nikitha

You stare at the screen for another ring. Then another.

Then you answer.

“...Hello?”

There’s a beat of silence, just long enough to make you wonder if he hung up, and then:

“Hey,” he says, breathless like he’d been holding it. “Sorry—sorry to call out of nowhere. I didn’t know who else to ask.”

His voice hasn’t changed. Still soft in a way that wraps around your ribs. Still threaded with that low, careful tension like he’s always thinking five things at once and only saying one.

You shift in your seat, heart suddenly too loud in your chest.

“Okay,” you say slowly, warily. “What’s going on?”

A soft rustle comes through the line—maybe the jingle of keys, maybe his bracelets sliding against his wrist. You picture him pacing his apartment, the same way he used to during finals week, lip caught between his teeth, hair tucked behind one ear.

“I wouldn’t call if it wasn’t important,” he says. “And I get that it’s weird. Us not talking, and then—me dropping this on you.”

You glance toward the window, try not to let your voice shake. “What is this, exactly?”

He hesitates. “I have to leave the city. It’s an art residency. Last-minute. It’s… big.”

Your stomach twists again, but this time it’s sharper. Of course it’s big. Hyunjin was always meant for something more.

You lean back in your chair, eyes tracing the rain sliding down the windowpane like it’s trying to draw an answer for you. A part of you wants to ask where he's going, what the project is, if he’s excited—because of course he is, he always was, always buzzing with vision and color and a kind of hunger you never could name. But that part of you lives behind a glass wall now. You’re not sure you’re allowed to tap on it.

So you don’t ask. You swallow the words like coins dropped into a well—silent, swallowed, never coming back up.

“I’m happy for you,” you say instead, and it’s almost true. “You deserve it.”

Hyunjin exhales, and for a second you wonder if he’s smiling. “Thanks. That means more than you probably think.”

It shouldn't. But you don’t say that either.

“I wouldn’t call if I didn’t really need the help,” he adds, voice dipping a little lower now, like he’s bracing for the ask to land wrong. “It’s Kkami. My sitter canceled last minute, and everyone else is either busy or allergic. You were the only person I thought of who could handle him.”

You laugh softly, mostly out of disbelief. “Handle him? Hyun, your dog hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Hyunjin says, though there’s something too quick in his defense, too breathless—like maybe he’s trying to convince himself. “He’s just... territorial.”

You huff a dry laugh. “Yeah, I remember. He tried to piss on my jeans.”

“That was one time.”

“Twice.”

“Okay, but in his defense, they smelled like me.”

You pause. The silence that follows is sharp and sudden, the kind that cuts deep and clean. It’s the kind of silence that remembers.

Because those jeans had smelled like him—after that night. The last one. The one where he’d backed you against the wall of your own bedroom with his fingers still wet from your mouth, where he’d said things he probably didn’t mean and kissed you like he hated how much he did.

The night you both decided—without saying it—that it was over. That whatever “thing” had been pulsing between you wasn’t something either of you could hold without bleeding.

And yet. Here you are. Picking at it like a scab that never healed right.

Your throat works around the memory before your voice does. You don’t say anything at first—just sit there, hand wrapped too tightly around your phone, eyes fixed on some vague point on the wall like if you don’t move, it won’t reach you. Like you can’t still feel him, breath hot against your neck, hands fisting in your sheets, mouth tracing every soft part of you like he was trying to memorize the map of a place he had no business returning to.

He clears his throat on the other end, and it sounds like guilt. Or maybe longing. You’ve always had trouble telling the difference when it came to him.

“Look,” Hyunjin says, quieter now. “I wouldn’t be asking if I had another option. Kkami doesn’t do well with new spaces, and I can’t board him. He’s too anxious, and if he’s not with someone he knows, he’ll make himself sick.”

You finally speak, though your voice is thin. “So you want me to stay at yours.”

A beat. Then—“Yeah.”

Just like that. No sugarcoating. No backpedaling. Just Hyunjin, honest and bare in the way he always was once he stopped pretending not to feel everything at once.

You run a hand down your face. “Hyun, we haven’t talked in almost a year.”

“I know.”

“You haven’t even seen me since—”

“I know.”

He’s not angry, not defensive. Just… raw. Like the words are scraping him on the way out. You can hear the scrape.

“I didn’t think I’d ever call you again,” he admits. “I thought that was the deal. But when they offered me this residency, and I realized I had to leave tonight—you’re the only person I could trust. With him. With my home.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, hard enough to taste the coppery edge of restraint.

His home.

It’s stupid, really. How easy it is to fall back into this rhythm. How even now, after all the months, all the distance, he can still lace your name with history. You’d been friends once. Kind of. You’d laughed a lot, touched a lot, fucked even more—on couches, against doors, in the low hush of early morning when everything was tender and wrong. It was always supposed to be temporary. Temporary, but all-consuming.

But the feelings crept in like rot through the walls. And neither of you were brave enough to call it love, so you called it off instead. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you say, but even you don’t sound convinced.

“I’ll wash the sheets,” he jokes weakly.

You laugh, soft and involuntary, the sound catching somewhere in your throat. It’s not really about the sheets.

It never was.

And the silence that follows—god, it aches. Not sharp like the aftermath of a fight, but dull and lingering, like a bruise you don’t remember getting. Like a conversation left open on a table, gathering dust.

You clear your throat. “What time’s your flight?”

“Late,” he says. “But I still have to pack a few pieces and drop off the canvases. It’ll be tight.”

“Do you need help?” The words are out before you can catch them. You curse yourself immediately for the softness in your voice.

He hesitates. “No. It’s fine. Just—just the dog. That’s all I need help with.”

Right. The dog.

You glance at your calendar. Clear. Of course it’s clear.

Of course the universe decided to leave space for this.

“Alright,” you murmur. “Just send me the code. I’ll stay at yours. It’s fine.”

“You don’t have to bring anything,” he rushes to say, and it’s like he’s trying to compensate for the ask with over-kindness. “I washed the old blanket. The one you used to crash under on the couch. It’s still there.”

Your fingers tighten around your phone.

He doesn’t mention that the last time you slept under that blanket, you were still tangled in him. Half-dressed. Half-drunk on him. That he pulled it over your hips after, when you were too spent to move, and he kissed your shoulder like he wanted to stay but didn’t know how.

You don’t bring it up either.

Instead, you breathe out slow. “Cool. I’ll head over in an hour or two.”

“Okay.”

Neither of you say I missed you.

Neither of you say This is weird.

Neither of you say Is this going to break us again?

Instead, Hyunjin adds quietly, “I’ll leave a note.”

“For the dog?”

“For you.”

You close your eyes.

“Okay.”

He doesn’t say goodbye. Just… hangs up.

And you let the dial tone ring for a few seconds longer than you should, like maybe he’ll change his mind. Like maybe you will.

But the silence stays.

And when you finally move, dragging out your overnight bag and stuffing it half-heartedly with essentials, you can’t stop thinking about the smell of his apartment. The way the floor creaks by the hallway. The coffee mugs he used to leave near the sink, rimmed with paint. The pictures he never hung. The sketchbook that held a drawing of you in fading graphite—one he never knew you found.

You wonder if it’s still there.

You wonder what else of you is.

The building hasn’t changed.

You hate that you notice. Hate that your fingers still know the keycode before you even read the text. Hate that the elevator creaks on the same floor. That the hallway smells like turmeric and old wood and the trace of him—Hyunjin, in incense and paint and something vaguely sweet.

His apartment door is unlocked, just like he promised. A sticky note is taped to the front, scrawled in the quick, crooked handwriting you used to recognize across lecture halls and grocery lists alike.

“Come in. He’s dramatic, not dangerous. Don’t let him guilt trip you.” —H.

You roll your eyes and open the door.

It looks the same. Lived-in, messy in a way that’s curated. An art book cracked open on the coffee table. Two mugs in the sink. One of his hoodies flung across the back of the couch like he wore it last night. And maybe he did.

You hear the growl before you see him.

Kkami stands in the middle of the living room, ears pinned back, hackles raised, tail stiff like an accusation. He looks you dead in the eye and lets out a snarl so pointed you actually step back.

“Oh, fuck off,” you mutter, tugging your bag higher on your shoulder. “We’ve been over this.”

He growls again. Louder.

You raise your hands. “I come in peace.”

He barks.

You take a careful step inside, nudging the door shut behind you. Kkami follows your every move like you’re an intruder in a palace he was knighted to protect. 

“I’m not stealing your shit,” you tell the dog. “I’m just crashing here. Ask your absentee father.”

Kkami doesn’t find it funny.

You inch toward the kitchen, where Hyunjin’s written schedule sits neatly beside two bowls—one for food, one for water. Both full. Fresh.

You glance at the clock. He’s probably already at the airport. Maybe already boarding. Maybe looking down at the city through a plane window, tapping his fingers against the glass like he always did when he was anxious. You wonder if he thought about calling you again. You wonder if he’s relieved you didn’t call him first.

Kkami lets out a soft, pitiful whine behind you. When you turn, he’s sitting but tense, eyes never leaving you. Suspicious. Wounded. Territorial, like Hyunjin said.

“Jesus, you’re worse than him,” you sigh.

A folded slip of paper catches your eye. It’s tucked under the magnet shaped like a paintbrush on the fridge. Your name is written across the front.

Your throat tightens.

You don’t open it. Not yet.

You drop your bag by the couch and finally take a seat, letting the quiet settle around you. The apartment hums with memory. You used to sit here wrapped in his hoodie, eating leftover tteokbokki at midnight, legs draped across his lap while he rubbed lazy circles into your shin. You used to kiss in this corner. Fuck in this corner. Sleep in the bed down the hall like it meant nothing, even when it meant too much.

Kkami barks once—sharp and offended—then hops up onto the other end of the couch and curls into a tight, annoyed little donut.

“Truce?” you offer.

He sneezes. Well then.

You sigh and reach for your phone. Maybe you can FaceTime Hyunjin later. Let the dog see him. Hear him. Maybe that’ll help.

Or maybe it’ll make everything worse.

You glance over at the folded blanket. The place where you used to lay your head.

And wonder how long it’ll take for this place to feel empty without him in it.

You don’t sleep well that first night.

Kkami stays curled at the farthest edge of the bed like he’s punishing you, his little back turned, ears twitching at every shift you make beneath the sheets. He doesn’t bark, but he lets out these occasional, theatrical sighs—deep, betrayed, bone-deep things—like you’ve committed the ultimate offense by existing where Hyunjin should be.

You get it.

You feel it too.

In the morning, you wake before the sun finishes rising. The air in the apartment is cold, the kind of cold that seeps into your joints, your thoughts, the hollow behind your ribs. You drag Hyunjin’s blanket from the couch and wrap yourself in it, settle on the floor near the window with a mug of instant coffee that tastes like cardboard and nostalgia.

Kkami watches you from the kitchen doorway, still suspicious.

“Do you have a schedule, or are we just winging it?” you ask him.

He sneezes and turns his head. No comment.

The hours pass slow. You walk him—twice. He barks at a bus, growls at a stroller, and refuses to let you tie his leash to the bench while you grab a coffee from the corner place Hyunjin used to love. You wind up going without.

At noon, you wander the apartment, not touching anything but looking at everything. A half-finished canvas still rests on the easel in the corner. It’s abstract—something celestial, maybe. Blue and smoke and gold bleeding together like bruises in motion. You don’t know if it’s new. You don’t ask.

You think about texting him. Just something simple. He misses you already. Or He hasn’t peed on anything today. But the words feel too light. Too personal. You settle for:

12:31 PM — [You]: he ate most of his food. drank a lot of water too. no accidents.

The read receipt comes instantly. His reply is a few minutes later:

12:36 PM — [Hyunjin]: thank you <3

The heart curls in your chest. You close the app.

You make pasta for dinner and Kkami doesn’t touch his kibble until you sit beside him on the floor and pretend to eat a piece. Then he snarfs it all down like he’s proving a point.

That night, he won’t sleep again. He whines. He paces. He jumps down from the bed and runs to the door, then back again. Tail twitching. Eyes darting.

When you try to pet him, he flinches like he’s expecting a trick. You sit on the floor again, cross-legged in Hyunjin’s oversized hoodie (you told yourself you brought it by accident), and say softly, “He’s not here. It’s just me.”

He whines again. Low and pitiful.

“Me too,” you whisper.

You glance toward the kitchen. Toward the fridge. That little slip of paper still waits, untouched beneath the magnet shaped like a paintbrush. Your name in his handwriting. Like a bruise. Like a dare.

You haven’t opened it. Not yet.

You slept on the couch.

Not because the bed wasn’t made—Hyunjin had even tucked in the corners, left a glass of water on the nightstand like he thought about what you’d need—but because you couldn’t bring yourself to crawl into the same sheets you used to wake up tangled in. Not when the scent of him still lived in the pillowcases. Not when the memory of his hands on your bare back still lingered in the seams of the duvet.

So you curled up under the old blanket instead, the one you used to steal during lazy afternoons and Netflix half-watched kisses and accepted the fact that your neck was going to ache in the morning. Kkami refused to join you. He spent most of the night pacing between the door and the hallway, growling at shadows.

The second night is worse.

Kkami is inconsolable. He won’t eat. Won’t lie down. Won’t stop pacing between the front door and the window like he’s waiting for Hyunjin to materialize from thin air. At one point, he noses Hyunjin’s shoes—left by the entryway—and lets out a sound so hollow and pitiful it actually makes your eyes sting.

You try everything. Treats. Music. White noise. The blanket that still smells like Hyunjin’s shampoo. But nothing works. It’s like something inside him is unraveling, the cord pulled too tight and fraying with every hour he doesn’t see the one person he’s built his little world around.

Same, you think bitterly, and feel stupid for it.

You end up sitting on the kitchen floor around midnight, your legs numb, your patience thinner than it’s been in weeks. Kkami’s resting his chin on his paws but still letting out this tiny, high-pitched whine every few seconds, like he’s trying not to cry but can’t help it.

And that sound—god, that sound shatters something in you.

You sigh, rub your face with both hands, and reach for your phone.

12:04 AM — [You]: he won’t sleep. he’s been crying for an hour. won’t eat either.

You don’t expect him to reply. Not at this hour, not while he’s halfway across the country doing Important Artist Things.

But your screen lights up with an incoming FaceTime call within seconds.

Your heart drops into your stomach.

You hesitate. Just for a second.

Then answer.

And for the first time in nearly a year, you see him.

Hyunjin’s face fills the screen—soft-lit and sleepy, hoodie bunched around his neck like he’d just been getting ready for bed. But it’s not just the setting that throws you. It’s him.

The long hair you used to run your fingers through—gone. All of it. In its place: a buzzcut. Clean, close, severe in a way that shouldn’t suit him but somehow does. It makes his features sharper, more present. Like there’s nothing to hide behind anymore.

You blink. You don’t mean to stare, but the shock is immediate, visceral.

“Hi,” he says, quiet.

You swallow. “Hi.”

He sits up straighter. “Is he okay?”

You shift the camera toward Kkami, who immediately perks up. His ears shoot up like radar, and he lets out a small, startled bark before beelining to your lap—bumping his snout into the phone like he’s trying to crawl through it.

Hyunjin laughs. It’s breathless. Disbelieving.

“God, he’s dramatic.”

“He gets it from you,” you mutter.

Kkami presses against your chest like he’s trying to bury himself in your heart, finally calm now, finally still. You stroke a hand down his back and try not to think about the fact that it took Hyunjin’s voice to soothe him.

You glance at the screen again. Hyunjin’s watching you, not Kkami.

There’s a beat where neither of you speak. The only sound is Kkami’s soft breathing and the low hum of the city outside the window.

Then, gently:

“I left you something,” he says.

You swallow. “I know.”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d find it.”

“I did.”

“You gonna open it?”

You glance toward the fridge. The note still waits, tucked under the paintbrush magnet like a secret too fragile to touch.

