the same shade of maroon hair. You knew it was her because of the hair. Because the phone case was always the same. Stickers of you littered the back of it. 

You wanted to be an artist, but never an obsession. Your anxiety was bad enough on its own, but then paranoia came to town. You couldn’t leave the building without being with one of the guys or a staff member. You refused to go home right away. None of it was happening the way you wanted it to. 

The final breaking point came from an anonymous post on the Fans app. A photo of your bedroom stopped you cold on your private schedule. You were visiting family, but you knew the way you left your bedroom. With a stack of folded clothes propped up neatly in a chair. You were in such a rush to get there on time, you didn’t have the time to properly make your bed that morning. 

And there it sat. Beige sheets crumpled. Pillows twisted and turned in the wrong directions because you overslept. Bleary eyed and still half-asleep, you didn’t realize you left the cap off your toothpaste until a photo of it appeared. You’d forgotten to grab it after you brushed your teeth. 

Your bathroom. 

Your towel hanging on the silver rack. 

A bottle of your body wash lining the tub. 

The loofah you used hung damp and dripped into the tub. 

A selfie of the girl propped up on your bed. 

An ear-to-ear grin, a casual peace sign from her left hand, but those were your photos behind her. 

You spent hours lining one of your walls with polaroids with sharpie-written captions. Polaroids of friends and family. Polaroids of the guys. Behind the scenes at award shows. Group hugs from wins. Photos in practice rooms. A photo of you being lifted up by the guys that Changbin insisted they had to take because you always joked you were stronger than them. 

The guys always caught you on your worst days and that day, out of all the days you’ve ever had, that was for sure the worst day of your life. 

Your room was your sanctuary, a place meant for privacy. Every livestream on Instagram, you made sure you were sitting at the dining table, a hotel room, or you were at the company building. You never shared your room because you saw what happened when Hyunjin started to share parts of his room with people. When Jisung’s tattoos were revealed, people overstepped. 

They bought the same products and decor. Taking time to erase their originality and copy their bias because they’d do anything to feel closer to them. They spent too much money and etched permanent ink into their skin just to feel some sense of attachment. 

It didn’t matter if it made any of the guys uncomfortable. At least, that’s the ideology that people parade and root around. They tell themselves that idols are never owned by themselves. They’re company products. Security and privacy don’t matter. Your own well-being doesn’t matter. You get the privilege of being an artist, so why does it matter? 

From your childhood bedroom and yellowed posters around you, you called Chan in a choked out sob. You became a circus act, a mockery, and an object; something to mold and take advantage of. You wanted to be an artist, but a stranger turned you into their muse. 

A stranger stuck their hands into your stuff. Every little thing you spent time crafting and creating, they contaminated it. The place you slept turned into a crime scene. Your bathroom, the place where privacy mattered the most, became an open hub for people to judge and spectate about. 

That was your home. The place where you were meant to wind down and relax after a long day at work. You worked your ass off to buy your own small apartment. You didn’t need much, just a place to go when you needed to take some time to yourself. You loved the guys, but you liked time to recharge before barreling headfirst into the next tight schedule. 

Chan couldn’t understand you through your sobs. Gasping and breathless, you squeezed your eyes shut. Warm tears trickled down your cheeks. The lump in your throat constricted and silenced your vocal chords. 

Nothing clicked until you sent him the link. He’d known about the sasaeng, they all did. The company swore they’d take care of it. They promised to protect you, but even idols can be let down by their companies. They beefed up security when you went out, but pressing charges didn’t occur until after they trespassed. 

There was a fair share of people who defended you when management released a statement. People pitied you, but you didn’t want pity. You wanted your privacy back. You wanted your home and your sense of security. It’d been cut out of you and jerked through your fingers. 

It didn’t matter that the company finally pressed charges. The damage had already been done. Paranoia draped over you and you wore it everywhere. Each time the guys noticed you glancing over your shoulder, they tried to distract you and reassure you that the threat was gone, but their words never helped. 

Fingers shook as you pulled off the Polaroids from your wall. Minho worked quietly while packing a box of items from the top of your dresser. Seungmin handed Felix the few pots and pans you owned. He neatly stacked them in a larger box out in your kitchen. 

There was no laughter and jokes when they all went to your apartment to help you pack. Cops came and investigated everything. Photos of your apartment continued circulating online. You’d been exposed to everyone against your will. In the end, you gave up your apartment and moved back to one of the dorms with the guys. 

After that incident, you couldn’t bear to be alone. So you sat quietly during late night studio sessions and pondered, wondering how different life would be if you’d just picked a different career. If you would have stuck with a career after college and found success elsewhere. 

You woke up too early on some days and followed the guys into the JYP building. It didn’t matter if you had a late schedule, you’d curl up in the corner and catch up on sleep. As long as someone was around, you’d be able to drift back to sleep, but it didn’t stop the nightmares. 

In your dreams, you sat on a bed in the middle of the room. Eyeballs examined you from the ceiling to the floor. When you moved, they moved with you. You couldn’t scream. You couldn’t speak up. You were forced to sit in silence as they observed. 

Some nights, you ran between trees in an endless forest and something chased after you. Heavy footsteps followed and low growls filled your ears. It shook the ground beneath you, just waiting for you to fall. You were the prey it was bound to catch. When it grabbed you from behind and knocked you onto the forest floor, you shrieked at the top of your lungs. 

You’d jerk upright in your sheets. Soaked in a cold sweat, lungs tight with anxiety, you struggled to breathe. Not even warm tea could ease the cold fear that lingered in your bones. Paranoia bit down on every nerve ending and refused to unclench its jaws. 

Tonight’s concert was no different. Even in the dressing room, you took account of everyone. From Felix, Jeongin, and Jisung locked in an intense game of rock, paper, scissors to Hyunjin attempting to take a perfect selfie while Seungmin tried to get him to break his serious face behind the screen. Changbin’s vocal warmups filled the air, but no matter how comforting his voice was, it did little to ease your distress. 

Minho was the first one to notice the panicked look in your eyes. He dropped down in the makeup chair beside you with a cup of ramen. A stern lecture came from your manager, telling him not to ruin the stage outfit he was wearing. He waved him off and continued to munch on sodium-infused noodles. 

“You know that sasaeng has been given a restraining order, right?” He reminded you. “If they appear, you let us know and they’ll be hauled straight to jail.” 

You weakly nodded. Front teeth bit into your bottom lip. Your leg bounced harder and rattled the wooden chair. The makeup artist brought up a wand of liquid eyeliner. “Eyes closed please.” 

Your eyes shut and for a brief moment, you were grateful to shut the world out. Minho’s slurping accompanied you. The only person not in the room was Chan. He ventured outside to use the bathroom. The moment he was gone, you worried about him. What if something happened to him while he was alone? 

Anxiety leaked through the crevices of your brain. Paranoia destroyed everything. It wasn’t just about you anymore, it was about the guys, too. You never wanted them to experience the same sense of dread you felt. When your privacy was stripped away, nothing in the world ever felt safe.

Violated; a carcass stripped bare to the bone, for the entire world to judge. Unasked opinions flowed in from social media. Judgement for the way you decorated your room. Distaste for the things you held close to your heart and created who you were. If not held in the fans’ holy image, who were you? Not a divine creation, but a simple human. No longer an idol, just another person in the crowd. 

Chan’s shoulder brushed against the door and he popped through the rectangular frame. Soft squeaks followed as he ran through his own vocal techniques. His head twisted left and right as he stretched his neck. He’d performed so many times, it didn’t make him nervous anymore. Instead, he fed on the energy of the fans. Excitement filled every vessel and he basked in the acknowledgement. 

The countdown began. A half hour until show time. Everyone was nearly ready, but still not you. When the makeup artist dismissed you from the chair, you sat in an empty space along the couch. Voices filled the air, but they no longer mattered. 

Minho drank the last bit of ramen broth. Hyunjin started taking photos of Seungmin. Changbin slipped into frame to photobomb him. Each time, his giggles grew louder as he amped up the theatrics. Jeongin and Jisung gathered around Felix’s phone, so he could show them some of his favorite TikToks. Chan struck up a conversation with the makeup artist as she started on Minho’s makeup. 

Everyone played a vital role in the circuit of Stray Kids. When you were gone, the concerts continued without you. Members picked up your lines in different songs. They formatted the dance routines, so there wouldn’t be a gap where you were supposed to perform. You’d been through this hundreds of times, but you’d become the shell of a stranger. 

And the fear swallowed you whole. A never-ending dance that kept you trapped in that cocoon of paranoia. The thing about paranoia is it never stops. Once your precious world of privacy has been peered into, it’ll never be the same again. You will always stay aware of the people around you. 

The innocent stranger walking behind you becomes a sudden threat. 

In the grocery store, you pick up a loaf of bread and start to wonder if the woman down the way is following you because she was in the last aisle with you. 

Even in the doctor’s office, you debated if your medical history has been snatched up and viewed by an unauthorized stranger. 

Minutes ticked by and you stayed put. Curled up on the edge of the couch, fingers curled around your knees. So wrapped up in their own usual antics, nobody considered checking in on you. Your eyes squeezed shut. Nails dug into the softness of your skin. 

And then Jeongin appeared with the camera. Your eyes opened at the sound of your name. You’d completely forgotten you needed to film content for the Talker video. The moment you made eye contact with the camera, it was written all over your face, eyes wide and full of terror. Something you once upon a time enjoyed, it’d been ripped away from you. 

Jeongin picked up on it instantly. His sly grin faded and fell away. The camera turned down and he slowly approached you. “Are you okay?” 

All you could do was utter a simple shake of your head. 

He reached down, fingers pressing into the stop recording button on the camera. He slipped down, leaving a bit of space between the two of you. The tightness in your chest eased up just a little. His hand appeared beside you, palm facing upright. You grabbed it and squeezed like your life depended on it. 

“I’m terrified,” you weakly uttered. “I know I shouldn’t be. I know things should be fine. I know security is well aware of who not to let in, but it doesn’t mean I feel okay.” 

“Nobody expects you to feel okay.” He glanced up towards the guys. They continued to leave the two of you alone. “Everyone has been trying to act normal. We didn’t want to overwhelm you or make you feel suffocated. We’re worried about you more than you’ll ever know.” 

“I’m so worried. What if it happens again? What if it escalates and gets worse? What if someone breaks into the dorm I’m in now and–” 

Something changed in Jeongin’s gaze. Eyebrows furrowed and sharp eyes narrowed. His head shook. “No way. It won’t happen again. The company has alerted the police. Cops drive around our dorms every so often. We have security cameras.” 

“That doesn’t mean anything, Jeongin.” 

The corners of his lips dipped into a frown. He shifted his gaze and looked away. Regret filled your stomach, but you meant what you said. Measures had been taken, yes, but it did nothing to ease your internal suffering. 

“I want to stop feeling so exposed. I can’t recognize my own fans anymore. I’m terrified of them now. I-I hate to say that, but…” You squeezed your eyes shut. Head dipping down, hair dropped and covered your face. 

What kind of idol doesn’t like their fans? You’d turned into an asshole, you were certain of it. All you wanted to do was make fans feel a sense of belonging and you’d never felt more separated from them and yourself. 

“Nobody blames you.” 

A streak of blonde fell through the air and dropped onto your lap. You instantly gasped and jerked upright. A hand instinctively came out and swung. Felix winced and groaned. His hand rubbed the back of his head. 

“Ow. What’d you do that for?” 

“Jesus Christ, Felix. You scared the shit out of me.” You pressed a palm to your chest. Sure enough, your heart beat rapidly. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you saw me coming over before you dropped your head. You looked sad, so I wanted to come cheer you up.” 

“Who’s sad?” Changbin threw his voice into the conversation. “Who? We can’t have that. I can fix it with my aegyo.” 

Jeongin groaned and curled his fingers into his eyes. “I can’t watch this.” 

Changbin puffed out his cheeks and poked them with his index fingers. A loud kissing noise filtered through his lips. “Changbinnie is here to fix your troubles. UwU.” 

Jisung’s face fell. His mouth contorted and he screeched. “Enough! Who taught you that?! Stop!” 

“Seungminnie.” 

“No, I didn’t. I simply told him it was a term of endearment. I heard it from Felix. He’s been bothering me with the term all week.” 

“It’s meant to be funny!” 

You weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry. The sudden bickering cut off with a flash of camera light. Hyunjin posted with his face turned to the side while he used his phone to capture a selfie. “Is this my good side? Be honest.” 

“Every side is your good side,” Changbin complimented him. 

“Really?” 

“I wouldn’t lie to my wife.” 

“Every side is your ugly side,” Seungmin heckled. 

Sensing your tension wasn’t easing, Felix patted the side of your thigh. “Are you ready to go perform for the fans soon? I’m glad you’re back. I don’t think I’m good at singing your part.” 

He remained sprawled out over your lap. Chest pressed against your thighs. His body stretched out and he sat the point of his chin against the couch arm. Unable to help yourself, you reached out and gently patted the top of his head. 

“I saw videos from the last few concerts. You did an excellent job covering some of my parts. I should be thanking you.” 

“I couldn’t hit your notes in a few songs. Seungmin had to take over. I don’t know how you do it. My voice refuses to go that high.” 

You weakly chuckled. “I don’t know how I do it, either. I guess some voices naturally go higher than others. I don’t know how you manage to get your voice low without hurting it.” 

“That’s the magic of being me aka Lee Felix.” 

He tipped his head back and charmed you. Dimples in his cheeks and freckles scattered along the top of his nose; you’d miss this more than you thought you had. You didn’t know how you’d feel when the spotlights hit you on stage, but you knew as long as Felix was there, as long as the others were there, you’d do your best to make the guys proud. 

~ ~ ~ 

Could they see through the thin layers of your skin and the fibrous tethers of each muscle? Hidden beneath these bones, your soul sat on full display. Pairs of eyes watched you just like they had in your dreams, but it was hard to focus on them. Muscle memory kicked in and the music drowned out the anxiety for the time being. 

For a brief while, it almost felt normal. You slipped back into your usual formation for each dance. Limbs curled and swung through the air, even if you didn’t think you remembered the way your body moved, your muscles did. They knew what came next before your brain could catch up. 

Fans screamed loud when you sang your parts. Nobody had told them how much encouragement you needed, but it was like they could sense it. Perchance, it was the way you held back on stage when the others rushed forward to greet fans. You shuffled from foot-to-foot, unsure if they’d accept you back. 

To your delight, a few signs near the front had your name and words of encouragement. Your name was drawn up in delicate swirls and bold fonts. Someone held up your Skzoo when you cautiously came to the front of the stage with the help of Chan’s hand on your lower back. The moment you saw the plushie of your animal, tears instantly brimmed your lower lash line. 

You ducked your head to hide from the crowd. You threw your body forward in a grateful bow. Chan panicked and reached out, catching your hips before you face planted. At least, he thought you’d faceplant. He worried about each of the members and after the sasaeng incident, you were the one he worried about the most. 

When you stood back up and waved at the fan, they grinned wider and blew you a kiss. Touched by the interaction, a hand curled around the front of your chest, right where your heart sat. You mouthed a ‘thank you’ before you followed Chan back to the guys to start dancing to another song. 

Minutes turned to hours on the stage. You’d forgotten how much work and energy it took to perform. At the end of hour two, it felt like ten hours had passed, but you still had a bit of time to go. 

Jisung started a new bit. He grabbed Jeongin’s wrists and forced his limbs to dance against his will. The laughter of the fans rippled throughout the stadium. Seeing it was a chance to cheer you up, Hyunjin snuck out from behind you and grabbed your own wrists. 

“Dance party!” He called into his microphone. He dropped it on a nearby chair before he forced your limbs into limp motions. 

What you assumed were the motions of Chk Chk Boom were forced upon you. Your laughter filled the air, soothing each of the guys. The dullness in your eyes wasn’t gone yet, but hints of your spark were coming back. You’d missed this more than you’d realized. 

You were here for everyone to see, but right now, you didn’t care much about the fans. You were with the guys and performing to your heart’s content. All nine of you up on that stage, under the bright fluorescent lights. Somewhere from above, a stage crew focused lights on your silhouettes. 

With each burst of laughter, the tension released. The paranoia didn’t fully go away, but you managed to box it up and push it to the side. Between sips of water, you lightly teased Seungmin. He walked around behind Minho and shoved him your way. 

“Attack kitten, I choose you.” 

Fans roared at the Pokemon reference. 

Minho jerked around with a glare. He raised a fist and held it beneath Seungmin’s nose. “You know what kittens do to puppies? They fight them.” 

Seungmin’s sharp bark caught everyone off guard. 

Minho’s fist dropped and his face morphed into a look of disbelief. 

Hyunjin slapped a hand over his mouth. 

Felix raised a fist in the air and egged them on. “Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!” 

“No, no, no. Let’s keep things civil here.” Jisung strolled forward and squirmed between the two of them. “No need to fight each other. We can all get along. We’re adults, remember?” 

“Do you know what dogs and cats do to Quokkas?” Seungmin started. 

“Sick ‘em!” Minho yelled. 

Jisung shrieked loud enough to cause Jeongin to plug his ears. Fans lost it and so did you. He sprinted for his life. Seungmin and Minho chased after him. It looked like a scene straight from a movie. 

Jisung ran towards you and rushed around you. “Help me! Help me! Someone help me! STAY HELP!” 

Minho and Seungmin split, rushing him from both ends of the stage. The microphone slipped from Jisung’s hand and clattered to the floor. Even without it, his screams could be heard by the fans. Multiple cameras filmed the entire thing from different angles. 

You were next to Chan and Changbin. Both of their faces were red with laughter. You struggled to breathe from your own laughs. At some point, you reached out to grab Chan’s arm. Your stomach hurt and your lungs ached, but you couldn’t stop laughing. 

