No, your hesitation comes from somewhere less glamorous. It may sound silly, but the truth is you're terrified of needles. Just the sight of them, tiny, sharp, precise, makes your stomach twist. Watching someone else get inked doesn't help; it's as if the needle is tracing your skin instead, poking you over and over in a slow, relentless rhythm.

"Yes, Y/N," Chaeyoung says firmly, grabbing your shoulders to plant you in front of the chair. Her eyes are sharp but encouraging. "We need to do this. You need to do this."

Her certainty makes your chest tighten, but somewhere beneath the anxiety, there's a flicker of excitement too. The kind that whispers maybe, just maybe, you'll survive this, and maybe even enjoy it.

"Is it... painful?" you ask, your voice laced with uncertainty as you shift in the chair, fingers gripping the edge like it might somehow steady your nerves.

Chaeyoung lets out a slow breath before spinning the swivel chair, forcing you to face the mirror. Your reflection stares back at you, tense, hesitant, already regretting every decision that led you here.

"It is painful," she admits, tilting her head as if assessing just how close you are to bolting. Then, a grin slowly creeps onto her face. "But definitely not as painful as that little BDSM escapade you had with your ex-boyfriend."

"Hey!" you shoot back, heat rushing to your face as you straighten in your seat. "That was one time!"

Chaeyoung raises a brow, clearly unconvinced, her smirk widening. "Yeah... and if I remember correctly, you didn't exactly hate it."

You groan, dragging a hand down your face. "Can we not bring that up right now? I'm already on the verge of passing out."

She only laughs, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze despite the teasing. "Relax. If you survived that, you can survive this."

Your bickering with Chaeyoung is abruptly cut short when a man approaches the two of you, his presence impossible to ignore. He's... buff, to say the least—broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his black tank top, muscles shifting effortlessly beneath it with every step he takes. The tight leather pants he's wearing leave very little to the imagination, and for a split second, you nearly choke on your own spit, caught completely off guard.

Your gaze flickers, unintentionally, involuntarily—taking in the details. His arms are covered in bold, intricate tattoos, ink winding up and down his skin like stories waiting to be told. But what really captures your attention is the glimpse of ink just beneath the collar of his tank top, a tattoo peeking out from his chest, teasing just enough to make you wonder how far it goes.

"Hanji! Finally," Chaeyoung exclaims, her tone instantly shifting, bright and familiar as she steps forward to greet him. She pulls him into a quick embrace, like this is a reunion she's been waiting for, before pulling back with an easy grin.

You're left where you are, still seated, still processing, as the two of them turn toward you together.

"Is she the one having the session today?" he asks, his voice smooth as his gaze finally settles on you.

You press your lips together, momentarily caught off guard. Somehow, you hadn't expected this, hadn't imagined that he would be the artist. There's something almost disarming about him, something that doesn't quite match the image you had in your head. His eyes, wide, bright, almost boyish that catches the light in a way that makes them seem softer than they should be. Boba eyes, your mind helpfully supplies, and it only throws you off more.

Then he smiles.

It's gentle, almost playful, his gums peeking slightly as his lips curve into a distinct heart shape. The kind of smile that feels warm, approachable, dangerously easy to trust. If it weren't for the tattoos covering his arms, crawling up his skin in bold, intricate patterns, you might have mistaken him for something entirely different.

"Han Jisung, by the way," he adds, stepping closer as he offers his hand.

Your eyes flicker down to it before you can stop yourself. Even his fingers are inked, delicate lines and tiny details etched into places that make your stomach twist just thinking about the needle pressing into them. You wince internally, imagining the pain it must have taken to sit through all of that.

"Y/N," you reply, keeping it simple as you reach out to shake his hand.

His grip is warm, firm but not overwhelming—and somehow, that makes everything feel a little more real.

"That's a pretty name," he says, beaming at you like it's the most natural thing in the world to say, like compliments just slip off his tongue without a second thought.

For a moment, you don't quite know how to respond. Before you can even process it, Chaeyoung suddenly lets out a loud, exaggerated cough, the kind that's far too deliberate to be real. It startles both of you, breaking whatever quiet moment had settled between you and Jisung.

You turn your head toward her, only to find her already side-eyeing you with a knowing look—one that makes heat creep up the back of your neck.

"Anyway," she cuts in, dragging the word out as she straightens, "No, she's not. She's just here to accompany me." She gestures lazily in your direction before flashing Jisung a grin. "And then maybe she'll change her mind and finally schedule her first session."

Your eyes widen slightly at that, but before you can protest, she continues, completely unfazed.

"Maybe you could help her with that?" Chaeyoung adds, her tone turning almost too innocent to be believable. "You see, this friend of mine is terrified of needles."

You shoot her a look, somewhere between betrayal and disbelief, but she only shrugs, clearly enjoying this far more than she should. Meanwhile, Jisung's attention shifts back to you, curiosity flickering in his expression, like this just became a challenge he didn't know he wanted.