“Not yet,” you say.

And he doesn’t push. Just nods. “Okay.”

Kkami shifts closer to your thigh and exhales, finally resting his chin on your knee. You pet him with one hand, still holding the phone in the other.

“He’s sleeping now,” you whisper.

“So are you.”

You blink. “What?”

“Your eyes,” he says. “They do that thing. The little flutter when you’re about to crash.”

You’re too tired to argue. Too tired to ask why he remembers that.

“I’ll hang up,” he offers.

You don’t say no.

You just murmur, “Goodnight, Hyun.”

And you hear the softness in his voice as he says it back:

“Goodnight.”

You don’t sleep much better that night.

But Kkami doesn’t cry again.

The next few days fall into a strange kind of rhythm—quiet, off-kilter, but somehow soothing in the way old routines can be, even when they’re made of things that weren’t meant to last.

Kkami still hates you by daylight.

He growls when you walk into the room. Barks when you open the fridge. Refuses to eat unless you pretend not to look. He doesn’t let you pet him unless he’s half-asleep or tricked by a treat, and he definitely doesn’t let you forget that this is his house, his couch, his missing person.

But at night, when Hyunjin calls, it’s like a switch flips.

Kkami leaps into your lap the moment the ringtone echoes through the apartment. He curls there, fast and warm and trembling just slightly, like he’s spent all day building tension he doesn’t know how to unspool without Hyunjin’s voice in the room.

You always answer on the couch, blanket pulled tight around your shoulders, phone propped up against a half-full glass of water. Hyunjin always looks a little tired, a little flushed from wherever he’s just come back from—a gallery tour, a studio session, a walk through some city that doesn’t have your footprints on its sidewalks.

He tells you about the art residency. The gallery director who makes coffee that tastes like battery acid. The studio space—wide and cold and full of light. He tells you about a piece he’s working on: abstract, rough, loud in a way he hasn’t painted in years.

“You’d hate it,” he laughs, voice crackling faintly through the call. “It’s all jagged lines. Chaos. I think it’s about… hunger. Or maybe grief. I don’t know.”

“I never hated your work,” you say.

Hyunjin quiets. Then, low:

“You hated what it did to me.”

Your breath catches.

Because he’s right.

You did.

You hated the way he disappeared into it—into himself—those long stretches of silence when he wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t touch you unless it was desperate and fleeting, like he was chasing the ghost of something he could never quite hold. You hated the way he used his own pain like paint thinner, diluted himself until all that was left was color on canvas and a shell of the boy you used to fall asleep beside.

But you don’t say that.

You just sit there, curled on his couch in his hoodie you’ve stolen from his drawer, your phone glowing in the soft hush of midnight.

“I hated how much it hurt you,” you say instead. “That’s not the same thing.”

Hyunjin nods slowly, his lips pressed into a line. “No. It’s not.”

Kkami shifts in your lap, stretching a little, his snout nudging your elbow before he sighs and drifts deeper into sleep. You stroke his fur absently, eyes still locked on the screen, on Hyunjin’s face—the new angles of it, the way the buzzcut makes him look older, sharper, like a wound that finally scabbed over.

He watches you for a while. Then murmurs, “I was scared to call you.”

You smile, tired and small. “I figured.”

“I thought you’d say no. That you wouldn’t even answer.”

“I almost didn’t.”

His throat bobs. “Why’d you say yes?”

You don’t answer right away.

Because it’s not just about the dog. Not just about the key he left under the stairs or the food already stocked or the note still waiting on the fridge like a breath you’re not ready to exhale.

You look at him. Really look.

And when you speak, it’s quiet. Honest.

“Because I missed you. Even when I hated missing you.”

The silence after is different this time.

He blinks. His mouth parts like he’s going to say something, but all that comes out is a whisper.

“Fuck.”

You let out a laugh—dry, breathless. “Yeah.”

He shifts on the screen, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. “You still sleep on the couch?”

“Every night.”

“Why?”

“Because the bed remembers more than I’m ready to.”

His eyes flicker. He nods once. Like he understands. Like he hasn’t been sleeping either.

Another pause. Then—

“I dream about you,” he says.

And it’s not a confession. It’s a bruise. Something he’s been pressing on in the dark just to see if it still hurts.

You blink. “Hyun—”

“Not just the sex,” he adds, voice hoarse. “Though… yeah. That too. A lot, actually.”

You glance away, heat creeping up your neck. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I want to,” he says. “I want you to know I still—”

He cuts himself off. Breathes out hard. Shakes his head.

Kkami stirs in your lap, shifting slightly. The air feels too tight suddenly, the silence too loud.

You focus on Kkami. On the slow rise and fall of his small body, the way his paws twitch in sleep like he’s chasing something warm. It grounds you—barely.

Hyunjin exhales on the other end of the line. You can hear it, soft and ragged, the kind of breath that holds everything he didn’t say. Everything he still might.

You don’t speak. Not yet. Because what could you say? I still touch myself to the thought of you? I still wear your hoodie like armor when I can’t sleep? I still think about that night on the floor when we couldn’t stop, even though we knew it was already over?

None of it would come out right.

So instead, you keep your voice even when you ask, “Do you paint me?”

The question slips out before you can stop it. You don't even know why you asked it. Maybe its because you're so sleepy you can't filter you're thoughts. Maybe because he mentioned it once, over soggy cereal over the golden morning light that filtered through the blinds, over the laughter you've never quite had again.

Hyunjin stills.

On the screen, he doesn’t look shocked. He looks… worn. Like someone who’s been carrying the answer around for a while and doesn’t know where to put it.

“I try not to,” he says eventually. Quiet. Careful. “But you always end up there.”

Your breath falters. You nod slowly, like that’s an answer you expected—because it is. Because you knew. Somehow, you always knew.

You shift the phone slightly, angle it so he can see the window behind you. The dark skyline. The reflection of the room, soft and gold and full of ghosts. Your voice is steadier than you feel when you say, “I haven’t opened it.”

“I know,” he replies, just as soft.

“I want to. But…”

“You don’t have to explain.”

“I think I need more time.”

“Take it,” he murmurs. “I left it because I had to, not because I needed anything back.”

You nod. Not that he can see it—not really. But somehow, you think he feels it anyway.

“Okay,” you say. It's the only thing you can manage that doesn’t crack under its own weight.

A pause stretches between you. Soft. Not cold. Just full. Like the breath before a confession. Like the second before a kiss.

Kkami snores lightly, curled deeper into your lap now, his whole body lax with trust. You glance down at him, stroke a thumb between his ears, then look back at the screen.

Hyunjin’s still watching you. Not the dog. Not the view.

Just you.

“You’re wearing my hoodie,” he murmurs, a little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You shrug, suddenly shy. “Didn’t pack enough layers.”

“I knew you’d steal something,” he says, teasing, but low—like he's remembering the way you used to steal everything from him. His clothes. His time. His breath.

“You left the drawer cracked open on purpose.”

“Maybe.”

His smile softens into something quieter. More real.

“I used to love seeing you in my stuff,” he adds. “Used to come home and hope you’d be there. Curled up in it. Pretending to wait for me.”

You swallow. It’s harder than it should be. “I wasn’t pretending.”

Hyunjin blinks slowly. Like that hit him somewhere unexpected. Somewhere tender.

And then, quietly, almost afraid to hope: “Are you still?”

You could lie. You could deflect. But instead, you meet his eyes through the screen.

“I haven’t been with anyone else.”

His jaw works. “Neither have I.”

The words land between you like a marker—drawing a line not to separate, but to measure distance. And maybe the distance isn’t as wide as you thought.

Your fingers curl a little tighter in Kkami’s fur.

“I should go to bed,” you say. Your voice is quiet. A little raw.

“Okay,” Hyunjin whispers. “Me too.”

But neither of you move. The seconds tick by. You don’t even blink.

Eventually, he says, “Tomorrow night. Can I call again?”

You let out a soft breath, not quite a laugh. “Hyun… you’ve been calling every night.”

His smile doesn’t fade, but it shifts—tilts into something deeper. Less playful. More certain.

“I know,” he says. “But that was for Kkami.”

You blink. “And tomorrow?”

His gaze doesn’t waver. Not once.

“That’s for you.”

It knocks the wind out of you a little, the way he says it. Not romantic. Not dramatic. Just simple. True. Like he’s only just letting himself say it out loud, but he’s known it all along.

Your throat tightens. “Oh.”

Hyunjin watches you carefully. “Is that okay?”

You nod once. “Yeah. It’s… more than okay.”

Something in his posture loosens then, like he’s been holding a breath he can finally let go of. His shoulders drop. His mouth twitches again, a smile fighting its way to the surface but not quite forming—like he’s still afraid to want too much, to hope too fast.

You don’t know what tomorrow will bring. Not really.

But you know you’ll answer.

And maybe this time you’ll stop pretending it’s for the dog.

“You’re on the bed.”

Hyunjin says it the moment the screen connects. No hello. No lead-up. Just those four words, soft and low and unmistakably aware.

You blink at him from where you’re sitting, back pressed to the headboard, knees pulled up beneath the comforter. His comforter.

You almost lie. Almost say you were just passing through. That the light was better in here. That Kkami stole the couch.

But Hyunjin’s already smiling—slow and knowing, like he’s been waiting for this.

You exhale through your nose. “Kkami’s on the couch.”

“Mm,” he hums, a little amused. “So it’s just you in my bed.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone, feeling a little flustered. “Is that going to be a problem?”

His eyes darken a shade, but the smile stays. “Not even a little.”

You roll onto your side, careful not to let the phone slip. The sheets are warm beneath you, still smelling faintly like cedar and fabric softener and something only he ever carried. His presence is everywhere in this room. On the walls. In the folded clothes. Under your skin.

Hyunjin shifts on his end of the call—he’s propped up on pillows, a fitted black tank clinging to his chest, the cut of it leaving little to the imagination. His toned arms are on full display, lean muscle catching the dim light, subtle and sculpted like something sketched in charcoal. His expression is unreadable, caught somewhere between reverence and restraint.

“I thought about you today,” he says after a beat.

You tuck your face into the pillow, just a little. “Like you usually do?”

“Yeah,” he breathes. “But this time I didn’t fight it.”

Your heart thuds against your ribs, slow and heavy. “What were you thinking?”

His gaze dips, like he’s shy all of a sudden. “That I miss you. That I used to wake up to you in that bed.”

You swallow, voice thinner now. “It’s a little colder without you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The silence that follows is different from all the others before it. It’s thick. Electric. It hums with all the things neither of you have said but haven’t stopped feeling. The kind of silence that shifts when the air gets warmer, when the breath starts catching, when the ache finally starts to slip through.

Hyunjin wets his lips. His voice is barely a whisper. “You look good there.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I feel... restless.”

He shifts again, almost imperceptibly. “Tell me.”

Your gaze flickers. “Tell you what?”

“What you’re thinking. Right now.”

You hesitate.

But then, softly, deliberately: “I was thinking about your hands.”

Hyunjin’s mouth parts slightly.

“I was thinking about how you used to touch me here,” you say, dragging your fingers over the blanket, slow, just below your collarbone. “And here.” Down, lower now, to the place between your ribs.

His breath stutters through the speaker.

“And I was wondering…” you murmur, voice barely above a hum, “if you miss the way I used to say your name when you touched me like that.”

Hyunjin closes his eyes for a second. When he opens them again, they’re dark, focused, hungry.

“I think about it all the time,” he says. “Every fucking night.”

Your thighs press together under the blanket. You feel your pulse everywhere—behind your knees, in your fingertips, between your legs. It’s not even about the sex. Not yet. It’s about the weight of being wanted by someone who remembers you—who still remembers.

“I haven’t touched anyone else,” you say.

He swallows hard. “Don’t.”

“I don’t want to.”

Hyunjin nods slowly. “Me either.”

Then, quiet: “Can I stay on the call?”

You blink. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he says, voice rough now, “if I asked you to touch yourself… would you let me watch?”

Your breath catches. Not from nerves. From need.

You don’t say yes. You just let the phone settle against the pillow beside you, angled toward your face, the way he used to tilt your chin when he wanted a better look at how undone you were.

The sheets shift as your hand moves lower.

Hyunjin watches. And when he speaks, it’s barely a whisper, like he’s already somewhere far beneath the surface with you.

“Fuck. You always looked so pretty like this.”

You inhale shakily, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts, slow and careful, testing the heat already gathered there.

Hyunjin’s eyes drag down your body. His tongue flicks out to wet his lips. His voice is rough with memory.

“Remember that time on the floor? After your exam? You were so out of it—barely undressed. I just shoved your panties to the side and made you come in, what, two minutes?”

You let out a quiet, choked sound at the back of your throat.

He smiles—crooked, dark. “Yeah. You clenched so hard around my fingers I thought I’d lose them.”

You whimper softly. Your hand moves slow, wet, dragging through the mess of your own need, slick pooling beneath your fingertips like your body remembers him even better than your mind does.

“God, that sound,” Hyunjin breathes. “That little gasp when you’re just starting to touch yourself. Same one you made when I used to run my fingers down your stomach—real slow, just to watch you twitch.”

You press harder against your clit, circles tightening, mouth falling open as your back arches into the memory. He’s not even touching you, and still—your body bends like it’s learned him by muscle memory.

Hyunjin notices. Of course he does.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice gone low and ragged, the kind that scrapes the inside of your throat just hearing it. “All spread out in my bed. Fucking yourself open with your hand like you want me to see everything. Like you know I used to make you feel better than anyone else ever could.”

You moan, breath catching, and Hyunjin’s smile sharpens.

“Touch your tits,” he says, not as a command—but a conjuring. Like he already knows you’re aching for it. “Lift your shirt for me.”

You obey without a sound, pushing the hem up slowly, just enough to expose the curve of one breast, the soft point of your nipple hard and aching from the friction of your shirt.

He groans. “You remember how obsessed I was with your tits? Couldn’t stop sucking on them. Couldn’t stop biting.” His jaw clenches. “You used to beg me to be gentle. And then beg me not to stop.”

Your fingers slide down again—slippery, desperate. Your thighs shake under the weight of it. The rhythm is messier now, your hips chasing pressure. Hyunjin watches all of it, his hand dragging down his torso, disappearing beneath his waistband.

“Touching yourself in my bed,” he growls. “Wearing my shirt. Letting me watch while you make yourself come for me.”

He’s panting now, hand working slow, deliberate strokes beneath the screen. His tank top clings to his chest, sweat beading along his collarbones. His buzzed hair is messy, sticking slightly to his forehead, and his mouth—his fucking mouth—is red and parted, like he’s still tasting you.

“You remember the way I used to fuck you from behind?” he says. “Pushed your face into the mattress, held your hips like you’d run from me if I let go?”

You whimper—your fingers falter, then speed up.

“Could barely breathe, baby. You’d just sob into the sheets. You loved it. Took every inch, crying like you couldn’t handle it—and still begged for more.”

Your body goes taut, heels digging into the mattress, orgasm hovering just out of reach.

Hyunjin's voice drops to a growl, breath quick and filthy. “Bet your pussy’s fucking tight right now. Clenching like it forgot what it’s supposed to take—like it’s trying to remember the shape of my cock.”

He groans, low and wrecked. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll teach it again. I’ll stretch you open so slow you feel it for days. Won’t stop ‘til you’re dripping all over my sheets, crying into the pillow, begging for more.”

You whimper his name—helpless. Shattered.

“You want me to say it?” Hyunjin pants, fist working now, muscles flexing. “Want me to tell you how I’d do it?”

You nod, frantic. Desperate.

His voice turns molten. Thick with lust, arrogance, something cruel and beautiful.

“I’d start slow. Tease you with just the tip. Let you feel the stretch, let you beg for the rest of it. Then I’d give you all of it at once—deep, hard. Just to see you fucking cry.”

