Landshark Fandom Trash

98%.

The number glared up at you from the paper.

it's a good grade, objectively a great one. but there had to be a mistake - you’d stayed up three nights straight reviewing every possible permutation of the material. Your notes had been immaculate. You’d even rewritten them twice just to be sure.

Behind you, someone cleared their throat. you braced yourself for whatever annoying thing Jisung was about to say.

"Oof," Jisung said, leaning over your shoulder. "Ninety eight? I mean, close enough."

His own test fluttered into your peripheral vision, 100%. Of course.

"Better luck next time," he added. His voice was light, teasing - a tone he’d used since freshman year whenever he edged you out by fractions of a point.

You exhaled through your nose, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you shoved your test into your bag, zipping it shut.

Jisung didn’t take the hint. He never did. He propped his hip against your desk, grinning as he watched you pack up.

"Don’t worry," Jisung continued, "I’ll let you copy my notes next time."

You finally looked up at him - his stupidly perfect face, his stupidly smug grin, stupidly big framed glasses.

"Like hell I’d copy your chicken scratch," you muttered, shoving your chair back harder than necessary. making its legs screech against the floor.

Jisung’s grin widened. "y'know, if you actually got enough sleep instead of staying up all night-"

You stood up and stomped on his foot, hard.

He yelped, hopping backward with exaggerated agony. "Ow! What was that for?"

You didn’t dignify him with an answer. You slung your bag over your shoulder and walked off without a backward glance.

Behind you, Jisung’s dramatic whining faded into the background noise of the lecture hall, punctuated by a burst of laughter from somewhere near the exit. You didn’t need to look to know it was Changbin, doubled over with amusement while Chan stood beside him, hand resting on the strap of his bag, waiting patiently.

The three of them had been inseparable since their second year of high school, when Chan, already broad shouldered and responsible beyond his years, had stepped between a scrawny, loudmouthed Jisung who'd just learned curse words and a group of seniors looking for an easy target.

Changbin, who’d been watching the confrontation from a nearby bench, had tossed a water bottle at the ringleader’s head mid threat. The resulting chaos had somehow ended with all three of them in detention, and that was where their friendship formed.

By graduation, the three of them had already cemented their fate - Chan, Changbin, and Jisung were a package deal, an inseparable trio that had somehow survived four years of high school without murdering each other.

So when university acceptance letters rolled in, the decision was already made, they’d stick together, signing a lease for a cramped apartment near campus before the ink on their diplomas had even dried.

And then there was you.

Orientation week had been the beginning of it all, though you hadn’t realized it at the time.

You hadn’t noticed Jisung at first during orientation. Not really. He’d been just another face in the crowd, another overeager freshman with bad posture and a laugh too loud.

as for him though, he had a stupid, undeniable crush on you.

he tried to talk to you, you’d been too busy rearranging your schedule to register his existence - some mumbled joke about the professor’s hair that you’d brushed off with a polite smile before walking away.

Another time, still during orientation, he’d lingered near your seat after the icebreaker games, hovering like he expected you to acknowledge him. You hadn’t.

What had caught your attention was the first exam. You’d walked out of that lecture hall certain you’d aced it, only to find your name one spot below his on the results board.

he'd realized then that you're probably a perfectionist, and that you did not like being in second place. you never were in second place, ever since high school.

he became your competition from then.

Jisung noticed the shift immediately. He could’ve backed off. He didn’t. Instead, he leaned into it.

It wasn’t that he wanted you to hate him. He just wanted you to look at him.

Don't get him wrong, he did try to befriend you, but when that ended in inevitable failure, he opted for his last option, the one thing guaranteed to make you react, relentless, obnoxious teasing. If you couldn’t stand him, at least you’d notice him.

It worked better than he’d expected.

three years later, and Han Jisung was still the single most irritating person you'd ever met.

~

The sound of the apartment door jolted Jisung awake. He blinked at the ceiling, groggy and disoriented, sunlight already painting stripes across his unmade bed.

His phone lay facedown on the floor where he’d tossed it last night. He fumbled for it, thumb smearing against the screen as he squinted at the time, 9:47 AM.

"Shit."

Jisung groaned, rubbing his face with both hands as the pieces clicked together - his snoozed alarm, the muffled knocking he'd sleepily batted away earlier, Chan had tried. Chan had definitely tried to wake him up.

Jisung rolled out of bed, scrambling upright, one hand already tugging his hoodie over his head while the other fumbled for his backpack.

He was not gonna be that late if he decided to take a short cut. And so he did.

Cutting through the science building was a gamble, technically off limits to non majors before noon, but Jisung had long since memorized the janitor’s schedule.

He ducked under a half raised security gate, sidestepping a cart of lab equipment as he beelined for the west exit. His footsteps echoed too loudly in the empty hallway, but he didn’t slow down - not until a sharp clang from an adjacent lab made him skid to a halt.

Jisung turned his head just in time to see a door marked 'BIOTECH RESEARCH - AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY' swing shut, the tail end of a lab coat disappearing behind it.

He hesitated for half a second, before the distant chime of the campus clock tower rang. He was so late.

Jisung shouldn’t have been there.

The lock mechanism whirred as he hovered near the entrance, the distant hum of machinery inside prickling at his ears. Curiosity had always been his fatal flaw.

He glanced over his shoulder. The hallway was empty.

The door hissed open with a nudge of his shoulder, just wide enough for him to slip through. The lab was a maze of steel tables and humming equipment, bathed in the sterile glow of overhead LEDs.

Glass tanks lined the far wall, their murky contents swirling with movement - something skittered behind the frosted glass, too fast to track. spiders.

"Cool," he muttered, stepping further inside.

Jisung's fingers hovered over the nearest microscope, its lens gleaming under the lab lights. The surface was cool to the touch. Before he could explore more, a sharp click from the far end of the room froze him mid reach. His breath hitched. The sound wasn't mechanical. It was footsteps.

He ducked behind a lab bench, his knee connecting painfully with a drawer handle. He bit his tongue to keep from swearing.

Through the gap between two beakers, he could just make out the silhouette of a researcher - tall, white coated, absorbed in a clipboard. The man moved methodically down the row of specimens, pausing occasionally to adjust dials or scribble notes.

When the researcher turned toward a computer terminal, Jisung seized his chance. He crab walked backward, keeping low, until his shoulder bumped into something decidedly not a lab table. it was one of the glass tanks from earlier.

The container wobbled. He lunged to steady the glass before it could shatter and give away his presence that was not allowed in this lab, but his palm slipped against the condensation slick surface. The lid shifted with a silent clink.

A spider the size of a quarter dropped onto his wrist.

Jisung's entire body locked up. The spider's legs were needle thin, its body an unnatural shade of iridescent blue that shimmered under the lab lights.

For a suspended second, neither of them moved - Jisung paralyzed by instinctive revulsion, the spider crouched like a coiled spring. Then it bit him.

The pain was sharp and sudden, Jisung clamped his free hand over his mouth to smother the yelp threatening to escape. The researcher's footsteps paused.

"Who's there?"

Jisung froze. His wrist burned where the spider's fangs had pierced his skin, the pain radiating up his arm in slow, crawling waves.

The spider twitched between his fingers, its iridescent body pulsing unnaturally as he pinched it. For a split second, he considered tossing it aside - but the memory of its bite made his stomach twist.

Without thinking, he squished it between his finger, killing it.

Jisung grimaced, wiping his hand against his pants as the researcher's footsteps grew louder. He ducked lower behind the lab bench. A clipboard clattered onto the table above him, followed by the metallic click of a pen. The researcher muttered something under his breath - numbers, maybe, or measurements - before his shoes squeaked against the floor, turning away.

Jisung exhaled silently through his nose. His wrist throbbed. The bite mark was already red, the skin around it blotchy and hot to the touch. He flexed his fingers experimentally, half expecting his hand to lock up, but aside from the sting, nothing seemed immediately wrong.

The researcher's footsteps faded toward the far end of the lab. Jisung waited ten seconds before risking a glance over the edge of the bench. The man's back was turned, his attention fixed on a row of specimen jars. Jisung didn't wait. He walked backward until his shoulders hit the wall, then slid along it toward the door, keeping low.

The door clicked open just enough for him to slip through. He didn't look back.

The hallway was still empty. Jisung broke into a sprint, rounding the corner just as the lab door groaned shut behind him.

By the time he burst through the science building's side exit, the pain in his wrist had dulled to a steady ache. The sunlight hit his face, momentarily blinding him. He blinked, disoriented, before his phone buzzed violently in his pocket.

Changbin's name flashed across the screen.

Jisung fumbled with his phone, nearly dropping it as Changbin's second call lit up the screen. He swiped to answer just as a cyclist swerved around him, yelling something unflattering about his lack of spatial awareness.

"Where the hell are you?" Changbin's voice crackled through the speaker.

He rolled his wrist experimentally, half expecting a jolt of pain, but only a dull ache remained. strange, but not alarming enough to mention.

"Chill, I'm literally two minutes away," Jisung huffed into the phone, sidestepping a group of freshmen clustered around a campus map.

Jisung skidded to a halt outside the lecture hall, his sneakers squeaking against the polished floor as he yanked the door open. Twenty pairs of eyes swiveled toward him - including yours, narrowed with undisguised irritation from the front row.

The professor paused mid sentence, her laser pointer flickering against the projection screen.

"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Han," she said dryly.

Jisung flashed her a grin "Traffic was brutal."

The professor arched an eyebrow. "You live on campus."

"Exactly."

Jisung collapsed into the empty seat next to you with a sigh. Conveniently, there were no other free seats.

The professor resumed her lecture, but Jisung wasn't listening. His fingers drummed restlessly against the desk, his knee bouncing so fast it blurred. You gritted your teeth.

"Would you stop?" you hissed under your breath, jabbing your pen toward his twitching leg.

Jisung blinked at you like he'd forgotten you were there. "Stop what?"

"That." You gestured pointedly at his knee, "You're shaking the entire row."

He glanced down, as if surprised by his own body. "Huh."

Jisung blinked again, his fingers stilling mid tap against the desk. "Oh. Sorry."

He stopped. His knee went still. His fingers curled into a loose fist against the desk. Even his breathing seemed to slow, like he was consciously holding himself in check.

The professor's lecture droned on, but you couldn't focus. Your peripheral vision kept catching on Jisung's unnaturally still form.

Then he sneezed.

The sound was sharp, explosive, and entirely too loud for the lecture hall. Half the class jumped. The professor paused mid sentence, her laser pointer flickering off the screen. Jisung sniffled, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand.

"Bless you," you muttered automatically.

Jisung turned his head so fast you heard his neck crack. "Thanks," he whispered back. His voice was hoarse, like he'd been yelling earlier - though you couldn't remember hearing him speak at all today.

The strangeness of it prickled at your neck. Jisung didn't whisper. He didn't apologize. And he certainly didn't stop fidgeting for twenty straight minutes.

weird

~

after lectures, you were supposed to be studying.

Keyword: supposed.

Currently, your textbook lay abandoned as Yunjin scrolled through her phone, legs kicked up onto the library table in direct violation of at least three campus rules.

"I swear to god," she muttered, stabbing her screen, "if Professor Kang assigns one more reading—" she cut herself off with a sigh.

"I'll drop out," Yunjin announced, tossing her phone onto the table. "I'll move to a remote island. Raise goats. Never think about electron configurations again."

You snorted, flipping a page in your textbook without absorbing a single word. "You'd cry over the first goat that liked someone else better."

"Excuse you, I'm extremely likable-" Yunjin's protest cut off mid-sentence as she caught you glancing sideways for the third time in five minutes.

"Ohhhh. That's why you're failing to absorb basic chemistry. Distracted by your archnemesis over there."

You stiffened. "I don't know what you're—"

"Han Jisung," Yunjin sing songed, nodding toward the table where Jisung was slumped over a pile of notebooks, dead asleep.

His cheek was pressed against an open textbook, one arm dangling off the edge of the table, the side of his wrist adorned with what looked like a nasty bruise. A thin line of drool connected his mouth to a page. "You were staring at that."

"I was not staring," you hissed, slamming your textbook shut . Several students at nearby tables startled. Jisung didn't even twitch. "I was just—"

"Admiring his scholarly dedication?" Yunjin smirked, kicking her feet down from the table. "Or maybe his impressive drool radius?"

"I was wondering how someone who sleeps through every lecture still manages to ace every exam."

As if on cue, Jisung shifted in his sleep, his dangling arm swinging. he nearly toppled him sideways out of his chair. Your body reacted before your brain could stop it, half standing, hand outstretched - only to freeze when he somehow righted himself without waking.

Yunjin's eyebrows shot up. "Wow."

"Wow what?" You dropped back into your seat, face burning.

"Nothing," she said, stretching the word into three syllables. "Just never realized you cared so much about Jisung's spinal health."

"I just didn't want to witness a concussion in the library."

Yunjin grinned, kicking you lightly under the table. "Uh huh. Sure. That's definitely why you looked ready to dive across three tables like a superhero." She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. "You secretly like him."

You choked on air. "Like him? Are you insane? He's—" You gestured wildly toward Jisung's sleeping form. "—that. That's what he is. A menace. A sleeping menace."

"Aw, but look how peaceful he is," Yunjin cooed, feigning innocence. "Like a little angel."

At that exact moment, Jisung snorted loudly in his sleep, mumbled something unintelligible, and promptly face planted directly onto his textbook. You winced. Yunjin burst out laughing.

He lifted his head blearily, blinked at the drool smeared page stuck to his cheek, then promptly slumped back down without a single coherent thought behind his eyes.

Yunjin wiped tears from her cheeks, still giggling. "Oh my god. He's adorable."

"You're delusional," you muttered, shoving your notebook into your backpack. The zipper caught on a loose page, and you yanked it free with a frustrated huff. "Let's get lunch before I have to listen to any more of this."

Yunjin’s eyes lit up suddenly, "Oh! Right," she said, snapping her fingers as you shoved the last of your notebooks into your bag. "You’re coming with me to that party tonight."

You blinked. "What party?"

"The one hyunjin’s throwing at his apartment," she said, as if this were obvious. "The one I told you about last week."

"You absolutely did not."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Semantics. Anyway, after lunch, we’re going back to our dorm so you can try on at least three outfits before I approve one."

You groaned, slinging your backpack over your shoulder. "No way. I have actual responsibilities."

Yunjin stood, shoving her phone into her pocket "Nope. You’ve been holed up in the library for weeks. You’re coming, and you’re going to socialize, and you’re going to like it." She paused, then added with a smirk, "Unless you’d rather stay here and stare at Jisung some more."

You nearly tripped over your own feet. "What? I wasn’t—"

"Uh huh." She linked her arm through yours, steering you toward the library exit "lunch first, outfits second, party third. No arguments."

You dug your heels in halfway to the door. "What if I want to argue? - who the hell even hosts a party on a school night-"

Yunjin sighed dramatically, turning to face you with a look of exaggerated pity. "Sweet, naive, delusional you. When have your arguments ever worked on me?"

"...Never."

"Exactly." She patted your cheek. "Now move. I’m starving."

You did end up going according to Yunjin’s plans - not that you had a choice, given she’d physically dragged you out of the library, then out of your dorm.

to top it all off, you had to wait for her because if you didn't, there'd be no one to take her drunk ass home, and you'd end up finding her in a ditch somewhere next morning.

so you had to wait till the asscrack of the night to take her home because no matter how un enjoyable a party is, you were not a bad friend.

and you were gonna be so late tomorrow.

~

The blaring alarm tore Jisung from his sleep this time. He gasped awake, limbs tangled in sheets that felt suspiciously sticky - had he spilled something last night? His hand shot out blindly toward the nightstand, fingers slapping against anything but his phone.

The alarm continued shrieking. Jisung groaned, pawing at the edge of his nightstand until his fingertips brushed warm metal. He grabbed his phone and hit the screen repeatedly-

The screen cracked under Jisung's fingers with a pop when he swiped to turn off the alarm. not a full shatter, but a spiderweb of fractures radiating from his thumbprint.

He blinked at it, sleep fogged brain struggling to process why his phone screen suddenly broke just from a few taps of his finger.

The display still functioned beneath the damage, the time, 8:15AM, visible through the splintered glass. Jisung flexed his fingers. He hadn't pushed that hard. Had he?

Jisung frowned, pushing himself up onto his elbows. The cracked phone screen wasn't the only thing that felt off, his head throbbed like he'd pulled an all nighter.

He grabbed his glasses from the nightstand, fingers fumbling with the frames in his haste.

The moment he slid them on, the world tilted.

Everything blurred into a nauseating smear of colors and shapes - like someone had smeared Vaseline across his lenses.

Jisung ripped the glasses off his face. The world snapped into focus, he could see perfectly without his glasses. He blinked rapidly. His vision hadn't been this clear since elementary school.

"What the fuck," he whispered, turning his hands over in front of his face. The calluses on his fingertips stood out in stark relief, the whorls of his fingerprints unnervingly detailed.

He rubbed his eyes hard till he saw colors and shapes behind his eyelids, but when he opened them again, his dorm room remained horrifically, impossibly sharp.

Jisung exhaled slowly through his nose and tossed the glasses onto the nightstand - they landed with a clatter, one temple arm snapping off completely.

His wrist itched. The bite mark from yesterday was gone.

Jisung rolled out of bed, his feet hitting the floor with an audible thud that made the loose change on his nightstand rattle.

He stretched, arms arching high above his head - and froze mid yawn when he heard the distinctive rrrip of fabric.

His sleep addled brain registered two things at once, the sudden draft across his shoulders, and the fact that his favorite hoodie, the one he’d slept in last night, now had a gaping tear along the seam.

He blinked down at himself. The fabric clung to his torso in ways it never had before, stretched taut across shoulders that suddenly looked broader. His biceps pressed against the sleeves, the cuffs riding up his wrist like they’d shrunk in the wash.

Jisung frowned and tugged at the hem. It didn’t budge.

his full length mirror confirmed it. His reflection stared back at him - same messy hair, same sleep creased cheek, but it was like he hit a second puberty overnight.