And suddenly, you're very aware of the chair behind you.

"Oh?" Jisung quips, one brow lifting slightly as his lips curl into an amused smile. "Are you?"

A heavy sigh slips past your lips before you can stop it, your shoulders sinking just a little as you reluctantly accept the situation your friend has so eagerly thrown you into.

"Well..." you start, shifting your weight and glancing anywhere but directly at him, "you could say that." Your fingers fidget absentmindedly in your lap, betraying the nerves you're trying to hide. "I'm not really on good terms with... any kind of needles."

The admission hangs there, awkward and honest, and you risk a glance back at him, half-expecting teasing, half-preparing to defend yourself.

"And Jisung here actually has very caring hands," Chaeyoung interjects, far too quickly, like she's been waiting for the perfect moment to say it. The smile on her face is unmistakable—teasing, knowing, and just a little too pleased with herself. "You wouldn't feel a thing if he's the one doing your session."

You snap your head toward her, eyes narrowing in suspicion as her words fully register.

"Are you trying to sell me out?" you ask, half incredulous, half accusing, your voice laced with disbelief.

Chaeyoung only shrugs, completely unapologetic, her grin widening as she crosses her arms. "I prefer to think of it as... helping you expand your horizons."

A quiet chuckle slips from Jisung beside her, low and amused, like he's enjoying the exchange far more than he should. When you glance at him, you catch the way his eyes flicker between the two of you, curiosity and something softer lingering there.

"Hey," he says lightly, raising his hands in mock surrender, though the smile never quite leaves his lips. "I promise I'm not that scary."

"With those tattoos...?" you mumble, your voice trailing off as your eyes instinctively wander over the ink etched into his skin. The intricate designs winding along his arms don't exactly scream painless to you. If anything, they do the complete opposite. You swallow, shaking your head slightly. "I don't think so."

Jisung laughs softly at that—not mocking, not offended, just genuinely amused, like your reaction is both expected and a little endearing. The sound is light, easy, and it lingers just enough to pull your attention back to him.

"I'm serious, though," he says, and this time his voice shifts, softer, steadier. There's a quiet reassurance in it that catches you off guard. He tilts his head slightly, studying you, like he's trying to figure out exactly where your fear begins and how far it goes. "You don't have to decide now."

He steps back just enough to gesture toward the tattoo station behind him. The faint buzz of the machine hums in the background, low and constant, vibrating through the air in a way that makes your skin prickle. You glance over despite yourself, catching sight of someone sitting in the chair, calm as the needle moves with careful precision against their skin.

Your stomach twists.

"Just watch," Jisung continues, his voice cutting gently through the noise, grounding in a way you didn't expect. When you look back at him, his expression has softened, the earlier teasing replaced with something more patient, more understanding. "No pressure. You can stay as long or as little as you want."

The whole session was quiet. The steady hum of the tattoo machine as it worked on Chaeyoung's skin was the main sound, along with the soft chatter of other clients and their artists around the shop. Every now and then, you'd hear Chaeyoung and Jisung talking—him asking if she needed a break, making sure she was okay before continuing.

Watching them, you found yourself mesmerized. This wasn't what you had imagined. Jisung's movements were careful and precise, his hands steady as he guided the needle across her skin. There was no roughness, no rush—just focus and care.

You couldn't help but notice how gentle he was, how intentional each motion seemed. It was almost calming, and for the first time, your fear of needles didn't feel so overwhelming. You just kept watching, quietly fascinated by how he worked.

It wasn't the kind of tattoo that sprawled across skin in an intricate, intimidating design. It was smaller, simpler, the kind that looked effortless but still required precision. Maybe that was why it felt slightly less threatening, the buzzing of the machine less sharp in your chest. Or maybe it had nothing to do with the tattoo at all.

Because Jisung's attention kept finding you. Not in a way that was pushy or overbearing, but in subtle, measured glances that made something flutter low in your stomach. Every time his eyes met yours, that soft, easy smile lifted the corners of his lips, warm and teasing, as though he was silently amused by your quiet fascination.

And then there were his hands. Every time they moved across Chaeyoung's skin, flexing slightly as he guided the needle, you caught yourself watching the way the muscles shifted and the veins traced under the skin. There was a careful strength to him, a combination of control and precision that somehow felt... magnetic.

You didn't know if you were mesmerized by the tattooing itself, the delicate lines and shading—or if it was him, just him, drawing your attention without even trying. The way he leaned in slightly when focusing, the way his shoulders moved with each motion, the quiet confidence he carried in every gesture... it was disarming, almost hypnotic.

And somewhere deep inside, your chest tightened—not with fear this time, but with the uncomfortable, thrilling awareness that you couldn't look away, that every small motion of his hands, every glance, was slowly pulling you in.

Your thoughts wander somewhere they probably shouldn't. For someone who claims to fear needles and the idea of anyone poking your skin, you can't help but wonder what it would feel like if Han Jisung were the one working on you.