You do cry out. The tension in your body snaps tighter, hips lifting off the bed, toes curling. So close.

“I’d fuck you into the mattress,” he growls. “Grip your hips and slam into you so hard you’d lose your voice. You remember how I’d do that? Say, ‘You’re not done yet, baby. You can take it.’ And you always fucking would.”

You’re whimpering now, moaning into your own shoulder to muffle the sound, fingers moving in slippery, filthy rhythm. The orgasm’s close—so close—spooling at the base of your spine, hot and tight and relentless.

“Oh, fuck, there it is,” he gasps, fucking into his fist now, stroking faster. “You’re close. I can see it—hear it. Just like that, baby. Let go for me. Come for the boy who still dreams about the way you taste. Come for the fucking lunatic who’d trade his last painting just to feel your pussy clench around his fingers one more time.”

That breaks you.

You moan his name—soft, ruined, high-pitched—and you come with your hand buried between your thighs, eyes fluttering, back arching. The pleasure pulses through you in waves, soaked and frantic and unstoppable.

“God, you’re still so fucking perfect,” he grits out. “I could’ve painted this. You—like that. That’s my favorite version of you.”

You whimper, still trembling.

He grins. Dark. Gleaming. “Wanna see what you do to me?”

You nod, dizzy.

He shifts the phone—just enough for you to see the slick length of him in his hand. Red at the tip, dripping, veins thick under taut skin. His pace is ruthless now.

“I used to fuck your thighs just to tease you,” he pants. “Not even your pussy. Just that pretty space between them. Used to slide my cock right there and come all over your stomach.”

You let out a breathy sound of disbelief, hips twitching in aftershock. Your cunt flutters around nothing, empty and aching.

“Fucking ruined me,” he snarls. “You ruined me. No one else has even come close. No one sounds like you. No one feels like you.”

And then, through gritted teeth:

“I’m gonna come thinking about your mouth. That filthy little tongue. That sweet fucking smile you gave me while I fucked your throat.”

Your legs tremble again.

“Fuck, baby—fuckfuckfuck—”

He comes with your name on his tongue, head thrown back, muscles tensed, body shuddering through it as his hips stutter beneath the blanket. His jaw slackens, hand squeezing out the last twitch of pleasure.

The silence after is sharp. Breathless.

Your own body still buzzes, skin flushed, sheets damp with sweat and want and memory.

Neither of you speak at first. Just breathing. Just staring.

Eventually, Hyunjin looks up again. His voice is hoarse, trembling at the edges.

“Tell me this isn’t just sex.”

You don’t.

You just stare back.

And then you hang up.

You hang up, and your hand is still trembling. Your whole body is still trembling, wrecked in ways that have nothing to do with the orgasm.

It takes less than a minute for him to call back.

Then again.

And again.

You watch the screen light up with his name—Hyun—and each time, it makes your stomach twist so violently it feels like punishment. Like grief.

You don’t answer.

The fifth time, he stops calling. Thirty seconds later, your phone dings with a text.

[Hyunjin]: i’m sorry. please just tell me if that was too much. [Hyunjin]: i didn’t mean to push you. i didn’t mean to fuck everything up. [Hyunjin]: we don’t have to talk about it. we can pretend it didn’t happen if you want. i’ll follow your lead. just… please say something.

You don’t respond to those either.

You just turn off read receipts and shove the phone under the pillow.

The next few days go by in a strange, slow blur.

You and Kkami settle into a rhythm. He doesn’t bark anymore when you walk past. Doesn’t flinch when you reach for his leash. He even curls up at your feet when you’re on the couch, sometimes nuzzling his nose into your ankle like he’s already decided you belong here.

It should feel comforting.

It doesn’t.

You stop sitting in Hyunjin’s bed. You stop wearing the hoodie. You wash it, fold it, and put it back exactly where you found it, like none of this ever happened.

You send him brief texts. Clipped. Neutral.

[You]: he ate all his dinner. no accidents. slept fine.

[You]: took him for a walk. he peed on someone’s shoe.

[You]: when’s your flight again? 

You don’t tell him how it feels like the walls have closed in.

How you’ve stopped sleeping in his bed again—even if the couch hurts your back. Even if the couch doesn’t smell quite like him. 

How Kkami curls up beside you now without growling, without guilt. You take him for long walks. Let him tug you through the park. Let him bark at pigeons and lick your knuckles and rest his chin on your thigh when you scroll through old texts you don’t send anymore.

You don’t cry. But your chest aches in a way that feels dangerously close.

You were never going to be able to leave without feeling like this.

But now it’s worse. Because you let yourself want again.

And it’s giving you vertigo.

[Hyunjin]: should be back around 5:30. just leave the key in the box. thank you again. for everything.

You stare at the message for a long time.

Not because of what it says.

But because of what it doesn’t.

And what you don’t know is this:

Hyunjin’s lying.

His flight lands at 3:10.

He’s already halfway through the city when you’re zipping up your bag.

He’s already in the elevator by the time you’re taking out the trash.

And he’s standing at the front door—key in hand, chest tight, hands shaking—when you reach for the handle to leave.

You open the door and nearly collide with him.

You freeze.

The air catches.

Time does something strange.

Hyunjin’s just… there.

Sweatshirt slung over his shoulder, suitcase by his side, curls of damp air clinging to the collar of his shirt from the humid sprint through the city. And his eyes—sharp, dark, wide with something between relief and devastation—lock onto yours like he’s forgotten how to blink.

For a second, neither of you speaks.

Then—

“Hyun—?”

Kkami barrels into view like a missile. He lets out a shrill bark of excitement and practically throws himself into Hyunjin’s legs, circling and jumping and whining like he’s just won the fucking lottery.

But Hyunjin doesn’t look down. Doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.

He just stares at you.

And says, low, quiet, steady:

“You were really gonna leave.”

You clutch your bag a little tighter. “You said you’d be back at five.”

“I lied.”

You swallow. “I figured that part out.”

His jaw clenches. His hands twitch by his sides, like he doesn’t know whether to reach for you or shove them into his pockets or bury them in your skin just to make sure you’re real.

Kkami lets out another bark, trying to wedge his head between you two like he’s the center of gravity—but Hyunjin doesn’t even glance down. Not once.

All of him is focused on you.

“You weren’t going to say goodbye.”

It’s not a question. It’s an accusation. A plea. A wound.

“I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

“Bullshit.”

That makes you flinch. Just a little. He sees it. His expression softens, but only barely.

Hyunjin steps forward. Not fast—but purposeful. Like if he stops now, you’ll disappear all over again.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice taut with something sharp. “I’m sorry I came on too strong. I’m sorry I didn’t give you time. I’m sorry I didn’t say what I should’ve said months ago, years ago—fuck, the morning after. But don’t stand here and tell me I didn’t want you.”

You inhale—tight, shallow. Like there’s no room in your lungs for this.

For him.

“Hyun—”

“No,” he cuts in, but it’s not cruel. Just cracked. “You don’t get to walk out and let me find the ghost of you in my bed again. Not after you let me see you like that. Not after I—”

His voice breaks.

He swallows it down.

Kkami sits at his feet now, finally quiet, as if even he knows this part isn’t his.

“I meant it,” Hyunjin says, softer now. “That night. Everything I said. Everything I remembered. It wasn’t just to get you off.”

Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag.

“You said you missed me,” he goes on. “But then you shut the door in my face. And I was willing to pretend I didn’t care. I was willing to take scraps just to be near you. But if you’re still standing in front of me—if you haven’t walked away yet—then just fucking tell me.”

He looks at you like he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

You look at him. Really look. And you know—he’s not going to let you run.

Not this time.

“Go get the note.”

His voice is soft, but firm. Like a command spoken through a kiss. Like an ache wrapped in velvet.

You blink. “What?”

“The letter,” he repeats. “The one I left you. On the fridge.”

You freeze.

“I know you haven’t opened it.”

You swallow. “I wasn’t ready.”

“I don’t care,” he says, and there’s a flicker of something dark in his voice—something possessive, guttural. “I want you to read it. Now.”

You hesitate.

“Please,” he adds, and that’s what breaks you.

You nod—barely—and turn without a word. Each step toward the kitchen feels thick, underwater.

You open it, and—

It’s not a letter.

Not really.

It’s a patchwork of thoughts, of half-confessions. Scribbled lines, crossed-out phrases, uneven spacing. The ink changes color midway—black, then blue, then black again. Some words are written in cursive. Some in a rush. Some like they cost him something to write.

You glance up. He nods again.

“Read it,” he says. “Out loud.”

You hesitate. Then you read.

“You once laughed in your sleep, and I didn’t sleep at all that night. I just watched you and hoped that whoever you were dreaming about looked like me.”

You swallow hard. Keep going.

The ink shifts color. From deep black to something fainter. Navy. A pen running dry, maybe.

Your voice wavers.

“There’s a sweater you left. It doesn’t smell like you anymore. I hold it anyway.”

Hyunjin’s throat works. He doesn’t interrupt.

“I never painted your face. Couldn’t do it. Couldn’t get your eyes right. But I painted your hands. A hundred times. Because they always knew how to hold me better than I knew how to ask.”

Your chest twists. You can’t speak the words out loud anymore, but you read. You read and read and read until there is nothing left, until the space between you feels alive–electric. 

He steps forward. Just one step. But it’s enough to close the distance.

“I lied,” Hyunjin says, voice low, rough. “The sitter didn’t cancel.”

You blink. “What?”

“I had people,” he continues. “So many people I could’ve called. People I trust. People who would’ve said yes.”

His eyes are burning now—dark, wet, glittering with something fragile and ferocious.

“But I didn’t want them. I wanted you.”

You don’t say anything. Can’t. Your hands are trembling.

“I told myself it was about Kkami. About the timing. About convenience.” He huffs out a broken laugh. “But it wasn’t. It was you. It was always you.”

Your breath falters.

“I missed you,” he says. “So much it made me sick. I thought I could bury it. Paint over it. Work through it. But I couldn’t. I never did. You’ve always been underneath it all—under the hunger, the silence, the mess I made of myself.”

He steps closer. You’re breathing the same air now.

“I loved you then,” he says. “When we were tangled up in bedsheets and half-truths and pretending it didn’t mean anything. I loved you when you wore my hoodie and called me yours with your eyes. I loved you the second I saw you, and I—”

His voice cracks.

“And I love you now.”

You don't remember moving. Don’t remember closing the gap, dropping your bag, reaching for him with hands that should’ve known better.

All you know is this: one second, you're blinking back tears, and the next, you're kissing him like you're drowning.

Hyunjin catches you with both hands—one at your jaw, the other curling around your waist, steadying. The kiss is messy, open-mouthed, frantic. His lips part on a gasp when you press your body to his, and then he's devouring you like something starved.

Your back hits the wall. His teeth scrape your bottom lip. Fingers thread into his hair—short now, prickling at the scalp—and he groans like it’s breaking him.

You drop your bag. You don’t even hear it hit the floor.

You don’t care.

His hands are everywhere. On your waist, your hips, the curve of your spine. He pulls you in so tight you feel the tremor in his arms, the sheer desperation coiled in his chest like a spring pulled too far.

“Fuck,” he whispers, forehead pressed to yours. “I’ve wanted this—I’ve wanted you—”

His voice breaks again, and then he’s back on you, lips trailing across your jaw, down the line of your neck. You tilt your head back, eyes fluttering shut, mouth parting on a moan as he bites softly into your throat—just enough to mark. Just enough to remember.

Your hands scrabble at the hem of his shirt, yanking it up, palms hungry on bare skin. He hisses as your nails drag over his stomach, muscles twitching beneath the heat of your touch.

“Take it off,” you breathe.

He does. In one motion, the tank top is gone—flung to the floor like it offended him. And you stare. You can’t help it.

He’s still art. Still all sharp lines and soft skin and lean, desperate hunger. His chest heaves with every breath, sweat glinting in the hollow of his throat, and you think: I could die like this. I could burn for him and never want to be saved.

Hyunjin kisses you again—harder this time, hungrier. Like he heard it. Like he wants to go up in flames with you.

His hands slide under your thighs, lifting you without warning, and you gasp as your back hits the wall again, legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. The air shifts. Your breath catches. His cock presses against you through his jeans—thick, hot, twitching with every grind of his hips.

“I can’t wait,” he pants against your mouth. “I need to be inside you. Right now.”

“Then do it,” you breathe, dragging your nails down his back. “Hyune—please—”

Hyunjin breathes something that sounds like a curse, or maybe a prayer, and then he’s walking—stumbling, really—half-guided by the desperate way you’re clinging to him, the press of your mouths, the sharp hitch of your breath when he grabs at your ass to hold you higher. You barely register the shift from wall to bedroom until your back hits the mattress, until the world becomes sheets and skin and the low rasp of his voice murmuring your name like it’s sacred.

The mattress gives beneath your weight, springs groaning under the tangle of limbs and heat and history. Hyunjin follows you down like gravity itself — hands sliding, mouth chasing, body already slotting between your thighs as if it never forgot where it belonged.

His shirt is gone. Yours joins it. He kisses you through every inch of skin he unveils, frantic and starved and reverent, like he’s not sure whether to worship you or ruin you.

You arch beneath him when his tongue traces the curve of your breast, the bite of his teeth following fast after — a soft sting that makes your breath catch, your fingers dig into his shoulders. He groans when your nails drag down his back, when your thighs fall open wider.

And then he’s there — rutting against your center, clothed still but so hard it aches through the friction, the weight of him pressing perfect and punishing between your legs.

You can’t think. Can’t breathe. Can only move — hips grinding up to meet every desperate push of his, your cunt soaked and aching with the need to be filled.

Hyunjin’s hand slips down, hooking your thigh over his hip. He grinds into you through the last barrier, jeans rough against your soaked underwear, and it’s filthy the way your body answers—already arching, already clenching around nothing. You chase the friction shamelessly, trying to wring every ounce of pressure you can from the maddening drag of his cock pressed to your core.

He hisses against your throat, breath hot, teeth scraping the fragile skin there. You’re drenched. There’s no mistaking it—the way your panties cling, the way your slick seeps through them and stains his jeans, how he shudders just from the heat of you pulsing against the fabric.

The zipper’s down before you can even register the motion. He pushes his jeans low enough to free himself—hard and heavy and flushed dark with want. Your mouth waters at the sight of it. He tears your panties off with a quiet growl, not cruel, just crazed with the need to feel skin on skin, no more layers, no more time.

When he lines up and pushes in, it’s one long, devastating stroke—his cock thick and perfect and stretching you open like you were made for it.

You gasp—sharp, strangled. Your nails sink into his back.

Hyunjin goes still.

Buried to the hilt inside you, his entire body trembling with restraint, every muscle locked tight like he’s trying to keep himself from coming right then and there.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “You—oh my god—”

His forehead drops to your shoulder. He’s shaking. You feel it. In his arms, in his breath, in the way his cock pulses deep inside you without moving. The kind of overwhelmed that turns to worship. The kind of ruin that feels like coming home.

You tighten around him instinctively—hungry, pulsing—and he lets out a strangled moan against your skin.

“I swear to god,” he whispers, forehead pressing to yours. “If I move, I’m gonna come like a fucking teenager.”

Your nails dig deeper into his back, anchoring him there, as if you could stop time with the press of your fingertips. His cock twitches inside you, thick and throbbing, and it feels like too much and not enough all at once.

Hyunjin groans—low, raw, like the sound is being dragged out of him by force.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants. “You feel… I forgot—fuck, I forgot how perfect you are.”

You whimper, breath caught in your throat. You’re stretched so full it feels like splitting—blissfully unbearable. Like he’s carved to fit you, or maybe you were carved for him.

He doesn’t move. Can’t. His whole body is locked in place, every muscle drawn taut with the kind of restraint that hurts.

“I’m gonna embarrass myself,” he rasps. “You’re so warm, I—I need a second.”