Jisung tripped just a few feet shy of Jeongin. Slipping face first, he landed straight on his stomach. He crawled forward desperately, but Minho grabbed one leg and Seungmin grabbed the other. He begged and he pleaded. 

Jeongin brought his own microphone to his lips. “Sorry, hyung. This is payback. You snuck into Chan and I’s dorm the other day and consumed the last pack of ramen I was saving.” 

Jisung’s hands pawed against the smooth stage floor. It glistened beneath the lights, but it didn’t help. Sharp squeaks were followed by his whines and groans. The pair dragged him backstage and out of sight. 

Seungmin came back breathless first. “We got him. I hope nobody here biases him, that’d be a problem.” 

Someone booed from the front, loud enough for Minho to hear behind the stage. He stormed out of the back with his hands on his hips. “Yah! Why are you booing? Quokka meat for everyone! Be grateful!” 

Something thudded behind the stage. Jisung’s voice came out weak. “I think he stole my kidneys. I can see the light.” 

Hyunjin accidentally pointed his mic to his lips right as he snorted, causing you to fall into another fit of laughter. 

Felix walked back and disappeared backstage. 

“I see the light. It’s so bright and golden. It’s like the sun. It has freckles and brown eyes and it’s speaking to me in an Australian accent for some reason? God? You’re Australian?” 

Nobody could breathe. You released your grip on Chan and slipped down to the floor, clutching your chest. Everyone’s attention stayed back on the back of the stage. Even the cameras filmed the spot where the guys disappeared into the back.

“Felix? It’s you! Thank goodness! I’ve been brutally attacked. I’m not dead? I’m just being dramatic? Well, that’s a little mean, don’t you think? I just fought for my life. It was life or death and you’re calling me dramatic.” 

By the time the two appeared from backstage, you were flat on your ass. Legs sprawled out in front of you, you sipped your bottled water. Breaths heavy from laughter, you kept your microphone to your side, so fans didn’t have to hear your panting. 

Felix appeared with his arm wrapped around Jisung’s waist. Jisung kept an arm over his shoulder. “Haha! Look at me! I survived! Quokka’s revenge!” 

“You just got lucky,” Jeongin commented. 

“Yeah, what he said.” Minho nodded in agreement. “We’ll get you next time.” 

“Next time?” 

“There’ll always be a next time,” Seungmin added. 

Jisung jerked from Felix and rushed backstage again. Felix waved his hands above his head and sprinted after him. Minho and Seungmin shared a look before hurrying after them. The rest of you glanced at each other until Chan picked up his microphone. 

“Well, you’ll have to ignore that,” Chan started. “It’s not easy running a zoo.” 

“Says the wolf,” Hyunjin whispered into his mic. 

Chan shot him a playful glare and placed a hand on his hip. Hyunjin’s hands shot up with innocence. Changbin rushed forward and held a hand out to stop Chan. “Don’t mess with the love of my life! He knows karate!” 

“No, I don’t. You’re thinking of Felix.” 

“Hypothetically,” he corrected himself, “he knows karate. He’s got good looks and he’s not afraid to windmill you!” 

“You wanna bet?” Chan started forward. He swung his fists, threatening to box Changbin. 

A shadow shifted to your left. Your breath caught and slowly released. Jeongin tugged his microphone as far away from you as he could. “How are you holding up?” 

“It’s like I never left. I’m not perfect, but I feel a lot better.” 

“I’m glad you’re back.” 

“Me too.” 

“Ice cream on me when the show is over?” 

Something flickered in your eyes. The fear hadn’t fully dissolved. Memories of your favorite old coffee shop appeared in your mind’s eye. The grinding of coffee beans, the sharp scent that awakened your body, fresh baked goods, and the sound of the camera click that crumbled everything. 

“Or maybe we can order takeout?” He quickly added, noticing the way the corners of your mouth started into a frown. 

“Sounds great.” 

“Should we head backstage to find the others?” 

“They’ll appear sooner or later.” 

And when they did, something changed. Minho must have changed tactics. Jisung and Minho had Seungmin by his legs. Felix dangled Seungmin’s hands above his head. His limp body swung as he was carried across the stage. 

Chan’s fake punches stopped being thrown at an overprotective Changbin. Hyunjin stopped cowering behind him. Their attention all turned to the trapped puppy being paraded around the stage. Despite the predicament, Seungmin didn’t complain. An oversized grin sat on his face, as if he was proud to be manhandled. 

Your body flopped over and leaned against Jeongin. He reached up and patted your head. You didn’t know how long you’d carry around the paranoia and the anxiety, but you knew things would slowly become easier. You felt it here on the stage. 

Facing things alone was terrifying, but the guys wouldn’t let you handle it alone. Even if they all had to camp out at one of the dorms together to ease your mind, they would. They’d chase away your worries while chasing after each other. 

Singing, dancing, or carrying one another beneath the bright lights, they had each other’s backs and they certainly had yours. 

You sat entertained by their antics, but little did you know, your hands finally weren’t shaking anymore.

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Seungmin wakes up the morning after with a splitting headache and a sense of regret that he can’t seem to place just yet. His mouth tastes like morning breath and alcohol, his hair feels like it’s in a million directions, and the pounding of his head only worsens as he tries to lift himself up. He flops back down helplessly, letting out a little grumble when he realizes the floor is cold. He supposes he probably should get up, but part of his brain registers that he doesn’t have anything on his schedule until late afternoon, so he lets himself lay there like a ragdoll on the floor for a little longer. 

He blinks his bleary eyes open again not even a moment later, his stomach suddenly deciding to grumble loudly, and he groans again. Of course he’s hungry right now, right when the floor was just starting to feel comfy enough to drag him back to sleep. He huffs, the headache pounds at the inside of his skull again, and the world spins as he struggles to get himself into a sitting position against the couch behind him.

He realizes with sudden clarity that this is not his and Felix’s dorm. He squints at the entertainment stand in front of him, too organized and a little too boring to be his.

“Finally awake?” A gentle voice calls from the left, and Seungmin’s head lolls as he looks over to find Chan peering at him from the kitchen, “I made breakfast. Figured your head was killing you, I’ve got your hangover coffee brewing.”

Seungmin gets a flash of a memory for a moment, of sitting down with Chan for drinks in his dorm, and then stars flash behind his eyelids and he doesn’t get the luxury of thinking anymore. He just wheezes out another groan, and Chan sighs.

“C’mon, you big baby, you did this to yourself,” Chan says, and Seungmin hears his feet thud thud thudding closer, “Up we go.”

Seungmin makes a weak sound of protest in the back of his throat, but Chan ignores him, lifting him off the ground like he weighs nothing and carrying him into the kitchen. The kitchen light is too bright too much and Seungmin whimpers, burying his face in Chan’s neck to hide from the way it scrapes against his eyes. If he was in a better headspace he’d be embarrassed, but right now Chan is warm and his head is throbbing, so Seungmin lets himself give in to some of his instincts.

He makes an unhappy noise when Chan puts him down in one of the chairs at the kitchen table, deprived of both warmth and the shoulder that was protecting his eyes from the light, but Chan just ruffles his hair and pulls away from him easily. Seungmin pouts at his back, watching as Chan carefully pours a cup of coffee for him and brings it over. His smile at Seungmin’s pouty face is almost more blinding than the light that he was hiding from before, and Seungmin has to squint to even look at him.

Chan doesn’t say a word, just slides the mug over to him and putters back off to the kitchen. He looks far too awake and alert for a guy that was also drunk last night, and Seungmin would be jealous if he had the capacity to maintain any feeling other than pain and sleepy right now. He lets his head fall to the table, hoping the dull ache from hitting his head on the wood might snap some sense into him (it doesn’t). He thinks he’s starting to drift off again to the smell of coffee and something sweet when Chan nudges his shoulder gently.

“Dude. Drink your coffee, we have lines to record later,” He reprimands, though it’s said with so much fondness it hardly lands, “Plus, I made pancakes. Please eat while they’re still warm.”

Seungmin grumbles unintelligibly but still complies. Chan settles in across from him and scrolls on his phone while he eats, glancing up at Seungmin every so often, like he’s checking in on him. It takes about half the cup of coffee for Seungmin’s head to de-fog, and the wave of embarrassment punches him in the face the second he has enough clarity to remember himself.

“...thanks for taking care of me, hyung.” He murmurs quietly, just loud enough for Chan to hear.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you~” Chan sings, cooing when Seungmin’s ears go red and he glares at him.

“Never mind! I’m never saying anything nice to you ever again,” Seungmin says, stabbing his pancake a little too hard, “You heard me just fine.”

Chan grins, and reaches across the table to try to ruffle his hair again. This time, Seungmin’s awake enough to smack his hand away and give him a deadpan glare, which just makes Chan’s snort, nose crinkling and eyes disappearing into half-crescents. He leans his chin on his hand instead as he stares Seungmin down, still smiling.

“You’re so cute, Seungmo!” He coos, giggling when Seungmin’s face scrunches in displeasure, “Aegyo, look at you! You’re getting all red, my blushy little dongsaeng~”

“Shut up, hyung,” Seungmin huffs, “Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Than take care of my dongsaeng? Never,” Chan says, with such sincerity that Seungmin finds it hard to keep playing like he doesn’t like Chan’s attention, “Seungmin’s much more important than whatever else I need to do.”

That’s just code for “I already did all the work I could physically do”, because Seungmin knows for a fact that Chan prioritizes work over just about everything. Still, the sentiment is nice, so he just rolls his eyes, avoiding Chan’s eyes.

“Thank you, hyung,” he says, as sincerely as he can grit out, “You do too much for us.”

Chan makes a pleased little sound, and Seungmin looks over long enough to catch him smiling at Seungmin with that same, annoying fondness that he heard in his voice earlier. Seungmin rolls his eyes again, and they finish breakfast in a comfortable silence.

Chan reminds him to be on time to the studio later as he sees him out (as if Seungmin has ever been late), and Seungmin takes the short walk back to his own dorm, head no longer pounding and legs only a little uncoordinated. Thank god for Channie hyung, he muses, and notes that he should probably thank him properly later. Not with words - god forbid Seungmin uses his words - but with something else. The stupid dinky keychain Chan had been looking at on his phone the other day ends up getting ordered, despite how “dumb” Seungmin had told him it looked, and he thinks he’ll grab some of the snacks that Chan likes from the convenience store before he drops into the studio.

He opens Google to look up the convenience store’s hours (he can’t imagine they aren’t open in the middle of the day, but Seungmin likes to be sure) and that’s when he sees it.

Why the hell is Pornhub open on my phone? He thinks, blinking down at his phone like it’s cursed. It must be, because he watches in rapt horror as a guy in what seems to be dog ears humps against someone’s foot. No one’s in the dorm but him, but Seungmin still scrambles to click his phone off, embarrassment heating his face. He misses, though, fingers slippery in their desperation, and instead the volume clicks up up up, and he can hear the voices of the two people on screen.

“Such a dirty boy, humping my shoe like a dog.”

Seungmin shivers, the condescending tone of the person above the boy on screen making his stomach do a weird flip. The boy with the ears on whimpers, tongue lolling out and eyes rolling back as his hips kick up, and Seungmin watches with wide eyes as he begs to come. Slurred pleas and little “mong mong”s slip out of his mouth, and the person above him reaches down to loop two fingers into the thick collar he’s wearing, giving it one solid tug.

“Come.”

Seungmin doesn’t realize the whine that he heard didn’t come from the screen until he snaps back into himself and turns the volume back down, shutting his phone off in a hurry. The sound of his own noise hovers in the air, but he tries to ignore it. He catches his reflection in the black of his phone screen, mouth parted in a little ‘o’ and cheeks flushed scarlet, and he drops his phone, not wanting to see himself any longer.

Everything from last night comes back in a flash, from the way that Chan bristled when he passed him the phone to the way that heat curled up his spine when Chan had called him a mutt. He groans to himself, sound echoing off the too empty walls of the dorm. He knows he gets a little…risque, when he’s drunk, but he figured he had it together enough to not go and show Chan porn on his phone! The petplay stuff had only been on his mind because he had found a pair of cat ears in Jisung’s room the other day when he had asked to borrow a charger. Jisung had told him that he could just go grab one, so Seungmin had gone digging in the drawer that Jisung said it would be in, only to find a sleek pair of cat ears in there, right next to the cord he needed. He had half the mind to grab them and wear them out, make some joke about how he couldn’t find the charger but had found something far more interesting, but then he thought about the blackmail they would have if they got a picture of him in those things, and let them be.

Doesn’t mean he let it go, though. No, the second he made it into the living room where Jisung and Minho were perched, he opened his dumb mouth, ready to make a little fun of them.

“So which one of you is the Discord kitten?” He says bluntly, not even looking over at the two of them as he goes to plug his phone into the wall.

“What?” Jisung says, and he hears Minho sputter on his water.

“You heard me,” Seungmin says absentmindedly, huffing when he tries to insert the USB end in the wrong way, still not looking back, “Which one of you is the kitten?”

He had expected some sort of silly joke, assuming that the cat ears were just a gag gift or left over from a fan sign, but the sharp silence dragged out a little too long, and Seungmin tilted his head to look at the two of them lazily.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he said, eyebrows furrowing, “It’s not my fault you put the cat ears right next to the phone charger.”

Minho hisses something into Jisung’s ear quietly, too quiet for Seungmin to catch, but he watches the way that Minho’s ears go bright red and his grip on Jisung’s hand tightens dramatically. Minho looks like he wants to bury himself in a hole and disappear forever, and Seungmin doesn’t quite understand-

“Geez, you go around asking about everybody’s sex life like that, Seungmin-ah?” Jisung says sheepishly, yelping when Minho jabs at him, “What? No point in denying it now.”

Oh.

“...what?” Seungmin responds, bewildered. “I just- I assumed they were a joke thing-”

“It’s called pet play, my dear dongsaeng,” Jisung says, suddenly confident now that Seungmin’s turning red, too, “So basically, Minho puts on the ears and a collar and sometimes even a tail-oooww!”

Minho slaps a hand over Jisung’s mouth and digs his fingers into his side, cheeks on fire and looking anywhere but Seungmin. Not that Seungmin would know, because the spot behind Jisung’s head is suddenly very interesting, and he can’t seem to look at either of them.

“I’m barely younger than you, don’t call me dongsaeng,” he huffs, putting himself on the furthest end of the couch from the duo, “I didn’t know it was a sex thing. Please don’t tell me about your sexcapades, because, for the last time, I do not want to know.”

Minho had cut the conversation off there (before Jisung blabbed any more about their sex life, thank god), and Seungmin had pretended not to think about it for a few days. Unfortunately, his natural curiosity got the better of him, and the night before he and Chan had gotten drunk together, he had been browsing the internet. For research purposes, obviously, because Seungmin didn’t like that he didn’t actually know what the hell Jisung had been talking about. He had made it seem like such common knowledge that Seungmin had felt a little dumb, and if there’s anything that Seungmin hates, well, it’s feeling dumb, so he had to go digging for answers himself. He sure as hell wasn’t going to ask Jisung, because it gives Jisung the satisfaction of knowing something he doesn’t, and it also means that Seungmin’s going to learn way more about his and Minho’s sex life than he would ever want to know. He pictures Minho in the cat ears again for a breath and throws up a little in his mouth.

Which is why it had been a little fresh on his mind, he supposes, and why he had even remembered it enough to drunkenly bring it up to Chan last night. He groans again, and thinks that he has to get Chan even more snacks now, because he deserves a thank you and an apology. Seungmin vows to act like he completely forgot that they ever had that conversation, and he just prays that Chan’s in the same boat. He’s in luck, because when he gets to the studio, Chan doesn’t act like anything’s wrong, so far in leader mode that he’s trying to refuse Seungmin’s snack offering because they “aren’t good before singing, Seungminnie!” Seungmin huffs, but the tension in his shoulder dissipates, and he tries not to ever think about the stupid porn video he showed Chan ever again.

It’s a few days later when his brain decides to bring it back into his mind.  Mostly because it’s been plaguing his dreams, and you’ve been picking up on his weird energy.

“What’s bothering you? You’re a little space-y, lately.” You had asked him earnestly over dinner the other night, and Seungmin had acted unsure, so you dropped it.

…but then he had another wet dream that following night, and he thinks he knows that, certainly, that must be the problem.

Seungmin’s not the type to have that kind of dream in the first place - he has a partner who has sex with him on the regular, and his brain doesn’t have to get that kind of desperate anymore - so it throws him off kilter. He can never remember what the dreams were about either, just can feel the aftermath of sticky underwear and hear the soft curl of your voice, taunting him from his dreams. He wakes up one morning and his neck feels empty, and he scratches at it until he’s awake enough to snap himself out of it. Another night, he wakes up with his own fingers pressed into his mouth, dried spit coating his hand, arm, and pillow. It’s gross, and he takes an extra long shower after he drags himself out of bed (much to Felix’s chagrin, who whines about the hot water being lukewarm later). The third night he wakes up with his pillow between his legs, fingers desperately curled into it to pull it closer. 

The stupid video he showed Chan continues to haunt him, and Seungmin comes to the conclusion that maybe his subconscious is trying to get him to spice things up in the bedroom a little bit. You’re by no means completely vanilla in the sex you have with Seungmin, but something like petplay was out of the range of the things you’ve done. Seungmin wonders if the two of you are vanilla, considering that Seungmin didn’t even know what petplay was until Jisung brought it up. Though he gets the feeling that anyone is vanilla compared to Han Jisung, so he pushes that thought away.