The hoodie that used to hang loose now hugged every contour of his torso, the fabric straining across his chest when he inhaled.

he took his hoodie off - since when did he have abs?? he was met with whole six pack. he even counted them.

he prodded at his own bicep experimentally, half expecting it, I don't know, deflate? It didn’t.

The bedroom door creaked open - Chan appearing at the doorway, "I swear to god, if you're still asleep-" His threat died halfway out of his mouth when he saw Jisung.

Jisung stood frozen in front of the mirror, shirtless and wide eyed, one hand still gripping the torn remains of his hoodie. The morning light caught the sharp new definition of his shoulders, the lean muscle coiled along his arms like he'd spent the last six months living in a gym.

"...Did you steal Changbin's protein shakes?"

Jisung whipped around "What? No! I just-" His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "I woke up like this."

Chan stepped inside, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel. His gaze flickered over Jisung's torso - the previously soft lines of his stomach now taut, the faint shadows of ribs replaced by something decidedly more athletic.

Chan reached out and poked Jisung's bicep with two fingers. It felt like pressing against granite.

"Ow," Jisung lied automatically, then blinked. "Wait. That didn't actually hurt."

Chan's eyebrows raised. "You're telling me you went to bed and woke up as-" He gestured vaguely at Jisung's entire existence. "-whatever this is?"

A beat of silence. Then, from the hallway, "If you two are having a moment, I'm throwing myself off the window." Changbin's voice, muffled through the door.

Chan ignored him. "Did you take something? Experimental pre workout? Sketchy supplements from the gym bros?"

Jisung's fingers twitched toward his wrist - where the spider bite had been. The skin was smooth. "I might have... broken into the biotech lab yesterday."

Chan's expression grew even more confused. "okay...?"

The bedroom door slammed open before Jisung could answer. Changbin stood in the threshold, mouth already open to ask why the hell they were whispering with the door closed - then his eyes landed on Jisung’s bare torso. His eyebrows shot up. "Woah. What happened to you?"

Jisung threw his hands in the air, "I know! I woke up like - okay listen," he took a deep breath,

"yesterday I was late, like super late, so I took a shortcut through the science building even though I’m technically banned from the biotech wing after the centrifuge incident—"

Changbin mouthed 'centrifuge incident?' at Chan, who pinched the bridge of his nose.

"-and then I heard this noise from the restricted lab, right? So obviously I had to check it out-"

"You didn’t have to," Chan groaned.

"and there was this spider, this huge freaky blue one, in a tank that I maybe knocked over-"

"You knocked over-"

"-and it bit me! Right here!" Jisung brandished his unmarked wrist, "It hurt like hell yesterday but now it’s gone and suddenly I can see everything without my glasses and I just ripped my favorite hoodie like it was tissue paper-" He demonstrated by grabbing the hem of his remaining sleeve and tugging. The fabric split with a sound like tearing paper.

Changbin's mouth dropped open. Chan's blinked in disbelief.

"Okay," Chan said very slowly, "So you're telling me a genetically modified spider bit you, and now you're..." He gestured vaguely at Jisung's new physique. "This?"

Jisung flexed his arms experimentally. His biceps jumped under his skin "I mean, when you say it like that-"

Changbin suddenly lunged forward and punched Jisung square in the stomach - or tried to. His fist connected with what felt like solid concrete instead of soft flesh.

Jisung didn't even flinch. Changbin yelped, shaking out his hand. "Holy shit, dude. That's not normal."

Jisung looked down at his own abdomen, prodding the spot Changbin had hit. "Didn't feel anything." His voice went unnervingly quiet. "Should I be freaking out?"

Chan grabbed Jisung's shoulders - or attempted to, before his fingers slipped off the unexpected slope of muscle. "You shouldn't be able to bench press a car after one spider bite!"

"Technically I haven't tried that yet-"

The alarm on Jisung’s shattered phone blared again, 8:45AM, and Chan visibly flinched. “Shit. Class starts in fifteen.”

Changbin was already halfway out the door, yelling over his shoulder, “I’m not getting marked absent because you two want to dissect Jisung’s sudden glow up!”

Chan walked out of Jisung's room too, coming back after a moment,

"Here," Chan grunted, tossing a black hoodie at Jisung's face. It smelled faintly of fabric softener and Chan's inexplicably expensive cologne. "It's the biggest one I've got. Don't pop the seams."

~

Jisung reached campus a full minute before Chan and Changbin, his sneakers skidding to a halt outside the lecture hall with unnatural ease.

His lungs barely burned, just a pleasant warmth where there should have been heaving breaths.

He turned, bouncing on his toes while waiting for his roommates to catch up, when a sudden prickle raced down his spine. His scalp tingled.

Something was about to happen.

The prickle exploded into full body alarm a half second before the weight hit him.

Jisung spun without thinking - his hands snapping up just as you tripped. His palm connected with your shoulder an instant before you would have face planted into his chest.

The force should have sent both of you crashing to the ground, but Jisung didn’t budge an inch - just absorbed the impact like you weighed nothing.

Your coffee wasn’t so lucky, The cup slipped from your grip. Jisung’s free hand shot out, snatching it mere inches from the ground. Hot liquid sloshed against the inside of the lid but didn’t spill. He held it there, frozen, your shoulder still cradled in his other hand, both of you staring at each other in stunned silence.

Up close, you could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes - something you’d never noticed before.

“You-” you started.

“I-” he interrupted at the same time.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Uh. You okay?”

“Yeah,” you said, too quickly. His hands were still there.

Jisung blinked like he’d just remembered they were attached to him, then jerked them away. The coffee wobbled dangerously in his grip. You grabbed it before it could spill .

“Late too?” he asked, stuffing his hands into the pockets of Chan’s hoodie.

You nodded, adjusting your bag strap. “Yeah.”

You stared at him for a second too long, suddenly noticing how the hoodie strained across his shoulders - when had Han Jisung gotten broad? The absence of his usual thick framed glasses left his face strangely exposed, his cheekbones and dark lashes more pronounced than you remembered.

"Thanks," you muttered, brushing nonexistent lint off your sweater where his hands had been.

After a beat, you added, "Good reflexes," because it was true and you hated leaving truths unsaid, even for him.

Jisung blinked at you, momentarily stunned by the compliment - his mouth opened, closed, then opened again. A faint pink spread across his cheeks, "Uh," he managed. His fingers twitched toward his face, a habitual gesture to push up glasses that weren't there, before aborting the motion halfway.

"Uh, thanks," Jisung managed after an awkward pause, He cleared his throat "I mean - you're welcome. Obviously. Because I saved your life."

"You caught my coffee," you corrected flatly, lifting the cup slightly as evidence.

His grin returned, familiar. "Same difference." He rocked back on his heels, "You would've face planted on the pavement if I hadn't intervened. Tragic, really."

"I take it back. Never complimenting you again."

before he could retort, Changbin's voice cut through the courtyard "If you two are done flirting, we're gonna be late!" He stood at the lecture hall doors with Chan, who was rubbing his temples like he'd aged ten years in the past hour.

Jisung whipped around so fast his sneakers squeaked against the pavement. "We're not-!"

You walked past him before he could finish the sentence, shoulders brushing hard against his as you passed.

~

Jisung didn't plan to become a hero - it just sort of happened at 1:37 AM outside a convenience store three nights after The Bite.

He'd been pacing his dorm room, fingers twitching with pent up energy, when Chan threw a couch cushion his head and told him to "go climb a building or something, Jesus Christ."

So he did. Sort of. Mostly he just jumped fire escapes until his thighs burned and his lungs finally felt normal again, which is how he ended up perched on a rusty AC unit overlooking the 24 hour convenience store when the guy in the ski mask walked in waving a gun.

The gun glinted under the lights of the convenience store, its barrel wavering between the cashier and the racks of snacks. Jisung's body moved before his brain caught up, one second he was crouched on the AC unit, the next he was dropping through the open window like a damn action hero.

His sneakers hit the floor with barely a sound, knees bending to absorb the impact that should've shattered his ankles. The robber whirled around, gun swinging wildly. Time slowed. Jisung saw the trigger finger tense, saw the cashier duck behind the counter.

He lunged.

What happened next was equal parts luck and whatever the hell that spider had pumped into his veins. His palm smacked the gun sideways just as it discharged - the bullet embedding itself in a display of energy drinks with a sickening thunk.

Jisung's other hand grabbed the guy's wrist, twisting until the gun clattered to the floor. The would be robber screamed. Not from pain, Jisung realized, but from the sight of his own fingers bending the wrong way under Jisung's grip. He let go like he'd been burned. The guy bolted, leaving his ski mask behind in Jisung's fist.

Silence.

Jisung didn’t realize he was holding his breath until the cashier wheezed out a shaky "Holy shit." The gun lied abandoned on the floor between them, still warm from the misfired shot.

Jisung stared at it, then at his own hands - his bare hands, no gloves, no mask, just his stupidly recognizable face that was probably caught on camera. His stomach dropped.

Chan was going to murder him.

The cashier - a guy his age with a nametag reading 'jeongin' - slowly straightened from behind the counter, eyes darting between Jisung and the discarded ski mask. "...Are you gonna rob me too?"

"What? No!" Jisung’s voice cracked. He kicked the gun farther away for emphasis. "I just-" He gestured vaguely at the empty space where the robber had been. "-stopped that guy. Obviously."

The ski mask stared up at Jisung from the convenience store floor. He scooped it up, fingers brushing the rough knit fabric, still warm from the robber's panicked sweat.

The cashier was already dialing the police with shaking hands, but Jisung's feet were moving before his brain caught up. He bolted out the door like he was the criminal, the stolen mask crumpled in his fist.

His knees nearly buckled when he hit the pavement - the sudden realization that he'd just stopped an armed robbery barefaced hit him.

Jisung sprinted down three alleys and ducked behind a dumpster just as police sirens wailed past the mouth of the alley. His heart hammered against his ribs, not from fear, but from something far worse. exhilaration.

He lifted the ski mask toward his face, hesitating for just a second before remembering its previous owner had been sweating bullets into the fabric.

He tentatively sniffed it - then recoiled so hard his head smacked against the dumpster behind him.

"Yuck," a stench clung to it, absolutely not.

He sprinted home in record time, sneakers barely touching the pavement. His enhanced legs carried him up the fire escape in three leaps. The window to their apartment's living room was still cracked open from his earlier escape, curtains fluttering in the night breeze. Jisung slid inside, falling right onto his ass.

"Ow," Changbin deadpanned from his bed, not looking up from his phone.

Jisung scrambled upright, ski mask still clutched in one hand. His gaze flicked from Jisung's disheveled hair to the crumpled mask.

Chan’s eyebrow twitched. “So. You robbed a robber.”

Jisung flapped the ski mask like a surrender flag. “No! I disarmed a robber. Then maybe borrowed his mask. Temporarily.”

Changbin snorted "And you didn’t think to cover your face before playing hero?"

this rooted a bad, bad idea into jisungs head.

he spent the next morning hunched over Chan’s laptop, scrolling through fabric stores frantically. His fingers drummed against the keyboard, pausing only to zoom in on a breathable material that promised "enhanced mobility" and "sweat wicking technology."

The description sounded like something straight out of a superhero movie - which, he supposed, was exactly what he needed now.

Chan watched from the doorway, arms crossed. "You realize this is insane, right?"

Jisung didn’t look up. "Less insane than stopping another robbery barefaced."

his first attempt at making a suit for his superhero persona was a disaster.

Jisung had underestimated the complexity of sewing stretch fabric, resulting in a lopsided mess of seams that bunched uncomfortably around his shoulders.

The second attempt fared slightly better - until he tested its durability by scaling the dorm’s exterior wall, only for the pants to split straight down the middle mid climb.

soon enough, Chan saw jisung's genuine dedication, and had taken pity on him. they spent late nights hunched over fabric scraps, Chan’s steady hands guiding the sewing machine - that chan bought from is own money earned from DJ gigs, mind you - while Jisung sketched designs in the margins of his notebooks.

The final prototype emerged from their shared efforts, a sleek red and blue suit with reinforced stitching and breathable mesh panels. The mask took another three attempts before achieving the perfect fit, complete with oversized white lenses that concealed his identity while enhancing his already unnaturally sharp vision.

Jisung examined himself in the dorm’s full length mirror for the first time, twisting to check the fit. The suit hugged his new musculature without restricting movement, the fabric stretching effortlessly as he flexed. He rolled his shoulders experimentally - it was the most comfortable model so far.

"Okay," Chan admitted, "That actually looks... decent."

Changbin tossed an empty soda can at Jisung’s head from across the room. Jisung caught it without looking, reflexes kicking in. The can crumpled further in his grip.

"Show off," Changbin muttered.

The mask was the final piece. Jisung hesitated before pulling it on, fingertips brushing the blank white lenses. Once these went on, it'd be an official embodiment of... whatever this was.

The fabric settled over his face. His breathing echoed strangely in the enclosed space, but his vision remained clear. He blinked, adjusting to the surreal sensation of seeing more while being seen less.

Chan exhaled sharply. "Well. That's... a look."

Jisung twisted to examine his reflection in the mirror. The suit clung to his new physique like a second skin, the red and blue panels accentuating rather than hiding the slope of his shoulders. with a spider logo stitched across the center of his chest.

"So. What now?" chan cleared his throat.

Jisung exhaled through the mask, watching the fabric flutter slightly with his breath. "Now I test it."

His fingers found purchase on the brickwork without thought, his body moving with an instinct he shouldn't possess. He scaled the dormitory wall in seconds. Below, Seoul sprawled in a grid of neon and shadow, its pulse thrumming through the pavement under his palms.

He jumped.

The world tilted. His stomach lurched from the sheer impossibility of what his body was doing. He arced over the alleyway, arms outstretched, fingertips brushing the opposite fire escape before his feet even registered the landing.

The impact should have shattered his knees. Instead, he rolled smoothly onto the grated metal platform, his pulse steady in his ears.

That was when he heard a scream.

It cut through the ambient city noise . Jisung's head snapped toward the sound. Four blocks northeast. A woman's scream. fear, urgent terror in her voice.

He moved.

His body propelled him forward before conscious thought could interfere. The city blurred around him as he swung from ledges, his shot web lines that shouldn't have held his weight. Yet they did.

The polymer strands stretched taut as he launched himself between buildings, and landed on the third story balcony of a love hotel just as the scene unfolded below, a man dragging a woman toward a waiting car, her heels scraping against pavement as she fought.

Jisung didn't think, he immediately droped down, landing between the assailant and the car with a thud. The man recoiled, dragging the woman tighter against him as a human shield. Up close, Jisung could see the knife glinting in his free hand, the woman's smudged mascara.

"Back off!" the man snarled, blade pressing into her side.

Jisung's hands came up instinctively, palms out. The woman's wide eyes locked onto his mask. "You're-" she gasped.

Then everything happened at once. The man lunged, knife flashing. Jisung's body moved - his hand shot out, catching the blade mid air. Metal screeched against reinforced fabric, but didn't pierce.

The man's eyes widened comically as Jisung twisted his wrist, sending the knife clattering to the ground.

The knife skittered across the pavement. Jisung didn’t wait for the guy to process what had just happened, he pivoted on his heel, using his own momentum to yank the woman free in one motion.

She stumbled forward, gasping, but Jisung was already stepping between them, his body angled to shield her completely.

“Run,” he said. The word came out muffled and distorted through the mask, more like a growl than actual speech. The woman didn’t need to be told twice. She bolted, heels clicking against the sidewalk as she disappeared around the corner.

The would be attacker stared at Jisung, then at his own empty hand, then back at Jisung. “What the hell are you?”

Jisung's breath hitched behind the mask - What was he? A broke college student who'd bitten off more than he could chew. A walking science experiment. Definitely not someone who should be standing between an armed assailant and certain doom at 3 AM on a Tuesday.

"Uh," he managed, voice cracking through the fabric. "spiderman?"

The man lunged. Jisung sidestepped on instinct, the guy's momentum carried him straight into a dumpster with a metallic clang that echoed down the alley. Jisung winced. That had to hurt.

Police sirens wailed in the distance, close enough to spook the would be kidnapper, who scrambled upright and bolted in the opposite direction.

Jisung let him go. Chasing him down would mean explaining why he was dressed like a rejected Power Ranger, and frankly, he'd already pushed his luck far enough for one night.

Jisung crouched on the rooftop ledge, peeling off the mask with a wet shluck sound - the fabric sticking stubbornly to his sweaty forehead.

Below, the woman he'd rescued was giving a statement to the police, gesturing wildly toward the rooftops. He ducked back before she could spot him.

His phone buzzed violently against his thigh. Chan's caller ID flashed across the cracked screen, followed immediately by Changbin's bombardment of texts

BRO

DID YOU JUST GO VIRAL ON TWITTER

THERES VIDEO OF YOU DOING A BACKFLIP OVER A CAR

Jisung groaned, flopping onto his back. Gravel dug into his shoulder blades through the suit. Above him, Seoul's light pollution drowned out the stars, leaving only a murky orange haze.

He held up his phone, squinting at the blurry footage someone had uploaded. there he was, mid backflip, his red and blue suit a neon smear against the night. The caption read

Spiderman??? In SEOUL????

The first tweet had thirty seven likes. By morning, it had seventeen thousand and counting.

Jisung woke to Changbin shoving his phone in his face, screen displaying a grainy video of someone in a red and blue suit flipping over a moving car. "Congratulations," Changbin said. "You're a meme now."

Chan was less amused. He paced their dorm room, pausing only to read the growing pile of news articles on his laptop:

SPIDERMAN IN SEOUL? SUPER-HERO OR SUPER-ZERO?

before rounding on Jisung. "This," he hissed, jabbing a finger at the screen, "is the opposite of keeping a low profile."

Jisung groaned into his pillow. "It was one car."

~

You'd seen the videos. Everyone had. Grainy footage of some idiot in red and blue flipping over cars and catching falling flowerpots like it was nothing. The internet had collectively lost its mind - #SpiderManSeoul was still trending and it's been a whole two weeks - but you refused to join the hype.