You nod, gasping. “Okay.”

But your body doesn’t care. It’s greedy. Slick clings to your inner thighs, to the base of his cock. You pulse around him again—tight, hot, involuntary—and he shudders, a curse breaking on his lips.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” he whispers, biting your shoulder.

“I’m not,” you breathe, but your hips roll anyway, a tiny grind up into his stillness.

Hyunjin moans—loud, broken. “Baby, I’m serious. You do that again and I’ll fucking—”

You clench again, on purpose this time.

He snaps.

In one hard thrust, he pulls out halfway and slams back in. You cry out—sharp, wanton—as your body folds around his. The stretch. The impact. The sound of skin on skin.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, your head tipping back, throat exposed.

Hyunjin watches the way your mouth parts, how your breasts bounce with every desperate snap of his hips. He groans then drops his mouth to your chest, sucking a bruise over your heart.

“This mine?” he pants, dragging his cock out slow before plunging back in. “Still mine?”

You can’t speak. Can only nod, breath caught in your throat. He fucks you through the motion, slow and deep now, the grind of his cock so obscene you swear you can feel him everywhere—behind your knees, in your throat, echoing in every part of you that remembers how he used to love you.

“No, baby,” he murmurs, voice fraying, fingers sliding under your knee to push your thigh back, opening you wider. “Say it. Let me hear you say it.”

“It’s—” Your voice breaks on a moan when he thrusts deep again, dragging against that spot that makes your vision go white at the edges. “It’s yours, Hyunjin. Always.”

He groans into your chest like the words punched the air out of him. Then he’s fucking you harder, deeper, like he’s trying to anchor himself in the way you take him. The bed creaks, the headboard thuds against the wall, but you don’tHe moans into your chest like the words physically hit him, his thrusts growing messier, more frantic. His hand finds yours and pins it above your head, fingers lacing together tight, grounding him even as he loses himself in the slick, pulsing heat of you.

You’re soaked, ruined, trembling under every thick slide of his cock. He hits so deep it borders on pain, and yet you arch into it—into him—dragging him closer, clawing at his back like if you could just get closer, it might be enough.

“I missed this pussy,” he growls, the words slurred and broken against your throat. “I fucking dreamed about it. Thought about it every night with my cock in my hand—nothing felt as good, nothing—fuck—”

You keen, high-pitched, overwhelmed. Your body pulses around him again, tight as a vice, and it makes him stutter—a half-thrust cut short by the shudder that runs through him.

He kisses you then—desperate, biting, tongue dragging into your mouth like he wants to consume you from the inside out.

You’re moan is swallowed by his mouth when he hits that spot—deep and relentless—and your whole body jolts. Your back arches, your legs tighten around his waist, dragging him deeper.

“Right there?” he growls. “That the spot, baby?”

You nod, frantic, mouth open but no words coming—just breath, just heat, just the sound of him splitting you open again and again.

Hyunjin grins. It's crooked. Crooked and cocky and dizzy with something feral. Like he’s gone. Like you’ve pulled him under with you.

“Yeah,” he breathes, thrusting deeper, slower now, grinding his hips in a filthy circle that makes your eyes roll back. “I remember. Right there. Got you clenching like you’re about to cry.”

His voice breaks on a moan, guttural and reverent. “Fuck, that’s so pretty—so fucking pretty, baby—your face when I fuck you like this.”

He’s unraveling, you can feel it—his rhythm fraying, pace faltering, every thrust a prayer half-remembered. He buries himself deep and stays there, hips pressed flush, cock pulsing inside you like a heartbeat. His forehead falls to yours again, and he’s breathing so hard it shakes both your bodies.

“You gonna cry for me?” he whispers, voice all fray and silk. “Wanna see it, wanna feel you fall apart. I’ll take care of it—I’ll hold you through it, I promise.”

You don’t mean to. But it’s been too much—his mouth, his voice, the stretch of him splitting you open in perfect, deliberate ruin. Your eyes blur, your breath hitches, and before you can stop it—

A tear slips down your cheek.

Hyunjin sees it. And something inside him shatters.

“Oh my god,” he chokes, fingers trembling where they hold your thigh. “That’s it, that’s—fuck—”

He fucks you through it, slow and deep, every stroke angled to keep you on the edge. His free hand cradles your face, thumb brushing the wetness from your cheek. And he’s murmuring now, wrecked and ragged and sweet:

“You’re so good for me. So perfect. I don’t deserve you—I don’t—”

You cry out again, back arching as your orgasm hits—wave after wave of unbearable heat crashing through you. You seize around him, walls fluttering, hips stuttering beneath his weight.

Hyunjin groans like it’s killing him. Like the feel of you falling apart around his cock is undoing him thread by thread.

“Can I—fuck, baby, where do you want it?” he gasps, teeth gritted, body coiled so tight you think he might break apart if you say no.

“Inside,” you breathe, wrecked and shameless. “Want it inside—please.”

That last word shreds him.

He thrusts once—deep, sharp—then again, slower this time, drawn-out like he’s trying to memorize the way you feel. His eyes flutter shut. His mouth falls open. And then he’s coming—hard.

A low, desperate sound tears out of him as his cock jerks inside you, spilling warmth in thick, molten pulses. He buries himself as deep as he can go, arms trembling around you, breath stuttering in your ear. His whole body shakes with it, every muscle straining to stay rooted in you as pleasure rips through him like lightning.

He stays like that—deep inside you, trembling, breathless—until the shudders fade to something softer. Something quieter.

The kind of silence that feels like safety.

His forehead rests against yours, damp hair brushing your temple, and you can feel the weight of him everywhere—his chest pressed to yours, his arms wrapped around your waist, the steady thrum of his heart syncing with your own.

Neither of you speaks.

There’s nothing left to say.

Just breath. Just warmth. Just the slow, wet drag of him slipping out of you when his body finally yields, when your bodies finally remember they’re separate things again. You wince a little, overstimulated, but he’s careful—gentle hands guiding your hips as he settles beside you.

The bed is a mess. You’re a mess. But in his arms, none of it matters.

He pulls you close, one hand curling behind your neck, the other splayed low across your spine. You fit against him like you were made to—legs tangled, faces barely apart. His eyes find yours, dark and soft and unreadable. And then—

He kisses you.

Slow. Tender. Unhurried. Like he’s not trying to restart anything—just thank you, silently, for letting him fall apart in your arms.

Your fingers slip into his hair. His thumb draws circles at the base of your spine.

And in that quiet, breathless space—there is no ache, no past, no noise.

The gallery hums with low conversation and champagne glasses clinking. Golden evening light filters through tall windows, casting Hyunjin’s paintings in soft amber and dust. He stands near one of his larger pieces—stark, aching, all deep reds and pale ivory brushstrokes layered like wounds healed over—speaking to a small crowd of critics and curators, hands moving with slow confidence as he explains his process.

It’s been years since he’s spoken like this—without apology. Years since he let the world see him this raw and unguarded. He’s dressed in black from head to toe, long hair tied back loosely, wedding band glinting when he gestures. He looks settled now, anchored. And you know what it took to get him there.

You weren’t supposed to come.

He’d kissed your forehead this morning, hand warm and reverent on your swollen belly, and told you to rest. “You’ll just get exhausted,” he’d said, brushing your hair back, “and I’ll be distracted the whole time wondering if your ankles are swollen or if the baby’s doing backflips again.”

But now you’re here.

Standing just inside the gallery, framed by the door like something sacred. You wore the dress he loves—the one that drapes gently over the curve of your belly, soft and simple, glowing in the dusk light. One hand rests instinctively at your side, the other slipping under the swell of you. There’s a quiet smile on your lips, half proud, half bashful, and your eyes are locked on him.

Hyunjin doesn’t see you at first. He’s mid-sentence, talking about brush technique and layered memory, about how grief isn't linear, how art can be a body trying to heal. His voice is steady. His hands are sure.

Then he glances up.

And freezes.

You watch it happen in real time—the shift. His mouth stutters around a word, vowels cut short, fingers faltering mid-gesture. And then—god. That smile. Unrehearsed, boyish, wide in a way that crinkles his eyes and ruins all pretense. A pure, delighted thing that belongs only to you.

A few people glance over their shoulders, curious. But Hyunjin barely notices.

He catches himself, coughs once, and somehow fumbles through the last few lines of his explanation. His voice is softer now. Almost sheepish. He wraps up quickly, answering a question with a vague nod, thanking the crowd with a half-bow.

And then he’s moving.

Straight through the gallery, long strides purposeful, eyes never leaving yours.

You open your mouth—maybe to apologize, maybe just to greet him—but he’s already cupping your face in his hands before you can speak. His fingers are cool from holding a champagne flute, but his palms are warm. Familiar. His touch gentle despite how frantically he reaches for you.

“You’re unbelievable,” he says, kissing your forehead. “I told you not to come.” A kiss to your nose. “I specifically said—” another to your cheek, “—that I’d worry—” your chin “—that you’d get tired,” he murmurs against your skin, peppering kisses like punctuation. “That your feet would swell. That you’d—fuck, baby, I said stay home.”

You smile, tilting your head just enough to meet his gaze—warm and full of something playful. “I know, but—”

He kisses you.

Soft and certain, his mouth presses to yours before the words can even leave your lips. It’s instinctive, almost impatient, like he couldn’t bear to hear the excuse when you’re standing right here, glowing and breathless and his. His hand curls at the back of your neck, thumb brushing the line of your jaw. You feel him smile into it, lips warm and reverent, like maybe he’s trying to convince himself he’s not dreaming.

You giggle against his mouth.

It bubbles out before you can stop it—light, easy, surprised by your own happiness.

“Hyunjin,” you laugh, gently pushing at his chest. “Let me speak.”

He leans back only a little, just enough to see you again. There’s a smudge of your lip gloss at the corner of his mouth, and you wipe it with your thumb, grinning.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur.

Hyunjin pulls back just enough to look at you—really look. His eyes trace every inch of your face like he’s memorizing you all over again. His thumb sweeps over your cheekbone. “You take my breath away,” he murmurs, like a confession. “Every damn time.”

You want to say something—something light, something teasing—but the way he’s looking at you leaves no room for irony. Just warmth. Just wonder.

And love. So much of it, it floods the space between you.

His hand slips down, resting over the swell of your stomach, and he sighs when he feels the smallest kick beneath his palm. “Little traitor,” he whispers to your bump, grinning. “You two planned this, didn’t you?”

You feign innocence. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mhm.” He leans in and kisses you again—soft, slow, not quite chaste. Like there’s no one else in the room, no critics still lingering, no gallery full of people pretending not to watch the artist come undone in the arms of his muse.

Eventually, he pulls back—just a little. Just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“Stay?” he asks, almost shy. “I want to show you something. After everyone leaves.”

You nod.

You nod, and his smile deepens—boyish, brilliant, the kind that still makes your knees weak even now. He kisses you one last time, quick and giddy, before reluctantly pulling away with a soft groan, dragging his hand down your arm like he’s tethering himself to you.

“I’ll be quick,” he promises, squeezing your fingers before turning back toward the crowd. “Don’t go into labor while I’m gone.”

You roll your eyes fondly. “No promises.”

He shoots you a look over his shoulder—mock-scandalized, lips twitching with laughter—and then he’s swept back into the flow of guests, nodding politely, shaking hands, answering a few last questions as people begin to drift toward the exit.

You watch from the side, sipping sparkling water from a plastic flute someone handed you, perched on the edge of a velvet bench like you belong in one of his paintings. A few guests glance your way—some with recognition, some with curiosity—but none of them matter.

You only watch him.

And he watches you too—between conversations, between thank-yous and signatures, his gaze keeps sliding back—like a tether, like gravity, like a vow that’s already been made a hundred times in silence.

You smile around the rim of your glass and press a hand to your belly, where the smallest flicker answers back. A quiet reminder of everything the two of you have built in the quiet spaces between the chaos. In the brushstrokes. In the breathing.

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ groomsman! hyunjin who for the first time ever didn’t want to be in a wedding at that moment at all, of course it was seungmin’s wedding, and he loved the romantic feeling of the reception, the flowers and silk bows, everyone together to celebrate the union of two people, but it would be way better if he wasn’t there alone, stuck as the pair of one of the bridesmaids who seemed to be far more entertained by her phone

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ groomsman! hyunjin who was sick and tired of seeing all his friends finding their perfect matches while he looked all over the place for romance only for it to never find him, he wasn’t one to do one-night stands but he was seriously thinking about ditching the ceremony and the couples’ waltz for some nightclub on the way home so he could marry the first girl he met

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ groomsman! hyunjin who felt someone tapping on his shoulder, causing his heart to skip a beat, only to turn around and find seungmin with a smug smirk on his lips and a champagne glass in his hands standing right in front of him

“drowning in your own misery again I see,” seungmin teased

“don’t push your luck, I’m only not ending you right here because your wife is looking at us,” the lucky husband hid a chuckle

“so glad I have her by my side, but I came with another proposition for your broken heart,” that spiked just a bit of interest from hyunjin’s side

“not interested in spending the rest of the night with my chronically online partner”

“my childhood friend needs a companion,” he said, not waiting for his lonely friend's reaction, “this is not matchmaking, after the party is over you stay away from her, it’s just that her ex is here with someone and she doesn’t want to be seen alone”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ groomsman! hyunjin who in a matter of seconds got his attention completely hooked, looking over his shoulder where seungmin nodded his head toward the other end of the ballroom, where you sat a bit out of place in your own little world, a silk sage dress that matched the other bridesmaids who seemed much closer to the bride than you were, he didn’t know seungmin even had friends outside their group, much less someone as pretty and hot as you

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ groomsman! hyunjin who promptly stood up and walked toward your lonely corner, playing the part of the knight in shining armor he was assigned to be, flashing his brightest smile as he introduced himself and politely asked to sit by your side, with a gentle yet confused look in your bright eyes you asked him what exactly he was doing there, which he gently explained, letting you know he understood your situation and that seungmin thought he could be the perfect partner for the rest of the night

“he said what?” your smile dropped

“he said you were alone, we can be alone together now,” hyunjin noticed the sudden shift in your expression

“that little sh—it’s his own wedding and he’s acting as if he has nothing better to do than annoy me”

“wait, you aren’t here alone?”

