❁

You’d learned early on that all it took was one flirty message, a suggestive emoji, or - on particularly stressful days - a shameless selfie with a "come get me" caption, and Jisung was yours. It didn’t matter what he was doing. Studying. Gaming. Waiting in line for boba. The moment his phone buzzed and your name popped up, he was one of Pavlov’s dogs. He’d blush to his ears, and then start moving, key already in hand. 

Today was a little different, to say the least. He simply texted, “y/n,” with nothing else. You replied with a single question mark, trying not to jump to conclusions but he usually wasn’t so stark. He responded quickly, though, and matter-of-factly.

spare room in 15 mins please.

Now you sat perched on one of the tables, slightly out of breath and legs impatiently swinging, heart threatening to escape from your ribs. The empty science classroom smelled faintly of antiseptic and whiteboard markers, but there was something oddly romantic about it, for the same reason poets fucked in graveyards.

When the door finally creaked open, he peeked in like he was expecting a trap, as if he hadn’t set it himself.

“Took you long enough,” you sighed.

He shut the door behind him and locked it with a quiet click. “I had to pretend I wasn’t speed-walking,” he mumbled, eyes already darting over you.

You leaned back on your hands, giving him a slow once-over. “You know, I was in the middle of something. I have two quizzes due tomorrow.”

He shrugged sheepishly, unable to choose between feeling guilty or not.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning offense but you were oh so impressed. “It wasn’t exactly a polite request.”

He stopped in front of you, hands settling on either side of your thighs, gaze piercing but unsteady, but his cheeks tinged pink.

“No,” he said softly. “But I knew you’d come anyway.”

He leaned in, close enough that his breath ghosted across your cheek, warm and uneven. His hands moved and settled lightly on your hips, as if afraid to hold you too tightly like he craved. Then, with a quiet kind of boldness, he pressed a delicate, deliberate kiss to your jaw. He’d never say it out loud, but there was something about that spot that made it his favorite. Something about the way you’d tilt your head just slightly, letting him in. He was grateful you had worn a low tank top that day because he could freely nip at your collarbones and even squish his face into the little bit of cleavage that escaped.

You groaned contentedly as you threaded your fingers through his hair, guiding him closer. You could feel his hard-on through his thin sweats and your skimpy yoga shorts, a spot on him already damp in anticipation. You rolled your hips forward, earning a squeaky gasp.

He popped up suddenly, his fluffy bangs already a mess and his lips red. When he spoke, it was in a hoarse whisper, on the verge of a plea. His eyes refused to meet yours, half not wanting to betray his desperation, half distracted by the teeny red marks he decorated on your chest.

“Y/n, I’ve thought about you all day a-and say no if this is too sudden but I c-can’t sit in another three hour lecture like this—“

You let out a gentle laugh as you tightened your grip in his hair, tugging so he finally met your eyes. It wasn’t that his request was funny - it was the way he still couldn’t believe you wanted him. Like it didn’t matter how many times you showed up or how often it’d be you pining for him, he couldn’t accept how badly you ached for him back.

“Jisung,” you drawled, “just ask.”

Your hand came around to cradle his plush cheeks, holding his gaze to yours. He was already a mess, lashes damp and glittering, lips parted like he was just barely holding it together. It made your heart skip.

“I said ask.”

He gulped. “Baby, can you suck me off? P-please, I—“

You kissed him, sweetly, almost innocently, and then pulled back just enough to flash him a smile that was anything but. His eyes fluttered, dazed already, and you took full advantage. You made sure to drag your hips along the length of him on the way down as you bounced off the table, quick yet shameless. He let out a choked moan, quickly gripping the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

You caught his wrists with a quick, confident grip, spinning him with a grin as you guided his back into the table. He didn’t even hesitate, hands now splaying across the surface behind him.

With a mischievous giggle, you knelt down, kissing him along the way and shivering slightly as your bare knees finally made contact with the cold floor. All the while, Jisung already looked wrecked, breathing labored and his eyes clamped shut.

You tug down his sweats and boxers, releasing his eager cock. It was already such a pretty sight - pink, leaking, and twitching against his surprisingly taut stomach. It made you practically giddy knowing how badly he wanted you.

“Ji,” you called playfully, squeezing at his thighs so he would look you. Once he did, his eyes were glassy and his cheeks tinged red. You giggled at the sight before you leaned forward and dragged your tongue from the base to tip, staring right at him through your lashes.

“Sh-shit,” he stuttered, throwing his head back. His legs shook as you gleefully licked him again but stopping right before you reached the tip. Instead, you put the flat of your tongue to the swollen head and slowly lapped at his precum. You made sure to be as lewd as possible, humming happily as you attempted to clean him in vain. Jisung tried to stifle a groan, not wanting to seem ungrateful but needing so much more.

You did smirk proudly a little before wrapping your lips around him. You paused at the tip for a moment, showing him care and devotion as you practically made out with it. Eventually, because he was trying his damnedest not to rut into you, you slid down softly, but only with so much pressure. It was still enough to make him gasp. You sucked deeper the more he shuddered, needing him to unravel properly first. Your hand stroked what couldn’t fit, slow and steady, spit running down your fingers and wrist.

“Oh my god, baby,” he whispered. “Oh my god—“

The echoes in the stark room seemed louder than usual, every motion and movement amplified, vulgar and wet. Jisung’s heart thumped painfully, nervous energy making his palms a little clammy. But if he was being honest with himself - and he absolutely wasn’t - the thrill of possibly being caught only made his pulse race faster. There wasn’t a sight in the world he loved more than you, all focused on him like he and his dick were the only things that mattered, and he so badly liked the idea of showing that off.

You paused to breath, sliding your swollen lips off, spit clinging him to you in a salacious sight. You looked beautiful all red and sweaty and unbecoming but you didn’t have permission to stop. Bravely, he laced a hand through your hair, pulling you closer. You messily took him in once again, drooling down his shaft. He whimpered, pathetically and loudly, at the sudden touch. You blinked at the gesture, caught between protest and pride. His hips twitched forward hopefully, creeping towards his high.

“Don’t stop—please, don’t—“

He fucked your mouth, accidentally. He was distracted by his own desperation. Your mouth was so warm, so quick. He could feel his tip hit the back of your throat, but you never faltered. Your eyes rolled sinfully, one hand stroking him torturously while the other pawed at his balls.

“You’re so good,” he whined. “You’re always so good. I-I can’t last any longer.“

Jisung struggled to breath as his movements grew frantic. You only matched his deprivation. His knuckles turned white as they held harder in your hair. His entire body tensed before he shot, flooding your mouth with his cum.

Like a saint, like an angel sent down to test him and he failed miserably every time, you drank every drop. You swallowed everything, a content grin sparkling across your face and in your eyes.

POP!

After you released him, with your sore tongue and red lips, you lapped at him, humming to yourself and not wasting anything. All the while, your hand still stroked him evilly slow. He gaped at you, on the verge of actual tears.

“B-baby,” he stammered. “You’re too much.”

You didn’t look at him and spoke to twitching cock. “I like making you cum. I like how big and long it is. I like it when it scratches my throat—“

He groaned, his heart pounding violently in his chest and down below.

“I like when the way it tastes,” you sang as he was melted into a simpering disaster once more. “I love the way you taste, Sungie.” He was going to sob. That nickname signaled nothing good from you.

“Wanna taste?”

He laughed. He actually guffawed stupidly as you rose to meet him. You held his face with loving gentleness, his mouth parting instinctively. You spit him down his throat before kissing him. It was clumsy, hungry. Breaths gasping, moans vibrating deep within one another, teeth grazed, hands entangled in his hair and his hands latched firmly to your ass. You broke away quickly, taking his bottom lip with him.

“I want you to come inside me.” You batted your eyes as if you had only asked him for the time.

Jisung couldn’t decide how to react. He could either cry where he stood, half naked and dick twitching, or fuck you on the floor without another word being uttered. He sighed your name, a neutral position as he head spun.

You already made up your mind. You pushed him off and slid onto the table with the air of gleeful nonchalance, legs blissfully open and face only faintly flushed. You merely sat, as if waiting for a bus. It drove Jisung nuts. He scrambled over to you, head and arms before his feet, frantically peeling down your shorts and panties once his shaking hands found you. He could’ve came right there seeing how soaked you were already. Ever the gentleman, he stuck two fingers inside you first to get you comfortable. They sank into with a squishy, wet sound.

You moaned, high-pitched and greedy. “N-no, I said cum inside me.”

You grabbed him by the wrist and forced him to taste you on his own digits. You’d think that was all he’d be permitted. You grinned wide at the obscenity of it all.

You took advantage of how far gone he was already and handled his slippery cock yourself. It twitched pathetically in your hand, searching for you. In a quick movement, you wrapped your legs around him and sank fully into you.

“Put a baby in me, Ji,” you whispered as he fell onto you. “They’d be so smart, right? They’d take after their daddy.”

His only response was a high, repressed moan muffled against your chest. He was too pussy-drunk to even kiss or bite at your tits. All he understood was that your warm cunt fit perfectly around him and it was his duty to fuck it. His hips moved on instinct, the rest of his body shaking.

“Fuck, I’m yours,” he mumbled. “All of me…every drop—“

His breaths were labored and loud, echoing across the room, probably ringing enough that he could heard be outside. He didn’t care. He was entranced, whining; he could feel his leftover cum leak from you as he slowly pushed into you. He allowed himself a peek and it only made him bury himself deeper, bottoming out until your hole overflowed unto the shiny surface.

“S-so fucking good—“

Your back arched when you felt him finally hit your sweet spot. You helped him along by jerking your own hips, so your cervix hit his tip dully inside of you. 

The sensation made him lose what little control he had. His fingertips dug bitingly into your hips and pushed you flat unto the table. You were startled by the sudden cold on your back, but you didn’t really have time to register much - his movements got faster. He was sloppy and volatile, concentrating only each strangled moan of his name as you let him pound into you.

“D-don’t stop,” you gagged, barely audible above his own groans. “This pussy is yours. Use it.”

He wasn’t lasting much longer.

Mercilessly, he threw one of your legs over his shoulder, so he could frantically pick up the pace even more. He was panting, whimpering like hell was a sopping wet cunt and a pretty girl screaming his name.

He was overwhelmed by all his senses. You were tight, choking him; your breasts bounced in time to his frenetic pace; your hands gripped his hair like your last tie to reality; the room was symphony of moans, splashing holes, and cut-off names and curses. His chest was warm with the comfort that only his cock got the honor of fucking you senseless.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he babbled against your sweaty skin.

You kissed him - down his jaw, across his chest. His breath hitched and his pace stuttered.

“Fill me up, Jisung,” you gasped. “Cum, please. Pretty please.”

He was ruined. Your mouth was favorite thing about you. Every movement was crazed and messy and starved. He desperately rammed into you through broken moans. The wet sounds of your bodies resounded in the empty classroom as he chased you, his hips irregular and cruel. He finally thrust hard one last time, deep against your cervix, grinding his seed.

Your orgasm ran into you at the same time, your poor cunt spasming around his cock. Every muscle in your body tightened and clung to him. Heat radiated from your tummy outward.

But Jisung didn’t stop. Not even as he erupted and spilled amply again, he kept thrusting into your ruined hole, unable to think straight. Each pulse agressive and needy.

“I can’t stop,” he cried. “You’re so full, you have to be full. I’m sorry.” His whimpers made up for everything.

He dropped his head once more to your shoulder once his own body failed to continue any longer, heaving lethargic inhales. He slowed gradually, sniffling from the sensitivity. He carefully unwrapped you from around him and eventually pulled out with a wince. You were left to ungracefully flop on the table as he barely held himself up with his arms.

What a mess.

You two were sweaty, achy, panting. His glasses were crooked, possibly permanently, useless in front of watery, glassy eyes. You saw stars in the fluorescents. You were both flushed, across faces, chests, in the tips of ears. Hair was damp, his curls frizzy from the friction. Together - exhausted, but happy.

“There’re,” you began, “baby wipes in my bag.”

“I don’t think I can walk,” he admitted with a thousand-yard stare.

You propped yourself up with difficulty - you were slippery. “I did the most work. My bag is on the floor.”

his hand finds your shoulder, its warmth bleeding through the thin cotton of your sleep shirt. his fingers gently curl around the curve of your arm. they move with a deliberate, soothing motion, the kind of thing he does when a member is having a panic attack or breaks down after an intense performance. but his hand doesn't move away this time. it lingers, thumb stroking in a slow, deliberate path down your arm.

"i heard you calling out my name… thought you were having a nightmare."

the dream. your face burns, and you're grateful for the darkness shielding your expression from him. the way he'd positioned you, his hands firm on your body, not unlike now…

his hand slides from your shoulder to the side of your neck. his palm covers the column of your throat, not pressing, just resting there. you desperately try to control the frantic beating of your heart, and you know he can feel your pulse jumping against his skin.

"are you okay? i could hear you through the walls."

you shiver. your room doesn't share a wall with his. his is down the hall, past the bathroom, on the other side of the dorm.

"chan-ah…" you whisper, but he answers the question before you can ask it aloud.

"i was walking by to get some water. then i heard you."

it's a flimsy explanation. you both know it is. he ignores the nickname he begrudgingly allows you to use sometimes, despite you being a year younger than him, hand softly squeezing your throat instead. there's none of his usual teasing, just the heavy tension hanging in the silence between you.

"i've heard you before," he admits. his thumb brushes along your jaw and there's no doubt he feels the way your breath hitches in your throat. "other nights. you think these walls are thick enough? you think no one can hear you?"

embarrassment washes over you. you think back on the nights you touched yourself thinking about him, muffling your whimpers in your pillow as best as you could, sure no one could hear —

"chan, you should leave."

before it's too late, you want to add, but the words fizzle out before they can reach your lips. there's too much at stake… the fans, your career, the company, this family of eight men you've become a part of. you won't jeopardize that.

"i can't stop thinking about you." there's a rawness to his voice, as if someone is dragging the words out of him. "it's driving me fucking crazy. i asked ji to work on the new track because your voice gets stuck in my head all day, and all i can hear is the way you moan." his hand moves up, fingers tightening in your hair, firm enough to pull at your scalp. "countless times i've stood outside this door and walked away, trying to be the better man. but not tonight. i won't walk away now."

"chan —"

"shh." he shifts, rolling you onto your back and throwing a leg over yours, caging you in. "go back to sleep, then. you were saying my name so prettily. let me hear it again."

"it's not - we can't —", the words come out jumbled as his hands push under the hem of your shirt. the friction of his rough callouses against your skin make your core clench. "the members…"

"are asleep." his thumbs caress the underside of your breasts, hovering there. "it's three in the morning, no one's going to wake up. they won't hear you. unless you're too loud… which you might be. because you get loud when you think about me, don't you? no need to be shy now."

you think of him standing right outside your door, his ear pressed to the wood. listening to every desperate, needy sound you made as you touched yourself thinking of him.

the thought should horrify you. instead, a hot pulse of arousal throbs between your legs, and you hate yourself for it. your body is responding to this – to him — like an over-eager dog keen to please its owner.

chan squeezes, just once, relishing in the way you arch into his hands.

"there she is. i knew you'd feel like this. so soft."

he tugs up your shirt, bunching the fabric above your sternum. cool air washes over your bare skin, your breasts exposed to the dark room, and you instinctively try to cover yourself. chan catches your wrists and pins them above your head with one hand, holding them there against the pillow.

"don't hide from me." his gaze travels down your body, and even in the dim light you see his pupils are blown wide, swallowing the warm brown of his irises. "you have no idea how many times i've imagined you like this."

his free hand cups your breast, thumb dragging across your nipple. you bite your lip hard to keep from making a sound but a soft whimper manages to escape. chan smiles a small, crooked smile — nothing like the bright grin he shows on screen — and does it again, rolling your nipple between his thumb and finger until it stiffens.

"let me hear you." he pinches harder, switching to your other breast and giving it the same treatment, his voice taking on that same gentle tone that guides you through your parts in the studio. "just like that. you sound so sweet."

you turn your head to the side, unable to look at him. this is wrong. he's your leader, your co-worker, your friend, your family — and he's touching you, and you're letting him. you're not fighting hard enough. you're not fighting at all.

his mouth finds your neck and the wet heat of it shocks you. he grazes your skin, sucking and biting hard enough to leave a mark chaeyoun will have to cover up tomorrow while loudly complaining about your lack of self-control. but it doesn't matter, not when chan grinds down between your thighs and rolls his hips into yours.

"say my name again. say it like you do when you're touching yourself. when you're thinking about me fucking you."

he licks a stripe up your neck and a sob catches in your throat. his hand slides down your stomach, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of your underwear. you feel how wet you are, how obvious your arousal is, and there's no hiding it from him anymore. his fingers drag through the slick mess between your legs and the noise he lets out is almost a laugh.

"so fucking wet." he circles your clit with two fingers, "all this from a little touching? or were you this wet just dreaming of me?"

your underwear is pulled down your thighs, your knees, off one leg and left dangling around the other ankle as he dips down and hoists your thighs over his shoulders. he wastes no time, tongue licking a fat stripe up your slit.

"chan," you gasp, and his grip on your hips tightens in response.

"again."

he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks.

"chan - hnng, ah, don't stop —"

"again."

you cry out when two of his fingers thrust inside you. he doesn't waste time being gentle, curling them to find the spot that has you chanting his name over and over again.

"that's it, baby," he coos, and you barely register the pet name between the feeling of his fingers fucking you open and his hot tongue lapping at your clit. you can already feel something building in your core, a coiling tension threatening to snap. it's too much, too soon. it shouldn't be this easy for him.

"just let go. i've got you. i'll always have you."

his words push you over the edge. the sudden wave of your orgasm overtakes you, thighs clamping around his head, and you bite down on your own arm to muffle your cries. chan works you through it with relentless fingers, sucking on your clit until you're shaking and overstimulated. your arousal drips down his hand, pooling beneath your hips. your legs twitch on the sheets but chan doesn't give you a chance to breathe. his fingers start moving again before you've come down, fucking into you with a wet squelch that makes you jerk in his grip. your whole body is trembling now, every nerve ending on fire, too sensitive and raw.

"no, 's too much, please, chan, i can't…"

"you can," he grunts, withdrawing his fingers only to push three back in, stretching you until the burn makes you sob. his thumb grinds against your swollen clit without mercy. "you owe me that much."

there's something desperate in his voice, cracking at the end of each phrase, and you realize he too has been burning up with need for months and months.

"do you know how many times i've jerked off thinking about you?" the words spill out faster now, as if the dam has broken and he can no longer contain the flood. "in the studio. in the shower. in the living room when the others had their own schedules. in my bed with my hand over my mouth so no one would hear me saying your fucking name —"

the wet, obscene sound of his fingers fucking you open fills the room, and your second orgasm builds just as sudden as the first one. you shake your head wildly, but your cunt is clenching around his fingers, sucking him in deeper.

"i used to steal your underwear." the confession comes out in a low growl, almost ashamed, but he doesn't stop. his fingers work you so expertly your vision starts bleeding white at the edges. "from the laundry. the ones you wore to practice… i'd hold them to my face and breathe you in and imagine this, you underneath me, imagine you crying on my cock the way you're crying now —"

you moan, cunt spasming around his fingers. a gush of wetness splashes against his palm, dripping down your thigh and thoroughly soaking the sheets beneath you. the orgasm is bordering on painful in its intensity and you can barely breathe, chan's gaze in the dim morning light almost too much to bear.

this time he lets you come down, slowly pulling his fingers from your swollen pussy and bringing them to his mouth. you watch in a haze how he sucks his fingers clean. his eyes fall shut and a shiver runs through his whole body. he licks between his fingers to lap up every drop, and when he opens his eyes again they're glassy and unfocused.

"not enough." he grimaces, snapping back into reality. "i need - i need more. i need to be inside you. i can't… i can't fucking think anymore —"

he shoves his sweats down and you hear the fabric hit the floor somewhere in the dark. you're unable to move, boneless and spent and still trembling. your aching cunt clenches around nothing.

then his cock brushes against your thigh and panic rises in your chest at the thought of him being inside of you. at the sudden understanding of this being real, and not some dream or figment of your imagination.

"wait —" you try to scoot backward on the mattress, but his hand grabs your hip and drags you back down. he wraps a hand around himself and strokes, and you hear the wet sound of it, feel him bump against your entrance. "chan, if we do this, we can't go back."

there's no need to elaborate. the weight of your words hangs heavy in the air between you, and chan lets out a desperate sigh.

"i know. and i don't fucking care. i spent months caring and it didn't get me anywhere. i'm gonna go mad if i don't get to feel you now."

he steadies himself and pushes, one long, brutal thrust that steals the air from your lungs. he doesn't give you time to accommodate the stretch of him, the way he fills you so completely radiating through your whole body. your hands fly up to grip his strong biceps, nails digging in hard enough to hurt, and you faintly register the sound of your own voice — a string of broken, desperate sounds you can't seem to stop from spilling out.

"oh fuck," his forehead drops to your shoulder and he breathes the words against your skin. "oh fuck, you feel perfect, baby - i knew it, i knew you'd feel like this —"

his hips pull back and snap forward again and again, and the force of it pushes you up the mattress. the way he moves is raw and desperate, as if he's trying to reach something so deep inside of you he has to drive himself further with every thrust.

"eight months," he grits the words out between strokes, each one punctuated by the wet slap of his hips against yours. "eight months of watching you walk around the dorm wearing nothing but a towel after every shower. eight months of you bending over in front of me during practice. eight months of you smiling at me like that, as if i'm not losing my fucking mind —"

his hands grab your thighs and push them wider, folding you nearly in half, changing the angle so he can reach impossibly deeper. the new position lets him grind against that sweet spot, his pubic bone pressed to your clit. you're not even trying to fight the familiar build of another orgasm this time, your body surrendering entirely to his.

"tell me you're mine," he pants, pressing his mouth against yours. his lips are soft, almost gentle despite his desperation. "promise me."

your body arches into him, cunt fluttering around his cock when he snakes a hand between your bodies and finds your clit again. your hands reach around his back, pulling him in closer.

"i'm yours, chan," you gasp into his mouth, not wanting to put an inch of space between the two of you.

he lets out a broken moan, cock throbbing and spilling deep inside of you. your nails drag a path down his back, deep enough to leave marks, but he holds you closer as your cunt milks him to the last drop.

you lay there sweaty and panting, the sudden quiet of your room no longer tense. you're sure he's fucked you so hard the bed left a dent in the wall, but you no longer find it in yourself to care about what the others might've heard.

chan kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, anywhere he can reach without having to pull out just yet and you giggle, feeling him smile against your skin. he's still holding you when you drift off into slumber again, his strong chest pressed against your back, as if he's always been there.

At first he slipped a tracking device on your car.

It’s just to make sure you get home safely, kitten.

Then he started driving past your apartment occasionally, then weekly, then daily. He learned which lights belonged to your unit and which windows you liked to leave open. His favorite days were the ones where you exercised in the living room, dressed in biker shorts and a sports bra, completely unaware of your audience.

It felt wrong—the first time his cock twitched while watching you. Invasive. But the guilt faded quickly. He convinced himself anyone with eyes would react that way to you and he has to be the one to keep an eye on you.

To protect you from them, kitten.

One evening after confirming you were gone, Felix let himself into your apartment. The electronic lock took less than a minute to hack.

The first camera went into the living room. The second overlooked the kitchen and dining area. The third was on a bookshelf across from your bed.

Obviously.

He meant to leave immediately after placing them, but curiosity pulled him toward your dresser. The top right drawer was the first he opened and held exactly what he was looking for. He ran his fingers along the lace panties, smiling softly at the various shades and imagining how they’d look against your skin.

He took a red pair for himself.

Back at home, he was alerted to your arrival by the tracker and promptly darted to his computer to view the cameras.

It was surreal enough being there himself. But seeing you in your home now, hearing the sound of you moving throughout was entirely new, and fresh. And fuck, he wished he was there with you. Wished he could just tell you how much he wanted to be with you. Every waking moment.

His eyes followed you through the apartment on the cameras, but lost you when you entered your bathroom.

That felt like too private a place to watch you, kitten.

He had to have some standards.

He maximized the camera feed, letting the image of your room fill up the entire 45-inch monitor.

You returned a while later with a towel wrapped around your body and a bottle of lotion in your hand. His eyes darted to the windows in your room, making sure they were closed.

Can’t have you exposed and vulnerable, kitten.

You sat at the edge of your bed and dried off, giving him glimpses of parts of you he’d never seen before. Thighs. Stomach. Tits.

His cock stirred beneath his sweats.

When you finally let the towel fall completely, he leaned back in his chair, pulse racing as he watched you moisturize.

He would have given anything to be the one doing that.

You stood and turned around, showing your ass to the camera. His hand flew to his cock, gripping it through his sweats as if that would stop it’s longing to be inside of you. He kneaded the length of it with his thumb as you returned the towel and bottle of lotion to the bathroom.

He used the time while you were off screen to pull down his sweats and boxers. He didn’t care what you were about to do. If you sat there and scrolled on your phone or went to sleep, he wouldn’t stop stroking his cock until he came with his eyes locked on you.

He spat into his hand then grabbed his hardened cock, slowly stroking it as you came back into frame. His brow furrowed when you climbed straight into bed without putting on any underwear or pajamas.

Is that how you always slept?

He could only hope.

You pulled out a Kindle from your nightstand and leaned back against the pillows. You bent your knees and his heart stopped at the sight of your cunt, peeking out from between your thighs. He gripped his cock tighter.

You propped up the device and after a few swipes, became impossibly still as you read.

What are you reading, kitten?

He wished he knew.

But he got a good idea fairly quickly when you started to rub your thighs together. And when you pinched your nipple between your fingers, he was certain it was of the smut variety.

The thought of you reading sexually explicit content and touching yourself (while he watched you with his cock in his hand) sent even more blood rushing to his already painfully erect appendage.

He rubbed his thumb across the tip of his cock, smearing the precum as you continued your own movements. When you released a soft moan, the sound came straight for his soul.

But hearing it through the speakers wasn’t enough. He needed the sound closer. He grabbed his headphones and put them on before maxing out the volume.

He needed to clearly hear every sound that fell from your lips, every rustle of your sheets.

Felix squeezed his cock harder as he stroked it, watching closely as your hand snaked between your thighs, fingers rubbing circles around your clit. He was suspended in disbelief at what he was seeing. At how gracious you were to bless him with this presentation on his first night with you.

It was almost like you were touching yourselves together.

He could so easily picture himself on the bed with you, face between your thighs, nuzzling his nose against your cunt, inhaling your scent.

Bet you smell good, kitten.

You spread your legs further apart, plunged your fingers into your cunt then brought the back out to spread your juices around your clit. Your hips started to move as your breathing grew shallow.

He stroked his cock faster.

You moved your hand back up to your tits, cupping one and pinching the nipple, then moved it back to your clit. A soft whimper of frustration fell from your lips.

I could do both for you, kitten.

You worked yourselves up together, moaning and groaning as you both pleased yourselves. You returned your fingers into your cunt, slowly fucking yourself, then picking up speed, smacking your palm against your clit.

He gripped his cock harder, stroking from tip to hilt furiously. He wanted to know how his cock would feel inside you. Your cunt gripping him. Your juices coating his thighs.

He grunted at the thought.

He leaned back in the chair, teeth gritted as you rolled over. You placed the Kindle on your pillow and kept your right hand between your legs, fingers still driving into your wet cunt.

And the sounds it made, kitten.

Your hips bounced against your hand as you let loose on the bed, eyes still on the words giving you so much pleasure.

Was it possible to be jealous of an electronic device? Because he sure fucking was. Fuck that Kindle. Fuck whoever wrote that story. He was desperate to be the one making you feel like that.

Felix couldn’t tear his eyes from the screen. And as far as he was concerned, even blinking was a waste of time with you in front of him like that.

He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, fighting off his release.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned. “Fuck me, please.”

Was that dialogue from the story?

Dare he believe it was meant for him?

Because he did.

He imagined mounting you from behind, plunging his cock into you, pounding your cunt until he filled you with his cum.

He couldn’t hold back anymore and neither could you.

Come with me, kitten.

He groaned as you cried out. It was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, carrying him through his orgasm as cum spurt out the tip of his cock. It went everywhere—the floor, his desk, the keyboard. He didn’t fucking care.

When your hips stopped writhing against the bed, you flipped over onto your back and slipped your fingers into your mouth, moaning at the taste of yourself.

His cock twitched.

He looked down at it with furrowed brows as if it had a mind of it’s own.

Not yet.

He would wait for you to fall asleep. He wanted to cum while imagining himself standing over you, waking you up with his warm cum drenching your angelic face.

You made your way to the bathroom again and he finally stood to clean himself up, too.

Felix was happier than he’d been in a while.

No longer did he ever have to spend his time without you.

how was that? 🫣 i could see a part two eventually but that's it for now.

thanks for reading!

You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, phone in hand, thumb hovering over the number printed in small, almost sterile font. The kind of font that makes the whole thing feel less like a joke and more like a service someone, somewhere, expects to be used.

Your TV is on but you aren’t watching it. Your phone has no new notifications, just the glow of the screen reflecting faintly against your fingers as you keep staring at the number like it might change if you wait long enough.

You told yourself three times now that you’re not actually going to do it.

On the fourth, your thumb moves before your thoughts can catch up.

The line rings once.

Twice.

Then, “Thanks for calling. Please listen closely as our menu options may have changed."

Your heart starts to race anyway, like your body forgot this is still just a phone call.

"Press 1 for Channie. Press 2 for Lino. Press 3 Binnie. Press 4 for Hyunnie. Press 5 for—"

Click. You pressed 4, causing the recording to cut-off mid-sentence.

Silence rushes in right after, too sudden to feel empty. It feels intentional, like you just interrupted something you weren’t supposed to touch.

You stare at the phone. The name Hyunnie sticks in your head longer than it should. Softer than the others. Less like a label, more like something said too many times in the dark.

As you sit and wait for the call to connect you begin to have second thoughts.

Your thumb hovers near the screen, like it might still give you an easy way out. Like you could just cancel this and pretend you never got curious in the first place. The flyer suddenly feels a lot less funny than it did at the bar.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

Maybe this is exactly the kind of thing normal people don’t actually do.

The ringing continues anyway, pulling you forward whether you’re ready or not.

Then the line clicks.

For a moment, there’s only breath on the other end. A soft shift of sound, like someone leaning closer to a receiver.

Then his voice settles in, smooth and practiced, like it’s already decided what shape this call is meant to take.

“Hi there,” he says smoothly. “You found me.”

Not rushed, definitely not robotic. He sounded warm in a way that feels intentional.

Your thumb is still hovering near the screen, like your body forgot to commit even though you already did.

“Hey,” he says again, softer this time, like he’s noticing the hesitation without calling it out directly. “You still with me?”

At this point, all he could hear was you breathing softly through the phone. “Mmm,” he hums, not disappointed, not surprised. “That’s okay. You don’t have to perform for me.”

The word lands strangely in your chest.

Perform.

Like he can hear the version of you that tried to show up a minute ago and decided it wasn’t worth keeping.

You swallow. “I… pressed the wrong thing,” you say, and it comes out quieter than you meant it to.

A quiet exhale through the line. Almost a laugh, but not at you. “Pressed the wrong thing,” he repeats. “And you’re still here.”

It isn’t a question, but it still makes your stomach tighten.

“I can transfer you back to the menu if you want,” he adds, easy. “Or you can stay with me for a bit.”

There was no pressure in his tone. Just options, like he laid them out like expecting you to choose. You glance around your dark room, the phone light pooling across your hands, picking out the lines of your palms.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” you admit.

There’s a brief silence, but it doesn’t feel like emptiness. It feels like he’s listening. “Then don’t say the ‘supposed to’ stuff,” he replies. “Just say what’s real for a minute.”

He then pauses.

“And if what’s real is ‘I don’t know,’ that still counts.” Somewhere behind his voice, there’s a faint rustle, like he shifts his body. “So,” he says gently, slipping back into that practiced warmth without making it feel like a switch. “What made you call me tonight?”

That should be an easy question; unforunate for you, it isn’t.

Your throat feels tight in a way that makes you suddenly aware of how quiet your room is, how loud your own breathing sounds when no one is talking over it.

“I don’t know,” you say again, softer this time, like if you lower it enough it might become acceptable.

Its silent on his end for a second.

“Mmm,” he hums. “That’s usually the most honest answer I get.”

Something about that makes your shoulders loosen without you meaning it to. “I guess,” you start, then stop.

Try again.

“It was a joke.”

“A joke,” he repeats, like he’s turning it over carefully.

“Yeah. My friends…” You exhale through your nose, embarrassed before you even finish the sentence. “They gave me the number. Said it was for emergencies.”

“And tonight felt like one?”

“…Maybe.”

There’s a soft sound on his end, like he nods even though you can’t see it. “Okay,” he says simply. “We can work with maybe.”

That makes you huff a quiet laugh before you can stop yourself.

“Good,” he adds, and there’s something lighter in his tone now. “That means you’re still here with me.”

The way he says with me shouldn’t matter, and yet it does.

You shift on the bed, pulling your knees closer without really thinking about it. The room feels less like it’s pressing in on you now, though nothing about it has actually changed.

“I guess I just…” You trail off, searching for something that doesn’t feel stupid the moment it leaves your mouth. “I didn’t really think I’d actually call.”

“Mmm,” he hums again. “So you’re surprised you did.”

“Yeah.”

“That happens a lot,” he says finally. “People don’t usually call me because everything’s going great.”

That earns a breath of a laugh from you again, quieter this time. More honest. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” you ask.

“No,” he says, easy. “Just true.”

Somehow that does make you feel a little better.

The silence stretches again, but it’s different now. Less like a gap. More like a shared space neither of you are rushing to fill.

“You can hang up whenever you want,” he adds after a moment, tone still steady. “Just so you know.”

“I’m not trying to hang up,” you say before you can overthink it.

“Good,” he replies.

Like that answer was more than enough.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

Over the next few days, you don’t mean to call again.

That’s what you tell yourself later, framing it as a choice you carefully made instead of a craving you simply couldn't ignore. But it doesn’t feel like a decision when your fingers already know the number, sliding across the screen with a quiet familiarity you don’t question anymore.

The second time, it’s late.

Same bed, same oppressive quiet, same cold phone glow, except this time, the hesitation is gone. You want this.

He picks up almost immediately. There’s a beat of silence before he speaks, like he’s settling into you.

“Hey,” he says, softer than before, like the sound itself is meant to land closer.

“Hi,” you answer, your own voice sounding small, breathy.

“You came back,” he says.

You swallow hard, suddenly hyper-aware of the friction of your sheets against your legs and the silence of the room pressing in around you. “Is that weird?”

A faint exhale comes through the line, a ghost of a smile maybe. “For you, maybe,” he murmurs, “not for me.”

Something warm and tight coils in your lower belly, a subtle, unwanted pulse that makes you shift instinctively against the mattress.

“I had a long day,” you admit after a moment.

“Do you want to talk about it,” he asks, the tone shifting, becoming more focused, “or do you want me to take you out of it for a while?”

The phrasing catches in your throat. Not fix it. Not solve it. Just… take you. The implication of surrender makes your nipples harden against your thin shirt.

“…Out of it,” you whisper.

There’s a brief pause on his end, like he’s acknowledging the shift before stepping into it with you. “Yeah,” he says, voice lower now. “Okay.”

The change isn’t sharp. It’s gradual, controlled, like he’s adjusting the distance between you and everything outside the call.

“I’m going to need you to slow your breathing down for me,” he says.

You do it without thinking, then realize you’re following.

“Good,” he murmurs, and you swear he can hear the way your breath hitches. “Just like that.”

Then he pauses, “You’re still holding onto your day.”

You hesitate. ".....Yeah."

“Alright,” he says, like that answer is expected. “Let it go a little. You don’t have to carry all of it in here.”

The room around you feels heavier when he says it, like you’re only noticing it now because he told you to stop bracing against it.

His voice stays steady and controlled. Close in a way that isn’t physical but still feels like attention fully turned toward you.

“Stay with me,” he says. “Just listen for a bit.”

And you do, not because you’re told to.

Because everything else in the room starts to feel further away the longer he speaks, until it stops competing for your attention at all.