"Obviously fake," you muttered in the cafeteria, stabbing your chopsticks into a piece of kimchi. The table next to yours erupted into excited chatter about the latest clip, Spiderman allegedly stopping a truck from hitting a pedestrian near Hongdae.

Yunjin slammed her phone down on the cafeteria table hard enough to make your soup bowl rattle. "That's three robberies he's stopped this week," she hissed, scrolling through blurry footage. "How can you still think this is fake?"

You rolled your eyes, stirring your half cold soup. "Easy. Because physics don't work like that, and neither do people." You pointed your chopsticks at her phone screen where 'Spiderman' was currently doing something that should've snapped his spine in five places. "That's either CGI or a really dedicated performance artist with a death wish."

Across the table, Yunjin made a noise like a deflating balloon. "You're impossible." She flicked to another video, this one showing the vigilante webbing a purse snatcher to a lamppost mid sprint. "Explain that then,"

You leaned in, squinting at the pixelated mess. "Okay one, that 'web' looks suspiciously like industrial grade fishing line. Two-" you tapped the timestamp in the corner "-this was filmed at 2 AM near Hongdae. Everyone's either drunk or sleep deprived enough to hallucinate shit like this."

You snorted into your soup, watching Yunjin's face contort in frustration. "Honestly, anyone dumb enough to believe in 'Spiderman' probably thinks pigeons are government drones too." You waved a dismissive hand toward her phone. "He's probably just some adrenaline junkie with too much free time and a GoPro."

From the neighboring table, someone choked on their rice. You glanced over just in time to see Jisung wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Chan smacked him hard on his back, whether to help him breathe or silence him, you couldn't tell.

"Or," Jisung wheezed, voice still rough from coughing, "maybe he's actually helping people?" He twisted in his seat to face you fully, elbows propped on the table behind him. "Ever think of that, genius?"

Changbin groaned audibly and slid down in his chair.

You arched an eyebrow. "Didn't realize you were such a Spiderman fan, Han. Got a poster of him over your bed?"

Jisung's ears turned pink. "I'm just saying-" he jabbed a chopstick in your direction "-if someone's stopping crimes for free, maybe don't trash talk them while chewing with your mouth full."

Yunjin added "You're just jealous because you can't backflip over cars."

"I could if I wanted to," you shot back, knowing full well your athletic abilities peaked at speed walking to morning lectures.

Jisung snorted. "Sure, and I'm the queen of England."

Chan materialized between the tables. His palm hit Jisung’s shoulder with a dull thwack that knocked him forward into his bibimbap. “We’re late,” Chan announced, already dragging Jisung upright by the collar like a misbehaving kitten.

Jisung spluttered, chopsticks clattering to the tray. “Late for what?”

“The thing,” Changbin interjected smoothly, sliding out of his seat “The very important thing.”

You watched as Chan dragged Jisung toward the exit, Jisung still craning his neck to shout over his shoulder, “Ask me about my queen of England autograph later!”

Chan’s exasperated groan echoed down the hallway as the door swung shut behind them.

Left in their abrupt absence, you blinked at Yunjin. “What the hell was that about?”

She shrugged, scrolling through more Spiderman footage. “Dunno, but Han Jisung defending a vigilante’s honor is weirder than you denying literal video evidence.”

She paused the playback right as Spiderman executed a midair twist that defied every law of physics. “anyway, I think you’re just salty because Spiderman could probably out academic you and out athletic you.”

well...he literally did.

~

your disbelief in spiderman came back and smacked you right in the face.

you were at the library after you finished your lectures for the day, the library was unusually quiet for midterm season, the usual chatter replaced by the frantic scratching of pens and the occasional sniffle from sleep deprived students. You rubbed your temples, staring at the same differential equations page for forty five minutes straight. At this rate, you'd be here until sunrise, again.

Outside, Seoul had long since plunged into darkness, the campus pathways illuminated only by streetlamps. You hesitated at the library doors - your dorm was a fifteen minute walk through the least lit part of campus, but the alternative was another all nighter hunched over textbooks.

You'd taken three steps onto the pavement when the first catcall sliced through the quiet.

A group of drunk frat boys loitered near the bus stop, their laughter too loud, eyes tracking your movement.

You tightened your grip on your backpack straps and picked up the pace. Their footsteps followed, uneven against the pavement.

"Hey sweetheart, why you walking so fast?"

Your pulse jackhammered against your ribs. The shortcut through the engineering building's side alley was suddenly a terrible idea — too narrow, too dark, too isolated. You fumbled for your phone just as a hand grabbed your elbow.

Your elbow jerked instinctively, but the grip tightened. One of the drunk guys leaned in, his breath sour with soju as he slurred, "Don't be like that. We're just walking you home."

The others chuckled, closing ranks around you. Your phone slipped from your sweating fingers, clattering to the pavement.

You tried to say something, anything, but your voice came out shaky and thin, "Let go," you managed, but it sounded more like a question than a command.

The guy holding your elbow laughed, his grip tightening just enough to make your bones protest. His friends shuffled closer, their shadows swallowing the dim streetlight whole.

A second hand clamped onto your shoulder from behind. "Relax," someone slurred. "We're nice guys."

You twisted against the hold, but there were too many of them, too many hands, too many laughs, too many bodies boxing you in.

Then, movement. A flicker of red and blue in your peripheral vision. One of the drunk guys yelped as his hand was suddenly gone from your arm, yanked backward by an invisible force. The others barely had time to turn before something - someone - slammed into their midst like a human wrecking ball.

The drunk guy's hand vanished from your elbow with a wet thwip sound, followed by his startled scream as he was yanked backward into a dumpster.

His buddies whirled around - just in time to see a red and blue blur drop from the fire escape above, landing between them with a crouch.

"Hey guys," Spiderman said, tilting his head. The blank white lenses of his mask made his expression unreadable, "Didn't your moms teach you it's rude to grope strangers?"

One of the drunk guys lunged. Spiderman sidestepped without looking, webbing the guy's sneakers to the sidewalk mid swing. The dude faceplanted with a grunt, his friends gaping as he struggled against the sticky white strands now gluing his shoes to concrete.

"Oops," Spiderman said, tapping his chin. "Must've slipped."

Another guy charged. Spiderman flipped over him effortlessly, landing on the dumpster lid with a metallic clang. "Wow," he mused, watching the guy stumble past. "You're really bad at this. Like, impressively bad."

You stood frozen against the alley wall, watching Spiderman web the third guy's hands to his own jacket zipper. "There," he said, patting the stuck zipper. "Now you can't unzip or zip. Poetic, right?"

The last drunk guy made a break for it. Spiderman sighed dramatically. "Come on, man. Group project participation counts toward your final grade." A web shot out, snagging the runner's ankle mid stride.

He yelped as Spiderman reeled him in like a fish, depositing him neatly beside his webbed up friends.

Spiderman dusted off his gloves. "Alright, team huddle! Here's the deal-" he crouched to their eye level,

"-next time you think about cornering someone in a dark alley? Don't." He tapped the first guy's forehead with one finger. "Or I find you."

The drunk guys paled. Spiderman straightened, turning toward you then froze. His masked head tilted slightly, the lenses widening almost imperceptibly.

You realized three things at once

one, Your knees were shaking.

two, Spiderman was much shorter in person than the videos made him seem.

three, You'd dropped your phone and backpack during the scuffle, and your differential equations notes were now scattered across the alley like confetti.

Spiderman bent to gather your papers, his movements almost... familiar. He stacked them neatly and held them out. "You, uh. You okay?" His voice was softer now, the earlier bravado gone.

You took the notes with numb fingers. "Yeah. Thanks." The words came out hoarse.

Spiderman nodded awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Cool. Coolcoolcool." He cleared his throat. "So. Should I web these guys to a lamppost for the cops, or...?"

One of the webbed up drunks whimpered.

You swallowed hard. "Lamppost's good."

Spiderman saluted. "Lamppost it is."

Spiderman made quick work of securing the drunk guys to the nearest lamppost, his webs forming a messy cocoon around their legs. One of them hiccuped pathetically as Spiderman gave the webbing an experimental tug. "There," he said cheerfully. "Now you can reflect on your mistakes while waiting for the cops."

You hugged your notes to your chest, still processing the fact that Spiderman, the same one you'd spent weeks insisting was fake, just saved you.

"You're... shorter than I expected," you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

Spiderman's head snapped up. For a second, the mask's lenses just... stared.

Then he pressed a hand to his chest. "Excuse you, I'm perfectly average height for a-" He cut himself off abruptly, clearing his throat. "Anyway. You're welcome for saving your life or whatever."

"You didn't save my life," you muttered, kneeling to gather the last of your scattered pens.

Spiderman made a noise between a laugh and a wheeze. "Right. Sorry for interrupting your very important... pen collecting."

You looked up at him, "I was handling it."

"Uh huh." He crossed his arms, the red fabric stretching taut over his shoulders. "Because saying 'let go' in a squeaky voice is totally handling it."

Your cheeks burned. "I wasn't squeaky."

Spiderman's mask tilted slightly, "Sure," he drawled, dragging the word out.

You opened your mouth to retort when a police siren wailed in the distance. Spiderman's head snapped toward the sound, his posture more alert. "Right. That's my cue." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Need a swing home?"

You blinked. "A what?"

Before you could protest, he'd already grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but careful, "Do you trust me?"

"No," you said immediately.

Spiderman grinned beneath his mask - you could hear it in his voice. "Perfect."

Then he yanked you forward before you could react, making you drop your bag in the process, his other hand shooting a web line to the nearest rooftop with a sharp thwip.

Your stomach lurched violently as your feet left the pavement, the ground dropping away beneath you with terrifying speed.

You shrieked, instinctively locking your arms around his neck in a death grip as the world tilted sideways. Buildings blurred past, wind howling in your ears loud enough to drown out your own panicked breathing.

Spiderman's arm banded around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as he swung into open air. "Relax!" he shouted over the rush of wind. "I've only dropped one person!"

"WHAT?!" You dug your fingers into his shoulders hard enough to bruise - if normal humans could bruise whatever weird super skin he had.

"Kidding!" He adjusted his grip slightly, angling his body to catch the updraft as he launched you both higher.

he released the web line, freefalling for one terrifying second before another thwip sent you arcing upward again. The city sprawled beneath you, the view would've been beautiful if you weren't convinced you were about to become sidewalk confetti.

"wait- you passed my dorm!" you yelled over the wind, nails digging into Spiderman's shoulders as another swing took your breath away. The familiar building of your residence hall flashed below - then vanished behind you .

Spiderman's grip tightened fractionally around your waist. "Yeah, well," he called back, voice strained from the wind and what sounded suspiciously like laughter, "you looked like you could use some fresh air!"

You tried to say something back, but your words dissolved into a startled squeak as the city tilted dizzyingly. Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, but somewhere between the fourth and fifth swing, you realized your death grip had eased slightly. Maybe it was the way his arm stayed locked around your waist like a seatbelt, or how he angled his body to shield you from the worst of the wind.

"See?" Spiderman's said, "Not so bad once you stop trying to strangle me." He flipped midair just to hear you yelp, catching another webline with practiced ease.

"You're insane!" you managed, but your arms relaxed incrementally as you adjusted to the rhythm of his swings. The initial terror dulled into adrenaline, mixed with reluctant awe as Seoul sprawled beneath you in glowing grids.

The Han River flashed between buildings, and for one insane second, you understood why people did extreme sports.

Then Spiderman corkscrewed sideways without warning, shooting a web toward a higher rooftop. "check out this view!"

Before you could protest, he backflipped off the webline, sending you both soaring over a pedestrian bridge in a wide arc. Your stomach dropped straight to your shoes.

and suddenly you let out a laugh at the sheer absurdity of everything. at the fact that you were saved by spiderman in an alley, at the fact that you were finally getting your first breath of fresh air after days of being cooped up in either your room, or the library, or the lecture Hall.

The sound burst out, bright and startled against the roar of wind. Spiderman's head snapped toward you so fast, then he laughed too, the sound muffled by the mask but real, bubbling up from somewhere deep in his chest as he swung you both higher.

you spent a minute or two like that. Spiderman took a sharper turn than intended, nearly clipping a Samsung billboard with his shoulder. "Shit, sorry!" he yelped, twisting midair to avoid impact.

The sudden jerk should have terrified you, but instead you just laughed harder, your fingers loosening their death grip on his shoulders as you clung to him more out of habit than panic now.

"Are you trying to kill me?" you shouted over the wind, a smile still on your face.

"Only a little!" he called back.

Your dorm building came into view far below, Spiderman slowed his swings gradually, letting momentum carry you both downward in gentler arcs until. He landed with surprising grace on the sidewalk out front, setting you down carefully - though your legs wobbled like jelly the second your sneakers hit concrete.

"Whoa there," he chuckled, steadying you with a hand on your elbow. You swayed slightly as your feet touched solid ground again, still dizzy from the swinging.

Spiderman's gloved hands lingered on your elbows, steadying you. "You good?" His voice was softer now .

"I'm-" You swallowed hard, willing your legs to stop shaking. "I'm alive. Which is... surprising."

The adrenaline was fading now, leaving you strangely lightheaded. "I... thanks. Really." The words came out quieter than you intended, but you meant them.

"Yeah. No problem. That's kind of... the whole point of the suit." He gestured vaguely at himself, the red fabric stretching with the movement.

You snorted despite yourself. "Yeah, well. You're still insufferable."

"Ouch. And here I was going to offer you a free ride anytime."

"Hard pass," you said immediately, but you were smiling, a small, reluctant thing.

Spiderman chuckled, the sound muffled by his mask. He rocked back on his heels slightly. For a second, neither of you spoke, just stood there in the quiet aftermath, the distant city sounds filling the space between you.

Then he straightened. "Right. Don't get kidnapped again."

you smiled. "I'll try."

Spiderman gave a two fingered salute, already backing toward the alley wall. "If you do get kidnapped again-" he shot a webline upward without looking, the *thwip* cutting through the night air "-I'll be there." He tugged the web experimentally before adding, "But try not to make it a habit, yeah? My web fluid's expensive."

Before you could retort, he launched himself upward with a sudden burst of movement, the red and blue blur disappearing over the rooftop edge before you even processed the motion.

You stood frozen on the sidewalk, staring at the empty space where he'd been, your brain still trying to reconcile the fact that Spiderman - the same Spiderman you'd spent days dismissing as fake - had just swung you across half of Seoul.

The walk up to your dorm felt surreal. Your legs were stilll shakey, and you were still slightly dizzy.

You collapsed onto your bed fully dressed, convinced you'd lie awake replaying the night's events - then promptly passed out the second your head hit the pillow.

outside, Spiderman nearly faceplanted into a building mid swing. Because he was smiling like an absolute idiot under his mask, cheeks aching from the stupid, unstoppable smile that had been plastered on his face since he'd heard you laugh mid air.

He landed on the fire escape of their building, still buzzing with adrenaline. Peeling off the mask felt like surfacing from underwater - cool air hitting his sweaty face, the sounds of the city rushing back in clearly.

he shoved the window open, tumbling into the living room. Chan and Changbin were sprawled on the couch when Jisung crashed through the window.

Changbin glanced up from his phone. "Oh good, you didn't die." He paused his game just long enough to take in Jisung's disheveled state, mask off, hair sticking up in wild directions, and that ridiculous grin still plastered across his face. "Wait. Why do you look like that?"

"guys, you won't believe what just happened"

Jisung was halfway through inhaling to launch into his story when he froze mid breath, his eyes widening comically. "Wait - shit, her bag" He scrambled to his feet so fast he nearly tripped over.

Chan blinked. "Whose-"

"Be right back!" Jisung yanked the mask back over his head, the lenses setteling into place as he lunged for the window. "Forgot something super important"

Changbin's shout of "What the hell-" was cut off by the sharp thwip of a web line as Jisung flung himself back into the night.

~

You woke to sunlight stabbing your eyelids and the distinct sensation of having been hit by a bus.

The events of last night rushed back in - drunk guys, Spiderman, swinging through Seoul.

You groaned into your pillow, half convinced it had all been some dream.

Then a gust of wind hit your face like a slap. You squinted against the sunlight, realizing with a start that your window was wide open, and you definitely hadn’t left it that way.

you scrambled out of bed and approached your window sil. There, dangling from a single strand of web, was your missing backpack.

The backpack swung slightly as you reached out, the web strand stretching oddly. You tugged it free with a disgusting schlorp sound, and you saw a folded square of notebook paper stuck to the fabric with another glob of web.

You peeled it off with two fingers, The note was written in messy, angular handwriting that looked familiar.

you dropped this. your phone is inside too, you're welcome.

also, you snore.

- s

you stared at it, brain short circuiting between he brought my bag back and he watched me sleep?! before settling on the most pressing question, how the hell had Spiderman even known which dorm was yours? You hadn't told him. You were certain of it.

but maybe he'd just checked every single window till he found you -which would be extremely creepy, but made sense.

"There you are," Yunjin's voice cut through your spinning thoughts. You spun around to find her leaning against your doorframe, hair still mussed from sleep, squinting at you. "I was worried sick - where the hell were you last night?"

You opened your mouth - then froze. The backpack in your hands suddenly felt like damning evidence. "Library," you blurted too quickly.

Yunjin’s eyes dropped to the backpack in your hands, then narrowed at the sticky web residue still clinging to the fabric. Her gaze flicked to the note in your hands, then back to you. "Library," she repeated flatly. "Right."

She padded into your room, plucking the note from your hand with two fingers, then reading it, "You do snore," she said laughed, squinting at the handwriting. "Also, who the hell wrote this, who's 's'?" She waved the note in your face, the web glue still tacky.

You snatched it back. "no one."

She pointed at the webs on your bag. "spider webs?" Her voice pitched higher. "Did you, oh my god. Did Spiderman bring you home last night?"

She planted herself on your bed, legs crossed. "Start talking. Now." Her eyes flicked to your window, then back to you "And don’t even think about leaving out the part where Spiderman apparently knows where you live."