He only lasts one more day before he’s nervously looking up “petplay” again. He did a full sweep of the dorm first, making sure Felix was 1000% not home right now, and then locks his bedroom door and slips his headphones on. One incognito tab later, he’s looking at the same boy he had been that night. He finds that it’s a different video from the same creator, but it evokes the same response in him - a deep, curling heat settles in his stomach, his head feels fuzzy, and his cock leaks in interest. Seungmin doesn’t even realize he’s pressing his palm into the outline of his cock and grinding up until the video autoplays to a different one, and he feels the stickiness of his own precum on his hand. 

There’s a sense of shame that hangs over his head as he keeps exploring, and he wonders if it’s because he’s exploring this without you. Surely that must be it, but this sort of thing can’t just be sprung on you. Seungmin needs to do the proper research, figure out all the nooks and crannies of the kink before he even considers bringing you into it with him. He would never want to hurt you, after all, so that’s why the “one night” exploration turns into a nightly ritual. Doors locked, headphones on, incognito tab pulled up to his favorite creator - a different guy than the one he showed Chan, mostly because he’s more vocal than the first guy - and Seungmin’s grinding up into his palm again, watching with rapt eyes as the boy on screen gets treated like a stupid dog.

He imagines you in that position, at his feet. He imagines you with cute little dog ears on that match your hair, a collar that has his name engraved on the back, a little plug stretching you open, a short tail connected to it. It’s not as satisfying as watching the guy in the videos, but Seungmin chalks that up to his poor imagination and the fact that it would feel so much better to do it to you in person.

One of the nights Seungmin brings his laptop to his bed, sick of jerking off in his desk chair like a total loser. He’s not really sure he can even call it “jerking off” anymore, not with the way he’s painting the inside of his boxers white just from humping into his own palm, but he tries not to think about it. I’m just playing into the dynamic of the videos, he reasons with himself, nothing wrong with that. It’s not like he’s actually interested in being the one at your feet. He’s sure he would want it to be the other way around.

He’s snapped back into reality when a sharp moan rings out in his ears, and the puppy boy on screen is fucking into a soft, stuffed rabbit. Seungmin’s breath catches, and he’s swarmed with how good it must feels, to fuck your cock against something so nice and soft. Something so innocent getting all tarnished with your precum, until you stain it white with your release like a mutt. 

He’s panting without realizing it, body shifting to mimic the boy on the screen. But he has no plush rabbit to fuck, and he rolls his hips into the air with a soft whine, cock straining and red already just from watchin the boy on screen hump his stuffed bunny. His hips follow the motions, but it’s not enough, and his fingers are fumbling around the bed, frantic, eyes unable to look anywhere but the screen. The person off-screen laughs, high and tinkling, as the boy can’t seem to keep a steady rhythm.

“Puppy’s so desperate that he can’t even get himself off? Do I really need to help you with everything, you dumb mutt?”

Seungmin slips a pillow under him and whines along with the boy on screen, the friction finally enough, and his hips start to hump at their own rhythm. It’s almost uncontrollable how he humps them against the soft fabric of the pillow case, hips uncoordinated and frantic, heat curling in his abdomen as the person off-screen steps into frame, arms curling around the desperate boy and helping him guide his hips.

“That feel better, pup? Just needed someone to help you, hmm? So dumb puppy, there we go…”

Their voice trails off as they take control of the boy’s pace, nipping gently at a sensitive spot below his ear just to make him squirm. Seungmin squirms along with him, and he can feel the ghost of your breath on his neck, can feel your fingers digging into his hips, and hear your voice in his ears, and-

“Come.”

He knows, logically, that it’s the person on the other side of the screen saying it, but his mind is muddled, filled with cotton and puppy thoughts like hump and mate, and he swears that it’s your voice ringing in his ears, telling him to come. He pants, hips unable to stop even after the burn of overstimulation sinks in, because he hasn’t been told to stop. His face feels wet, tears streaking down his cheeks and mixing with the drool sneaking out of the corner of his mouth, but he’s too floaty to feel anything other than pleasure.

He doesn’t know how many times he comes that night, but he knows it’s a lot, because his underwear and the pillow underneath him are stained with his cum, and he wrinkles his nose when the pillowcase all of crunches when he becomes conscious enough to shift off of it. He immediately strips it and tosses all of cum-stained nonsense into his hamper, praying that there’s never a world where his room goes under black light any time soon.

There’s that flare of shame again, swirling in the pits of his stomach, but he once again presses it down, deadset on ignoring it until it disappears. He’s done his research now, really, and he’s probably over-qualified at this point in regards to puppy play. He tried to watch a kitty play video once, but he remembers the ears at Minho and Jisung’s dorm, remembers how he imagined Minho would look in them, and gets sick to his stomach all over again. So he sticks to the puppy play stuff, telling himself every time when the post-nut clarity starts to set in that it’s just because he wants to try it with you.

He likes to think that his recent…escapades aren’t affecting his performance in the bedroom with you. In the beginning, they really aren’t, because he’s only breached the surface of his curiosity. It’s just a thing that his pervert hyung and his equally perverted other hyung are into, and he wants to see what the hype is about. 

But the further he descends into it, when the nightly ritual becomes a necessary part of his bedtime routine, the more you’re picking up on some sort of shift. And it’s really subtle, at first. Seungmin had always been a dominant force with you in the bedroom, but he’d openly expressed on multiple occasions that one of his favorite things you did in the bedroom was fight back.

“I like a brat,” he had told you once, grinning when your cheeks flushed, “It makes it so much more fun to break them.”

Sometimes, he does need total control, and you get that - when things feel completely out of control, it’s nice to have control of one thing, even if it’s only for the night. But most nights, he wants that fight, wants to watch that spark in your eye dim to a glassy haze as your thoughts get muddled and your mind turns to mush under his harsh fingers. He’s not a gentle lover, and you love it, love the way that you can fight tooth and nail and still end up pressed into the sheets, pleading with him for more.

So, naturally, any shift in this dynamic would be noticeable to you. You notice right away when Seungmin gets a little…worse at controlling your bratting. You don’t necessarily think he’s bad at it, per se, but it takes him longer to reel you in, and sometimes, when you use your body weight to roll the two of you over and pin him to the bed, his eyes get a little glassy, his breath a little shorter. Before, he’d give you that lazy grin and make you grind against him, nice and slow, hands on your hips to guide your pace, and laugh as you cried for more. He’d watch you through hooded eyes, buck his hips up to meet you every once and a while just to tease, and keep your hips in that bruising grip of his. His lithe frame makes him look weak, but the years of dancing have treated him well, and he’s got the kind of subtle muscle that makes it hard to fight back against him. 

But recently, that muscle doesn’t come out to play as often. When you flip the two of you, he lets you have your way for a little too long, fingers loose around your hips as you grind at your own pace, chasing a peak that you’re hoping he won’t let you hit, because you want to come around his cock, not in your underwear. He lets you fight his hands to the side of his head with a hitched breath, your fingers digging into his wrists as you hump against him. 

Seungmin had hinted at being a little bit of a switch very early on into your relationship and hadn’t brought it up since, so you had assumed the dynamic you had was where he wanted to be, but his recent behaviour makes you think otherwise. You don’t mind the shift - it makes your playful fighting feel more even, and it makes him a little meaner once he does decide to be dominant - but it’s never been addressed, and it’s confusing you a little bit.

You think the strangest part is that he doesn’t seem to notice it right away. It’s as if he’s a little less present in those moments where he slips up, and they’re purged from his mind by the time that the two of you are done with your fun for the night. He’s the same old Seungmin before and after those moments, as if the little hints of something aren’t slipping through the cracks. He’s hard to read, but you like to think that you’re getting good at it, and you really do think that he doesn’t notice the way your dynamic is shifting.

Or, if he does, he’s doing a very, very good job at hiding it. There’s no telltale signs of typical Seungmin shenanigans - no slight smirks, no tilts of the head, no ears turning red, no anything that would indicate that Seungmin himself is aware of the shift.

Seungmin only thinks you’re catching on to his newfound fascination when he catches you watching an edit of him on the couch. He slots his head next to yours from over the back of the couch, grinning when you jump and try to angle your phone away.

“What’re you watchin’?” he asks, “Edits of your handsome, sexy boyfriend?”

“Edits of my cute boyfriend,” you counter, already sick of his nonsense, “Look at this one. They’re comparing you to a puppy here!”

You play the video for him, cooing when they show old fan meet videos of him in Pochacco hoods or with dog ears on. Seungmin’s not really watching, not when there’s static filling his ears, his mind grabbing on to the way you said puppy so easily. He inherently knows you aren’t calling him that, but it still makes something he can’t place swirl in his stomach. He wonders how it would feel rolling off of his tongue, if it would sound as pretty as when you say it, as intoxicating as the way the word sounds when your mouth’s the one forming the shape.

“Puppy Seungminnie is so cute,” you coo, “We should get you one of these cute hoodies for home!”

“A-absolutely not.” He retorts, but even he can hear the way his voice falters, the way it sounds almost frail right now.

“Why nooooot?” You whine, tilting your head to look at him, and then grinning.

You reach a finger up to poke at his cheeks, amused, and he puffs them out at you just to see you grin even bigger. You squish his cheeks between your thumb and forefinger in response, gently shaking his head.

“Aw, are you embarrassed?” You say, giggling, not noticing the way that Seungmin’s cheeks are heating up under your fingers.

“‘m not,” he mumbles, though it comes out muffled from the way you’re squishing his face, “Let me go.”

You release him with a sigh, stretching languidly off the couch, “Shame you won’t get one. I want to have puppy Seungmin at home, too, not just at fan meets I can’t attend.”

“Stop calling me that.” He says, nose crinkling, ears red, and you drop it.

That very night, when Seungmin’s performing his now-daily ritual of humping his pillow until his brain’s melting out of his ears, he finds himself scrolling through an online store. He’d been doing a little research on the side, on safe websites to buy the sort of gear he’s interested in, and the website he’s on right now is probably the top recommended one. He finds a pair of nice, floppy ears that come as a set with a tail plug, the reviews all affirming how soft the fur is, and he must still be hazy in the afterglow, because he’s adding it to his cart without a second thought. The color isn’t really your hair color - if he looked long enough, he’d realize just how close to his current hair it is - but he likes the look of it, and the plug seems to be right in that middle ground between too small and too big, so Seungmin thinks it’s a good one to start with. 

He places the order before he can second guess it, and then, before he can use the rational part of his brain to stop himself, he opens another tab. This website is chock full of collars, or varying sizes and colors, but he keeps it simple - just a plain black collar with a silver loop at the front, the perfect size to slip a few fingers through and pull with. He rubs at his own neck subconsciously, thinking about how the collar would feel - would feel on you. Certainly not on himself. That’s not why he was doing all of this research. He was doing this for you, because he’s just such a good boyfriend. There were no ulterior motives underlying his actions, certainly not.

He forgets about the order pretty quickly, too caught up in schedules and you and his little nighttime ritual. He misses it one night because of a long dance rehearsal, Minho unable to let them leave the practice room until they got the choreo perfect, and Seungmin’s cranky the whole next day, snapping at anyone and everyone. Chan has to pull him aside and tell him to get his shit together to get Seungmin to, well…get his shit together. It’s embarrassing, and Seungmin thinks he needs to break his new nighttime habit before it becomes an issue down the line, when they’re touring and he can’t exactly go ham on a hotel pillow.

And then, two discrete boxes show up outside the dorm. It’s perfect timing, really - Felix is gone for the next three days for some fashion ambassador thing Seungmin should’ve asked more questions about - and when Seungmin opens the mystery packages and sees the results of his post-nut clarity not hitting him fast enough, well, he’s not complaining.

The reviews hadn’t lied, he notes, as he rubs the fur between his fingers. It’s incredibly soft, and Seungmin spends a little too long just petting at it before he snaps out of it. The collar is in the smaller of the two boxes, kept in a box within the box, and Seungmin carefully slides it out of the packaging, inspecting it. The silver loop glints in the light of his kitchen, and he admires the feel of the leather, just soft enough not to burn but tough enough to feel. That edge of pain is something he knows both of you enjoy, so the collar is perfect. All of the gear is perfect.

…the only issue Seungmin sees is that it hasn’t been tested yet. How will he know how good it’ll make you feel if he doesn’t try it out himself? Obviously, this is a very reasonable conclusion for him to make, and he pats himself on the back as he gathers all of the new toys and brings them to his bedroom. He’s really boyfriend of the year material, testing out the toys he bought for you on himself first to make sure they’re of good quality. You should give him an award, truly. What if it’s a bad batch, and the metal of the plug actually melts inside of you somehow? He can’t have that happen.

Which is why he’s slipping himself out of his clothes in the bedroom, new toys placed carefully on the bed. He’s home alone for a while, so he doesn’t feel any shame when he has to go to the bathroom to clean himself up a little and decides to leave his clothes in the bedroom.

He showers and cleans himself up, unused to the strange pressure inside of him as he does. It’s not terrible, per se, but it’s not a feeling he’s used to, and the fullness makes him a little dizzy, but he cleans himself out dutifully. He has to make sure that this test run is as accurate as possible for your sake, of course. 

He fluffs his damp hair up and loosely wraps the towel around himself once he’s done, padding back to his own bedroom carelessly. How lucky was he to be home alone on a free day? Seungmin loves Felix to death, but there’s something magical about having the space to himself today. Especially when his pretty toys came in the mail. He thinks absentmindedly that he should invite you over later, take you over the surfaces of the house he usually wouldn’t dare to with Felix home. He files that away for later, a pleasant hum of arousal under his skin right now a more pressing matter.

The ears fit his head perfectly as he slips them on, and he feels a little lighter when they settle on his head. They’ve got just enough weight on them for him to know they’re there, but not so much so that they feel heavy on his head. He grabs the well-loved bottle of lube from his nightstand and gets onto the sheets, on his hands and knees. His only frame of reference for how the puppies always get opened up for their plug is just like this - presenting like a bitch in heat, ass high in the air and face pressed into the sheets. Seungmin likes the way it feels, how exposed he feels like this. He can feel himself slipping away as he teases a lubed finger around his rim, shivering at how cold it feels against him. Gently, ever so gently, he slips a finger in. 

It hurts. Seungmin barely gets the first finger in before he’s hissing in pain, the length and girth of just one of his fingers enough to burn. He figured cleaning himself out earlier would’ve kept him nice and loose, but he supposes since he’s never been opened up before, it’s not a surprise that he’s so tight again already. He takes a shaky breath - in through the nose, out through the mouth - and convinces his body to relax. 

Once he can breathe evenly again and there’s no burning sensation left, Seungmin carefully curls his finger, exploring. The pleasant feeling of fullness returns, although it’s not as pleasant as before, and he lets his finger slide out slowly, and then back in. It feels…good, he supposes, but almost like something is missing. He pushes in and out, feeling the squeezing of his walls around his finger, but it’s still not quite right.

He hears a whining sound, pitiful and weak, and he whips his head around only to realize that the sound is coming out of his mouth. He makes another weak sound at that, finger sliding a little more desperately not that he knows he can take it, but it’s still not enough. He desperately presses in a second lubed finger, and his eyes roll back in his head.

The fullness is better now, though not perfect, and the stretch has become a pleasant burn. Seungmin finds he can start moving the two fingers far faster than he got just the one moving, and the presence of a second finger has given him the ability to scissor himself open even wider. He moans at the sensation, voice almost unrecognizable in pitch, and it makes him squirm. He neglected cock leaks between his legs, but he doesn’t even consider touching it, too busy trying to stretch himself open wide enough for a third finger.

He slips the third finger in and he thinks he ascends. He wonders how the plug is going to feel, if just three fingers is enough to have his eyes rolling back in his skull and weak little sounds getting punched out of him. Little ah ah ah!s sneak out of his mouth as his fingers get a little harsher in their thrusts, too desperate now to keep the pace slow. He curls his fingers again, still exploratory in the throws of his pleasure, and oh.

There’s a little place inside of him that feels different under his fingers, but he doesn’t have long to think about it, because he presses down as hard as he can, and he’s coming. It’s like an instinctual reaction, and Seungmin drools all over the sheets and wails as he keeps pressing down on that spot, milking himself for all he’s worth. It feels so insanely good that Seungmin thinks for a moment that surely he must’ve died, because nothing is meant to feel that kind of good. It’s a full body experience, the little spot inside of him sending sparks through every limb and pure heat up his spine. He feels like he’s on fire, panting as he presses that spot again and again, addicted to the pleasure that’s blurring his thoughts. He’s hard again already, body protesting but Seungmin doesn’t care, because it feels too good, and he doesn’t want to think about anything other than feeling good.

He peels his eyes open now (when had he closed them?) just to catch the glint of the metal plug next to his head. Seungmin remembers fuzzily that the whole point of stuffing his fingers in himself had been to slip the pretty plug that matches his ears in, so he begrudgingly pulls his fingers out and reaches for the smooth metal.

It’s still cold under his fingers, and it makes Seungmin shiver when he gently runs the tip around his rim. If he were inserting this into you, Seungmin would tease and make you beg for it. Hold it against your rim with just enough pressure for you to feel it, but never let it breach your hole. Rub the metal around until the cool surface has gone warm from the heat of your skin, and your cheeks are streaked with tears.

But Seungmin feels so impatient. Is this how you always feel? He feels so needy, like he’s going to die if he doesn’t get the plug inside of him right now. Fortunately for him, he’s the one in control of the plug, and he presses it into himself frantically, craving that fullness that he was missing without his fingers stuffed inside of him.

He makes an embarrassing sound, something between a moan and a squeal, as he pushes the whole thing in. And maybe he was too impatient, because the flare of the plug is definitely bigger than his fingers, and he sobs as it stretches him open far wider than he had been stretched before. It hurts, but it hurts so good, and he pushes it all the way in with a nasty squelch! Excess lube dribbles down his balls, but he doesn’t care, because the plug is inside him, and the pressure is so sickeningly good that he can’t think of anything else. 