Another pause follows, thick and heavy with anticipation. It feels as though he is reaching through the phone, waiting for you to stop resisting the pull.

“I’m going to take this slow,” he says, his voice smoothing into a practiced, deliberate warmth that makes it harder to think clearly. “And you’re going to tell me if anything doesn’t feel right, okay?”

The boundary only sharpens everything. Not because it stops what’s happening, but because it defines it. Makes it real in a way the flyer never did.

“…Okay,” you whimper.

“Good,” he replies immediately, like he was waiting for that exact answer.

A small shift on his end. You can hear it in the sound of him settling in, the subtle change in proximity through the speaker, like he’s no longer halfway between roles and is fully present in this one.

“Then listen to me,” he says, softer now. “Don’t rush ahead of me. Don’t try to figure out where this is going.”

Your breath catches slightly at how easily he holds your attention without raising his voice.

“Just stay with my voice for a bit.” Close your eyes, and just listen.”

You close your eyes, and the world vanishes. The room, the phone, the lingering stress of the day, it all dissolves, leaving nothing but the dark and the heavy, velvet weight of his voice filling the void.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with a quiet satisfaction. “Just the sound of me. Nothing else matters right now.”

“I want you to start by noticing where you’re still tight,” he directs, his voice a low, steady hum. “Your shoulders… your jaw… the way you’re gripping the phone. Let it all go. Just melt into the mattress for me.”

As you follow his lead, your body feels heavy, almost liquid. The relaxation is so sudden it feels like a drug, leaving you raw and hypersensitive. Every brush of the sheets against your skin feels amplified, an electric current humming just beneath the surface.

“Good girl. Just like that,” he whispers.

The praise hits you like a physical touch, sending a sharp, sudden jolt of heat straight to your core. You let out a shaky exhale, your hips giving a small, unconscious twitch against the bed.

There’s a pause, and it feels like he’s listening to more than just your silence now. Like he’s tracking the way you’ve changed without you needing to explain it.

“You don’t have to hold yourself together in here,” he says after a moment, voice low and even. “Not with me.” The words settle in a way that makes your breathing slow without you meaning to force it.

He pauses, and the silence is thick, charged with an unbearable tension. You find yourself arching your back slightly, craving a touch that isn't there, your body instinctively searching for a way to bridge the distance between you.

“Now,” he says, his voice smoothing out into a command that leaves no room for doubt. “I want you to take your free hand… and I want you to touch yourself. Not there. Not yet. Just… start with your collarbone. Slowly.”

Your breath hitches. The request is simple, but the authority behind it makes your heart race. Slowly, trembling, you lift your hand and let your fingertips graze the sensitive skin of your neck, sliding down to your collarbone.

“Mmm, just like that,” he hums, the sound vibrating through the phone and settling deep in your belly. “Slow. Deliberate. Feel how warm your skin is. Feel how your heart is beating for me.”

As your fingers trace the line of your skin, the intimacy of the act, guided by a voice from the dark, makes you feel exposed and cherished all at once. You aren't just touching yourself; you are touching yourself for him.

“Keep going,” he whispers, his voice growing more focused, more hungry. “Slide your hand down. Over your chest… feel your nipples hardening under your touch. Tell me how they feel.”

“H-hard,” you whimper, your voice barely a thread of sound. “They’re… aching.”

“I know they are,” he replies, and you can almost hear the smirk in his voice. “I can almost feel them. Now… keep sliding down. Don't stop until you reach the place where you're the warmest.”

Your hand trembles as it slides lower, passing over the curve of your stomach, feeling the erratic flutter of your pulse. The air in the room feels thick, humid, as if his presence has physically manifested beside you. When your fingers finally brush against the damp heat between your thighs, you let out a broken moan, your hips instinctively lifting to meet your own touch.

“There it is,” he whispers. “You’re soaking for me, aren't you? I can hear it in your breath. I can hear how desperate you are.”

The bluntness of his words strips away the last of your inhibitions. You slide two fingers deep inside yourself, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. The sensation is overwhelming, the friction of your own skin combined with the commanding weight of his voice guiding every movement.

“Faster,” he commands, his voice dropping to a low, guttural rasp. “Don't be gentle. I want you to feel every bit of this. I want you to imagine it’s my fingers stretching you open, my thumb grinding against your clit until you can’t think of anything but me.”

You obey instantly, your movements becoming frantic, your breath coming in short, jagged moans. You are no longer just touching yourself; you are reacting to him, your body a puppet dancing to the rhythm of his voice. The tension in your belly coils tighter and tighter.

“Look at yourself,” he whispers, though you keep your eyes squeezed shut, seeing only the dark heat of his tone. “Imagine me watching you. Imagine me leaning over you, my hand replacing yours, forcing you to take every inch of me while I tell you how good you feel.”

That image is the trigger. The mental picture of his weight on you, the imagined scent of his skin, and the actual, physical friction of your fingers colliding. You feel the first wave of the orgasm crash over you.

“Yes… give it all to me,” he moans, his own voice sounding strained, as if he’s fighting his own release on the other end of the line. “Come for me, baby. Right now.”

Your body arched, your muscles started clamping tight around your fingers as you peak. The release is blinding, a flood of warmth and pleasure that leaves you gasping, your chest heaving as you slowly collapse back into the mattress.

The silence that follows is heavy, but not empty. It settles between you and him like something that doesn’t need to be filled right away, lingering in the space his voice just occupied.

All you can hear is your own breathing, slower now, uneven in a way that gradually starts to even itself out.

“Good,” he murmurs, his voice softened again, the edge of control easing back into something steadier. “Just stay there for me.”

There’s a pause on his end, like he’s checking that you’re still there, still present in whatever this has become.

“You’re okay,” he adds quietly, not quite a question, not quite reassurance either, just something he states like fact.

The room feels different now, not lighter exactly, but less sharp around the edges. Like you’ve come down from somewhere too loud to name and are only now noticing the quiet again.

“Take your time,” he says after a moment. “I’m here.”

And then, a beat later, softer, “Get some rest.”

The line clicks off.

For a while, you don’t move. The phone stays warm in your hand, your body still carrying the echo of his voice in a way that makes the silence feel less absolute than it should. Eventually, you set it down, but even then, it doesn’t feel like the call is fully gone yet.

It’s only later, when the room has fully gone quiet again, that it starts to settle in differently.

Not the intensity of it. Not the way he spoke to you, or the way you followed his voice like it was the only steady thing in the room.

It’s the fact that you did.

You stare at the ceiling, suddenly too aware of your own skin, your own thoughts returning in fragments you don’t know what to do with. The confidence you had on the call feels borrowed now, like something you put on and forgot to take off properly.

Your phone sits beside you, face down, like it might still be listening.

A heat creeps up your neck slowly, not from what happened exactly, but from remembering how easily you stopped overthinking when he told you to. How quickly you followed. How little resistance there actually was once you let it start.

You turn onto your side, pulling the blanket up a little higher than necessary, as if that changes anything.

It should feel ridiculous.

It does, a little.

But it also feels… real in a way you don’t want to name too directly.

Because somewhere between his voice telling you to relax and you actually doing it, you stopped feeling like someone who was just making a joke call.

And that’s the part that sits with you longest.

Not what he did.

What you let happen.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

The next time you call him, you hesitate longer than you expect to. Not because you don’t want to. That part is worse, because you do. It’s just that now there’s a layer of awareness sitting on top of it, like you’ve seen behind the curtain and can’t fully unsee it. You almost hang up twice before it connects.

When he answers, there’s a small pause before he speaks, like he’s already noticed something different. “Hey,” he says, easy as always, but slower this time, like he’s listening closer.

“Hi,” you reply, and your voice comes out tighter than you meant.

“You’re thinking a lot,” he says. It isn’t framed as a question.

Your stomach drops slightly at how quickly he clocks it. “I’m fine.”

“Mhm,” he hums, unconvinced but not pushing yet. “That doesn’t sound like ‘fine.’”

You shift on the bed, suddenly hyper-aware of your hands, your posture, the fact that you’re even here again after last time. “It’s just…” You stop, then restart, quieter. “Last time felt kind of…” You trail off, immediately regretting starting.

“Intense?” he offers, calm.

The word lands too accurately. You don’t answer right away, and that silence is enough confirmation. He doesn’t laugh or tease you, which somehow would’ve been easier. Instead, he exhales softly, like he already understands exactly where your thoughts are stuck.

“Hey,” he says, voice softening. “You don’t have to make it weird.”

You start automatically. “I’m not—”

“You are,” he cuts in gently, not harsh, just certain. “A little.”

That should make it worse, but somehow it doesn’t. Your shoulders loosen by a fraction without permission. “I’m just… aware of it now,” you admit finally.

There’s a pause, then his voice shifts again, subtle but deliberate. Not leaving the role, just adjusting how he holds it. “That’s normal,” he says. “First time people stop overthinking, they usually overthink the fact that they stopped overthinking.”

A quiet laugh slips out of you before you can stop it.

“There you are,” he adds immediately, like he’s been waiting for that sound.

You roll your eyes, even though he can’t see it. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Act like you know me.”

A brief silence follows, but it isn’t tense. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. “I don’t need to act,” he says. “I just listen.”

That lands differently than it should. You stare at the ceiling, suddenly less defensive than you were moments ago. “…I didn’t know I’d call again,” you admit quietly.

“I figured you might,” he says simply.

That certainty tightens in your throat in a way you don’t fully understand yet. “And?” you ask, quieter. “Is that… bad?”

A small pause. “No,” he says. “It just means you’re still figuring out what you want from it.”

Another pause, then softer: “We can take it slower tonight if you want.”

The words should have created distance, but instead they loosen something in your chest you didn’t realize you were holding.

“I don’t know,” you admit after a moment, and it’s honest in a way that makes you feel exposed.

“That’s fine,” he says, steady and unbothered. “You don’t have to know yet.”

You let out a slow breath, staring up at the ceiling as if it might organize your thoughts into something less messy. “It’s just weird,” you add. “I didn’t think I’d actually call again after… last time.”

He doesn’t interrupt. The silence he gives you feels intentional, like he’s letting you finish without rushing where it goes. “I get that,” he says eventually. “A lot of people do that the first time. They overthink it afterward more than they do in the moment.”

That makes something shift in you, because it’s too accurate to ignore and too calm to feel like judgment.

“You’re not weird for it,” he continues. “You’re just aware of yourself now in a way you weren’t before.”

You swallow at that, because it sounds uncomfortably close to the truth. “I don’t really know how I’m supposed to act on these calls,” you admit, quieter now, like you’re testing whether honesty makes anything worse.

“You don’t have to act,” he says. “That’s kind of the point.”

You exhale through your nose, almost a laugh but not quite. “That’s easy for you to say.”

“It’s not about easy,” he replies. “It’s about not making it harder than it needs to be.”

There’s a pause where you almost fill the silence again, but don’t. He notices anyway. “You’re still trying to perform a little,” he says gently, not accusing, just observant.

Your stomach tightens, because he’s right in a way you didn’t want to recognize. “I’m not performing,” you say, but it comes out weaker than you mean it to.

“Mhm,” he answers, not arguing. “Then stop trying to sound like you’re okay with everything if you’re not.”

That lands softer than it should, because it isn’t pushing you away. It’s pulling you back into the moment.

You go quiet for a second, then finally admit, “I just don’t want it to be… awkward.”

“It already is,” he replies, and there’s something faintly warm in it, like he’s smiling without needing to perform it. “You’re just trying to pretend it isn’t.”

That makes you huff a small laugh despite yourself.

“There,” he says immediately. “That’s better.”

You roll your eyes again, even though he can’t see it, but your shoulders drop a little anyway.

“I’m not good at this,” you admit.

“At what?” he asks.

“Talking like this.”

“You don’t need to be good at it,” he says. “You just need to stay here with me.”

The way he says it doesn’t feel like instruction. It feels like permission. And somehow, that’s what you keep coming back for.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

Over the next few weeks, the calls stop feeling like something you have to talk yourself into.

They start happening the way habits do, without ceremony.

Sometimes you call him late, when the room is already dark and your thoughts are too loud to sit with alone. Those nights, his voice settles into you quickly, guiding you out of whatever spiral you’ve fallen into without asking too many questions. He doesn’t always push for conversation. Sometimes he just stays with you, talking low and steady until your breathing evens out again.

Other nights are lighter.

You tell him random things you wouldn’t normally say out loud, like how you think you’d be better at sleeping if your brain didn’t insist on replaying every conversation you’ve ever had at 2 a.m., or how you once considered moving to a different city just because you liked the way it sounded when you said it out loud. He listens like it matters more than it should.

And sometimes, it shifts again.

There are calls where the tone changes without needing explanation, where his voice drops into something more intimate and intentional, when you don’t have to pretend not to understand what that means anymore. You stop overthinking the role you’re supposed to play in it.

You just follow the rhythm of his instructions, the moans, the way he holds your attention without ever needing to raise his voice. Those calls leave you quieter afterward, more aware in a way that lingers longer than you expect.

But even those don’t feel separate anymore.

They all blur together eventually.

One night you’re talking about something you wanted to be when you were younger, and he hums thoughtfully like he’s actually picturing it. The next, he’s teasing you for overthinking your own sentences again, and you catch yourself smiling at the sound of it before you can stop.

You’re talking about nothing at all when the thought comes out before you can smooth it back down. “Do you ever think about doing something else?”

There’s a pause on his end that feels different from the usual ones, not uncertain, just… measured. “Something else?” he repeats.

“Like,” you hesitate, suddenly aware of how personal the question sounds now that it’s already in the air, “not this. Just… anything else.”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. You shift slightly on your bed, suddenly wishing you hadn’t said it, but he doesn’t let it drop.

“I do other things,” he says eventually, careful but not defensive.

“That’s not what I mean,” you reply, softer now.

Another pause, longer this time. Then his voice changes slightly, still calm, but less performative than usual.

“Sometimes,” he admits. “Yeah.”

That answer sits between you for a moment longer than it should.

You don’t rush to fill it. Instead, you let it settle, like you’re trying to understand what part of him exists outside the version that answers you like this.

“Would you stop?” you ask quietly.

It comes out more honest than you intended, less casual than you meant it to sound.

He doesn’t answer immediately, and in that silence, for the first time, it feels like you’ve touched something real behind the role he plays. “I don’t know,” he says finally.

For some reason, that answer stays with you longer than any of the others ever have.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

After that call, something changes in the way you think about him. Not in a dramatic way, not all at once, but quietly, in a way that doesn’t announce itself. You still call him the same way, still fall into the same rhythms, but now there are moments in between where he doesn’t feel like just a voice you reach for at night.

He starts existing in the gaps of your day.

You’ll be doing something ordinary and catch yourself wondering what his voice would sound like in response. You’ll pause mid-thought sometimes, realizing you’ve started conversations in your head you don’t actually plan to finish out loud. It doesn’t feel strange anymore, just familiar in a way you don’t fully examine.

The calls continue the same way they always have, but they also don’t.

He still meets you where you are. Some nights are light and easy, you talking about nothing in particular while he listens like it matters more than it should.

Other nights slip into that steadier, more intentional tone where the rest of the world feels further away and you stop trying to explain why you called in the first place.

And sometimes, you catch him in moments where he sounds less like the version of himself he presents and more like someone slightly off-script. Not enough to name, just enough to notice.

“Hyunnie?”

There’s a pause on his end like he wasn’t expecting you to say his name. The pause wasn’t long, but different enough to register.

“Yeah?” he answers.

Something about it tightens in your chest for no clear reason.

You almost don’t ask the question. You almost let it pass like you usually do with thoughts that feel too personal to keep out in the open, but you don’t this time.

“Do you ever think about me when I’m not calling?”

The silence that follows isn’t dramatic. It’s just longer than usual.

When he finally speaks, his voice is still steady, but more careful than before. “Yeah,” he says simply. “Sometimes.”

That should have been enough. It wasn’t.

Because now it changes shape in your mind. The idea that there is a version of him that exists in between you, just like there is a version of you that now waits for him more than you want to admit.

You don’t say anything for a moment. Neither does he. Instead of breaking it, he lets the silence stay with you.

“You’re quiet,” he says eventually, softer now.

“I’m just thinking,” you reply.

“About what?”

You hesitate, then let it come out before you can overthink it. “That I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do with this.”

There’s a pause, then his voice comes through gentler than before. “You don’t have to do anything with it,” he says. “Not yet.”

But the way he says yet makes it feel like he already knows that isn’t going to stay true forever.

The change is small at first, so small you almost don’t trust yourself for noticing it.

It isn’t that he stops answering. He still does. It’s just that sometimes there’s a little more space before he does, like the world on his side of the line is no longer arranged around the exact moment you call.

At first you tell yourself it means nothing. People get busy. That’s all this is.

The calls still happen, still fall into their familiar rhythm, but you find yourself listening a little differently now. 

Waiting a fraction longer before you speak. Noticing when his voice takes a second more to settle into place, like he’s stepping into the only version of himself that you recognize on the other side of the phone.

“Hey,” he still says, like nothing has changed.

But sometimes it sounds slightly farther away.

You don’t ask about it.

Instead, you adjust without realizing you’re doing it. You stop calling at the same times. You wait longer between calls, telling yourself it’s just because you’re busy too, even though the thought of not calling doesn’t actually stick.

And when you do call, it feels slightly more intentional on both ends. Like it was less automatic. More so as if you were eager to talk to each other.

One night, after a pause that lingers just a bit longer than usual, you ask him if everything is okay.

There’s a small shift before he answers, subtle enough that you almost miss it. “Yeah,” he says. “Why?”

You hesitate, then decide not to make it bigger than it is. “Just wondering.”

“Mmm,” he replies, like he accepts that without needing more. But the answer doesn’t fully settle you this time.

After the call ends, you stay where you are longer than usual. Phone still in your hand, screen dark now, like you’re waiting for something that already finished.

You don’t know why it feels different yet. You just know it does.

It starts with a missed call.

You don’t notice it right away. You only see it later when your screen lights back up after hanging up.

You call back.

The line rings once, then drops into the familiar system.

“Thanks for calling. Please listen closely as our menu options may have changed.”

You wait, already knowing the rhythm of it now.

“Press 1 for Channie. Press 2 for Lino. Press 3 for Binnie. Press 4 for Hyun—”

You press 4 before it finishes.

The line cuts again, clean and immediate. It used to feel like a choice when that happened. Now it feels like recognition.

There’s a pause after, longer than you remember it being before. Not silence exactly, more like waiting that doesn’t resolve quickly.

Then the line connects, but not in the same way.

“Hey,” he says. It’s still his voice, but it takes him a second longer to arrive in it.

“Sorry,” you say automatically, even though you don’t fully know what you’re apologizing for.

A small pause. “You’re fine,” he replies, but it lands softer than before. Slightly distracted, like he’s somewhere else and choosing to be here anyway.

You sit up a little straighter without meaning to. “You missed my call.”

“I saw,” he says.

That should have been simple. Not for you though.

Because there’s no explanation after it. Just a quiet space where something used to come next.

“You okay?” you ask, slower now.

A beat too long. “Yeah,” he says again, but this time it sounds like something he’s saying while doing something else at the same time.

And you realize, faintly, that this is the first time the call feels like it had to catch up to him. Not the other way around.

You don’t know what to do with that yet, so you don’t push.

Instead, you just stay on the line a little longer than usual, listening to the space between his words start to feel slightly less stable than it used to.

⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹

The next time you call, it doesn’t connect the way it used to.

The menu starts as expected. The same voice, the same polite distance.

“Thanks calling. Please listen closely for our menu options—”

You don’t wait for it to finish.

You press 4.

Nothing follows.

Not him, not the shift you’ve come to expect, just a pause that stretches too long before the system quietly resets itself and begins again.

You try once more, faster this time, like speed might matter. It doesn’t.

The menu returns exactly as it was. 

After a while, you stop reacting to it. You just let it play through, listening without interrupting, like that might make it behave differently.

It doesn’t. Eventually, it disconnects without ever leaving the recording behind.

No voice. No transition. Just the drop into silence.

You try again later.

And again.

At some point, the attempts stop feeling like decisions and start feeling like repetition you’re no longer fully present for.

Morning, midday, night, the timing stops mattering. The result doesn’t change.

The menu always starts.

You press 4 less urgently now, sometimes not at all. Sometimes you listen to the full thing just to see if anything inside it shifts. It never does, but you keep checking anyway, like the outcome might revise itself if you witness it often enough.

There’s a moment, days later, when you realize you’ve stopped expecting him to appear in it. You’re still calling, still listening, but the anticipation has thinned into something quieter, less hopeful and more habitual.

One time, you don’t press anything at all.

You just let it run and when it ends, the silence that follows feels different.

And when you hang up, you don’t call back right away. Your hand stays still over the phone for a moment longer than it needs to, like it hasn’t caught up to what your body already understands.

He isn’t coming back to the line.

You set the phone down, and this time, the silence doesn’t ask you to try again.

For a moment, you keep the phone in your hand even though there’s nothing left on it to read or replay. Then you set it down like you’re returning something that was never really yours to hold. The room doesn’t change after that, but you do, in small ways you can’t quite name yet. You stare at nothing for a while before you finally let your eyes close, and even then, you don’t reach for anything.

He moves slowly through the rooms, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his pants while soft instrumental music plays overhead. There aren’t many people here, surprisingly, despite a few tourists and a few groups of what appears to be university students sketching sculptures in their notebooks. Hyunjin figured that once the rain hit people would be pouring in here to escape it, but he was thankfully proven wrong. He prefers it this way.

He walks further down, his shoes lightly tapping against the floor, pausing at a massive oil painting. It’s depicting a man kneeling waist-deep in dark water beneath a giant golden sky. His eyes study it for a moment before drifting down to read the plaque, mouthing out the words salvation through suffering to himself. His eyes flicker back up to the painting, head tilting slightly as he traces every single detail before deciding that it seems just a tad bit dramatic. In his professional opinion, (which should be taken with a grain of salt), people tend to romanticize suffering too much. If someone is drowning, maybe they should be helped instead of allowing it to happen and calling it beautiful.

But that’s just his opinion.

He snaps a quick picture of it, sending it to the group chat before slowly walking into another room. More oil paintings line the walls in massive frames, all revolving around grief, isolation, longing—human suffering presented beautifully enough that has something pulling deep in his chest. He stays where he is for a second longer, studying each piece thoughtfully until his eyes drift down to focus on the reflection staring back at him through the glass protecting the painting. And although the reflection staring back at him appears familiar, there’s something distant there.

Hyunjin barely recognizes himself at times. He’s not the same guy he once was when they first debuted, full of passion and determination and life. As the years went on, the weight of everything got heavier on his shoulders, and he was stuck in a constant loop of exhaustion. It’s not that he hates his job—he loves his fans, the members, and performing more than anything. But he just hates that he has to feel so miserable sometimes when he’s supposed to be doing something he loves.

Even now, there’s some moments where he catches himself feeling strangely disconnected from the version of him everyone knows. He’s heard it all—the idol, the visual, the beautiful dramatic one. People think they know him because they constantly consume bits and pieces of him on a screen, but that’s exactly that—they think.

He doesn’t even remember the last time he’s went live. He used to be more active, going on random Instagram lives and sending numerous texts and pictures off Bubble. But lately, he hasn’t had the energy too. It feels performative, in a way, but everything is performative in his world.

He just wishes he could stop being what people want him to be and not care what people say about it.

Most days, he feels like a collection of carefully selected fragments pretending to be an actual person. Therapy helps. Medicine helps. Having a good support system helps. But sometimes, it’s not enough, and he needs to do things for himself to help clear his head, like take a however month long hiatus and do a solo trip to Italy.

Maybe that’s why he likes Italy so much. Maybe that’s why he likes art galleries so much. Nobody here expects anything from him.

Hyunjin tears his gaze away from his reflection, stuffing his hands back into his pants pocket before heading towards the next room. This one focuses on fractured intimacy. There’s paintings of lovers facing opposite directions, hands nearly touching but never quite reaching, bodies close physically but emotionally miles apart. He feels it instantly because, unfortunately, he understood this kind of distance too well.

He moves on before the feeling settles too deeply.

Hyunjin drifts through the next room half-focused, his thoughts scattered all over the place. One second he’s thinking about sketching, another second he’s thinking about finding another small restaurant near the river tonight. He’s thinking about anything, desperately trying to distract himself from the heavy feeling in his chest. He’s thinking about anything, until he can no longer think at all.

His entire body comes to an abrupt stop, like something inside him physically locks. The room suddenly feels colder, the weight on his shoulders grows heavier, and he feels like he might pass out on this sleek marble flooring.

At the far end of the gallery stands a woman beneath soft overhead lighting. She’s wearing a yellow dress with a cream-colored raincoat, dark curls falling over one shoulder, hands gripping onto the strap of her purse as she studies a painting in front of her.

For one second, Hyunjin’s brain refuses to process what he’s seeing, not because he doesn’t recognize her, but because he does instantly. In fact, every nerve ending in his entire body recognizes her before logic can even catch up with him.

No. There’s absolutely no way that she is standing a few steps away from him right now, at an art gallery in Italy. There is absolutely no way.

His brain scrambles for even more explanations, as he mentally talks himself out of a panic attack that may or may not be brewing. Lots of people have curly hair and a round face. Lots of people give off the exact same aura. He just drank too much wine at lunch, and that’s why he’s currently hallucinating her standing in front of him. Yeah, that must be it.

Only it isn’t. Because before he could even blink, she had shifted just slightly, now giving him a perfect view of her face, confirming what he already knew was true.

Y/N.

Somehow, she looks exactly the same, yet completely different all at the same time. Her hair is shorter than he remembers, darker than he remembers, falling down to her shoulders. She’s wearing minimal makeup, yet she’s still naturally so pretty, staring at the painting in awe. Gold rings line her fingers, catching the light in the room. She looks more mature, more settled into herself, and Hyunjin is suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that he’s currently ogling at a very much real Y/N in the middle of a very much real art gallery full of very much real people.

Holy shit.

Holy fucking shit.

His heartbeat slams violently against his ribcage, and he has to remind himself to breathe so he doesn’t actually pass out. He closes his eyes briefly, shaking his head back and forth before opening them again, his eyes widening once he realizes that he’s not hallucinating and she’s still painfully real, standing in front of him again after four fucking years.

And god, she’s still beautiful. The kind of beautiful that sneaks up on him before he can even emotionally defend himself.

He feels rooted to his spot, gawking, staring, still trying not to pass out. She doesn’t move for a second, and Hyunjin thinks he has to be hallucinating her, only for her to shift a little closer towards where he’s standing, and then reality comes back.

A quiet shriek escapes his mouth as he instantly steps behind one of the marble columns near him, shielding his view from her. He stands there for a second, breathing heavy, his stomach flipping so hard that it actually makes him dizzy.

This is insane. Actually insane. It’s been four years—four years of zero contact, of living lives in two completely different worlds, and somehow, seeing her for less than twenty seconds already feels catastrophic to his nervous system.

He pushes his back against the column, shifting himself so he’s more hidden. He feels calmer now that he can’t see her anymore, but that only lasts for five seconds before he’s peaking around the column again just to see that she’s still there. She’s still there, still looking at paintings, still completely unaware she’s currently ruining his emotional stability from thirty feet away.

Hyunjin knows he should leave. He should just turn around, pretend he didn’t even see her, and leave. That would be the normal thing to do, the healthy thing to do. But instead, he stays frozen exactly where he is, watching her, noticing every single movement and detail about her, just like he did when he saw her for the first time four years ago.

He notices the way she shifts her weight while she’s thinking. He notices the tiny line appearing between her brows while reading the plaque beside the painting. He notices the absentminded way she tucks her curls behind her ear. He notices everything—and it feels so unfair.

How can four years disappear instantly like that? How can his body remember someone this much after so much time apart?

He remembers her so vividly that it’s actually insane. He remembers her voice, her scent, her smile. He remembers how calm he felt around her, how right it felt being near her. He remembers how she sounded calling out his name as he made her cum on his cock.

His chest aches suddenly. He’s torn between a constant battle of leaving or following her until he may or may not develop the confidence to actually approach her. His mind screams at him to leave, the red flags going off in his head. But Hyunjin had never listened to himself in the first place, so why would he do that now?

He leans his head over to catch another glimpse of her, his eyes widening as he sees her walking into the next room. Panic shoots through him instantly, and before he could even blink, he’s already following her, hiding behind another large column.

He peaks over, noticing that she stops before another enormous painting. He doesn’t even bother to look at which one, his interest in all the art surrounding him diminishing instantly. He’s way too distracted by the fact that Y/N is real, standing ten feet away, breathing the same air as him for the first time in years.

His heart pounds harder the longer he keeps watching her. He should walk up to her and say something, and not keep hiding behind European architecture like a fucking stalker. He should, but he can’t.

What if she feels nothing for him now? What if she doesn’t want anything to do with him? What if she rejects him?

He can’t do it. He just can’t.

A large group of tourists suddenly moves in front of him, blocking his view from her completely. Hyunjin shifts immediately, trying to keep her in sight, feeling a surge of panic flow through his body as he searches the room. It feels like forever when everything finally clears, his shoulders relaxing instantly. Yet that didn’t last long, as he desperately tried to find her, only to realize that she’s gone.

“No, no, no,” He mumbles to himself like an insane person, moving quickly into the adjoining room, his eyes scanning faces in panicked desperation, hoping one of them was hers.

He moves into another hallway. Nothing. He begins circling rooms twice. Nothing.

He runs his fingers through his hair, feeling his stomach drop. Somehow, losing sight of her after finding her again feels devastating already, and it makes him feel insane. Maybe if he would stop being a fucking coward all the time and actually went up to talk to her whenever he first saw her, he wouldn’t be here searching the gallery pretending he isn’t searching the gallery.

He had to have hallucinated her. There was no way that she disappeared that quickly, like she just disappeared into the walls like a fucking ghost. He definitely would have seen her from how quick he rushed into the nearby rooms looking like a mad-man. He’s surprised they didn’t kick him out.

Hyunjin’s face suddenly heats up in embarrassment. Why did he allow himself to act like that in public? At an art museum, of all places? Over a girl he fucked four years ago?

Except she wasn’t just an insufficient fuck, no matter how much he tried to convince himself otherwise. Sure, the sex was amazing, but that was also part of the problem. It was so amazing that it’s quite literally ruined everyone else for him, and part of him is bitter for that. There’s no denying how compatible they were sexually, but it was also emotionally. And that’s what’s been fucking with him the most.

Hyunjin runs his fingers through his hair again, taking a deep breath before pulling his phone out to text his driver he’s ready to leave. Normally, he would spend all day at an art museum, but right now he thinks he just needs to go back to his hotel and contemplate his entire life.

The rain falls steadily outside by the time he steps out of the museum. He didn’t bring a coat today, didn’t really think he would need one. But just like his emotions are all over the place, so is the weather here, apparently.

He spots his driver waiting for him, leaning against the car with an umbrella over his head. Hyunjin hurries over towards him, jogging through the rain, not even phased at how wet he seems to be getting. Honestly, it’s kind of nice, somewhat cooling his skin and helping his body calm down.

He gets into the back seat quietly. His clothes are sticking to his skin now, his hair falling in front of his forehead in damp waves. He combs it back once before slouching back in the seat, turning his head to watch the rain drops slowly falling down the window.

He tries not to think about her, he really tries. But his mind ends up going there anyway, replaying the scene over and over in his head like a broken record that just won’t stop playing.

She looked so beautiful. Her skin looked perfectly sun-kissed, eyes still so blue and hypnotizing, hair so pretty and soft. He couldn’t see her body well from the raincoat she had on, but he just knew the pale yellow dress would be hugging her so perfectly and have him falling to his knees immediately.

It’s wild how deeply she still affects him even after all this time apart. They spent one night together, yet it felt like he had known her his entire life. Maybe that’s why it hurt so much when he had to let her go.

Hyunjin was always a private person, introverted at best. He always kept to himself, never opening up to anyone first unless he trusted them, which was why when he found himself opening up to Y/N, it terrified him.

It still terrifies him, because he knows if he could see her again, he’d fall in even deeper.

He tries to focus on the rain again. He distracts his mind by counting the raindrops on the window, making mental bets on which raindrop would fall first—anything to prevent his mind from spiraling.

That doesn’t last long, though. Because as soon as he steps into his hotel room and strips off his wet clothes, he’s already plopping down onto his bed with a dramatic groan before grabbing his phone.

Chan answers the call after two rings.

“Well, well. Florence finally bored you?”

“I think I hallucinated Y/N in an art gallery.”

The words came out so fast and so frantic that Hyunjin wonders for a second if Chan actually understood what he said in the first place. He bites his bottom lip softly, nervously tapping his fingers against his chest. The silence is so loud he pulls his phone away just to make sure he didn’t accidentally hang up.

“Well, good evening to you, too.”

Hyunjin rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling, “I’m serious. I’m starting to go insane because I keep thinking about it.”

“Like, you actually saw her?”

“I mean, I think so,” Hyunjin replies quickly, another groan falling from his lips as he pinches his temple with his fingers, “I don’t know if I actually did or not. That’s what’s frustrating me.”

Chan immediately starts laughing, and Hyunjin narrows his eyes even though he can’t see him, “Stop laughing at me! I’m literally spiraling right now and you’re making fun of me!”

“I’m not making fun of you, Hyun,” Chan replies through another fit of laughter, much quieter this time, “It just sounds a little crazy, is all. Like what do you mean you think you saw her? Walk me through it.”

Hyunjin drags a hand down his face. This is giving him a headache already. “I was looking at paintings.”

“Mhm.”

“And then I saw this girl.”

“Incredible start.”

“She turned around, and I swear to fuck it was her,” He breathes out, feeling his heart race a little just thinking about it again, “Now that I think about it more, I’m certain it was her. And holy fuck, she was beautiful. I feel like I’m losing my mind right now.”

Chan exhales slowly through the phone, and Hyunjin feels a little embarrassed at what he just said, but whatever. He can’t take it back now. “That’s… strange.” He replies after a few more seconds of Hyunjin mentally freaking out, only adding on to that feeling.

“Strange?” He laughs incredulously, “Chan, I literally forgot how to breathe for a second. I’m still trying to catch my breath.”

“Okay, so you saw Y/N,” Chan spoke, voice softer, “Then what? You went and talked to her?”

“Well… not exactly,” He replies, already dreading this conversation because he knows Chan won’t be able to live this part down, “I kind of hid behind the giant columns and watched her from afar. And then I kind of followed her around the gallery. Kind of.”

Chan bursts out into laughter again, the sound so loud that it had him wincing as he pulled the phone away from his ear. “Hyunjin… you fucking idiot! Please tell me you did not just stalk this poor girl in a contemporary art gallery.”

“I panicked!” He defends himself, poorly, might he add, as the laughter on the other end only seems to be getting much worse, “I’m not good at this shit, okay?! She was looking at art so prettily! That’s intimidating!”

“That’s the most pretentious thing you’ve ever said.”

Hyunjin falls back onto the pillows behind his head with a loud groan, “I think something is deeply wrong with me.”

“Yeah,” Chan agrees quickly through another chuckle, causing him to glare at the screen, because why is he agreeing with him? “We established that years ago, unfortunately.”

Despite himself, Hyunjin laughs weakly, his eyes trailing over towards the rain-streaked windows. Part of him had always secretly wondered whether she carried their ending around the same way he did. Maybe she didn’t—maybe she healed properly while he kept romanizing unfinished things.

I guess he’d never know that because he couldn’t bring himself to go talk to her.

“She looked really good,” He admits quietly, watching the rain patter softly against the window, “She looked… so pretty. Just like I always remembered.”

Chan hums knowingly, “You’re an idiot. And you’re screwed.”

“I know.”

He listens to the rain for another second before a thought suddenly comes to mind. He sits up immediately, “Wait.”

Chan sounds suspicious already, “What?”

“You still talk to Kat.”

He’s quiet on the line, and Hyunjin hates how he can feel his heart beating even louder against his chest. “I do,” He drawls the word out, already seeming to know where this is going.

“Ask her if Y/N’s in Italy.”

More silence. And then—

“Oh my god.”

He’s laughing again, and Hyunjin grunts into the phone in annoyance, running another hand through his hair, “Chan, I’m serious! Text her right now and ask her if she’s in Italy.”