Would he be gentle, cooing quietly like he does with Chaeyoung, his voice low and calm, reassuring you through every motion? Or would it be something different, closer, more intimate, so near to your ear that it makes your pulse stutter?

What would his touch feel like? Warm, comforting, like a hand meant to soothe? Or colder, precise, clinical, yet still unnervingly electrifying? Could his movements somehow feel both soothing and... arousing at the same time?

The questions leave your chest fluttering in ways you weren't expecting. You try to push the thoughts away, to focus on the buzzing machine and the careful lines Jisung traces on Chaeyoung's skin, but every time his arms flex, every time he leans forward, your imagination refuses to cooperate.

And the more you watch, the harder it becomes to tell whether your fascination is with his skill... or with him.

"Y/N?"

The sound of your name snaps you out of your daze, but for a moment, you're still absentminded, caught somewhere between watching Jisung and the whirlwind of your own thoughts.

A sudden tug on your arm makes you jump, your heart skipping a beat. You glance down to see Chaeyoung's hand gripping yours, steady and firm. "Hey," she says, her tone teasing but not unkind. "Earth to Y/N. You've been spacing out for like... ten minutes."

You blink rapidly, trying to gather yourself, heat creeping up your neck. "Huh? Oh... the session's done?" you murmur, asking and glancing away, embarrassed.

Chaeyoung rolls her eyes, smirking knowingly. "Yeah, it's been two hours. The session's done. I didn't think you wouldn't notice. You're like staring at Hanji all these time."

Your stomach twists, and you resist the urge to shove her playfully. "I—I wasn't staring!" you protest weakly, though your eyes immediately flicker back toward Jisung, who's still working on Chaeyoung with that focused, careful precision that somehow makes your chest ache.

A smirk flashed across Chaeyoung's lips as she raised an eyebrow at you, her gaze sharp and teasing. "Yeah, right," she said, voice dripping with mock disbelief. "You aren't definitely staring."

Heat immediately crept up your neck. You opened your mouth to protest, but the words stuck somewhere between indignation and embarrassment. Your eyes flicked away instinctively, though you knew she wasn't fooled for a second.

Chaeyoung's grin widened, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. "Relax," she added, leaning closer with a playful nudge. "I'm just saying... it's kind of obvious."

"Chae, check out."

You both turned your heads toward Jisung, who was standing at the front desk, waiting for you to settle the bill. He gave a small nod when he saw you looking, as if to confirm he was calling for the two of you.

You and Chaeyoung made your way over together, your footsteps soft against the floor. As you approached, Jisung reached for a logbook and slid it across the counter toward Chaeyoung, tapping lightly on the page where she needed to fill in her details—her name, contact number, and signature.

You stood beside her, glancing down at the open page as she began writing. The quiet scratch of her pen filled the brief silence, and you found yourself idly looking around while waiting for her to finish, thinking that this was just a simple checkout process.

Once she was done, she closed the pen and pushed the logbook back toward Jisung. You were about to step aside, assuming everything was settled, when he turned the logbook around and gently nudged it in your direction instead.

You paused for a second, slightly caught off guard, before looking up at him.

"Oh... me too?" you asked, a small hint of confusion in your voice.

Jisung smiled, giving a short nod as he rested his hand on the counter.

"Yeah," he said simply, "just for formality."

You hesitated for a brief moment, then reached for the pen, leaning slightly forward as you began filling in your own details, following the same lines Chaeyoung had just completed.

Not long after the two of you stepped out of the studio, your phone vibrated with a new notification.

Unknown Number: Hi! This is Jisung. I saved your number, just in case. I hope you don't mind.

Chaeyoung, who always seemed to have her eyes on you, immediately leaned over, curiosity sparkling in her gaze as she tried to catch a glimpse of the message you had just received. It wasn't unusual for the two of you to share everything, secrets, stories, even the most mundane texts, so you didn't bother to hide your screen. With a playful scoff and a raised eyebrow, she teased, "I knew he was just looking for an excuse to get your number by signing the logbook. Only the person who actually had a session with you is supposed to sign that."

The air between you was filled with a mix of amusement and anticipation, the city's distant hum serving as a backdrop to this small, unexpected moment. You couldn't help but smile, feeling a flutter of excitement at the thought of what might come next.

It had been a month since your first encounter with Han Jisung, yet for some inexplicable reason, you found yourself still in contact with him. The two of you exchanged messages almost daily, your conversations flowing with a surprising ease that made it feel as though you had known each other for far longer than just a few weeks. Jisung would check up on you from time to time, sending thoughtful messages that brightened your day and made you wonder how quickly a stranger could become such a familiar presence in your life. The connection between you was unexpected, yet undeniably comforting, as if fate had quietly woven your paths together.

Even though you and Jisung hadn't known each other long, talking to him felt surprisingly natural. Your conversations flowed easily, whether you were sharing funny stories or just talking about your day. You found yourself asking him about his job as a tattoo artist, curious about what it was like.