You sighed, sitting infront of her, "It’s not that dramatic. Some guys were being creeps last night, Spiderman showed up, webbed them to a lamppost, and then-" You hesitated, "And then he insisted on swinging me home."

Yunjin’s eyebrows shot up. "Swinging you home?" She grabbed your shoulders, shaking you slightly. "You swung through the city with spiderman?!"

"Yes! And it was terrifying!" You pried her hands off your shoulders. "And also... kind of amazing? But mostly terrifying. I almost threw up on him twice."

Yunjin's mouth fell open. "You- what" She grabbed your shoulders again, shaking you "You rode Spiderman?!"

"Swinging with Spiderman!" you corrected, cheeks flushing as you smacked her hands away.

Yunjin's grin turned positively feral as she flopped onto your bed, "Details. Now. How tall was he?"

"he's definitely shorter than you'd expect"

"Did he smell nice? Was he hot under the mask? Did he-"

"I didn't see his face. And you're disgusting," you hissed, chucking a pillow at her face.

"I'm invested," she corrected, hugging the pillow to her chest. "Also, I told you he was real."

You groaned, collapsing onto the bed beside her. "Okay, fine, he's real. Happy?"

"Ecstatic,"

safe to say, Yunjin wouldn't stop fangirling over this all afternoon.

~

Midterms came and went. You barely had time to process the fact that Spiderman had swung you across Seoul before exams swallowed your entire existence whole.

The only upside was that Jisung, for once, wasn't hovering around to gloat about his grades.

He seemed more busy, like he got a life or something, you'd catch him dozing off more than once, dark circles under his eyes like he hadn't slept in days.

Winter break arrived soon after. If not at some party with yunjin, you spent most of it holed up in your bedroom, halfheartedly scrolling through Spiderman footage.

The videos had multiplied exponentially, now there were compilations of him rescuing cats from trees, stopping bike thieves, even helping an old lady carry groceries up six flights of stairs when her building's elevator broke.

The comments sections were flooded with debates about whether he was a hero, a menace, or just some guy with too much time.

You never commented. But you watched.

When the new semester started, campus was buzzing with fresh Spiderman gossip. Someone claimed they'd seen him perched on the humanities building at 3 AM.

Another swore they'd spotted him buying convenience store ramen in full costume.

Yunjin, of course, had compiled an entire folder of sightings on her phone and updated you daily despite your protests.

Jisung stumbled into Professor Kim's lecture hall seventeen minutes late, face still puffy like he'd rolled straight out of bed, which, given the pillow crease still visible on his left cheek, he probably had.

he blinked blearily at the seating chart projected on the board before shuffling toward the only empty seat in the room- right next to you, of course.

"You're late," you muttered as he collapsed into the chair with a groan.

"Yeah, well," Jisung yawned so wide his jaw cracked, "tell that to the asshole who decided 9 am classes were a good idea."

His elbow slid off the desk mid sentence, nearly knocking over your water bottle before he caught it with reflexes that were still annoyingly precise despite his obvious exhaustion.

Dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes, deep enough to be visible even in the lecture hall's dim lighting. and when he reached for his notebook, you caught a glimpse of fresh scrapes across his knuckles.

You didn't think much of it - Professor Kim clears her throat, and announced the semester's major project.

"Partners are assigned randomly," she said, tapping her clipboard as murmurs rippled through the lecture hall. "No swaps, no complaints. You'll be working together for the next eight weeks."

You barely had time to dread the possibilities before the projector screen lit up with the pairings list. Your stomach dropped straight to your shoes when you saw your name right next to Han Jisung's.

"Aw, we're finally spending quality time together."

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt, but didn’t protest. Because - annoyingly - Jisung would a good project partner if he bothered to focus.

“Here,” you muttered, shoving your phone across the desk toward him “Put your number in before I change my mind.”

Jisung’s eyebrows shot up, he just stared at your phone. Then his face split into that infuriating smile.

“Aw,” he cooed, snatching the phone before you could reconsider. “You do care.” His thumbs flew across the screen with alarming speed. “Should I put a heart next to my name? Or maybe-”

“If you put anything besides your name and number, i'll take Chan's number and all interactions will be through him”

Jisung pouted before deleting the heart emoji he'd already typed, and then handed your phone back. "You're no fun,"

after class was over, you spotted Yunjin leaning against the courtyard railing, scrolling through her phone per usual.

The moment she caught sight of you, her eyebrows shot up, then immediately waggled suggestively as she took in your exhausted expression.

"Let me guess," she drawled, pocketing her phone with a smirk. "Spiderman swung by again? Or was it just Han Jisung being his usual pain-in-your-ass self?"

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. "the latter." You paused, then sighed dramatically. "And also... we got paired for Kim's semester project."

Yunjin's eyes widened. "Oh my god. You're finally spending quality time together"

"You said the exact same thing he did," you groaned, "Word for word. I swear, both of you share the same overworked brain cell."

Yunjin snorted, "Girl, I wish I did share a brain cell with him, then maybe I'd actually be able to solve Kim's exams without wanting to yeet myself into the Han River."

you sighed, already drained from all the work you'd have to do this semester before it even started "then there's the university festival too"

"oh yea, what'cha planning to do for the big fair" yunjin said. "gonna work on something with han too?" she wiggled her eyebrows.

"absolutely not" you answered quickly, "I won't do anything, I'll just rest. yeah. I'll catch up on all the sleep I'm about to lose"

"aw, what a shame," yunjin said, then she leaned in, whispering, "Though honestly, if you really want to tap into that academic powerhouse, there are way more fun ways to-"

"Finish that thought and I'm throwing you into the Han River myself."

"I'm just sayin'," she said, dodging your attempt to push her, "both of you just need to have a good fuck for this rivalry to go away."

"Speaking of fucks," you said, leaning against the courtyard railing, "I’ll be working on the project at Jisung’s place most days. Which means our dorm will be delightfully empty."

You flicked a stray leaf off your sleeve "Feel free to bring your Tinder disasters over, just keep them away from my room, please"

Yunjin gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "Excuse you," she said, tossing her hair over one shoulder with exaggerated offense. "My Tinder disasters are upstanding gentlemen—"