“Hyun, you do realize how insane you’re acting right now, right?” Chan chuckles in disbelief, “You haven’t seen this girl in four years and now you’re spiraling in an Italian luxury hotel because you think you saw her admiring paintings. You sound lovesick.”

Hyunjin presses both hands over his eyes, “Hyung, please. When do I ever ask you for favors?”

“All the fucking time, actually.”

“Please!”

Chan sighs dramatically over the line, “Fine. This is humiliating for you, you know that?”

“I know.”

“You could’ve just spoken to her and not stalked her like a fucking creep.”

“I know,” He swallows thickly, “You don’t understand.”

“No, I understand perfectly, actually. You’re terrified.”

That shuts Hyunjin up instantly. Because unfortunately, it’s true.

He’s terrified of rejection. He’s terrified of indifference. He’s terrified of discovering he’s carried this thing around for years only to realize she let it go completely.

And where would that lead him?

Chan sighs again after a few moments, “I’m texting her right now, okay?”

Relief floods through him embarrassingly fast, “You’re the best, Channie baby.”

“Ew, don’t call me that.”

Hyunjin laughs quietly, a giddy feeling rising in his body once he hears Chan typing on his phone over the line. He’s 99.9% sure she was Y/N, but having a verbal confirmation from her best friend would just be the icing on top of the fucking cake. If he gets confirmation that she’s actually in Italy, maybe he won’t feel so insane about it.

Another idea hits him all of a sudden, and he’s putting Chan on speaker before swiping out of the call, his fingers working fast to click on the Instagram app. He’s clicking on the search bar before he can think any better of it, typing in a username that he remembers from years ago when he first found her account, only hoping she didn’t change it.

His eyes light up instantly once he realizes she didn’t. And then he’s clicking on her profile.

“What are you doing?” Chan’s voice startles him for a second.

“Nothing.” He replies quickly, guiltily. His eyes widen once he sees her first post, and he wastes no time in clicking on the picture so he can see it better.

He heart falls into his ass once he sees it.

“Oh shit,” He breaths out, gawking at her most recent photo from a day ago. It’s a thread, a collection of ten pictures, the first picture being of her smiling in front of Brunelleschi’s Duomo.

“Oh, shit,” He says again, because what else can he say?

“Oh my god,” Chan says knowingly, “Are you stalking her right now? Seriously?”

“It’s public information,” He defends himself weakly, swiping through the rest of the post. Pasta, wine, a picture of a stray cat resting on a bench, another selfie. He stares at that one a little longer, unable to stop himself.

God, she’s so fucking beautiful. His heart hurts.

“That’s exactly what stalkers say.” Chan’s voice interrupts his thoughts, and he ignores him, quickly exiting out of that post to glance at the rest of her profile.

Coffee shops, books, Kat, (lots of Kat), the gym, weddings, yet there’s no engagement posts or anything that hints that she has a significant other. He hates how relieved he is from that.

Something about seeing pieces of her life condensed quietly into photographs makes his chest ache. She kept existing this entire time, but somehow, he never let himself imagine it clearly.

He’s clicking on one of her highlight reels she posted titled “Italy 🇮🇹” before he can stop himself. And his heart is falling into his ass once again.

The first one is of a window from a coffee shop while the rain pours outside. The second is of a piece of artwork from a different gallery he didn’t recognize. And the third… the third is a mirror picture she took of herself, wearing the exact same outfit he just saw her in. Her coat wasn’t on, showing off her curves so perfectly, the dress hugging her just right. It looked so pretty against her skin, her smile sending shivers down his entire body.

Holy fuck.

“Holy shit,” He covers his mouth with his hand, the raining pouring down harder now.

“What now?”

“She’s here,” He strains out, his heartbeat climbing, “She is literally here. In Florence.”

“Yep, she is.” He replies, but before Hyunjin can ask what he means by that tone, his phone is binging with a text from Chan. It’s a screenshot of a string of texts. He opens it quickly.

Chan: Random question

Chan: Is Y/N in Italy rn?

Kat: why

Chan: Hyunjin thinks he saw her and now he’s acting mentally unstable

Kat: OH MY GOD

Kat: WAIT, ACTUALLY????

Chan: Yep. He hid behind a column, apparently. Embarrassing 😳

Hyunjin groans immediately, “Seriously?! Why would you tell her that?!”

“Because it was funny.”

“It was not! You’re evil!”

“I’m correct.”

Another screenshot comes through, and Hyunjin mentally prepares himself before he opens it.

Kat: she’s in florence, rn

Kat: she’s been going to art galleries all week too, lol

Chan: That is horrifyingly romantic

Kat: don’t encourage him

Hyunjin’s stomach flips again. He really could run into her again. The possibility alone sends nervous energy rushing through him immediately, but things are different now. Now, he’s older, more established, with more freedom to do what he pleases. For the first time in his career, choosing someone wouldn’t automatically be impossible. And somehow, the universe drops Y/N directly into Florence while he’s finally at a point in his life where he maybe can choose her properly.

The timing feels cruel. Or maybe hopeful. He genuinely can’t tell.

“You’re being quiet.”

Hyunjin stares at her profile again, “I’m just… processing. I can’t believe she’s actually here.”

“Yeah,” Chan hums in response, “Kat said she’s there for another week.”

Hyunjin blinks, “Another week?”

He hears Chan curse silently over the line, and his eyes narrow, “It seems you know entirely too much information.”

“I do not.” His response is quick.

“You literally know her travel itinerary.”

“Okay, now that’s a little dramatic. Let’s simmer down.”

Hyunjin lets out a quiet scoff, pointing at the phone accusingly, “You and Kat are scheming, aren’t you?”

“We are absolutely not.” Again, another quick reply.

“I think you’re full of shit. Shitty shit shit.”

Chan sighs dramatically, and Hyunjin can just see his eyes rolling, “Ooookay. Maybe Kat mentioned she was doing a solo trip to Italy months ago.”

“Months ago,” He repeats the words, nodding his head slowly, “And then, somehow, I end up in Italy at the same exact time?”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

Hyunjin flops backward onto the bed, groaning dramatically, “I hate all of you. Especially you.”

“No you don’t.”

Unfortunately, that’s true.

His phone pings again with yet another screenshot. He sighs, knowing he’s about to be embarrassed again, but opening it anyway.

Kat: wait, does he like her???

Chan: Catastrophically so

Kat: omg I KNEW IT

Chan: He’s currently staring at her Instagram profile in silence like a widow in a period drama

Kat: don’t let him scare her, omg

Chan: Too late, he already hid behind a column

“You are unbelievable!” Hyunjin chokes out, completely mortified.

This is ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. And yet, underneath all the teasing and embarrassment and panic, hope starts blooming somewhere dangerous inside him. For the first time in years, Y/N doesn’t feel unreachable anymore, and he wants nothing more than to finally grab ahold of her.

His thumb hovers over the message button on her profile. He hesitates for a second, biting the inside of his cheek. The rain falls even harder outside, and he’s distracted by the sound for a split second before his thumb inches closer.

“Chan?”

“Yeah?” His reply is instant. He hesitates again, but only for a second.

“If I message her right now… is that insane?”

“Maybe,” He replies after a few seconds, and Hyunjin swallows thickly, “Do you want my actual opinion?”

Hyunjin doesn’t answer. The silence is answer enough.

“You’re in Italy to take a break from everything. You’re there to do things you enjoy, escape reality for a bit, clear your head, rest. You’re there to take care of yourself,” He speaks slowly, softly. The room grows very still around him, save for the relaxing sound of the rain that’s doing very little in quieting down his head right now.

Hyunjin swallows thickly, his eyes focused on Y/N’s smiling face illuminating quietly on his phone screen, his thumb still hovering.

“But, I think if you leave Italy without trying to talk to her, you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life. You wanted to choose her years ago,” Chan exhales softly through the speaker, his fingers twitching in front of him, “And now, nobody’s stopping you except for yourself.”

The bathwater has gone lukewarm, but Y/N still doesn’t move.

Florence at night still feels like it’s holding its breath outside her hotel window. The rain is still tapping lightly against the glass, pulling her more into a euphoric calm that she’s been longing to experience for a while now. It’s quieter than New York in a way that almost feels wrong, like the world forgot to keep moving.

Three days ago, she arrived in Italy alone. Normally traveling alone in a foreign country would terrify her, but Italy has always been on her bucket list and she was in desperate need of a long break. And by long break, she means an entire summer off she barely knew how to use in the first place—an entire summer off from fluorescent ceilings, trauma alerts, and the constant low hum of the ER.

She had told herself this trip was about rest, but rest is a loose concept when your entire nervous system has been wired to anticipate chaos. Even now, immersed in bath water with a shit ton of lavender scented bubbles, her body still feels half-alert, like she’s just waiting on someone to call another code. Yet, instead, the only thing calling her right now is her memory.

And Hyunjin. Of course.

Y/N lets out a sigh, leaning her head back against the porcelain behind her. She hadn’t meant to think about him this much in Florence, but museums do that to her. There’s just too much beauty in one place, and it all leads back to him.

Earlier today, she stood in front of a Renaissance painting for an uncomfortably long time. Not because she was trying to understand the meaning behind the painting, but because it made her think of him. She could picture him standing there, his hands tucked into the pocket of his pants, his head tilted to the side as he studied every single detail. She knew he loved art, and he loved to create his own. And every time he would post one of his works on social media, it had her heart warming instantly.

He was so talented, in every way, shape, and form.

At first, she used to look forward to his posts, even having her notifications on so it would alert her whenever he posted. Seems excessive and a little stalker ish, she knows, but she was holding on to every little thing about him, desperate to connect with him, in some way. Even if that was through his artwork he posted on social media for millions of people to see.

She admits she did that for a few months before convincing herself that it was unhealthy behavior. Constantly pinning after an idol who was completely unattainable was unhealthy behavior. And she had to stop it before she buried herself deep into a flunk she’d never get out of.

She stopped listening to Stray Kids. She stopped outwardly supporting them. She stopped following them on all social media, and even canceled her Bubble subscription. It was all just a constant reminder of what she had with him, which was one, insignificant night where she came around his cock twice and then laid in bed with him afterwards like it meant everything.

And it did mean everything. It still means everything, no matter how hard she tries to convince herself otherwise. That was the problem with Hyunjin. He made everything feel like it mattered more than it should—even silence, even absence.

Y/N shifts slightly in the bath, staring at the condensation slowly sliding down the glass. It’s been four years since that night she spent with him, four years since Hyunjin became real and not a fantasy version of a man she projected meaning onto—just him.

She still remembers thinking this can’t actually be happening. Even now, she can’t believe it had actually happened. Because even then, she had been a fan, a Stay—the kind that knew too many music video details and had once argued online about dance formations like it mattered personally.

Hyunjin had been her ult bias. The word feels childish now, but it was true then. She had known his face before she knew his voice, known his stage presence before she knew how softly he spoke when he wasn’t performing. And then somehow, he had ended up in her world, in her bed, fucking her like he owned her just to tell her he couldn’t choose her.

She didn’t expect him to. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t want him to.

Y/N closes her eyes in the bath, sighing softly. It had messed with her for a while, but she eventually moved on, where she learned to separate emotion from action so effectively that sometimes she worries she might never fully turn it off.

It worked, mostly, but the human brain is not a system that respects change. Hyunjin didn’t stay in the past like she expected him to. He stayed in the quiet moments between shifts, on nights when she got home too late and the apartment felt too big, on subway rides when she had nothing else to think about, and stupidly enough, when someone in passing mentioned k-pop.

That’s when it came back. And even now, lying in a bubble bath in Italy, she finds herself thinking about him again.

Her phone buzzing on the toilet seat beside her makes her jump, knocking her out of her thoughts. She wipes her hands off with the towel hanging up beside her before leaning over, seeing that Kat was currently calling her. She smiles, answering the call and putting it on speakerphone before slouching back into the bathtub.

“Hey.”

“There she is!” Kat’s voice booms through the phone, always so bright and cheery, “My Italian girl. Professional eater of pastries.”

“I had one pastry today,” She rolls her eyes, shifting a little in the bath, the water sloshing around her lightly.

“Yeah, key word, today. Tomorrow you’ll probably have about five more.”

“I think you’re just jealous that you’re not getting any.”

“Very true,” She sighs. Y/N laughs softly, sinking deeper into the bath, the back of her head getting wet. “How are you doing, my girl?”

“Hm, kind of tired right now,” She admits softly, running her hands against her thighs, moving the bubbles around, “I walked like 20k steps today. My feet hurt so fucking bad.”

“I’m so glad I’m not there to massage them for you. Can’t bribe me with Taco Bell tonight.”

“I could fuck up ten cheesy roll-ups right now.”

Kat laughs, and Y/N lets herself relax into the sound, twirling the bubbles around with her fingers. It’s quiet for a second after that, but the silence is comfortable. It’s always comfortable with her. Kat is one of the few people who still makes her feel like her life isn’t split into before and after versions—even if she’s always known too much, even if she’s always been suspiciously good at reading between lines Y/N never explicitly drew.

“Sooo,” She drawls out suddenly, her tone shifting just slightly. Y/N’s body reacts before her brain does, and she narrows her eyes at the phone still sitting on the toilet seat. That tone is never good.

“No.” Y/N says immediately.

“I didn’t even say anything yet!” She quickly defends herself.

“You didn’t have to.”

Kat laughs in disbelief, “You always do that thing where you act like you can predict my thoughts.”

“Because I can.”

Kat sighs on the phone, and Y/N knows that’s whatever is about to come out of her mouth isn’t going to be good. “I’ve been texting Chan today,” She finally admits, and Y/N stills slightly.

“Ooookay,” She replies, a little confused as to why she’s telling her that, “You talk to him most days. Why are you telling me that?”

It’s quiet again, uncomfortable, this time. Too uncomfortable. She’s about to ask the same question again when Kat’s voice stops her.

“He mentioned something interesting.”

She tenses up even more, goosebumps forming on the back of her neck despite the warm water surrounding her, “Okay. That’s super vague and I don’t like it.” She hates it, actually.

“He’s in Europe.” She blurts out suddenly.

“Who?” Y/N asks, still confused and slightly on edge, because why is she making this so dramatic? “Chan? Why are you telling me this, Kat?”

“No, not Chan. Hyunjin.”

She blinks, wondering where this conversation is headed, “Okay. That’s nice for him. Europe’s big, you know?”

“I know geography, thank you very much,” Kat scoffs in fake annoyance, “He’s in Italy. Hyunjin is in Italy.”

Y/N sits up completely in the bath now, the bubbles falling down her chest. Her heart felt like it was about shoot right out of her chest. Hyunjin is in Italy? At the same time that she is?

Kat has known everything without technically knowing anything for four straight years, which is honestly terrifying. Y/N had never explicitly said that her and Hyunjin had hooked up, partly because of the NDA, but mostly because whatever existed between them had always felt strangely sacred, like exposing too much would ruin it completely. But Kat had figured it out anyway, probably because Y/N had cried over one man exactly once in her entire life.

And unfortunately, it was very obvious which man that was.

“And?” She squeaks out, trying to appear unaffected when she’s anything but.

“And nothing,” Kat replies lightly, but there’s something underneath it now, “It’s just… very interesting timing, is all.”

“This is ridiculous,” Y/N laughs out lightly, shaking her head as she forced herself to relax back into the bath.

“Sure.”

“I’m not going to run into him, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Sure.”

“Kat.” She calls her name, an edge to her voice. Her phone suddenly goes off again, and she sighs, leaning over to glance at the screen, fully expecting Kat to be screenshotting her a thread of texts or an article about it or something.

Her entire body goes rigid once her eyes land on the notification displayed across her lock screen.

Instagram. DM request. From hynjinnnn.

For a second, Y/N genuinely thinks she’s imagining it. That exhaustion just finally caught up to her in Italy and her brain decided to hallucinate the one person capable of psychologically ruining her from a whole other continent.

Kat’s still talking through the speaker on her phone, but Y/N isn’t comprehending anything she’s saying, hurriedly clicking on the notification and going straight to his profile, just to confirm it’s actually him.

It is. Of course it is. And somehow, it makes this ten times worse.

Her thumb hovers over the request, then she presses accept before she can overthink it too much. The first message loads instantly.

hyunjin: Hi.

It was simple, too simple. Y/N blinks at the message, once, twice, and then there’s more popping up almost immediately.

hyunjin: This is either a terrible idea or fate, and I genuinely can’t tell

Jeongin…when you first met him, he was shy — always wearing a sweet smile on his face that deepened into the cutest dimples. That is how you remember him and that is what you thought he is always like. You still remember how your own anxiety radiated off you at the thought of meeting your best friend’s friends. However Felix, being his bubbly self, did everything he could to make feel comfortable — comfortable enough that you eventually started coming to their practice from time to time. At first, you didn’t want to get to know them, mostly of the fear that they might not like you, but that fear faded quickly, forgotten the first day you ever spent with them.

Like Felix, they all were nice to you. Some more quiet than the others, but they always intended to make you comfortable and included — from Chan, making you feel included in every conversation, to Minho making sure your plate is always full, to Changbin always putting smile on your face with his stupid jokes, to Hyunjin who you share your love for art with, to Han who secretly shares his sweets with you, to Seungmin whose bickering and nagging keeps you occupied most of the time, but with his and all of your new friends’ doings, it still couldn’t make your attention even a little waver away from him.

He is all the same — quiet, but after some time you have realized that maybe it is just you. With the others he is open, he is more himself and you? You keep your eyes on him. The beginnings were difficult for everyone — always careful with their words and actions, till they finally saw the small weight on your shoulders fall off. You didn’t even realize how truly you were nervous around them, but they actually were just acting careful around you, so they wouldn’t scare you off. Even him, but with him, you have never truly got close enough.

You were staring, awfully so and you wonder how the others didn’t picked up on it yet or even him. Maybe somehow they did, maybe they just didn’t want to embarrass you, or maybe they were just clueless. He was nothing, but kind to you, walking around you slowly like in waiting, but you always did nothing, but stare. He also, not like the others, didn’t touch you — not even a slight push nor a hug. You do know about his small dislike of someone touching him and you do respect it, keeping your hands to yourself, while also imagining what it would feel like to have his on your skin.

You wonder if he maybe did notice your eyes on him, nonmoving, glaring, but after some time you started to notice the small changes between you two. You don’t remember, when it was the first time you truly noticed them, but you do remember the time, when he got you a drink you have requested. You remember how his fingers wrapped around the cold can, leaving small imprints — you remember, when you went to take it, your own fingers didn’t even reach where his once were. Even just this lingering memory makes you shake, air getting stuck in your throat. Such a small gesture — simple, but it meant so much more for you. It also fully started your little obsession, with his hands.

You have never touched them, not even that time, too careful and trying to be respectful and with that you never truly appreciated, how nice his hands are. You for quite a while didn’t even realize yourself how much time you have spent looking at them. You always liked hands, you even had a particular picture of perfect pair of hands and he had them. It is almost one of the first things you notice on a person and not just in a certain way — how they hold a pen, phone or even how they squeeze at you, when you go shake your hand with theirs. However there was also a one way you like them the most — how they would hold you, grip at you or even pinch you. You didn’t want to think about him and his hands in that way, because you thought it was wrong, even pinching yourself every time it crossed your mind. Your skin was tender at the end of the day and even the slight sting couldn’t stop you and at one particular night, when you were on the brink of sleep, you decided to not hold yourself off any longer.

Your mind was already fuzzy, exhausted. You could feel the world around you turning into black spots before your very eyes, but you knew that it mostly wasn’t from the need for sleep. You couldn’t close your eyes, mind swirling, thoughts a mess, before every black spot before you formed into one solid picture. Him — right on top of you, caging you, body pressed against yours. His hands — trailing over your body, gripping, pinching your skin between his fingers. Your breathing has turned into quiet gasps as you followed his imaginary movements with your own hands. Oh, how would they feel running through your hair. How his fingers would pinch lightly at your peeks. How would he use them on you — pushing, scissoring, moving so fast, curling just right, till they reach the one delicious spot inside you and you just know it would be so good. He would know perfectly what to do to you — you would let him do anything and everything to you…You would let him wrap his hands around you, till your skin would turn tender. You would let him wrap them around your neck, your hips, your thighs, everything. You would let him fuck you onto his fingers, cunt leaking all over him, squeezing tightly, because you knew it would be too delicious to stop…You are a mess and a one thing that didn’t help was that he had finally started to feel comfortable around you.

You felt so dirty, yet you couldn’t stop, not when the thought of your hands replaced by his brought you to such ecstasy that it made your eyes roll back into your head. When he for the first time touched you — shivers of delight ran down your spine, world around you swirling. It was so simple again, but it being him was everything, but that. Shock — sparks alighting on the spot and you did nothing, but stare dumply at him, yet again he didn’t seem to notice.

One day, when you were outside in a small garden, it had happened. That night was warm, small wind blowing through your hair as you so desperately tried to put them behind your ear to take a small bite of Minho’s amazing cooking. You were frustrated, huffing lightly as your hand came to wrap around the small strand of hair, that kept getting inside your mouth every time you would try to take a bite. You were almost ready to rip it out of your head, till you felt a small graze of fingers against your temple and like your body knew, you froze. Standing before you, looking down at you, was Jeongin and for a split second you caught his gaze — staring, he was staring right at you…your lips. The food in your spoon almost fell off, watching him slowly and precisely put your stubborn hair behind your ear, before turning back around to the conversion he was having with Hyunjin, like nothing had happened.

Like he didn’t just touch — like he didn’t do something so intimate, right in front of the others, like he didn’t just stare at your lips….

Your appetite didn’t return, it just turned into something way more different. The first time he ever laid his hands on you…Maybe you were thinking too much, but you never have felt such a rush, when Felix did it for example. So simple, yet not. For the rest of that night, like every other, you couldn’t stop looking, thinking, dreaming about those hands. Everything he did with them was something so mesmerizing and you were absolutely smitten. That night is treasured deeply in your heart and how much you didn’t expect him to do it again and again.

You tried to keep your distance, even if it didn’t mean much since you kept looking at how his fingers moved — so elegantly that you truly couldn’t do anything about your staring, but he…he seemed to only move closer and closer to you since than. When he first sat beside you, your body almost froze, like you were certain a small move would make him move away. Maybe you did want that in some way, because his whole presence made your mind shut off — mumbling, muscles spasming yet frozen and you truly wonder how you could even press down on the buttons of the controller you were holding. The game you were playing with Felix was quickly forgotten, his whining and shouting, nothing but a background noice, but one sentence ringed in the air.

“Let me try.”

Your head didn’t turn to him, body so still you didn’t know if you should just fall over so the ground could swallow you whole. He never truly spoke to you and you have to wonder again how is it that he has you wrapped around his finger this much…that’s right his finger, the one touching yours. Your eyes stared down on the controller in your hands as he came to grab it from your grasp, hands momentarily wrapping around yours. His hands — so big and warm were almost galloping yours and you couldn’t fight against the small sigh leaving you. His touch was again so brief that you thought it was just your wild imagination, but it did happened and you did find the last bits of strength to look up at him.

He was smiling, dimples showing seemingly sweet, but something in his eyes flickered briefly, when he trailed his gaze over your features before looking away. You were a mess, truly a mess and there is no other word better to describe yourself. Since than he did so many things with his hands, when he was near you — hands running through his hair, till you got a whiff of his lingering shampoo, his fingers tugging at the zipper of his hoodie, tapping against the glass of his drink, fingers pressing against his lips, when he was deep in thought and every time you looked — every time you noticed how his head would slightly tilt into your direction and every time you looked away in shame. Every time your eyes met his, you naively thought he was only glancing your way, only looking at his new friend — but, oh…how wrong you were.

────

Sweat — rolling down their flushed skin, chests rising in deep, rigid breaths, that you mirror lightly in your own way. You can see the exhaustion dripping off them, heads rolling back, muscles jumping, joints shaking as they slump down to the ground. You don’t know for how long you have been here, how long you have been lost in thought, but it was enough for them to feel their bodies screaming for relief. You tried to helped them the best you could, but you yourself didn’t see why you were even needed here in the practice room. Felix and the others, thought of you as a thing to lean on, a support and what kind be friend would you be not to stay…Even if you were just sitting on the couch watching — watching him.

Your best friend startles you a little, pulling you out of your thoughts as he flops down next to you, huffing, stretching. “Man, I am so tired–“ Felix whines to no one particular. However you do smile a little, when he turns to you to jokingly pout, before his lips part again to blow out puffs of air.

“We should take a break.” Says Chan, nodding at everyone, seemingly exhausted as well. The new comeback was a weight on everyone’s shoulders right now — nonstop practicing, trying to get perfect their dances that were already flawless. You had thought that maybe your presence might distract them somehow. However to them you were a calm presence, a shoulder to lean on. What they didn’t seem to realize, though, is that it was quite the opposite for you. It felt like torture in a sense…watching sweat drip down his face, trailing down his neck, pulling at his thin t-shirt in attempt to cool down a little, hearing the heavy breaths escape him between takes, the deep frown of concentration etched on his face as he danced.

You are more quiet than usual, fidgeting with your own hands, as your eyes travel from him to the others — no use whatsoever, because you still found yourself looking at him as he goes to sit down on the floor. “Want something to eat, before we continue?” Asks Chan, voice breathy and his question is already being answered by series of agreements.

You don’t know what time it is now, but you do feel small specks of exhaustion settling over you too. Still, as always, your mind and heart ignore the rest of your body, too occupied with the view infront of you. Jeongin had you mesmerized by his smooth movements, hair now slightly damp from the hours of practice and you couldn’t help, but wonder how much time had passed to get him like this — body sprawled over the floor, elbows holding his upper body up as he leaned back into the couch. Every time he would take a breath, his dark t-shirt would cling onto his chest. His head is rolled back, giving you a view of his long neck, your eyes following the prominent vein peaking from beneath the thin skin, Adam’s apple bobbing, looking good enough to bite and his hands…they keep twitching, like tapping into the rhythm of the music that already had stopped playing minute ago. You are distracted again, so much you don’t feel or hear the others moving around the room.

“Innie-ah, you coming?” Asks Hyunjin and that makes you turn away from him to the others, who look at their dark haired friend, who is still sitting on the floor. You don’t even realize, that they already moved to go get some food, your eyes meeting Felix’s and you do know he could see the way yours widened at the next words.

“No–“ Says Jeongin and you already feel a lump forming in your throat at the answer as he doesn’t even take a move to go with them. “Just buy me whatever.” He waves his hand lightly, your eyes flickering over the room back to him and you almost crumble, when he meets you in the middle.

You can feel the others now looking at you too in a silent question, which should be simple to answer in a sense, but you can’t help but almost stutter. You will be alone…alone with him, if you don’t go and you don’t know if you want that. No, you feel like your body needs that — feeling his and his presence only caging you in and the thought makes your seemingly exhausted body wake up from any kind of slumber it was in. Your body and heart speaks for you, but your mind screams at your answer.

“I don’t want anything — I will just wait here.“

Everything was said so fast and collected, but your gaze didn’t waver from his, because you physically couldn’t look away. You watch his eyes narrow a little, fingers twitching again and like a fly you follow the movement, almost blacking out at that, because he just saw you. He was you definitely looking and if you hadn’t turned away as if the sight of his hands physically burned you, it might have not look so obvious. You curse at yourself silently in your mind, glancing at the others, who nod at you in acknowledgment, before taking their leave and just as their presence started to fade, you feel his grow heavier — expanding, filling the space around you.

You are choking, thoughts a mess and for the first time you don’t think about anything and you just feel. You don’t hear, but feel the doors closing, the distancing footsteps, the way his breathing levels, the way his muscles stretch, when he goes to take a sip of his water. The way his fingers scrunch up the water bottle…You want to cry, scream, anything, because you don’t even recognize yourself anymore. You have never been so smitten, so mesmerized by someone and the worst part is that he might never know…

Jeongin swallows the last bits of water, before looking at you. Your legs are pushed up to your chest, sitting in the far corner of the couch, like you wanted to make yourself as small as possible. The dimmed light highlights the small frown on your face, watching silently, how you fumble with your fingers. It was quiet, nothing, but the small rustles of fabric from him, when he moves to stretch a little and the small hum of the air conditioning in the room. The small cold breeze does nothing for your heated skin, eyes looking down at nothing in particular, silently counting the seconds. You are pathetic — finally you have him alone with you and you can’t even do anything about it. You don’t even know what would you say…you don’t even know, if you are even capable of ever voicing your words out loud.

You don’t know if it is just you again, who feels the tension in the room, but you do feel how he suddenly turns his attention to you. You don’t move, his stare piercing through your body in a way that it is almost impossible for you to look back at him. You have no shield, no excuse — you can look at him, you are just not sure if you are capable of normally, without your emotions reflecting in your eyes. However you do see him from the corner of your eye stand up, pushing down his sweatpants that had ridden up his long legs. “Want some?” His voice cuts through the thick air and you can’t do anything, but nervously look up at him to know what he is asking.

In his hand is his now empty water bottle, fingers digging into the plastic little deeper than it is necessary. Your eyes meet his only, because he moves his occupied hand to his face to lightly flick off a small drop of sweat running down his jaw. At that you notice how your closed up throat is screaming in thirst, nodding slowly in plea, too scared to even open your mouth to speak. Jeongin mimicks you, before walking up to the small table in the corner of the room. You wonder why you both not just ignore each other, scrolling away on your phones before everyone gets back — you soak in each other’s presence.

You follow his every move, suddenly so confident with his back turned to you, watching muscles rip under his thin t-shirt. Everything goes slow around you, yet too quick at the same time, body twisting a little, when he turns back to you to give you your water. Your muscles spasm, legs falling down the couch in a sound way too loud in the silence of the room and you can’t help, but cringe at everything you are doing right now. You feel exposed under his eyes, even if he is just looking, even if his stare is always seemingly so nerve racking.

Jeongin stops right in front of you, making your frown disappear from your face so quickly you almost have a whiplash. Right before you is your water bottle, his hand wrapped around it — you go grab it slowly and unsurely. You keep your face straight as best as you can, but how can you, when your hand touches his…the reason you are so miserable. His skin is cold, kissed by the dripping water and you follow it, till it falls off the tip of his finger. You don’t know if you are moving so slow just to not crumble, hand lingering on his second too long that it seems intentional. However his touch — before you can melt into the leather couch any further is gone as his hand falls back to his side.

You feel your heart shatter not just from that, but also because you notice how your hands shake a little as you go to take a sip. The cold water though does nothing too ease your inner thirst, not when he is still standing before you…You swallow a little too hard, carefully glancing at him from beneath your lashes and your lips are left parted at the sight of him towering over you. He was always a bit taller than you, but from this angle you are even more intimidated. When did he move so close? You almost feel the material of his sweatpants grazing over you and you don’t move away from it nor into it — you are completely still, staring at him and he does notice the inner battle reflecting in your eyes. There is no use, you don’t have the strength to fight your emotions right now.

“Something wrong?” He asks you, voice smooth as ever, loud around you. You are completely drowning in his presence alone. Your lips go to press against each other, but your mouth is left open again, when you catch him following the movement. Goosebumps rise on your skin, words getting caught in your throat again, so you just decide to just shake your head, even if you are lying. Everything is wrong — with you and your obsession, kink, to the way he stands before you, talks, moves. How does he do it?

Your eyes travel away from him, just for a second to atleast blink, because it seems you can’t even do that, but then shock fills you. The move so quick and smooth you feel your mouth drying again, when he suddenly takes the water from you. Pathetically you want to chase the feel of his skin again, but you only look up at him in bewilderment. The way his fingers grazed over yours leaves a permanent burning sensation, that sends your stomach spinning. It seemed like he used your disbelief of such act to move closer, because your knee touches his leg briefly, but that isn’t the thing that makes you almost fall into unconsciousness.

It is the way he puts the rim of the bottle against his own lips, tongue sticking out for a moment and you visibly shiver at the thought of it being your lips instead. He takes a long sip of water, some of it rolling down to his chin, neck bobbing again. The way he makes everything look so good, should be illegal. Your mind shatter again, because he is drinking from the same bottle as you — he could have take a new one for himself. You knew how he is, when people get close to him, how he slightly pulls away from an unexpected hug, even if there is a smile on his face. He is definitely not smiling now…he is watching you from behind your water, small breath falling from him as he goes to wipe away the spilled water from his pink lips. “Sorry, thirsty–“ He shrugged, like that move didn’t just make you form into a puddle.

“It’s okay.” You mumble so quietly you don’t even hear yourself. You watch him relax his arms by his sides, also noticing, how he holds to bottle just with his fingers. You don’t know where to look right now, small silence between you two, before he so suddenly smiles down at you, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, nor it does last long as he tilts his head at you.

It was a silent question and you answer it by another wave of silence, not really sure what to do — if you want him to leave or let him get even closer to you. The quiet makes it hard for you to breathe, his presence and stare only intensifying it. You can see his own unspoken words circling in his eyes, yours nonblinking so you wouldn’t seem like a bigger mess than you already are. With his head tilted down at you, the move making your heart skip a beat, his lips form into a small frown. “You are always so quiet, when I am around…Did I do something?” Jeongin sounds sad, eyebrows furrowing lightly and you do nothing, but panic a little.

“No!” You say, voice a little too loud, making heat rush to your cheeks. With your now wide eyes you watch his frown deepen even more and you curse yourself for being like this around him.

“Really?“ He says, pausing a little, features softening, but his eyes hardening. “Then why do you keep looking at me?” You pause, breathing becoming short as you stammer to answer. He is only meaning now — not every day, every moment…You are again lying to yourself, but you have to, otherwise you would probably die on the spot. However the way he said it…no.

“I don’t look at you.” That is the most vile lie you have ever said and you are still looking at him, while you said it. You feel the world closing on to you at the thought of him noticing your nonstop staring — that’s it, you are only allowed to look at him from afar. Admire him, thing you will propably never have, but in some way you do wanted him to notice. In some twisted way, you want him to punish you for it…

Jeongin only hums lowly at your answer, gaze leaving yours, like in deep thought, before he twists his body a little to put the bottle onto the table behind him. Why does it feel like he is waiting? Maybe to see if you will crack? What if he did notice and now he thinks you hate him or something? Your mind is running wild, so distracted that you see him moving in the mirrors surrounding you, way before you feel him.

He humms lowly again, before he goes to sit right next to you, body so close to yours you do a double take to make sure you are seeing right. In the mirror you see him looking at you, feeling the hard glare on the side of your face, but you don’t meet it. You are baffled by everything he did so far — so out of character, so different from the smiley Innie you knew. For a moment think you think, that are dreaming. That you are only imagining his side touching yours, feeling every breath he takes. The small spasm of muscle, when he twists his body to face you a little more. However you see it and feel it, everything is happening so fast you can’t do anything about it yet again. His reflection — the smell of his sweat mixed with his perfume sends you into overdrive and when you see him move his right hand to you…you are left speechless again.

You let him, really you can’t even fight it, because you have been thinking about his hands, his touch every night and every day and now…now his hand comes to put your hair behind your ear. It is the same as before, but now his touch seems to hold a meaning, hand lingering on the side of your face. You let him trace his fingers over your jaw, all the way down to your chin, but he doesn’t make you look at him. You only watch him through the mirror, like you are not ready to face this reality of him touching you so intensely. His hair hides his gaze on your lips, but you do feel it, lips parting in silent gasp as he moves his hand back to your hair. Goosebumps rise on your skin, shivering, when he presses over the skin behind your ear, before you see him leaning closer, hot breath fanning over your ear.

“I know.”

That word…that word makes you freeze in your spot, panic, fear and something more striking you, head snapping to face him. He is close — his nose almost touches yours if you wouldn’t back away in on an instinct. Jeongin’s face is calm, hint of a smile on his lips at your state as your mouth keeps closing and opening. “What-“ You are in denial somehow, only to calm yourself down, but is it even possible with him being so close to you? You watch him remove his hand, with watchful eyes and with that his smile only widens, while you feel a lump forming in your throat. His leg is pressed against yours, reminding you of how close he still is to you and you almost whimper at the confident look you are given — he knows.