He wiggles his hips a bit with the intent to feel the plug pressing against his guts, but it serves to also make the soft fur of the tail brush against the back of his thighs, and Seungmin feels a dopey grin stretch across his face. He clenches around the plug, and the feeling makes him squeak again. 

He feels hot all over, brain muddled and empty, and he fumbles for his favorite pillow. His fingers feel almost useless, bumbling and pawing at the pillow to drag it to the middle of the bed, like he’s a real dog. It makes him shiver, which makes it hard to move the pillow, but he wants to feel good, so he fights through the fog to drag the pillow to the center of the bed.

He straddles it easily, body moving on instinct as he gets ready to hump his pillow, like he has for the past who knows how many nights. It feels different now, dirtier, as every swing of his hips to grind his cock down shifts the thick plug inside of him and swaying the tail behind him. He can feel the plug brush that spot inside of him again, and his hips pick up their pace, trying to find the angle that makes the plug kiss against that sweet spot over and over.

He can’t find it though, not when his thrusts are so sloppy and uneven. He can’t build a pace when his head is full of cotton, can’t even really think, but he still whimpers when he can’t get the plug to make him feel as good as he knows it could.

He is still dragging closer to the edge with ease, but it still feels incomplete. He buries his face in the sheets in front of him, humping harder and sloppier, but it still doesn’t feel quite right. He’s missing something. He's missing you here, you, who’s meant to boss him around, who’s supposed to guide his hips and make sure he feels good. His imagination isn’t enough, and so he just continues to teeter on that edge, feeling naked and weak and too good but not enough. It’s cruel and unusual, he bemoans, hips slowing to a deeper grind when he starts to feel too dumb to keep up the fast pace he was maintaining before.

He still has that feeling of nakedness about him, and he shoves three of his fingers in his own mouth to placate it. It satiates him some, but it’s not enough. He feels raw, like a lightning rod in the middle of a storm, just waiting to be struck. He sobs around his fingers, drool all over his fingers and his hand and the pillow below him, and he drags his other hand to his neck.

The collar.

That’s what he’s missing. The emptiness is radiating from his neck, and he needs it. Needs it more than he needs to come now, even though he knows that, surely, the feeling of the collar around his neck will push him over the edge. He fumbles around the bed, but there’s nothing. He doesn’t feel it, can’t hear it shift over the sound of his own whining and humping, so he’s forced to open his eyes and slow his hips down.

“Looking for this?” A voice cuts through, and it’s as if a bucket of ice water has been dumped over Seungmin’s head.

Because you’re here, in his room, fingers looped through the pretty metal of the collar as you dangle it above his head with a mean grin. 

– – –

In your defense, you hadn’t walked in on him on purpose. Your meeting that was supposed to take up your whole afternoon got cancelled suddenly, and in the name of not having to pay you for five hours of nothing, your boss had “graciously” sent you home (how kind). You had thought about texting Seungmin, inviting him out for lunch or something to fill the void of your usually busy hours, but you knew it would be far more fun to surprise him. It was his day off after all, and Felix was out in Paris for a fashion show with a complicated French name you couldn’t say, so you imagine you and Seungmin could have some fun tonight. You always felt bad for when the two of you had to kick Felix out of the dorm for the night, your apartment walls a little too thin for you to have him over at yours instead.

So, obviously, you had come straight to their dorm, letting yourself in with the spare key that Seungmin had given you. Felix had joked that you’re the unofficial third roommate, and you had laughed, jokingly telling him that you would be taking his room when you made it official.

That was what you were thinking about when you walked into the dorm. It’s oddly empty without Felix, but you don’t even hear the usual hum of the TV from the other room, or the sound of…well, anything.

“Minnie?” You call, not very loud.

Maybe he’s still asleep, you muse, secretly hoping that he is. A good nap with your boyfriend and maybe some cuddlefucking afterwards sounded like a dream.

You walk further into the house, and there’s still no one. The living room is empty, the pillows still arranged perfectly, and you frown. A peek into the kitchen reveals the same eerie emptiness that filled the living room space, although there’s at least signs of life here. Two freshly open packages are set on the table, and your curiosity wins, because you’re peeking into them, curious fingers prying them open.

They’re empty, the only things left bubble wrap and a little generic “thank you for supporting a small business!” note that reveals nothing about what was inside the box. You dig around a bit, but there’s really nothing to reveal their contents to you, so you give up, your curiosity only bigger. What could Seungmin have ordered that he had to try right away? That had him so excited that he hadn’t even bothered to break down the boxes for recycling? 

You hear a muffled sound echo through the apartment, what sounds almost like a whimper, and things click into place. Your boyfriend, who’s been acting weird, who’s been acting a little more submissive, whose empty packages are starting to seem deliberately discrete, is in his bedroom right now. You wonder how he’s spread out, what kind of toy he’s gotten for himself. You wonder if he heard you come in, or if he was too lost in his own pleasure to hear the door unlock or the sound of your voice. So you tiptoe down the hall to his room to see, quiet as you creak his door open.

And oh, what a sight he is.

You had expected that maybe he had gotten himself a fun toy, maybe a little pocket pussy to fuck his hips up into and pretend it was your hole squeezing him instead. Maybe a vibrator, the kind that has the pulsing settings that are perfecting for edging. You certainly hadn’t expected all of this. A pretty puppy, rutting into his pillow and whining like a bitch in heat? You were spoiled. You must’ve been a saint in your past life to have earned the sight in front of you right now.

He’s so in his own world that, even when you close the door behind you and walk over to the bed, he doesn’t hear you. His eyes are screwed shut, his mouth is open, and he’s whining as he pathetically ruts into his pillow below him. His hip movements are so uncontrolled, so unlike the usual Seungmin you know, and it sends a sick thrill running up your spine. A pretty tail swishes behind him with every thrust, a stark contrast against the white of the sheets and the pillow below it, and you want to reach out and give it a tug. You restrain yourself, content to just watch until he feels your eyes on him, but then the glint of something silver on the bed catches your eyes, and you reach out to grab it, watching Seungmin carefully as you do.

In your fingers you find a leather collar, black in color, a silver metal ring at the front that catches the light and makes it shine. You twirl it a few times, feeling it out, and find that it’s the perfect size to use to yank the wearer back. You give it a nice tug, and you find that it holds under pressure.

A louder whimper tears out of Seungmin’s throat, something more akin to a sob, and you turn your full attention back to him. His fingers are exploring the sheets blindly, searching, and you realize with glee that he’s searching for the little piece of leather that’s in your palm right now. His hand sweeps the sheets again, and you watch his eyebrows crinkle in frustration, tears streaking down his cheeks. And, well, you’re not mean. As you watch him crack his eyes open, you open your mouth to speak.

“Looking for this?” You coo, voice sugary sweet, and you watch a flurry of emotions sweep across his face.

Fear is the one you pick out first, and the most prominent one. There’s heat crawling up his cheeks that you can pin on embarrassment, but the genuine terror in his eyes makes you take a step back, dropping your facade for just a moment so he knows it’s okay.

“You know the color system and our nonverbal signals, jagi, if you don’t want to keep going,” you say firmly, looking right into his eyes, “I’m into this, okay? If it’s too sudden, we can step back and talk about it later. I can still help you get off, or I can leave the room and you can finish yourself off.”

You watch him juggle your words in his mind, watch his throat bob as he thinks about what he wants to do. He sits a little too long, though, and you can see the embarrassment start to dominate his features, so you cut in before he can try and take something away from himself that he wants.

“What’s your color, puppy?”

It’s a cruel trick, pulling out the name now. You know it is, know from the way that he keens high in his throat like he can’t help it that it’s mean, but you don’t care. You’re getting turned on now, too, heat curling in your gut as he gives you his biggest puppy eyes, you watch the way his hesitance fades away at the name. He’s still red, and still too far in his head for your liking, but you’ve got time to change it.

“I asked you a question, pretty,” you say, voice sharper than you mean it to be, “I expect an answer.”

He swallows big again, pressing his eyes closed like he doesn’t want to say it. He knows he doesn’t have to say it - knows he can use your signals instead if he really can’t get the words out - but he opens his mouth anyways.

“...g-green.”

It’s so quiet you barely hear it, but you can see it in the way that the blush spreads all the way down his chest, his tanned skin turning a patchy red under the intensity of your gaze. You sigh, reaching a hand out to cup his chin and make him look at you. He squirms at first, resisting, but your fingers press a little harder at his jaw, and he goes slack in your hold, allowing you to guide his face to look at yours.

“Good. If that ever changes, you let me know immediately. Understood?”

He nods as best he can in your bruising grip, and you shake your head.

“Words, puppy.”

“Yes, I understand.”

His voice is still quiet, tinged with nerves and what sounds almost like shame. You’re confident that the shame won’t be lasting much longer, not if you have anything to say about it. You nod once, satisfied, and then drop his face from your grip. He makes a confused sound, a little whine in the back of his throat, and immediately chokes it down, head tilting away from you again now that you’ve freed him from your hold. 

You step back and strip yourself of your clothes quickly, not wanting to keep him waiting too long. The idea of him begging for your touch is certainly appealing, but you’re hoping this isn’t a one time deal, so (hopefully) there'll be plenty of chances for you to make him beg in the future.

“I have some rules for you, puppy,” you say, watching him with lidded eyes as you slowly slide your pants down, “Are you listening?”

He nods, and then opens his mouth to speak, but you cut him off.

“From here on out, you will not speak unless I’m asking for your color, because dumb puppies like you don’t speak, do they?” you interject, watching fresh heat spread across his face as his eyes widen a fraction, “And you will not come until I’ve allowed you to. And don’t touch that pathetic cock unless I give you permission, okay? That’s not yours to play with, it’s mine.”

He chokes out a whine and nods shakily, fists clenching and unclenching in the sheets. He’s still got his legs straddling the pillow below him, and you watch with glee as he tries to press his thighs together but can’t, the pillow keeping him from getting even a sliver of the friction he craves. He makes another tiny sound, and looks up at you with teary eyes, waiting.

“So pretty, jagi.” You say, and you can’t resist him, because you’re leaning forward to press your mouth to his.

It’s the sloppiest kiss you’ve ever had with Seungmin, all teeth and tongue. He licks into your mouth eagerly when your lips part, and it’s like he’s never kissed anyone before, let alone you. His tongue pokes and prods at everything he can reach, swiping across your teeth and your lips like he doesn’t care where it ends up. You can feel the way that drool is escaping out of the corner of his lips, and you pull away to lick a stripe up his neck and chin, collecting his lost spit and kissing it back into his mouth. 

You’re used to his deep groans and little sighs, so how loud he is already is a shock. Every brush of your hand, every tilt of your head makes him squeak and moan below you. You haven’t even touched him yet and he’s so worked up, and it has that familiar burn of arousal spreading through your veins faster than you’d like to admit.

You pull back to admire your handwork. Seungmin’s eyes are a little more unfocused now, his cheeks dusted a rosy pink, and there’s drool streaking a trail down his chin and neck. You’re unsure if it’s his, yours, or a mix of both, and you reach a hand forward to thumb at the corner of his mouth absentmindedly, cooing when his lips part instinctively. You slip your thumb into his mouth and watch him suck on it lazily, looking up at you through his lashes. Your other hand still holds the collar between it, and you bring it up into his line of sight.

“Can I collar you, puppy?” You ask, and watch him swallow nervously again, “We don’t have to, jagi. I just think you’d look so pretty with a collar around your neck. Next time, I want to get you a little tag with your name on it, so it’ll jingle every time you fuck your pathetic little cock into your pillow. But we can save the collar for next time, pup, and I won’t be mad.”

He makes a whiny sound, and, refusing to look you in the eye as he does, he lifts himself on shaky legs and spins himself around. He tilts his head backwards, eyes squeezed shut like he can’t fathom the idea of looking at you right now, and you groan, unable to hold back the sound.

“Fuck, puppy, you’re so good for me,” you coo, slipping the collar around the front of his neck carefully, “Stay just like that, there we go.”

You watch a shiver ripple up his spine as the cool metal of the ring presses against his throat, and you carefully adjust the size until it looks like it’ll fit just right. And with a quiet click!, you buckle the collar around his neck.

He goes lax under you immediately, body slumping back into your fully. You have to step forward and crowd more into his space to keep him from slipping off the bed, and soon, you’re the only thing keeping him upright. You watch his tongue loll out, and his eyes lazily blink open. He tilts his head a few times, pauses, does it again, and hums with satisfaction, eyes slipping closed again as a happy rumble comes out of his chest. You think it’s simultaneously the cutest and the hottest thing you’ve ever seen, and you feel the evidence of your own arousal drip down your thigh.

“Look so pretty in your collar for me, Minnie.”

He makes a distressed sound, shaking his head, eyes flying open and looking up at you pleadingly.

“No? Minnie doesn’t think he looks pretty?” You respond, tilting your head at him, unsure of what he’s whining about.

He makes another sound, mouth opening and closing uselessly. You realize it’s because he’s following your orders, and you speak up quickly, before this momentary distress turns into a real drop.

“You can speak if you need to right now, jagi,” you say, and that makes things worse, and he chokes on a sob as he even more frantically shakes his head, “Pretty, I need to know what’s wrong so I can help you.”

He just closes his eyes and shakes his head again, burying his face in your stomach. The position can’t be comfortable, and you press him off of you to look at him.

“Do you think you look pretty like this?” You ask again, careful this time.

He sniffles and nods only, a shy nod, but a nod nonetheless. He gives you a little smile when you reach forward to cup his face.

“Good, because I know you look pretty. My pretty Minnie-”

He cuts you off with a loud sound again, shaking your hand off of his cheek and pouting up at you again. You ponder for a moment, and then a lightbulb goes off in your head.

“Minnie?” He whimpers again, shaking his head, “Oh, I get it, I’m sorry it took me so long, pretty. You’re not Minnie right now, are you? You’re just my dumb puppy. Just a dumb mutt who doesn’t know how to think.”

He flushes at that, your words far more vulgar than he would’ve worded it, but he still nods eagerly, visibly relaxing now that you’ve figured out what he needed. Because he can’t be your Minnie right now. Minnie is dominant, a force to be reckoned with, a whirlwind in bed that can press you into the sheets and make you cry. But he’s not Minnie right now - he’s just puppy, and puppy can’t do any of those things that Mininie can do. Puppy’s only good for humping and mating and taking. 

“I’m going to sit myself up against the headboard, puppy, and I want you to keep your eyes on me,” you say, grabbing the discarded bottle of lube as you slip onto the bed, “And no touching.”

Your tone drops at the end, a warning, and he swallows, nodding hard, and his cute little ears flop up-down-up-down as he does, and it’s so cute you think you might explode. He shifts so that he’s kneeling between your legs, not touching, but closer than he needs to be. You let it slide, knowing that he’s eager right now, and pop the lube open, generously spreading it across some of your fingers.

You don’t tease your entrance like he would, don’t do any of that circling the rim bullshit he always does to make you whine, you just slip one of your fingers in with a soft sigh, melting back into the headboard as you finally get some of the relief you’ve been craving. You didn’t realize how turned on you were until you finally got the chance to get your hands on yourself, and the relief is dizzying. You slip in a second finger easily, body already anticipating what’s coming next, and you laugh lightly as Seungmin leans in, closer and closer, until you can feel his breath on your hand. He’s entranced by the way that your fingers are slipping in and out of yourself, panting with his mouth open wide, so close he’s practically looking at you cross-eyed. 

But he’s good for you, so he doesn’t touch. He just hovers impossibly close, drooling all over the sheets messily. He doesn’t dare to look away from your entrance, watching as you slip in a third finger and curl them all just right, fingers barely brushing against that spot inside of you. Your fingers aren’t as long as his, and you almost regret not letting him touch, but watching him drool over you is worth pushing your pleasure a little further down the line.

Once you’re sufficiently stretched, you slip your fingers out of yourself with a squelch! It’s a nasty sound, and it makes both of you shiver. Seungmin drools a little more, like he can’t help himself. You offer your sticky fingers to him, covered in lube and your own essence, and his tongue darts out to lap it up.

It can't possibly be a pleasant taste, but he mouths at your fingers like it’s the best thing he’s ever had, whining petulantly as you slip your fingers out of his mouth. He tries to follow them, but you click your tongue at him, and he sinks back on his haunches, looking just like a scolded puppy. You just sigh, like you’re disappointed, and you watch with delight as he curls up further into himself, the sound going straight to his heart. If his puppy ears were real, they’d be drooping, and his tail would be pressed between his legs. He looks so small right now, and it makes your head spin.

You don’t say a word to him, not yet, just lazily stretch your arms and languidly shift your position. He moves to accommodate you, and soon he’s up near the headboard and you’re in the middle of the bed. You put yourself on all fours, arch your back and wiggling your hips at him just to hear the pathetic noise you know he’ll make. He gulps so loud you can audibly hear it, and he whimpers when you let your upper half press into the sheets, staring intently at your winking entrance, still wet with lube.

“Puppy?” You ask, and you feel him jolt behind you, movement vibrating through the mattress.

He makes a quiet sound, like he’s responding, and you shake your head.

“No, that’s not the sound that puppies make,” you say, lifting your head to peer back at him, “My good puppy knows better, doesn’t he? What sound do puppies make, silly boy?”

You watch him fight a war with himself as you stare at him, waiting patiently. He’s already slipped so far, mind mostly a puddle and only thinking dumb puppy thoughts. But there’s still a rational part of his brain there fighting and you can see it, a part of him that still believes that this is wrong and bad and embarrassing. You know this will be the last push for him to finally break, and you let your hips sway gently again, humming quietly when his hips buck up into the air at the sight.