"Who leave their boxers on your floor and eat my cereal," you deadpanned, "Just wash the sheets afterwards. And hide the good mugs."

~~~

when Jisung kicked the door open - a lethal combination of unwashed socks, stale ramen, and the faint metallic tang of something that might have been blood hit his face.

Chan looked up from his laptop just in time to see Jisung hurdle over the couch, skidding to a stop in front of the coffee table where changbin was demolishing a bag of chips.

"We have a problem," Jisung announced .

"You are the problem." changbin said.

Chan sighed, closing his laptop, "What did you break this time?"

"Nothing!" Jisung paused. "Well. Maybe the window latch. But that’s not the point." he paused. "She is coming here. To work on the project."

Changbin froze mid chip. "Who’s ‘she’-"

Chan’s eyes widened. "Oh no."

Jisung nodded frantically. "Oh yes."

Changbin’s eyes darted between them. "Wait. Are we talking about-"

"Yes," Chan groaned, already dragging a hand down his face.

Changbin’s chip bag hit the floor with a crunch. “Oh, hell no.” He scrambled up, scanning the apartment with mounting horror.

Medical supplies littered the kitchen counter, spare web cartridges rolled under the couch, and most damning jisung’s half finished suit upgrades dangled from a makeshift clothesline strung across the living room.

“We have twenty minutes to make this place look like normal people live here.”

Chan was already in motion, snatching stray web shooters off the coffee table. “Jisung, hide your suit. Changbin, take the first aid kits.” He paused mid step, “And for the love of god, air out this place. It smells like a rat died in here.”

Jisung went to yank the prototype suit off the clothesline, "It's not that bad," he protested, bundling the fabric under his arms.

The apartment was almost presentable by the time you knocked.

You stood outside their door, knocking twice, when a crash echoed from inside followed by frantic whispering.

after a minute, the door opened, revealing Changbin "Heyyyyy," he drawled, voice pitched an octave too high. "You're early"

you blinked, pointing your thumb back towards the elevator, "I can come back in a bit if you guys are busy-"

Changbin waved a hand like he was shooing away smoke. "Nah, nah, we’re good!" he stepped aside,

“Home sweet home,” Changbin announced, “Ignore the-” He gestured vaguely at a suspicious lump under a blanket that was definitely not laundry. “Decorative choices.”

You toed off your shoes at the entrance, noting with mild surprise that the apartment was cleaner than expected - though said suspicious lump under the blanket suggested they'd simply relocated the mess rather than actually cleaned it.

Chan looked up from his laptop, offering a casual salute as you stepped further into the apartment. "Hey," he said, "Jisung's in his room pretending he didn't just spend twenty minutes panic cleaning."

You snorted. "Sounds about right."

Jisung's bedroom door was slightly ajar, revealing a space that had clearly undergone a last minute excavation.

The floor was visible and his desk was suspiciously organized, textbooks stacked next to his laptop.

"Wow," you said, leaning against the doorframe. "I didn't know you owned a trash can."

Jisung spun around from where he'd been adjusting a poster that was still slightly crooked. "Shut up," he muttered, He gestured vaguely at the desk. "I set up already. Figured you'd want the, uh-" He waved his hands. "The workspace. Or whatever."

You walked in and over to the desk, project outline stared back at you from Jisung's laptop screen - neatly formatted, color-coded, and some parts were already done . You blinked. "You... started without me?"

Jisung shrugged, spinning a pen between his fingers, "Couldn't sleep last night." His knee bumped yours when you sat down, "Figured I'd get a head start before you could accuse me of slacking."

You stared at the spreadsheet he'd prepared, grudgingly impressed despite yourself. The formulas were flawless, the research sources ready, "Well. At least you're not completely useless."

"Wow. Wow. That might be the nicest thing you've ever said to me." he leaned closer, "Careful. Keep this up and people might think we like each other."

"get to work," you muttered, pulling your chair closer to his desk.

Jisung straightened, "Yes, ma'am."

You shook your head, but the corner of your mouth betrayed you with a twitch. He noticed instantly, and his grin widened like he'd won something.

You kicked his chair leg under the desk in retaliation, sending him wobbling sideways with a yelp.

Working with Jisung turned out to be - annoyingly - far less painful than you’d anticipated.

He had a way of cutting through your overthinking, dismantling problems you’d tangled into knots. When you got stuck on a statistical analysis, he spun his laptop around to show you a ridiculously simplified formula that somehow worked.

When he hit a dead end with the literature review, you pointed him toward three obscure sources he’d missed. It was infuriatingly efficient.

you'd also grew to realize that Jisung focused when it mattered.

Then there were the snacks. Jisung kept shoving food at you - convenience store food, but its the thought that counts “Eat,” he’d say, nudging a bar of chocolate toward you without looking up. “Your blood sugar’s crashing. I can hear your stomach growling from here.”

You’d protest, but he wouldn't hear any of it until you tore open the packaging begrudgingly.

and he actually remembered things. Tiny, insignificant details you’d mentioned in passing - your preference for blue pens over black, the way you organized your citations, the fact that you always forgot to save drafts until it was too late.

Halfway through typing, your laptop would ding with a message from him You didn’t save again, genius. You’d glare at him, but he’d already be smirking at his own screen.

You didn't expect to bond with Chan and Changbin too, but somehow their apartment became your second home for the past 6 weeks.

you stayed past 10 pm once, Chan slid a takeout menu across the table. "Pick something," he said, "Jisung forgets to eat when he's focused, and you're worse than he is."

The takeout containers were long empty by the time you stretched your arms over your head, joints popping from hours hunched over textbooks.

"You should head back," His voice was casual, but his eyes flicked to the time on his phone, 11:47 PM, then back to your face. "It's late."

You sighed, gathering your notes into a pile. "I've walked home later than this."

"Yeah, and nearly got followed by drunk assholes," Jisung muttered under his breath.

"I'll be fine. It's like, twelve minutes max." You slung the strap over your shoulder.

"at least let me walk you home?" jisung asked.

"Relax. you don't have to act like my hero for the night, i'll be fine."

jisung heard the word "hero" and an idea popped into his mind. bingo

"Fine. Die in a dark alley. See if I care."

"You won't," you shot back, toeing on your shoes by the door.

"Night, guys," you called over your shoulder as you stepped into the hallway, the door clicking shut behind you.

Inside the apartment, Jisung was already running to put his suit on before Chan caught him by the hood. "Are you serious right now?"

"I'm just gonna-" Jisung started.

"Follow her as Spiderman?" Changbin supplied, "Dude. That's creepy."

Jisung froze. "It's not creepy if I'm making sure she doesn't get murdered."

"It's extremely creepy."

"She literally said she didn't need an escort!" Changbin pointed out.

Jisung waved a hand. "She always says that."

"Because you always try to escort her!"

Jisung hesitated, just long enough for Chan to sigh and release his hood. "If you're gonna be an idiot, at least put the mask on first."

Changbin tossed a web shooter at Jisung's head. "And try not to get arrested for stalking."

Outside, you were halfway down the block when a shadow flickered across the streetlight above you. You glanced up just in time to see a blur of red and blue vanish behind a rooftop.

"Really?"

A thwip sounded overhead. Spiderman landed lightly on a lamppost ahead of you, "Fancy meeting you here," he said, voice dripping with faux surprise.

You crossed your arms. "Are you following me?"

Spiderman gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "I'm patrolling. This is a coincidence."

"A coincidence," you deadpanned.

"Yep." He swung down to street level, falling into step beside you like this was completely normal. "Totally random."

You sighed. "I don't need an escort."

Spiderman tilted his head. "Says the person who nearly got jumped last time."

"That was one time-"

"And here I am," he said, spreading his arms wide, " not letting it happen again."

You glared at him. He smiled at you - or at least, the mask's eyes crinkled in a way that suggested a smile.

"Fine," you muttered, stomping ahead.

Spiderman matched your stomping pace, "So," he drawled, swinging around a lamppost to land directly in front of you, forcing you to halt mid step or you'd have walked straight into his chest. "What's a pretty girl like you doing out so late?"

Your ears burned "I was just coming back from a friend’s place," you muttered, sidestepping him to continue walking. "Working on a project. Unlike some people, I actually take my education seriously."

Oh the irony.

he fell into step beside you, his posture casual, "So this friend," he pressed, "What's their deal? Study buddy? Secret admirer?"

You shot him a glare. "None of your business."

Spiderman gasped, "Ouch. And here I thought we had something special." He swung ahead, landing lightly on a parked car’s roof just to force you to look up at him. "Come on, humor me. Tall? Short? cute?"

You stayed silent, refusing to dignify that with an answer. But Spiderman was nothing if not persistent, he dropped down directly in your path again, close enough that the lenses of his mask reflected your exasperated expression back at you.

"Han Jisung," you finally said, shoving past him. "My project partner. Happy?"

"Han Jisung," he repeated, "Wow. Sounds like a real catch. Bet he’s incredibly handsome and talented."

"He’s annoying," you corrected, kicking a pebble harder than necessary. "And arrogant. And-"

"And?" Spiderman prompted, suddenly right beside you again.

"And none of your concern," you finished through gritted teeth.

Spiderman made a wounded noise, "Rude. Here I am, risking life and limb to escort you safely home-"

"You invited yourself," you corrected.

"-and you won’t even indulge my harmless curiosity about your mysterious project partner." He swung ahead to perch upside down from a streetlight, "Tell me more about this Han Jisung character. Does he have any redeeming qualities? Or is he just tragically, devastatingly handsome?"

You scoffed, refusing to acknowledge how accurately that described Jisung’s stupid face. "Fine. Jisung’s... not completely terrible." You looked at the sidewalk. "He remembers stupid things. Like how I always forget to save my work, or that I hate when people highlight in yellow."

Spiderman’s mask tilted, the lenses narrowing slightly. "Wow," he said, his tone an exaggerated awe. "Truly, a monumental compliment. Does he also breathe air and occasionally blink?"

You kicked a pebble at him, which he caught mid air with a web before it could hit his chest.

"Shut up. He’s..." You hesitated, then sighed. "He’s weirdly considerate. Makes sure I eat when we’re studying. And his roommates are..." You gestured vaguely, as if that explained anything. "nice. more tolerable than him, actually. they insist on feeding me too"

Spiderman went suspiciously quiet. Then, in a voice devoid of sarcasm "They sound nice."

You snorted. "They’re menaces. But yeah. They... grew on me."

A beat of silence. Then Spider-Man dropped from the lamppost, landing softly beside you. "And Jisung?" he prompted, suddenly closer than before. "What’s his fatal flaw?"

You didn’t even have to think. "He's always right somehow. And he gloats about it. alot."

"Horrifying," he agreed solemnly. "Anything else?"

"He’s always there," you muttered, more to yourself than to him. "Even when I wish he wasn’t."

The mask hid his expression, but his next words came out oddly soft. "Sounds like you’ve got it pretty bad, genius."

The familiar nickname prickled at the back of your memory, but you couldn't place it, until Spiderman abruptly straightened, realizing his mistake, clearing his throat.

"So!" he said, "How much further to your dorm?"

You narrowed your eyes at the obvious subject change. "Why? Getting tired already?"

Spiderman scoffed, "Please. I could do this all night." then shrugged "Just making conversation."

"You were doing just fine until the nickname," you pointed out, watching his lenses widen fractionally.

"What nickname?" he asked, voice pitching slightly higher.

"Genius." You tilted your head, studying his frozen posture. "Jisung calls me that."

spiderman got into character again, "Jisung calls you that?" His voice was pitched an octave higher than usual, his hands fluttering in dramatic disbelief.

"Wow. What a coincidence." He leaned closer, "Maybe l'm Han Jisung. Ever think of that, genius?"

He lowkey regret what he said the second the words came out of his mouth. but hey, reverse psychology?

you stopped walking for a second, facing spiderman, genuinely considering what he just said.

"nah" you snorted, shaking your head. "Jisung can barely walk in a straight line without tripping over his own feet." You gestured vaguely at Spiderman's lithe posture. "No way that disaster could pull off... whatever this is."

"Ouch. That hurts. I'll have you know some people find my-" he gestured at himself, "this extremely charming."

"You mean annoying," you corrected.

"Charmingly annoying," Spiderman corrected, He swung lazily ahead, landing atop the lamppost outside your dorm building.

You stopped beneath the lamppost, glancing up at Spiderman’s silhouette squatting on top of it. "This your stop, genius?" he asked, voice lilting with amusement.

"Yes," you said flatly. "And don't call me that."

"Call you what? Genius?" He leaned forward, resting his chin in one gloved hand. "Or pretty girl?"

Your face heated instantly. "Both."

Spiderman laughed, a sound that you swear you heard before.

"Fine, fine. Wouldn't want to inflate your ego too much." He swung down from the lamppost.

He turned to leave, then hesitated, just long enough to glance over his shoulder and add, voice softer than before, "Sleep tight, pretty girl."

Then he was gone, vanishing into the night sky with a thwip of webbing before you could retaliate.

you stayed glued to the pavement for a minute as you watched spiderman's figure get smaller the more he swung away, face slowly heating up.

"Talking 'bout some pretty girl," you muttered under your breath, walking to the entrance of the building

who is this guy?

~

“What’s wrong?” He murmurs against your hair.

Uh oh. You tilt your head up slightly, and he leans back to meet your gaze.

“What do you mean?” You ask softly, stalling.

A wry smile plays in the corner of his mouth. “You’re mini-hyperventilating on me.”

You snap your mouth shut. Whoops.

“‘S the matter?” His voice is still peaceful, but the smile fades from his face.

You swallow hard. “Um. Nothing.”

He raises an eyebrow, and you sigh. Ah. You notice the shakiness to your breathing now.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you mumble, hiding against his chest again. “Really. Promise.”

He hums, the sound edged with skepticism, but he lets it pass.

You take another five minutes to build your courage up, consciously matching your breath to his.

“I love you,” you whisper so quietly even you can barely hear it in your own skull.

After the briefest pause, Jongho chuckles once, arms sliding to hold you tighter.

“I know.”

You blink, then raise your head to look at him again. There’s a dreamy look on his face.

“You told me in your sleep,” he whispers.

You’re pretty sure your heart stops beating. “I—what? When?”

He tucks you against him again, lifting a hand to sink his fingers into your hair. “Hm. A week ago, I think.”

“A week?”

He nods once, and you feel the warmth of his breath stirring against the top of your head.

“I didn’t know if it was just you dreaming,” he admits quietly. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Figures you’d blab on yourself when unconscious. “…Oh.”

You both fall into silence again, listening to the faint chirp of birds through the open window. You watch the shadow of the tree branches dance gently on the floor next to Jongho’s book, leaves trembling with the slight breeze.

“Did I upset you?” He whispers.

“No,” you wheeze. You clear your throat and try again. “Uh, no. I’m kinda annoyed at myself, but it’s not your fault.”

“Don’t be annoyed,” he murmurs, and you feel his lips curve into a smile in your hair. His fingertips massage gingerly at your scalp. “I was glad you were asleep. I cried a little.”

Your head shoots up. “What?”

The tips of his ears tinge scarlet. “It was stupid. I was just…happy.”

You watch him worry his lower lip between his teeth.

“You’re not upset?”

He frowns slightly. “Why would I be upset?”

“I mean, it’s…” You frown, too. “I don’t want you to feel, like…burdened.”

His frown clears immediately, followed by a fond exasperation.

“Jagi,” he murmurs, studying your face with a little smile. “It’s not a burden to be loved back.”

You stop breathing for a second.

He laughs quietly, guides your head up just enough for him to kiss the tip of your nose. “Don’t tell me I wasn’t obvious.”

“I didn’t want to assume,” you insist, your heartbeat racing again for this entirely different reason.

“You’re allowed to assume,” he says, tucking you against him again. “You’re allowed to do anything. You hung every star in the sky.”

“God,” you rasp, and he laughs again when you bury your face against his neck and pepper it with kisses.

“I love you.”

He says it so simply, like the sky is blue and water is wet and nothing else matters in the world. You breathe deeply in and out, hooking your hand underneath his arm and resting it against his shoulder.

“I love you, too.”

Putting in your earrings has never presented more of a struggle until now. 

You’re chipping the side of your nails, your ears are irritated, the stack doesn’t look good, and you can’t find your favorite hoops. In short, you’re a disaster, a silent one. 

Because pissed is not the word, you're sure the word you’re looking for doesn’t exist. 

You continue to put on your jewelry, give up on perfecting your earring stack–focus on your bracelet bangles instead. The led bathroom light at hotels always hides blemishes well, but you know the real look will be shown in the car mirror. 

You look damn good regardless, and you’re about to make him sick to his stomach. You’re one to sweep things under the rug, but your blood is boiling, it matches the deep maroon of your dress. Your collarbones on display, a slit so high you think about pinning the threads together. 

You go to clasp the necklace around your neck, you almost drop it after you’re hit with the most annoying memory. 

The memory of walking in on Mingi getting his makeup done before a shoot, the artist engrossed in conversation with him, hands lingering too long on his jaw, his smile showing all thirty-two, her tripping over him, and her hands landing on his thighs. 

The moment when Mingi glances up to see you holding his favorite soup and vitamin water, your ritual, your routine. He doesn’t acknowledge what just happened, doesn’t think it was a big deal. But you’re a girl, and you’re a girl with a very hot, very tall, very talented, lusted-after boyfriend.

This was definitely a big deal. 

Mingi came home later that night, continued with the dismissal of it all. His words, “it’s just work, baby. No issues.”

You nod, turn back over in bed, you gave him no more words. He assumed all was well, that no response was a great response in his book. You fell asleep scheming as he joined you and engulfed you in his arms that night. 

You try to push the memory to the back of your mind as you look at yourself again in the mirror, you’re genuinely satisfied with how you look. Is it a little skimpy for a company event? Possibly, maybe…but that’s not the point. The point is to see Mingi rage.

You arrive at the venue alone, you were gifted separate rooms for the event. While you love him, you’re grateful for the time spent apart. It’s very upscale, it’s the annual awards event, everyone is here. Flowy table cloths, organized cutlery, dimmed chandelier lights exude class in the air. 

You’re already thinking about getting fast food afterwards because you know the finger food about to be served will not be filling in the slightest. 

Tables are assigned, but artist partners are seated at the same table. You immediately glance over the makeup artist's table. Gross, and scan for the boy with blonde hair with light pink tips. 

You find Mingi talking in a corner, a glass in his hand. Not sure who he’s conversing with, but he looks good. Hair has grown out longer, his suit fits him in all the right places, you’re salivating even when you’re supposed to be angry. 

He still hasn’t looked your way as you still stand near the entrance until a hand graces your back, rings sending a shiver up your spine. The soft voice didn’t fall on deaf ears.

“Standing here like a deer in headlights, huh?” You could feel the smile in Hongjoong’s voice without turning around to even look at him. 

“That obvious am I?”

“Very, come sit over here. Mingi is at the same table as me.” Hongjoong keeps his hand on the small of your back as he guides you to the table, pulls out your chair for you, and sits right next to you. His scent is intoxicating, always has been lately. 

Chatter is loud around you, both sitting in silence as you make eye contact with Mingi, still standing in the corner. You look away immediately, you don’t smile, don’t flutter your lashes. Just a blank face is all he gets in your book. 

You know it’s eating him up inside by the way his body glitches between leaving his current conversation or approaching your table. But the formality has to remain due to the fact that there are eyes everywhere, the media is everywhere, and your body language is not very inviting. 

Time goes on for a little while in silence at the table, until Hongjoong turns towards you. You can tell he’s just as bored, just as unoccupied. 

“I have a needle and thread in my jacket pocket if you need it.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, confused. Give him a huh sound for him to elaborate a little further. 

“That slit. Too high.” You laugh, genuinely. You know it’s high, but you know you’re not receiving an award, so there shouldn’t be as many eyes on you compared to the other people that are here. 

“Bothering you?”

Hongjoong smirks, “a little.”

You lean in, “Tragic, hope you can find a remedy. Your needle and thread are not needed, dork.” Hongjoong laughs, leans back, and keeps his eyes on you. You match his intensity, the conversation flows, your laughs are free, the focus is all on him. 

“You ever crave something so bad, like dessert or a fruit? Like I’d love some cherries right now.” Hongjoong asks the question, seriously, it’s not rhetorical. He asks while also trying to find the answer for himself. 

You lean in, chuckle a bit, because cherries feel like such a random thing to crave right now. “I do, I crave lots of things. But I normally don’t wallow in the want of it. Pretty sure you could get some cherries somewhere around here.”

Hongjoong smiles and nods in agreement. “You’re right, you look like one. Looks like I found it–you look good tonight if someone hasn’t let you know already.”

Your pulse fastens, he’s smooth with his words. The only thing you can do is smile, because you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love the way he spoke. 

Mingi still hasn’t come over to greet you or even sit down, he is constantly glancing over his shoulder to see you fawning over his bandmate. Memories of the three of you before flooding his mind aren't helping as he clutches his glass. 

Hongjoong isn’t dumb, you never thought he was. He’s very quick to catch on to things, knows there’s something brewing underneath, but he’s not going to say a word because you’re beautiful and you’re paying attention to just him.