“You think, I didn’t notice?” His tone isn’t sharp, but it still does make shame and embarrassment reach you, because you have been caught. Jeongin doesn’t seem to be angry nor disappointed and that makes it all too worst, because he must already know the answer to why exactly you have been watching him. “You stare at me every time I turn away — hoping I won’t catch you, but I always do. So tell me…why and what is it you are looking at?”

You are ashamed. He already knows, but he still wants you to say it. His face is so close to yours, hand on the back of the couch and you know that if you would try to move away he will catch you — there is no way out of this. Though you don’t have the strength to admit yourself yet. “Nothing…” You whisper, head low, while he tilts his again.

“Nothing?” He repeats and now you hear a small hint of dissatisfaction.

“I…I am just looking nothing more, I swear-“ Liar — you are a horrible liar.

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”

You have never heard such tone leaving his lips before and you wonder if he is turning angry only because you won’t say it. How can you? You have been caught, but it is not like you were subtle about your actions to begin with. You are embarrassed to be acting like that — so desperate and pathetic, but you can’t control your needs and desires. You feel almost on the brink of tears just from how ashamed you are and you want nothing more than to run and hide, so you do. However you are only quick enough to sit up, hands immediately finding you, pressing you back into the couch and you do gasp out loud at that.

He doesn’t remove his hands from your upper arms, hold strong enough for you to see there is no use trying to escape. His fingers dig into you hard, but it is everything, but painful. You are forced to meet his gaze again and you quiver at the glare he sends you. “Talk, Y/N — can you even do that?” Jeongin leans closer to you, making your back press into the cushion, while he almost hovers over your body.

You don’t know what to do — cry, scream? In embarrassment, pain, but mainly relief, because seeing him like this leaning over your body sends shivers down your spine. “I am sorry–“ You whisper, gasping lightly, when he suddenly releases you from one of his hands to press against the spot next to your head, leather squeaking under his weight.

“Sorry for what exactly?” You almost shake your head, because you don’t particularly know the answer. You are sorry for everything, yet not, because your actions leaded to this. You don’t take your eyes off each other, chests rising so wildly they almost meet. Something then flickers in his eyes, features softening just for you to notice the change. “Sorry, that you don’t talk to me like you do to others?” You blink at the change of tone a little, his words striking small confusion, but you are no fool — he is being manipulative and it is working.

“I was trying to be…respectful.” That word sits heavy on your tongue.

“Respectful…” He repeats after you again. You let him turn you into nothing by a mess beneath his hands, melting at the way his hand travels up your arm. “You and I both know there is nothing respectful between us–“ Your state — wide eyes, lips parted, skin heated — your state makes him melt a little too.

“Us?”

Jeongin is shaking on the inside, because he knew — he wanted you to say it so bad, his grip tightens over your collarbones, thumb pressing into the bone. “Tell me, Y/N. Why are ypu acting so different around me — and don’t tell me you were only looking. I can see you mouthing the words…what do you want?“ It’s a demand, perhaps a plea for you to stop acting innocent.

“I don’t–“

He tsks at you, frown falling over his face, growing frustrated. “Why are you so scared…Did I do something to upset you?” Jeongin says, quietly, sounding so sincere, you stutter.

“No!” It comes out broken, ending in a pathetic whine. You can’t breathe, because it would make you breathe him in too. You realize your state at that…You can’t hide any longer, there was no use even at the start of this. “It’s me…” You confess, not fully, but he sees the way the invisible shield before you crack enough for him to press against you more.

Your legs are pushing against each other, his hand griping on to the cushion next to your head, while the other slides over your arm back again. You watch his eyes turn dark, making you tremble beneath him. Jeongin’s breath mixes with yours, gaze piercing through yours, till it suddenly drifts to your mouth. “Then tell — tell me, what you want and I will give it to you.” His words are like honey, but you hear something, that makes you choke…desperation.

“I can’t–“ You can’t move, breathe, but you do feel him and it is becoming absolutely intoxicating.

“But you do want to–“ His eyes meet yours again, small silence falling between you after that. You don’t answer, because it is so obvious — you need it, want it, you are just not sure if you can handle it. Your body battles with your mind as his hand comes to caress the side of your neck. You whimper, the sound so loud in the silence and so raw you have to close your eyes. His fingers tickle you and your breath turns into gasp, when you feel him blowing air on to the thin skin of your neck. That sound sends sparks of pleasure up his spine. You are too into everything to notice the slight shake in his movements, while his next words bounce off your skin. “Do you want me is that it? Or do you just want my hands?”

You don’t recognize him, he is completely dripping in sin and you are eating every last bit of it. With his lips so close to your skin, your eyes flew back open, staring behind him at the reflection of you two. “I…I want–“ You are speechless, watching him pull away a little to meet your gaze again, heart hammering against your chest as he puts his hands around your back to pull you closer. “I want everything.”

“Then take it.”

You pull your hands away from your chest to press them against his instead, gasping lightly when you feel his heart. “Please–“ Your hands grasp at his t-shirt, making it slide down his chest a little and your simple plea makes him snap.

Jeongin knew — he knew from the beginning. How your lips fell apart every time he would look at you. How your body stilled, every time he was near you and how you stared at his hands and everything he does with them. He firstly thought he was imagining it, thinking maybe, that you are too shy to approach someone new to talk to them, but he quickly realized it — you didn’t want to just talk, you wanted something more, him. The idea corrupted him, the idea of his friend’s best friend being so smitten by him to the point you would fall down to your knees the second he would touch you. Like now — pulling you closer to his heated body, eyes falling to your lips, that were always so delicious to look at. He couldn’t take it anymore, he had to grasp the opportunity to finally talk to you, to feel you. He finally has you, where he wants and he wonders, what would Felix think about the way you are acting like now. So desperate, so his…

The racing thought, the realization that maybe somebody might walk in and caught you two in the act is something he never knew he wanted. His tongue swipes across his lips, mouth so close to yours now, that you feel it grazing you, your small gasp for air being then swallowed by his hungry mouth. It’s hard, all so knowingly desperate and he drinks your small sighs of pleasure with greediness. The feel of his lips finally on yours makes you delirious, letting your body fall onto his, lips pushing harshly against his. It is all spit, tongue and teeth, everything, but sweet, making your mixed drool roll down your chins. His hands roam then, sliding up your back, then down to your hips, before one of them tangles in your hair.

You cry out sharply, when you feel him tug at your roots, head rolling back, the new exposed flesh being immediately warmed by his mouth. Jeongin doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow down, running his lips over you — licking, sucking, nibbling and you let him take it all. “Finally you have said it–“ He mumbles across your skin, groaning into you. “If only you had said it sooner.”

“Jeongin–“ You yelp, when he suddenly bites the side of your neck, the pain quickly melting into pleasure. You panic, suddenly realizing your position and situation — the others can be back at any given moment, you know nothing about how far away they are and also their is a possibility of someone roaming around the building, even at this late hour. If someone wrong sees you, it would get you two into big trouble. However his kisses, touches quickly pull you out of your racing thoughts.

You trust him maybe more than you should, considering that you can feel the slight sting at the side of your neck. The small appearing mark doesn’t seem to stop him, it is completely the opposite. His hand finds the back of your neck, too weak to fight him, making him twist you to his liking. Jeongin licks a long straight line up your neck, before blowing cold air, sending shivers down your spine. You are already shaking, legs pushing against each other a little harder, smearing your already leaking juices. The action is not missed, hands falling to your thighs, pinching at your flesh. You are hot — sweat dripping down the side of your face, breathing fast. His mouth then meets yours again, in a kiss so sweet you can’t help, but whimper.

“Been thinking about your mouth for so long.” The confession makes you fist his t-shirt harder, almost ripping it. You feel yourself clenching over nothing, legs pressing against each other, his hands only increasing the pleasure.

Jeongin pokes his cheek with his tongue, breathing heavily through his nose as he leans away to look at you. Just your look — just your slick, puffy lips and glossy eyes make his cock twitch. The thought of you being so open for him like this, so trusting, is something that maybe he wants to show off. You are a problem…sweet, delicious, addicting, making him act like this, but it seems you are too drunk to even notice the effect you have on him. His fingers tug lightly at the material of your sweatpants, feeling the heat of your skin even through the layers of clothing. He watched you too — he thought about you and how you would look…Under him, on top of him, gasping, whimpering, pleading for more and more, till you are left crying in pleasure and overstimulation. He wondered how you would taste like. How you would sound like, when he would suck at your clit just right — he thought about your mouth and how it would be like to kiss you. How you would wrap your lips around his skin, his cock…His eyes then flicker to the closed doors briefly. He wanted you — all of you, but not right now. However he will give you exactly, what you want and need.

You are left puzzled for a moment, when he suddenly pulls away from you, feet hitting the floor. He sits back, lifting his lower half a little and at that you notice the outline of his cock pressing against his sweats. You bite your lip at the prominent outline of him, watching him spread his legs wider, before he lightly taps his thighs. “Come here–“ He says, leaning back onto the couch. Your desperation makes you not skip a beat, all shame leaving the room from seeing him worked up just like you are. You sit up, crawling your way up to him, but before you can sit, his hands find your hips. “No, like this.” His strength surprises you, letting him turn you around so your back faces him, lifting you up to sit you on his lap. You feel it — his chest rising under you, his breath on the side of your neck as he pushes your hair to the side, his cock pressing right against your ass as you come to sit between his open thighs. His lips find your skin straight away, hands running over your legs and you gasp lightly, when you suddenly lift your gaze to the mirrors infront of you, only finding him watching you the whole time. “I want you to see–“ Jeongin watches your eyes trace over his hands that lightly tweak at your thighs. “What exactly were you imagining?”

He wants you to say it, even if he knows it, even if he feels you shaking under his hands. Your eyes briefly close to savor the feeling, twitching on his lap, making you press your backside harder to his cock. You feel him chasing the feeling, hips lifting you up a little to make you bounce one more time. It makes you gush even more, legs opening and closing, trying to ease the ache between your legs. You are in haze, completely drunk of him and you don’t care about anything but his touch anymore. “Your hands on me…” You say, the confession making his hands stop at the waistband of your sweatpants, fingers grazing over your exposed skin.

His lips press against your skin, biting down a little, making you feel the smile on his face, before you even see it. The sight is so dirty — so everything, captivated by how his hand extends over your lower stomach. “Where?” Jeongin is teasing, getting off your frustration, watching a sweet frown fall on your face .

“Please, just–“ You move around on his lap, the another graze of your bottom half across his cock, making him hiss lightly, before you see him putting one of his hands back in your hair.

Jeongin tugs lightly, your head tilting to your shoulder, meeting his wild gaze in the mirror. “I can give you what you want, you just have to ask nicely.” You whine at that, few tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, glimmering in the soft light in the room.

You are done fighting against the last bits of your self respect, cunt clenching again, when his fingers on you travel lower, till you feel them dipping under your sweats. “Jeongin — I want your fingers, please–“ There is no time to waste if he wants to give you what you want and your sweet voice echoes around him like a siren.

He turns to look down at you, tugging your head so it faces his and he curses at the pout you give him. Your lashes are wet, bottom lip quivering and that action makes his eyes roll into the back of his head. “Fuck–“ He kisses you again, briefly yet messily, moaning with you as his tongue rolls against yours, before he pushes away again, small string of saliva connecting you two. Both of his hands find your waist again, rolling the soft material between his fingers, tugging a little. “Take these off.” Your skips a beat at his words, shaking hands finding his.

You pull your sweatpants off, with his help, lifting yourself up a little and as you kick them off your legs, sitting back again, the feel of his cock is much more intense than before. You gasp as he moves a little so he is right between your cheeks, eyes opening wide at the sheer size of him. Your eyes then meet his again, but now in the mirror, following his line of sight to the dark, wet spot on your underwear. “Look–“ You already are — watching him and his hands traveling down your legs, the feeling making you press against him even more.

His hands are hot and heavy, gripping at the meat of your thighs, when you just a little bit close them at the sight of your juices coating your skin. Your smell is intoxicating, the feel of you trembling just as his finger dips lightly inside your thighs is addicting. Jeongin is staring straight on the wet spot infront of your black panties, low light hitting your slick skin just right. You jerk at the first ever touch of his fingers — they press against you, right over your puffy clit, the small move more than enough to make you moan. “Fuck, you are dripping–“ You whimper in response, looking down at how his fingers are getting coated with your juices.

“More–“ You say, already loosing your mind at how his fingers just keep pressing and not moving. Your hole clenches at the thought his fingers dipping into you. Even though if your tone is whiny, borderline desperate he takes it in a way that makes him snap a little.

“Yeah? Want me to fuck you, with my fingers?” You are still having a whiplash from his sudden change of behavior, but you only lean more into it. You nod wildly, head turning to look at him, but his gaze doesn’t meet yours, because you suddenly feel him tugging at the flimsy material of your underwear. He pulls them to the side, making them snap a little when he releases them. Cold air kisses your slick cunt then, you shivering lightly, shaking, when his fingers just barely graze over you. You don’t even have time too look down, mind to hazy from the quick touch. You don’t even look, when one of his hands come to grip at the side of your neck — not when his other, coated with your juices comes to press against your lips.

“Open.”

Your lips fall apart in a gasp, making it for him all too easier to shove his two fingers inside your mouth, pressing them down at your tongue. Your mouth wraps around his digits instantly, sucking lightly the taste of your sweetness inside your mouth. But then you look — you see how his own eyes gloss over, mouth opening as you lightly bite down at the tips of his fingers. The look you give him makes his other hand travel to the front of your throat, making a loud sound escape you, when he suddenly rips his hand away from your lips, maneuvering your head back to face your reflection as he finally moves to touch you.

His already used hand comes to cup you, his palm digging into you, smearing your wetness all over your skin and his hand. “Soaked–“ Jeongin groans with you, hand on your throat squeezing a little and he can feel how that action makes your clit twitch under his fingers. Small, precise circles are made, him expertly moving the hood of your clit away to touch you more deeply — it is even better than you imagined. He is so mean about it too…Pressing you against his chest, with his hand on your throat, making you watch yourself in the mirror, while he plays with you. His rolls your bud between his fingers, pinching it lightly, the small pain just a low, addicting buzz. Your stomach twists, body burning and jerking over his cock, that he keeps pushing into you.

Your breathing is fast, matching his, eyes on yours reflection instead of looking down and the sight makes your stomach flip. It almost feels forbidden — you feel more exposed. Jeongin swipes his fingers over you, extending them to get every inch of you touched. He traces over your slit, each time his fingers dipping lower and lower, watching you clench over nothing. You feel blood rushing to your face, little bit self conscious of being in such exposing position and him still being clothed, while you are spread wide open, but everything is way too good to say anything about it. “So wet, that I could slide right in–“ You gasp when his ring and middle finger slide lower.

“Please — I want it–“ You keep repeating it, head rolling back to rest on his shoulder, but you only receive a tight squeeze to your throat.

“Then look.” You do — him helping you look back at your reflection, just as his fingers dig deeper into you. There is no resistance, you are so wet you can feel yourself dripping down on the couch. You twitch a little at the sensation, mind swirling. His long fingers slide inside you quick, too quick for you to breathe through it. However only your body knows its limits and you are not even surprised that you only suck them right in.

Jeongin is losing his mind over, how your velvety walls keep closing onto him — so soft and slippery. The thought of him sliding inside you instead is great, hips lifting both of your bodies in hopes he would get closer to your cunt, only making his fingers go deeper in you. You whimper, eyes almost closing at the way the tips of his fingers reach your cervix, palm of his hand grazing over your clit. His other fingers then hook around you, wrist twisting, before he starts to scissor his fingers inside you, searching. “You have touched yourself to this?” He mumbles lowly, lips against your neck. “You wanted this for so long, that you imagined it every time I would just barely touch you–“ No question — he knows.

“Wonder if I can make you squirt–“

A cry leaves you, when he suddenly at that curls his fingers inside you, palm moving against your clit. The idea of you doing that is unfamiliar. You have never done that, you have never even been close to it, but the way his fingers reach so easily to the one gummy spot inside you, tells you he might be able to do it way to easily. “Don’t stop — Jeongin-“ You moan his name, when he starts to trust his fingers inside you, curling them up each time they slide into you.

“You are…so–“ He is a little lost for words. The way your body reacts to his touch — hips lifting to chase his touch, your nails digging into his hand still holding your throat, though not clawing at it for him to stop — your other holding his, that keeps thrusting into you…He is drooling. Wet, nasty sounds fill the room, his fingers increasing on speed, but now more pushing against you so his palms keeps hitting your clit. You are moaning, gasping, music to his ears, however even if he knows that no one can hear you inside this room, he also knows that when you would go close enough to the door you could probably hear the filthy noises coming from you both.

Jeongin’s hand on your throat leaves you, making you gulp in air, but your mouth is only able to take in few breaths, before his hands clasps it. “Shhhh— you don’t want them to hear, right?” Your eyes widen at that, loud moans of pleasure turning into whimpers as you wildly shake your head. “Huh…still I bet you would like that–“ His words makes you clench down on his fingers, tips of them now just curling inside you, palm moving against you.

You are way too easy — you already feel you lower tummy rumbling in the way too familiar pleasure, moaning against his hand as he moves his other to push his thumb against you. You are starting be aware of everything around you — from the way he keeps whispering sweet, nasty nothings into your ear, hot air blowing against your skin. How he moans every time your hips press against his, how you both look like nothing, but sin in the mirror — where are you and what are you doing right now, knowing your friends might be back any minute. Your wildest dreams coming true — him fucking you with his delicious fingers, feeling every vein pressing against you…is all too much for your body to handle.

Then with one particular push of his thumb against your clit, fingers not losing any rhythm, scissoring, curling, you slide a little down on the couch. Your leaking cunt and sweat is making it too easy for you to slide off, but then his hand on your mouth comes to catch you before you could run away from the immense pleasure. He tsks again at your doings, small breath, like a laugh, leaving him, hand grasping your thigh, before hooking it around his. That only makes his fingers go deeper into you, hitting your cervix each time. You are huffing, choking to get air back inside your lungs as you start to shake around him.

Jeongin notices your change way too quickly, turning his head from your reflection to your tear stained face. “Gonna cum, baby?” The nickname makes you whimper pathetically, eyes barely open, but they don’t leave the mirror in fear he would stop. “You don’t even know, how much better I can fuck you, with my cock–“ Your breath hitches, pleading for him not to stop talking, his words just pushing you more and more to the edge. You have never knew, only dreamed about him talking to you like this — the words, even so unexpected, making you run hot, seemingly coming off way more natural than you would have thought.

You are shaking harshly, feeling heat washing over you, mewling at the way he keeps the delicious pace. Your head rolls to the side, teary eyes meeting his and he almost coos at the way you are having such a hard time to keep them open. Your legs keep closing, but he doesn’t let you move away, hand digging into your thigh so deep you know it will mark — and he does want to mark you with purpose, even though he decided that he would probably never let anyone get close enough to see it…though the mark on your neck says otherwise. You feel it — the burn inside you, the way your body keeps chasing the pleasure, face screwing up, mouth open and slick, droll running down your face.

“Fuck – I’m gonna–“ You start to breathe in series of gasps, gaze shooting back to the mirror and then back to him again.

With your sharp moan, Jeongin kisses you again, deep groan leaving the deepest part of his chest as he feels your body stilling. Your vision turns white, your ears ring, head rolling back in ecstasy as your hands fly to grasps his arm to ground your self. The orgasm is so strong it leaves you voiceless, silent scream leaving you, but then…it doesn’t stop — he doesn’t stop. His hand moves, but only so it doesn’t touch your twitching clit, only to start trusting his fingers inside you again with a movement so fast your cry rings in the room. “What are you – Oh, fuck!” You can’t see, your vision is blurry, eyes though still being capable to follow his line of sight.

Jeongin is breathing harshly, tongue poking out of his mouth, watching his fingers disappear inside you. He holds you down the best he can, moaning when he suddenly hears the wet sounds coming from your cunt. Your juices start to splash, your still hot cum leaking out of you and drooling down the couch and you panic at the foreign feeling bubbling inside you. It is too fast, too much — you try to warn him, run away from the intense feeling, but you are too weak to do anything other than tremble on top of him. You are overwhelmed, overstimulation high and you scream as the feeling comes over you. “Come on, just one more — do it, soak my fucking hand–” He silences you for your own good, fingers pushing inside your mouth again to quiet down the loud cry, as the feeling you were trying so hard to hold back wins over.

Before your eyes close, you see yourself squirt around his hand, your juices reaching all the way to the ground and table before you, making you scream in small horror and euphoria. You have never felt something so intense, something so pleasurable that it made you cry. Your body arches off his and Jeongin in his state of awe lets your legs fall shut, his hand still working you up. Everything is a blur for while for you, shaking and quivering, feeling your slick pooling on the couch under you. “Oh, my-“ His hand stills at your small whimper of overstimulation, fingers slowly sliding out of you and he has to push your legs apart to even free his hand.

Jeongin is marveled by the sight before him, eyes drifting over your reflection to you. You are covered in thin sheen of sweat, skin blooming under his touch and he has to stop himself from not going back to give you more. You are spent — done, you almost can’t even move, body slumped weakly against his. His eyes then drift back between your legs, that are finally moving apart, muscles spasming in your legs and exposed tummy. You have soaked everything — your legs, the couch, even the table before you and Jeongin has to bite back a groan at that. He watches you breathe through it, small whimpers still reaching his also ringing ears, however he then decides to lift you off his lap.

You moan in small protest, blinking away your now dried tears, while he stands to grasp the small box of tissues off the marked table. “Here-“ Still a gentleman, even after turning you into a complete mush. He is gentle now, atleast when he goes to wipe away your juices from your body for you, seeing you are too weak to even do it yourself. Your eyes trail over him, watching his eyes clear a little, but there is still that spark, still the reminder of what he did to you just now. You then look down to his still covered cock — he must have adjusted himself, when you weren’t looking, because you can only see just a small imprint of him. The tissues are little too harsh on your sensitive skin, jumping a little at the sensation, but his hand, now softly laying on your naked thigh, calms you.

You are sticky all over, the room hot from the thing you have done, but there is no shame now. Something about the way he cleans you so softly, touch so featherely, eyes bright, you realize that maybe there is something more about to it, then just lust. Though you could not think about it too long, because the silence between you is interrupted, when a loud sound of nearby voices is heard flowing down the hall. “Shit-“ Your eyes widened, scrambling away from him, just as he puts your underwear back over you and you do ignore how it stick to you like a second skin. You don’t look at him, too occupied of grabbing your sweatpants off the floor to notice his lingering stare. You push them up, just as you hear the voices of your friends right outside the door, eyes widening then, when you look to the wet spot next to you. No time to think — your hands push down your wild, messed up hair, pulling them forward, fingers grazing over the sensitive spot on the side of your neck, wiping away the loose spit coating your mouth, before the door opens.

“Hey.” You say, voice scratchy, coughing instantly and you can’t help, but cringe.

The others fill the room, each carrying bags of food that hopefully hides the smell of sex in the room. Your eyes meet Felix’s, who stumbles in last, whose smile still sits on his face, but then gives you a small look of confusion at your tone. “Hey? We brought you something–“ He beams a little as he nears you, while the others come to put the food on the table that thankfully wasn’t the one before you.

The wet spot is hot beside you, a burning reminder of a still fresh memory and you really have hard time to meet the eyes of your best friend at that. “Oh…that’s nice.” You say, eyes drifting away a little, when he suddenly comes to stand before you, eyes full of worry, while yours full of shame and you feel you sick of lying to him.

“Everything good?” He asks you like the sweet friend he is, but his close proximity makes you quiver a little, but you do try to keep the smile on your face, even though you still feel the ghost of his friend’s inside you.

“Yeah-“

“Hey, why is there–“

Your heart stops, head snapping to Hyunjin, who points to the spot next to you, before drifting all the way to the floor and table, while the others come to stand around him. Your mouth opens like a fish, mind crashing to scramble to answer atleast something, when everyone turns to look, but then a voice cuts in to safe you. “Oh, I just spilled some water.” Says Jeongin and no one other than you hears the small tone at the end of his sentence.

Everyone thankfully doesn’t say anything else, but you still don’t meet their eyes, heart beating fast, when you lean over to grab the box of tissues, eyes immediately falling on the rolled up ball of used ones, sitting right on top of the still wet, glass table. “I will clean it.” You say, immediately pulling out multiple of tissues to press them against the wet spot next to you. The light and your shadow thankfully hides the true substance of the liquid and how it slides over the leather.

“Okay, we will just eat on the floor, I guess.” Says someone, you don’t even care who, you only care that Felix and the others go away a little to let you drown in your own embarrassment. You will probably never let anyone sit on the spot ever again — in a twisted, sick way you have now marked it as yours. The rooms fills with chatter and laughter again, plastic bags rustling in the silent panic you are experiencing, before pair of piercing eyes, makes you look up.

the room was quiet, the gentle hum of the air conditioner the only sound breaking the silence between jeongin and you. it was a lazy afternoon, the kind spent lounging around with friends, completely comfortable in each other's space.

jeongin was leaning against the headboard of your bed, casually flipping through a book he had picked up from your nightstand, while you rested your head on the pillow near his knees. out of nowhere, he closed the book, looking down at you with a sudden, unreadable intensity.

"hey," he started, his voice dropping slightly. "can i ask you something ? it's quite personal though —"

you shifted, looking up at him. "yeah, of course. what's up ?"

jeongin hesitated for a fraction of a second, his eyes locking onto yours, slightly wavering as the words left his mouth.

"when was the last time someone ate you out ?"

someone what ?

you must've heard him wrong. he probably meant took you out to eat or whatever other reason your mind could conjure up.

"um... ate me out ? what is that supposed to mean —"

"like... ate your uh — your pussy out ?" he clarified, the words rolling off his tongue with a heavy, sudden weight.

jesus fuckin' christ

in your three entire years of friendship, yang jeongin had never said the word 'pussy'.

and now you were obsessed with the way it rolled off his tongue —

your thighs instinctively clenched together as a fierce blush took over your face. you looked anywhere but at him. how could you, after he said those words that left you reeling ?

"i — i've.... um, never, actually."

"wha — how ?" jeongin trailed off, his brow furrowing in genuine disbelief. "i mean, the guys you've been with..."

"yeah, um... they never offered, and i didn't really want to ask for it," you muttered, your fingers nervously tugging at the fabric of your shorts.

"t-that's.... wow — sorry, it's just that i'm just surprised," he mumbled, fiddling with the book in his hand.

you tilted your head, your heart hammering against your ribs at his response. "surprised ? why ?"

jeongin apparently had it out for you, because the next words that fell into your ear literally shook you to your core (metaphorically and literally).

"cuz you look like you have the sweetest pussy —" he murmured under his breath, completely unaware that the quiet room allowed your ears to catch the last two words.

your breath hitched, the air fighting to escape as the blush burnt hotter on your cheeks.

he thought your pussy was sweet ?

he thought your pussy was sweet ?

your best friend — who you harboured a fat crush on — had been thinking about your pussy ? being sweet ?

oh sorry, correction — sweetest.

jeongin froze, his entire body going rigid the exact moment he realized his unfiltered thought had slipped out loud. he stared at you, his relaxed demeanor instantly melting away as he awaited your reaction with bated breath.

"you think it's sweet ?" you whispered, getting the words out despite the sudden tension in the room making your head spin.

"oh i know baby — with all those grapes and berries you eat ? it's gotta be diabetic —" jeongin huffed, as if stating the most obvious of facts.

the words escaped your lips before you had a opportunity to comprehend them.

"i mean, you can check it for yourself —"

jeongin didn't hesitate.

this was his only chance.

shifting downwards in one fluid motion, he slid between your knees, his warm, strong hands clamping firmly onto your inner thighs to keep you from closing them.

he looked up at you through his dark lashes, his thumbs tracing slow, possessive circles against your skin.

"spread your legs for me, baby," he commanded softly, his voice thick with desire. "and let me show you how it's supposed to feel."

the comment hung heavily in the air, vibrating right down to your core. your mind screamed at you to process the sheer absurdity of the situation — your best friend, the guy who usually argued with you over the last slice of pizza, was currently kneeling between your thighs with a look that promised to ruin you.

oh no — what had you said.

this shouldn't happen.

what if it ruins your friendship ?

you should say no, right ?

but your body was entirely traitorous. under the steady, firm pressure of his palms, your knees slowly parted further, giving him exactly what he had asked for.

jeongin let out a low, ragged breath at your compliance, his thumbs digging just a little deeper into the soft flesh of your inner thighs. his touch did nothing too soothe the throbbing between your thighs.

"look at you," he murmured, his voice a gravelly whisper that sent a violent shiver down your spine. "so compliant for your best friend."

"jeongin, please," you breathed out, your hands coming up to grip the fabric of his shirt, unsure whether you wanted to push him away or pull him closer. "this is... we shouldn't —"

"we absolutely should," he interrupted softly, his gaze never leaving yours as his hands slid upward, hooking under the hem of your shorts. "i'm not letting another day go by with you thinking that what those other guys gave you was enough. you deserve to be worshipped, baby. by me. let me do it."

as he felt you briefly relaxing in his hold, jeongin peeled your shorts down your legs, tossing them onto the floor without a care. you felt entirely bare, completely vulnerable beneath his intense scrutiny, but the sheer hunger burning in his eyes kept you from hiding away.

jeongin leaned in closer, his chest pressing against your knees as he hovered right at the apex of your thighs. the heat radiating from him was intoxicating. he dipped his head, his nose brushing lightly against the lace of your underwear, taking in your scent with a sharp inhale.

you gasped, your hips instinctively jerking upward at the proximity.

"fuck," he groaned against your skin, his hands wrapping securely around your waist to anchor you down. "you smell so good. so fucking sweet, just like i thought."

jeongin looked up through his lashes one last time, locking his dark, blown-out pupils onto yours, making sure you were watching before he caught the edge of your underwear and pulled the fabric aside, completely exposing you to his tongue.

"fuck baby — you're drenched." he was utterly in awe as he stared at your wet pussy, your juices clinging to the folds as if waiting for him to lick them up.

jeongin bent down, maintaining contact with your wavering eyes as his tongue licked up a stripe from bottom to top as his lips came to wrap around your puffy clit. as your juices hit his tastebuds, he audibly groaned into your pussy, the vibrations sending a shiver down your spine.

good fucking heavens

you couldn't fathom you were missing out on this.

"oh fuuuuuck i-innie — nnnnngh — oh my god."

your thighs tightened around his face on your cunt as he flicked the pearly bud, occasionally sucking on it.

yang jeongin ate you like a man starved.

"oh baby you're so sweet — fuck — gonna drown in this pussy."

the sound of his tongue lapping at your wetness was impossibly loud in the quiet room, completely destroying any lingering doubts you had left. his tongue was warm, broad, and wicked, painting long, slow strokes along your dripping slit before his lips clamped right back down onto your clit to suck it into his mouth.

you lost it.

your back arched off the mattress, your fingers burying themselves into his thick hair, instinctively pulling him closer, pressing his face directly against your soaking cunt.

"jeongin — ah, f-fuck, stop joking — nnnngh !" you wailed, your words dissolving into a high-pitched whine as his tongue flicked faster, targeted and ruthless right on your most sensitive spot.

"who's fucking joking ?" jeongin growled against your skin, the vibration of his voice buzzing directly into your clit and making your toes curl. he pulled back just an inch, his face glistening with your juices, his eyes completely wild as he looked up at you. "i told you, didn't i ? sweetest fucking thing i've ever tasted. and i'm cleaning up every single drop."

to prove his point further, he dived back down, his flat tongue burying itself deep into your opening, mimicking a slow, rhythmic thrusting motion that had you sobbing. he was eating you out with a terrifying hunger, his nose pressing hard against your dripping clit with every deep stroke, overstimulating you until your vision went blurry at the edges.

"i'm-i'm gonna cum — hic — innie, i'm gonna—" you gasped, your thighs trembling violently, unable to hold themselves up anymore.

jeongin didn't let you close up. he braced his strong forearms against your inner knees, pinning your legs wide open to take the full brunt of his assault. he knew exactly what he was doing; he could feel the tight walls of your pussy clenching around his tongue, the sudden rush of fresh, hot cream flooding his mouth as your climax rushed to the surface.

"do it, baby," he urged against your wet skin, his speed picking up, his tongue swirling fiercely over your swollen bud while his thumb slid inside you to stretch you open. "cum all over my face. let me taste how much you want me."

the mental image mixed with the brutal, soaking friction was the final blow. you screamed his name, your hips jolting violently against his mouth as a massive wave of an orgasm tore through your body. your pussy bucked against his face, releasing a heavy gush of sweetness that he swallowed down greedily, his tongue still working through your contractions, milking every last drop out of you.

you collapsed back into the pillows, panting heavily, your chest heaving as the aftershocks continued to make your stomach flutter.

jeongin slowly pulled away, sitting back on his heels. he wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, looking down at you with a smug, heavy-lidded stare. his lips were shiny, completely coated in you, and his chest rose and fell with his own ragged breath.

"see ?" he murmured, a satisfied smirk finally breaking across his face. "told you you were diabetic."

kysa's note: been onto this title for a month and finally got down to writing it for jeongin — just cuz he's being a fuckin' tease these days. specially dedicated to my innie biased cuties hehe ❤︎ lene, nini & lottie ❤︎ let me know what you think about it in the comments — xoxo.

klover's club:

@binniebb @joyracha @b4echo @lynnslibrary @zosauce @pineapple-in-a-burgah @starlostjisung @hanjinology @hyunniexmixx @bi-and-panicking @spiidergirlsworld @jiaaabbahng @avchannie @cchapssaltteok @unemployedcarat @hannavkk @selfproclaimedpabo @hyunjinxxs @babythisisourcinema @moch3rii @persassyismysecrettwin @0felixsfreckles0 @mxmx09 @foxiebread @embobema @iownachihuahua @mylovchris @rockstarkkami @pinkyrec @pbynsstuff @gloomydietitian @leeshoeknows @mysticetti @fweakygyatt @rylea08 @mikashisus @matzduo @barbie-girl84 @soldantae @jeekiis @sssoulesss @stryscribbles @minniebitesfr @channlust @hyvnesangel @hanjisdoll @warped-rabbithole @viisstrayy @myen2rude @pineapple-burgah

“Shhh, you can’t let them hear us.” Jeongin’s voice is low in your ear as he fucks his fingers into you. You're sitting on the washer in his and Chan's laundry room, hiding away from your friends while party music blares on the other side of the door.

“Jeongin,” you whine, dragging out the last syllable. “Someone’s gonna come looking.” You bite your lip to stifle a moan as he speeds up his pace.

“Then quit moaning my name like that. Unless you want them to hear what I’m doing to you in here.”

You’d die. You’d actually die of embarrassment if someone walked in here and saw you, skirt hiked up and legs spread wide.

“You’re fucking soaked for me,” he breathes, nipping your earlobe. “Been thinking of this all night, haven’t you?”

“Mhm—,” you try to respond, but he presses three long fingers into you so deep he hits your g-spot, and you bury your face into his shoulder as you cry out.

It’s his fault, really. When you joined the friend group years ago, Chan made all the boys promise they’d never lay a hand on you. Out of respect, he had said. Because you deserved to have friends who didn’t try to sleep with you.

Then Jeongin showed up one day with arms at least three times bigger than they were, body completely toned and sculpted to perfection, and you lost your mind. He flirted harder, touched more, and you gave in to him because look at the man.

That was three months ago, you think.

His fingers slip out of you to give attention to your throbbing clit, tracing soft yet quick circles around the nub. “You’re all puffed up, baby. You need to come so bad.” 

“Innie, please,” you whine again.

He moves your hair behind your shoulder to leave sloppy kisses along your neck. “I’ll tell you what,” he growls in your ear. “If you stay quiet for me, I’ll let you come. How does that sound, pretty girl? You think you can do that for me?”

You nod fervently, clutching onto his shoulders. His movements on your clit are slow, teasing, but you need more.

“But if you’re too loud, I’ll make you come so many times you’re gonna beg me to stop. And then they’ll definitely know what we’re doing in here.”

He has a devilish grin on his face, like the idea of getting caught turns him on even more. The implications are both terrifying and incredibly hot.

You nod your head, not daring to make a sound, and he drops to his knees in front of you, yanking your panties down to your ankles. Your head hits the wall with a soft thunk as you brace yourself with the sides of the machine.