“I am, but I never asked him to play cupid, I just wanted a drink after having to explain for the thousandth time why I don’t want to date anyone right now”

“I would love to get you one from the bar,” all fairytale sparkles left his eyes, “I think we both deserve it”

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ groomsman! hyunjin who felt defeated once again, fallen for a prank as old as time and accompanied by a girl who apparently didn’t want anything to do with him, you both walked over to the bar and ordered another glass of champagne each, the two of you may have started off on a clunky foot, but it was nothing a bit of alcohol couldn’t fix to loosen the tight strings of tension, and a few sips later, you two were already giggling uncontrollably over your shared love delusions

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ groomsman! hyunjin who felt his cheeks flushing with each glass you shared, letting his eyes and mind wander over the shape of your body covered beautifully by the delicate fabric of your dress, the curve of your neck when you tilted your head to the side laughing at his bad jokes, the dip of your neckline every time you leaned closer and he managed to catch the smallest glimpse of your chest, he was so distracted he didn’t even see the guy who bumped into you both and spilled half his drink over your clothes

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ groomsman! hyunjin who could see you practically fuming the moment you realized it was your ex, looking a bit too tipsy with his new girl, before you could slap some sense across the guy's face, hyunjin quickly pulled you against his side and guided you out of the ballroom, steering you through the quieter hallways lined with velvet carpets and golden mirrors until he hurried you into the restroom area, immediately grabbing a bunch of paper towels to help you dry off

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ groomsman! hyunjin who was so worried about not letting your dress stain that he didn’t even realize where he was placing his hands, freezing in place as he held the paper towels a little too close to your breasts, he could see the flush spreading over your face, hearing the small, choked gasp of someone who didn't know how to react, but before he could pull back and wish the ground would swallow him whole, you yanked him by his lapels and kissed him right there in front of the bathroom door

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ groomsman! hyunjin whose brain could barely process that your soft, glossy lips were literally devouring his, that his hands had instinctively drifted down to your ass to pull you flush against his growing bulge, or that your back was now the one pressed against the nearest wall as you two made out fiercely during his best friend's wedding reception

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ groomsman! hyunjin who felt you pulling him along as you kicked open the door to the ladies' room with the heel of your shoe, both of you tumbling into the largest stall before anyone else could show up, he locked the door behind him, desperately burying his face in the crook of your neck while you fumbled with his shirt, his lips sucking and biting that sensitive skin until the sweetest moans spilled from your mouth, his member hardening to a painful point as your hands trailed from his hard chest all the way down his carved stomach in an attempt to take off his belt

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ groomsman! hyunjin who brushed the thin dress straps off your shoulders and watched in delight as the silk slipped down to your hips, exposing your hardened nipples and beautiful breasts, which he gladly devoured like a starved man, taking the plush, soft flesh into his mouth as a sharp gasp erupted from you, with a final tug down he finally managed to undo his trousers, at last freeing his throbbing length, hanging achingly between your trembling bodies

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ groomsman! hyunjin who helped you lift the rest of your skirt while your warm fingers promptly guided him, aligning his plump head with your soaked entrance, you were so slick it was almost as if you both had been waiting the entire night just for this moment to happen, his length sliding deep and pulsing inside you, filling up every inch as it scraped against your gummy walls and stole the breath right out of your lungs

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ groomsman! hyunjin who was getting more and more intoxicated by your sweet perfume as he nuzzled his face against the slope of your shoulder again, pulling your hips closer in a frantic rhythm at each hard thrust, two people who had found each other at the exact right moment of neediness, just as hypnotized your fingers brushed against his jaw to pull his lips back to yours, muffling another needy moan that you couldn’t even tell if it belonged to him or you anymore

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ groomsman! hyunjin who felt his jacket pocket buzzing right against your heaving, damp chests pressed tight together, he managed to slide his phone out without taking his lips off yours only to see seungmin’s name flashing on the screen with a bright text written under it, “where the hell are you two?? I thought I said for you guys to get to know each other not go mia”, his finger tried scrambling through the keyboard, but the only answer hyunjin could think of as he was balls deep in you was “sorry man, I’m a bit busy fucking the love of my life right now”

Writers corner ݁ ˖Ი𐑼⋆

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

Hello friends I decided to make a part 2 cause it was so fun the last time and the fact I was able to make it is insane years of watching reality Tv really helped me I hope you guys enjoyed it ok baiii 💋

Another ten minutes, a surprising but expected splash and a gasp later, she was shaking her husband’s slumbering figure, finger poking into his cheeks to break him from his sleep. His eyes fluttered, a raspy croak from his throat was enough to tell her she’s gotten through.

“Hyunjin. The baby’s coming.” 

There was silence for a moment. Another second for the sleep dazed man to register the words. Brain working, lights flickering on and gears turning as the news settled. 

Then, instantly, Hyunjin fell off—Hyunjin scrambled—Shot out—

…Hyunjin slipped out of bed.

He was super calm about it. So fucking calm!

Not freaking out at all! He just liked to pace for funsies sometimes! 

And his hands just naturally trembled like that in the early hours of the morning. No big deal, he loved scrambling around trying to put on pants while also helping his groaning wife into her own clean pair.

The gleam in his eyes was excitement, not panic. Maybe even sleep. And he was not seconds away from losing his mind. Definitely not that.

They had it in the bag! 

Literally. All packed and ready for this new chapter of parenthood, ready for an eighteen minute and sixteen second drive to the hospital. Thirteen, if it’s early in the crack ass of dawn, with little to no traffic. 

The exact time his child decided she wanted to announce her impending arrival to the world. Dramatic, she gets it from her dad.

And like the very calm and collected husband that he was, Hyunjin gently aided his huffing wife out of the door. Hospital bag thrown over his one shoulder and empty car seat in the same hand, other hovered behind her back, the two waddled toward the car. And once he had buckled his now-grimacing love into the passenger seat, he ran to get behind the wheel, almost tripping over nothing as he got ahold of the door handle.

A fourteen minute drive found the soon to be parents at labor and delivery.

If the car ride had felt like the slowest one of his life, Y/N breathing heavier each passing second, everything else that followed had been a movie at times two speed. 

He was sure Y/N had threatened to lock him up the next time he got horny, told him she was making sure he never got near her ever again to put a baby in her, and more similar threats directed specifically at his dick. But Hyunjin had been too busy humming along, nodding his head and squeezing her hand in return as he tried to ignore the painful, vice-like grip she had over him, to really care about such threats. 

He’ll probably have a nurse take a look at his hand later, just in case. But for now, someone had to remain calm. 

Someone as in Hyunjin and Hyunjin alone, because how can you tell the person literally pushing a child out of her body to do so? She deserved to scream and shout and hurl curses and promises of castrating him if she wanted. And if anyone dared to stop her, Hyunjin would have liked to have a word outside. Just to talk of course.

Though, there wasn’t much talking for the man who’s eyes darted between his sobbing wife and the doctor between her legs. Almost trembling hands held onto Y/N tightly, yet his heart attempted to lunge out his chest all at once. And when the doctor exclaimed he “could see the head”, Hyunjin had to hold his own breath.

One minute his wife was biting back her strained cries with another push, the next, a new string of wails finally erupted out. A newborn’s roaring voice echoed around the delivery room.

Hyunjin also cried, obviously. Sobbing as he watched the child being lifted to be cleaned, his nose shoved into the hairs of an equally hysterical Y/N as he whispered “you did its” and “I love yous” into her ear.

One look at the tiny bundle and the new father realized he was a goner. That his daughter was going to have him wrapped around her finger and he would happily dance along to her tune.

He doesn’t mind the fact of it, he’s already got the experience with her mother.

And Hyunjin isn’t being biased when he says his baby is the cutest thing he has ever seen. A lush head of hair—the heartburn that loomed over Y/N her entire pregnancy now made sense. She had full lips pulled into a cute pout, rosy cheeks and lashes to die for. 

She was half of her mother, in the way her non-existent brows furrowed as she let out a soft gurgle followed by an all too precious, too big yawn.

She was half him, in the way her lips twitched and tugged into what they thought were smiles.

Do mere hours-old babies even know how to smile? Doesn’t matter, adorable either way.

She was beautiful, and she was theirs. 

His fingers grazed against the tiny fist of soft skin, the infant groaning lowly in her sleep before tiny twitching fingers gripped onto his one, making him let out a breathy chuckle. 

His glassy eyes easily settled over his wife’s and something else seemed to grip even tighter at his chest.

Emotions that seem too large to contain in the small organ of his heart. Grateful. And madly in love.

The man’s tearful eyes trailed over Y/N. Her flushed cheeks, frizzed hair. Exhaust written all over her face, yet the soft smile on her lips was everything to him. You can’t blame him for his lips quivering at such a sight, that he sniffled with tears as he leaned forward and kissed her.

His friends that had kids of their own once said that being a father wasn’t easy, especially for someone as easy as Hyunjin. 

Take Y/N for an example. The three years dating, the two being married, the year before it all in college that consisted of him hovering around her trying to get the attention of the girl who loved playing hard-to-get. Hyunjin had done nothing but spoil her for the entirety of it all. She loved the chase, he loved chasing.

Courting her like some Victorian-Era man dying to take a wife else he’d die.

So Hyunjin was proud to say that he wasn’t a pushover, he was patient. Though with the way he easily folded for his wife one could argue, but he was dedicated nonetheless.

Like a dog holding his own leash in his mouth, tail wagging with excitement, waiting for her to tie him around her fingers.

Hyunjin doesn’t mind it though. He never did. Especially now since he had another princess to spoil.

────────────────────────

It was a typical evening in their home. The soft sound of squeaky giggles, toys strewn around a vibrant carpet in his daughter’s all-too-pink bedroom wasn’t an unfamiliar sight.

The four year old tiptoed to her fullest height, trying to tower over her father’s criss-crossed form sitting over that carpet. Her brows furrowed with concentration, eyes piercing over the brush strokes of colorful children’s makeup. 

Definitely not an unfamiliar sight, Hyunjin often finds himself sitting on the ground while his daughter decorates him. Sometimes it’s flowers that litter over his hair on those picnic days. Lounging over the grass as she and her mother make him look pretty. Sometimes it’s stickers that the child swears have a theme as she sticks them to his skin, but he could tell you otherwise. Stars and crabs have nothing in common.

Tonight it seemed like it was makeup. Though, even that is not a new thing.

She gripped her pink and yellow palette in one hand, while the other applied a thick layer of glittery blue eyeshadow over one of Hyunjin’s lids.

“Another layer?” Hyunjin murmured, keeping himself still, he’s been scolded already for squirming too much, so he only breathes his words through his mouth in an attempt to remain frozen.

“It needs to be really really blue.” Her voice is high-pitched even as she attempted to whisper.

“But knights don’t usually wear makeup. They like to look strong. Maybe smear some dirt over me instead.” Hyunjin retorted jokingly.

The child stepped back, brows pinched into a confused frown while Hyunjin’s eyes blinked open to watch the toddler. Her plastic crown slightly tilted over her head, poofy bejeweled tutu-skirt haphazardly worn over pajama bottoms, glimmered as much as her own messy purple eye-shadow.

“Mommy’s strong and she wears makeup. You’re lying.” She frowned, glossy-pink lips pulled into a pout.

The sight of which made Hyunjin chuckle as he nodded. Instantly correcting his entirely wrong statement. “Yes, you’re right. Mommy’s the strongest.”

“But she’s not a Knight.” The child added, making sure he was aware while she fixed the clip-on earrings over her father’s lobes. “She’s a queen.”

Hyunjin could only hum as he nodded along, allowing her to tug at his hair now. 

Of course Mommy wasn’t a knight. Duh! 

“So dad’s the knight?” He leaned back, arms extending behind him in his folded position, gaze following along as the toddler glanced over herself in the mirror of her small sticker-stamped vanity-set.

“The prettiest knight in the kingdom.” She perked up with a toothy smile and the same tube of pink-lipgloss in her hand giving way to what she was about to do to the man next.

The sound of the door creaking instantly reached his ears, head titling slightly to catch the sight of the intruder.

“Uh-oh. I think we’re about to get in trouble for playing with makeup, Yumi.” He quipped, eyes flicking over to the door, where the strongest woman stood. 

Arms crossed, arched brow and a suppressed smile working on her lips. The little girl gasped at the sight, rushing behind her father’s lumped form to hide.

“I sent you here to put her to bed, not play kingdom.” 

Hyunjin could feel his daughter getting smaller behind him, Yumi well aware she wasn’t supposed to puppy-dog-eyes at her father into playing with her. He had warned her that her mother would be upset.

The little “sorry” came out as a whisper, and extra cute for both parents who knew well enough that she didn't mean it. Not enough at least. A spoiled thing who had her father wrapped around her finger.

And of course, as always Hyunjin tugged her into his arms, the same puppy-dog stare thrown at his wife as he silently asked for her to let them off the hook this once.

Y/N sighed out a loud breath, rolling her eyes before she gave in with a defeated groan.

“Go clean your face, I’ll get her settled.” The words instantly had the four year old jump out of her father’s arms and into her mother’s awaiting ones. 

The feigned sadness melted instantly into a cheery smile as the older woman caught her.

“You menace.” The mother poked at the child’s cheeks, the four year old only giggled against her.

Such nights weren’t a new thing in their home. Quiet nights filled with a little mischief, lots of cuteness aggressions. Mostly on Hyunjin’s behalf, who often settled by his daughter’s bedside to simply watch her drift into sleep. Humming tunes or whispering nonsensical stories. Even on those nights when he would return home from outside responsibilities, and the toddler was already deep into her slumber. The father would spend a few minutes in the dimly lit, too-pink bedroom. Fingers raking into Yumi’s hair, lips kissing goodnight over her forehead.

A man who was a goner for the two girls in his life. Not that he held any qualms about it.

The door creaked close behind him as the make-up cleansed, face-washed, father stepped out of the child’s bedroom, eyes settling over Y/N who sat on the couch catching the final minutes of her tv show.

“She’s sleeping.” He murmured, feet shuffling over to her, leaning against the cushion of the armrest.

“Of course she’s asleep, she’s tired. But you decided to play king and queen instead.” She scoffed, turning off the tv and standing before him.

“I was actually a knight.” He retorted, before chuckling as she shot him her deadpanned stares.

“Okay sorry, sorry.” The husband surrendered with ease, hand cupping her cheek as he smiled at her.

“What has gotten my queen to be so moody tonight, hm?” He raised a brow, watching her huff into his palm.

“I wanted to spend some time with you.” She murmured. “You promised to be back in five minutes, but instead made me come find you.” She pouted.

Once again, an arrow laced with adoration shot into the man’s heart, unable to contain himself he let his arms engulf her into him.

“I’m a terrible terrible knight. How can I leave such a needy maiden behind?” He sighed with feigned disappointment, instantly earning a nudge of her elbow against his chest.

Though he does manage to make her laugh. A melodious sound, one that has him pull away to stare at her with a cheesy grin.

“Does this knight in shining armor have to return home once the clock strikes twelve?” She decided to indulge in the ridiculous character he seemed to have been set on playing.

Hyunjin’s lips tug at the corners almost smugly. “Baby I can waltz with you all night.”

Of course this earns him an eyeroll from her.

“Tsch—you can barely keep your eyes open once the sun sets.” She scoffed, though there was not bite to her words.

“Hey!” He argued. “I get tired. Try staying home with a toddler and trying to entertain her whims.” He grumbled with his own pout now.

His wife crossed her arms over her chest.

“That’s on you. You’ve spoiled her and tend to every whim.” She retorted with a grin.

“She’s a princess and she deserves it!” He pressed, while Y/N once again rolled her eyes.

“Well Her Highness is fully slumbering in her chambers tonight. Would you, sir Hwang, indulge in me for the remainder?” Her words betrayed her glare-like stare and made her husband instantly forget their banter.

“Yeah?” His lips parted into a dumb grin. “Indulge?” His fingers tugged her closer, to which she grumbled but of course her attempts to hide her own smile failed miserably.

“What are your thoughts on giving the princess a little prince brother?” He hummed, expression dripping with both fondness and a teasing glint.

“Unless you’re birthing him, then she can wait.” She frowned with a pout.

An expression that his daughter replicated exactly. Making him feel warm and smiley.

“Unfortunate. No prince to spoil. Guess I’ll just continue to spoil you.” He easily gives in, casually crouching down to grip at her form tightly.

“Ack—Hyunjin!” She yelped, her husband hoisting her up in his arms with a fit of hushed cackles that resonated around their room.

“Time to retire to our chambers, my queen.” He mumbled against the fabric of her pajama top, the vibrations tickling her into a fit of whispered giggles.

“You’re so annoying.” She grumbled, all while tugging at his jaw to tilt his head back and place her lips over his.

“I really think you should touch some grass. It’s only going to be fan service, if, not when, if he sees it.”, your best friend said, stirring the coffee in front of her slowly, smiling at you, chin on her hand.

“Yeah, sure. Need me to remind you how you almost crawled the walls when Christopher asked for phone numbers on bubble?”. You laugh while she rolls her eyes and tells you to not bring Chan into this conversation. You loved this, the bickering between the two of you about whose bias is more of a menace. It started when you noticed that after every time Hyunjin has a campaign or a photo shoot, or he just flirts with stays in any way, Chan sends a gym video or a photo that always ends up in a tik tok edit.