You’re both in the middle of laughing about when Jongho made Mingi chase their car when Hongjoong’s hand lands on your thigh. His hand lingers, seems not to care about any wandering eyes. You don’t pull away, you shift a little in your seat, his hand brushing your skin, the slit of your dress rising even more. 

His hands are warm, dainty with rings adorning them. His fingers spread with a firm grip, if he holds on any longer, he may leave an imprint. You look down at his hand, tracing around his hand with your fingers. Your thighs subtly press together, Hongjoong takes note of it, the eye contact between you two lasts for about thirty seconds.

Thirty seconds of such charged energy, what you’ve created. 

Mingi’s daily glance at you catches it, the way Hongjoong is leaning over, but his eyes, looking up at you, see the placement of hands. His jaw tightens, and he sets his drink down by a nearby podium. His body is completely tense, no longer relaxed, brushing it all off is not going to suffice much longer. You can feel it across the room, but you still don’t focus on Mingi, you hone all of your attention to Hongjoong.

At this point, Hongjoong is painfully aware of the energy bouncing off you two. 

Mingi tries to catch your attention anytime he can, shifts in your peripheral vision constantly, talks a little louder than normal. You pay him no mind. You keep turning towards Hongjoong, you’ve scooted your chair so much it’s touching his. 

“So any new gossip, any new love interest? I saw that rumor about you being with—”

Hongjoong stops you, fingers pressing into your leg as he talks. “Nope, just rumors…Not really interested.” He’s testing you, your reaction, seeing if what he’s doing is okay, also knows you asked him a loaded question. 

From onlookers, it looks like two friends chatting it up. But between the three of you, you know it’s quite the opposite. 

Your heart is racing, his touch bringing memories you haven’t acknowledged in a while. You’re suffocating, not in a bad way, but in a way of not knowing what to do. You stand from the table, smooth out your dress, huff out a bit of air. “Bathroom real quick, be right back.”

Hongjoong nods. He doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest, goes back to looking at his phone as you move through the standing crowds to find the bathroom. 

You check yourself in the bathroom mirror, despite your blood rushing, you still look good. You have no clue when the actual announcing of the awards is going to start, and killing the time with Hongjoong has put you in a very, very tough predicament.

You’re in the bathroom longer than anticipated, Hongjoong stands up from his table to go find you, making sure no one has cornered you or to make sure you haven’t fallen into the toilet. The latter wouldn’t surprise him. 

He’s nosy by nature, but so curious when it comes to you. He wants to know what’s really going on with you. 

As you push the door open, you’re met with Hongjoong’s face, his hand up, looking like he was about to knock. You step back a bit as he caught you off guard, and the fact that it’s the women’s restroom. “You okay in here?”

You think for a second, you’re in private, and you can tell he’s offering an out that you’re not about to take. The tension is too much for you. “No–no. Not at fucking all.”

Hongjoong motions for you to step further into the bathroom some more, he steps fully in, closing the door behind him. He steps closer to you, concern in his eyes. “What’s going on? You’ve been in here for a bit.”

“Actually, nothing, nothing. I’m good. We should get back out there.” You’re lying, he knows it. Neither of you moves toward the door. 

“No, we’re not doing this. What is it really? Mingi? Me?” Hongjoong’s voice has gone even softer, it cradles you in a way that makes you want to spill your guts to him. But your expression is what gives it all away, that all of this is about someone else and not him. 

“Is this—” He starts, then stops. Moves closer to you. “Does he know?”  You shake your head, shoulders kind of slouch over. Hongjoong pushes your shoulders back up, fixes your posture as his thumbs come up to brush over your cheeks. 

You don’t push back, you lean into him, and your body language is all telling. Hongjoong feels it, he lets his hand linger, his eyes pouring into yours, red creeping up his neck and over his shirt collar. 

“You said you’d wanted cherries, right? Would you eat one without permission even though the lips it’s meant for are standing out there?” 

Hongjoong’s hand comes up to caress your collarbones, then moves up to gently squeeze your neck. He’s breathing hard, nose is flared as he bites his lip. His restraint is slipping away, but it’s completely gone when you go to smash your lips onto his. 

Your tongues are tied when the swinging of the bathroom door is heard. Hongjoong didn’t lock it. The only thing locked is your eyes with Mingi’s. 

Hongjoong’s back is to Mingi, but he can feel the looming presence behind him when he feels you pull back a bit. Knows it’s Mingi behind him, but he’s not profusely apologizing to you, he’s frozen, doesn’t move. 

Mingi’s eyes immediately go dark. He doesn’t say anything, everyone is standing in silence. All you can feel is his fury, the possessiveness as he clenches his hands. The way he’s looking at the back of Hongjoong is nothing short of scary, his eyes don’t leave him. 

Hongjoong slowly turns around, steps back a little to look at Mingi. He knows the line he’s crossing, Mingi had given permission before–not this time, and that’s where he fucked up. You have not moved a limb, part of you feels guilty, and the other part is turned on. 

Mingi’s eyes do not leave either of yours as he reaches back to lock the restroom door, effectively trapping all of you together. 

“Having fun, dear?” He looks directly at you, fingers motion for you to come. You don’t move, which makes him laugh a bit, he’s entertained and pissed at the same time. He then begins to walk past Hongjoong to get to you. 

Mingi's hands wrap around your throat before you can even breathe. He’s mad, but the bulge in his pants also lets you know he’s fucking horny. His thumb presses harder against the evident vein in your neck, feeling your fast pulse.

“You think I didn’t see that shit?” His voice goes lower, “every single fucking second of it.” 

Hongjoong hasn’t moved, he chooses to wait and watch because he knows this dance, knows better than to speak first. 

Mingi’s other hand slides down your side, his fingers catch on the slit of the dress, dragging it higher up your thigh. “This isn’t how it went down last time, baby.” Your breath hitches, the memory of being in this position before, but this time, there’s no kind of negotiation.

There’s no couch or soft blankets, a track on loop with your voice on it. Right now, it’s just cold tile, locked doors, and the threat of industry sitting outside the door. “Mingi–” 

He cuts you off with his lips, his tongue enters without full permission, teeth catch your bottom lip enough to make you bleed. When he pulls back, your gloss is smeared all over his mouth. 

“Don’t.” Mingi turns his head slightly, glancing back to Hongjoong, finally acknowledging his presence. “You. Come here.”

Hongjoong doesn’t move with hesitancy, he steps so close to you that you can feel the pure lust radiating off of him. His hands find your waist like he knows what sets you off, what gets you going, and the reality of it, he actually does. 

Mingi sees it, how you move like familiars. The way Hongjoong’s fingers press into your hip, that spot that makes you a little whiny, and arch into the touch.

“You remember how she sounds.” Mingi’s voice is rough, you can tell he’s on edge.

Hongjoong gulps, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Yeah. I do.” 

“Lovely.” Mingi’s hand slides from your throat down to your chest, palming your breast through the fabric. “Then you know what happens when she gets what she wants.”

You’re closer to the wall now, you head falls back against it as both of them close in on you. Mingi’s mouth is all over your neck, biting down hard. You won’t be able to go back into the award ceremony, he knows this. All the while, Hongjoong’s hand slips under the slit of your dress, trailing up.

“Guys–” You gasp, and Mingi lets out a laugh. 

Mingi shuts you up, yanking down the top part of your dress, exposing your breasts, your necklace swaying back and forth between them. 

“Fuck,” Hongjoong breathes out, eyes locked on your chest. His hand doesn’t falter, he cups your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardens under his touch, the coldness of the restroom adding to it all. 

Mingi’s eyes zone in on Hongjoong’s movements, “You’re not shy anymore.”

“Mmm. Should I be?” Hongjoong’s voice stays steady as his other hand moves under your dress to graze the edge of your panties. You gasp, hips jerking. Mingi catches your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Eyes on me.”

Hongjoong doesn’t care, his fingers slip inside your panties, finding you already wet, and your eyes flutter shut immediately. “She’s leaking,” he murmurs. He drags two fingers through your folds, “just like last time.”

Mingi’s grip on your jaw tightens, “Don’t fucking compare.”

“How come?” Hongjoong’s fingers circle your clit, and you whimper. “Her body acts the same way, gets this wet when she’s between us.”

“Hongjoong.” Mingi puts his mouth back onto yours before you can even finish your sentence. His kiss is brutal while Hongjoong continues to scissor you with his fingers. You look like a mess, shaking already, and overwhelmed by the sensations.

Mingi pulls back, breathing hard. “You think you can make her cum before I do?”

Hongjoong’s eyes flash, then a quick smirk on his lips. “I swear I’ve already done that once before.”

Mingi goes still, his hand sliding down to grip your hip harder. “When?”

“Few weeks ago, actually.” Hongjoong’s fingers push inside you even more, and you cry out. “Came on my tongue while you were in that merch meeting or whatever.”

You’re blue in the face from the lack of air that just left your body, you’re shocked, but also laughing on the inside. Knows lying to Mingi makes him go harder, and that’s exactly what you want–what you need.

“Fuck you, fuck this.” Mingi yanks your dress up higher, exposing your legs completely. “She tell you that, or you just running your mouth?”

“She didn’t have to.” Hongjoong continues with his lie as he curls his fingers, hitting your spot. “I could taste how much she needed it.” 

Mingi’s hand joins Hongjoong’s between your legs, both hands stretching you wider as fingers glide. You sob, you’re losing the muscle to stand up. “Mingi—fuck, I can’t.”

“Oh no no. Yes, the fuck you can.” His voice is harsh in your ear, “You wanted his attention so bad tonight. Guess what, sweetie—now you got both of us.”

Hongjoong’s thumb finds your clit while Mingi’s fingers pump inside you, they’re working together instead of against one another. Your thighs tremble, gasping as you struggle for air. “She’s close,” Hongjoong says as he watches your face with great intent. “Look at her.”

That only makes Mingi mad all over again. “You don’t get to make her cum I can tell you that much.”

“Then stop me.”

Mingi’s hand moves away and spins you around, making Hongjoong remove his hand. Mingi presses your chest against the wall, your dress bunches around your waist, ass on display for the both of them. 

Mingi unbuckles his belt, the sound of the zipper being the loudest thing in the room. Hongjoong moves to your side, his hand sliding up your spine. “You good?”

You nod, and he leans in to kiss you while Mingi gets behind you. His cock presses against you, thick and hard as ever, and he pushes in without giving you any warning. You pull away from the kiss to scream his name when Mingi slams in.

“Yeah baby, say my name, not his.” 

Hongjoong turns your face toward him again, making you maintain eye contact with him while Mingi fucks the living daylights out of you. He twiddles with your necklace as it sways back and forth from the rough pace Mingi has set. 

“You’re so pretty like this.” Hongjoong whispers, breath hitting your face.

Mingi’s hand fists in your hair, messing up the careful style you put it in for the night. He yanks your head back some more, “This pretty is mine.”

“Then why’d she let me kiss her tonight?” Hongjoong’s voice almost sounds amused. “Why’d she let me touch her at that table?”

Mingi’s hips stutter, and he grits through his teeth. “Because she wanted to piss me off.”

“Did it work?”

“Fuck yes, it worked obviously.” Mingi’s voice cracks, “I hated watching you touch her, hated seeing her smile at you like that.”

Your heart is pounding, you wouldn’t be surprised if you saw it on the tile floor at this point. Hongjoong’s thumb brushes your lower lip, smudging the gloss even more. “She’s got you fucked up,” Hongjoong says softly.

“Royally fucked up.” Mingi agrees, and his pace doesn’t slow, his cock driving into you with no mercy. “And you’re not helping.”

Hongjoong looks at Mingi to smirk, “wasn’t trying to.”

You’re close, the pressure is building, walls constantly clenching around Mingi’s cock, he feels it, and his hand slides around to rub your clit in rough circles. “Cum for me, and only me.”

Hongjoong disregards his words. He moves to your neck, sucking hard. Trying to leave a mark that overlaps with Mingi’s. Hongjoong’s hand then goes to cover Mingi’s, pressing even harder against your clit. “You can do it for both of us.”

Your orgasm hits you hard, Mingi groans as you puls around him. He doesn’t last much longer as he spills everything he has inside you. Your legs shake, and Mingi rests along your back as his hands grip your hips. 

Hongjoong steps back slowly, hand trailing down your arm before he lets go completely. His lips and face are left with the evidence of you.

Mingi pulls out carefully, the sound echoing. He adjusts your dress before turning you back around. His eyes are still dark like he’s not done, like there’s no way he’d stop right here. “We’re not finished,” his thumb brushes your swollen lip.

Hongjoong adds on, sitting on the opposite wall, watching everything unfold in front of him. “Didn’t think we were.”

“Go out first,” Mingi says to Hongjoong, “we’ll follow in a minute.”

Hongjoong fixes his collar and slips out the door without another word. The second it clicks shut, Mingi’s hand is back in your hair. He yanks you to face him directly. “Knees now.” Mingi takes off his jacket, puts it on the floor, points to where you need to be

You sink down slowly onto the cloth of his jacket. He’s still half hard, still slick with you and him, and the sight makes your mouth water. “Open up for me.” He doesn’t ease in, just pushes into your mouth till you’re gagging around him.

Your hands go straight to his thighs, nails digging in, but he doesn’t stop. He just holds you there as your eyes begin to water, makeup surely isn’t lasting. 

“You wanted to make me so fucking jealous, to let him touch you like that–just a damn slut.” You can’t breathe, just gagging as he pulls back and thrusts deeper. Spit drips down your chin, he wipes some up with his thumb and pops it into his mouth, mascara’s running even more.

“Can you say anything? You were a fucking chatterbox at the table. Or are you too full of my cock right now?” 

He pulls back to give you a small breath to speak, “It was worth it.” He pushes right back in, your throat burns, and your jaw aches, but you don’t pull away. You take it all. 

When he pulls out completely, you’re gasping, drool and cum smeared across your lips, he tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at him.

“Shit. Go fix yourself,” he’s still angry, you can hear it in his voice, “then get back to the damn table.”

You nod, legs shaking as you stand, your reflection is scary to look at, it’s progressively gotten worse. Lips swollen, eyes glossed over, throat a fucking abstract painting. Mingi tucks himself back in, adjusting his shirt. “And don’t take too long.” He leaves right after.

You stand there for a moment, still tasting him on your tongue, until you get a text.

joong: vip lounge. upstairs, now

You don’t listen to Mingi out of pure rebellion, out of still being agitated. You head in the opposite direction from the main ceremony. 

The lounge is dimmed, plush velvet couches. It’s meant for the donors and execs of the event, but it’s empty since everyone has filtered into the main room. You can hear the muffled sound of applause starting downstairs as you push open the door. 

Hongjoong’s already inside, leaning against the back of the couch. He straightens when he sees you, eyes looking over your appearance that you put in no effort to fix. 

“Fuck–” he breathes, “he really–”

You walk up to him, grab his tie, and pull him down into a kiss. He groans into your mouth, tasting Mingi on your tongue, and you feel him get harder. His hands find your waist, pulling you against him. “You taste like him,” he whispers, and he’s not complaining. 

“I know. Now you’re going to make me taste like you.” You push him back onto the couch, his thighs spread and cock straining against his dress pants. You straddle him, and his hands grip your thighs.

You pull out your phone.

“What are you–”

You dial Mingi, and he picks up on the first ring. “Baby? Where are you? The ceremony’s starting—” 

You lean forward and kiss Hongjoong slowly, tongue sliding against his while Mingi’s voice booms through the speaker. “Hello? You there?”

You pull back from Hongjoong’s mouth, breathless. “I’m here, honey.”

“Where the fuck did you go? I’ve been waiting–”

“Wanna hear something?” You interrupt his thoughts, tired of him having his way.

There’s a pause, then you can hear the weariness in his voice. “What?”

You set the phone down on the armrest, speaker on, and grind against Hongjoong’s cock. He hisses, hands tightening. 

“I get to make my own special track now,” Hongjoong says, eyes locked on yours. He pushes your dress to expose the wet mess between your legs. Silence on the other end of the phone until Mingi speaks again. “Where the fuck are you?”

“Vip lounge,” you say, rolling your hips again. “Upstairs.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“You’re going to fucking listen.” Your hand slides down to palm Hongjoong through his pants, and he groans. “You’re going to sit through that ceremony and smile for the cameras while I let him fuck me. Understand?”

Barely audible over the phone, Mingi groans. “Fuck.”

Hongjoong’s hands are yanking your panties to the side, fingers sliding through your slick folds again. “Jesus, you’re so soaked still,” he says loud enough for the phone to pick up. “You this wet from him? Or from knowing he’s listening?”

“Both,” you gasp as two fingers push inside you. Through the phone, you hear Mingi’s sharp breath. Hongjoong pumps his fingers slowly, curling them upwards, and you whimper. “She’s dripping down my hand,” like he’s narrating an audiobook for Mingi, “clenching around my fingers. You should feel how tight she is.”

“Hongjoong—” Mingi’s voice is strained.

“What?” Hongjoong pulls his fingers out, sucks them clean. His eyes roll back, “fuck she tastes good. You already knew that, though.”

You fumble with his belt, can barely focus as you shake with need. He helps you to free his cock, he’s leaking and flushed. You wrap your hand around him, stroking, and he groans. 

“She’s got her hand on my cock now,” Hongjoong says, head falling back again, “stroking me, fuck–tighter, baby, just like that.” 

You listen and twist your wrist the way he likes, and precum beads at the tip, you swipe your thumb through it, bringing it to your lips. 

“She just licked my precum off her thumb,” He’s still reporting everything with a wrecked voice, “while looking right at me.”

Through the phone, you hear someone speaking to Mingi. His voice is strained when he responds, “Yeah. I’m fine. Just give me a sec.”

You try your hardest not to laugh, you go to line Hongjoong up and sink down onto his cock in one motion. The sound you make is desperate and loud. 

“Holy hell,” he chokes out. You start moving, riding him hard. Your dress is bunched up, tits bouncing in his face with every thrust, Hongjoong is going cross-eyed.

You’re so wet the squelches fill the room, you know Mingi can hear it through the speaker. “Hongjoong–” you gasp, “fuck you’re so deep.”

“Yeah?” he thrusts up to meet your pace, “tell him. Tell him how deep i am.”

“So deep,” you moan, much louder now. “Filling me up–fuck.”

Mingi makes a choked noise, Hongjoong’s hand comes up, wrapping around the necklace. It’s actually a necklace Mingi gifted you. He pulls it, using it as leverage to pull you down harder onto his cock. 

“This his?” 

You nod, eyes watering as he pulls tighter. “Damn. You really give no fucks.” He shifts you right away, flipping you onto your back, your legs wrap around his waist as he ruts into you deeper and harder. “Hongjoong, please–”

“Please, what?” He slows down, grinding deep as you whimper. “Say it loud enough for him to hear.” 

“Please harder—fuck I need it.”

He slams so hard the couch moves against the floor, his hand finds your clit, and rubs. Through the phone, Mingi’s voice has little control, “Hongjoong–”

“She’s close. She’s about to cum on this cock.”

“No–” Mingi starts, but you’re already losing it. Your body arches off the couch, a broken scream ripping from your throat. Hongjoong groans as you clench around him. You sob through it, Hongjoong’s name on your lips over and over, he keeps fucking you through it.

“Hey Mingi, she just came so hard she’s crying by the way.” There are tears streaming down your face, and it doesn’t stop. Hongjoong pulls out and bends you over the arm of the couch, then slams in from behind.

“Oh fuck–” you gasp, hands trying to find something to hold onto.

“One more for me–give me one more.” He fucks you brutally, skin slapping, his hand comes down on your ass, and you moan.

“She likes being spanked. Ooo Mingi, you got it good.” Mingi doesn’t answer, just breathes heavy through the phone. Hongjoong picks up the pace again, and you feel another orgasm coming. He overstimulates your clit, and you scream. 

Hongjoong pumps you a few more times before he’s spilling inside you, you feel every pulse and twitch, making you clench around him again. For a moment, you can only hear the mingling of heavy breathing between the three of you. 

Then downstairs, a loud sound of applause indicating someone has won an award. Hongjoong pulls out slowly, and you feel his cum start to drip down your legs. He collapses onto the couch, and you slump against the armrest, pure exhaustion. 

You reach over with an unsteady hand, picking up the phone. Your voice is completely wrecked. “He just came inside me…I can feel it dripping out.” Then you hang up.

Hongjoong laughs beside you. “He’s gonna get you for that.”

mymingithingi: ur gonna quit fuckin playin w/ me.

You stare at the screen with a smile, heart still racing, cum sticky between your thighs, then you toss the phone onto the couch and close your eyes for a quick power nap.

Thirty minutes later, you’re back at the table. You’ve cleaned up as best as one could, given the circumstances. You fixed your lip combo, covered up the marks as best you could, smoothed down your dress, tamed your hair. But there’s no hiding the tremor in your hands and the way you walk like you still have a cock stuck up your ass. 

 Mingi’s still seated, doesn’t look at you when you sit down beside him. The ceremony’s still going, someone’s giving an acceptance speech. 

Mingi’s hand slides under the table, finding your thigh. His grip is firm. “Smile, baby,” he says, deadly calm. “We’re being photographed.”

You smile, one flash and a click, then his hand moves higher, fingers pressing against the wet mess between your legs through your dress. 

“You’re going to sit here,” he leans in like he’s whispering sweet nothings, “and feel him dripping out of you, and you’re going to think about what happens when we get home.” 

You go still. His other hand comes up, adjusting your necklace, the one he gave you. The one Hongjoong used to leverage you with. Mingi straightens it carefully, gently, then leans in close enough so his lips brush your ear.

“At the end of the day, this is mine. And I’m going to remind you what the fucking definition of ‘mine’ means for the rest of the night.” He pulls back once more, smiles for the camera, and you realize your hands are shaking. 