He licks a slow, filthy stripe along your entrance, and you suck in a deep breath to keep from yelling. The wet sounds of his tongue against you make your brain go fuzzy. “You’re gonna make a mess, baby. What am I going to tell Chan-hyung?”

Your hands fly to his hair as he starts to devour you. His tongue laps at your folds with just the right amount of pressure to make you see stars. Your thighs threaten to close, but he keeps his grip on your thighs tight to keep them open.

“Look at me.” The demand makes you jolt, and you snap your eyes open to look down. “Watch me while I eat this pussy. It’s mine right? Tell me it’s mine, pretty girl.”

“I-it’s yours—fuck,” you manage to get out. You hardly recognize your own voice, broken and needy.

His tongue is absolutely relentless, fucking in and out of you as you squirm. You bite down hard on your lip as he flattens his tongue on your clit, but a whine still comes out involuntarily. You slap your hand over your mouth to try to stifle it.

“Quiet,” he warns. “Or I start counting how many times I can make you come.”

His grip on you tightens as he moves his mouth around your sopping cunt. He sucks your clit hard, moving one hand to tease his fingers at your entrance again.

“Innie—fuck,” you whimper, barely above a whisper. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

Your hips grind against his tongue, chasing your high. The heat in your belly is too much, and you’re about to collapse.

“So fucking desperate,” he says as he pulls back. “You’re dripping down my chin.”

He latches onto your clit again while his fingers thrust in and out of you. The pleasure is too much, and you’re so close. A whine slips out before you can stop it, the sounds echoing throughout the small room.

Jeongin stops immediately. You pout at the sudden loss, trying to apologize, but he’s clearly not having it. He braces two hands on either side of you, looming over you on the machine.

“What did I say about being loud?” His eyes are dark, eyebrows raised like he’s waiting for you to answer. “Now I have to ruin you.”

“Jeongin, wait, I—.” You’re cut off by the way he throws your legs over his shoulders, attacking your cunt with a new kind of hunger.

His fingers enter you, angled precisely so he hits your sensitive spot every time. He flicks your clit in the way he knows will make you come, not bothering to move slowly anymore.

You’re trembling, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure. The music still thumps through the walls, but you can hear footsteps and voices right outside the door.

“Come now. While they’re right outside. And don’t you dare scream.”

The pleasure peaks and your orgasm crashes over you, sending your body into a series of shakes and spasms. Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. Your thighs squeeze around his head as he licks you through your high, drawing it out until your legs feel like jelly.

Even after you come down, he gives your cunt one last teasing lick, and you jerk at the oversensitivity. He stands up to kiss you, the taste of you all over his lips and his tongue. 

“Good girl,” he whispers in your ear. “But we’re not done yet, are we? I still have to fuck you properly. And you’re going to stay quiet for that too, aren’t you, baby?”

You nod, unable to speak, as he helps you off the washer and spins you around. He presses you down against the machine, lying your chest flat. The cool metal against your nipples sends a shiver down your spine.

Jeongin flips your skirt up and kicks your legs apart, fitting himself behind you. You hear the clink of his belt and his zipper, and feel the heat slowly coming back to you.

Without warning, he pushes inside you in one thrust of his hips. The stretch burns as he splits you open, your sensitive cunt throbs around him, and you let out a choked cry.

He immediately wraps his hand over your mouth and jerks you upright, pulling you flush against his chest.

“I told you to be quiet,” he growls in your ear, snapping his hips harder. “You wanna cry? I’ll give you something to cry about.”

The washer shakes beneath you as he pounds into you. He sets a punishing pace, one hand still clamped over your mouth while the other bruises your hip. The wet slap of skin against skin is just barely masked by the party on the other side of the door.

“Fuck, you’re clenching so tight,” he moans quietly in your ear. “You love this, don’t you? Getting fucked like a slut while our friends are ten feet away.”

You whimper against his palm, pushing back to meet his thrusts. He angles his hips and hits that perfect spot, making your eyes roll back. You clench around him, and he huffs out a laugh.

“Close again already?” he mocks you. “Go on then, come on my cock.”

He snakes a hand around to rub tight circles on your clit, and it sends you over the edge. You clench your jaw as you come around him, making quiet but pathetic noises behind his hand. He fucks you through your second orgasm, rolling his hips against you and hitting deep inside.

“Good fucking girl—shit,” he groans before pulling out of you.

He spins you back around to face him, gripping your waist and hoisting you back on top of the washer. He steps between your legs and gives you a quick kiss before he whispers in your ear.

“Round three, baby. Think you can take me one more time?”

“Innie, I’m still—”

“Sensitive? Dripping everywhere? Good. That’s exactly how I want you.”

He pulls you forward until your ass is on the edge, spreading your legs for him again. He pushes himself in with one deep stroke, and you grasp his biceps, choking back a moan.

“T-too much,” you whine, the friction against your sensitive walls. 

“You can take it,” Jeongin grunts, snapping his hips harder against you. “Because you’re my good girl, aren’t you?”

You nod frantically, head lolling to the side. The heat has crept its way back into your body, pooling in your lower belly like it has been all night. Your cunt is still fluttering around him, wet and sloppy and throbbing.

“Still haven’t had enough, have you?”

The door handle rattles before you can respond. You both freeze, bracing for someone to come in. You tuck your face into Jeongin’s shoulder, and he kicks his foot up against the door behind him to keep it from opening.

“Hey man, not the bathroom!” Jeongin shouts to prevent whoever it is from coming in.

“Oh, my bad!” A man you don’t know’s voice calls from the other side.

The footsteps move back down the hallway, drowning in the chatter and music in the house, and you let out a sigh. That was fucking close.

The second they’re gone, Jeongin’s back between your legs, hands gripping your waist as you wrap your legs around him. He fills you back up, thick cock sliding in easily, and returns to his previous rhythm.

“Fuck, you’re still so tight,” he says through gritted teeth. “I bet you liked that, didn’t you? Almost getting caught with my cock stuffed inside you.”

You shake your head, denying the accusation. Your cunt pulses around him, betraying you.

He chuckles. “Liar.” He pounds into you faster, the machine creaking below you. “I bet you’d let me keep going if they walked in here. Let them watch me ruin my pretty girl.”

You’re shaking now, tears pricking your eyes, everything hurts so good.

“Give me one more,” he orders, wiping the tears before they can fall. “I wanna feel you soak me.”

His thumb rubs fast circles around your clit, and you feel the tingles shoot through your whole body. He rolls his hips, reaching so deep you can feel him in your throat. 

“That’s it, baby. Let me feel how much you love being used.”

The knot in your belly tightens before it snaps completely, flooding through you. You bite down on his shoulder to keep from crying as you come harder than you ever have. Your legs lock around his waist, shaking violently from the pleasure.

“F-fuck—I’m coming, baby,” he announces, driving in one more time before he’s buried deep inside you and pumping you full of his seed.

You’re both panting, sweaty, and sticky when he finally stills. He pulls out slowly, watching a mixture of yours and his cum leak out of you. He fixes your panties back into place, trapping the liquid inside.

He leans in to kiss your temple, wiping damp strands of hair from your forehead, before he leans close to your ear.

“Get back out there, and try not to let my cum run down your thighs in front of our friends,” he says with a dark smile on his face.

“If you behave, maybe I’ll fuck that pretty face of yours next.”

a/n: i do not know what came over me but i do not regret it one bit :D

the show was still playing from jisung’s laptop, some loud scene getting drowned out by dialogue neither of you had actually listened to in at least twenty minutes.

at some point he’d ended up on top of you, settled between your legs like it had happened by accident.

except, honestly, both of you knew it hadn’t been an accident at all. your makeout sessions always started the same way: slow, distracted, a couple soft laughs in between.

and then jisung completely lost his mind.

you felt him sigh against your mouth the second your hand slipped under his hoodie, barely brushing the warm skin of his waist.

his hips moved against you on instinct and he let out a broken sound, immediately hiding his face in your neck like he was embarrassed with himself the second after.

“fuck…” he whined, the word coming out muffled. “so wet…”

jisung kept rubbing the tip through your soaked folds, hissing every time he accidentally brushed your entrance. his fingers dug into the skin of your hips, feeling his cock throb at the thought of finally being inside you.

you breathed softly, fingers sliding up the back of his neck, playing with his hair while your nails lightly scraped at his skin. and jisung literally trembled on top of you.

you couldn’t stop the amused smile tugging at your lips. because jisung was completely gone. his eyes stayed locked on his own movements, brows furrowed as he whimpered whenever the feeling got too intense.

and still, he kept looking at you with that completely lost expression that always showed up right before he started begging.

“p-please…” he panted, voice shaky, broken. “god- baby… let me in- fuck- i promise i’ll be good…”

his doe eyes looked glossy while he stared at you like he was begging without even realizing it. his cheeks were bright red, glasses crooked, lips swollen from kissing so much he could barely close them properly anymore.

and somehow he was still trying to grind closer again, body trembling, those pathetic little sounds completely ruining your head.

“don’t,” you breathed out, frowning a little when he pushed his hips against you again.

jisung let out a small frustrated sound into your neck.

“but, baby… need you so bad,” he whimpered quietly. “need to be inside you…”

the way he said it almost ruined you too, because jisung was completely out of it.

you shook your head, finding it harder and harder to think with his cock pathetically dragging against your folds and your clit. and don’t even get started on the messy, desperate, wet kisses he kept scattering all over your body.

every touch seemed to go straight through him. he trembled whenever your nails scraped his neck, whimpered against your skin whenever you kissed him too deep, and kept burying his face in your neck every time he got embarrassed by the sounds leaving him.

jisung was inexperienced. out of all his hobbies and obsessions, he’d genuinely never considered the possibility of touching a real woman. or at least, not until you started dating a few months ago.

ever since then, every single makeout session had gotten erotic enough for jisung to cum in his pants from just a couple kisses and touches alone.

it was ridiculously adorable.

and probably the worst part was that he wasn’t even trying to act sexy. jisung just looked like this whenever he got desperate for you. messy, shaky, completely incapable of thinking straight.

“jisung,” you murmured, fingers slowly running through his damp hair. “you’re already struggling.”

he let out another one of those miserable little sounds immediately.

“if we actually have sex,” you continued, “you’re gonna lose your mind.”

and that seemed to completely destroy him.

he buried his face in your neck instantly with a muffled moan, though his hands still wandered over you absentmindedly like he physically couldn’t stop touching you. your waist, your thighs, your tits. any part of you he could hold onto without completely losing it.

his breathing was a warm mess against your skin. his movements clumsy, wandering over you just to feel how soft and warm you were.

you could feel his uneven breaths against your neck, mumbling nonsense and kissing you chaotically. you whimpered when he finally pulled back to look at you with that devoted expression he always got around you.

“maybe…” he swallowed hard, breathless. “maybe just the tip?”

your laugh came out softer than expected. because of course jisung would still try negotiating despite trembling, flushed bright red, barely able to breathe right.

“sweetie, you’re shaking,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “i don’t think you can handle that.”

“i’ll be good,” he insisted quickly, almost stumbling over his own words. “i swear. i’d stop if you want me to- i can do it- i-i can behave… please…”

and honestly, seeing him like this was starting to drive you insane too.

you hooked your legs around his waist, pulling him sharply against you.

jisung let out a small broken whimper that died in his throat, briefly squeezing his eyes shut when he felt your wetness drag against his aching cock.

“you’re lucky i like you,” you murmured. “all right. go on. but if you lose your mind, that’s not my fault”

“oh my god- thank you,” he blurted out almost desperately, peppering quick clumsy kisses all over your face like he had no idea what to do with himself now that you’d actually said yes.

it was impossible not to laugh a little. because just minutes ago he’d been trying to act like he could control himself, and now he looked seconds away from passing out just from having you under him.

his hands trembled slightly, his breathing still completely wrecked. even the way he looked at you seemed too vulnerable for someone who’d spent the last twenty minutes shamelessly begging.

he moved closer slowly, way too focused on every little reaction from you to think straight anymore.

he wrapped a hand around his cock and lined himself up against you eagerly. and the second he pushed the head in, barely two centimeters, finally feeling you around him, his whole body froze completely still.

“oh my god…” he breathed out in a broken whisper.

his eyes shut immediately and one hand gripped your thigh like he needed something to hold onto. you could feel him shaking above you, breathing like he’d just run miles.

“shit… okay. okay, i’m good…” he tried to say, though he sounded completely destroyed by the end of it.

the smile that spread across your lips probably made everything worse. because the second he looked at you again and saw that pleased expression on your face, something inside him seemed to snap for good.

jisung let out another embarrassed little moan and buried his face in your neck instantly, like he was trying to survive the feeling.

“you’re doing good…” you whispered, running a hand slowly down his back.

and honestly, that didn’t help either.

you could feel him trying to control himself. the way he kept taking deep breaths, the way he slowly pulled himself back out of you, clearly losing his mind from how overwhelming it felt. he’d push in just a little before stopping again, like he was trying to buy himself time before completely losing it.

he dragged against your wet folds again, whining audibly every time he felt how tightly you took him. he could feel the urge to sink fully into you, make you moan his name, fill you completely.

“i-i’m behaving,” he murmured with a weak smile that disappeared immediately after another shaky gasp slipped out. “see?”

he started this tiny little pattern that was driving him straight to insanity. teasing your folds, brushing your entrance, slowly pushing in until his head spun from the pleasure, then pulling out before he embarrassed himself by cumming too fast.

you could practically see the superhuman effort in his movements, trembling every time he got a little deeper. until eventually he let out a frustrated whine, one that sounded genuinely desperate.

and that’s when you knew he’d already lost the fight with himself.

unable to take it anymore, jisung immediately dug his fingers into your thighs and slammed fully into you in one motion, stuffing you completely. one clumsy, needy thrust, completely out of control.

the sound he let out this time was almost miserable.

and he probably could’ve cum right there from how soft, wet, tight, and warm you felt around him. it felt unbelievably good. your cunt pressed against his hips, taking him completely with no problem at all.

it felt so good that the only thing he could think to do was grip your thighs tightly just so he could stay buried inside you until he got used to how tight you were.

“ji-jisung? you- ah…” you gasped, voice breaking in surprise.

but jisung wasn’t really listening anymore. or at least not fully.

something in his expression changed instantly. that desperate little look he always got whenever you were too close, whenever you touched him just a little too much.

and then he started moving again. started thrusting in and out in this messy, hungry rhythm like he was trying to get even closer to you somehow, even though there wasn’t any possible space left between you anymore.

his broken moans and pathetic whimpers every time his tip hit your cervix mercilessly were loud enough to make you worry someone might hear. you watched his tongue fall out slightly as he panted, feeling you squeeze him impossibly tight.

“oh shit- baby, you’re so fucking tight i-” a whine interrupted him, sounding completely wrecked. “i-i think m’gonna come already. god- i-i’m sorry… i didn’t mean to- fuck…”

jisung didn’t even know where to put his hands anymore. one second he was gripping your waist and the next he was touching you everywhere like he needed to feel every inch of you before completely losing his mind.

“oh fuck- you were totally right. you feel so fucking good- mmmh- i’m already losing it…”

you literally couldn’t respond. every thrust was so deep and overwhelming that all you could do was moan incoherently, nails digging into his back for support.

jisung moved erratically against you, pleasure crashing into him nonstop. he couldn’t think anymore. he was completely buried between your legs. your body twisted beneath him, trembling and taking him fully. his hands found your breasts again, squeezing and kneading desperately, not even knowing where to start.

completely ruined.

“mmmh- you feel- fuck- you feel even better than i thought, jagi…” he sighed against your hot skin, voice completely gone.

his glasses were fogged up now. hair stuck to his forehead, lips red and swollen from all the desperate kisses he kept leaving on your neck, your tits, any skin he could reach.

and still, he kept looking at you with that devastated expression, like he couldn’t believe you were really letting him do this.

he lowered his head and pressed it between your breasts. leaving a trail of open-mouthed, wet, sucking kisses. your back arched the second you felt his hot breath against your sensitive nipples.

it felt like heaven. jisung genuinely thought nothing had ever felt as good as the moans spilling out of you with every touch, lick, and kiss he left on your skin.

“fuck- i think i’m addicted to you…” he let out between shaky breaths. “too much, too much. you’re milking me so good…”

the confession came out so pathetic and sincere that your heart literally skipped a beat.

jisung needed more. he needed everything from you. your moans and shaky breaths in his ear were pushing him right to the edge. your legs trembled, thighs hugging his body tightly, trying to pull him deeper.

jisung felt like he could do this for hours and hours. except, unfortunately, his body had completely different plans.

breathing was getting harder and harder. keeping a steady rhythm without fully losing his mind was becoming impossible. the heat in his stomach was unbearable and he knew it.

he knew it from the way his movements were getting sloppier, from how his hands trembled against your body, from how he couldn’t stop staring at you.

your broken breaths only made everything worse. every tiny sound you let out had jisung reacting immediately with a gasp, an embarrassed moan, his hips speeding up, getting sloppier before he could stop himself.

“oh my god…” he whispered in a broken breath, desperately searching for your lips.

his thrusts were deep, rough, but inexperienced. he just wanted to stay completely inside you, fucking you mercilessly until he could empty every last drop into you.

you moaned against his lips with every thrust, desperate, whiny from the feeling, and jisung could feel every sound running straight through his body and directly into his cock.

then he looked down to where your bodies met and felt the heat in his stomach become unbearable. he watched the spot where his cock disappeared into you over and over again, the way your thighs were turning pinker from how relentlessly he kept slamming into you.

“s-shit- you’re perfect. made for me. taking me so good- fuck-” he threw his head back with a whine.

his words mixed together with sloppy kisses and uneven breaths. he didn’t even seem aware of what he was saying anymore. he was just talking, completely out of his mind, like the pleasure was ripping every thought straight out of his chest.

“ji- m’so close…” you panted, your voice broken.

and those words made his cock twitch inside you. he needed to make you cum on his cock while he fucked you. he wanted to push you right to that point where all you could do was cry out his name.

“that’s it- ah… wanna hear you coming, baby… please…” he whimpered against your lips.

the kiss turned messy, chaotic. jisung couldn’t stop, even when you started writhing beneath him from the huge wave of pleasure wrapping around you. jisung let out the most wrecked sound you’d heard from him all night.

and with a couple broken whines and incoherent moans, you came violently. your body tensed, your cunt clenching around him so tightly that jisung stopped completely after hitting your cervix one more time, freezing in place.

your head fell back and your whole body trembled. you could feel jisung’s hands roaming all over you, his devoted, excited gaze fixed on your body.

he’d done all of that. made you feel so good you couldn’t stop moaning his name until the very end. it was like making you cum was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

“baby- f-fuck… i’m gonna-!”

all of it made his cock ache, throbbing harder and harder until the orgasm hit when he felt you squeeze him suffocatingly tight one more time.

nothing had ever felt this good, this deep, this overwhelming. there was nothing left for him to do except chase it. he was moaning and whining like every nerve in his body was about to explode.

he came so fast he didn’t even have time to warn you before it happened. he finished completely inside you, cock twitching while he emptied every last drop.

it lasted longer than any time he’d ever touched himself thinking about you.

his cock wouldn’t stop pulsing and spilling, feeling his release slide out of you and onto the sheets beneath. he hissed and moaned, babbling praise that made you stare at him in shock, cheeks burning red while you smiled so hard at how utterly destroyed he looked.

exhaustion finally hit him, making him collapse beside you after carefully pulling out. he immediately wrapped his arms around you tightly, leaving kisses all over your face. all you could do was hum softly and melt into his arms, your tired breathing blending together.

“d-did i… d-did i do good? did you like it?” he asked, searching your eyes for reassurance. “i know i said i could control myself but- you’re… you felt so-” his voice came out fast, nervous.

“jisung,” you murmured, cutting off his rambling. “it was good. more than good.”

you could literally see his eyes light up before he started peppering even more kisses across your face. you could feel his heart-shaped smile against your skin through every soft kiss, relaxed like he’d been waiting for your approval since the second everything started spiraling out of control.

“really?” he asked quietly.

you nodded slightly and that alone was enough to ruin him all over again.

“fuck,” he laughed tiredly before burying his face in your neck. “i was so nervous.”

your laugh vibrated against his chest and jisung immediately pressed another absentminded kiss under your jaw. then another. and another, like he physically couldn’t stop.

“you were right, though,” he murmured against your skin.

“about what?”

“if we actually did it…” he paused for a second, sighing tiredly. “i kinda lost my mind.”

he let out another soft laugh before lifting his head just enough to look at you. his hair was messy, lips swollen, eyes still half-lidded with exhaustion. completely ruined.

and somehow, he was still looking at you like you were his favorite thing in the world.

“What are you working on, hyung?” He asked, pressing in closer to Chan.

Chan elbows him gently in the stomach, pushing him away.

“None of your business, Ayen-ah. Let me work in peace.”

He doesn’t even look away from his computer for a second to say it, and Jeongin gives you an incredulous look, like he’s on a sitcom and you’re the camera. You shrug at him, content to hole up on the couch and wait for your boyfriend to be done. The two of you didn’t really have any plans today, and you were happy to just share the space with him today. 

Jeongin leans in closer despite Chan’s warning, and Chan huffs, elbowing him a little harder.

“I’m serious Ayen-ah.”

“If it’s work-related, then I should be allowed to know!” He whines, draping himself across Chan’s back, “We work together. Your work is probably going to affect me, don’t I get a say?”

Chan groans, leaning back into Jeongin. “Jeongin, I swear to god-”

“You’re such a control freak,” Jeongin says with a laugh, pushing off of him, “I was messing around with you, but you took me seriously. Hyung, does Channie hyung ever take a break from having a stick up his-yah!”

Chan swats at him before he can finish his sentence, and he sticks his tongue out at him, settling into the couch next to you.

“Hyung, Channie hyung is being mean to me.” Jeongin says with a pout.

“How rude,” you say, pulling the younger boy closer to you dramatically, eyes twinkling, “You’re just trying to help.”

Chan rolls his eyes at your antics, but goes back to typing. You and Jeongin put something quiet on the TV and curl up, Jeongin’s appetite to mess with Chan successfully fulfilled now that he’s got you on his side.

But your brain is still caught up on the comment Jeongin made. It was little, and it probably was already out of his head, but you couldn’t stop thinking about it. You suppose it makes sense that the other members saw Chan as a control freak, with how in charge he always has to be in front of them. You also suppose that’s why he’s such a good boy for you in bed, because it’s his chance to let go and just not think for a while.

You also suppose you can use this to your advantage.

You wonder how much it would take for him to break in front of his bandmates. How much pressure you would have to put him under to see that leader facade of his crack and shatter, for his friends to catch a glimpse of the Chan you got to see all the time. 

You bring it up to him later, once he’s off of his laptop and Jeongin, who had already gotten bored of the show that he put on, wandered back into his room. You’re splayed across the couch, Chan resting between your legs with his head on your chest. He’s a comforting weight on top of you, and you’re watching some movie you’re only half paying attention to. You’ve been fighting a boner since the idea of messing with Chan in front of his members started to swirl in your head, and now, when you have a sleepy Chan resting peacefully on your chest, was not the time to get hard.

It was the time, however, to mess with him just a little bit.

“Hey, jagiya,” you murmur, voice low and thick, “Can I ask you a question?”

“You already did,” he says, making you huff, “Also, just ask it. What are you asking me for?”

“It’s a sex question.”

“Ah. Ask anyways.” He says that, but there’s red tinging his ears already, like he’s flustered that you’re even thinking something like that right now.

“Would you wear a toy out in public?”

His head jumps up, the crown of it almost smacking your chin as he does. He’s giving you a wide-eyed look, completely bewildered, mouth opening and closing uselessly as he blinks up at you. You shoot him a look back, unamused.

“You told me to just ask-”

“I didn’t think it would be like-would be like…that.” He hisses, pink dusting his cheeks. “Why’re you even thinking about something like that??”

“Ayen-ah called you a control freak earlier,” you said, holding eye contact just to watch him fluster more, “It made me think about using a vibrator on you in front of your members and seeing if you could handle it. See how much of a ‘control freak’ you really are.”

“Jagi!” he whisper-yells, face flushed.

He buries his face back into your chest, fists curling into your hoodie to try and ground himself. Unfortunately for him, his crotch is pressed right against your thigh in this position, and you can feel the half-chub he’s already sporting at the way you’re talking to him. He shifts his hips a bit, but it’s not subtle, and his cock twitches against your thigh.

You press your thigh up, flexing it, grinning when he chokes back a whimper into a keen. It’s high and in his throat, and it makes you sliiiiide a hand down his back and squeeze at his ass. You use your grip on him to press him into the meat of your thigh, and he squirms in your grasp, caught between pushing you away and pressing you closer.

“Like the idea?” You tease, laugh rumbling in your chest when his only response is to whine into your neck.

“C’mon, jagi, use your words,” you faux pout, tone just a little mean, “You’re in control, right? My big boy, all in control and humping my thigh like a dog.”

“Stop,” he whines, but his face comes up so that he can glare at you weakly, “‘nd I like it a little too much. It’s risky, we can’t.”

“We can,” you murmur, slowing his movements to just a grind, “You just have to be good for me and keep quiet. I know you can do it.”

He lets out a shaky exhale, body betraying him as he humps into your thigh harder. You ignore the throbbing of your own erection, focusing now on making him come on your thigh. A few whispered praises and a properly timed flex of your thigh has him tipping over the edge, eyes rolling back and mouth parting in the prettiest ‘o’ you’ve ever seen. No sounds escape his mouth, trapped in his throat as his hips twitch weakly against you.

He presses himself back into you, sticky mess leaking through his pants and onto yours.

“Order one.” he says, voice muffled in your neck.

You blink, shifting to try and look at him. “What?”

“The…you know.” he says, eyes averted. It clicks, and you snort, rolling your eyes at him for trying to be discreet when he’s asking you to put a vibrator in his ass in the foreseeable future.

“Let’s get cleaned up, then you can help me choose one, how about that? Sound good, jagi?” You say, shifting the two of you until you’re upright.

“Okay. Okay.” He responds, mostly to himself.

That was three weeks ago. A week and a half ago, the vibrator showed up in a discreet brown box on your door. The one you had chosen was a pink and round, a little string with a ring on the end tailing off of it for easy removal.

“Like a tampon,” you had murmured, earning you a smack to the back of the head and a glare.

It bluetoothed to a tiny remote, equally as pink as its counterpart. The dial had ten options, which you had turned through on your own just to make sure it wasn’t too intense - the thrill of getting caught was what turned Chan on, but actually getting caught would ruin the scene (and his trust in you). It was perfect though, and when the boys had a free slot in their schedule, you had suggested a group dinner.

“Only if I get to tag along, though!” You had said, to which Jisung had informed you it “wouldn’t be a party without you, hyung” (whatever that means).

You and Chan had set up a nonverbal safeword, plus Chan could text you if he needed to slow down, but not desperately. You had stressed to him over and over that this scene was completely in his hands, not yours.

“It’s about your pleasure, sweet thing, not mine,” you reminded him, “We stop at any point and I will still be proud of you. Promise me you’ll use your word or your signal if it gets too much or you’re uncomfortable, okay?”

He had huffed and puffed, complaining about how he’s “not made of glass”, but he conceded that he would let you know how he’s feeling the whole time.

Now it was the afternoon before, and you had Chan naked and spread on your bed, legs hanging off the edge of the bed. He’s on his stomach, looking over his shoulder to watch you as you grab the lube and the toy, placing it gently on the bed next to him.

“Still sure about this, jagi?” you ask, reaching a hand to rub circles into his hip, “If you don’t want to-”

“Just put it in me already!” he whines out, head falling forward to be buried in the sheets.

“Been thinkin’ about it all week. C’mon, please? Need it, need you to make me a mess in front of everyone.”

“Yeah?” you say, pleasantly surprised by his eagerness and his open mouth. You file the fact that he wants his other members to know away for a later day - while the idea of exposing him tonight was enticing, this was a scene between the two of you. You had thought about asking him to bring other people in, to show off just how good of a boy he can be to someone else, but you had to keep yourself composed today. Another day, you think, I’ll talk to him about inviting one of them in, just to watch.

For now, you pop open the bottle of lube in your hands, pouring a generous amount into your hand. You swirl it between your fingers to warm it up a bit before tracing Chan’s rim with your pointer finger, coating it in lube. He shivers, body trying to arch towards you. He clenches around nothing, butt flexing as you tease his entrance. When you continue to tease, pressing just the tip of your finger in and nothing more, he whines, long and drawn out.

“I’ve been good, jagi, just-just put it in already! Please?”

You sigh, but comply, slipping your lubed finger easily into his waiting hole.

“I just like to see you beg, jagi, you know that.” You say, curling your finger so that you catch his prostate on the drag out.

He hisses, back arching, and you press a second finger in, scissoring your fingers a bit to make sure he’s ready to take the toy. It’s small - basically a bullet vibrator on a string - but you don’t want this to be uncomfortable for him at all, so you take a little time to make sure he’s stretched just right. You don’t need more than two fingers, the toy too small for much else, and soon you’re reaching for the little pink thing. 

You don’t lube it up, instead pressing it in next to your still wet fingers. You’ve coated his walls enough that it slides in with ease, stretching him open so well with your fingers still inside of him. The sound he makes is pathetic, and it makes you want to make him come apart now, use your fingers to press the toy right to his prostate and crank it up slowly until he falls apart all over your sheets. 

Unfortunately for both of you, you have a dinner to get to, and he needs to be on edge. You woefully slide your fingers out, a slick pop! ringing out as they pull out of his entrance. He whimpers, hole clenching around nothing, hips pressing once down into the sheets before he catches himself and stops them. His fists flex and unflex, gripping at the sheets to ground himself enough to get up and get ready for dinner. You smack his ass lightly once with your hand not covered in lube, and he glares back at you. You just stick your tongue out, backing off to go wash your hands and get yourself ready, too.

Getting ready goes smoothly, and while you consider for a moment turning the dial to ‘1’ while Chan is changing, you hold back. The longer it sits in him, comfortable and silent, the more he’ll forget about it, which makes cranking the toy up even more fun. You can’t wait to see his face when he’s sitting down next to his friends, trying to act normal, and you slide the dial up.

“You ready?” Chan says, peeking into the room.

You’re changed, though you do have to adjust your loose pants to make sure that your chub isn’t noticeable. The hardest part of this for you was going to be keeping your own body under control while you watch Chan try and keep himself quiet.

“Ready!” you chirp, double-checking that the little pink remote and small bottle of lube are still hiding in your pocket.

The lube was more you being hopeful that Chan would let you fuck him in the car afterwards, when he’s all worked up and whiny and pliant for you. You love when Chan pushes back and fights your control, but you love it even more when he’s broken down, mind and body all yours to play with and make feel good. And anyways, it never hurts to have on you, just in case.

You drive the two of you to the venue in tense silence. The weight of words sit heavy on both of your tongues, so heavy both of you choose to say nothing at all, instead letting the tension brew and fester. You caught him shifting nervously in his seat a couple of times out of the corner of your eyes, throwing glances at you whenever your hand shifted even a little. You know what he’s thinking about, sure the shape of the vibrator is shifting inside of him every time you hit a bump in the road, hopeful eyes pleading for more but too ashamed to ask for it. 

The rest of the drive is a blur, and the walk into the restaurant is, too. Chan informed you earlier that they had rented a private booth in the back of the restaurant for privacy, and you let him guide the two of you to a back entrance, where someone is waiting to let the two of you in. 

Everyone but Jeongin is there, which is to be expected, because he’s never on time without Chan nagging him out the door. He also says there’s an “art” to being “fashionably late”, so you figure that he’ll pull in 20 minutes late and have to bashfully order after everyone else already has.

You slide in across from Minho, who just gives you a small nod as a greeting and continues to chat with Changbin. Jisung greets you both excitedly, mouth already running a mile a minute. You catch that he’s happy the two of you made it, but everything else is drowned out in the flow of conversation as everyone else greets the two of you. You settle in, and pick through the menu, fingers coming down below the table to squeeze Chan’s thigh once. He stiffens a little, playing it off by reaching for his own menu and trying to talk with Felix, who’s on his left.

You let things roll out for now, watching the tension in Chan’s shoulder melt into something calmer. Your finger circles the dial in your pocket, watching him intently for a moment as he speaks with Felix, but you wait. You’ll have plenty of chances to mess with him later, you remind yourself, settling in to jump into a conversation with Minho.

The server comes to take orders just as Jeongin comes in, trying (and failing) to seem suave as he plops down next to Felix. He flips the menu open and tells them to come to him last, eyes frantically scanning the menu. You stifle a laugh, casually ordering as you peer at Chan next to you. You wait until he starts to order, mouth opening to talk to the server, and you let your hand drift to your pocket and click the dial up, just once.

The restaurant is too loud for you to hear the quiet buzz of the vibrator nestled inside of him, but you can hear the little squeak that he lets out, and you can see the look he sends you. It’s small, unnoticeable if you weren’t watching his face closely, but you, ever observant, have to bite back a smile. You catch Minho furrowing his eyebrows at the way Chan’s voice cracked, but he doesn’t seem to catch on to what’s happening. Only after the server to the next person does Chan kick you under the table, eyes not meeting yours when you glance over. You bite your tongue again, corners of your mouth curling, but don’t give in to him. 

You instead click it up one more setting to watch him squirm, thighs tensing under the table as he shifts uncomfortably. The shifting makes the vibrator inside of him shift too, and he lets out a little breathy sound when it does, lower lip catching between his teeth.

Again, you catch Minho’s eyes drifting over across the table, but he doesn’t even look your way, clearly oblivious to why Chan is squirming, just aware that he is acting strange. You peer around Chan to ask Felix a question, dipping into easy conversation with him. Chan, unamused that you’re just leaving him like this, kicks at your ankle again, this time with more force. You drag your hand down his arm and squeeze the meat of his thigh, higher up than you should - a warning. He recognizes this, but you don’t miss the way his eyes narrow in defiance. He doesn’t do anything yet, though, so you leave it for now.

You leave it there for now, just up to the second setting, a low buzz inside of him that you know will be just present enough for him to feel, but not enough for him to actually get off. Even if he were to shift around until the vibe was pressed right to his prostrate, it wouldn’t be enough, not for him to come, anyways. Enough to drag him slowly towards the edge, but not fast enough to ever tip him over it.

Chan’s jaw has been clenching and unclenching since you turned the dial to two, doing everything in his power to keep his body stock still without making the tension in his body obvious. He’s doing a good job of it, too, tension curling in his fists and jaw to keep it from spreading anywhere else. He’s talking to Changbin about some song he’s working on right now, laughing quietly when Changbin whines about not having heard it yet.

“You know how Channie hyung is,” Jisung says, eyes glinting, “Such a control freak. We won’t be hearing that song until he’s heard it so many times he’s sick of it.”

“Hey I’m not-”

He’s cut off by you bumping the buzzing up not one level, but two. The vibrator is now on the fourth setting, teetering on high enough of a level for Chan to let a real moan slip out. Instead, a shiver wracks his body, and his hand shakes as he reaches for his water. He covers whatever sound was clawing at his throat with a cough, choked and clipped, taking a long swig of water. Some of it dribbles down his chin, hands too unsteady to guide the glass properly to his mouth, and you don’t hide your grin this time.

“You okay?” You ask, voice dripping with faux concern.

“Fine,” he hisses, biting the inside of his cheek, “Just took a weird breath. ‘m fine.”

This time, you meet Minho’s eyes across the table, who’s glancing between the two of you curiously. When you make eye contact, you just raise an eyebrow at him, tilting your head ever so slightly. He narrows his eyes at you, and he glances at your hands, suspicious, but both of them are above the table now. He huffs, sending you a look, but doesn’t say anything.

Chan’s having trouble, now - body unable to resist rocking into the vibrations. He tries not to, but every once and a while his hips twitch and he presses back ever so slightly, like he’s chasing a feeling. Felix isn’t paying any attention, too focused on the conversation he’s having with Jeongin to look right and see that his hyung is straining in his pants.

It’s obvious now, and he’s lucky he wore dark pants, because you know for a fact that, if you pressed your hand down on the front of his pants, there would be a wet spot there. Chan’s always been leaky, but you can tell from the flush clinging to his cheeks and the sweat beading down the back of his neck that this scenario was turning him on even more than normal.