Jisung was always happy to answer your questions. He told you about the people who came to his studio, the meaning behind some of his favorite tattoos, and how focused he had to be while working. He described the steady buzz of the tattoo machine and how time seemed to slow down when he was drawing on someone's skin.

One Sunday morning, the two of you settled into a cozy corner of your favorite café, the soft murmur of other patrons and the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee wrapping around you like a warm blanket. Sunlight filtered through the large windows, casting gentle patterns across the wooden table where your cups steamed invitingly.

A thought—and a question—slipped into your mind before you could stop it. Tentatively, you leaned forward, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Hey... I've been thinking. If I decided to finally book a session with you, would you do it?"

The words seemed to catch him off guard for a split second, then his eyes lit up, sparkling in the sunlight. A laugh tugged at the corner of your lips as you watched the expression spread across his face—a grin so wide and bright it made him look almost radiant. He nodded enthusiastically, leaning slightly closer over the table, his excitement impossible to hide.

"Have you thought about the design you want to go for?" he asked, taking a slow sip of his coffee. His eyes stayed locked on you, sparkling with curiosity and barely-contained excitement. That smile of his—the one that seemed unwilling to leave—curved even wider as he leaned slightly forward, waiting for your answer.

"Yeah... actually, I was thinking of a lower back tattoo. What do you think?"

For a moment, Jisung froze, his eyebrows shooting up and a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. Then, with a playful laugh that didn't quite hide the flustered heat in his expression, he leaned back in his chair and waved a hand like he was trying to compose himself. 

"Wow... okay, that's bold," he said, his voice teasing but tinged with genuine surprise. "I mean... I think it'd look great—but, uh... lower back, huh?" He chuckled again, running a hand through his hair, clearly caught somewhere between amusement and being slightly flustered.

"Do you think... it's a bad idea for a first tattoo?" you asked, tracing the rim of your coffee cup with your finger, trying to sound casual while your heart picked up pace.

Jisung blinked, and for a split second, the teasing sparkle in his eyes wavered into something more thoughtful. Then, just as quickly, it returned, but now mixed with a flustered energy. He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, hands gesturing animatedly.

"Bad idea? Uh... no! Not at all!" he said, though his voice carried a slight squeak that betrayed his surprise. He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck as a faint blush warmed his cheeks. "I mean... it's just... a lower back tattoo for your first one is... bold, that's all! But hey, if you're serious about it, I'd say go for it. I mean... you'd look amazing, obviously."

"So... when will you be free?" you asked, leaning back slightly in your chair, the sunlight catching the steam rising from your coffee. Jisung tilted his head to the side, brows furrowing as he mentally scanned his schedule. His fingers drummed lightly on the edge of his cup, betraying the hint of nervous energy behind his usually composed demeanor.

"I'm actually fully booked for the next... well, a while," he admitted, a small laugh escaping him as he scratched his chin. Then, leaning a little closer across the table, his voice dropped into a more playful tone. "But... how about this—you come by my studio after hours? I could make some time just for you."

The glimmer in his eyes was unmistakable, part teasing, part flustered, as if even suggesting it made him both excited and a little embarrassed. You couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in his posture, leaning in just enough that it made the space between you feel charged.

You leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, a mischievous edge in your voice. "Are you... really okay with that?" you asked, letting the words linger, letting him feel the weight behind them, as if you already knew this after-hours session might lead somewhere more.

Jisung's eyes flicked up instantly, catching the tone, that sharp, teasing undertone. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face, matching the playfulness in your voice. His usual teasing grin was there, but now mixed with a flicker of fluster, the way he ran a hand through his hair and leaned back just enough to hide the quickening of his pulse. 

"But I have to ask... are you sure about it?"

You felt a thrill at how quickly he had matched your energy, how the banter danced on the edge of something more—neither of you needing to say it aloud for the implication to hang heavy in the air.

It was already 9 PM on Thursday evening, and you hurriedly stuffed your belongings into your bag, the soft clatter of papers and the zip of your bag echoing through the quiet office. You glanced at the clock again and felt a twinge of panic. Stepping out, you knocked lightly on the glass door of Chaeyoung's office and gave him a quick wave. She was buried in work, juggling client after client, completely absorbed in her overtime.

You didn't linger. Your mind was focused entirely on your scheduled tattoo session with Jisung. The thought of being late made your stomach twist, and you could almost feel the seconds slipping through your fingers. The commute to Jisung's studio would take nearly an hour, and every moment wasted meant more time to worry about how flustered you'd look when you finally arrived. Heart racing, you moved quickly down the hallway, weaving past coworkers who had already left, your thoughts consumed by the image of Jisung waiting—perhaps amused, perhaps teasing—as you walked through the studio doors.