“Girl, you know I love and support you with all my heart, but do you understand that if you actually go on with this and he sees it, you are going to lose your fucking mind?”, she looks at you with her eyebrows raised, not believing that you have the guts to do it.

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, telling her she’s just being dramatic and that you’ll manage. But the truth is you don’t think he’ll see your banner, even if you are going to be in one of the front rows.

“Am I, though? What reaction do you think you’ll get out of him?” she asks nonchalantly.

“I haven’t thought about that. What’s your point anyway? Should I change the text or give up the only shot I have for him to notice me? ”. You genuinely don’t think your message is that crazy anyway.

Right?

“Baby, I told you, I support you, but besides a smirk or a wink, which, by the way, I don’t think you could handle, 'You should take me out before owning me’ is a really bold declaration.”, she says, bringing the mug close to her lips.

"Well... it’s the truth. He sits in my mind constantly, and I don’t think he plans to leave soon. And besides that, maybe if I have the most violent crash-out I could ever have if we make eye contact, the next ones will be manageable.”, you don’t feel ashamed at all about that, but suddenly the floor is much more interesting than anything else in the coffee shop.

“Bullshit. Every time you have one, you say it’s the worst one so far. I remember very vividly the last time I was with you when he sent that photo of his back from Iceland.”

Fuck.

You close your eyes and visualize the photo even if you know it’s a bad decision. You clench so hard remembering how the stay necklace stood between his shoulder blades and how his muscles were looking slightly tense. Something primal flickers through you, imagining how you could run your nails down on his back, leaving red marks on his honey skin, while he sinks himself in you deep and slow, whispering praises in your ear.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Well, can you blame me? Want me to pull up the last onlychan video so we’re in the same boat?”, you said as you tried to reach for your phone, but your friend is faster than you.

“Don’t you dare. I didn’t even show you the photo; I only mentioned it. Not my fault you’re having half of your gallery tattooed on your eyelids.” she said, starting to gather her things. “Text me when you get home; I need to go and decide what outfit I’ll wear. Love you, bye." she kisses your head and leaves.

She might not believe you, but it’s not like you chose to have ‘half of your gallery tattooed on your eyelids'; it just… happened. One day you were browsing through some youtube videos, when a live from dispatch popped up, saying that he’s leaving Seoul for a Versace event. And well, after that, you started unconsciously to remember all of his appearances, even if it was a small thing, like the skzoo pop-up from Seoul when his belt was useless and you wished to never see him wear one after that.

Fuck, not again.

*

As you walk into your apartment, you wonder what the setlist for tomorrow is going to be like. The possibility of hearing some specific songs, and especially seeing the choreography for them, is making you shiver.

Bounce back, the body rolls and the way he smirks after doing them.

Venom, how good his hands would look on your hair while he is pushing into you from behind.

God’s menu and District 9, the growls that you wished to hear from between your thighs.

Hall of Fame.

Charmer.

Do it.

You know for sure if you’re going to hear only the intro for Taste, Red Lights, Escape or Mic&Brush, you’ll achieve the performance to come untouched in a crowd of 50k people.

And all because of a single person.

Him.

You text your friend, letting her know that you arrived, and tell her to send a picture of her outfit so maybe you two could match and go to your bedroom. Looking through the outfits that you bought only for this concert, thinking it's better to have more options than panicking if something looks weird or too much, you hear your phone buzz.

You don’t pay attention to it in the first place, thinking it’s your friend. Even after 5 vibrations you don’t pick it up, she probably sent the outfit from more angles. After one minute your phone is still begging for attention, and you stop, starstruck, realizing.

They’re in the same time zone as you.

You knew it before you picked it up from your nightstand. One of them is on the fans app. Your breath hitches and the grip on your phone tightens.

‘10+ notifications FANS’

‘햔진 left a comment: 😜’

“Fucking menace”, you mumble to yourself, and with a speed you didn’t know you possessed, you made a post, as every time, knowing he won't reply, but hoping he will at least see it and bring a smile to his perfect plump lips.

“Can’t wait to see you tomorrow, jagiya💋”

You close the app and throw the phone back on the bed, going back to your outfits. That’s how you always do it: you wait for them to finish spamming, and only after you’re sure they've stopped, you read the comments. You don’t know exactly why, but this is the only way that is not driving you insane.

After 5 minutes, the phone is still buzzing, which is weird, especially for him. You thought that maybe another one of them had come too, and you check to see which one.

Your heart stops.

You see only random names that liked your posts, which can mean a single thing.

He replied.

You’re calling your best friend instantly, incapable of checking yourself or crashing out alone, if he indeed replied. It didn’t happen before, well, at least, not for you, and you don’t know what to do with yourself now. She picks it up after 3 missed calls.

"Sorry, darling, I was in the shower, and after the second call I hurried as fast as I could. What happ-“

“I think he replied."

“What?”

“I- I think he replied to my message."

“Who? Did you text your ex? Bitch, I’m gonna bea-“

“Hyunjin.”

Silence.

“Bubble or fans?”

“Fans.”

“Fuck, ok. Breathe.”

“I’m not fully spiraling yet. I’m not sure if he actually replied.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I made a post and left my phone on the bed after; you know I always wait until-“

“Yeah, I know. Get to the point.”

“When I checked my phone again, I only saw random stays that liked my post.”

“How many?”

“I don’t know. At least 4 minutes of constant vibrations.”

“Jesus Christ, fuck. He definitely replied. You want to check or let me check it for you?”

“Please.”

Your heart begins to beat faster, and your throat is feeling tighter with every second. Your hands are shaking, and luckily enough, you’re already sitting down, otherwise you would be melting on the floor.

“Oh god. Listen to me, I need you to sit down and breathe.”

“I’m sitting. Tell me what he said, or I’m going to have a heart attack caused by anticipation.”

“He said..jesus fucking christ, he is a menace.'"

“I’m going to jump through your screen if you don’t spit it out right now."

She clears her throat and says in the most calm way “‘Careful, princess, I might not let you go when I see you.’with a winky face.”

What. the. fuck.

You know he didn’t actually notice you, only your comment, and it’s basically just fan service, but you can’t control the frantic breath, the palpitations, or the way you feel your heartbeat in your core.

"Hey, are you still with me, or did you ascend to heaven already?”

“Heaven? I think I’m free falling in hell with all the thoughts I’m having right now.”

You hear your friend’s laugh at the same time with three consecutive vibrations, and mindlessly you look at your screen.

JYP bubble

‘You have 3 new messages from [ 현진이🫶]’

“Why did your breath hitch like that?”

“He sent 3 messages on bubble..”, you said letting the air leave your lungs, closing your eyes and rubbing your temples.

“Oh, he really wants all of you dead before the concert. Wait, I think someone’s texting me.”

You wait for the line to go silent, but instead you hear a moan followed by a whispered ‘fuck’, and you know. It’s the same reaction every time.

“Gym video?”

“No…Mirror selfie in a black tank top. I need to take a cold shower, again.”

“Well, it looks like they want the full fandom dead.”

Stopping a chuckle from coming out and ending the phone call, you open bubble, a little scared, because it’s never a good sign when these two send messages in such a short span of time. The home screen app welcomes you with a preview as always, but seeing the word ‘photo’ makes your body tense up immediately. You’ll definitely need a cold shower too. You click on the chat and everything around you stops. You don’t know what the messages are about yet, but the pic in front of you is burning your eyes.

It’s a mirror selfie, but not a usual one. His hair is slightly disheveled, soft strands falling wherever they please, and his eyes are only half open, like he just woke up moments ago. He’s wearing grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt, and with his free hand, he lifts the hem of the shirt almost to his ribs, exposing his waist.

Fuck.

You take a moment to admire his hands, large and strong, yet somehow elegant. Your eyes remain stuck on the rings resting perfectly around his long fingers and how his veins are slightly showing, just visible enough to draw your attention.

You want to feel his hands all over you, especially on your throat and inside you.

You zoom on his waist and gulp when you notice the beginning of his v-line, a detail that feels both intentional and natural at once. The air feels heavier and tighter; your body reacts before your mind can catch up. Your mouth subtly begins to water at the thought of tracing every vein and curve with your tongue, biting from place to place, making him lose control and grab your hair to guide you where he wants you the most. A moan slips away as you think about his length between your lips, how you could feel every twitch when he touches the back of your throat as he tells you how well you take him, like you were made just for sucking his cock.

You almost surrender to the impure thoughts, sliding your hand from the phone to the waistband of your pants, when you notice the red marks on his waist. “What the fuck is that?” Squinting your eyes and zooming at maximum capacity, your hand flies over your mouth instantly, holding back a laugh when you realize the source of them.

‘I wore my pants down so many times that I got mosquito bites on my waist.’

‘It’s itchy.’

You type your answer like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

‘Let me kiss them better for you, yeobo💋’

A smirk forms on your lips as you lower your phone, thinking that you should really decide on your outfit for tomorrow and start writing that banner. You almost stand up when the sound of bubble notification startles you.

‘That nickname is doing a lot more to me than it should…’

‘Am I supposed to be worried or intrigued?’

You’ve read it at least 10 times, and you still don’t understand what’s happening. Did he just reply to you again? Or does he just expose stays for the variation of nicknames he sees every day? Before you start spiraling again, you decide it’s better for the last shred of sanity you have left to believe the latter one. You send a screenshot to your bestie with a short text saying ‘sedate me, he’s feeding my delulu too much today’ and go back to your preparation for tomorrow.

At the same time, in a hotel room, Hyunjin is smirking at his phone, bottom lip between his teeth, slowly stroking himself, knowing his princesses are crashing out. His eyes are rolling to the back of his head, moaning at the thought of the one who called him yeobo.

you hadn’t been informed of… well… that.

moving in with your best friend changbin had seemed like the most natural decision in the world. rent prices were ridiculous and your previous lease had ended at the worst possible time, and one night over dinner, changbin had mentioned that his apartment had a spare room now that his friend seungmin had moved out.

“just move in with us”, he had said as he shoved another piece of meat into his mouth, “it’ll be fun and you’ll save money. and i know hyunjin won’t mind either”

that seemed easy and simple, the perfect solution.

you’d known changbin all your life and you trusted him blindly. somehow your friendship had stuck despite your completely opposite personalities and years later he was still the first person you called whenever something good or catastrophically bad happened. naturally, that meant you also knew most of the people in his life, including hwang hyunjin, changbin’s roommate and his closest friend, apart from you obviously. 

hyunjin is also the ridiculously attractive man you’ve spent years pretending you don’t have the world’s most embarrassing crush on, but that’s not really important right now. because really, what is there to say? only that hyunjin is unfairly beautiful.

hyunjin is the kind of person who looks like he’s walked out of a fashion show every single day. long dark hair one day and then the next one, a blond buzz cut - you still remember the gasp you let out when you saw him that day - still looking like a model, with his oversized clothes and his expensive rings decorating his elegant fingers. your favourite part of him is his eyes, the same eyes that somehow manage to look both intimidating and impossibly soft depending on who he is looking at. 

you’d met him more times that you could count - birthday dinners, movie nights, karaoke sessions, late night convenience store runs, group vacations. just everything, because if you’re part of changbin’s circle that means you’re part of everything he does.

hyunjin is easy to be around, quiet at first but surprisingly playful once he gets comfortable. a little dramatic and clumsy, yes, but ridiculously affectionate with the people he loves, even if he sometimes pretends not to be. you’ve watched him and changbin bicker over lots of things like an old married couple more times than you care to admit. 

but nothing has ever happened between hyunjin and you, and nothing will ever happen, you had accepted that years ago. your crush exists quietly in the background of your life like a song you occasionally remember. 

is it embarrassing? absolutely.

is it manageable? mostly.

but living with him… well, that certainly could complicate things a bit. 

on moving day, you’d found them halfway through another one of their ridiculous arguments because hyunjin had apparently put together the new desk in your room while changbin supervised which, according to hyunjin, actually meant getting in the way. but as soon as they realised you were there, hyunjin looked over at you with that tiny amused smile of his and his eyes bright.

“welcome home”

he said two words, simple and friendly, yet somehow they’d settled somewhere annoyingly warm inside your chest.

the next few days passed as you unpacked your stuff and tried to get used to your new home, but everything else felt normal and comfortable, exactly like you’d imagined living with them would be like. it was nice, really nice, and you could already tell living with them was going to work, which is probably why what happened later caught you so completely off guard. 

you had been living with them for a week or so. dinner had been cleaned up and hyunjin had disappeared into his room saying he had some work to do, closing the door behind him. you hadn’t thought much about it because you knew he worked from home, something related to computers. that was all you knew, you’d never asked more and it wasn’t really your business if he never explained or said anything else.

you were sitting on the sofa with changbin as you tried to choose a movie when he suddenly paused halfway through scrolling.

“y/n, i forgot to tell you something”

those words rarely lead to anything good.

you narrowed your eyes, “what?”

he scratched the back of his neck, “so…”

“so?”

“you know hyunjin works from home, right?”

“... yeah?”, you asked him, not knowing where the conversation was going.

“well, sometimes, you’ll probably hear… things”

you looked at him, still not understanding anything, “what things?”

changbin looked towards hyunjin’s closed door before lowering his voice for absolutely no reason.

“i just thought you should know what he actually does”

“okay?”

“he… uh…”, he said as he rubbed his face, “hyunjin’s a camboy”

silence. 

complete and utter silence.

“he’s a what?”, you asked him.

“a camboy”

you stared at him and he stared back at you. surely you had misheard. maybe he had said cowboy? yeah, that had to be it.

“no”, you said slowly, “i definitely heard that wrong”

“you didn’t”, he said, still looking at you.

“he’s… a… like…”, you said as you made a vague gesture with both of your hands, “a camboy?”

changbin nodded his head, “yeah”

“so he does, what… livestreams?”

“yeah”

“and people pay?”

“yeah”, he said again.

“that hyunjin?”, you said as you gestured towards his bedroom.

changbin snorted, “yes, that hyunjin”

your mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, “okay, i… i mean… wow”

you replayed every time hyunjin casually excused himself saying he had work before he moved to his room or every time he didn’t go out with all of you because he stayed home working.

you had always assumed, well… anything except that. you weren’t opposed to it, that wasn’t the issue here. people could do whatever they wanted to do, and if that worked for him, then good for him.

it was just unexpected, wildly unexpected.

things should have ended there, after that conversation with changbin, because it wasn’t really your business and hyunjin was still hyunjin. learning what he did for work didn’t suddenly change everything about him, or at least, it shouldn’t have.

and yet, the following days proved to be considerably more difficult than you expected because every single time you looked at him, you remembered your conversation with changbin.

there hyunjin was, standing in the kitchen as he prepared breakfast.

he’s a camboy.

hyunjin was sitting on the sofa, his sketchbook balanced on his knee as he draw something while watching a movie.

he’s a camboy.

hyunjin walked past you in the hallway with his hair damp after a shower.

“good morning, y/n”

“good morning, hyunjin”

he’s a camboy. 

you hated it, genuinely, because it was unfair, you didn’t want your perception of him to now revolve around his way of living. people were more than their jobs. if changbin had told you hyunjin was a chef, you wouldn’t spend every waking moment imagining him in a kitchen. so why was your brain being so incredibly unhelpful now?

every time the thought appeared, you tried to shove it away. hyunjin’s your friend and now your roommate as well, he’s the same hyunjin you’d known for years. 

but as the days passed, little questions kept appearing out of nowhere.

how long had he been doing it?

how had he even started?

did many people watch him?

how did any of it even work?

then, the questions started to get more and more explicit. you had never watched a livestream of this type, but you knew enough, and your imagination worked wonders too.

did he show his face?

was he completely naked?

did he have weird kinks?

so when one night hyunjin disappeared into his room after dinner saying he had to work, your curiosity finally got the best of you. a couple of hours later, when hyunjin and changbin were sleeping in their rooms, you lay on your back on your bed, the sheets pulled up to your waist, as you stared at the ceiling with your phone in your hands.

you couldn’t stop thinking about hyunjin, and what he may have been doing just some hours ago, so before you even realised you were actually doing it, you unlocked your phone and tried to search his page. 

you hadn’t asked changbin the name of hyunjin’s page or his account or whatever he used, absolutely not. asking your best friend for information about another friend’s work, and especially that kind of work, felt invasive. 

and there was no way you could ask hyunjin himself.