At some point, his hand finds yours, fingers intertwining over the table. Jeongin and Hyunjin jokingly gag, and Changbin makes a comment about “young love”, to which Seungmin retorts with “old love, actually”, which sends the table into a fit.

A perfect chance for you to click the vibrator up another setting.

Chan lets out a real sound this time, and even though it’s quiet, you know he’s aware of it by the way his eyes scan the table. Once again, ever-observant Minho is already watching him, and when Chan’s eyes meet his, Minho gives him a once over. Like he knows. Chan isn’t sure that Minho actually knows the details of what’s going on, but Minho clearly knows something more than he should. There’s something predatory in his gaze, and it makes Chan feel small, and, embarrassingly, even more turned on than he was before.

You lean over, mouth so close your breath tickles his ear.

“Looks like Minho hyung knows something, hm? You like that? Like that Minho knows you’re being naughty at dinner, right in front of him? In front of everyone?”

Chan has to squeeze himself through his pants, left hand slipping to his front, to keep himself from coming right then and there. The point of this was that he was good, that he wouldn’t get caught, so why was it so hot that someone knew? That someone did see what he was doing?

“You okay, Channie hyung?” Minho’s voice rings out, cutting through the rest of the conversation easily.

Suddenly there’s seven sets of eyes (eight, including yours) on him. There’s varying levels of concern on their faces, some mixed with curiosity. You can’t help it - you click it up one more setting. His mouth falls open, but no sound comes out. You watch his entire body tense as he lets out a shuddering breath, trying to pull himself together enough to speak.

“You don’t look so good,” Minho pushes, rabbit teeth gleaming as he gives Chan a half-smirk, “Are you okay?”

“I-hah-I’m fine,” he responds through clenched teeth, glassy eyes locking with Minho’s, “Just-my stomach’s a little u-upset. Has been all day. But I’m okay!”

His tone is too cheery there at the end, forced and fake, and you watch the way all of his dongsaengs collectively started to retort.

“You’re so flushed, Channie hyung, are you sure you aren’t sick?” Felix says, ever the angel, leaning forward to press the back of his hand to Chan’s forehead.

“Yah! Such a control freak, never let us take care of you,” Changbin huffs, pointing an accusing finger at Chan, “Really on your dongsaengs every once and a while, huh?”

“I’m fine, r-really,” Chan says, and you click the dial up to seven.

He makes a sound that would have been a wail if he hadn’t choked it back, eyes pinching shut and face scrunching up. This immediately makes everyone jump to retort again, and he just lets his head fall to the table, fingers still tangled in your hand squeezing so hard it hurts.

He stays there for a second, head swirling as every movement he makes shifts the vibrator against his sweet spot, forcing him to bite his tongue so hard to hold back his sounds that he’s drawing blood. All he can taste now is the metallic taste of copper on his tongue and desire, so hot and heavy in his body that he feels it everywhere.

“‘m going to the bathroom,” he declares, voice shockingly clear for someone who’s leaking in his pants, “And I’m fine. I’ll be fine, stop worrying.”

He waves a hand at them as he presses out of his chair, turning around quickly so that (hopefully) no one can see the way he’s straining against his fly so hard it looks like it might burst. The lights are low and his pants are dark, so you think you’re probably the only one who sees it. Minho gives you a knowing look, a head motion beckoning you to follow Chan, but you shake your head lightly. Not yet, not when you want to press him further over the edge. Chan, despite his bratty behavior earlier, wouldn’t come without you. He would wait in that bathroom until either you came to join him, or he was able to calm himself down enough to be composed again.

“Do you think he’s okay?” Jeongin says, nervous eyes searching the table.

You’re about to jump in, but Minho beats you to it.

“Like you said Bin-ah, Channie hyung is such a control freak, he just needs to let go for a second and he’ll be fine. He just needs to find some sort of release.”

The two of you never break eye contact as he says it, knowing eyes peering into yours, half-lidded. There’s something glinting in his eyes that you just can’t place, but you let it go, faking concern.

“Well if he takes too long in there I’ll go check on him,” you huff, pretending to be worried, “He said the same thing earlier, too, when I asked if we should cancel on you guys. Always some nonsense about being ‘fine’ and how I ‘shouldn’t worry.’”

You reach into your pocket again and click the setting down one, settling it back to the sixth level. You can picture the way that Chan probably moaned in despair. While he knows better than to come without you, you also know that he can’t help but push the boundaries. If you know anything about him, and you reckon you do, he’s probably got a finger or two stuffed in his hole with the bullet, and one hand wrapped around his leaking cock.

Conversation starts to flow again, though it’s tentative, and you keep checking your phone. For a text, for a call, for something that indicates that Chan either wants your help right now or that he wants to call this off. You’ll give him ten more minutes before you go to “check” on him, so for now, you play the role of a concerned partner. 

You’re asking Felix about his latest modelling project when a text comes. Your phone buzzes on your lap, and you ignore it to let Felix keep talking. Only once Felix has turned the talking back over to you do you flip your phone over, checking the messages. It’s from Chan, and it’s just a photo attachment, nothing else. No caption, no warning. You know exactly what it’s going to be, and you’re careful to angle your phone just right when you respond.

There he is, pants pulled down around his knees, in a single bathroom. You realize with glee that the bathrooms here must be singles, which means you won’t have to be confined to the handicap stall in a dingy restaurant bathroom, trying to be quiet with other people in the room. This makes the risk reasonable, reasonable enough that you might actually help him out when you get to the bathroom.

You let yourself drag your eyes over him for a little longer. It’s a mirror shot, and he’s using one hand to take the photo, while the other hand is slipped around his back. And while you can’t actually see what he’s doing, the way his back is subtly arched forward is enough for you to know he’s probably got his fingers buried inside of himself, right there in the public bathroom. His cock is red, angry and wet with his own precum. It glistens in the fluorescent light of the bathroom, and it makes your mouth water.

You control your breathing, evening your face out to be neutral again. If you do get up to anything in the bathroom, it has to be quick - the others are likely already a little suspicious, and Minho is more than aware of what’s happening. You wouldn’t put it beyond him to tip everyone else off on what’s happening. The clock on your phone tells you that you have two more minutes left to hit that ten minute mark, so you leave him on read. You want him to know that you’ve seen it, but didn’t even deign him with a response. You know that it’ll mess with him to be ignored like that, but it will also push him towards willing submission. He’s going to be beyond desperate when you do finally mosey to the bathroom, ready to bend to your whim just to come already. You can feel your own cock stirring in your pants, and you’re endlessly grateful once again to the low light and the foresight of wearing dark pants.

“Should I go check on him…?” You say, tilting your head at Felix like you’re not already decided. “He’s taking a while…”

“He’s probably just taking a shit,” Jisung says matter-of-factly, and continues when Minho elbows him sharply, “B-but it probably wouldn’t hurt!”

“Want me to come with you?” Minho says, sharp eyes digging into yours, “If he is sick, you might want an extra hand.”

“I’ll text you if I need help getting him to the car or something,” you respond, heat crawling up your neck, “Hopefully he’s just…‘taking a shit’, as Sungie so crassly put it.”

“Yah! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to-”

Minho shushes him, rolling his eyes, but he keeps a keen eye on you as you step away from the table, pupils expanding when you throw him a wink over your shoulder. Two can play the teasing game, and you sure as shit aren’t going to lose to Minho.

You actually have no idea where the bathroom is, and after an embarrassing lap around the restaurant, you have to flag down a member of the staff to direct you there. There’s a set of three single restrooms around a back corner, far secluded from the restaurant, and lucky you, only one of them is occupied. You approach it and rap on the door sharply, three short knocks, just to hear the way Chan’s breath catches through the door.

“Everything okay in there, sir?” you say, voice dripping with mirth, “You’ve been in there quite a while. Was something unsatisfactory with our service?”

The door flies open and you’re dragged in by the collar of your shirt before you realize what’s happening. The door slams shut behind you as Chan presses you to it desperately, hand fumbling behind you to click the lock shut as he seals your mouths together. His tongue is pressing into your mouth the second your lips touch, hot and messy, and he’s fumbling with the buttons of your shirt as he kisses you. You let him get the first two before you’re grabbing his wrist, using your grip on him as leverage to flip the two of you around, caging him against the door.

“Needy baby,” you coo, letting your eyes drag down him, “Couldn’t even wait for me to help?”

“You took so long,” he whines, lips tugging into a pout, “I couldn’t help it!”

“I couldn’t leave right away, jagi, it would’ve been suspicious,” you murmur, breath hot against his neck as you lean down to nip at it, “Minho already knows what a slut you’re being. Thought you were supposed to be in control, what happened?”

He keens, a little too loud for your liking, hips bucking up towards you, searching for friction. You slap a hand over his mouth to muffle his sounds, listening for sounds outside the door. When there’s nothing you relax, pulling your hand away.

“God, it’s like you want the whole restaurant to know what we’re doing,” you sneer, “First your dongsaengs, now this? Come here.”

He wants to protest, tell you that he’s not a slut, but you’re dragging him away from the door and towards the sink, spinning him so that his hands are gripping at the cool porcelain and his back is arched towards you. You’re pressed behind him, and he can feel the swell of you against his ass, making him whimper as he presses back against it. You hiss, then grab his hair, yanking his head back so that he can see himself in the mirror.

He looks debauched, hair tousled and lips swollen. He’s drooling, and there’s tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. His eyes find yours in the reflection, and the hunger in your gaze paired with the vibrator, still buzzing incessantly inside of him, is almost enough to make him come. He swears, head falling forward as his hips buck down, body wound tight as he does everything in his power to hold back. You haven’t given him permission, after all.

You press three of your fingers against his lips, and they part without question, tongue swirling around your digits messily. He coats them in spit, already knowing what you need them for. 

“Good job.” You say, pulling your fingers from his mouth once you find that they’re sufficiently slick.

Your wet fingers come to press to his waiting hole, and your other hand untangles from his hair to press at the remote in your pocket, turning the dial down to the fourth setting. You don’t want him coming just yet, though the choked, sad sound he makes at the loss is almost enough for you to fold and give him what he wants.

Instead you press two of your fingers in without warning, curling them, searching for the little pink bullet nestled inside of him. He moans, loud and unabashed, the sound echoing through the space. His eyes widen as he brings a shaky hand to his mouth, teeth sinking into the skin to try and stop the sounds. It doesn’t stop the little breaths and whimpers from escaping, and when your fingers do brush the bullet inside of him? He reacts as if he’s been shocked, his whole body jolting and eyes rolling back into his skull.

You search for it again, long fingers scissoring and curling, a third finger slipping in when you’re sure he’s stretched enough to take it.

“That’s it, jagi, taking my fingers so well,” you say, voice sickly sweet compared to your ministrations, “So good for me. Are you going to come around my fingers? Make a mess all over the sink?”

He nods frantically, wide eyes searching for yours again in the mirror. He tries to say something through his fist, but it’s muffled, and you slow your movements down, loving the way that the loss of stimulation makes him wail. It’s a little too loud, but you let it slip this time.

“What’s wrong, jagi? Use your words.” You’re so mean about it, fingers coming to press as the vibe inside of him right as he opens his mouth to speak.

It makes him choke on his words, and even on the fourth setting, the pressure that you’re applying to the bullet is pressing it against his prostate so hard it has him seeing stars.

“Wanna-hnngh, fuck! Wanna come ‘round your-hck! come ‘round your cock,” he whines out, tears finally slipping out of his shiny eyes, “Wanna feel you, please? Please please please, wanna-ooooh-wanna, wanna-”

You cut him off by slapping a hand over his mouth. As much as you love the sweet sounds he’s making, you’re still in public, and you’ve been gone for far too long now to fuck into him like he wants. The erection straining in your pants is pleading for attention, but that’s not what tonight is about. You take a deep breath, and keep curling your fingers slowly, keeping him on that edge.

You pull your hand away from his mouth once you know he’s not going to make any more loud sounds, his breathing getting less shaky. You reach your now free hand into your pocket for the remote, and click it up once, to the fifth setting.

“Give me your hand.” You say, and he reaches a shaky hand back.

You place the little pink remote in his hand, guiding his thumb to rest on the dial. He blinks back at you, surprised, but you have a wicked look on your face, your smile all teeth.

“You’re in control, right? We don’t have time for you to come on my cock, jagi, so be a good boy and crank that toy up for me, won’t you? Oh, and don’t drop the remote - drop it, and you won’t come until we’re home.”

He bites his tongue, another moan threatening to tear its way out of his throat. He knows you’re teasing him, playing with the power that you hold over him, but the idea of being good is enough for him to nod, hand clenching tight around the remote.

Your fingers pick up their pace, thrusting into his sharp and quick. Your hand, now free, comes to cup his mouth again, cutting his sounds off into your skin. He presses into the touch, barely able to keep himself up as his legs shake. His thumb slips on the dial and he tries to steady himself, and suddenly the vibrator is on seven. And oh. Oh. He’s not even sure where he is anymore, his body fully succumbing to the burning pleasure coursing through his veins.

He can faintly hear you in the background noise telling him to be quiet, to be good, and he tries. Really, he tries. He thinks that he’s not making any sound, and he hopes it’s true, but all he can hear right now is static in his ears. He can vaguely feel the hot streaks of tears pouring down his face, and the way your hand squeezes at his jaw when they trickle down your fingers.

And then his thumb slips again. And shit, he’s seeing stars.

Because if his vision was whiting out, he could look down, and see that he had just set the buzzing to the highest level, ten. But the second the vibrations pick up, your fingers are finding the bullet and pressing it right to his prostate. And you don’t thrust your fingers anymore, you don’t even breathe - you keep the bullet there, pressed against his most sensitive thought, until he’s babbling under your hand and coming.

And oh, it’s so much. He’s spraying his come across the porcelain, hips bucking forward to try and escape the overwhelming feeling of the vibrations. He feels it everywhere, like a livewire connecting his prostate to his brain, and his orgasm keeps going, and going. It’s obscene how much he comes, and you use the hand that’s covering his mouth to tilt his head so that he’s looking at himself in the mirror, watching himself fall apart. He bites your hand, hard, face flushed with the exertion of coming but also with something akin to embarrassment, but you don’t relent. You wince at the sting, but let him ride out his high.

When it starts to hurt and you can see it on his face, you pull out of him, sticky fingers coming to crank the dial down to zero. He lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, body slumping forward so that his forehead is pressed against the cool glass of the mirror in front of him.

Everything after that is a blur of you guiding him back together, wiping him down and helping him back into his clothes. You fuss with his hair and his collar the most, though you don’t think you can fix the way his collar is just slighted mussed now, crooked in a way that screams what the two of you just did. You sigh, taking a quick look at yourself in the mirror, and hope to god that your erection brings itself down by the time you make it back to the table, because you certainly don’t have the time to take care of it now.

You guide him back to the table, fingers interlaced, two full grown people stepping out of the same bathroom and trying not to be embarrassed about it. You decided to leave the vibrator in him, although you don’t think you’ll be turning it back on again until you’re at home (if at all - Chan might not be able to come again tonight after that release).

When you sit back down, hair pressed back neatly and the only evidence of your bathroom escapade the flush of Chan’s cheeks and the slight crook of his collar, you grin apologetically.

“Jisung-ah, I owe you an apology,” you say as you sit down, “You were 100% right. I had to wait outside the door for him.”

The table erupts in laughter, and Chan shoots you a confused (but grateful) look. His dongsaengs start poking fun at him for a joke he wasn’t even present for, and he plays up his confusion, much to their delight. As this happens, your phone buzzes twice in your pocket, and you glance down to read it.

From: Minho [18:23]

>Looks like the two of you had fun.

>You’ll let me watch next time, won’t you? It’s the least I deserve for keeping your secret.

You raise a challenging eyebrow at him across the table, and he just grins back, eyes heavy and lidded. He mouths “please?” and gives you his best pout, dramatic and fake. You just smirk back, knowing that he’s teasing, that he doesn’t actually mean it, but you can tell from the way Chan flushed earlier that he probably wouldn’t actually mind Minho being there to watch.

“Sure” is all you mouth back, loving the way that ever-composed Minho flushes and blinks back at you, eyes wide.

You message him, eyes lidded, corner of your lower lip catching in your teeth.

>Only if you’ll be good for me.

It’s going to be a long, long night.

I hope your enjoyed! Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated ♡

NSFW:

As your husband, Bang Chan’s possessiveness and desire for you only grow stronger. He no longer holds back — you’re his wife now, and he wants to claim every inch of you every single night.

He’s still incredibly attentive in bed, but there’s a much more dominant and hungry side to him now. He loves taking his time undressing you, kissing every new piece of skin he reveals while whispering how beautiful his wife is.

Chan has a massive size kink and breeding kink when it comes to you. He loves watching your face as he slowly pushes inside you, stretching you open with his thick cock. “Look at you taking your husband so well… so fucking tight for me even after all this time,” he’ll groan against your ear.

He’s obsessed with eye contact. He’ll fuck you in missionary with your legs over his shoulders, holding your hands above your head while he thrusts deep and slow, making sure you feel every inch. When he gets more desperate, he pounds into you harder, the sound of skin slapping filling the room as he growls, “You’re mine… my wife… gonna fill you up until you’re dripping with me.”

His dirty talk is constant and loving but filthy. He loves calling you “my good little wife”, “babygirl”, and “Mrs. Bang” while he’s buried deep inside you. When he’s close, he gets even dirtier — “Gonna breed this pretty pussy… want to put a baby in my wife… you want that, don’t you? Want your husband to cum deep inside you?”

He’s amazing with his mouth. Chan can spend ages between your legs, licking and sucking your pussy like he’s starving for you. He uses his tongue expertly on your clit while two thick fingers curl inside you, moaning against your folds because he loves how you taste. He won’t stop until you’ve cum at least twice on his tongue.

He also loves when you suck him off. He’ll sit back against the headboard, one hand gently holding your hair while you take him down your throat. “Fuck… look at my wife sucking my cock so beautifully,” he groans, his voice getting rougher the deeper you go.

Bang Chan can go for multiple rounds. After he cums inside you the first time, he’ll stay buried deep, slowly grinding his hips to push his load further in while kissing you messily. Then he flips you over and fucks you again from behind, gripping your hips hard enough to leave marks as he pounds into you.

He has a thing for marking you. Loves leaving hickeys on your neck, breasts, and inner thighs — places only he gets to see. After sex, he’ll gently trace the marks with his fingers while whispering how much he loves you.

The aftercare is immaculate. Even after the most intense rounds, he becomes the softest husband again. He’ll carry you to the bathroom, clean you up gently, bring you water, and then pull you into his chest, kissing your forehead and whispering sweet nothings until you both fall asleep tangled together.

Lee Know

SFW:

Lee Know is the kind of husband who loves you quietly but deeply, in his own special way. He may not be the loudest with words, but his actions show how much he cherishes you every single day.

He’s incredibly attentive in small, meaningful ways. He remembers exactly how you like your tea or coffee, makes sure your favorite snacks are always stocked, and leaves Soonie, Doongie, and Dori with you when he has long schedules so you won’t feel lonely. Coming home to you and the cats is his favorite part of the day.

He’s surprisingly soft and clingy when it’s just the two of you. After a long day, he’ll crawl into your arms, bury his face in your neck, and let out a tired sigh while you play with his hair. He loves when you call him “jagiya” or “honey” — it makes his ears turn pink every time.

Lee Know is the husband who teases you constantly, but it’s always filled with love. He’ll make fun of the way you sneeze or how you dance around the kitchen, only to pull you close right after and kiss your forehead, whispering “You’re so cute, I can’t handle it.”

He’s very protective in a calm, steady way. If anyone makes you uncomfortable, he’ll step in quietly but firmly, placing himself between you and the person while giving them that signature cold stare. At home, he makes you feel completely safe and adored.

He loves quiet domestic moments with you — cooking together (even if he pretends to complain the whole time), watching dramas while tangled on the couch, or taking late-night walks with the cats. He’s the type to randomly buy you flowers or your favorite dessert just because he saw it and thought of you.

On tough days, he becomes your safe place. He’ll pull you onto his lap, wrap his arms around you, and stay like that for as long as you need, gently rubbing your back and pressing soft kisses to your temple. He doesn’t always know what to say, but he knows how to make you feel loved and calm.

He often calls you “my wife” with a gentle smile, like he still can’t believe he gets to say it. He loves planning small trips or cozy weekends just for the two of you, always making sure you feel like the most important person in his world.

NSFW:

Even as your husband, Lee Know remains incredibly soft and intimate with you in bed. He’s not the aggressive type — instead, he’s deeply sensual, patient, and focused on making you feel cherished and pleasured.

He loves taking his time with you. He’ll undress you slowly, kissing every inch of skin he reveals, murmuring sweet praises like “So beautiful… my pretty wife” against your body. His touches are gentle but confident, hands sliding over your curves with adoration.

Lee Know is obsessed with kissing you during sex. He wants his lips on yours, on your neck, on your chest — constant, deep, and loving kisses while he moves inside you. He enjoys slow, deep thrusts, rolling his hips carefully so you feel every inch of him, savoring the way you moan softly against his mouth.

He’s incredibly good at oral. He loves going down on you, spreading your legs gently and licking your pussy with slow, deliberate strokes. He takes his time exploring every fold with his tongue, sucking softly on your clit while his fingers slide inside you, curling just right. He moans quietly against you because he genuinely loves your taste and the way your thighs tremble around his head.

When you go down on him, he gets adorably shy at first, but quickly melts. He’ll thread his fingers through your hair gently, watching you with half-lidded eyes and letting out soft, breathy moans. “Feels so good… my wife is so perfect,” he whispers, his voice getting huskier the closer he gets.

He has a quiet but strong breeding kink. While he’s buried deep inside you, he’ll hold you close and whisper things like “Want to fill you up… want to make a family with you one day” in that low, sweet voice. When he cums, he likes to stay inside you for a long time, gently rocking his hips as if he doesn’t want any drop to escape.

Lee Know prefers positions where he can stay close to you — missionary so he can kiss you deeply, or you on top so he can hold your waist and look up at your face with pure adoration. Even when the pleasure builds and his thrusts get a little faster, he remains tender, never rough.

After sex, he’s the king of aftercare. He’ll clean you up carefully with a warm towel, pull you into his chest, and cuddle you for hours. He loves falling asleep skin to skin, one arm wrapped securely around you while his fingers draw lazy patterns on your back, whispering “I love you” until you drift off.

Changbin

SFW:

Changbin is the softest, most loving, and whipped husband you could ever ask for. He’s big, strong, and looks intimidating to others, but with you he turns into the biggest teddy bear in the world.

He’s incredibly affectionate and never shy about showing it. The moment he comes home, he drops everything to find you and pull you into one of his famous bone-crushing hugs, lifting you off the ground while burying his face in your neck and mumbling “I missed my wife so much today.”

He loves spoiling you. Whether it’s buying you flowers, your favorite snacks, or random cute things he saw that reminded him of you, he’s always thinking of ways to make you smile. He calls you “baby”, “princess”, “my love” and “jagiya” constantly, and his voice gets extra soft when he says “my wife.”

Domestic life with him is pure comfort. He loves cooking with you (even if he’s not the best at it), dancing around the kitchen while music plays, and carrying you around the house just because he can. He’s the husband who will do anything you ask — cleaning, laundry, carrying heavy things — and he does it with a proud smile because he loves taking care of you.

Changbin is extremely clingy and needy for your attention. At night he becomes your personal heater, always wanting to cuddle. He loves when you lay on his broad chest and when you play with his hair or trace his muscles with your fingers. He gets all shy and giggly when you compliment how strong and handsome he is.

He’s very emotionally open with you. If he had a hard day at practice, he’ll come to you immediately, lay his head on your lap, and let you baby him. He feels safest when he’s being spoiled by his wife. anniversaries and special dates are always celebrated big — he plans romantic dinners or surprise getaways just to show how much he treasures you.

He’s protective but in the sweetest way. He’ll puff up his chest if anyone looks at you too long, but the second you hold his hand or call his name softly, he melts completely. You’re his biggest pride — he loves introducing you as “my beautiful wife” with the brightest smile.

NSFW:

Even though Changbin is big and muscular, in the bedroom he’s surprisingly submissive and absolutely loves when you take full control. Being “dominated” by his wife turns him on more than anything else in the world.

He gets incredibly needy and desperate the moment you start commanding him. Just hearing you say “Be good for me, Binnie” or “Lay down, baby” makes him instantly hard. He loves being told what to do — where to touch you, how fast to move, when he’s allowed to cum.

His favorite thing is when you ride him. He’ll lay on his back, gripping the sheets tightly while you sink down on his thick cock, moaning loudly as you take control of the pace. He looks up at you with heart eyes, whimpering “Please… use me however you want, princess.”

Changbin has a massive praise kink. He melts when you tell him how good he feels inside you, how strong and pretty he looks when he’s falling apart for you. Words like “Good boy”, “Such a perfect husband for me”, and “You’re doing so well, baby” make him moan and twitch inside you.

He’s very vocal and whiny in bed. Expect lots of breathy moans, whimpers, and desperate “Please… I need you…” when you tease him or edge him. He loves being overstimulated — even after he cums, if you keep riding him he’ll cry out from sensitivity but beg you not to stop.

Other kinks he has(I'm sure of that, okay? )

- He loves when you mark him up. Hickeys on his neck, chest, and thighs make him feel claimed and owned by you.

- Light choking (your small hand around his thick neck) drives him crazy.

- He has a breeding kink too, but in a more submissive way — he loves when you tell him you’re going to “milk him dry” and make him fill you up.

- He’s obsessed with giving you oral. When you sit on his face he becomes euphoric, licking and sucking your pussy eagerly while moaning loudly against you, happy to stay there until you cum multiple times.

Even when he’s inside you, he prefers when you’re in control. He’ll thrust up into you only when you allow it, always asking “Can I move, baby? Please let me fuck you…” His hands will grip your hips tightly but he won’t take over unless you tell him to.

After sex he becomes even softer. He loves when you take care of him too — cleaning him up, cuddling him, and praising him while he rests his head on your chest. He’ll whisper “I love you so much… thank you for taking care of me” with the sweetest, most satisfied smile.

Hyunjin

SFW:

Hyunjin is, without a doubt, the most romantic and affectionate husband in the world. He loves you so deeply and openly that sometimes it feels like you’re living inside a romance movie.

He’s incredibly soft and gentle with you. Every morning he wakes you up with slow kisses all over your face, whispering “Good morning, my beautiful wife” in that smooth voice. He treats you like you’re the most precious thing in his life — because to him, you really are.

He’s a master at making you feel loved. He writes you little poems, draws portraits of you when you’re not looking, and surprises you with flowers “just because”. Date nights with him are always special — whether it’s a fancy dinner, dancing under the stars, or staying home where he sets up a pillow fort and slow dances with you in the living room.

Hyunjin is extremely clingy and touchy. He always needs to be close to you — holding your hand, resting his head on your shoulder, or pulling you onto his lap while he’s painting or watching movies. He loves when you play with his long hair and will literally purr if you scratch his scalp.

He’s the type of husband who gets emotional easily. Sometimes he looks at you and gets teary-eyed because he can’t believe he gets to call you his wife. He’s not afraid to tell you “I’m so in love with you” multiple times a day.

He venerates you in the sweetest ways. He calls you “my queen”, “my love”, “angel”, and “my beautiful wife” with so much adoration in his voice. He loves spoiling you — buying you beautiful clothes, jewelry, or anything that makes you feel like royalty. He’s always taking photos of you because he says he needs to capture your beauty forever.

Even on busy days, he makes time for you. He’ll send you selfies from the practice room or voice notes telling you how much he misses his wife. When he comes home, the first thing he does is find you and hug you for a long time, breathing you in like you’re his home.

NSFW:

As your husband, Hyunjin’s love for you becomes even more intense and worshipful in the bedroom. He absolutely adores venerating your body and making you feel like a goddess.

He’s incredibly sensual and teasing. He loves to provoke you until you’re shaking with need. He’ll spend ages kissing down your body, lightly biting your inner thighs, licking and sucking marks into your skin while whispering filthy but romantic things like “Look at how wet you already are for me… my perfect wife.”

Hyunjin is completely obsessed with making you squirt. The first time he made you do it, he became addicted. Now, every time you have sex, he makes it his mission to make you squirt for him. He’ll finger you with those long, elegant fingers, curling them perfectly against your g-spot while sucking hard on your clit, refusing to stop even when your legs start shaking. When you finally squirt all over his hand and face, his eyes light up with pure pride and lust as he moans “That’s it, baby… give it to me. Squirt for your husband again.”

He loves going down on you for a long time. He eats you out like he’s worshiping you — slow, deep licks mixed with intense sucking on your clit. He moans against your pussy because he genuinely loves your taste, and he gets even more turned on when you pull his hair and ride his face.

When you ride him, he becomes a complete mess. He lays back, hands gripping your hips, looking up at you with hazy, lovesick eyes while you take control. He loves when you use him for your pleasure, whispering “Use me, my love… ride your husband however you want.”

He’s very vocal and romantic even during sex. He constantly praises you — “You’re so beautiful when you fall apart for me”, “I love how you feel around me”, “You’re my everything”. He can go from sweet to provocatively dirty in seconds: “Come on, angel… let me feel you soak me again. I know my wife can give me more.”

Hyunjin especially loves positions where he can see your face and watch every expression you make. He’ll fuck you slow and deep in missionary, kissing you passionately while grinding against you, then suddenly speed up when he feels you getting close, determined to make you squirt all over his cock.

He has a strong worship kink. He loves kissing and licking every part of your body — your breasts, your stomach, your thighs, and especially your pussy after you cum. He’ll clean you up with his tongue while telling you how perfect you are.

After sex, he becomes even softer. He’ll pull you into his arms, kiss every inch of your face, and hold you close while whispering sweet nothings. He loves falling asleep with your bodies pressed together, his long fingers gently stroking your back as he tells you how much he loves being your husband.

Felix

SFW:

Felix is the type of husband that makes people around you jealous because he’s genuinely the sweetest, softest, and most caring man in the world. Everyone who sees the way he treats you says the same thing: “My God, he’s the most affectionate and loving husband I’ve ever seen.”

He’s incredibly gentle and warm with you. Every single day he makes sure you feel completely loved. He wakes you up with the softest kisses, his deep voice whispering “Good morning, my love” or “Wake up, beautiful wife” while stroking your hair. He loves hugging you from behind while you’re doing anything — cooking, brushing your teeth, or working — and resting his chin on your shoulder, breathing you in like you’re his favorite scent in the world.

Felix is extremely thoughtful. He remembers every little thing about you: your favorite flowers, the exact way you like your coffee, the songs that make you emotional, and even the small details like how you scrunch your nose when you’re concentrating. He surprises you constantly — leaving love notes inside your bag, buying you skincare products because he noticed your skin was dry, or planning cozy movie nights with all your favorite snacks and blankets.

He’s the biggest cuddler. At home he’s always touching you in some way. He loves when you sit on his lap while he plays games or when you lay on his chest while watching dramas. His favorite moment of the day is when he can finally come home, pull you into his arms, and stay like that for hours, talking about everything and nothing while his deep voice vibrates against your ear.

He calls you the cutest nicknames in the softest tone: “sunshine”, “angel”, “my pretty wife”, “babygirl”, and “love of my life”. When he says “my wife”, his eyes sparkle with pure pride and adoration. He’s not afraid to show how whipped he is for you — he posts pictures of you two with the sweetest captions and loves telling everyone how lucky he is to be married to you.

Felix is incredibly patient and understanding. On days when you’re tired or overwhelmed, he becomes your safe haven. He’ll run you a warm bath with your favorite scents, wash your hair with the gentlest touch, cook your comfort food, and then hold you close while humming softly until you fall asleep in his arms. He makes you feel like the most cherished person on earth.

He dreams about building a beautiful future with you. You’ll often catch him talking about “our home”, “our future kids”, or “growing old together” with the brightest smile. He wants to give you the entire world and makes sure you never doubt how deeply he loves you.

NSFW:

While Felix is the sweetest and most angelic husband on the outside, behind closed doors he becomes an entirely different person — dominant, intense, and incredibly commanding.

His deep voice is his biggest weapon. The moment he switches into dom mode, that low, raspy Australian accent becomes pure sin. He loves using it to control you completely. A simple “On your knees, baby” or “Be quiet and take what I give you” said in that velvet voice is enough to make your legs shake.

Felix has strong BDSM tendencies and loves incorporating them into your sex life (always with clear consent and aftercare). He enjoys light impact play — spanking your ass hard until it’s red and marked with his handprints, then soothing the skin right after with gentle kisses. He loves choking you just enough to make you feel owned, his large hand wrapped around your throat while he looks into your eyes and growls “You’re mine, understand?”

He’s very into degradation mixed with praise. He’ll call you “my dirty little wife”, “greedy slut”, or “such a desperate whore for your husband” in that deep voice, only to follow it up with “but you’re so fucking perfect like this… taking everything I give you so well.”

He loves putting you in submissive positions where he has full control: fucking you from behind while pulling your hair, bending you over the desk or the kitchen counter, or tying your hands with his belt or silk ties. His favorite is missionary where he can pin your wrists above your head with one hand and fuck you deep and hard while maintaining intense eye contact.

Felix is obsessed with power exchange. He loves when you obey him instantly — spreading your legs wider when he commands, or asking for permission to cum. When you’re being especially good, he rewards you with the most mind-blowing orgasms. When you’re bratty, he enjoys punishing you with edging, overstimulating you until you’re crying and begging.

He has incredible stamina. He can fuck you for hours — switching between rough, deep thrusts that make the bed shake and slow, teasing rolls of his hips that drive you insane. He loves making you squirm and moan loudly, pushing you to your limits and then pulling you back just to do it all over again.

Even when he’s being rough and dominant, there’s still an underlying layer of love. Between degrading words and hard spanks, he’ll lean down and kiss you passionately, whispering “I love you so much” against your lips while still pounding into you mercilessly.

After every intense session, Felix turns back into the softest husband imaginable. The aftercare is long and loving — he cleans you up gently, checks if you’re okay, brings you water, and holds you tightly against his chest. He’ll stroke your hair, kiss every mark he left on your body, and whisper sweet praises like “You did so well for me, my love… my perfect wife” until you fall asleep feeling completely safe and adored.

Han

SFW:

Han is the definition of a whipped, loving, and incredibly affectionate husband. He’s completely head over heels for you and doesn’t even try to hide it. To everyone around, it’s obvious how much he adores his wife — he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

He’s extremely clingy and touchy in the sweetest way. The second he gets home, he’s already searching for you, calling out “Jagiya~” in that cute voice until he finds you. He loves attacking you with kisses — quick pecks all over your face, long kisses on your lips, and soft kisses on your neck while he hugs you tightly from behind. He can spend minutes just kissing you without saying anything, like he can’t get enough of your taste.

Han is the type of husband who lives to make you happy. He obeys you so easily in daily life — whether it’s running to the store because you want something, doing chores the way you like, or changing plans last minute just because you asked. He genuinely loves when you take the lead and tell him what to do. “Yes, baby” and “Whatever you want, my wife” are phrases you hear from him all the time.

He’s incredibly playful and fun to live with. The house is always filled with laughter because of his silly jokes and random aegyo. But underneath all the chaos, he’s deeply emotional and soft. He loves cuddling on the couch for hours, laying his head on your chest while you play with his hair, or falling asleep wrapped around you like a koala.

Han is the king of random affection. He’ll send you voice notes throughout the day full of “I miss you”, “I love you so much”, and cute sounds. He brings home little gifts — snacks he knows you like, a plushie he thought was cute, or flowers he saw on the way home. He calls you “my wife”, “baby”, “princess”, and “noona” (even if you’re not older) with the brightest smile.

When he does something wrong or upsets you even a little, he turns into the cutest puppy. He looks at you with those big, round, sparkling eyes full of regret, pouting and saying “I’m sorry… please don’t be mad at me…” He knows exactly how weak you are to his puppy eyes, and most of the time you end up forgiving him quickly while he smiles victoriously and showers you with even more kisses.