It took you around forty-five minutes to reach the studio, and by now, Jisung's was the only one still open in the area. It was nearly 10 PM, and the streets were quiet as you made your way inside. The moment you stepped through the door, the silence of the studio hit you. Unlike the first time you had come with Chaeyoung, this place was completely empty. Every surface gleamed, clearly cleared of staff and other artists, except for a single mini bed still cluttered with tools, waiting for someone to use it.

Your heart skipped when the door behind you opened. You guessed it led to Jisung's office. But what completely flustered you was who stepped out—shirtless. Jisung. Bare-chested. Your eyes wandered over the tattoos on his arms and chest, lingering on the defined muscles before you noticed his hair was still wet, droplets of water sliding down his abs. You were here for a tattoo, but all you could think about was him.

"You're here already? Sorry I didn't meet you outside. I took a shower while waiting," he said, his voice casual. You spun around, heat rushing to your cheeks as your hands flew to cover your face.

Oh god, this is too much.

"W-what..." you muttered under your breath. You'd seen plenty of male bodies before, but Jisung's was on another level. The tattoos snaking over sculpted muscles made it hard to think straight.

A soft laugh made you peek through your fingers. To your relief, or maybe disappointment—he was already back in his signature tank top. Fine. You could still see those biceps, and your chest fluttered involuntarily.

"Shall we get started? Or do you want a break first? Coffee or something?" Jisung asked, his tone light and teasing, though there was a warmth in it that made your stomach tighten. You flinched slightly when his arm brushed your hip as he guided you to the mini bed.

Your mind spun with thoughts you knew were completely inappropriate. You weren't even sure how long you could keep yourself composed, knowing full well that it was your own choice to be here.

"We might as well start now," you replied, taking a deep breath. "That way, we can finish sooner."

Jisung smiled reassuringly and walked over to help you to your feet. You cursed silently. He was so careful and attentive, nothing like the session he had with Chaeyoung that you have witnessed. Did he really have to help you take off your shirt? Even with the aircon running, your skin felt warm.

"There. Lie on your stomach," Jisung said softly. "I'll put the gel on your back before we start."

When his large hands finally touched your back, a shiver ran through you. Your body felt weightless, and you bit your lip to hold back a small groan. Just his touch sent your heart racing and your thoughts spinning. Every careful movement of his hands against your skin was electric. The effect Jisung had on you was overwhelming, and you knew this session was going to be unforgettable.

Your body trembled, caught between pleasure and pain as Jisung worked on your skin. It had been hours since the session started, but time felt strange—sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Each time the needle touched you, a sharp sting shot through you, but Jisung was always there to soothe you. Whenever you flinched, he pressed gentle kisses to your neck, making it hard to tell what you felt more: the pain or the comfort.

Jisung's other hand moved slowly, tracing from your chest down to your stomach. His touch was cold, making you arch your back and shiver. There was a deep ache building between your legs, and you didn't know how to react to the mix of sensations flooding your body.

"Shh," Jisung whispered softly in your ear, his deep voice making you feel lightheaded. He paused whenever he noticed you tense up, always patient and careful. Sometimes, you bit your lip and grabbed his hair, needing something to hold onto as pleasure and pain mixed together. Jisung would chuckle at your reactions, clearly enjoying how you melted under his touch. You could feel his desire too, and it made your heart race.

This was new for Jisung. He hadn't planned for things to get this intense. He just wanted to reward you for all your hard work by his side. But now, he couldn't deny how much you affected him. That's why he kept touching you, giving you soft caresses and kisses, even in the middle of your session.

The sounds you made—your moans and gasps—made it even harder for Jisung to control himself. Sometimes, he wanted to just grab your waist and take you right there, but he held back. Instead, he left marks on your skin with his mouth, sucking and biting gently to let out some of his frustration. He promised himself that when this session was over, he'd take you to bed and make you moan his name over and over. But for now, he just wanted to please you.

It's three o'clock in the morning. Normally, by this time, you'd either be fast asleep or busy working on new designs. But tonight is different. You're sitting on Jisung's lap, your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as your lips meet in a deep, desperate kiss. It feels like you're both trying to hold onto this moment forever, as if the sun might never rise again.

No one ever told you how intoxicating tattooing could be. Right now, you feel like you're floating, lost in a haze of pleasure and adrenaline. Your back aches from the fresh tattoo, but the pain is drowned out by the way Jisung's hands grip your hips, guiding you to move and grind against him. The heat and desire between you are so strong, it makes everything else fade away.

Jisung's touch is gentle but firm, his fingers pressing into your skin as he helps you find a rhythm. Every time you move, a wave of pleasure washes over you, mixing with the lingering sting of the tattoo. You can feel his breath against your cheek, his lips finding yours again and again, hungry and soft all at once.

The world outside feels distant and unimportant. All you can focus on is the way Jisung makes you feel—alive, wanted, and completely swept away. Even though your back hurts, you can't bring yourself to complain. The pleasure and connection you share with Jisung are so much stronger than any pain.