“Puppy could be inside of me already,” you say with a dramatic sigh, and a weak spurt of precum dribbles down his cock, “But for some reason, my puppy doesn’t remember what sound he’s supposed to make. All you have to do is bark for me, puppy. And then you can hump me, just like you humped that pathetic little pillow of yours.”

It’s beautiful to watch the last shred of his will fray, because he really is so pretty when he’s falling apart. He’s flushed a ruddy color, his breath is laboured, his cock is twitching and nearly purple with need between his legs, and the tears that were pricking his eyes finally escape, the humiliation sinking in and making him go dumb.

“Mhm…” he starts, and then catches you watching him, and freezes.

You raise an eyebrow, like you’re waiting impatiently, and he swallows again, closing his eyes to gather himself.

“Muh…” He shakes, his cock twitches, and it comes out in one breath, “Mong mong.”

It’s barely there, a quiet little bark from behind you, but it’s enough. You can see the way that he’s completely lost the last bit of pride that was clouding his head, and you give him the biggest smile you can muster.

“Good boy,” you murmur, and he perks up, nodding, “Now puppy?”

He lets out a weak little bark again, and your grin stretches impossibly bigger.

“Breed.”

He’s on you in an instant, moving so fast that you have to dig your fingers into the sheets to keep yourself from sliding forward. His hands plant on either side of your head, and he bucks his hips forward, cock sliding against the curve of your ass. It catches your hole a few times, but his movements are too sharp, too desperate, and it won’t go in. He wails at that, and you feel the warmth of his tears on your back and on your neck as he leans down to nuzzle into it. His puppy teeth find the skin of your shoulder and he bites as he tries to get his cock inside of you, but it’s no use.

He’s so embarrassed he could die. Everything feels like molten lava, and you’re no help, just presenting yourself to him and expecting him to just hump you like a breeding dog. He wonders how dogs do this with no hands, and finds that he can’t even do it with no hands, and it makes him feel so small and pathetic and that he's leaking even more all over your ass.

“God, can’t even do the simplest things yourself, can you?” You huff, reaching a mean hand back to grab at his cock.

Your touch isn’t gentle, but it’s the first feeling of warmth he’s had on his cock all night, and it makes him impossibly dizzy. He ruts into your hand, pleasure exploding behind his eyes at finally having something over than a pillow touching his stupid cock. You aren’t trying to be nice about it, and that makes it feel even better. The idea that he’s such a dumb, gross mutt that you won’t even touch him properly, that you’re just using him as a toy to fuck you full, has him weak in the knees.

You give him another harsh squeeze, and he stills his hips unhappily. He wants to keep humping, wants to spill all over the perfect warmth of your hand, but a blurry part of his mind remembers that there’s something even better waiting for him if he’s patient. He gasps wetly as you line the tip of his cock up with your entrance, and he can’t help but buck into the warm heat radiating from you. His cock slips halfway in with one sloppy thrust, and you withdraw your hand to give him room to fuck into you. 

He barely pulls out before his whole body craves your heat again, and he’s thrusting all the way into you. It punches a moan out of your chest, raw and carnal, and his teeth sink into the meat of your shoulder again, muffling the whine that tears out of his throat. You feel so good around him he barely remembers to breathe, hips speeding up into a sloppy, fast pace as his body chases more more more of the burning hot pleasure he’s feeling. 

He feels so good inside of you, even with his uncoordinated movements. The lack of true pace might even be hotter, because he’s so out of control because of you. He’s falling apart and crying and mouthing at your shoulder because of you. You clench around him, the coil inside of you already winding tight, and he fucks into you impossibly harder at the feeling. 

“G-guh-good puppy,” you heave out, the force with which he’s fucking you with knocking the air out of your lungs, “So fucking good. Gonna-hngh! Fuck, gonna fill me up good? G-gonna breed me full?”

He nods as he cries into your skin, your whole body shaking with the movement as he bucks his hips up into you harder. It feels incredible, and you know you’re going to come soon, so you reach a hand back blindly and grab.

“Fuck-hah, shit-fuck me like y-you mean it,” you hiss out, fingers looping through the metal at his neck and pulling, “Can’t even-mhmm-feel your pathetic cuh-cock when you just hump like a dumb dog.”

He shudders, and you feel the movement through your body, and you have to fight to choke down the sound that claws at your throat. You want him desperate, want him humping you like his life depends on it, fucking into you so hard and sloppy that his cock almost slips out with every thrust.

And you get your wish, because with renewed vigor, Seungmin’s bucking into you, teeth still marring your shoulder and fingers digging so deep into the sheets that you’d be worried they might tear if you were paying attention. But you can’t pay attention to anything other than the feeling of his cock inside of you, fat head bumping that spot inside of you over and over again until your orgasm is so close you can taste it.

“W-wanna come, pup?” you wheeze, and he nods against your shoulder, letting out a moan when you squeeze around him tighter.

“Bark for me ag-guh!-ain and you can fill me up, puppy.”

You barely get the sentence out before a weak chorus of mong mongs escape his lips, drool smearing across your skin as he babbles. The sound gets louder and louder, his hips moving faster and faster to chase that edge of pleasure he’s finally allowed to taste, and you come with a shout. As you come, you pull on the collar as hard as you can, and the feeling of the leather on his throat and your pulsing walls around him is enough to push Seungmin over the edge, too. Seungmin trembles above you as he spills his load into you as deep as he can, mong mongs fading into weak moans, until he can’t move his hips anymore, body too weak to do anything but shake above you.

“Good boy, knotting me full,” you say, though your face is now pressed into the sheets under the weight of him, and it comes out muffled, “My perfect puppy. So pretty for me, so perfect.”

You continue to whisper sweet nothings as he melts into your back, full body weight crushing you like a weighted blanket. The feeling is nice, and you almost don’t want to get up, but then your thighs start to feel sticky, a mess of your cum and Seungmin’s cum dripping out of your entrance streaking down your legs and making a mess. You leg also is starting to fall asleep, and you can’t exactly lug your boyfriend to the bathtub with a numb leg.

“Puppy, we need to get clean.” You say, and Seungmin makes a noncommittal sound into the skin of your neck.

“Puppy.”

He makes a sound that’s almost like a growl, and you respond with an exasperated noise of your own.

“Puppy. My leg is falling asleep, c’mon.”

“Ngh.” 

It’s the only response you get, and you kick at him weakly. He shifts enough to free your leg, but then immediately settles back down on top of you, content to just lay like this seemingly forever.

“I wanna take a bath with my puppy,” you whine, trying to appeal to him so that you can unstick your thighs, “Wash his hair, cuddle with him in the tub, kiss him all over…”

Seungmin rolls off of you and lets you free, whining slightly when his cock slips out of you, and you roll yourself unceremoniously off the bed and onto your feet, smiling down at his dishevelled state.

You hadn’t really gotten a chance to see him yet, not since he had fucked his cock into you, and he looks a mess. The puppy ears are askew on his head, tilted at an angle that can’t possibly be comfortable, and his hair is stuck up in a flurry of different directions. There’s a line of drool that’s dried down his chin and part of his neck, and there’s little red marks from where you dug the collar into his neck that peek out over the black leather. A haze stays settled over his eyes, and you can tell from the way he seems to almost be looking through you that he’s still floaty, the high of his orgasm still running through his veins. He looks beautiful, and it makes you want to ravage him all over again. 

And on another night, you would, but tonight, things still feel almost delicate. You don’t want to push the line further than you have already. So you just help him stand and wobble the two of you to the bathroom, guiding him to sit on the toilet lid as you start up the water.

Once the heat is satisfactory, you let the water run, turning back to your pretty boyfriend. He still seems dazed, watching you with the kind of blatant adoration that he rarely lets show on his face, even in tender moments like these. It makes you want to put him in a jar and keep him in your pocket forever, his expression so cute and open and so incredibly puppy-like that your heart squeezes in your chest.

You gently lift the puppy ears from his head, delicately placing them on the sink counter. You reach to unbuckle the collar, but he whines loudly, so you drift your fingers past it, letting him keep what he needs on until he comes down. The tail is an easier ordeal, Seungmin only whining at the loss of fullness as you carefully pull it out of him, but he doesn’t stop you. You grab a hand towel and wet it in the warm, running water, and then use it to carefully towel down Seungmin and yourself. No point in bathing if you’re just going to sit in your cum the whole time, so you have to make sure you’re at least a little clean getting into the water.

You help him into the water and stay out of it yourself at first, just carefully getting his hair wet so that you can wash it. Only once you’ve washed the shampoo out of his hair do you slip into the warm water behind him, settling your chin on his shoulder and rubbing little shapes into his hand until you can feel him coming back to himself. 

His telltale signs are in the way he stiffens against you, in the way that his skin starts to feel a little warmer under yours, and in the way his fingers twist to loop through yours; a ground measure he takes sometimes to keep himself in the moment. It’s sweet that, even in his nervousness, he still seeks you out.

“Welcome back, jagi,” you murmur quietly, voice warm and open, pressing a kiss into the sensitive skin below his ear, “How are you feeling?”

“...good,” he says after a moment, then pauses a breath longer, uncertainty settling into his voice, “You’re not…mad? Or weirded out?”

“I’m only a little sad that you didn’t just tell me you wanted to try something new,” you say honestly, “You know I’m willing to try just about anything for you. Plus, you were really hot.”

He groans, squeezing your hand tighter in his grip. “Shut up.”

“Mhm, you don’t actually want me to do that,” you coo, reaching your free hand up to trace at the collar still decorating Seungmin’s neck, “Puppy loves me.”

“Stop!” he hisses, though it’s weak, and the two of you fall into easy laughter and he flushes a deeper red.

Later, when you’re curled up in your bed, Seungmin curled up on your chest and half-asleep already, a sudden curiosity strikes you.

“How did you come to the conclusion that you wanted to be a puppy?” You ask, and he pinches at your side.

“Jisungie-hyung and Minho-hyung are freaks.” He says, and you nod.

“Makes perfect sense.”

“...and I showed Channie-hyung a porn video while I was drunk off my ass.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” He said, like it was the most normal thing ever, and then curled further into your chest, “‘m tired. G’night.”

You don’t get to think about the implications of what he said before he’s snoring lightly against you, already asleep like he didn’t just say an absolutely insane thing to you like it’s completely normal. You make a mental note to hound him about it in the morning, but sleep is calling your name too, and you let yourself drift away, the weight of your perfect puppy boyfriend against you pulling you under. You’ll have plenty of time to harass your boyfriend later. Now, it’s time to fall asleep, and dream of puppies and love.

Bonus (From Seungmin's POV):

Links to Intro | Chan

ᴡᴇᴇᴋ ᴏɴᴇ

"They were both very good, and they slept well...they ate well." He doesn't want to say what's on the tip of his tongue, which is that they miss their umma. Seungmin will cry, and if you can truly hear him, and he believes you can, it will only upset you. "Heecheol asked if he could visit, and I told him I couldn't really ask you but...he said it wouldn't stay too long if he does."

It doesn't matter who comes to visit and look at the living corpse tucked into bed. Your mother has been here a few times, and usually she's quiet. Sometimes you hear her talking to the boys, and you wonder if fear has struck something deep inside of her. Part of you hopes that's the case. You haven't forgotten her strange behavior, though—the house is holding something and it's gotten inside of her, maybe briefly, or maybe it's still hiding in there.

You hear Seungmin move quietly across the room and bring them closer. One of them is lifted into his arms, and you hear his soft, slow Korean as he sets Haesung in the space between your arm and side. "I hope this isn't too much." He whispers and moves your arm so it feels like you're cradling him. "I wanted to do it before, but...well, I think it's good for them, and you, to feel each other. Oh..." He stands to look at the monitor by your bed. Your heart rate jumps from a resting 62, to 78, to 85...and stays there for a while. It's done that before, of course, but not so much and never so quickly. "I know you're still here with me." He sits again and brings Haneul to his chest, and for now he resists the urge to crawl into bed next to you.

ᴡᴇᴇᴋ ꜰᴏᴜʀ

Heecheol's hands slide slowly over his eyes, his fingers spreading quickly to ensure Haneul is still looking. "Kkakkung!" He does it again, and again until he catches on, but he still seems a little disinterested. "I guess I'll try your brother." Heecheol scoots a few inches to the left and looks at Haesung. "They really are identical. How do you keep from mixing them up?"

Seungmin leans down and kisses each boy on the forehead, but he makes sure to breathe in their scent before he pulls away. A few days after they were born, you sat with both of them on your chest, face buried between them, and said: I never believed that babies actually smelled nice, but I take it back. Of course, he later read that it's evolutionary and hormonal, but it's true. "They have some little differences; you just have to know where to look." It doesn't feel like much time has passed since you told him about the little mole on Haneul's ear. Since then, Seungmin has discovered more—Haesung is still slightly smaller in length, and the whorl pattern on his head is more to the right than his brother's. His eyes are more like yours now that they've had time to change to their permanent color. The thought of them growing older and finding more differences, figuring out their own identities, and growing closer gives him butterflies. The thought of you already missing little moments swells in his mind, and Seungmin can't stand knowing you might miss another one.

But what can he do?

"Cheoli, I know the doctors explained the best they could, multiple times, but I'm still kind of lost." Why her? being the biggest mystery. "I was the one with the concussion and the seizure. It should be me in that hospital bed."

"Don't say that, Mo. There's not always an obvious explanation, but a severe head injury is the most common cause of comas, or locked-in syndrome, if that's what it is. It's a very rare condition. Seizure, heart attack, oxygen deprivation..."

The moment you died comes rushing back to him, but that was so long ago, and you've been fine ever since. "She knows when I'm there. I told you about her heart rate when I put the babies in her arms. She can hear and feel everything, and that's so much worse than if she were asleep." That's putting it lightly—there is no way to describe the terror and sadness you must feel, but Heecheol just stares silently at the wall as Seungmin speaks on the verge of tears. His head buzzes, and he has to close his eyes to shake the dizziness away. Did I forget my pill? No, I took it with my coffee this morning. Withdrawal from his Haldol is common enough now that the brain zaps and dizziness don't phase him, but he shouldn't be getting them right now.

Heecheol is still fixed on the wall, but a moment later, his gaze wanders across the room, stopping on the nursery door first, and then on the front door. It looks like he's contemplating his departure.

"Are you able to keep up with them all alone?" Heecheol asks.

"I've been okay. It's hard, but I took on as much as I could for her before. I just don't have the same instincts."

"Yeah, up every few hours has to take its toll."

Something changed in him, and Seungmin can feel the shift in the room. Haneul cries weakly, but stops when he touches his brother. He doesn't have to be here, being a second pair of eyes as Seungmin cleans the house. Heecheol offered his company, but he doesn't act like he wants to be here a moment longer. "How's your umma?" Seungmin just wants to finish cleaning and get back to you, because he and the boys intend on spending the night.

A shrug is all he gives before turning his attention back to Haesung. "The time off has been nice. I forgot what it was like not working twelve hours straight and covering shifts every other night just to come home and be a nurse anyway."

A twelve-hour workday is foreign to Seungmin, but he understands getting a break from it must be a relief. Still, it's his mother, and he hasn't mentioned her once—hasn't told Seungmin if she's getting worse, or if she's been feeling better. "So she's okay?"

Heecheol stops what he's doing and sits back on the couch. His eyes move around the room, avoiding eye contact, and then stop on the closed nursery door. If she's getting worse, he may not want to talk about it. "She's fine." He finally replies. His gaze remains fixed until Haesung starts to cry and Seungmin reaches in for him. "You should let them cry for a while."

"What...why?"

"Instead of running to him immediately whenever he feels a little..."

"No." He can't do that. You never did that, either. The boys are never left to cry for more than a few seconds if you can help it. "They know I'm always here when they need me, and that won't change." Haesung quiets as soon as he's in his father's arms, but he doesn't seem in need of a diaper change. "What's wrong, pup? Too warm in here, or did you just need a hug?"

"I should get going. I'll leave you to finish up...you have plans."

"Yeah, okay. Thanks for coming over."

"Tell Tokki I said hi."

A moment of rage jumps through him, and suddenly, the back of Heecheol's head has a target on it. He manages to stay calm with the baby in his arms. It's not what he says, it's the way he says it, and he's wondering what happened to his friend since he visited the first time. He misses that Heecheol.

The moment you hear the slide of the door, you know it's him. He doesn't have to say anything. It might just be his scent, which is the sweet, creamy smell of the shampoo he bought for you a few weeks ago. Weeks? You think it was weeks, but you're not entirely sure how much time has passed since not waking up. It feels like years and hours at the same time. Seungmin used cologne months ago, but he hasn't felt the need since you told him how much you prefer him without.

Sometimes you can just feel him. Maybe all of your senses have become heightened in this bed.

"Hi, love. We're here."

The sound of him fumbling with an armful of things is very obvious, so he has the boys with him. Seungmin mentioned spending the night if he was given permission, and you wonder if tonight is the night. That's when you feel the most dread, of course—at night when he has to go home without you. You rarely sleep in the silence, and when you do, it's dreamless. The nothingness of those dreamless sleeps is one escape from this nightmare, and him next to you is the other.

"How's my girl?" He places a long kiss right between your eyes. "I hope you got some rest." Another kiss on the cheek, and you're ready for the third one—he kisses as if you might kiss back, and as hard as you try, you can't, but every second is savored, because you can still taste him. He goes silent for a moment as he watches the monitor next to you. Your heart rate jumps a few beats, and your respiratory rate increases, just like he hopes it will. You're still in there, listening and feeling. "It looks like your hair has been washed. I can rebraid it, if that's okay."

Of course, you won't answer, but it feels as if he waits for your response anyway. You look forward to how he plans on doing this.