He’s incredibly supportive and proud of you. He cheers for you louder than anyone, brags about you to the members, and always tells you how amazing his wife is. Being married to you makes him feel like the luckiest man alive, and he never lets a day go by without reminding you how much he loves you.

NSFW:

In the bedroom, Han is an extremely desperate and eager submissive for his wife. He lives to obey you and please you in every possible way. The more you dominate him, the more turned on and needy he becomes.

He has almost every submissive fetish you can imagine. He loves being told what to do, being ordered around, and serving you completely. Whether you want him on his knees, tied up, edged for hours, or used as your personal toy — he’s more than happy to comply. “Yes, ma’am”, “Whatever you want, baby”, and “Please use me” are things he says breathlessly while looking at you with pure desperation in his eyes.

Han is insanely kissy during sex. Even when you’re dominating him, he’s constantly trying to kiss you — deep, messy, desperate kisses. He’ll whine into your mouth while you ride him, kiss your neck and chest when you let him, and beg for kisses as a reward when he’s being good. Kissing you turns him on almost as much as being dominated.

He gets incredibly whiny and vocal when he’s needy. Expect lots of desperate moans, whimpers, and broken “Please… I’ll be good… I promise…” He loves being punished. If he does something “wrong” (like touching you without permission or cumming too early), he’ll look up at you with those big puppy eyes, pouting and begging for forgiveness while his cock twitches with excitement. Most of the time you forgive him quickly because he looks too adorable, but sometimes you make him wait and suffer a little longer just to hear him whine more.

His favorite thing is when you take complete control. He loves when you ride him hard, when you edge him until he’s crying, when you sit on his face and use his mouth for your pleasure, or when you make him wear a collar while you stroke him slowly. He has a strong praise kink too — every “Good boy”, “You’re doing so well for me”, or “Such an obedient husband” makes him melt and leak precum instantly.

Han especially loves being overstimulated. After he cums, if you keep touching him or riding him, he becomes a shaking, whimpering mess — tears in his eyes, body twitching, but still begging “Don’t stop… please… I can take it for you.”

He’s very into body worship from the submissive side. He loves kissing and licking every part of your body when you allow it — especially your thighs, your pussy, and your breasts. When you sit on his face, he eats you out like a starving man, moaning loudly and desperately trying to make you cum as many times as possible.

Even in his most submissive moments, there’s so much love. Between desperate whimpers and pleas, he’ll look at you with heart eyes and whisper “I love you… I love being yours…”

Aftercare with him is incredibly sweet. Once the scene is over, he becomes extra clingy and soft. He’ll nuzzle into your neck, cover you with small kisses, and let you baby him while he recovers. He loves when you praise him and tell him how good he was, falling asleep in your arms with a satisfied, lovesick smile on his face.

Seungmin

SFW:

Seungmin is the type of husband who shows his love in quiet, meaningful ways rather than grand gestures. His affection is subtle but incredibly deep and consistent — the kind that makes you feel truly cherished once you notice all the little things he does for you.

He’s not overly loud or clingy in public, but in private he becomes much softer. He expresses his love through small, thoughtful actions: making sure your favorite mug is clean and ready in the morning, leaving your favorite snacks on the counter with a small note, remembering exactly how you like your coffee or tea, and quietly taking care of things around the house before you even have to ask.

He loves listening to you. After a long day, he’ll sit beside you on the couch or in bed, gently playing with your fingers while you talk about everything that happened. He doesn’t always say much, but his attentive gaze and occasional soft “Hmm” or “That sounds tough” show how much he cares. He’s the husband who remembers the smallest details you mention in passing and brings them up weeks later.

Seungmin has a dry, sarcastic sense of humor that he only fully unleashes with you. He teases you constantly in that signature deadpan way, but it’s always filled with affection. Right after teasing you, he’ll pull you close and press a gentle kiss to your temple or the top of your head, murmuring “You know I’m just joking, right? I love you.”

He’s incredibly reliable and steady. You can always count on him — whether it’s picking you up when it’s raining, helping you with work, or simply being there when you need quiet comfort. On days when you’re feeling down, he doesn’t overwhelm you with words. Instead, he’ll wrap his arms around you from behind, rest his chin on your shoulder, and stay like that until you feel better.

He calls you “wife” in a soft, almost shy way when it’s just the two of you. He also uses “baby” and “jagiya” sparingly, but when he does, his voice carries so much warmth. He loves holding your hand under the table or resting his hand on your thigh while watching movies. His favorite moments are the quiet ones — reading together, listening to music, or simply existing in comfortable silence while tangled up on the couch.

Even though he’s discreet with his affection, the love he has for you is profound. He shows it by always choosing you, by being patient, by making you feel safe, and by being the calm presence you can always lean on. He may not say “I love you” every five minutes, but when he does say it, it carries the weight of all the quiet ways he’s been loving you every day.

NSFW:

In the bedroom, Seungmin is a perfect switch with a strong submissive lean. He’s not fully desperate like some of the others, but he deeply enjoys when you take control and push his limits, especially with overstimulation and toys.

He loves when you use toys on him. Vibrators, cock rings, prostate massagers, plugs — he’s very open to almost anything as long as it’s you controlling the pleasure. He particularly enjoys being edged for a long time. You can have him trembling and biting his lip while you slowly stroke him with a toy, bringing him right to the edge and then stopping, over and over again until he’s breathing heavily and quietly begging with that husky voice.

Seungmin is very responsive to overstimulation. After he cums once, he becomes incredibly sensitive, but he secretly loves when you keep going — using your hand, mouth, or toys to keep working him until he’s shaking, thighs twitching, and letting out those rare broken moans and whimpers. He’ll grip the sheets tightly, eyes half-lidded, murmuring “Fuck… baby, it’s too much…” even as his hips unconsciously push up for more.

He enjoys being told what to do, but he also likes a bit of push and pull. Sometimes he’ll be a little bratty on purpose just to see how you’ll react and punish him. He finds it incredibly hot when you pin him down, use a commanding tone, or make him keep a toy inside him while you ride his face or use his cock for your own pleasure.

Even when he’s submitting, there’s a certain elegance to it. He loves eye contact. He’ll look up at you with dark, intense eyes while you’re on top of him or while you’re using toys on him, letting you see exactly how much he’s feeling. He’s not super loud, but the quiet, breathy sounds he makes when he’s close or being overstimulated are addicting.

He also loves when you use him for your pleasure. Sitting on his face is one of his favorites — he’ll hold your thighs gently but firmly, licking and sucking your pussy with focused dedication until you cum, and even then he won’t stop unless you tell him to.

After intense sessions, Seungmin becomes incredibly soft and cuddly. The contrast is beautiful — one moment he’s trembling from overstimulation, the next he’s nuzzling into your neck, seeking comfort and affection. He loves when you praise him quietly (“You took it so well, Min”) and when you take care of him during aftercare — cleaning him up, holding him close, and stroking his hair while he recovers.

Jeongin

SFW:

Jeongin is the definition of a freshly married, lovesick husband who is still in the honeymoon phase even months after the wedding. Because your marriage is still relatively new, he’s constantly in awe that he actually gets to call you his wife. He’s incredibly soft, gentle, and ridiculously affectionate with you in every possible way.

He’s still getting used to married life in the cutest way. Sometimes he’ll randomly smile while looking at the wedding ring on your finger and blush when you catch him. He loves saying “my wife” out loud — it still gives him butterflies every single time. You’ll often hear him practicing it quietly to himself when he thinks you’re not listening: “My wife… yeah, she’s my wife.”

Jeongin is extremely caring and thoughtful. He wakes up early just to make you breakfast, even if he’s sleepy, because he wants to start your day feeling loved. He packs little snacks for you, sends good morning and good night texts with the sweetest messages, and always checks if you’ve eaten or if you’re feeling cold. Small acts of service are his love language — folding your clothes, warming up your side of the bed before you get in, or carrying your bag without being asked.

He’s incredibly clingy and cuddly. At home, he follows you around like a puppy. He loves hugging you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder, and peppering your neck and cheeks with soft kisses. He’s not afraid to be openly affectionate — he’ll pull you onto his lap while watching TV, nuzzle into your neck, and sigh happily when you play with his hair.

Jeongin is the type of husband who gets shy easily, but with you he tries his best to be brave. He writes you little love notes and hides them in places you’ll find later. He gets genuinely excited about planning dates, even simple ones at home, and always wants to know what makes you happiest. He brags about you to the members in the most adorable way, showing them pictures and saying “Look how pretty my wife is.”

He’s very protective in a gentle way. If you’re upset or having a bad day, he becomes your safe place. He’ll pull you into his chest, wrap his arms around you tightly, and stay there as long as you need, whispering “It’s okay, I’m here” while gently stroking your back. He hates seeing you sad and will do anything to make you smile again.

Even after being married for a while, he still gets flustered when you call him “husband” or when you do something sweet for him. He’s just so genuinely happy and in love that it shows in everything he does.

NSFW

As your husband, Jeongin is incredibly soft, loving, and eager to please you in bed. He’s still discovering his confidence as a married man, but what he lacks in experience he more than makes up for with pure enthusiasm and adoration — especially when it comes to oral.

Jeongin is completely obsessed with eating you out. It’s easily one of his favorite things in the world. He loves going down on you for long periods of time, treating it like his personal mission to make you feel as good as possible. He’ll spread your legs gently, settle between them, and look up at you with those big sparkling eyes before diving in.

He eats your pussy with so much passion and care. He starts slow, placing soft kisses on your inner thighs and over your folds, then uses his tongue to lick you from bottom to top, savoring every drop. He’s amazing at focusing on your clit — sucking it gently between his lips, flicking his tongue in steady rhythms, and humming happily against you because he genuinely loves your taste. When you start moaning and pulling his hair, he gets even more into it, licking faster and pushing his tongue inside you, fucking you with it while his nose rubs against your clit.

He can stay between your legs for hours if you let him. He loves when you ride his face — he’ll grab your thighs and pull you down harder, moaning loudly into your pussy as you grind against his tongue. Multiple orgasms are his goal every single time. He won’t stop until you’re shaking, thighs trembling around his head, and even then he’ll keep licking softly through your sensitivity, cleaning you up with gentle strokes of his tongue.

Because he’s still getting used to married life, he’s very attentive and responsive to your reactions. He learns quickly what you like best and always asks “Is this good, baby?” or “Does it feel nice?” while looking up at you from between your legs with flushed cheeks and glossy lips.

When it’s time for him to be inside you, he’s still incredibly sweet and loving. He prefers positions where he can see your face — especially missionary so he can kiss you deeply while thrusting into you. He’s not overly rough, but he can get passionately intense, especially when he’s close. His moans are beautiful and a little shy at first, but they get louder and needier the better it feels.

He has a soft breeding kink that comes out when he’s really lost in pleasure. While buried deep inside you, he’ll whisper breathlessly “Want to fill you up… want to make you feel so full, my wife…” and cum with his face hidden in your neck, holding you tight.

After sex, Jeongin becomes even softer. He loves skin-to-skin contact and will pull you straight into his arms, covering your face with gentle kisses while catching his breath. He always asks if you’re okay, if it felt good, and then cuddles you close, playing with your hair or rubbing your back until you both fall asleep tangled together.

You like museums because they are honest about silence.

People whisper there, but even that feels optional. Sound exists, but it never demands you. No one expects conversation, no one expects responses. You can exist fully inside yourself without apologizing for it.

That’s why you came today on your day off from the atelier.

This exhibition has been advertised everywhere in Seoul, contemporary reinterpretations of classical Korean landscapes. Posters plastered on subway walls, colors blooming against concrete, brushstrokes promising emotion.

Art speaks your language.

You arrive early, before the afternoon crowd gets too overwhelming. The museum smells faintly of polished floors and old paper. Sunlight filters through tall windows, washing everything in gold. Your footsteps echo softly, or at least you imagine they do. You’ve learned to construct sound from memory rather than experience.

As you step inside you immediately feel calm settle over you.

Paintings line the white walls of the museum like open windows into other worlds. Mountains dissolve into mist. Rivers stretch endlessly toward horizons painted with impossible patience. You move slowly, hands clasped behind your back, reading each plaque carefully.

You don’t rush art. You let it happen to you.

A group passes behind you, you feel the vibration of footsteps through the floor before you notice them in your peripheral vision. You shift aside politely, used to navigating spaces by motion rather than sound.

People talk. Mouths move. Laughter appears in shapes you recognize but cannot hear. You don’t mind anymore. You stopped minding many years ago.

Silence isn’t loneliness. It can become a home if you know how to welcome it.

You stop in front of a smaller painting, ink brush mountains rising sharply against a pale sky. The artist captured distance so perfectly you almost feel wind on your face. Your chest tightens the way it always does when something beautiful finds you unexpectedly.

You lean closer..and that’s when you notice him.

You notice him the way you notice art that doesn’t belong to the rest of the room. He stands several paintings away.

Tall.

Black hair falling softly across his forehead, slightly messy like he forgot to tame it before leaving home. He’s wearing a brownish long coat, neutral colors, nothing flashy, yet he looks impossibly out of place among ordinary visitors.

Beautiful is too small a word.

Your brain supplies it anyway.

Beautiful.

A properly beautiful man, and you get lost in your head about how you’re pretty sure, you have never seen anyone this good looking before. Is he from here? Is he a visitor?

He studies a painting with complete focus, head tilted slightly, lips parted as if he’s thinking something profound. His hands rest loosely in his pockets, posture relaxed but elegant.

You stare longer than you should, and you know you are staring but you can’t take your eyes off of his face. You tell yourself to look away.

You don’t. You can’t.

There’s something gentle about him, something quiet, and you catch yourself wonder what he sees in the painting, and then you wonder what his voice sounds like. You rarely think about voices, but his lips move slightly, almost forming words to himself, and suddenly curiosity blooms painfully inside your chest.

You look away quickly, embarrassed.

Focus on the art.

You move to the next piece.

Then the next.

But awareness of him follows you like warmth at your back. Each time you pretend not to look, you somehow find him again across the room, turning a corner, standing beneath another canvas. Maybe he’s moving through the exhibition at the same pace as you. Maybe you’re both drawn to the same pieces. Or maybe you’re just being delusional about your destiny bullshit.

You stop in a room with a huge piece, and the painting dominates the room.

It stretches across nearly an entire wall, a sweeping landscape of storm clouds breaking over a coastline, waves crashing in thick, violent strokes of blue & gray. Light cuts through the storm in one brilliant opening, illuminating a lone figure standing at the edge of the sea.

You feel it immediately.

The ache.

You walk closer and closer, until the rest of the world disappears. You imagine the roar of the ocean, not as sound, but as motion. As pressure. As something vast and overwhelming that exists whether you hear it or not. The lone figure in the painting looks small against the storm, yet unafraid.

You exhale slowly, and you sit on the bench placed before the artwork.

You always sit for paintings like this. Standing feels disrespectful when something demands your full attention. You fold your hands in your lap and let your eyes trace every brushstroke. Minutes pass, or maybe longer. Time behaves differently when you’re absorbed in beauty.

Your thoughts drift.

You think about the waves, what sounds they might make, and your thoughts lead you to roads you don’t want to take right now, like how people describe music as emotional. You’ve never known music. Sometimes people pity you for that, but standing here, feeling emotion swell so strongly it almost hurts, you wonder if music could really feel more alive than this.

You don’t think so.

You’re so lost in thought that you don’t notice him approach. Not until the bench shifts slightly beside you.

Your heart jumps and you glance sideways.

It’s him.

He is so much more unreal up close. His presence feels warm, and you study him from the corner of your eye as he looks at the painting in front of you.

Long fingers resting on his knees. Soft features sharpened by concentration. His eyes move across the canvas slowly, thoughtfully, and you watch yourself thinking that he looks like someone who feels deeply, just like you.

Then he turns slightly toward you, and his lips move.

You blink, not expecting any interaction at all with the beautiful stranger, as if you were invisible in this space and someone interacting with you was impossible.

You look around briefly, wondering if he’s speaking to someone else, but no one stands nearby.

You look back at him.

His mouth moves again. Gentle expression.

You catch only fragments, shapes of syllables, but he’s probably mumbling and being extra quiet given the space you’re in, so you can’t read his lips at all.

Your stomach drops.

Of course, of course he’s talking, and of course he’s talking to you.

Panic flutters in your chest with the familiar anxiety of misunderstandings. Of people thinking you’re ignoring them purposefully. One of those moment where the world just has to mind you that easy communication isn’t built for you.

You hesitate.

Maybe he wasn’t speaking to you after all.

You look back at the painting, pretending nothing happened, but then he leans slightly closer, clearly directing his attention at you this time.

His lips move again, slower. You recognize the expression now. He’s definitely talking to you.

Heat rises to your face, and you hate this part. The part where you must interrupt normalcy. The moment people’s expressions change, surprise, awkwardness, apology. You turn toward him fully and he waits politely, eyes kind.

You look at him in the eyes, his beautiful intense but kind eyes, and you shake your head, pointing at your ear and your cochlear implant.

Then you mouth silently and carefully, hoping he’ll understand.

I’m deaf.

His eyes widen slightly as he realises, and for a brief second you prepare yourself for the usual reaction, exaggerated apologies, embarrassment, people backing away because they don’t know what to do or how to respond back.

He nods slowly. Then he mouths something again, more carefully this time.

You catch nothing. Maybe because you’re so distracted by him, maybe because the beautiful stranger is literally sitting right next to you and is trying to talk to you.

He pauses.

Thinks.

Then, unexpectedly, he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out his phone.

You watch his every movement, surprised.

His fingers move quickly across the screen, and a moment later he turns his phone toward you.

“Sorry. I said the painting feels lonely but peaceful. I wondered if you thought the same since you’re sitting here too.”

You stare at the words. Then at him, and your chest does that thing again.

Most people would have simply smiled and stopped trying. They wouldn't try to have a conversation with you. But he was, he was trying. He was actively trying to communicate with you.

You take your own phone out, hands suddenly clumsy with awareness of him watching as you type.

“Yes. Like standing in a storm but not wanting to leave.”

You show him.

His eyes brighten instantly, he smiles and nods at you. Something about his reaction makes warmth spread through you.

He types again.

“Exactly.”

You both turn back toward the painting. Side by side. You can see a smile in his face, and you become acutely aware of everything.

The closeness of his shoulder. The subtle rise and fall of his breathing. The way he glances at the painting, then briefly at you, as if checking whether you’re experiencing the same emotion. Your heart beats faster.

Ridiculous.

You don’t even know his name. You don’t know anything about him. He’s just a beautiful stranger.

And then you catch him typing again, and directing his phone at you, again.

“Do you come to museums often?”

You nod, then write.

“Whenever I want to think.”

He smiles big at you and the smile changes his whole face, making it so soft and childlike, like he’s genuinely so unbelievably happy. And you almost forget how to breathe.

He writes.

“Funny you say that, me too.”

You want to ask more. So much more, but you hesitate. Conversations with strangers rarely last long. People move on. They always do. You don’t want to out yourself up for disappointment

Still, neither of you stands up to leave.

Minutes pass. Maybe more. You exist together in this shared silence, watching painted waves crash endlessly against a painted shore.

You glance at him again.. and he’s already looking at you.

Your gaze collides with his but neither of you looks away immediately. Something shifts. Unspoken. Fragile. Dangerous. You both smile at each other and he looks back at the painting, and he looks shy, cheeks red. You’re pretty sure you look like a radish yourself.

His phone lights up again in his hands. He hesitates before turning the screen toward you, but he does anyway.

“I’m Hyunjin by the way”

Hyunjin. You mouth it silently to yourself, testing how it looks. The name fits him somehow. Soft yet so elegant.

You quickly type your own name and turn your phone toward him.

He reads it carefully and smiles, the kind that reaches his eyes and lingers there, warm and bright, like he’s committing your name to memory.

Your stomach flips again at how pretty he looks.

He types again.

“Nice to meet you.”

You nod and type quickly.

“You too.”

It feels insufficient for the strange gravity of the moment, but you don’t know how else to explain what meeting him already feels like.

He looks at the painting again.

Then at you.

Then types:

“Do you want to see the rest together?”

Your heart stutters. You hadn’t expected that. You were just hoping to stay like this besides him for a few more minutes before he’s gone and you never see him again. You stare at the words longer than necessary, and he waits patiently, a look in his eyes as if hoping more than anything you’ll say yes.

You nod, a small movement, but his face lights up immediately.

You both stand at the same time, almost awkwardly synchronized, and a soft laugh escapes him, you see it in the way his shoulders lift, and you wonder what that sounded like.

You begin walking side by side through the gallery.

At first, neither of you types anything. You simply appreciate the art around you. Stopping before paintings and leaning closer to read descriptions. Then you start to occasionally exchanging phones for short comments.

“I like the colors here.”

“It feels nostalgic.”

“I think this one makes me sad. I’m not sure why.”

It’s all so natural and so not forced.

You notice how patient he is when typing, never rushing, and it’s all just making you feel like this is easy, after all, it’s not some huge inconvenience to him. He waits for your responses fully, eyes attentive, focused only on you when you write your words on the screen.

It’s rare. This is rare for you and you know it. People often grow restless. They get tired of having to do this. It has happened too many times. Boyfriends, friendships, coworkers.

The beautiful stranger in front of you doesn't stop. At least not yet.

You start noticing small things about him. The way he tilts his head when thinking. How expressive his eyes are and how carefully he observes everything.

You’re standing before a sculpture when Hyunjin suddenly pauses as if he forgot something, or her left something behind accidentally. He glances around the room, quick subtle movements, and then he reaches into his bag. You watch curiously as he pulls out a black cap. He slides it onto his head, lowering the brim slightly, and then a mask appears too, covering the lower half of his face.

Strange, you think. All of a sudden, why?

He wasn’t wearing any of that earlier when you saw him walk around the museum alone. Your brows knit together slightly and you look around instinctively.

Nothing seems different.

Only his eyes remain fully visible now. And because you stand beside him thankfully you can still see him clearly.

He notices you looking.

For a brief moment, embarrassment flashes across his eyes as he sees the confused look at your face.

He types quickly.

“Sorry. It's just something I have to do.”

You read it twice.

Why?

You glance at him again, puzzled. Again, you think about how free he looked before talking to you, what changed now?

You type back before thinking clearly.

“Not because of me I hope.” and you smile at him, as if joking. So awkward, why would you say that to him, so passive aggressive and for what? You just met the guy.. relax.

He immediately looks apologetic and there’s panic in his eyes. You’re a fucking idiot that’s for sure.

“Of course not!”

Relief softens the tightness in your chest. You hadn’t realized how much you were holding your breath. You nod lightly to show you understand, even if you don’t really. People have private reasons for things. Everyone carries pieces of themselves they don’t explain to strangers. You have no right to ask for explanations on anything.

He studies your face for a moment longer, as if making sure you truly believe him. Then his shoulders relax. Whatever tension had briefly appeared in him fades, replaced again by that quiet warmth you’ve begun associating with his presence.

You continue walking.

He stays slightly closer to you than before, positioning himself so that anyone passing would see mostly the side of his face turned away. When other visitors walk by, his posture shifts subtly, head lowered, brim of his cap shadowing his eyes.

It feels more like a habit of his. Like muscle memory.

You don’t ask why. You’re not going to ask him anything, he has his reasons. You just hope he’s not a criminal or something and he’s scared of being found.

You laugh in your head at the thought of this beautiful, kind man being a criminal.

You slow near the next painting and gesture toward it, inviting his attention back to something else. You both stop in front of a watercolor landscape, pale greens and soft blues melting into each other. He leans closer to read the description while you type a thought onto your phone.

“This one feels quiet.”

He reads it, then nods immediately.

He types

“Comfortable quiet.”

You smile.

Yes.

Exactly that.

The conversation resumes naturally after that. Whatever moment of tension existed dissolves into shared observation again, phones passing back and forth between you like a language only the two of you understand.

And you notice how attentive he is.

When you pause longer at a painting he waits for you. When you step closer to examine brushstrokes, he follows your lead. At one sculpture you circle slowly around it, studying how light changes the shadows, and when you turn he’s watching you instead of the art.

You pretend not to notice but your heart still reacts anyway. You show him another message.

“Do you like art a lot?”

He thinks before answering.

His thumbs hover over the screen longer this time.

“Yes. A lot. I try to make as much time for art as I can.”

You walk through the remaining galleries together, falling into an easy rhythm. Sometimes you talk through text. Sometimes you don’t talk at all. And somehow the silence between you never feels empty.

It feels shared.

At one point your hands brush accidentally while reaching toward the same information plaque. Both of you pull back at the same time. He laughs silently again, shoulders lifting, eyes crinkling above the mask.

You feel warmth rush to your face.

You type quickly, hiding your embarrassment behind humor.

“We have synchronized museum instincts.”

He grins and nods enthusiastically.

You don’t notice how often he looks at you now.

Not just glances.

Lingering looks.

As if he’s trying to memorize something.

Eventually the exhibition begins to thin out and visitors move toward the exit. Afternoon light grows stronger through the windows, signaling the end of the experience.

You reach the final gallery together and neither of you says anything. Neither of you rushes forward. It feels strangely similar to standing at the end of a good book, not wanting to turn the last page because finishing means losing it forever, that it’s over.

You slow your steps and he matches them automatically.

Outside the gallery doors the museum lobby stretches wide and bright. Reality waits there. You stop walking. He stops too. For a moment you both just stand facing each other. The silence changes. Not comfortable now, but fragile. Temporary.

You suddenly become aware that this was never guaranteed to last longer than today, longer than a few hours. That soon he will become a stranger again. You grip your phone slightly tighter.

He shifts his weight, eyes flicking down before returning to yours.

He’s nervous, you can feel it.

You’ve seen nervousness before, in yourself, in others trying to bridge uncertain moments. He types something. Stops and deletes it, then types again

Your heart begins beating faster.

Finally, he turns the screen toward you.

“Can I have your number Y/N? I understand if not, of course.”

You look at him. At the hidden half of his face. At the eyes that have stayed soft with you all afternoon, at the stranger who chose to stay instead of walking away when he realised communication was going to be more complicated than he's used to.

You type your number and you’re smiling down at his phone, and your fingers feel strangely unsteady as you hand the phone back to him.

He exhales, a subtle release of tension you almost miss. He saves it immediately, then types.

“I’m glad I met you today.”

Your throat tightens.

You reply.

“Me too.”

It feels inadequate compared to what you actually mean. You both linger a moment longer near the exit. Neither moving first.

Finally, you bow slightly, and he mirrors you instantly. You turn toward the doors, the remaining sunlight spilling across the floor ahead of you and each step away feels heavier than it should.

You reach the exit and something pulls at you. You glance back.. and he’s still standing there watching you. Not checking his phone. Not leaving.

When your eyes meet again he lifts his hand in a small wave and you immediately smile at him and wave back in a small movement, and then you step outside into the afternoon air, unaware that somewhere behind you Hyunjin remains still for several seconds longer.

As if leaving this moment is harder than he expected.

_

You didn’t expect him to text.

That’s the rule you’ve learned about people who show interest in you. People are not willing to do all that, to put this much effort. These beautiful moments don’t follow you home.

Still, when you step into your apartment you place your phone down on the table more carefully than usual. As if being gentle to your phone will make him text. You change clothes. Wash your hands. Make tea. The routine unfolds exactly as it always does, predictable.

Your apartment is quiet, as it always is.

You sit by the window, watching the city move below. Cars glide past. People talk animatedly on sidewalks, conversations you can see but never enter. And then.. with the corner of your eye you see your phone light up.

Your heart jumps before logic catches up and you go and pick it up way too quickly.

A message.

Unknown number.

You already know.

“Hey, it’s Hyunjin, from the museum. Did you get home safely?”

Warmth spreads through your chest so suddenly it genuinely embarrasses you. You type back immediately, then delete it. You’re being too fast. Too eager. You don’t want to make it seem like he’s all you could think about, even though that’s exactly what’s happening.

You wait for at least five minutes, just hoping he didn’t see you typing.

You: Hi. Yes. Did you?

The typing bubble appears almost instantly.

He was waiting too.

Hyunjin: Yes :) I keep thinking about the painting.

You smile instantly. You walk to the couch and sit down, pulling your legs beneath you.

You: The one with the storm?

Hyunjin: Yes. The one we met in front of.

Your breath catches. You stare at the message longer than necessary, unsure how to respond without revealing how much it affects you.

You: I can’t stop thinking about that piece too.

Three dots appear again.

Disappear.

Return.

You imagine him somewhere across the city, looking at his phone the same way you are now.

Hyunjin: I’m glad I talked to you today.

You blush like a schoolgirl. What even is this, why are you so effected by this man you barely know. Yes, he’s very attractive and he seems kind, but those things never effect you if you’re not knee deep in someone’s personality.

You: Me too, thank you for today.

The conversation ends there, but you can’t seem to be able to stop thinking about him for the rest of the night, before finally going to sleep, still thinking about him, replaying everything in your head.

_

As the days go by the beautiful stranger texts you nearly every day, almost always at the same hours, late evening, when the city softens and people begin disappearing into their private lives. And you blush and kick your feet like a teenager who’s interacting with a boy for the first time in her life every time you get a text from him.

At first, the questions are small.

Hyunjin: What do you usually do after work?

You: Go home. Read. Sometimes cook badly.

Hyunjin: Haha, I doubt it’s bad.

You: Do you paint?

Hyunjin: Yeah, I'm trying to find time for that.

You: What do you do for work?

Three dots appear.

Disappear.

Return.

Hyunjin: I’m a dancer.

You smile unconsciously. It fits him. The way he stood in front of the sculpture. The way his hands moved. The quiet awareness of his body in space.

You: That makes sense.

Hyunjin: Really? How come?

You hesitate, unsure how to explain something intuitive.

You: You notice things. Dancers notice things.

The typing bubble appears instantly.

Stops.

Appears again.

Hyunjin: I think you notice more than me.

The conversations grow slowly as days go by. He asks what silence feels like to you. No one has ever asked that before. You tell him silence isn’t always empty. It can be full. Full of movement, expressions, light shifting through rooms, people breathing.

He sends a message after several minutes.

Hyunjin: That sounds beautiful. I think sign language is very beautiful, maybe you can teach me something one day?

Your chest aches. Teach him sign? One day? This mean he's planning to see you again?

You: Oh, of course, if you'd like that :)

Hyunjin: I'd love it.

Some nights he tells you about the 'rehearsals' he has, as he calls them. You haven’t t quite understood what he does for work. Is he a dance teacher? Is he a backup dancer? He talks about long hours, sore feet and mirrors everywhere, and you imagine him practicing alone in a quiet studio.

You never push for details. You’ve learned people reveal only what they want to.

One evening after weeks of messages that feel strangely essential to your days, you type without overthinking.

You: I wish I could see you dance one day.

The message sends.

Immediately, the typing bubble appears.

Stops.

Appears again.

You watch it, heart beating faster than it should.

…typing…

…typing…

Then it disappears. Again. A minute passes. Two. Your stomach tightens.

Hyunjin: Maybe someday.

Another pause.

Hyunjin: Goodnight :)

You blink at the screen. Something about it feels unfinished. Like a door almost opened and then quietly shut again. What was he writing for minutes straight that he deleted?

You type goodnight back.

The next day passes without a text from him, and you don’t think much of it. People get busy. He clearly sounds like someone who has lots of work and lots of stuff to do. You go to work, come home, make tea and sit by the window as always.

Your phone stays dark.

Two days.

Five days.

A week.

No message.

You stop checking constantly. You place your phone face down now, as if removing the possibility will make disappointment smaller. It shouldn’t hurt. Yes, you both opened up a little bit about your lives, but still, you barely know him. But something settles quietly in your chest, familiar and heavy.

Because this is how it always happens.

People are kind at first. Curious. Interested. They like the novelty of learning how you communicate, the way you watch faces carefully, the patience required to speak with hands or typed words. But eventually comes the moment when effort becomes visible. When conversations require adjustment. When spontaneity disappears.

And then they fade.

Not cruelly or dramatically, but they do, and it always hurts the same. Maybe he wanted to meet with you, but the thought of having to text all the time made him change his mind.

You learned not to blame people for this.

And with him? You just tell yourself this was never different. You tell yourself that you knew better and to stop rereading the messages you exchanged the past weeks, and to stop wondering what he almost said that night.

Two weeks pass.

The rhythm of your life closes again around you, steady and predictable. Evening tea and city lights through your window. You feel foolish for having expected anything else. Some people are just passing moments. Beautiful ones, yes, but temporary. And you're still glad you got to know him even for just a bit. After all, he seemed like a nice, kind man.

_

It's Friday night and you’re halfway through washing dishes. You're planning on tidying up a bit, then putting on a movie and relaxing like that in front of the tv after a shitty day at the atelier.

You dropped your canvas, made a mess in the floor, ruined hours upon hours of hard work and had everyone trying to help you like you were some baby. You’re deaf, you’re not a toddler.

Everything today was just shit, and you deserved to relax and forget this day all together.

Suddenly your phone lights up on the counter. You don’t rush, you’ve trained yourself not to, and you're pretty much sure it's just your mom or your sister.

You dry your hands slowly.

His name.

Your heart forgets all the lessons you tried to teach it.

Hyunjin: Would you be up to meet again?

_

You start getting ready far too early.

The clock says you still have three hours before he arrives, yet you stand in front of your wardrobe like the decision carries unreasonable consequences. Shirts are lifted, held against your body, folded back again. Nothing feels right. Everything feels like trying too hard. You sit on the edge of your bed for a moment trying to catch your breath and looking at all the mess you’ve made in front of you.

You’re being so ridiculous. This is just tea. Just meeting a friend. Right? That’s what he is. A friend.

But your thoughts don’t cooperate. What if he realizes how exhausting it is to talk with you? The pauses while you type. The way conversations sometimes need to slow down or the constant awareness required to communicate with you. People always say it doesn’t matter at first. And then later it does.

You smooth your hands over the clothes you finally picked. A long skirt and a beautifully detailed top.

You tell yourself not to hope too much. To treat this as meeting a friend and nothing else. This is not a date, not a romantic one at least.

The message he sent yesterday replays in your mind.

Would you be up to meet again?

And then the location he chose.

A tea house.

You had mentioned weeks ago casually that tea makes you feel calm and that you collect different kinds, that choosing tea feels like choosing a mood.

He remembered.

The realization warmed you more than the invitation itself. He listens. He listens and he notices and he remembers. You'd be happy even having him in your life as just a friend, so you just hope tonight goes well.

The tea house isn’t in town. It sat far outside the city, near the hills, almost hidden, and you wondered why he would choose somewhere so far when there were dozens of tea places closer. The thought lingered, unanswered. And you didn’t have time to care.

Your phone lights up.

Hyunjin: I’m outside.

Your heart leaps. You grab your bag, check your reflection one last time and step outside.

The car waiting at the curb makes you slow down.

Sleek. Black. You can tell this is a nice, expensive car. Dancers don’t usually drive cars like that. Or do they? Before you can think longer, the driver’s door opens. Hyunjin steps out, and for a moment your brain stops working properly.

He looks unfairly beautiful.

Soft black hair falling into his eyes, simple clothes somehow looking elegant on him, long coat moving slightly with the breeze. There’s nothing flashy about him, yet everything about him draws attention effortlessly. He has a cup on again, a cup that hides most of his face.

He smiles when he sees you and it makes your stomach flip.

Oh no.

He looks even better than you remembered. How are you supposed to try become friends with someone you are so attracted to? A man so beautiful your heart is doing backflips inside your chest. This is never going to work. But you will try, you will do anything to keep him in your life, you're already sure of it.

He walks toward you, slightly nervous energy in his movements. Then he pauses, studying you carefully. He lifts his phone, types quickly, and shows you.

Hyunjin: How do you sign “beautiful” ?

You blink, surprised. You demonstrate slowly, showing him the motion, and his eyes follow your hands with intense focus, repeating the movement carefully, almost reverently.

He signs it back to you.

Beautiful. And points at you right after.

Heat rushes to your face instantly and you're pretty sure your cheeks are red, and he definitely noticed, because the corner of his eyes crinkles as a small smirk appears. You look away, suddenly very interested in the pavement.

The drive is quiet but comfortable.

He occasionally glances at you, like he’s reassuring himself you’re really there. The city slowly fades behind you, buildings giving way to open views and softer landscapes.