You gasp when you feel Jisung's hands grip your waist, pushing you down firmly against his arousal. The movement gives him the perfect chance to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, exploring and tasting every part of you. All you can do is cling to him, moaning softly into his mouth as the sensations overwhelm you.

Your muffled moans seem to awaken something wild in Jisung. One of his hands leaves your hips, gliding up your body—over your stomach, your chest—until it wraps gently around your neck. Your eyes flutter, rolling back from the pleasure of his touch, especially when he squeezes just a little. Your voice grows hoarse from the mix of pleasure and pain, and you flinch every time Jisung bucks his hips beneath you. For a moment, his grip on your neck tightens, sending a jolt through your body, but he quickly loosens his hold, making sure you're okay.

Jisung's lips, which had just been exploring your mouth, now travel down to your neck. He presses hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, sucking and biting gently until he leaves a bright, purplish mark that throbs with every beat of your heart. Each time his lips move, you feel a mix of pleasure and anticipation, your breath coming faster as he claims you with every mark.

Suddenly, you feel his hand slip beneath the waistband of your panties. The coolness of his fingers is a sharp contrast to the heat of your body, making you shiver. You bite your lip, surprised by how gentle and attentive he is as he touches you, his fingers exploring with a slow, teasing rhythm that sends waves of pleasure through your core. Jisung's touch is both soothing and electrifying, making you gasp and moan as he finds your most sensitive spots.

His other hand moves up to your chest, fingertips brushing over your skin and tracing the curve of your breast, sending sparks of sensation through your body. The combination of his cold hand and your warm skin makes you arch into his touch, desperate for more. You find yourself gripping his hair tightly, needing something to anchor you as the pleasure builds. Every time you try to move your hips to meet his rhythm, Jisung holds you steady, controlling the pace. When you get too eager, he gives your butt a playful slap, the sting making you shudder and groan, your body aching for more of his touch.

"Jisung—please..." you beg between breathless moans, your voice trembling with need. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you bury your face against his skin, trying to steady yourself. Your eyes widen when you feel Jisung's hand move between your thighs, his fingers working you with slow, deliberate strokes, while his other hand gently rubs your back. The mix of pleasure and the lingering ache from your fresh tattoo sends shivers through your whole body, making your heart flutter wildly.

You shake your head, desperate to hold back, not wanting to let go just yet—not until Jisung is inside you, giving you everything you crave. But just as you feel yourself getting close, Jisung suddenly pulls away, leaving you aching and breathless. He laughs softly when he hears your desperate whine, clearly enjoying how much you want him.

"Come here, pretty." Jisung's voice cuts through the quiet, deeper and rougher than you've ever heard it before. The sound alone sends a rush of heat through your body, making your knees weak. He helps you stand, his hands gentle but sure as he slowly slides your pants down your legs. The cool air of the room makes you shiver when he finally removes the rest of your clothes, leaving you completely bare.

Despite the chill from the air conditioner, your skin feels hot, beads of sweat trailing down your chest. You instinctively try to cover yourself, suddenly feeling shy and exposed under Jisung's gaze. It's not the first time you've undressed in front of someone, but with Jisung, it feels different—more intense, more real. All the confidence you thought you had seems to vanish in an instant.

Jisung notices your hesitation and laughs softly, the sound warm and reassuring. He takes your hand in his, guiding you gently toward him, making you feel safe even as your heart races.

You and Jisung kiss for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. Each kiss is just as intense as the last, hungry, desperate, and full of need. His lips move against yours with a kind of wild urgency, stealing your breath and making your heart race. You can feel the heat building between you, the air thick with anticipation and longing. Every time you try to pull away for air, Jisung pulls you back in, his hands tangled in your hair, his mouth claiming yours again and again.

As the kisses grow more heated, Jisung's hands slide down your body, gripping your waist and guiding you across the room. He never breaks the connection between your mouths, moving with you until your back bumps gently against the edge of his office table. With a gentle but firm touch, he turns you around so you're facing the table, then bends you over, your bare skin pressed against the cool surface.

A shiver runs down your spine, both from the cold and from the anticipation of what's to come. You grip the edge of the table with both hands, your knuckles turning white as you steady yourself. Your mind is spinning, your body aching for more, and you can't help but think, Oh god, is this really happening?

Jisung leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Now tell me, pretty," he murmurs, his voice low and rough, sending a fresh wave of heat through your body. "Tell me you don't want this, and I'll let you go." As he speaks, he presses a soft, lingering kiss to your back, still sensitive and a little sore from the fresh tattoo you just got. The gentle touch makes you gasp, the pain and pleasure mixing in a way that leaves you dizzy.

You stay silent, not because you want him to stop, but because you can't find the words. Your throat is dry, your lips parted, and all you can do is brace yourself on the table and start to move your hips, grinding your bare body back against Jisung's growing arousal. The friction sends sparks of pleasure through you, making you moan softly. Jisung takes your silence and your movements as the answer he needs.