"Brush..." he whispers. "I know I grabbed a hair tie...oh, it's on the handle. Okay." The bed shifts as he climbs on, and then his hands grab yours. "I'm gonna pull you so you can sit up. I'll be careful." His arm slides under you and around your back, the other goes around your shoulder blades, and then he lifts. The nurses did this earlier, but Seungmin, by himself, is a little clumsy handling you, no matter how small you are, and how much you've shrunk since being stuck in this bed. The giggle as he adjusts and sets you against his shoulder makes you want to smile. "Sorry."

The brush slides easily through your hair, and just as he works on separating it into three pieces, you wonder if he's ever done this before. It feels good, so it doesn't matter how well he does, and it doesn't take long despite it feeling like the French braid you typically do. His fingers moving gently against your scalp soothes you more than any drug in this hospital ever could. He seems pleased with himself as he ties the end off and runs his hand over his work. How does it look? You think as loudly as you can. When did you learn to do that?

"I watched a few tutorials on YouTube last night. Not bad for a first try."

You pretend he heard you.

"You look pretty with your hair pulled back. I mean, you're always pretty, but...ya know. Does that feel better?"

Yes, you do know. Not that you're pretty, because that's not something you see in yourself, but you see Seungmin's beauty shine through all the time, no matter what's happening on the outside. Yes, it feels better.

"How about some time with your boys, and then we can catch up before bed?"

Asking you feels nice, but you're confident he knows exactly what you want. Let me hold them so they don't forget my touch.

He fits comfortably with you on the small hospital bed, arms soft around your waist, his chest rising and falling against your back.

"It was odd, the way he acted like he didn't care." Seungmin reflects on Heecheol's visit, but he doesn't want to dwell on it too much, so he changes the subject. "I think Haneul tried to smile last night, but I was probably just tired. I'm okay, promise...it's just hard without you."

It's okay to be tired, sweetheart. You can tell he's exhausted; it's in his voice, and you can feel him quickly fading now that he's comfortable. Sleep. Maybe I'll sleep, too. But he has so much to say, and you wonder if he feels a strange comfort in opening up even more right now, like his words will wake you from wherever you're trapped.

"I've always wanted to tell you about what happened after my mom died. Like, after I finally went back to the house and called the police. I'm not sure if that's a story you want to hear, but...well...I was afraid they'd find out what I'd done to him, but they never found his body. I told them I woke up and they were both gone, and it didn't seem to cross their minds that I could have done something."

You have so many questions that you can't ask, but he has all night to talk.

"They knew he was a mean asshole, so when I told them I heard them fighting the night before, they made some assumptions, looked for them for a few weeks, but I was with my grandmother by the end of that day...chin-halmeoni, my dad's mom. She was very sad about my mother being gone—missing. I think she knew umma was dead after a few days of nothing, though. She was also glad I was finally away from my stepfather, and that I still looked and acted like her son that she missed so much. I looked just like him..."

And your boys look just like you. You smile inside. The mental vision of them, and him, is so strong, and you need it to stay that way. What was his name? You never told me his name.

"And now they look like him. I don't remember him well, but I feel like there are very faint memories. Maybe it's just from seeing old photographs."

Oh, how could I forget? I've seen him in photographs, but I was so fixated on my little Seungmin that I barely noticed. To look through all of those old photos would bring you so much joy.

"His name was Sunoo." Seungmin laughs and holds you a little tighter. The numbers on your monitor move again, just a little. You're relaxed, but he knows you're still awake and listening. "We all had S names, I'm not sure if that was on purpose. And now it's H names. Well, not me but—" Now is not the time to think about Heecheol. No. Seungmin may have hinted at him belonging in his family before, but he's far from that feeling right now. "...my three favorite people. We can do that again if we decide to have another baby." He doesn't have to look, but he can hear the beep of your heart rate rising. It thumps hard against the hand he sets on your sternum. "Hopefully that's a good excitement I'm feeling. If not, that's okay. You're the boss."

As difficult as your pregnancy was, and as scary as caring for two preemies has been, you would do it again.

"When they're a little older and we miss having babies." He whispers like he just wants to sneak in one more reason. "Or we can just spoil these two."

That will happen no matter what. Well, a reasonable amount of spoiling.

Seungmin grows quiet after that, but his fingers still move gently across your stomach. Sleep is sneaking up on him, at last. His hand stops, and you can feel the change in his breathing—steady and shallow, and every so often, a deep sigh and a quiet snore directly in your ear. It's like being home in your own bed again, so it's much easier to fall asleep tonight.

finally...

your eyes open to a familiar site. it's the bedroom ceiling, dark and moody, just how you remember it being the night he brought you in and threw you on the bed. just thinking about it gives you butterflies. It was a bad memory, until it wasn't. you look to the left and see his music box perched exactly where it should be, and to your right...him, still asleep.

"sleepyhead..."

he sighs like a dog would after a very long day of doing nothing.

talking is strange, "wake up minnie," and so is moving your arm to touch his soft cheek. he grumbles when you do that. "good morning."

his eyes open slowly, and then they widen like he believe what he's seeing in front of him. "we're home? you're..."

"just dreaming."

seungmin reaches and pulls you closer. "why didn't we try this before?"

"I think you were too far away. It's harder to control now."

"we shouldn't do it if it wears you out." but that's hard to say, because he needs this. "what happened before, when you didn't wake up?"

"when?"

"the last time you did this. something happened."

whatever it was, it got shoved down in your memory almost immediately. "I can't remember, exactly... "

"appa!"

seungmin sits up, almost leaps from the bed when the tiny voice squeaks in through the open door. "aah...appa. that's me!" he slides out from beneath his blanket and disappears into the dark kitchen.

it does feel real. sort of...if real felt lighter, softer. the heaviness of waking life doesn't exist here.

a few moments later, he returns with them, one in each arm, both clutching his shirt between tiny fingers. "they're big!" he laughs and his cheeks turn bright red as he brings them to you. "tokki, I know this is just a dream, but..." seungmin sits and the twin closest to you pulls away to get to his mother.*

"ma!"

"hi sweet boy, come here." it is just a dream, but you feel silly for not knowing which one is crawling to you. that changes as soon as you lift him and pull him into your arms. "hi pup, did you have a good nap? jal jass-eoyo?" he looks at you with his dad's sleepy eyes, and smiles.

haneul clings to seungmin, but he smiles for you, too.

"wow." he squeezes him, kisses the top of his head. "so much hair, and you have little teeth coming in, and you said appa. dangsini malsseumhaseyo!"

"ja...jal...a-appa."

"ne, jal jassoyo...naesarang."

"I remember." seungmin looks at you, and so does haneul. haesung is comfortable in your arms, and you think he's on his way back to sleep. "the dream."

"tell me."

you remember some of it, at least. "I found you on the ground. I thought you were dead...you looked dead, and something snuck up on me while I was trying to wake you up. it was my mom, but it wasn't her. it was whatever we brought back. I think it wanted to kill me." you hold your free hand to your mouth, mimicking where it squeezed. "and when I woke up, I couldn't move."*

"it did this?"

"maybe it did kill me."

Seungmin feels a buzzing move through his body, his cheeks feel warm and numb as he fights himself out of sleep...

"Gwenchanayo?"

"Aniyo...aniyo."

"Seungmin-sii...you're dreaming."

It's one of the night nurses, but it takes a few more seconds before that registers in his head. The only thing going through it at this moment is you and the boys—talking and smiling and holding them. He wants to go back. You're perfectly still next to him, hopefully in the dream with Haesung still clinging to your chest. "I'm so sorry." He sets his lips on your shoulder before pulling the blankets over you. "This is all my fault."

A chorus of cries starts, and while Seungmin is thankful for the extra pair of hands to help, he needs to hold both of them right now. The dream feels like a dream now, but he remembers it so vividly, and the way he felt inside it was very, very real. The sound of Haneul saying appa still rings in his head; the sweet smile rounding his chubby cheeks, and the stutter as he tried to say more. Haesung crawling to you and feeling safe in your arms—he hopes that's still playing in your mind right now.

When he looks down at them, tiny and helpless, he still sees his dream twins. Is that what they'll look like next year? Sound like? He knows they'll likely be behind as they grow, but maybe in a year he'll get his appa. "Joeun achimieyo. Baegopayo? I'll warm up your breakfast, and then dad has some errands to run."

Leaving them at the hospital is hard, but he has to if he plans on fixing this. The problem is, he has no idea what to do. Seungmin hopes the uncomfortable silence, the way things used to be in this apartment, will lure something in, make it come to him and speak. The way things used to be, he thinks with an unbearable, bottomless sadness, how did I go on for so long like this? The dimly lit hallway, the locks on the front door, this couch...the bedroom. That walk—it was once the last mile for his unfortunate victims, but now every corner is filled with warmth and comfort. The twin cots, the playmats, and a counter full of freshly washed bottles. Your moonflowers, despite being closed and asleep in the early morning sun, still give off their scent.

"Hey." He whispers. "Where have you been?" No answer. "Been hiding in the nursery? It's been a little off here lately, I know." Daengmo sits silent on the basket of clean laundry, arms crossed, nose down. "I don't know what to do to help her, but I know it has to be me." Seungmin doesn't take his eyes off his little dog. "I'm sure she misses you, too. I'll take you with me next time." Seungmin smiles, and breaths out a quiet laugh. "I'm sure she'd feel better with you in her arms."

He strips down to his boxers and climbs into his cold bed, tucks himself deep under the covers to warm them up, but instead of closing his eyes, he starts typing in his notes. The first journal entry since the boys came home.

25/07/20 I don't know if I can do this alone, but I might have to. Am I capable of raising two boys on my own? Without you, will they turn into me?

Tears begin to blur his vision, so he gives up and tosses his phone aside. He's surrounded by your scent in this bed, and it's a slow torture. It's not fair that you can't be here next to him. "I found her." He scowls at the ceiling. "You didn't send me an angel... I found her myself." He sniffles and lets out a sob, and now that he's opened that door, there is no stopping it. If anyone sent you, it was his mother, and nobody else. Certainly not God. She prayed for his safety and for his well-being. "You're not even up there, are you?" And maybe for him to be loved the way she loved him. Her opportunity to guide him through life was cut short, but eventually, someone came along to remind him of the love she so easily gave.

Seungmin cries himself into a fitful sleep, filled with fleeting, unfamiliar images—nothing he can actually grasp onto...nothing like the dreams and nightmares he's used to. When he wakes in his tangled sheets, his first thought is his children. There's a brief moment of panic when he realizes he hasn't heard a single cry, until he remembers they're safe with you and the nurses. His second thought is you, and how there was no change in your condition, because nobody called while he slept. The third thing that crosses his mind is where do I begin?

Before a starting point comes to him, the violent slam of the door shakes every wall in the bedroom. The sound, the force...it sends his heartbeat to his throat and his empty stomach spins with a hot, cramping nausea. "Please, stop." He sets his hands over his face, swollen from sleep and tears, and gets up. "Stop it." Not the message he asked for. Not helpful. "Do something useful and tell me what the hell you want."

No voices are pushing him forward this time. There is no noise, no scratching, no itching. He has no unstoppable urge, and he's starting to hate it. All he has is his unimaginable fear, digging so deep inside it numbs him, but he isn't sure that's going to be enough right now. Why isn't there an itch? The stress and confusion and heartache should be enough to flood him with his sick desire. The fear should be enough. Isn't that what It wants? Death and suffering?

The phone vibrates and sends his heart to his throat, and when he looks, he doesn't really look, because his lock screen distracts him. It's a photo of you, and he remembers the day he took it very vividly. You were upset at him when you woke up that morning, or he thought you were, because two whole hours passed before a word was spoken between you. It took a while for him to realize it was just a mood swing, or something with your hormones, and he had to learn not to take things so personally. That was difficult, and it still is, but you're smiling in this photo because he picked up his phone and pointed it at you—something he doesn't typically do. It's a good photo, but he takes a moment to change it to a much more recent one, a candid shot of you holding Haesung on the day they came home. Looking at it only makes his heart ache more.

The buzz was his medication reminder; his evening dose of Haldol.

It's a cool evening for the middle of summer, so he decides to stalk the streets like he used to. In his best clothes, of course, the best ones that still fit well—many are now loose on him, and as he feels the extra space between his waistband and his stomach, he understands why you pushed him to eat so often. He'll do better, but for now, passing by the familiar GS25, he decides to rekindle another old habit.

The digital ring above the sliding door brings a wave of memories. The same one opened when you walked by him all those months ago; the ding echoed in his ears as you casually noticed him and stopped. It opened and rang again when he took a step back to politely put out his cigarette.

That's what he wants, a cigarette. He can already taste it when he sees the glass case filled neatly with packs, lined up like neat little soldiers. "At ease", he whispers when he sees his favorite brand and looks around for someone to help, but it's unusually quiet, and definitely deserted. Seungmin waits another minute before trying the case, and to his delight, it's unlocked. His fingers graze the edge of the pack...

"Ah ah....ani!"

He turns, and the old woman's stern face quickly changes to a surprised one, and then a smile.

"Oh, it's you, handsome boy. I haven't seen you in a while."

"You remember me?"

"Of course. And your wife, your two beautiful babies. Why aren't they with you? I saw them just a few days ago."

"She's..." He runs his finger over the pack once more before pulling it free. "She's not feeling well."

"Not feeling well? You take good care of her, I'm sure." The woman opens her palm and nods at the cigarettes.

"Oh, sorry. I'm trying to, yes."

She pulls the plastic wrapper away, smacks it against her palm, and then takes one for herself. "You have doubts about it?" She hands the pack over along with a fresh book of matches, and Seungmin can't help but immediately pop one between his lips. The sweet smell of dry tobacco and apple hits his nose.

"Doubts?"

Before she explains herself, she tosses him something else. "Also on me, you're too thin."

Seungmin catches it, but doesn't look away from her.

"Doubts about yourself, and the love and care you so desperately give. About your strength. About the future."

Back outside in the cool air, he takes his time smoking two cigarettes. Between them, he eats his free cake and realizes it's the first thing he's had all day. There won't be much of him left if he continues this bad habit, but he'd give anything to hear you yell at him again. The sound of your voice is the clearest thing in his mind right now: your laugh, and your out-of-tune hum when you feed the babies. Your accent, and the occasional slip of a word he's never heard before. He can't let that fade. He can't let them grow and not know it, but Seungmin still doesn't know what to do. If only the dogs would reappear. Cryptic and confusing or not, it's better than nothing. A dream, a hint. A third cigarette goes between his lips, but he doesn't light it. Instead, he walks back inside the store and slowly browses. Another cake wouldn't hurt while he waits for the clerk to reappear.

An iced coffee, the coconut flavor, and a tiramisu. Seungmin doesn't eat sweets very often, but the first cake satisfied something in him, and just as he finishes his first bite, something white flashes at the corner of his eye. "Gae?" He jumps, almost knocking his iced coffee to the floor, but there's nothing down any aisles when he checks each one. "Hello?"

"Stop thinking with your head."

"What am I supposed to think with?" It comes out shorter than he intends.

"Everything you need is right at your fingertips."

"Need? I need Tokki, that's all."

The woman appears behind the counter again, another lit cigarette between two long fingers. "And she needs you."

"What can I do?"

"I'm not sure, love. I can't always make sense of things, but...I didn't think she would appreciate me asking her that morning; she had so much on her mind. Can you tell me about her death?"

The vitals on the monitor tell him that you're most likely asleep, so he's careful to keep it that way a little while longer. The babies are back in the room, awake, and likely tired from just being fed, but he's certain even the smallest sound from them will reach your ears. Your senses seem to be stronger in the state you're in, so after he's had time with each boy—holding them, walking silently across the room as they begin to doze, he tucks them in, and takes his time. The nearly full moon moves slowly from one end of the big window, and when it finally reaches the opposite end, he stands at your bedside and prepares to wake you. The monotonous beep gets to him sometimes, but right now, the only concern is if it's getting to you, and if he can stop it.

Your skin is as soft as it's ever been, but cold despite your heavy blanket. The touch doesn't seem to wake you or change your vitals, so maybe you're in a good, deep sleep. He gently lifts your arm and sets Daengmo just as he would place one of the boys. "Hey...I'm here. I need to talk to you." The beep speeds up, and he has no idea how to begin.

Minnie...I'm awake. Everything you have goes into your thoughts just in case it's strong enough to reach him. Hi baby. And Daengmo, I was hoping you'd bring him to me. I can smell the coffee on you...and coconut? Smells good. I'm so hungry. The feeding tube in your nose is suddenly all you can feel. That, and the IV sticking in your arm, keeping you hydrated. The physical therapist was in earlier, moving your limp body, reminding your muscles of what they're supposed to be doing.

"My first thought when I was trying to figure out how to wake you up, was making It happy." He drops his voice to a whisper. "Killing. It did this to you, I know that. But it's so hard when I don't feely that urge. It can't handle being silenced."

What are you talking about, Minnie? You hear a knock, the door slides open, and you assume it's one of your nurses. She says hello to Seungmin, hello to the babies. It's the one you like the most, because she's patient and sweet no matter how frustrating things seem to get. She does her usual checks, including wrapping her fingers around your wrist and waiting to feel your pulse. You're not sure why she does that, but it's a nice, gentle touch.

"Are you staying the night?" She asks, and Seungmin squeezes your hand when he says yes. "We're a little short-staffed tonight, so I'll feel much better knowing she has you."

A moment later, there's a knock, and the doors open again. Someone new enters by the sound of her greeting and saying goodbye.

"Dr. Lee?"

"I'm not intruding, I hope. I saw you on your way in downstairs, and I've been wanting to see how you're doing."