“hey, so… what’s your username?”

you physically cringed just imagining it. no, never. 

all you had was his name, and you knew it was a long shot, but you still tried anyway. you tried a couple of pages first, all of them obviously wrong, just low quality clips and guys who looked nothing like him. then, by some miracle, you found the right link and his page loaded. before you even realised what you were doing, you were already watching him stroke his cock on camera while your own fingers worked deep inside your cunt until you came around them. 

you hadn’t meant to do that. honestly, you just wanted to see how he did it, to answer the questions that had been burning in your head, but it was as if you were hypnotised from the moment you saw him and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

the next days, it was impossible to stop. every night you pulled up his page again and watched his old livestreams until you came hard around your fingers, biting your lip to keep you from moaning his name out loud. you saw the new ones too, the ones he did just as he disappeared into his room after dinner some nights. you saw those once he had finished streaming, when you were sure both of the boys were sleeping and they couldn’t suspect what you were doing in your room. 

each time you came just from watching him, just hearing him say “fancy seeing you here” at the beginning of every single live had you already dripping for him, your clit throbbing before he even touched himself, before you even touched yourself. 

what was even more difficult was living with him and changbin as if nothing had changed. sitting at the kitchen table while hyunjin made coffee, pretending you hadn’t spent the previous night with your fingers inside your cunt to the sound of his groans. pretending you didn’t stare at his long fingers wrapped around his mug and wondered how they would feel inside you, stretching you open. every casual brush of his arm against yours sent heat flooding between your legs, every single time he looked at you, you had to look away, you couldn’t stare at him for longer than a second.

you hadn’t been informed of that and now, you didn’t know how to keep hiding this any longer.

you’ve been living with the boys for a month now, and things have just gotten worse, you can thank your imagination for that. the boys still have no idea what you do behind doors, but your little situation has not improved, not even a little bit. that’s why every time you have the chance to focus on something else that’s not hyunjin or his fingers or his cock or his lives or anything related to him, you take it and run away with it. 

but of course, your plan backfired today.

you had spent the morning at work, counting down the hours until your shift ended. nothing exciting happened, just a handful of emails and a couple of meetings, the usual. once you finally clocked out, you met one of your friends who was already waiting outside your office and you both went to eat together.

the original plan had been to have lunch together and then spend the rest of the afternoon shopping but unfortunately, halfway through lunch, your friend started to look paler and then she told you she was not feeling good and that she thought she should go home. you had nodded your head and told her to rest, that you would catch up other day, whenever she felt better.

after making sure she’d booked a ride home safely, the two of you hugged goodbye outside the restaurant and you watched her leave. you considered continuing with the shopping alone, but then, rain started pouring down and seeing that you were definitely not dressed for that - you were wearing a summer dress and a pair of high-heels - you decided to put an end to the shopping trip and go home earlier than you had planned. 

as far as you knew, changbin wouldn’t be home for hours. he’d mentioned over breakfast that work was going to run late and after that he planned on heading straight to the gym before coming back. knowing him, he probably wouldn’t be home until sometime after midnight. 

hyunjin… well, you had no idea, his schedule was always harder to predict and you hadn’t asked him what his plans were today. 

now, after a walk in the rain, you enter the apartment and close the door behind you, leaving your shoes at the entrance and letting out a relieved sigh as your feet finally touch the cool wooden floor. but then, you hear something, a faint sound, so quiet you can’t tell where it came from. you frown and listen for another moment, but there’s nothing there, just silence.

you shrug it off, run your hand through your hair and then start walking towards your room but just as you’re halfway down the hallway, you hear another sound, this one clearer. your steps slow a bit and then you realise it came from hyunjin’s room, which was closed.

almost without thinking, your feet carry you towards it, trying not to make any noise at all. you stop outside his door and then lean towards it, tilting your head and holding your breath until you hear his voice, clear enough this time.

“fancy seeing you here”, you hear him say through the door.

your entire body freezes. you know that sentence, you’ve heard it before, more than once. it is the way he greets his viewers.

oh.

oh.

he is doing a livestream right now. 

you take a hurried step backwards as though the door itself had burned you. you didn’t expect this and you know you are not supposed to be here. you had just come home early because your plans had fallen apart.

if your friend hadn’t gotten sick…

if it hadn’t started raining…

you wouldn’t have been anywhere near the apartment.

you look towards the front door. leave, that’s what your mind tells you. you could go and maybe sit in a café for a while, or you could go to a bookstore, just anything, but then you look towards the windows in the living room and you see how unrealistic that idea is. the rain lashes against the glass in thick sheets and the sky has turned almost black. going back outside right now isn’t exactly appealing.

you exhale slowly. okay, fine, you will stay home. you could just go to your room or take a long shower or maybe watch a movie or cook something. you could do literally anything else, just anything that kept your mind occupied.

you stand there for another second, trying to convince yourself that this is a perfectly ordinary afternoon, that hyunjin is simply working and that what he is doing is none of your business, that you can completely ignore it.

you already know, however, that your own mind isn’t going to make that nearly as easy as it sounds. 

when you step inside your bedroom and close the door, your thoughts refuse to behave and images start flashing behind your eyes: his long fingers wrapped around his cock, his abs tightening when he’s close, his groans that always push you over the edge, his hand moving to push his hair away as his bicep becomes the only thing you can focus on. you press your thighs together, trying to ignore the growing heat between them.

then you hear a loud groan ripping through the walls, the sound raw and needy, hitting you like a spark and your self-control snaps. you drop onto your bed, your phone already in your hand as you pull up his livestream. once it starts working, you see he’s still wearing his boxers, but his hand is inside them, stroking his cock, as the chat explodes with comments and donations. 

user69: take your cock out

edgequeen: i will beg if you want me too

cumslut: i want you to fuck my face 

“you’re all so needy today. i bet you’re all dripping for me”, he says, his voice low and teasing, “do you really wanna see how hard i am for you right now?”

you’re completely soaked, and not just from the rain now. you watch his hand move under his boxers again, the outline of his cock clear as he gives it a firm squeeze.

princessonline: please show us your cock

user69: you’re edging me so bad i’m gonna come

he smirks at the comments and then hooks his fingers into the waistband and pushes his boxers down, his cock springing free and already leaking. 

you don’t even think, you shove your panties down your legs and kick them off, keeping the dress on because you’re too desperate to bother about that now. your fingers slide straight between your folds, finding yourself already slick and swollen.

hyunjin wraps his hand around his cock and starts stroking properly, smirking at the camera, “you like watching me play with my cock like this, huh? you want me to go faster?”

cumslut: yes pls

user69: i want you to come inside me

princessonline: my sheets are soaked

he speeds up a little, his thumb swiping over the tip and spreading the precum down his length as he keeps talking, and every word he says makes you even wetter. you push one finger inside you and then another one, imagining they’re his fingers, stretching you open the way you’ve fantasised about for weeks now. your hips roll up to meet your hand while you watch his hand on his cock.

he keeps talking, his voice rougher now, “fuck, i’m getting close. wanna see me coming? wanna watch me paint my stomach while you all come with me?”

user69: YES 

cumslut: i wanna lick you clean

edgequeen: please fuck me

his hand moves faster, the tip of his cock disappearing into his fist again and again. your fingers move in time with him, your thumb rubbing your clit as your thighs shake and your breath comes in short gasps. you see how his abs tighten and his hips jerk and then he comes hard, his cum streaking across his stomach and chest while he groans loudly.

the sight pushes you over and your climax crashes through you. your cunt pulses around your fingers and before you realise, a moan escapes you, too loud, probably the loudest you’ve ever moaned. you slap your hand over your mouth, praying that hyunjin hasn’t heard you, you don’t want him to know you’re home, much less what you are doing. you see hyunjin panting and smiling lazily at the camera, coming down from his high.

you don’t wait to see what he does or to hear what he says next, you close the livestream so fast that your phone nearly slips from your hands. the only thing you can hear is your own breathing and your heart beating so fast you’re sure it’s gonna fall out of your chest.

has he heard you?

you had heard him groaning and moaning during his livestream today, which means that it’s possible - more than possible if you’re honest - that he has also heard you. you squeeze your eyes shut and just hope and pray that he hasn’t, you honestly have no idea how you would deal with that.

but there is no point spiraling, you can’t undo anything now, the damage is already done. you set your phone on the bed and then sit completely still, listening.

nothing.

then, after some minutes of sitting and waiting, you hear movement outside your bedroom. a door opening, then footsteps and then another door. you hold your breath until you hear the rush of running water echoing through the apartment. 

he’s in the shower.

you let out a slow breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding.

okay, think y/n. 

if he had heard something, wouldn’t he have come looking?

wouldn’t he have knocked on your door? to check what was that noise?

instead, he’d gone straight to shower. maybe everything is fine and you’re just panicking over nothing. you look towards your door and think again, because you need to act normal. hyunjin knew you’d planned to be out all day, but there was no reason you couldn’t simply arrive home now.

he is in the shower and you could just leave your room and go to the kitchen, and if the two of you happened to run into each other then you’d smile and say hello, mention the rain and tell him that your plants had been cut short.

it was perfectly ordinary, entirely believable.

you stand up and smooth the wrinkles from your dress before walking towards your door. you take one last steadying breath and then open it, making sure that he’s still in the shower before you leave your room. you pad quietly towards the kitchen and once you get there, you open the cupboard, grab a glass and fill it with cold water.

you lean against the counter and take a long sip, letting the cool water settle your nerves as you stare at the rain tapping against the windows. everything’s gonna be fine, you just need to stop overthinking, but you are so absorbed in your thoughts that you completely tune out everything else. you don’t hear the shower stopping, you don’t hear the bathroom door opening and you definitely don’t hear footsteps crossing the hallway.

“hey, y/n”, you suddenly hear hyunjin’s voice, “i didn’t see you there”

you spin around so fast the glass nearly slips. hyunjin is standing a few feet away, a towel slung low around his hips as droplets slide down his chest and stomach. you force your eyes up to his face, heat crawling up your neck.

“hi, hyunjin”, you manage to say, your voice thinner than you wanted.

you can’t quite look at him, not when every inch of exposed skin reminds you exactly of what you just watched him do.

he tilts his head, looking at you, “weren’t you gonna be out all day?”

you nod your head, feeling your nerves growing inside you again, “yeah. but um… my friend, uh… she got sick and then the rain started, so… yeah, we cut the plans short”

your gaze keeps drifting back to his chest despite yourself. to the way water trails over the defined lines of his muscles, catching on one of his nipples before continuing lower. you force yourself to turn away, setting the glass down on the counter, trying to calm yourself down.

hyunjin hums and then you hear him move and you think he’s leaving, that he’s going to his room to put his clothes on. but then you feel him, just behind you. he’s suddenly close, so close that his bare chest nearly brushes your back. the heat of him radiates through the thin fabric of your dress and his breath ghosts over the shell of your ear, his lips barely grazing your skin as he speaks.

“did you enjoy the show?”

your whole body locks up. you don’t answer him, you can’t, but he doesn’t need you to, he already knows.

“oh, don’t tell me you thought i wouldn’t hear you moaning from your room, sweetheart. besides, i knew it was only a matter of time. i know changbin told you what i do, so i figured sooner or later you’d break”, he says, as he gets closer to you, “what? you didn’t think i had noticed the way you look at me? at my fingers? you really have no idea, sweetheart”

each word presses his lips closer to your ear, the warmth of his breath sending shivers down your spine. one of his hands comes up and he places it on your waist, just to remind you how close he is. the towel around his hips moves with every slow inhale, the fabric barely holding on. you can feel the hard line of his cock through it, pressing against your back as he leans in even more.

“i already know you watch my livestreams”, he says, “and i know you touch yourself watching me. i know you soak through whatever clothes you wear. and today? sweetheart, i heard you as soon as you entered the apartment, but hearing you moan and come while i was stroking my cock for the camera… fuck, that almost made me lose it right there”

his other hand trails up, his fingertips skimming the side of your neck before he tucks a strand of damp hair behind your ear.

“you were so loud, y/n, you couldn’t even cover it up in time. i bet your pussy was clenching around your fingers while you watched me come all over myself”, he says, getting even closer to you, “did you wish it were my fingers instead? or my mouth? or maybe it was my cock inside that tight cunt as you took every inch of me?”

he moves his hips, letting you feel his hard cock nudging against you through the towel. his lips brush the sensitive spot just below your ear, almost a kiss now.

“i’ve been waiting for you to slip up”, he says, “every time you looked at me across the table, every time your eyes dropped to my hands… i knew exactly what you were thinking. i knew you were imagining my fingers inside you, making you drip down my wrist. and now you’re here, and i bet you’re soaked not just from the rain, and you’re trying so hard to pretend you’re not desperate for it”

his hand slides lower, pulling you back against him. the towel is the only thing between his bare cock and the thin material of your dress and you can feel every twitch, every pulse as he hardens further. he rocks his hips against you once, letting his length drag along the curve of your ass.

“still not saying anything, sweetheart?”, he teases you, his teeth grazing your earlobe, “that’s okay, your body is doing all the talking. i bet if i reached under this dress right now i’d find you dripping. you want me to check? you want me to see how soaked you are for me, sweetheart?”

he doesn’t wait for permission, he just lets his fingers trace the hem of your dress, toying with the fabric, lifting it inch by inch. the cool air of the kitchen kisses your thighs, making you shiver. his other hand stays firm on your waist, keeping you pinned between him and the counter.

“tell me the truth, y/n”, he whispers, his voice now rough with want, “did you come harder thinking i might hear you? did it make you even wetter, thinking about me in my room, stroking my cock while you had your fingers deep inside you at the same time?”

his lips press a slow and open-mouthed kiss just behind your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin. his towel slips a bit lower on his hips, the tip of his cock now unmistakably hard and hot against you. he grinds forward again, letting you feel it.

“i’m still hard”, he says, “i came so hard thinking about you watching me, but it wasn’t enough. not when i knew you were right there, with your fingers inside you, wishing it was me. you want me to finish what i started? you want me to fuck you until you can’t stay quiet anymore?”

his hand finally slips beneath the hem of your dress, his fingers trailing up the inside of your thigh, stopping just short of where you’re aching for him. he pauses there, breathing hard against your ear, waiting and teasing you, letting the anticipation stretch until your legs tremble.

“say the word, y/n”, he murmurs against your ear, “or i will keep telling you every little thing i’ve wanted to do to you since i first saw you. your choice”

your lips part on a shaky breath, his name slipping out before you can stop it.

“hyunjin…”, your voice comes out soft, but the way your hips twitch back against him betrays how badly you need more.

he chuckles low against your ear, “what do you need, sweetheart?”, he says as his fingers continue brushing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, so close yet still denying you, “tell me. use your words”

you swallow hard, your voice barely above a whisper, “i-i need you. p-please, hyunjin… i need you”

the second the words leave your mouth, his hand slides higher. he expects to meet the thin barrier of your soaked panties, but instead his fingers glide straight through your slick and bare folds. a deep and guttural moan rips from his throat, hot and filthy against your ear.

“fuck… no panties? you’re gonna be the death of me, y/n”, his voice cracks with raw hunger as two of his fingers part your soaked lips, dragging through the mess you’ve made of yourself, “you were standing here with me, dripping down your thighs with nothing covering this greedy little pussy? christ”

his middle finger circles your clit once before sliding lower to tease your entrance. he presses just inside, feeling how wet and ready you are and another broken sound escapes him.