He lets out a low, satisfied sound, his hands roaming over your body, exploring every curve and dip. One hand comes down in a gentle smack on your butt, the sting making you gasp and arch your back, pressing yourself even closer to him. The other hand slides up your spine, fingers tracing the lines of your tattoo, making you shiver all over again.

Using one of his hands, Jisung gently grabs both of your wrists and brings them behind your back, holding them there with a firm but careful grip. His other hand is busy at your waist, unbuckling his belt and sliding his pants down, the sound of the metal buckle echoing softly in the room. You feel his body press closer, his chest warm against your back as he leans in, his lips brushing over your skin.

He places swift, teasing kisses along your spine, his mouth barely touching you, sending shivers down your body. Each kiss is light and fleeting, but the sensation lingers, making your skin tingle. Jisung's hands guide your hips back toward his, pulling you closer until you can feel the heat radiating between you. The anticipation builds with every touch, every kiss, and you can't help but arch into him, wanting more.

After freeing himself, Jisung begins to slowly rub the head of his length against your entrance, teasing you with gentle, deliberate movements. He lets out a deep, shaky sigh as he feels just how warm and soft you are, the sensation almost overwhelming him. He hasn't even done much yet, but the pleasure already rushing through his body makes him feel like he could lose control at any moment.

It's almost unbelievable to him—how just being with you, feeling your body respond to his touch, can drive him so wild. The anticipation, the heat, and the way you make him feel is enough to make him dizzy with want.

The gasp that escaped your lips was sharp and raw as Jisung pulled your hair back, his other hand still pinning your wrists behind you. There was no gentle warning—just the sudden, overwhelming sensation of him entering you, his movements urgent and rough, leaving no room for hesitation or doubt. Jisung was never known for being gentle in moments like this, but tonight he felt even more intense—almost wild, as if something inside him had snapped.

You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the way his breath came out in ragged bursts against your ear. Every thrust was filled with a desperate need, his hips moving with a rhythm that was both relentless and hungry. You were like a fever in his veins, impossible for him to ignore. He couldn’t think straight; all he wanted was to lose himself in you, to make you feel so good that nothing else mattered.

Your senses were overwhelmed by the way he touched you, the way he held you so tightly, as if he was afraid you might slip away. The roughness of his grip, the urgency in his movements, and the sound of your own breathless moans filled the room. Each time he moved, you felt a wave of pleasure crash over you, making your body arch and tremble beneath him.

Jisung’s voice was low and strained, barely more than a growl as he whispered your name, his words lost in the haze of desire. You could feel his need in every touch, every kiss, every rough movement. It was as if you were the only thing in the world that could satisfy him, the only thing that could bring him back from the edge.

Your growls took on a new tone, deeper and more desperate, as Jisung moved behind you with a relentless rhythm. Each time he thrust forward, a wave of pleasure surged through your body, so intense it felt like your soul was floating. The sensations were overwhelming—your mouth hung open, saliva slipping down your chin as you lost yourself in the feeling, your moans filling the room.

Your eyes rolled back, a silly, blissful smile spreading across your face as you surrendered to the moment. Every movement of Jisung’s hips sent sparks of pleasure through you, making your body arch and tremble. It was almost too much, especially when he found that sensitive spot inside you, making your whole body shudder with delight.

“Oh—” you cried out, your voice trembling with pleasure. Every sound that escaped your lips seemed to ignite something deep inside Jisung, each moan and gasp fueling the growing tension in his body. The way you called his name, over and over, was music to his ears—so sweet, so enticing, it made him want to give you even more.

You were already a mess, your body bouncing with each of Jisung’s urgent movements. His hair fell into his eyes, but he didn’t care; he was too lost in the moment, too focused on the way you felt beneath him. You could barely think, your mind clouded with pleasure as you clung to the edge of the table, letting him take control.

Jisung’s hands were everywhere, one hooking your leg up, almost lifting you off the ground, the other releasing your wrists so he could grab your jaw and tilt your face toward his. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and intense, as if he wanted to see every reaction, every bit of pleasure he was giving you.

You could feel the tension building inside you, the pressure growing with every movement. Jisung was close too; you could sense it in the way his breath quickened, in the way his grip tightened on your body. He had been holding back, wanting to make this last, but the pleasure was almost too much for either of you to handle.

“I’m— Oh god!” you moaned, your voice trembling as your body tightened around Jisung. The sensation made him growl, deep and raw, his head thrown back as he moved even faster. His thrusts were fast, deep, and almost wild, pushing you to the edge of overstimulation. You could feel yourself unraveling, your body shaking as you clung to the table, crying out from the overwhelming pleasure.

Jisung watched you fall apart beneath him, your tears mixing with your moans as you reached your peak. It was almost too much, your eyes rolling back as waves of pleasure crashed over you. The intensity left you breathless, your body limp and trembling. He was close too, his movements growing even more frantic as he chased his own release. With a loud, guttural sound, he leaned down, biting your shoulder as he finally let go, his release pulsing deep inside you. 