The kind psychiatrist who helped you find him, and the one who got him a bed the night he had his seizure. He visited you once before, two or three days ago, you think. Maybe it was a week. He didn't say much, but he told you he wished for your quick recovery, for answers, anything. He mentioned how loving and doting Seungmin has been to both you and the boys, and he hoped he was doing well mentally. That must be why he's here now.

"I'm okay, I think. Just trouble sleeping, and eating...but that's not very unusual for me." The doctor's stare is intense, and Seungmin feels like his mind is being read. Dr. Mun sometimes has the same look. "I sleep better when I'm here with her."

"Of course. You two seem to have some sort of wordless communication figured out, which is good. I'm sure she sleeps better with you here, as well." He moves a few steps closer to the bed. "May I ask if she's had any serious health conditions or accidents in the past? A concussion, perhaps a stroke? I'm not privy to her medical records, but I've been curious...only if you want to share."

Seungmin is sure the doctors would have found a connection by now. They have her records, and almost all of the important information is on there. They don't know what Seungmin knows, though. "No concussions or strokes, but she had a miscarriage a few years ago. She told me she lost a lot of blood and almost died. And this pregnancy wasn't the most comfortable; the babies came very early."

"I see...I'm sure there's been some stress as well."

Yeah, plenty of stress. Seungmin has caused you a great deal of that from day one. He can't believe he's talking about this twice in one day, and to strangers. The woman at the GS25 listened carefully as he told the story in detail, but it didn't seem to surprise her. Throughout the entire story, she nodded, mhmed, and clicked her tongue as if to say "oh my, what a shame.". "There is one other thing. It's not in her history, because there was never a hospital visit. We've never told anyone about it."

Your vitals change, and they both stop talking to look and listen for a moment.

"What happened?" Dr. Lee takes another step closer to the bed as he examines the monitor. "And when?"

"Last December. She died very briefly in my bed while we were...well, I hurt her, it was an accident." Dr. Lee doesn't respond; he just keeps his eyes on you. "She stopped breathing and had no pulse for over a minute, but she was okay when she came back." Okay is stretching it, but he doesn't need to know anything else.

"You resuscitated her? Did she also stop breathing when she miscarried?"

"Yes. And yeah, she said she was gone for a while."

"That's a lot of death for someone so young. I'm sure you bringing her back brought you much closer."

It did. It did. God, please bring me back again.

"It's amazing, the big things we can do with such simple actions." He checks his watch as he heads for the door. "Good seeing you again. I should get going."

The door slides open, closed, and then it's silent. You hear Seungmin whispers it is, and then his hand is squeezing yours again.

What's on your mind, sweetie?

"I had a very strange day, but I have to try something before I settle here for the night. I'll be back in a few hours."

Please don't go.

"I'll let the nurse know on my way out."

A kiss on the forehead, a kiss on your lips, and then he's gone.

The fear of truly losing you is too strong, and following through with his first plan won't be possible until he tries something less risky. As much as he has to force himself, it still really isn't that difficult to go through the motions of what his normal day was a year ago, and the years before. He has to pretend he's in the past, before you ever existed in his mind, and before nothing except the fear from another, the light slowly fading from their eyes, and the blood running thick across his hands could satisfy him. He remembers that feeling; he can never forget, because it was all he had. This won't be difficult, and with his mind finally feeling somewhat sharp, he might do a good job.

The hard part is the search. An hour of watching and sipping passes before he's noticed sitting alone at the bar, and since he isn't being picky tonight, he puts on his best charming act right away.

"Are you alone?" The man asks. He's handsome, tall, and dressed more casually than Seungmin. "It's a little busy in here... no seats."

Maybe he's just looking for a place to sit, but his eyes look flirty, and if Seungmin still has any intuition for this left, he'd say his smile is asking for much more than a seat and a drink. "Yeah, I'm alone. What are you having?" He waves the bartender down, and the man thanks him.

"Old Fashioned."

Seungmin keeps himself from showing his distaste. An interesting choice for someone that looks younger than him. "Can I treat you to a shot?" He signals to the bartender, and two new shots of soju are poured in front of him. If he says yes, he'll take it a step further.

"Thank you."

He slides one over, and both glasses empty at the same time. Perfect. If this works out, he can get back to you quickly. The usual questions are exchanged. Are you from around here? Do you have plans tonight? The intuition is definitely still there, but his mark doesn't seem to know what he wants tonight. After watching him finish his Old Fashioned, and then down two more shots, Seungmin gets up to leave. He's counting on this one to follow him without much thought or discussion. And he does.

"You're leaving? Do you live nearby?" He asks.

Seungmin nods, suddenly feeling more like his former self—charming, good-looking, effortlessly cool. The fresh scar on his forehead ("A motorcycle accident, I got lucky" ...he lied so easily) doesn't deter this guy one bit, and neither do his sleep-deprived eyes. "Just a few blocks away."

The next step is snatching his phone before they get too close, and remembering to turn off the cameras. He can't fuck this up, and the whole way home, he focuses like he's never focused before. Everything in the house that said my wife and children live here was carefully locked away in the nursery, just in case, and the only piece of you left out in the open is your flowers. When he walks in the door, he can't help but notice they haven't opened tonight.

"Wow, you have a beautiful apartment." The man's shy, straight act seems to drop as soon as the door closes, and here in the warm light of the apartment, Seungmin can't help but see an annoying resemblance to Heecheol. "And you..."

"Me?" Seungmin asks. He decides to pick up the shy act for himself.

"Beautiful."

"Yeah, you think?" He rubs his scar absently. It's healed, but the spot is still tender, and Seungmin winces from it.

A step closer, and the smell of peach soju and bourbon surrounds both of them. "Maybe I can take your mind off the pain."

His heart pounds with anticipation and fear. He should have thought through exactly how he intended to do this, but he assumed that would come to him quickly. "That would be nice."

The man wastes no time getting handsy, and Seungmin lets him do whatever he pleases. He can submit for now, that's fine. It's not only fine, actually, it's also probably for the best, because this is the perfect time for him to figure it out. "Bedroom is right behind me."

"Perfect." He grabs Seungmin's waist and walks him backward toward the door.

If only he could get hard. If he can't, this will have to end faster than planned. They're through the door, and being in here with someone else makes him feel a little bit sick. He had a feeling that might happen, but he pushes on, still thinking of nothing but you opening your eyes for him. "What's your name?" Why is he asking that? He never asks for details, and neither of them bothered exchanging the information at the bar.

"My name?" He smiles and runs his hands up and over Seungmin's ribs, kisses his chest. "Seongwu. What's yours?"

He laughs nervously, and Seongwu's smile breaks his heart. "Seungmin. My name is Seungmin." Suddenly, he wonders who's waiting for him at home—his mother, or a sibling, a roommate, a friend. What if he doesn't make it home to them tonight? What if you never make it home? Is their grief somehow less than his?

Yes

His touch becomes lighter. "Are you alright?"

Something shifts uncomfortably inside him. "Yeah." He hears a few slow notes from his music box, but it must be in his head because it's not even in the room. The flicker of the light is, too, because Seongwu doesn't flinch when it does it a second time. "I'm good, I just..."

"We can slow down."

"Yeah, maybe you—." What is he saying? All this work, and for what? This is for you. All of this is for you and the slim chance it might help. Even if it doesn't work, he can move to the next step knowing he tried. He backs up aimlessly until your bedside table stops him, and he gropes around for something. "Maybe you should go."

"You want me to leave?" He takes a few steps toward Seungmin, clearly hoping for a change of heart. "We can take a break, maybe have some coffee."

"Ye—yes...I mean..." No, you idiot. The voice in his head is his, he thinks. It's hard to tell now, despite the clarity. Don't be a fucking crybaby...you stupid little blanket-dragging brat. "I don't..." That's right, do as you're told.

"I'm sorry if I moved too fast."

"It isn't that."

Seongwu turns his back to Seungmin and bends to pick up his shirt. "Maybe we can try again another—" That's the last thing he says.

Seungmin stands over him, silent, scared, but relieved. There's a warm splatter of blood across his face and chest from the impact, but it's still not enough to finish the job, so he lifts his arms once more, breaths deep, and brings his weapon down on the back of his head. The cast iron dents the hardwood when it slips from his trembling hands, but he doesn't need it anymore. Seongwu is still, and the smile is long gone from his face.

The voice is gone too, as if it never existed, and the dead silence of the room brings the sick feeling back. Seungmin looks down at his weapon—one half of two heavy rabbit bookends he bought for you and your growing collection. "I'm...sorry. I'm sorry." He says it to the man on his floor as blood slowly trickles from his nose, and he says it to you...but he's not sure why.

Somehow, the whole ordeal only lasted an hour. From the moment they left the bar to the horrible thump of dead weight hitting the floor, one hour had passed. Another two saw the body properly disposed of, which he found remarkable considering how out of practice he's become lately. The last hour was for cleanup and the hottest shower he could handle. Seungmin feels a strange dread spread through him as the water runs down his body. The scar hurts. It throbs like a headache, and like a lit cigarette being put out on his skin at the same time. It feels like shattered glass is still trying to push out of the healed wound.

The world feels no different, but the strange sadness he felt eventually leave him alone. He gathers himself before heading back to the hospital, though, because he's convinced you can sense more than just his presence. This time, he remembers a cutting of your moonflower to take along—one blossom willed itself to open, and he makes sure that one makes it to you.

The worst part about walking down the hallway to your room is the few silent stares he collects along the way. No she's awake, she can't wait to see you, and not a single attempt at a smile. It's late, they're tired, he's tired...and you're still stuck.

"I'm here, love. I'm sorry I was gone so long." Seungmin stays there, lips pressed to your forehead, until someone starts to fuss. It's Haesung, and as soon as Seungmin picks him up, he's satisfied. "Hi, pup...have you two been good boys for the nurses. Yeah?" He places them together in one cot for now, and their hands quickly start to grope for each other.

It's time to talk, whether he can find the courage or not, because he can't let you go on like this. "Tokki?" His voice sounds far away, like someone else is talking for him. The horrible swell of nausea starts to rise, it crawls up his throat as he figures out exactly how to word this. And if he does manage to say it, there's really only one way you can answer, so he strips down to his shorts and carefully climbs into bed. Will it work if he just drifts off to sleep, and will you feel that in the beat of his heart against your back? "Please find me." You're probably tired, too, and asking you to work even harder wracks him with a guilt he has to push down.

After the day he's had, and despite his long nap, sleep comes quickly.

The beep of the monitor melts away, and then the bed as his body seems to vibrate like a diapason—a perfect pitch moving through his spine. Is that him, or you? Maybe it's something else entirely. Seungmin laughs as he drifts, thinking of his fingers tuning his piano and his guitar; his hand wrapping around a baseball as he sets up the perfect pitch. A perfect sinker. He counts the stitches as his fingertips move and spin the ball, and then he smells dirt. Good dirt. Dry dirt and freshly cut grass. The sun moves behind the clouds, and Seungmin winds up. The snap of his wrist feels good, and the ball does exactly what he wants it to—it moves in fast, and drops at the perfect moment, right into the glove of his catcher.

"You didn't signal that one!"

"Huh?" He still needs to squint as he watches the catcher stand and pull off their mask.

"I said you didn't signal a sinker." You sound serious, but your smile says otherwise.

The glove slips from his hand as he starts toward you, and everything moves funny in his (your?) dreamworld. "You caught it, though." He has to stop and close his eyes, so you meet him the rest of the way and pull him into your arms. "You found me."

"Of course I did. Thank you for my flowers."

He forgot to mention it before falling asleep, but of course, you caught the scent. "Hopefully we can take it back home soon."

"What did you need to talk about? And what did you leave to do? The boys cried twice while you were away, so I guess it wasn't that long."

"You know what I did."

"Yeah, if you put it that way. Everything went alright?"

Seungmin nods solemnly. "Yes, except you're not better. Maybe it wasn't enough."

"I'm not sure I can handle this much longer. I need you to be safe, though, and careful. The boys need you."

Now is the time. It's this, the risk of another kill, or nothing.

"What's on your mind, Min?"

And if he can't bring you back, that's it. It might be the last time your lights really, truly go out. No more dreamwalks, no more you, just Seungmin and the twins he has to make sure turn out right...and It. "I think you might need to die again."

The gut reaction that suggestion deserves gets swallowed back down to your stomach, but you know Seungmin sees it in your face. You don't want to die again. Each time you slipped into nothing, first came pain, and fear, and then a much too tangible darkness. No bright light, no euphoric feeling of floating like you hear about in other life after death stories. What if that's where you, a sinner, a killer, stay forever? The dank purgatory of the shed floor. "I don't wanna die again, Seungmin."

"I know, I don't like thinking about it."

"What makes you think that will fix me?"

Seungmin doesn't think you'll appreciate his intense gut feeling being the biggest reason, no matter how much you trust him. "Have you ever met the old woman who works at the GS25?" He feels silly asking, and he's too busy fidgeting with his glove to notice the look you give him. The woman mentioned you and the babies, so he already knows the answer.

"Yes, I have. She's a little odd, but nice. She told me..." What did she tell you? The memory is there, but the details are fuzzy. "Well, she fed me first." The taste memory is strong. "And then I swear she read my mind, or she tried to. She said something was in the way...maybe she knew I was gonna be dead soon."

"Something, or someone?" Heecheol and your mother might not necessarily be in the way, but they're not making things easier, either. Your mother has visited, yes, but she won't touch you, and she hasn't spoken a word to you once. Heecheol...his affection and his weakness for Seungmin have been taken advantage of, just like yours, but he can only deal with one thing at a time. He just hopes it's not moving deeper into him as the days pass.

"Something." You do remember that very vividly. "But she could have meant anything."

Seungmin takes both of your hands in his and brings them to his face, kisses them, and pulls you onto his lap. It's a relief to hold you, but it doesn't feel exactly like he knows it should. Your body is mostly solid in his arms, but at the same time, it feels like you could fade like smoke, or smudge like a fresh oil painting under his fingers. This is only a hologram.

"How much have you thought about this?"

He shakes his head and buries it in your neck. "Not much."

"And..." It's surreal, discussing this with him; your third death, hopefully small. "How do you plan on doing it?"

That much he has thought about, because it seemed obvious. Both of your deaths have been traumatic, but he knows if the circumstances had been different, the second time would have been less so. Slipping to sleep from a lack of oxygen is, Seungmin assumes, better than bleeding out in excruciating pain. "Same way I did it the first time." He tries to hold you tighter, but his hands seem to slip. "If I can do everything the same as I remember it..."

Seungmin's hand feels solid in yours. He's more corporeal than you are, more alive, and much warmer. You nod and place his palm across your lips just to strengthen the old memory, then move it to cup your cheek. "Okay. "

The bed is beneath him again, and your soft, solid body is pressed tightly against his. Warm and real. His grip tightens as he slowly gets his bearings again. He tries to remember every detail of the dream, beginning to end—every word, and every touch. You gave him permission. You trust him enough to do this, but before he does anything, he pulls away from you to visit the boys.

"Hi..." One palm sets gently on Haesung's stomach. "Who wants to visit umma?" The other on Haneul. They clench their fists, wiggle against each other, and a smile appears on both of their faces. Seungmin scoops both of them up to take to you. Haneul is first, set gently in the space beside your right arm, and then Haesung in the left. Both boys turn toward your body almost immediately, grab at your shirt and hold tight. Haesung, the most enthusiastic eater of the two, pulls the fabric of your shirt into his mouth as he searches for more, but there's nothing there for him now. Not tonight. "We can stay like this for a while." His voice strains as his throat tightens.

Just in case

At 2 am, the floor goes eerily quiet. The minimal nursing staff is either preoccupied with a floor full of patients or on a break. This is the part he decided to figure out when the moment arrived: what if he gets caught in the act? What if it doesn't work, but the bruises give his act away? Two ifs are far too many, but something unexpected happens a moment later, and it's as if the universe opens a window for him. Finally.

Seungmin leans in to kiss you...

"The last few months, I finally started to feel like I could be happy forever. Maybe I'm being too optimistic about the future, even now, but I want to be. I want to believe we can get through this and have the life we both need. That's why this will work, it has to, because Haneul and Haesung need both of us to grow and be who they're supposed to be. You have to be there when they learn to walk and talk." He stops for a moment to compose himself. There's fear in his voice, and uncertainty, and Seungmin doesn't want that to be the last thing you hear. "You make everything better, and you make me so much stronger, so we make them stronger. You're the strongest part of us, do you know that? Yeah, I think you do." He watches the monitor carefully so he can be absolutely certain that you hear him. "If it could bring you back, I would set the world on fire. I love you, nobody else."

A patient across the hall crashes. He hears the chaos outside the door, the scream of the monitor in the distance. He opens the cover on yours, puts in the code he's seen the nurses use a few times before, and switches it off. Seungmin tells you again, kisses you, and then climbs on the bed. His palm cups your mouth, gently at first, so he can feel the warmth of your breath against his skin, and then he stops it. The hand that pinned you to the bed the first time pinches your nose shut, and it takes everything in him not to stop and forget about this whole thing, to let go and wait this out, to not collapse from fear. He doesn't need the monitor to know your heart is slamming against your chest, because he can see it thumping in your neck. Seungmin can feel the life pulsing through you and slowly leaving you. He can feel where the bruises will be as his fingers press into your delicate skin. One of the boys quietly cries behind him, but stops just as quickly. A minute and a few seconds pass, he makes sure to count carefully, and the movement in your neck is gone...how little effort it takes when you're already so weak and defeated. Another thirty seconds. He can't risk having to do this again. Two fingers search for a pulse and feel nothing. He switches the monitor back on, and a few seconds pass before the screen reappears and shows him what he expects. No heartbeat, no oxygen saturation. Nothing. You're dead, but only if he leaves you like this. As he climbs off the bed, another tiny cry comes from the cot the twins are sharing, but he doesn't look. His eyes don't leave you.