Across the table, Hongjoong catches your eye. He still looks a mess, hair messy and tie loose. Mingi notices, and his hand tightens around you. 

“Both of you,” voice low enough that only you and Hongjoong hear. “When we leave here. Our place.”

Hongjoong only smiles, but your stomach is dropping into your ass. You thought tonight would get you even, would satiate your anger. Instead, you’ve made everything ten times worse.

Soobin’s car hummed through the three hours of quiet countryside roads, the occasional soft click of his turn signal, and the low murmur of whatever late-night ballad playlist he’d put on shuffle. 

You were finally going home.

Not just any home—your family home, the two-story house with cream walls and a clay-tiled roof that hadn’t changed since you were small enough to hide under the dining table during thunderstorms. 

Your mother had been relentless for weeks. Voice messages piled up, and the occasional guilt-trip text that read 'It’s been almost two years, and we still haven’t met him in person. Do you want me to die of curiosity?'

Soobin had laughed when you told him—nervous, dimpled, adorable—but the laugh hadn’t reached his eyes. He’d agreed, of course. He always agreed when you asked. But the closer the date got, the more you noticed the little tells.

The way he chewed the inside of his cheek when he thought you weren’t looking, the way his fingers drummed restlessly on the table when he video called in between rehearsals, the way he asked—twice—if your parents liked beef because he wanted to bring the right gift.

Now, as the late afternoon sun dipped low, your family’s house finally came into view at the end of the narrow lane. The same wooden gate your brothers used to climb as kids. The same porch light that had welcomed you back from every school trip, every late-night study session.

The car rolled to a gentle stop in the driveway. The engine ticked once, twice, then fell silent but he didn’t move to unbuckle right away.

You glanced sideways and caught the way his long fingers flexed around the steering wheel—knuckles pale, then flushed, then pale again.

He had worn something softer for the drive home: a white button-up with a black cardigan, dark loose jeans, and he wore his glasses instead of the usual contact lenses.

Even dressed down, he still looked unfairly expensive as if he belonged on a magazine cover rather than in your childhood neighborhood. 

You reached over and brushed a stray lock of black hair off his forehead. 

“You’re nervous,” you murmured, half-teasing, half-tender. 

Soobin let out a small, nervous laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’ve performed in front of thousands of people and I’m more scared of your mom right now than I ever was on any stage.”

You leaned across the console and kissed the corner of his mouth. “She’s going to love you. Everyone does.”

He exhaled through his nose, then nodded once like he was steeling himself for a performance he hadn’t rehearsed. The front door flew open before either of you could unbuckle.

Your mother stood on the porch in her favorite floral apron, arms already open. Behind her, your two older brothers loomed, identical smirks on their faces. Minho crossed his arms; Jaehyun tilted his head and mouthed pretty boy the second he spotted Soobin stepping out of the car.

Soobin bowed deeply then straightened and held out the small forest of shopping bags he’d insisted on carrying the entire three-hour drive.

“These are… for all of you” he said, voice soft but steady. “I didn’t know what would be appropriate so I, um, bought a little of everything.”

Your mother’s eyes widened at the Hanwoo beef gift set, then softened at the cordless back massager still in its sleek black box, and finally landed on the oversized bouquet of white peonies and pale pink roses.

She accepted everything with both hands despite being hesitant. “You didn’t have to bring anything,” she said, already tearing up. “Come in, come in. Both of you must be tired.”

Soobin bowed again shyly and followed you inside. The living room smelled exactly the way you remembered with the familiar faint citrus cleaner, your dad’s old tobacco pipe that he swore he’d quit using, and the sweet undertone of red bean simmering somewhere in the kitchen. 

Your brothers immediately flanked Soobin like hawks. Minho clapped him on the shoulder hard enough to make the taller man jolt 

“So you’re the guy who finally locked our little sister down.” 

Jaehyun snorted. “Took you long enough to show your face.”

Soobin smiled politely showing off his dimples and answered every barrage of questions with quiet earnestness. Yes, he liked horror movies but got scared easily. No, he didn’t drink often because alcohol made his face red in thirty seconds. Yes, he really did cry during that one episode of that healing drama your mom loved and by dinner, your parents were already calling him “our Soobin-ah.”

You watched the entire scene unfold from across the table, chin in hand, warmth blooming behind your ribs. Soobin kept stealing glances at you—quick, needy little looks that said I’m trying so hard to be good for them. 

After plates were cleared your mother brought out photo albums. Soobin leaned forward, elbows on knees, genuinely interested as your mom flipped through pages of you at five with pigtails and missing front teeth, you at twelve with braces and a soccer uniform two sizes too big, you at seventeen graduating high school with the same serious pout you still wore when you were concentrating.

“He’s so attentive,” your mother whispered to you later while Soobin was helping your dad carry dishes to the sink. “Look how he listens to your father. Most boys his age can’t sit still through stories like that.”

You only hummed, because you knew exactly why Soobin listened so intently. He liked being told what to do. He liked praise even more. And he liked it best when the voice doing the praising belonged to you.

You always thought it was funny how recently you’ve come to know that Soobin liked giving up control because in the beginning of your relationship, he had been the one who took charge.

Exactly a year had passed since you officially started dating by then—twelve full months of stolen moments carved out between his relentless schedules and your own life, of late-night calls where his voice came through cracked and exhausted, barely above a whisper because he didn’t want to wake the other members. Quick kisses in the back of tinted vans while the manager pretended not to notice, longer ones in empty practice rooms after everyone else had left, his back pressed to the mirrored wall and your fingers tangled in the damp hair at his nape. 

You learned each other slowly, carefully—his favorite places to be touched, the way his dimples deepened when he was genuinely happy, the quiet way he’d blush when you caught him staring too long.

Those months felt almost fragile in their sweetness: hands brushing under blankets during movie nights, his head on your lap while you played with his hair until he dozed off mid-sentence, the shy way he’d text you good morning even when he’d only gotten three hours of sleep after a schedule.

Everything built gradually, like a melody finding its rhythm—tentative kisses turning into longer ones, clothes staying on a little less each time, whispered confessions in the dark about how much he liked just being near you.

And when things finally turned physical, he led.

He guided you with a gentle, steady confidence—eyes always searching your face for the slightest hint of uncertainty, pausing each time to let your gazes lock before continuing. He never hurried, never assumed; every caress felt like a careful invitation he already sensed you’d accept, yet he still waited for your quiet nod or the subtle tightening of your fingers against his skin to be certain.

The first time happened in his dorm while the others were out, during a late-night movie neither of you had really watched.

The screen had long since gone dark, the only light coming from the faint blue glow of his computer monitor and the city bleeding in through half-closed blinds. He kissed you slow and deep on the couch until your breathing turned uneven, until your hands were clutching the front of his hoodie like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

His hands were careful at first, sliding under your shirt to trace the curve of your waist, thumb brushing the underside of your breast like he was asking permission with every touch. You arched into him, and that was all the answer he needed.

He pulled back just enough to look at you—eyes dark, searching, gentle. 

“You sure?” he asked, voice low and steady, thumb brushing your cheek. “We don’t have to—”

You nodded, heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. “I want to.”

That was all he needed.

He kissed you slow and deep, hands steady as he carried you to his bedroom and laid you on his bed, voice low and sure when he asked again if you were ready, if you wanted this.

You nodded and he took over—careful, observant, almost reverent. He undressed you like you were something fragile and precious, whispered your name like a prayer against your collarbone, set the pace with long, deliberate thrusts that made your toes curl and your breath catch. 

The next few times followed the same pattern. He led quietly, confidently, always checking your eyes, always making sure you were with him. he’d press you against the bathroom counter, lift one of your legs over his hip, and fuck you slow and filthy while the mirror fogged up. In the backseat of his car after midnight drives he’d pull you into his lap, hands on your ass guiding you down onto him, letting you ride while he kissed your neck and whispered how pretty you looked falling apart.

He often flipped you onto your stomach and took you from behind with one hand braced beside your head, the other tangled in your hair just tight enough to make you arch. He’d pull your legs over his shoulders and fuck you slow and filthy until you were shaking, begging, coming so hard your vision whited out. 

He always made sure you came first—twice, sometimes three times—before he finally let himself go, spilling inside you with a low, broken moan that vibrated against your collarbone.

He was good at it. Really good. Attentive. Thorough. Almost too perfect.

Until that one night, six months after your first time.

You were in his bedroom again, rain drumming against the windows as you kissing lazily on the bed. When you reached up, you caught both his wrists, and pinned them above his head against the headboard as you continued to make out.

He froze.

Not in fear—in something else.

His pupils blew wide. His breath stuttered. His hips lifted off the couch in one helpless roll, grinding his already hard cock against your thigh like he couldn’t stop himself.

You held him there and he didn’t fight it.

He melted.

Eyes fluttering shut, lips parting on a shaky exhale, chest rising and falling too fast. A soft, needy sound slipped out of him. It was barely there, but you heard it enough to make heat flood your core.

You rocked against him—slow, mean—feeling him throb through his sweats. He whimpered into your neck, hips chasing every drag of friction.

When you finally whispered “good boy” against his ear, he came.

Untouched.

Hard. Sudden. Mortified.

Hot pulses soaked through the fabric. His whole body jerked, a choked sob catching in his throat.  He buried his face in your shoulder, cheeks burning against your skin, mumbling broken apologies.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—I couldn’t—” over and over and you just hummed, not really thinking much about it.

Maybe he was just too tense that night, you thought.

But he kept coming back for it.

The very next time you had sex he didn’t even try to take charge. He waited—eyes down, breathing shallow—until you told him exactly what to do. You made him kneel between your legs on the rug, hands behind his back, and watched him tremble while you rode his face until you came on his tongue.

Only then did you let him inside you—slowly, teasingly, making him hold still while you took what you wanted. He cried that time too—quiet, overwhelmed tears—when you finally let him move, when you told him he could come but only if he begged first.

After that, the dynamic flipped completely.

He liked when you chose the pace. Liked when you told him exactly how to touch you, how fast, how deep. Liked when you ignored his pleas until he was trembling, glassy-eyed, promising anything if you’d just let him come. 

The taller he stood in public, the sweeter his dimples, the gentler his voice on camera, the more violently he unraveled the second you gave him an order in private.

He still towered over you, still had those long limbs and broad shoulders, still looked like the gentle, perfect boyfriend your mother would cry over. But alone, with your hand around his cock or your thighs bracketing his face or your voice in his ear calling him good boy—he became something else entirely. Something needy. Something yours.

That was when you realized that night on his bed had sealed it: he craved surrender far more than he craved control. The brief moment he’d taken the lead had been sweet, earnest, but it was clear he’d only done it because he thought that’s what you wanted. 

But the second you took the reins back, he melted all over again, happier, needier, more himself.

Now, here he was in your family home’s living room speaking to your entire family like he was the most perfect son-in-law in the world. The conversation had slowly drifted to the usual conservative parental conversations eventually going to—toward marriage.

Your mother sighed, setting her teacup down with a gentle clink. 

“You’ve been together for almost two years now,” she said, eyes shining with that particular mix of pride and mild accusation only mothers can perfect. “We were starting to think you’d never bring anyone home. I even told your father last month how maybe you were dating a ghost because we’ve never met your boyfriend.” She chuckled.

Your father gave a low, rumbling chuckle and nodded sagely.

“A good son-in-law should be responsible. Hard-working. Polite.” He turned his gaze to Soobin, “You seem to check all the boxes, Soobin-ah. Tall, handsome, manners like a textbook, and you even brought beef. That’s practically a marriage proposal in gift form.”

Soobin’s ears went from pink to full-on fire-engine red in record time. He bowed his head slightly, fingers twisting the napkin in his lap like he was trying to strangle it into submission.

“I—I’ll do my best to take care of her” he managed, voice soft but earnest. “Always.”

Your mother beamed, as she pressed a hand to her chest. “That’s all we ask. And of course…” She paused, folding her hands in her lap with the careful deliberation of someone about to drop a very polite bomb. “We raised her with certain values. You understand. Intimacy is for after the vows. We trust you both respect that.”

Soobin’s gaze snapped to you so fast it was practically audible. Wide. Panicked. Guilty as sin.  You met his eyes and gave him the tiniest, calmest, most angelic smile you could muster and his Adam’s apple bobbed like it was trying to escape his throat entirely.

“Of course,” he croaked, voice so faint it barely cleared the rim of his teacup. “We… respect that very much.”

The words came out so strangled you had to press your lips together to keep from laughing outright. Under the table, you slid your foot along his calf—slow, deliberate—just to watch his shoulders jolt like he’d been tased.

Your mother beamed, completely oblivious to the silent implosion happening inches away. “Good. That’s good. I knew you were raised right.”

Your brothers, who had been mercifully quiet until now, exchanged a look before Minho, who had been pretending to scroll on his phone the whole time, finally looked up with a shit-eating grin. 

“Yeah, Soobin-ah. Real upstanding guy. Bet you two just hold hands and pray together every night.”

Jaehyun snorted into his water glass and Soobin looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

You had to press your lips together so hard your teeth hurt to keep from laughing out loud at the fact that your entire family was sitting here, your parents blissfully convinced that their precious daughter was still pure as the driven snow, while the boy they’d just declared 'son-in-law material' had spent the last year learning exactly how many times he could have that same daughter moan out his name.

Your mother, blissfully oblivious, reached over and patted his hand. “Such a good boy. We’re so happy you’re here.”

Soobin made a small, strangled noise that could have been “thank you” or could have been the sound of his soul quietly departing his body making you snort at his reaction.

It was nearly eleven when your mother finally stood, smoothing her apron with both hands like she was preparing to deliver a verdict.

“Too late to drive back now,” she declared. “You’ll stay the night. But the guest room is still full of boxes—we haven’t finished sorting that mess from the attic. Soobin-ah, the couch pulls out nicely. It’s quite comfortable.”

You spoke before he could even open his mouth. “He can sleep in my room. On the floor,” you added quickly, the picture of innocence. “I can put out extra blankets and a pillow. He won’t mind.”

Your brothers exchanged grins as your mother studied you both for a long, searching moment, lips pursed.“...Door stays cracked,” she said at last. “And I mean it. No funny business under this roof.”

Soobin bowed so deeply he nearly knocked his forehead on the table edge. “Yes, Thank you. I promise.”

You had to bite the inside of your cheek until you tasted copper.

Because little did they know the boy currently bowing ninety degrees and swearing chastity in your mother’s living room had, less than twenty-four hours ago, been crying into your neck while you rode him slow and mean on your apartment bed, begging you to let him come inside again even though you’d already edged him for forty minutes.

And your entire family was sitting here thinking he was the poster child for abstinence.

Oblivious.

Utterly, hilariously, wonderfully oblivious.

You stood, tugging gently on Soobin’s sleeve. “Come on. Let’s get you settled.”

He followed you down the hallway, clutching the small duffel bag he’d brought like it was a shield. The second your bedroom door closed behind you, he let out a long, shaky exhale that sounded like a balloon deflating.

You flicked the lock, heeding no mind to your mother’s reminder earlier. The soft click made him freeze and you turned, leaning back against the wood, arms crossed. 

Soobin immediately dropped to his knees and began arranging the spare blankets into a neat pallet on the floor and you watched him for a moment—long back curved, careful hands smoothing the edges.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

He looked up, confused. “I—floor. Like I promised.”

You tilted your head. “You were so good tonight,” you said quietly. “So polite. So perfect.”

His shoulders dropped half an inch. “I was terrified.”

“I know.” You stepped closer, slow. “I could feel how hard you were trying. Every time Mom praised you I watched your thighs tense under the table.”

Soobin swallowed. “Don’t—don’t say that here.”

“Why not, baby?” You reached up and traced the line of his jaw with one fingernail. “You like being told you’re good, don’t you?”

He closed his eyes briefly. “Yes.”

You smiled. “And you like it when I tell you what to do.”

He inhaled shakily and nodded.

You slid your hand down, fingers curling loosely around his throat—not squeezing, just holding. His pulse thundered against your palm. “Then get on the bed.”

He hesitated. “We’re in your childhood bedroom.”

“Mhm.”

“Where you slept with stuffed animals.”

“Yup”

“Where you probably prayed before exams and cried over boy bands and—” He swallowed. “—and we shouldn’t be doing this here.”

You crouched in front of him, fingers catching his chin, tilting his face up. “Doing what?”

His voice cracked. “You know what.”

“Say it.”

He closed his eyes. “Sex. In your family home. On the same day they met me” He sighed. “Your family is literally—” He gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “—steps away. They think I’m sleeping on the floor. They think we’ve never—”

“—fucked?” you finished sweetly and he winced at the word, cheeks flaming.

“They think you’re still… innocent.” He continued.

You stepped into his space until your chests brushed. “Am I?” You asked and he shook his head. “And whose fault is that?”

His breath stuttered. “Mine.”

“Exactly.” You pushed up on tiptoe and spoke against the shell of his ear. “You took my innocence months ago, Soobin-ah. Remember? On your dorm bed. You fucked me so hard I swore I saw stars that night”

He made a small, wounded sound and you pulled back just enough to see his face—eyes glassy, lips parted. “And now you’re scared they’ll find out?”

He nodded frantically.You smiled wider. “Then you’d better be quiet.”

You walked backward toward the bed, tugging him with you by the front of his sweater and he followed like he was leashed. When the backs of your knees hit the mattress you sat, legs parted just enough that your skirt rode up your thighs.

Soobin stood between them, hands hovering uncertainly.“Strip,” you ordered. “Slowly. Fold everything neatly. You know how I like it.”

His fingers shook as he pulled the sweater over his head. Pale skin, long torso, faint definition that appeared only when he was tense. He folded the knit with care, placed it on your old desk chair. Pants next—slowly, belt sliding free with a soft metallic hiss. Boxers last. He hesitated there, eyes flicking toward the locked door.

You tilted your head. “Problem?”

“...They could hear.”

“They could,” you agreed. “If you’re loud.”

He exhaled through his nose, then pushed the fabric down. Cock already half-hard, flushed dark at the tip. He folded the boxers too, set them on top of the pile.

“Good boy,” you murmured and the praise hit him like a drug. 

You patted the mattress beside you. “Lie down. On your back.”

He obeyed instantly, long limbs arranging themselves carefully so he wouldn’t take up too much space. You stood, peeled off your own clothes without ceremony—skirt, blouse, bra, panties—and left them in a careless heap. Soobin watched every movement with reverent hunger.

When you crawled over him he automatically lifted his hands to touch, then froze. You caught his wrists and pinned them above his head with one hand. “Did I say you could move?”

“No,” he whispered.

“Then don’t.”

You settled your weight across his hips, his cock laying hot and heavy against your stomach. You rocked once slowly, letting your folds glide along the underside of him without letting him slip inside. Soobin’s head tipped back into the pillow. A low, broken sound escaped his throat.

“Shh,” you reminded him, pressing two fingers to his lips. “They’ll hear”

He bit his lip so hard you thought it might bleed.

You rocked again, deliberately dragging your clit along the sensitive ridge under his tip. His hips jerked once unconsciously then froze when he realized what he’d done.

“Sorry,” he breathed. “Sorry, I—”

“Quiet.”

You leaned down and kissed him—deep, filthy, swallowing every tiny sound he couldn’t hold back. When you pulled away a thin string of saliva connected your mouths for a heartbeat before snapping.

“You’re already leaking,” you observed, reaching down to spread the bead of pre-cum across his tip with your thumb. “Already so close and I haven’t even let you in yet.”

“I—I can’t help it when you—” He cut himself off with a sharp inhale as you circled the head once, twice.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t do this.”

His voice cracked. “Because… your parents are down the hall. Because they think I’m respectful. Because they just lectured us about waiting until marriage. Because if they walk in—” His breath hitched. “—they’ll see their only daughter riding the man she brought home today on her childhood bed. They’ll see me inside you. They’ll know I ruined you.”

You clenched around nothing at his words.

“Ruined me?” you echoed sweetly. “You think you ruined me?”