You watch the scenery change, curiosity returning. Why here? Why somewhere so far away? But you will not ask. Somehow, the distance feels intentional. Private. Safe. And you find that nice, you trust him. Maybe he just wants to be far away from people because it will be overwhelming having to text and hear all the noise all at once.

The tea house appears nestled between trees, large windows facing an expansive view of hills stretching toward the sea. When you step inside you can see that there are barely any people, and the air smells faintly of jasmine and citrus. They seat you by the window and the view was breathtaking.

For a while, neither of you speaks. You simply sit there, sharing the calm. Then he types something and turns the phone toward you.

Hyunjin: I’m sorry I disappeared.

You blink, caught off guard by the directness.

Hyunjin: Work became overwhelming. I didn’t want to text carelessly.

You nod slowly and you type back.

You: It’s okay.I thought maybe you got tired of talking to me.

You immediately wish the floor would open up and you’d disappear inside it. Why would you just blurt that out so easily? What is wrong with you?

His reaction is immediate. His eyes widen, genuine shock crossing his face. He shakes his head quickly.

Hyunjin: Of course not.

He hesitates before continuing.

Hyunjin: Why would you think that?

You stare at your hands before answering. You already fucked up by being completely honest, you might as well explain.

You: People usually do. They don’t always have patience. Talking with me takes effort.

You expect sympathy or awkward reassurance. Instead, his expression just softens, and he types slower this time.

Hyunjin: Talking to you is easy.

Your chest tightens, and you're still not used to the feeling even though he's making you feel like this way too often.

You hadn’t noticed how tightly you were holding yourself together until the tea arrived. Steam curls upward between you, carrying the faint scent of chamomile and something floral you don’t recognize. The porcelain cups are warm against your fingers.

Hyunjin watches you as you lift the cup.

Hyunjin: Can I ask something personal?

You nod immediately. You’re surprised by how easily trust comes with him.

Hyunjin: Were you always deaf?

You smile at his genuine curiosity and type back.

You: Yes. I was born this way.

You pause, then add more.

You: My parents found out when I was a baby. I have never experienced sound, so I don’t feel like I lost anything.

Hyunjin: Does the cochlear implant help you catch anything?

You reach up instinctively, fingers brushing the small processor resting behind your ear.

You: Sometimes, yes. In quiet places, I can pick up bits of sound, but it doesn’t come through clearly. It’s more like my brain turning electrical signals into rough shapes of meaning. I guess. Speech is the hardest. Some sounds are clearer than others, but none of it feels natural. And I get tired quickly, listening takes effort

He nods as he reads.

Hyunjin: Can you hear your own voice?

You: Not really. I feel it more than hear it.

You tap lightly against your throat.

You: Like vibration inside my chest.

His expression changes, something tender flickering there, and you realize he’s imagining it. Trying to understand your world from the inside.

He types again, slower this time.

Hyunjin: Thank you for explaining it to me.

You nod and smile at him.

Hyunjin: And do your parents know sign language?

You: Kind of, they're still learning, but we can communicate comfortably for the most part.

He smiles.

Hyunjin: I want to learn too.

You look up at him, smiling big without meaning to.

You: I'll teach you then.

And he nods excitingly, as he types again.

Hyunjin: Tell me about your paintings, about your work!

You describe them shyly at first, talking about your favourite techniques and explain how painting feels like translating emotions you can’t always express otherwise. He reads your messages intensely, elbows resting on the table, completely focused. You talk more than you meant to and you open up to him quickly.

Eventually, without thinking, the words slip out.

You: You could come to my house and see them sometime… if you want.

The moment you turn the phone towards him for him to read you immediately regret it and try to take the phone back, but he stops you and holds your hand, turning the phone back to himself. Soft hands, his long fingers making you feel dizzy.

Focus, you're trying to be his friend.

You read his lips: “Let me see.”

You look down quickly, wishing you could pull the invitation back.

He goes still, and you can see uncertainty flicker across his face as he reads it. You rush to type again.

You: Only if you want. No pressure!!!!!!!!

He interrupts gently, typing as a small laugh leaves his throat and you catch the movement.

Hyunjin: I’d like that.

You look at him and he nods once, as if confirming the decision to himself as much as to you. Warmth spreads through you, mixed with nervous excitement.

You: Enough about me though, tell me about yourself too.

He laughs and types.

Hyunjin: I’m not very interesting.

You snort softly before you can stop yourself, and you wonder if the sound you made just now sounded weird. You hope not, and you see him smile, so you don’t think about it too much.

You: That’s not true.

He smiles at your quick response, shoulders relaxing slightly, and he tries again.

Hyunjin: I dance. That’s most of my life.

You nod, already knowing that part, but you wait for him to continue.

Hyunjin: I started young. Training took a lot of time. Long days. Late nights. I still practice almost every day.

You: What kind of dance?

He tilts his head, thinking how to answer.

Hyunjin: Different styles. Contemporary, hip hop, performance dance.

You: Do you like it?

His answer comes immediately this time.

Hyunjin: Yes. When I dance, I don’t think about anything else.

You smile. You understand that feeling. Painting does the same for you.

You: That’s how painting feels for me.

He nods eagerly, clearly happy at the connection.

Hyunjin: Then you understand.

Golden light stretches across the road as you walk back to the car together, and the drive feels different now. You feel closer to him after the talk you had. You feel like you know more about him, but still, you know there's so much more. You can feel that he’s holding back, you just can't put your finger on what it is.

When the car stops outside your apartment your heartbeat picks up again. He picks up his phone after stopping the car right in front of your door and types.

Hyunjin: I have time to see your painting now, if you’re okay with that.

You look at him, not ready for this to happen so fast, but you want him to come and see so bad that you just can’t find it in you to care if your apartment is messy. You nod eagerly.

_

He’s here. About to see your space. Your world. You glance at him, unsure if he’s nervous too, and he meets your eyes and smiles softly.

He follows you quietly into your apartment and the moment the door closes behind him something shifts in the air. You don’t turn on the big overhead light. Instead you move through the small space flipping on the many warm lamps you’ve collected over the years, soft golden pools of light that make the cozy room feel even smaller, more intimate.

The apartment is tiny, walls lined with bookshelves and half finished canvases. The air smells faintly of oil paint, chamomile tea and a lavender candle that even though wasn't lit you could still smell it.

Having him here feels… overwhelming, in a good, perfect way.

Hyunjin looks impossibly beautiful under the warm lamplight. The harsh edges of the outside world are gone. His black hair falls softly across his forehead as he takes his cap off, catching threads of gold. His long coat is draped over the back of your old armchair, and in just a simple black sweater, he seems softer, more real. Every time he moves the light shifts across his face, highlighting the gentle slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the depth in his eyes. He looks like one of your paintings come to life, something delicate and aching all at once.

You lead him to the corner where you paint. The space is cramped but warm, brushes resting in jars, colors smeared on an old wooden palette. Several canvases are propped against the wall, your private little windows into everything you feel.

Hyunjin crouches down slowly so he can see better, eyes moving across each piece with genuine focus. He studies the stormy seascape, soft misty mountains, and the smaller abstract works where colors bleed into emotions you’ve never named out loud.

His expression changes as he looks. First curiosity, then quiet surprise, and finally something close to awe. He leans closer to one particular canvas, a figure standing on a cliff as golden light breaks through heavy clouds, and his lips part slightly.

He pulls out his phone, but then seems to change his mind. Instead, he looks up at you, eyes bright, and slowly signs the word you taught him earlier.

Beautiful.

The movement is careful, a little clumsy but full of effort. His long fingers shape the sign with reverence.

You look up at him, heart pounding so loudly you can feel it in your throat. Without thinking, you sign back “Thank you”, and you mouth the word silently at the same time.

For a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you under the warm lamplight.

Hyunjin’s gaze softens. He rises slowly from his crouch until he’s standing close, closer than he’s ever been. The air between you feels charged, fragile, full of all the unspoken things that have been growing since you met. His eyes drop to your lips for half a second, then return to yours, asking without words.

And then he just leans in.

The kiss is impossibly soft.

Tentative at first, like he’s afraid of breaking the quiet you both cherish. His lips are warm and gentle against yours, tasting faintly of the tea you shared earlier. There’s no rush, only tenderness. One of his hands comes up to cup your cheek with feather light care, thumb brushing your skin.

Your eyes flutter closed. After a heartbeat of surprise, you lean in and kiss him back, your hands rising to rest lightly against his chest. You can feel the steady, slightly faster beat of his heart under your palm. The kiss deepens just a little, still soft, still slow.

When you finally pull apart you’re both breathing a little heavier. His forehead rests gently against yours for a moment, eyes closed, as if he’s savoring the closeness, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your skin.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, then reaches for his phone with slightly unsteady fingers.

Hyunjin: I wanted to do this since the moment I saw you in front of that painting.

You smile, cheeks flushed, and you grab his phone to type back

You: I wanted you to do this since that moment too, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.

His eyes are warm and shiny as he reads.

Hyunjin: I don’t want to scare you with how much I already like you. But being here, in your space, seeing your art… it feels like I’m seeing the real you. And I like her so much.

Your chest tightens with a sweet ache.

You: I’m not scared of you.

The hour now has grown late, and Hyunjin glances at the time on his phone, reluctance clear in his expression.

Hyunjin: I have early practice tomorrow… I should go. Thank you for letting me into your world tonight.

You smile at him as he touched your face one last time, and you walk to the door together. He puts his coat back on and pulls the mask and cap from his pocket, preparing once again for the outside world. Before he steps out, he turns to you one more time.

He leans down and presses a final, tender kiss to your forehead, lingering there for a few heartbeats, and you melt completely. Then he pulls back, eyes soft.

You sign “Goodnight” slowly as you mouth it, and he repeats the sign back to you with a smile.

You stand there for a long moment, fingers touching your lips where he kissed you, the warmth of his presence still lingering in your small apartment.

_

The next afternoon you stepped out to buy groceries, still carrying the warm glow from last night’s kiss. Your steps felt lighter. The world seemed a little softer, and you wanted more than anything to make soup.

You loved soup, and you loved making it. It felt so cozy to make soup. Mushroom soup, carrot soup, chicken soup, onion soup. You’ve tried everything, all of it equally delicious.

You got your groceries and you decided to go home from a different route, to walk around a little longer since the day was so nice. You turned the corner onto the main street, and right there as you looked up, you froze.

There, towering over the busy intersection was a massive billboard. Bright, impossible to miss. Hyunjin’s face, the face of the boy who was in your apartment last night filled most of it, sharp eyes, styled hair, wearing a striking outfit, promoting a luxury brand.

Your bags slipped from your fingers.

The world tilted. You stared, frozen on the sidewalk as people walked past you. Your chest tightened painfully. That was him. Your Hyunjin, splashed across a building like he belonged to everyone.

What the fuck? Is this actually him? Or is this a sick joke? Does he have a fucking twin or something? No. There’s no way that’s him.

_

The groceries hit the floor the moment the door of your apartment closed, milk carton cracking open, vegetables rolling across the tiles.

You didn’t care.

Hands shaking, you opened your laptop and typed “Hyunjin” into the search bar. You didn’t even know his last name, there’s no way anything will come up with just his name.

The page loaded.

Thousands of results.

Photos. Videos. News articles. “Hwang Hyunjin” — Stray Kids. Born March 20, 2000. Main dancer, rapper, visual. Millions of followers. Fancams. Magazine covers.

His face was everywhere.

You clicked frantically. More images flooded the screen, him on stage, glowing with confidence, blonde hair in older clips, intense expressions, surrounded by seven other men. He looked so different yet the same. Powerful. Distant. Like a completely different person from the man who had kissed you so tenderly the other night.

And then the betrayal hit and you felt tears running down your face.

He had lied to you. Not directly, but by omission. While you poured out your world to him he had hidden this enormous part of himself. The cap, the mask, the faraway tea house, the sudden disappearances… it all made brutal sense now.

Is he really that ashamed of me?

The thought tore through you. That’s why he hid his face whenever you were together. To protect himself. So no one would see the famous idol standing next to the deaf girl.

Tears burned hot down your cheeks.

You curled up on the floor beside the spilled groceries, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The apartment felt too small, too quiet, too full of him. You cried until your eyes ached and your chest felt hollow.

How could he do this?

_

The next morning your phone lit up.

Hyunjin: Hey. I keep thinking about your paintings… and you. How are you today?

You read it. Your thumb hovering over the keyboard, but you can’t bring yourself to answer. The hurt is too raw, too fresh.

Twenty minutes later, another message.

Hyunjin: Did you sleep well? I know I left late the other day, I hope I didn’t mess up your sleep schedule. if you’re busy, it’s okay. Just let me know you’re alright?

Read. No reply.

An hour passes.

Hyunjin: Is everything okay? I’m getting a little worried. Did I do something wrong?

You still couldn’t answer and the tears came again. Why was he doing this? What did he want from you? Why is he texting you acting like he cares if he’s so embarrassed to be around you to the point he has to hide under masks?

Then, late in the afternoon another message.

Hyunjin: Please talk to me. Even if it’s just one word. I can’t stop thinking that I messed up the moment I left your apartment. You’re important to me. I don’t want to lose this.

Something inside you snapped. You typed with trembling fingers, vision blurred

You: Are you embarrassed of me, Hwang Hyunjin? Is that why you were hiding your face every time we were together? What do you want from me exactly?

The message sent.

You saw the “Read” notification almost instantly.

He didn’t reply.

_

You feel slightly calmer now after getting that out of your chest, calm enough to look him up again. With a clearer head now, not filled with shock. You searched his name once more and click on a music video titled “God’s Menu.”

The video starts, and you can’t hear a single note. Hyunjin appears on screen, younger, with striking blonde hair, moving with fierce, sharp precision. His expressions are powerful, almost predatory, completely different from the gentle person who had crouched in front of your paintings to look. There were seven other men with him, all radiating raw energy and charisma. The choreography was intense, synchronized, explosive.

He had opened up to you about dancing, about how it made him forget everything. But he never told you this was his life. Why? Why were you not allowed to know about this?

Fresh tears slipped down your cheeks. The disappointment felt heavier than the anger now. You had trusted him, but he hadn’t trusted you with this.

It was past 9 p.m when your phone buzzed again.

Him.

Hyunjin: I’m outside your apartment. Please… can I come up and explain? Just five minutes. I’ll leave right after if you want me to.

Your heart clenched. Part of you wanted to ignore him. The bigger part, the one that still remembered his soft lips kissing you, made you walk to the door. You were angry, but you were mostly curious. Curious to know what the fuck he wants from you and why he hid this.

Hyunjin stood there in the dim hallway light, mask pulled down, eyes wide with worry and something else.. fear?.

He looked exhausted. He stepped inside carefully when you moved aside, and the moment the door closed he started typing frantically, then stopped and tried to speak slowly so you could read his lips.

“I’m not embarrassed of you,” he said clearly, voice careful. “Never. Please believe that.”

You stared at him, arms wrapped around yourself.

He continued, typing and showing you the screen.

Hyunjin: My company has very strict rules. Idols aren’t allowed to date publicly. If fans see me with someone, especially if pictures get taken, it can turn into a huge scandal. It could hurt my members, my career… and the person I’m with. I was trying to protect you. Your life and identity. I don’t want cameras or hate coming after you because of me. I was going to tell you. I swear. I just… I wanted you to like me for me, the guy who sat next to you in the museum.

His eyes were glassy and he looked genuinely devastated. Breaking your heart seeing him like this even though you were still upset with him.

“I’m so sorry,” he mouthed. “I never meant to hurt you like this.”

You felt your own tears return. The anger cracked, leaving only hurt and sudden guilt.

You didn’t know any of this. You weren’t familiar with idol culture, hell, you couldn’t even listen to music.

You typed with shaky hands.

You: Okay, I get that, I’m sorry for reacting like this. I saw you on a billboard and then I googled you. So many people know you. Why do i not deserve to? I just instinctively thought you’re embarrassed of me because of my disability.

Hyunjin shook his head fiercely and pulled you into his arms without hesitation. He held you tight, one hand gently cradling the back of your head. You clung to him, face buried in his chest, shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. He rubbed slow circles on your back, patient and warm.

After a long while, he pulled back just enough to type.

Hyunjin: I really like you Y/N, and I don’t give a fuck that you’re deaf. It’s just another beautiful part of you, nothing more, nothing less.

You read the text and looked up in his eyes, more tears forming in your eyes, in his too. And you hugged again, tightly, as he kissed the top of your head.

After a while like this..

You: I saw the music videos. You look so cool, and you dance so unbelievably great. I wish I could hear your music

The sadness in your own expression was impossible to hide. Hyunjin’s face softened and he cupped your cheeks gently, thumbs brushing away your tears. He leaned in and kissed you, soft, deep, full of apology and longing. You kissed him back desperately, clinging tighter, your hands fisting in his shirt as if he might disappear.

The kiss grew heavier. Your body pressed closer to his, seeking comfort, connection, anything to fill the ache. Your hands slid under his coat, under his sweater, touching his waist and now actively pulling him toward the bedroom as you kiss.

Hyunjin understood immediately and he stopped you gently as he smiled, breaking the kiss, forehead resting against yours.

He shook his head no, breathing uneven, cheeks flushed.

“Not like this,” he mouthed slowly, making sure you could read his lips. “You’re upset. I don’t want you to.. regret it later.”

And his words are kind but they still hit you like cold water. Your hands loosen from his sweater immediately, heat rushing to your face. Embarrassment floods through you so quickly it almost hurts. You pull back a little too fast, avoiding his eyes.

Of course.

Of course you misread everything and embarrassed yourself again.

You stare at the floor, fingers twisting together. You type quickly on your phone, movements slightly clumsy.

You: I’m so sorry. That was stupid. I didn’t mean to-

Before you can finish, he gently catches your wrist. His expression changes instantly, concern replacing surprise.

He shakes his head, almost panicked.

“No,” he mouths quickly. “No, no.”

He takes your phone, typing himself.

Hyunjin: Hey. It’s okay. Really. You didn’t do anything wrong. We can do that some other time, when you’re feeling better. I want it too.

He looks at you and smiles, warm, reassuring, the kind of smile meant to pull you out of your own thoughts. He’s still standing so close and it doesn’t help that you’ve touched his bare waist. You’re still embarrassed, and you don’t know what to do with your hands for the first time maybe ever.

His hand lifts slowly, hesitant, giving you time to pull away if you want.

You don’t.

His fingers tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Then he leans in again. Gentle, soft kiss, slow. Not desperate or overwhelming, reassurance pressed quietly against your lips.

When he pulls back his forehead rests against yours again for a second, both of you smiling a little shyly now. The tension melts and you breathe out a small laugh, still embarrassed but lighter. And he smiles at the sound you made.

He gestures towards the couch and you nod.

You sit side by side, knees touching, your shoulders brushing occasionally as you both pull out your phones to talk. The room feels calmer now. Safe again.

You glance at him, then type.

You: So… idol.

He groans immediately, covering his face with one hand, and you grin.

You: You hid that pretty well.

Hyunjin: I wasn’t trying to lie. I just… wanted you to meet me first.

You tilt your head, teasing.

You: So you’re secretly mega famous and thought I wouldn’t notice?

He laughs, shoulders shaking.

Hyunjin: You didn’t notice.

You nudge his arm.

You: I thought you were just suspiciously pretty.

He pretends to look offended, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. You both laugh, the last bit of awkwardness dissolving between you, but your next message is softer.

You: I was really hurt yesterday. It really shocked me and my mind went to the worse case scenario.

His smile faded, replaced by something serious.

Hyunjin: I know. I’m really sorry. I should’ve thought of the possibility of hurting you like this.

He looks at you while you read it, eyes vulnerable in a way that doesn’t match the polished image he probably shows the world.

Hyunjin: I was scared you’d treat me differently or feel like my life was too much.

Your chest tightens. You don’t type this time. You just lean in and kiss him. A quiet answer. Forgiveness. When you pull back he looks stunned and then relieved, smiling wider than you’ve seen all night.

You stand up suddenly and he blinks in confusion. You gesture toward the kitchen.

“Tea” you mouth, and sign it at the same time.

His face lights up immediately.

He watches you move around the kitchen, comfortable in your own space, sleeves pushed up as you prepare tea. Something about the normalcy of it seems to calm him more than anything else tonight. When you return handing him a warm cup his fingers brush yours deliberately.

He mouths thank you, and he tries to sign it from memory. His movement is a little clumsy, but you help him get it right as you both smile.

You grab the remote and put on some anime show you’ve left unfinished, looking at him to make sure he’s also cool with your choice, and his eyes widen in excitement as he nods immediately.

As the show starts playing quietly the screen colors flickering across the room. He keeps glancing at you more than the show at first, like he’s still grounding himself in the fact that you’re okay, that you’re still here with him.

Eventually you settle closer. Your head rests against his shoulder and his arm hesitates only a second before wrapping around you carefully, pulling you into his side.

He’s warm. steady, safe.

You both watch episode after episode, occasionally passing the phone back and forth to comment or joke. At some point you stop typing altogether. You’re just… comfortable. Your breathing slows and your body grows heavier against him, and a few minutes later he looks down and realises you’ve fallen asleep on him, your cheek pressed against his chest as one of your hands loosely hold his shirt.

His expression softens instantly and he stays still for a long time, unwilling to disturb you, watching your peaceful face like it’s something fragile.

After an hour he carefully shifts, sliding one arm under your knees and the other behind your back as he lifts you. You stir slightly but don’t wake, instinctively leaning closer into him.

He smiles at that. Finding it adorable.

Carrying you to the bedroom feels strangely intimate, more intimate than any of the kisses you’ve shared. He lays you gently on the bed, pulling the blanket over you and tucking it around your shoulders. He just stands there for a moment, watching you, memorizing your face as his fingers brush lightly against your hair.

He mouths quietly, though you can’t hear it,

“Goodnight baby”

And he hesitates… but then leans down and presses one last soft kiss to your forehead before he leaves. And the apartment returns to silence but holds all of the warmth he left behind.

_

Morning arrives slowly.

Sunlight slips through your curtains in golden lines, warming the blankets tangled around you. For a moment you don’t move, you just lie there, half awake, wrapped in the lingering feeling of last night.

Then memory returns all at once.

Hyunjin, the apologies, what almost happened but he’s just so sweet and considerate, the couch, the tea, his arms around you, falling asleep against him.

Your eyes snap open and you sit up quickly, looking around your room. Deep inside you hoping he’s here. A small flicker of disappointment rises… until your phone lights up beside you.

Hyunjin: Good morning! You fell asleep during episode four.

Your heart jumps, and you open the messages immediately. A smile spread across your face as another message appears.

Hyunjin: I carried you to bed. I hope that was okay. I had work pretty early today so I had to go.

You press your lips together, warmth blooming in your chest at the thought.

Hyunjin: Also… I just wanted to say that I’m sorry again for upsetting you. I never want to make you feel unsure of my intentions again.

You reread that one twice. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, but before you can answer, another message arrives.

Hyunjin: I have an idea, and a feeling you’re going to like it. Can I pick you up later?

You don’t even realize you’re smiling until your cheeks start hurting.

You: You don’t have to apologize anymore Hyun. And yes, you can pick me up!

Hyun.

He smiles at the nickname.

He’s down horribly and he knows it.

_

You notice immediately that this drive feels different. He looks excited but nervous too. His fingers tap lightly against the steering wheel while he glances at you every few seconds, like he’s waiting for your reaction before the surprise even happens.

The car stops in front of a large building and you tilt your head questioningly. He grins, a little shy, a little proud over his idea, and gestures for you to follow him.

You immediately realise you’re in a company building. The hallways are never ending, and staff members bow politely as he passes. You notice it, the familiarity, the respect, the way people instantly recognize him. This is his world. Some of them look at you with a strange look on their faces, but they don’t try to interact with you at all, so you simply follow Hyunjin.

He opens a door carefully.

A.. studio?

You’re suddenly inside a huge recording studio. And right there in front of you is another man who looks back at you and Hyunjin and smiles fondly. Does he know you?

Hyunjin signs slowly as he points at him for you to look:

“Friend”

Chan immediately mirrors the greeting, giving you an enthusiastic wave. His smile is kind, gentle in a way that eases your nerves instantly. He types something quickly on a tablet and turns it toward you.

Chan: Hi! I’m Chan, Hyunjin’s bandmate. Hyunjin talks about you a lot. Welcome to our studio. It’s nice to finally meet you”

You smile at him and nod.

He talks about you? He’s.. talked about you to his members? To his group?

Suddenly Hyunjin takes your hand and leads you towards an enormous speaker setup. Huge. Almost intimidating. He suddenly looks nervous, searching your face for trust.

He signs slowly so you can follow every movement.

“I want you to feel my music.”

Did he do research? How does he know how to signs sentences all of a sudden? Your head is already spinning at the fact he’s fully signing before what he actually said even registers.

He guides your hand gently toward the large speaker, an enormous one that’s resting against the wall.

The music starts, and..

BOOM.

A deep vibration surges through the speaker and travels straight into your palm. Strong and alive and you gasp, eyes widening.

The bass pulses again, and again and again. You feel it climb up your arm, into your chest, into your bones. Instinctively, your other hand presses over your heart. The beat syncs beneath your palm. You’re feeling it. Feeling him. His art, his effort. His voice translated into movement, into vibration and emotion.

Your smile grows uncontrollably and you know your eyes are shinning, and then tears spill before you even realize you’re crying. Hyunjin freezes when he sees them.

For one terrifying second he thinks Did I overwhelm her? Did I do something wrong?

But then you laugh silently through your tears, gripping the speaker tighter, shoulders shaking with emotion. And he understands. You feel it. You feel him. He steps closer, overwhelmed himself now, and gently cups your face. His thumbs wipe your tears away one by one, and then he leans down, kissing them softly from your cheeks.

Behind you Chan quietly smiles, and without a word he slips out of the room, closing the door, giving you privacy, protecting the moment.

Hyunjin rests his forehead against yours, the music still pulses through the floor, through your hands, through your heart.

He signs slowly, again: I wanted to share my world with you.

You squeeze his hand, pressing it over your chest so he can feel your heartbeat racing beneath his palm and you kiss kid knuckles.

That’s your answer.

He exhales shakily, overwhelmed by how deeply this moment means means to him, and scared of how much you mean to him.

The tears on your cheeks had barely dried when something shifted in the air between you. His breathing grew heavier, you could feel it. His thumbs stroked your skin once more, then slid down to your jaw.

He kissed you again, hard, passionate, desperate.

It wasn’t like his usual gentle kisses. This one carried everything he had been holding back, longing, fear, and overwhelming want.

His lips moved against yours with urgent hunger, tongue slipping into your mouth as his hands slid into your hair, tilting your head exactly how he wanted and you whimpered into the kiss, hands fisting in his shirt.

He started to guide you to the couch now, and he locked the studio door with one hand without breaking the kiss.

He sat down on the wide, comfortable studio couch and pulled you with him. You climbed into his lap without thinking, knees bracketing his hips, straddling him. The moment your bodies pressed together you both instinctively moaned. And oh you were needy. So needy. And so was he. And the little sounds you were making were driving him crazy.

Your hips started moving on their own, grinding down against the growing hardness in his pants. The friction was delicious, and you rocked against him again and again, chasing the pressure. He groaned deeply, the sound vibrating against your lips as his hands gripped your waist, guiding your movements.

“Fuck… baby,” he breathed against your neck, making sure you could feel the low rumble of his voice. “You’re so eager for me…”

You answered by rolling your hips harder, desperate little sounds slipping from your throat. The music continued to pulse around you, deep bass thumping through the couch, through his body, into yours. Every beat seemed to sync with the way you moved against him.

Hyunjin’s hands slid under your shirt, palms hot against your bare skin. He helped you pull the fabric over your head, then leaned forward to kiss and bite softly at your neck and collarbone while you continued grinding down on him. The humping grew more frantic, and your breathing was ragged, thighs trembling around his hips as you rubbed yourself against his clothed cock again and again.

He was breathing hard too, forehead pressed to your shoulder, groaning every time you rolled your hips just right.

After several long minutes of this, he finally slid one hand between your bodies. His long fingers slipped under your skirt and into your panties, finding you already soaked.

“So wet for me baby” he said, making sure you read his lips, and his words made you shiver.

He circled your clit slowly at first, then faster. Two of his long, elegant fingers pressed inside you, curling gently, opening you up. He scissored them slowly, stretching you, stroking that sensitive spot inside while his thumb continued rubbing your clit.

You clung to his shoulders, hips rocking desperately onto his fingers, soft whimpers turning into broken moans. Hyunjin watched your face the entire time, eyes dark and full of adoration, occasionally leaning in to kiss you deeply whenever your sounds grew louder.

When he felt you were ready, trembling and dripping around his fingers, he pulled them out gently.

He quickly opened his pants, freeing himself. His cock was hard, flushed, already leaking at the tip. He looked up at you, breathing heavily, eyes sparkling and asking for permission even now. And you answered by lifting your hips, pushing your panties aside, and slowly sinking down onto him.

The stretch was intense.

You gasped, forehead falling against his as you took him inch by inch. Hyunjin’s hands gripped your hips tightly, but he didn’t push, he let you control the pace, groaning deeply every time you sank a little lower.

When he was fully inside you, buried to the hilt, you both stayed still for a moment, breathing each other in.

Then you started moving.

Slow at first. Rolling your hips in deep, sensual circles. Hyunjin’s head fell back against the couch, lips parted, low groans spilling from his throat and you wrapped one arm gently around his neck so you could feel every groan, every moan through your palm. And every time you felt it you’d squeeze him inside you so deliciously.

His hands guided you, helping you ride him harder, deeper.

“You feel so fucking good,” he groaned, looking at you straight in the eyes as he spoke “So tight… so warm… all mine. My perfect girl.”

Your pace quickened. You rode him with desperate need, breasts bouncing slightly with every movement, hands clutching his shoulders for balance. Hyunjin met every roll of your hips with upward thrusts, fucking up into you while keeping one hand on your lower back, pressing you closer.

When you finally came it hit you so hard. Your body clenched around him, a silent cry tearing from your throat as waves of intense pleasure crashed through you. Hyunjin followed right after, pulling out of you quickly, a shuddering groan you felt vibrate through your entire chest. His arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you against him as he spilled on his stomach.

You looked down at the beautiful mess he had made in himself, and you picked some of it with your finger, bringing it to your mouth.

His head was going to explode. The expressions on his face priceless, making you wet all over again by just how hot he looked looking at you.

His hands started to stroke your back slowly, tenderly. He pressed soft kisses to your sweaty temple, your cheek, your lips. His fingers brushed damp strands of hair away from your face with such gentle care it made your chest ache.

“I think i’m falling in love with you” he mouthed and touched his heart.

Your eyes widened, a smile you couldn’t control. You fell on his chest and kissed him, and you could feel each other’s smiles through the kiss

“Me too” you mouthed back.

You buried your face in his neck, arms wrapped tightly around him, heart still racing.

_

The award still feels unreal in his hands even hours later.

Even after the stage lights, the cameras, the cheers vibrating through the arena floor, the weight of the trophy resting beside the table keeps pulling Hyunjin back to reality.

They won.

The restaurant is loud, warm, crowded with late night laughter and clinking glasses. The members insisted on going out if they won, no managers hovering too closely tonight, just eight exhausted men finally allowed to breathe.

Chan lifts his glass.

“To surviving another year”

Everyone cheers. Glasses collide.

Hyunjin smiles, but his mind drifts elsewhere, and across the table Chan watches him carefully. Too carefully. He knows him too well.

Chan leans forward slowly, eyes narrowing in playful suspicion.

“Why do you look like you’re remembering something illegal?”

Laughter erupts instantly.

Changbin snaps his fingers. “He’s been smiling at nothing all night!”

Han points dramatically. “You can’t possibly be this happy over the award you little fuck, just tell us”

Hyunjin groans, dropping his face into his hands.

“I hate all of you.”

Felix grins. “No, no. We love you. That’s why we investigate.”

Seungmin tilts his head. “It’s her, right?”

The table quiets just slightly. Not teasing now, all of them genuinely curious to know.

Because they know.

They’ve watched Hyunjin change the past few months, softer rehearsals, distracted smiles, the way he stays up texting. The way he just looks happier now, more content, complete.

Chan leans back, arms crossed.

“The museum girl.”

Hyunjin exhales, there’s no hiding he’s down bad for her, they already know, he’s already told them, so what’s the point of shying away now.

His voice comes quiet.

“…Yeah.”

Immediately, smiles spread around the table. Jeongin kicks his leg under the table. “Finally.”

Changbin laughs. “So you’re officially together or what?”

Hyunjin shakes his head, embarrassed but smiling anyway. “I don’t know. Yes? I haven’t asked her to be her boyfriend but do I even have to? We both said we’re falling in love with each other.”

He looks down at his glass, thumb tracing condensation along the edge.

“I think…” he hesitates, searching for words. “…I think she sees me. Who I am, who I really am you know?.”

He thinks about how you looked at him before knowing who he was. How heartbroken you were because you thought he’s embarrassed of you, when the thing he wanted to do the most was yell from a rooftop about you.

“I mean, to find someone like her, so kind, so talented, and to not care at all about this life.. this is one in a lifetime”

His friends have long stopped teasing and are now listening to him, some of them smiling, others almost looking proud.

“When I thought I lost her I was a mess”

Felix nods gently. “But you didn’t.”

Hyunjin shakes his head, a small smile forming.

“No.”

Chan watches him carefully, then grins slowly.

“…So.”

Everyone leans in. Chan’s voice lowers dramatically.

“You brought her to the studio yesterday.”

Groans and laughter explode immediately and Hyunjin’s face turns bright red.

“Hyung...”

Chan points accusingly. “You never bring anyone to the studio.”

Changbin slams the table. “Oh my god, you fucked in the studio didn’t you?”

Hyunjin hides his face again, shoulders shaking with mortified laughter.

“That’s none of your goddamn business idiots.”

“Oh my god they did. They fucked in our studio.”

The reaction is instant chaos. Han nearly falls out of his chair. Felix covers his mouth, laughing and Minho claps like someone just scored a goal.

Chan leans back triumphantly.

“I knew it.”

Minho has been itching to ask this, and he finally does

“So, did you have her sign an NDA?”

Hyunjin looked at him like he had asked the craziest thing in the world. Almost disgust forming on his face

“Dude what? No. She will never do anything shady. She’s not like that”

Changbin nudged him. “You waited forever to meet someone like that.” shifting the conversation, knowing how Hyunjin gets with the whole idea of NDAs.

Felix nods warmly. “You deserve someone who understands you.”

Chan’s teasing fades into something softer. “You look lighter,” he says. “On stage today too. I noticed.”

Hyunjin looks at him and smiles, “Really?” he hadn’t realized it himself, but it was true. The performances felt more free lately. The pressure quieter. Because for the first time since forever.. he has somewhere to return to emotionally. Someone who knows him when the lights turn off and loves him anyway for who he really is.

He smiles to himself.

“She felt our music yesterday, that’s why I took her to the studio. She wanted to know, and that’s the only pleas for her to do that.” he says softly.

The table stills again. They are all so curious about how Hyunjin makes it work considering her deafness. He tells them about your hand on the speaker, the way your smile broke open, how you cried while feeling the rhythm through your body.

No one interrupts. Even Changbin grows quiet.

Chan exhales slowly, clearly moved.

“…That’s beautiful, man.”

Hyunjin nods.

“I think… I think this is serious guys. I’m like.. genuinely in love with her.”

Then eight matching grins spread around the table, and Han raises his glass again.

“To Hyunjin finally being in love.”

Glasses lift. They all cheer loudly as Hyunjin blushes, and he doesn’t deny it. How could he when it’s the truth.

He’s so madly in love with you.

Because when he checks his phone under the table and sees your name lighting the screen with a simple message —

Did you eat? Congratulations on your win, I saw you on tv!

— his chest warms in a way no award ever could ever make him feel.

He types back instantly.

Yes. I miss you already.

He doesn’t notice Chan watching him fondly from across the table. Doesn’t notice the knowing smiles exchanged between the members. They’ve seen Hyunjin chase perfection for years. Seen him doubt himself. Seen loneliness hide behind beauty and talent. Tonight he looks peaceful.