The chaos outside the room is still keeping them safe.

Thirty seconds pass without a breath, and he can't wait any longer.

"Time to wake up, love." He pulls your lips apart, closes his mouth around them, and fills your lungs with air. Once. Twice. And then he waits. nothing happens, and he's prepared to climb on the bed and break your ribs to restart your heart. The third breath is deep and slow as it fills you up. "Wake up, baby, please." Zeros still blink at him on the monitor. "Please."

Their cries fill the room, steadily rising until Seungmin can't help but turn away from you and look at them. "Boys, I'm sorry." He whispers, but he's rooted in his spot no matter how hard he tries to move toward them. The cries turn to screams, and at any moment, someone will hear them and come running.

One more breath, he thinks. Three was enough last time, but this is different. A fourth time, your lungs are full of him. A fifth time. Seungmin counts to ten before he climbs on top of you and presses his palm into your sternum, and he rubs with pressure that gradually increases from his panic. Both palms find the right spot and push over and over in quick succession, hard and steady, until he feels something crack. "Please come back." He gasps, and his vision blurs with tears as he searches for the call button. "You can't go!" He falls forward and tucks his arms beneath your back, kisses you, and sends in one last breath. Six. His mouth stays put as the tears fall and land on your cheek. How can he let go?

The sounds surrounding him, the cries and the chaos outside, are muffled as his head throbs with an unimaginable pain. There's a cold breeze as the doors slide open, heavy footsteps, a frantic voice in the distance, and then a hand on his back. Another hand on his forearm. Both slip away as something warm moves across his cheek. And then there's silence before the slow, steady beep begins. Seungmin opens his eyes and tries to blink away the tears, and when he finally lets go, a quiet sigh is the loudest thing in the room. His eyes open to yours, half-lidded, hazel peaking out from under long dark lashes, his tears streaking down your face.

"Uh, I..." The voice that comes out is scratchy, like finally getting out from under a long, awful cold. "Are we dreaming?"

"No, not dreaming." Seungmin whispers and cups his hands around your face. "We're awake."

What little light is reaching you feels like looking directly into the sun, but you listen to his voice, because his voice is everything. It's all you've had to keep you here, and it's the sweetest thing you've ever heard. Of course you listen. His eyes are wide, wet from his tears, and his hands are shaking. "Puppy."

"Hi." He laughs, but you can still hear the fear trying to leave him. He backs up a few inches and climbs off the bed, but one hands remains on your body. It lies on your chest, feeling the beat of your heart as it returns to a normal rhythm. "Can you move?"

Your hand slides up and over his. There's some stiffness in your sleepy muscles and a sharp pain in your ribs, but your body moves when your brain tells it to. Your other hand lifts and your fingers spread, and Seungmin takes that one, too. "I think so."

He's afraid to make any sudden movements, as if you could break or revert at any moment, but the nurse finally approaches and feels compelled to do her job. Seungmin can't blame her, but moving from this spot is not an option. He watches as she looks over the monitor, but she's surprisingly quiet. She presses two fingers to your wrist, just like before, and seems satisfied with the results.

"Can you hear me?" She says in English and smiles when you nod. Her hand is raised, palm facing you. "Can you touch the tip of your first finger to mine?"

Seungmin releases you from his grasp, and your arm, still shaky, raises into the air. Your fingers curl into a fist, but your pointer finger pops out and lands just below its target. It makes it there on the second try.

"Good! Can you tell me your full name? How about your husband's name?"

It's all still in your head, and it comes out excitedly in your scratchy voice.

"And your babies. Names and birthday?"

"Haneul and Haesung. June 1st. Where are they?"

"They're here." Seungmin takes your hand again. "Just a few steps away."

The nurse steps forward again, stethoscope in hand, and listens to your chest for a few deep breaths. Seungmin's stomach flips when she examines the red marks around your mouth, but she says nothing for the time being. He has to hope he was as gentle as he meant to be, and no bruises appear.

"I think I broke a rib, I'm so sorry." Seungmin wipes gently around your lips. There are marks there from his successful mouth-to-mouth, his spit, and yours, as if you just finished an intense makeout session.

"Probably just a small fracture, but let me know if it gets worse or more difficult to take a full breath. I'll be in every hour until the doctor arrives in the morning. No getting out of bed."

The nurse is unsure of what to do, and you assume it's because nobody expected this to happen.

Finally, it's just the four of you, but when Seungmin looks down at your tired, smiling face, he's lost for words for the first time in weeks. He told you so much while your body slept in this bed...when you couldn't answer, and he wasn't sure you could hear.

"My smart, brave boy." You whisper. "How did you know that would work?"

Seungmin needs to kiss you all over, but he's terrified of hurting you. "I didn't know for sure. Was it stupid to try? I haven't been that scared in a very long time." He settles for a kiss on your forehead, but it's not enough for you.

"No. Kiss me, please."

He eagerly obeys and lets you return it at your own speed. Slow and deep, just what he needs. The weakness in your mouth and limbs is obvious, but the kiss is just right.

"Your hair is..." You run your fingers through the new growth, and even though it isn't much, it's more than a week, maybe more than two weeks, of growth. "It's coming back. Can you bring the boys over?"

The cot rolls noisily to your bedside, and Seungmin catches a few of the nurses and aids staring in at them through the now open curtains. You and the condition you've been in is a mystery to them, as it should be. If only they knew the half of it. "I shouldn't set him on your chest if your rib is fractured." Haneul is lifted into his arms first.

You gasp. "Oh, how long has it been?" And now it really hurts to breathe. "Seungmin..." It comes out in a quiet sob, the kind you perfected as a child and haven't forgotten. "How long?"

It doesn't occur to him how heavy Haneul has gotten and how much the twins have grown until now, because it happened so steadily in front of his eyes. For you, the change is dramatic and strange.

"Let me hold him, please." You sniffle and wipe your cheeks before reaching, and the pain is hard to hide.

He hands him over carefully, keeping hold of him until he's flat on your chest and nestled comfortably against your neck. "Almost five weeks." Haesung cries for attention, and Seungmin doesn't make him wait. "Look pup," he whispers, "umma is awake, and she missed you so much."

"They got so big. And I missed it."

There is nothing he can do to take that pain away. "I took lots of photos and videos, but I know it's not the same." It's not fair that you missed their first smiles, but he's too overjoyed by your recovery to dwell on it, and he hopes you'll feel the same soon. Your body and mind still need to catch up, and Seungmin is full of questions he doesn't dare ask yet.

"Lie with me." There's not much room to move over, but you know the two of you fit on this bed. "Both of you."

He's more careful now than he's ever been, because he sees you now like he did when you were near the end of your pregnancy; fragile, like something could go wrong at any moment. The doctor won't be here for another five or six hours, but Seungmin is desperate for you to have a full workup, a clean bill of health, and to see you on your feet. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me." But the marks around your mouth are starting to show a little more, and he hopes he can pin that on his desperate attempts to bring you back. You lean against him until you can rest on his shoulder, and the worry disappears. Haneul grabs at your chest, tries to lift his head, and his first smile for you spreads across his face. "You cared for them so well on your own...didn't he, Sky?" A tiny grunt and babble in response, or maybe from his determined crawl a little further up your chest. "You have the best appa in the whole world. How did we get so lucky?"

"The nurses helped. And your mother watched them a few times."

"Don't you dare sell yourself short. You're a great dad, and your boys know it. I know it."

Seungmin sleeps soundly. He's pressed tightly against you in the small bed, but you have no interest in closing your eyes when you can lie here and watch him, feel his breath across your cheek, and truly touch him. The scent of cigarettes was all over him when he came in, and it's still there; sweet apple and tobacco mixed with his heady, anxious sweat. He smells like the man who walked you home and effortlessly, wordlessly invited himself into your apartment—anxious, but still charismatic.

Outside the room, the nurses still glance in every time they walk by, and your favorite nurse has checked in every hour, on the hour, since you woke up. You wondered what she looked like, and you were pretty close; very young, and maybe new to this career. That would explain her patience, and possibly her unwavering sweetness. Each time she entered, it was careful and quiet, questions whispered to keep from waking Seungmin.

"He is very special." She said on her most recent check, 6am. "I hope, I'm sorry if it's...um, improper to say...I hope someday to find a husband like him."

Your smile sets her at ease. "I don't know how I got so lucky."

"You should get some rest."

"I'm afraid to close my eyes, but I'm not tired. I'm happy just looking at the three of them sleeping."

She nods, seeming to understand. "The doctor should be here soon."

Seungmin wakes as the door slides shut, but before he says a word, he gently pulls you close. "Glad that wasn't a dream."

His gravely, half-asleep voice sends a shock through your body that you forgot existed. Thank god for that feeling—the dizzying, almost painful jolt of pleasure and need. It's not worth dwelling on now, but you'll get there soon. "No, I'm here. I don't think I'll mess around with my dreams anymore. Or yours. I think I pissed someone off." You say it in jest, partially, because something punished you. Something felt like you needed to be humbled for your hubris.

"God? No, God isn't paying attention to us now, just like he didn't pay attention when we were kids."

He's right. If there is a god and you did make him angry...good. What has he ever done for you? The best things that have happened to you are in this room, and you'll thank the chaos of the universe before anything else. They make up for all the bad. Every horrible thing in your life pales in comparison to this. "Can you bring the boys over again?"

The doctor stares at your chart silently for far too long before speaking, and then he finally looks to you. A formal diagnosis has never been given for your condition, and the three students behind him wait breathlessly for him to begin. Seungmin is obviously annoyed by how long things are taking, like usual, and he decides to sit in the far corner with the boys until they're finished. You know he just wants to take you home.

The nurse, your favorite one, keeps glancing up from behind the nurses' station

"So..." he begins, clears his throat, and continues. "Heather, how are you feeling? I have very detailed notes from Nurse Bomi, but I'd like to hear directly from you."

All of your caregivers have referred to you by your nickname, so hearing your real name come from anyone but your mother feels strange. Seungmin likes your name, for obvious reasons, and he still uses it sometimes...he just prefers the name he gave you more.

"We'll start with that, and then I have a list of questions."

Your neurologist is young, at least he looks young, and he's handsome. He has the same intense stare as your husband.

"Tokki?" Seungmin tucks some stray hairs behind your ear. "Everything okay?" You didn't even hear him approach.

You take a deep breath and nod, "yeah, sorry. I'm okay." The doctor and his students wait patiently. "I feel fine. My body feels weak, but I guess that's from not moving." Nurse Bomi pulled the feeding tube from your nose an hour ago, along with every other thing connecting you to the bed, but it feels like it's still there.

"Have you had any issues forming sentences? Do they come out as your full thought, or do they seem disjointed?"

To your ears, everything feels and sounds normal, and Seungmin hasn't shown any concern. "I don't think so." But you look to him anyway." Do I sound normal?"

"Yes, you sound like yourself."

"No stuttering?"

You shake your head.

"Any numbness, or tingling in your limbs?"

You shake your head again.

"Thirty-four days doesn't seem very long, but in this case, it is. You may have to readjust to walking and other small tasks, like feeding or holding your children. We'll keep you here for a few days for some physical therapy."

Seungmin can't hold his disapproval down a second longer. "Can she do therapy at home? Wouldn't taking her home with us help her get back to normal?"

"Yes, but two more days here is my recommendation. She needs a little more time for observation. It's for the best."

Home is obviously your preference, as well, but you understand the need to stay. "Two days will go by quickly."

"Just a few more questions, if you're feeling up to it." He continues when you nod. "On a scale of one to ten, how aware of your surroundings would you say you were during those thirty-four days?"

"Uhm...eight? I would say ten, but I couldn't see who was here. I could hear everything, and I felt everything. I remember all the stories Seungmin told me, the boys crying, and a few nasty things some of the other nurses said."

Everyone looks embarrassed despite their lack of guilt. "I apologize for that."

Standing on your own feels strange, even after two days of therapy, so you hang onto Seungmin as the elevator comes to a smooth stop. Being away so long makes the place feel and smell brand new again. The hallway is much brighter than you remember, but you learn later that's because he changed all the fixtures on every floor.

I did a lot of stuff to stay busy, he said, mostly things I've been putting off since you moved in.

All by yourself?

Yeah, but I had company.

He looks down at the boys, and Haneul catches him and smiles. His brother is busy reaching for the soft rattle hanging above him. You can picture him with the stroller and a toolbox, moving down each long hallway, singing to them as he worked, telling them stories, and getting the precious time you were robbed of.

The apartment is brighter, too, but it's because the setting sun is coming in through the open curtains, the ones that are usually pulled closed to keep the summer heat to a minimum. It's warm, but a comfortable warm, and the sweet citrus smell that hits you makes everything brighter still. "It smells nice in here. It looks nice." Not that you ever doubted his housekeeping abilities. This place was tidy before you showed up, but taking care of two newborns all alone complicates things. The apartment isn't just neat, it's different.

"It's almost dusk, your flowers are opening."

The small dark couch is gone, and in its place is a squishy-looking sectional tucked into the corner of the living room. A new rug, big and round, and soft enough for the babies to crawl on when the time comes. Even the coffee table is different. The little dining room set is the same, but there's a vase of white Chinese asters in the center, and the table looks partially set for dinner. "Feels good to be back."

"I hope you don't mind that I changed some things.”

"Mind? No, I don't mind. Everything looks perfect."

He takes his time unstrapping the boys and moving them to their much more comfortable loungers, but you try to help, and he stops to watch with Hanuel in his arms.

"I'm okay, I can do it."

"I know. You did really well in therapy, and I have no reason to worry..."

"But you still worry, I understand. I know what you're thinking."

Before he asks, both boys are strapped in and content, and Seungmin heads for the kitchen to make their dinner. "Do you?" He looks back at you and smiles. "Sometimes I think you are reading my mind."

"Only when you're asleep."

"Have you always been this weird?" He spins when you wrap your arms around him and squeezes you gently against his chest. "I bet you have." Seungmin probably doesn't realize how easily your accent rubs off on him, but you can hear it in some of his words. "They're gonna be just like you when they're older..."

TAGLIST:

“And you’re sure you want to do this?” Minho asks, softly, as he turns the collar around in his hands.

It’s pink, a little bell hanging off the metal heart in the middle, three different slots available to tighten for size.

Seungmin bought it last week, after five whole days of discussions.

You asked your boyfriends for a collar, and Seungmin instantly agreed. Although it took a little more time to persuade Minho. He wanted it, you could tell by the crimson shade of his ears as soon as you initially brought the idea up—but Minho was the kind of boyfriend that never wanted to hurt you. Even though he knew you enjoyed it, he always wanted to protect you. Seungmin understood both of you equally, which was what helped the three of you work as flawlessly as you did. Seungmin shared Minho’s concerns, heard them and nodded his head silently, while also teasing you for how excited the idea made you.

In the end, Seungmin showed you three collars and when your eyes lingered a few seconds longer on the pink one he added it to his cart that night.

Yesterday the package arrived.

“Minho, I’m sure,” you promise him, “it’s gonna be so fucking hot.”

Minho smirked at you, shy and excited, his eyes locked on yours.

“You know Kim Seungmin loves you on your knees,” he says lowly, “I do, too.”

“You do?” You smile.

“Mhm hmm,” Minho nods sharply, “look so pretty with your beautiful eyes looking up at us.”

“Min, please,” you say, so soon, “put it on me?”

“Go get dressed,” Minho orders, “Seungminnie is gonna get here in ten minutes and then we can do everything you asked for.”

You smile big, excitedly clapping your hands together. Minho chuckles at you, eyes sparkling before he plants a small kiss on your lips.

“Go on,” he says, enamoured, before sitting back on the bed—collar still clutched tightly in his hand.

You quickly go to the bathroom, where your outfit is waiting on the counter. You get dressed, your new matching pink lace set fitting your body perfectly. The thong is a little tight, but you don’t think it’s gonna stay on for too long—so you don’t mind it much.

You take a look in the mirror, silently thanking Seungmin for his taste in lingerie; it makes you feel so incredibly sexy. You can’t wait to feel their eyes on you as they see the way the pink fabric compliments your curves.

With excitement, butterflies dancing all around your insides, you take a deep breath before walking back into the bedroom.

Minho’s spread on the bed, hand tucked behind his head as he scrolls on his phone. You can tell he’s looking forward to tonight, his sweats doing a poor job at concealing his already present bulge.

When he hears the bathroom door close shut, he looks up. His mouth falls open, front teeth peeking out as he looks you up and down three times. Then, “holy shit.”

“You like it?”

Minho swallows, eyes growing wide as he nods repeatedly.

“God, bunny,” he says, slightly breathless, “look at you.”

“I think I like it better when you look at me,” you chuckle.

“I’m looking,” he says, licking his lips, “god. Fuck.”

He sits up, his phone long forgotten and with a small flick of his fingers calls you over. You waste no time at all, quickly climbing on the bed to sit by his side.

“So pretty like this,” he runs his hands over your hair, softly brushing it with his fingers. “Pretty bunny.”

His hand leaves your hair after a few moments, running down your bare back before he softly cups your ass.

“So soft,” he hums, tucking his finger under the fabric of your g-string. He runs his finger up and down, tugging it tighter around you.

With his other hand, Minho runs his fingers over your stomach, higher and higher until he cups your tits in his hand. He’s gentle, rubbing his thumb over the soft lace and when your breath hitches he starts circling your nipple through your pink bra.

“Wanna touch you all over,” he mumbles, “but I don’t think it’ll be right to take these off yet. Look how perfect your tits are in this.”

You blush at his words but Minho is too distracted by your chest to comment on it. He pushes the cup down, only enough for your nipple to peak out, and then he rubs his thumb over it in quick motions.