He shook his head. “I—I didn’t mean—”

You sank down in one smooth, slow motion and Soobin’s mouth opened in a silent scream. Back arched off the mattress. Fingers white-knuckled gripping on the headboard.

You stayed still—letting him throb, letting him feel how tightly you gripped him, how wet you were from teasing him for so long.

“Look at me.”

He forced his eyes open. Tears were already clinging to his lashes.

“You’re in so deep,” you whispered. “I can feel you in my stomach. Right here.” You pressed his hand to your lower abdomen. “Feel that?” 

He nodded—jerky, desperate.

“That’s you. Inside me. In the same bed where I used to sleep with my teddy bear and dream about getting into university. While your future in-laws sleep ten meters away.”

A tear slipped down his cheek and you rolled your hips once—small, cruel circles—and watched his face collapse.

“Quiet,” you reminded him again. “Remember?” 

He whimpered—muffled, desperate—into the crook of his elbow and you began to move slow at first. Long, deliberate drags that let him feel every ridge, lifting until only the head remained inside, then sinking back down until your ass met his thighs. Every time you bottomed out his abs jumped. Every time you lifted he chased you with a helpless twitch of his hips—then caught himself and froze.

“You’re shaking,” you observed, bracing your hands on his chest. “Is it because you’re scared? Or because it feels too good?”

“Both,” he choked out.

You sped up—just enough to make the headboard tap once, softly, against the wall and Soobin’s eyes flew wide. “Don’t—the—the bed—”

You clamped a hand over his mouth.“Then control yourself,” you hissed. “Or do you want them to come running? Want your sweet, polite image shattered when they find you balls-deep in their daughter on her childhood mattress?”

He shook his head frantically against your palm as his cock jerked violently inside you. You laughed under your breath. “You like that idea, don’t you? Being forced to come while your whole body is screaming not to make a sound.”

He nodded frantically against your palm.

You rode him harder—still controlled, still measured, but deeper now. The wet sound of your bodies meeting was obscene in the quiet room. Every time you ground down his tip kissed your cervix and his thighs trembled.

“Look how hard you’re trying,” you cooed. “Look at your face—so red, so wrecked. You want to moan so badly, don’t you?” Another helpless nod.“But you won’t. Because you’re good. Because you want to please me more than you want to breathe.”

Tears slipped freely now, tracking down his temples. His hands stayed obediently above his head even though his fingers were now white-knuckled in the sheets. You leaned down until your breasts brushed his chest, lips grazing his ear. 

“Come for me, Soobin-ah. Right now. Fill me up while your future in-laws sleep ten meters away. Do it quietly, like a good boy.”

His whole body tensed before you felt the first hot pulse deep inside—then another, and another. He came so hard his hips lifted off the mattress, pushing impossibly deeper. 

A strangled, almost-silent sob tore from his throat and you swallowed it with your mouth over his. When the last tremor left him you stayed seated, letting him soften inside you while you kissed the tears from his cheeks.

“You did so well, baby” you whispered. “So quiet. So perfect.”He turned his face into your neck, breathing hard. 

“I thought—I thought I was going to die.”

You laughed softly. “You didn’t.”

“I’m still inside you,” he mumbled, mortified all over again.

“I know.” You clenched deliberately around him making him whine helplessly.

You rolled your hips once more—just to feel him twitch—and lifted off just enough to watch the thick stripe of cum that followed. You scooped some with two fingers and brought them to his lips.

“Clean up your mess.”

He opened immediately, tongue curling around your fingers, eyes half-lidded and glassy with afterglow. When you pulled them free he whispered, “We’re going to hell.”

You kissed him slow and filthy. “Maybe,” you murmured against his mouth. “But at least we’ll go together.”

He pulled you back down, guiding you until you sank onto him again in one smooth, slick glide. He didn’t even try to pull out.

He just wanted to stay buried inside you, softening but still thick enough to stretch you, still leaking the last weak pulses of his release. His arms finally wrapped around your waist tentatively at first, like he was waiting for permission to hold you even now, then tightened when you didn’t push him away.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing hard against your skin, nose brushing the spot just below your ear that always made you shiver.

You carded your fingers through his damp hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp the way he liked.

“Sleep now,” you whispered. “We have breakfast with my family in six hours.”

He let out a pitiful, muffled groan into your neck, the sound half-exhausted, half-doomed.

── ∘◦ ⛤ ◦∘ ──── ∘◦ ⛤ ◦∘ ──── ∘◦ ⛤ ◦∘ ──── ∘◦ ⛤ ◦∘ ──

The first pale gray light of dawn slipped through the curtains like an unwelcome guest, turning the room from deep indigo to muted silver. Your childhood bedroom looked almost innocent again in the soft morning glow—the faded star stickers on the ceiling, the neatly folded quilt at the foot of the bed, the small collection of childhood books still lined up on the shelf.

Almost.

Because Choi Soobin was still inside you. He hadn’t pulled out all night.

You apparently fell asleep like that—straddled across his hips, your chest pressed to his, his softening cock still nestled deep in the warm, messy aftermath of his release. Sometime in the small hours he’d hardened again inside you without either of you moving and you woke up briefly to the sensation of him thickening, stretching you open all over again while he slept, whimpering softly into your neck even in dreams.

You hadn’t let him slip out either and simply clenched around him once, twice, and drifted back to sleep with him trapped and throbbing. Now at 6:42 a.m., the house was beginning to wake and downstairs, a kettle clicked on, your mother’s soft humming to some old trot song can be heard as she made breakfast. Closer, the sound of slippers shuffling past your door, then your father’s low cough as he headed to the bathroom.

Soobin stirred beneath you, lashes fluttering as his eyes opened slowly—still glassy from last night, still red-rimmed from crying—and immediately widened in panic when he registered where he was. Who he was still buried inside.

The thin daylight making every detail brutally visible: the dried tear tracks on his cheeks, the faint bruises blooming on his lower lip from biting it raw, the way your inner thighs glistened with the evidence of how many times he’d spilled into you.

His cock twitched hard inside you and you smiled down at him, slow and sleepy and mean.

“Morning, baby,” you whispered, voice barely a breath.Soobin’s throat worked. He tried to speak—couldn’t. He tried again.

“We—we fell asleep like this,” he rasped, so quiet it was almost inaudible. “I’m still… inside you.”

“Mhm.” You rolled your hips once in a tiny, lazy circle making his whole body jolt, the bed frame giving the faintest metallic sigh. 

Down the hall, footsteps paused and Soobin froze. His eyes went wide and his breathing stopped. The footsteps continued past your door, down the stairs and he exhaled shakily through his nose. 

“Baby please—They’re awake. They’re right there—” 

You leaned down until your lips brushed his ear. “And you’re still balls-deep in their daughter. Leaking again already. Look—” You lifted your hips just enough for him to see the thick, pearly ring of cum that had leaked out around his base overnight, coating his shaft, matting the dark hair at his groin. “—you filled me up so much it’s still dripping out. If anyone walked in right now…” 

You sank back down slowly and Soobin’s head tipped back into the pillow. A silent, trembling whine vibrated in his throat. You pressed a finger to his lips.

“Shh. They’re gonna kill you if they see us like this” you joked and his eyes fluttered shut. 

You kept your voice low, cruelly intimate. “My mom would see the tall, polite Soobin, the perfect boyfriend she cried happy tears over last night… naked under me, cock buried to the hilt in her only daughter’s cunt. Still hard. Still leaking. My thighs sticky with your cum. My bedsheets ruined. The same bed where I used to sleep hugging a teddy bear.”

Soobin’s cock jerked violently inside you—thickening, pulsing, threatening to spill again from nothing but your words and the terror. You clenched around him and he choked on a soundless sob.

“Or maybe it’s my dad,” you continued, rocking your hips in the tiniest, torturous rhythm. “He knocks once and opens the door before you can answer. Sees his future son-in-law crying, shaking, trying so hard to be quiet while he’s pumping another load into the girl they raised to wait until marriage. Sees how full I am. How stretched. How I’m dripping down your balls like a little whore.”

Downstairs, your mother called up the stairs—bright, cheerful. “Kids! Breakfast in a few minutes! Don’t sleep too late!”

Soobin’s fingers dug into your thigh as you moved slightly making the iron creak softly, but audible.

The faint clatter of plates being set on the table drifted up from downstairs, followed by your mother’s cheerful voice calling out again. “Five more minutes, you two! Don’t make me come up there!”

Soobin’s entire body went rigid beneath you. 

“Please,” he whispered, voice cracking like a teenager caught with contraband. “I’m literally going to combust.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “Combust? Or come again?”

His hips jerked involuntarily at the word pushing himself deeper and the bed gave another, traitorous creak. You both froze when your mother’s humming paused for half a second. 

Soobin’s soul visibly left his body as his hands slapped over his mouth so fast it made a soft smack. His eyes were cartoonishly wide, pupils pinpricks of pure terror.The humming resumed. 

You bit your lip to keep from laughing.

“See?” you whispered, grinding down once, making sure he felt every inch of how soaked you still were. “One more sound like that and she’ll come running with the broom she uses to chase stray cats. She’ll open the door and find you mid-orgasm, face buried in my neck, whimpering ‘sorry eomonim’ while you pump another load into me. ” 

Soobin let out a muffled, hysterical little noise behind his palms—something between a sob and a laugh that had gone completely off the rails.

“I’m going to die,” he wheezed into his hands. “I’m actually going to die. Right here. Naked. Hard. Inside you. And the obituary is going to read ‘Choi Soobin, age 25, perished from mortification after being caught balls-deep in girlfriend’s childhood bedroom by future mother-in-law.’”

You couldn’t hold it in anymore as a soft snort escaped you. He peeked through his fingers again, horrified.

“Are you—laughing at me?”

“Yes,” you said, grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. “Because you’re literally crying and groaning while your dick is still twitching inside me.”

Another pitiful groan—long, drawn-out, dramatic. He dropped his hands and stared at the ceiling like he was praying for spontaneous teleportation.

“I should’ve slept on the floor,” he muttered. “I should’ve slept in the car. I should’ve slept in the neighbor’s shed. Anything but this.”

You rolled your hips again—slow, teasing, making sure the head of his cock dragged against that spot that always made his toes curl. He choked on air.

“But then,” you said sweetly, “I wouldn’t get to watch you fall apart like this. All red-faced and teary and groaning because you’re terrified my mom’s going to walk in and see her precious Soobin-ah turned into a whimpering, cum-dripping mess.”

Soobin’s head thumped back against the pillow. 

“I hate you,” he whispered—voice cracking, no heat behind it at all.

“You love me,” you corrected, leaning down to kiss the tip of his nose. “And you’re going to quietly come again before we go downstairs. Or I’ll moan your name loud enough for the whole street to hear.”

His eyes snapped back to yours, wide and pleading.“Please don’t.”

You smiled. “Then be a good boy and stay still while I ride you slow.”

In that moment, your mother called again—brighter this time. “Breakfast is ready! Come down before it gets cold!”

Soobin let out one last, long, defeated groan—somewhere between despair and surrender—and buried his burning face in your neck.

“I’m so dead,” he mumbled against your skin. You laughed softly, already starting to move.

“Only if you’re loud,” you whispered and he whimpered as he tried—very, very hard—not to make another sound.

You let the moment stretch just long enough to watch Soobin’s resolve visibly crumble—his eyelashes fluttering, his breath hitching every time your hips rolled in that slow, torturous circle. He was still so sensitive that even the slightest clench made his thighs tremble beneath yours.

The slick heat between you was obscene—still full of him from the night before, still leaking slowly every time you lifted even a fraction. Each shallow roll dragged the head of his cock against that deep, swollen spot inside you, and you could feel him thickening again despite himself, stretching you open all over again like his body had forgotten how to stop wanting you.

You kept the rhythm cruelly unhurried. No hard thrusts. No frantic grinding. Just long, lazy drags that let him feel every inch of your walls fluttering around him, every tiny ripple when you clenched on purpose.

Soobin’s hand was clamped over his own mouth, knuckles white, eyes squeezed shut like he could will himself out of the situation through sheer force of embarrassment. His hips kept twitching upward anyway—tiny, helpless jerks he couldn’t control—chasing the friction even as tears slipped from the corners of his eyes.

“Please,” he managed again when he finally dared to lower his hand just enough to speak, voice cracked and trembling. “Please—slow down—I can’t—I’m gonna—”

You leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of his ear, voice dropping to the softest, most dangerous whisper.

“I can’t slow down, baby” 

His breath hitched—sharp, audible.

“My mom’s already called twice,” you continued, rolling your hips in that same torturous circle that made his cock drag right against the spot that always made his toes curl. “She’s going to come up if we take any longer”

Soobin made a sound that was half sob, half whimper—muffled against the heel of his own hand.

“You wouldn’t want that, would you?” you murmured, clenching around him on purpose, feeling the way he swelled even thicker inside you.

“You wouldn’t want her walking in right when you’re spilling another load deep in her daughter’s cunt. Right when you’re shaking and crying and filling me up so much it drips down my thighs onto the sheets she washed herself.”

His whole body jerked violenty. His free hand shot to your hip, fingers digging in like he was trying to anchor himself, trying to stop you, trying to hold on.

“No—no please—don’t—don’t say that—”

But his cock betrayed him completely. It throbbed hard, pulsing against your walls, the head nudging your cervix with every tiny movement. You could feel the fresh bead of pre-cum leaking into you, mixing with everything else, making every glide even slicker, even louder in the quiet room.

“You’re already so close,” you whispered, grinding down harder now, letting your clit rub against his pubic bone in tight, relentless circles.

You sank down fully again, grinding in tight little circles that rubbed your clit against his pubic bone and forced the head of his cock to kiss your cervix over and over.

A low, broken whimper tried to escape him as he clamped his own hand over his mouth so fast it made a soft smack. His eyes rolled back, tears gathering at the corners again, spilling over when you clenched hard around him once, then twice.

“I’m—fuck—I’m gonna—” The words were muffled against his palm, frantic and wrecked. “Please—please let me—please—”

You leaned down until your lips brushed his ear.

“Come,” you breathed. “Fill me again. Quietly. Like a good boy who doesn’t want his mother-in-law to hear how filthy he really is.”

That was all it took.

Soobin shattered.

His entire body seized—muscles locking, back arching off the mattress in a silent, violent curve. Hot, thick pulses flooded you—deep, endless, spilling so much you felt the warmth bloom inside you all over again, leaking out around his shaft in slow, obscene rivulets that dripped down his balls and soaked the already ruined sheets. His cock jerked hard with every spurt, grinding against your walls, pushing impossibly deeper like he wanted to stay buried forever.

He didn’t make a sound.

Not one.

Just silent, shaking sobs muffled into his own hand, tears streaming down his temples, chest heaving so violently you could feel every ragged breath against your breasts. His thighs trembled under you, hips twitching with aftershocks, cock still pulsing weakly inside the messy heat of your cunt.

You rode him through it—slow, gentle now—milking every last drop until he finally went limp beneath you, boneless, wrecked, utterly spent.

Only then did you still.

You kissed the stray tears from his cheeks, his eyelids, the corner of his trembling mouth.

“Good boy,” you whispered. 

He whimpered—soft, broken, barely there.

Meanwhile downstairs the clatter of plates grew louder. Your mother’s voice floated up again, cheerful and oblivious.“Yah! You two! The eggs are getting cold! Minho already ate half the kimchi!”

Soobin made a sound that was equal parts strangled sob and hysterical laugh—muffled into the crook of your neck so it came out as a pitiful, vibrating hum against your skin. You pressed your lips to his temple, smiling so wide it hurt. 

“Time’s up, baby.” You lifted off him in one smooth motion.

The wet, obscene sound of separation was loud enough in the quiet room that Soobin’s eyes snapped wide in fresh panic. A thick gush of cum followed immediately—hot, viscous, spilling out of you and dripping down his shaft, pooling on his stomach in a slow, pearly smear. 

His cock twitched helplessly at the sudden emptiness, smearing the mess across his abs. He stared down at himself like he’d committed a war crime.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, voice cracking. “That’s… that’s a crime scene.”

You laughed under your breath and reached for the pack of wipes on your nightstand, wiping yourself quickly, then tossed the packet onto his stomach.

“Clean up. We have approximately ninety seconds before my mom starts yelling your name like you’re late for your own wedding.”

Soobin scrambled upright so fast the bed creaked again. He dabbed at the absolute disaster between his legs: thick streaks of cum still clinging to his inner thighs, smeared across his lower stomach, glistening on the base of his softening cock.

He looked down at himself and let out a sound that was half groan, half hysterical laugh.

“There’s so much,” he whispered, horrified. “How is there still this much? Did I black out and come three extra times in my sleep?”

You handed him a second wipe, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

“Prioritize the important areas,” you teased before slipping into clean underwear and a loose sleep shirt, moving with the calm efficiency of someone who hadn’t just spent the night riding her boyfriend on her childhood mattress while her entire family slept ten meters away.

Soobin fumbled his boxers back on—wincing when the damp fabric clung to him—then yanked his sweatpants up so fast he almost tripped. He caught himself on the bedpost, breathing like he’d run a marathon. 

You stepped close without a word as your fingers slid into his wrecked hair—still damp at the roots from sweat, strands sticking up in every direction like he’d been thoroughly loved and thoroughly ruined.  You smoothed them down gently, almost tenderly, combing through the mess with slow, careful strokes while he stood frozen, chest rising and falling too fast.

You leaned in until your lips brushed the shell of his ear, voice dropping to the softest, most wicked murmur.

“I’d gladly clean it all up for you, you know,” you whispered, letting your breath ghost over his skin. “Every last drop. With my mouth. Slow. Thorough. Licking it off your thighs, your cock, your stomach… swallowing everything you left inside me and everything that leaked out.”

Soobin made a sound that was half gasp, half strangled yelp—high and desperate and completely involuntary.

His whole face ignited: ears scarlet, cheeks flaming, even the back of his neck turning a violent shade of red that crept down under the collar of his hoodie. 

You kept fixing his hair as though you hadn’t just detonated a bomb in his brain—tucking a stray lock behind his ear, smoothing the front so he looked almost presentable again.

“But we don’t have time,” you added, lips still grazing his earlobe, voice sweet and regretful. “So you’ll just have to sit through breakfast like that, knowing exactly what I’d do if we had five more minutes…”

Soobin’s knees actually buckled for half a second and grabbed your waist to steady himself—fingers digging in like you were the only solid thing left in the world —then immediately let go as if touching you might burn him worse.

“You—” His voice cracked so hard it went up an octave. “You can’t just—say that—right now—”

“Smile pretty at the table,” you whispered as you kissed his cheek before opening the door.

The hallway smelled like sesame oil, toasted seaweed, and fresh coffee. Soobin followed half a step behind you, shoulders hunched, ears still scarlet, walking like a man who’d been sentenced to life imprisonment and was trying to look innocent on the way to the chair.

When you reached the bottom of the stairs, your mother turned from the stove, apron dusted with flour, smiling so wide her eyes disappeared into crescents.

“There you are! Soobin-ah, sit, sit—I saved you the biggest piece of egg omelette”

Soobin bowed, still ninety degrees, still textbook perfect, voice only cracking once. “Thank you”

Your father glanced up from his newspaper. “Slept well, son?”

Soobin’s smile was so brittle it could’ve shattered. “Yes, very… restful.”

Minho snorted into his rice bowl as Jaehyun kicked him under the table. You slid into the seat beside Soobin, thigh brushing his under the tablecloth. He jolted—just a tiny twitch—but kept smiling like his life depended on it.

Your mother set a steaming bowl in front of him. “Eat up. You’re too skinny. I’ll pack you some side dishes to take home later.”

Soobin nodded, murmured another “thank you,” and picked up his chopsticks with hands that were still trembling faintly. You reached under the table and squeezed his thigh once—firm, deliberate.

He choked on absolutely nothing and everyone looked at him. He coughed once, eyes watering.

“Hot,” he croaked. “The—the rice is hot.”

Your mother laughed fondly. “Careful, Soobin-ah. Blow on it first.”

You smiled sweetly across the table at her. “He’s very good at being careful,” you said.

Soobin’s chopsticks clattered against the bowl. Under the table, your fingers brushed higher—teasing the seam of his sweatpants where you knew he was still sticky, still sensitive, still half-hard from the memory of being buried inside you all night.

He stared straight ahead like a soldier facing a firing squad. Your mother beamed at both of you.“See? I knew he was perfect for you.”

Soobin let out a tiny, strangled sound that he tried to disguise as a laugh.

You leaned over and kissed his cheek—quick, innocent, daughterly. 

“Eat your eggs, Soobin-ah,” you murmured, just loud enough for him to hear. “You’re going to need your energy.”

He closed his eyes for one long second. Then opened them again, picking up his chopsticks and finally started to eat. 

Your entire family chattered around him—oblivious, happy, warm—while the boy they’d just declared their future son-in-law sat there with your cum still leaking out of you, his boxers damp, his dignity in tatters, and the most polite, doomed smile you’d ever seen plastered across his burning face.

And under the table, your foot nudged his ankle just once making him whimper—barely audible but he kept eating.