“you’re soaked, so fucking wet for me already, sweetheart. did you come that hard earlier just from watching me? or were you saving this for when i finally touched you?”

you can’t answer him, you’re sure you’ve even stopped breathing at some point. his fingers are already working you open, sliding through your folds. he presses two fingers inside you without warning, knuckles deep in one smooth thrust, and your knees nearly buckle. hyunjin catches you with his arm around your waist, holding you while he moves his fingers in and out of you.

“that’s it”, he says, his teeth scraping your earlobe, “take my fingers, sweetheart. let me feel how tight you are. i bet you’ve imagined this every single time you watched me”

his thumb finds your clit, rubbing circles while his fingers thrust deeper and faster. the towel around his waist is barely hanging on now, the hard length of his cock pressed against your back, twitching every time you clench around his fingers. 

you turn your head just enough to look at him, your eyes meeting his for the first time since he caught you, and when you speak, your voice comes out hoarse and desperate.

“i need you, hyunjin. right now”

something in his gaze snaps and finally, he crashes his mouth against yours in a hard and searing kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips to claim every inch. his hand stays buried between your legs, his fingers still moving inside you as he devours your mouth. you moan into the kiss, your hips rolling down onto his hand, chasing the friction.

he breaks the kiss and pulls his fingers out of you, turning you around so he can growl against your lips.

“legs around me”, he says.

before you can process it, his hands are under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly. your legs wrap around his waist, your dress riding up as your bare and soaked cunt presses against his stomach. the towel slips lower with the movement, barely clinging to his hips as he carries you down the hallway towards his room. 

when he closes the door behind you, he lays you down on his bed and for a moment he just stands there, looking down at you, his hair still damp, his chest heaving and the towel hanging dangerously low on his hips, the thick outline of his cock straining against it.

“fancy seeing you here”, he says, his voice low and teasing, the exact same line he uses at the start of every livestream.

the words hit you like a spark and you reach up, fisting the front of the towel to yank him down on top of you. your mouths meet again, hotter this time, your tongues sliding together as his body covers yours. his hands are everywhere - sliding up your sides, gripping your waist, throwing his towel off and then finally tugging your dress up and over your head. your bra comes next, his eyes dark as they rake over your bare body.

now there’s nothing between you, and you can feel his cock, thick and flushed, against your body. he settles between your spread thighs as he keeps kissing you like he’s savouring every second before he finally takes what you’ve both been waiting for. his hands keep roaming greedily over your skin, his hands sliding up your ribs to cup your breasts and his thumbs circle and pinch your nipples until they stiffen under his touch.

you arch into him, your fingers threading through his hair and tugging hard to pull him closer while your other hand grips the back of his neck, your nails digging into the muscle there. your hands move down his back, feeling every flex of his shoulders as he grinds his body against yours, leaving a hot smear of precum on your skin.

he breaks the kiss and pulls back just enough to smirk down at you while you chase his lips with a needy whimper. your hips roll up, seeking friction, but he moves away, denying you.

“tell me what you want, sweetheart”, he says, “come on, say it”

you whisper his name first, your voice showing how desperate you are, “h-hyunjin…”

he chuckles and lowers his head to kiss and bite along your neck, his teeth scraping the sensitive skin before sucking hard enough to leave marks.

“more than that, y/n. tell me exactly what you want”, he says as his lips trail lower, biting at your collarbone as your moans fill his room, your body trembling under his.

your voice cracks as you gasp, “i-i need your fingers… p-please”

“good girl”, he says against your throat before he moves his face just enough to kiss you again.

you feel one of his hands moving down your body until two of his fingers slide through your folds and then he pushes them inside you. he starts curling them, stroking your sensitive spot while his thumb focuses on your clit. your walls clench around his fingers, your juices coating his hand as he moves his fingers faster.

he kisses you through it all, his tongue pressed against yours as his fingers fuck you harder, stretching you open. your climax builds fast, your thighs shaking until it crashes over you, and you come hard on his fingers, letting out a broken cry that is swallowed by his mouth as your arousal drips down his wrist.

hyunjin pulls his fingers out of you, glistening with your release.

“open up”, he says as he presses his fingers to your lips.

you part them obediently, sucking his fingers clean and tasting your own cum as he watches you with dark eyes. he pulls them out of your mouth, only to slide them back inside your still-twitching cunt for a few more thrusts, drawing out more of your wetness. he pulls them out again, bringing them to his own mouth this time, his tongue licking every drop from his skin with a low groan. 

he kisses you again, his tongue sweeping deep into your mouth as he shares the lingering taste of your release.

“fuck, you taste so good”, he says against your lips, “but i need to taste you better, sweetheart”

his body moves lower, his mouth trailing wet kisses down your throat and stomach until he finally settles between your spread thighs. his hands grip your hips firmly and then he dives straight in, his tongue flattening against your sensitive clit before moving into your dripping cunt.

“hyunjin!”, you scream at the sudden intensity as his mouth devours you.

your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling hard, while your other hand claws at his shoulder, desperate to anchor yourself. he doesn’t hold back, his tongue fucks into your folds with relentless strokes, lapping up every drop of your wetness, sucking your swollen clit between his plump lips and flicking it mercilessly.

you look at him and the sight makes your head spin - his eyes are half-closed in bliss, his face buried in your cunt and his jaw moving as he eats you like a man starved. you’re still twitching from the previous orgasm, overly sensitive, but the sight of him drowning in your cunt sends fresh arousal flooding out, coating his chin and making you even wetter. 

he pauses just enough to look at you, only to find you already looking at him and he growls against your throbbing clit.

“that’s it, sweetheart. keep your eyes on me”, he says and then his tongue moves back to your entrance, his nose pressing against your clit with every movement, with his eyes still on yours.

your hips buck against his face but his strong hands pin you down, pulling you closer to his face so he can bury himself deeper.

“hyunjin… i- oh god… i’m gonna come”, you gasp, your voice breaking as you feel the next orgasm coming, your walls clenching around nothing but his relentless tongue.

“come for me”, he says, his voice muffled against you but his eyes never leaving yours, “come all over my mouth”

his words shatter you and your orgasm rips through your body right then. your cunt pulses and gushes onto his tongue, your juices spilling out in hot waves that he eagerly swallows as you squirt all over his face. his hands move your hips even tighter against his face, holding you there as he drowns in you, as his tongue continues moving against you until you’re trembling and shaking beneath him.

hyunjin’s mouth lingers between your thighs for one last lick, his tongue dragging through your folds to gather every trace of your arousal before he starts moving again. his lips press wet, open-mouthed kisses along the inside of your thighs, then higher across your hipbone, leaving a glistening trail of saliva and your own arousal on your skin.

he moves slowly, savouring every inch of your skin, his breath hot against your stomach as he kisses you there, his tongue dipping into your navel for a teasing second. your body shakes under him, still pulsing from the intensity of coming on his tongue, and on his fingers before, and he groans when he feels your muscles twitching.

he continues moving, his mouth closing over one of your nipples to suck hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak before releasing it. he moves to the other and his tongue swirls there, lapping at the hardened bud while his hands slide up your sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. 

he reaches your mouth again, capturing your lips in a deep kiss as he devours you with the same hunger he showed your cunt moments ago, his body settling over yours and his cock pressing heavy against your thigh. 

“such a good girl for me”, he murmurs against your mouth between kisses, his voice rough with lust, “you came so hard on my tongue, squirting all over my face. fuck, you’re perfect”

your hand moves downwards, your fingers stretching towards his cock and desperate to wrap around it and guide him inside you. but hyunjin catches your wrist before you can touch him, his grip firm, yet controlled.

“shh, sweetheart”, he whispers against your lips, “not yet”

he moves both of your hands above your head, pinning them there with the strength of just one of his hands, his long fingers easily encircling both. the position leaves you stretched out beneath him, your chest heaving, completely at his mercy.

he keeps kissing you, his tongue exploring every corner of your mouth while his free hand roams your body. his lips trail from your mouth down to your neck, where he sucks at the pulse point, his teeth scraping over your sensitive skin before he soothes the spot with his tongue. 

the sensation drives you wild. you start rubbing yourself against him, your hips rolling up desperately, and your cunt grinding along the underside of his cock in search of friction. the tip catches against your clit with every desperate thrust of your hips, sending sparks through your already oversensitive nerves.

“please”, you beg him, “h-hyunjin, please… i need you inside me. just… fuck me, i can’t take it anymore”

his free hand moves to grip your chin firmly, tilting your face up so your eyes meet his.

“open up”, he says again, his eyes locked on yours.

you part your lips, your mouth falling open as he leans closer to you. he lets a string of spit fall from his mouth directly onto your tongue, warm and thick, and the moment it lands you moan loudly. he moves to kiss you again, his tongue pushing into your mouth to mix with the spit he just gave you, swallowing your desperate sounds as he devours you all over again.

his hand releases your chin and slides down between your bodies. you feel the tip of his cock nudging against your entrance, sliding through your drenched folds once, then again, as he coats himself in your juices before he pushes forward. he enters you, stretching your walls as he sinks inside with one long and controlled thrust, filling you completely until his hips are flush against yours.

he doesn’t give you time to adjust, he starts moving slowly, pulling back and sinking in again, making broken moans spill from your lips.

“fuck”, he growls against your ear, his hips moving in a steady rhythm, “you’re so wet for me, sweetheart, you’re dripping”, with each sentence comes another thrust, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix, “you feel so fucking good wrapped around me”

your moans grow louder and needier, your body arching up to meet every snap of his hips against yours, “hyunjin- i… more, p-please… harder-”

he chuckles against your ear, the sound vibrating through his chest where it presses against yours, “you want it harder? greedy little thing. you’ve been watching me fuck my hand on camera and now you need the real thing, don’t you?”, he says as his pace stays controlled and teasing, “say it, y/n. tell me how bad you need my cock”

“please”, you whimper, without realising the tears that escape your eyes, “i need it- i need you to fuck me harder, please, hyunjin- let me… let me touch you”

his free hand moves to your hip, gripping hard enough to bruise but you don’t fucking care.

“you’re such a good girl, begging for it. and you know what, sweetheart? good girls get what they want”, he says and then releases your wrists.

the moment your hands are free, they move to his hair, your fingers tangling in the damp strands and yanking him down into a desperate kiss. your tongues slide together, messy and hungry, while your legs wrap tighter around his waist, your heels now digging into his back to pull him deeper inside you.

hyunjin groans into your mouth and finally lets go of the slow pace. his hips snap forward harder and faster, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room, mixing with your loud and shameless moans.

“that’s it- fuck”, he says, groaning against you, “you’re so tight, sweetheart. you were made for me”

you tug harder on his hair, pulling him even closer as you kiss him again. every thrust knocks the breath from your lungs, his cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you over and over again until your vision blurs. you’ve never felt anything this intense before, your whole body lights up with every stroke, pleasure coiling again tighter and tighter inside you. 

hyunjin pulls back just enough to look down between your bodies. his eyes darken as he watches the way your stomach bulges slightly with each deep thrust, the outline of his cock pressing up against your belly.

“look at that”, he moans, his voice wrecked, “i’m so deep inside you i can see it. fuck, that’s the hottest thing i’ve ever seen, you’re the hottest thing i’ve ever seen, y/n”

he presses his palm flat against the bulge and the pressure makes you cry out, a fresh gush of wetness soaking his cock and the sheets under you. you look down to see it and the added pressure and the sight of it send you spiraling. your walls clamp down around him like a vice, gripping him so tightly he curses loudly.

“shit- y/n, fuck- you’re gripping me so hard-”, he says as his rhythm falters for a second as he fights to keep control, his hips stuttering against you, “f-fuck, you’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that”

he leans down again, capturing your mouth in another kiss before he pulls away just enough to speak.

“look at me”, he says with a low voice, “eyes on me when you come, sweetheart. i wanna watch you fall apart on my cock”

you force your eyes to stay on his, meeting his intense gaze. his thrusts grow erratic, deeper and harder, the tip of his cock battering that spot inside you relentlessly.

“h-hyunjin, i’m- i-”, you start to say but you can't because another moan escapes you.

the pressure builds too fast and your mouth falls open on a silent scream as your orgasm finally crashes over you. your cunt pulses and flutters around him, squirting again, soaking his cock and thighs as you moan his name over and over.

his eyes never leave yours and the sight of you coming undone under him, with your walls gripping him, pushes him over the edge. he thrusts inside you one more time and then he comes as he spills deep inside you, flooding your cunt. his forehead drops to yours, both of you panting, your eyes locked as you ride out the aftershocks together, your bodies trembling against each other. 

hyunjin’s mouth descends again and his lips move against yours while his hips give one last, shallow thrust inside you. the movement drags his softening cock through your oversensitive walls and you wince sharply, a tiny whimper escaping into the kiss. 

“shh”, he murmurs against your lips, the sound low and soothing, “i know, sweetheart, i know”, he presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth, then another to your jaw, “you must be so sensitive right now. let me take care of you”

he eases out of you with careful slowness, the tip of his cock slipping free with a wet sound and making your thighs twitch. cum immediately starts to trickle out of your cunt, warm and thick, sliding down between your cheeks and onto the sheets. hyunjin watches the mess with satisfied eyes before he rolls onto his back and reaches for you. his strong hands grip your waist and lift you, pulling your body on top of his so you’re pressed together once more.

you sink down against his chest and he pulls you into another kiss, much slower and deeper this time, almost tender. the frantic pace from moments ago melts into something softer, more intimate. his tongue moves against yours, exploring your mouth, and the change makes your head spin. this is not the same hyunjin who just pinned you down and fucked you senseless. this hyunjin is gentle, almost sweet, and the change leaves you dizzy with how much you crave both sides of him. 

he breaks the kiss only to trail his mouth along your cheek, his voice teasing, “so… you’ve watched me stroke my cock on camera as you got yourself off to every word i said?”, he says as his fingers trace idle patterns on your lower back, “turns out my pretty roommate has a filthy little crush, huh?”

heat floods to your face and then you try to hide against his neck, but hyunjin catches your chin between his fingers and tilts your head back up, forcing your eyes to meet his.

“hey”, he says softly, the teasing gone from his voice, “don’t worry, i’m just as crazy about you”

he leans in and kisses you again, slow and sweet, swallowing any protest you might have made.

“i haven’t stopped thinking about you since i first met you. and ever since you found out what i do, every time i went live i would wonder if you were watching me, and i would hope you were touching yourself to me”, he continues. 

your lips meet again, the kiss turning deeper and wetter. his hands slide down to your ass, gripping the soft flesh and gently rocking your body against his. his cock, still a bit hard and slick with both of your releases, nudges between your folds. the tip brushes your swollen clit and you wince again, a soft hiss escaping you.

“sorry”, he whispers against your lips, stopping his movements, “too much?”

you pull just enough to shake your head, smiling down at him, your face soft and still a little dazed.

“no… it’s okay. i just… i need a minute”, you say as you push up on shaky arms, looking at the mess of sweat and cum on both of you, “i think i’m gonna have a shower”

hyunjin’s mouth curves into a wicked little grin and before you can move off him, he sits up, wraps his arms around your waist and stands up, lifting you with him. your legs instinctively wrap around his hips as he carries you towards the bathroom, his voice a low rumble against your ear.

“shower with me, sweetheart. we’ll get clean and maybe… we can go for another round”, he nips at your earlobe, his words making your stomach flip.

you laugh against his skin, the sound bright and breathless, and then you move your face just enough to look at him before you pull him down into another kiss as he steps into the shower and reaches for the water.

the spray hits both of you at once, the water warm and soothing against your bodies, but neither of you lets the other go. your lips stay locked together, your tongues sliding slow and deep while his hands roam your wet skin, already promising more.

a/n: fancy seeing all of you here my loves 😎 i can't believe there's only one fic left of this event!! i hope you're all ready and if not well good luck then 😏

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