“Fuck!” he gasped, his voice rough as his movements slowed, both of you shaking from the intensity.

When he finally pulled away, your legs nearly gave out, but Jisung caught you in his arms before you could fall. He let out a low, gentle chuckle, steadying you and helping you stand. Seeing how exhausted you were, he scooped you up and carried you over to the sofa, settling you on his lap. You leaned into him, burying your face in his neck, seeking comfort in his warmth.

Jisung’s hand found the tattoo on your lower back, his fingers tracing it gently. You winced at the touch, the skin still sensitive. “Does that hurt? Just rest for now, or sleep. I’ll wake you up when the sun comes up, okay?” he whispered, his voice soft as he ruffled your hair.

You hadn’t realized how tired you were until that moment. The exhaustion from the intense tattoo session—and everything that followed—washed over you, and you drifted off to sleep, your body relaxed and safe in Jisung’s arms.

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you had your glasses perched on the bridge of your nose, an empty document open on your screen, and a cup of lukewarm ‘bean water’ sitting at your elbow. you were supposed to be working on the report for tomorrow’s meeting, but honestly, you had started praying for a supernatural force to intervene and type it for you. you couldn't concentrate for the life of you.

the cursor kept blinking on the blank white screen — a rhythmic, mocking motion — while your brain was occupied with a very specific human.

lee minho.

he was everywhere.

not physically — not at first — but he had successfully colonized your mind. he plagued your thoughts during the most mundane moments, his dialogues imprinted on your brain like a song you couldn’t stop humming.

your brain was filled with his thoughts.

thoughts like how strikingly good he looked in a simple black t-shirt that hugged his shoulders just right, or the way he had leaned against the doorframe with a lazy sort of grace, eyes focused solely on you while you played with joonie. but the thought that plagued you most was the precise moment he bit into the cookie you had made for him. you could still see the trace of chocolate on the edge of his lips and the way his gaze locked with yours — heavy and unreadable — as if he were tasting your intentions along with the sugar.

his voice was a permanent soundtrack now. you could hear the teasing lilt when he brought up the ‘bean water’ incident, the playful curiosity when he asked how your book ended, the low appreciative hum as he told you the cookies were delicious. and then there was the comforting, velvet tone of his voice when he wished you good night through the wall — a sound that had made your apartment feel dangerously intimate.

​with each action you performed, your brain found a way to bridge it back to him. your morning coffee wasn't just caffeine; now it was the beverage he mocked. a choco chip cookie wasn't just food; it was a reminder of his hands holding your container. as you headed to bed, the silence of the room seemed to echo with his whispered parting words.

this man had started to reside in your mind.

and you didn't mind it in the least.

​a sharp ping from a notification finally shattered the daydream. you jumped slightly, the spell broken, and checked the time. you had spent more than half the day spiraling into thoughts of a man who lived exactly one drywall away. with a sigh of frustration, you took a final swig of your cold coffee, tied your hair into a determined ponytail, and got down to completing the report.

​as the sun finally departed, casting long, bruised shadows across your desk, you clicked the ‘send’ button, emailing the report to your department head. after hours of internal turmoil, you were free. a small, treacherous part of you hoped you might run into him on the way home, even though you weren't entirely sure your heart could handle the physical reality of him after a day of mental obsession.

the commute home was a blur of neon lights and static noise, your thoughts looping back to the velvety tone of his voice. by the time you reached your floor and locked the door behind you, the apartment felt too quiet, the silence only highlighting the fact that he was probably just a few feet away, separated by nothing but brick and wallpaper.

you proceeded to change out of your work clothes, settling for a soft oversized t shirt, just the right amount of worn in. after a quick dinner, you put on your headphones, blasting a playlist that infused the energy you needed to finally clean up the day's mess.

you scrubbed the kitchen, did the dishes, and tied up the heavy trash bag. you headed to the end of the hallway, lightly swinging the bag to the heavy bass thrumming in your ears. you were completely immersed in your own world, the outside world muffled by the volume. the bag hit the bin with a hollow thud, and you rounded the corner to head back to your door just as the track peaked — 'it's time to bet-bet-bet, bet on what you want; 내-내-내일 없는 것처럼, 터뜨려 내 안의 dyna—'

thud

your head came in contact with a hard, warm surface. it wasn't the drywall. it was solid, radiating heat through a thin layer of fabric. as your eyes snapped up, you were met with a sight to behold.

lee minho stood there in a black compression shirt, a slightly sweaty sheen on his neck and chest, seemingly arriving home from the gym.

​your eyes subconsciously strayed below and —

oh. god.

​those thighs.

​he was wearing athletic shorts, and the sight of those strikingly thick, honeyed muscles gave you a plethora of unholy thoughts. a shiver ran up your spine that had nothing to do with the cool hallway air. the raw, physical power he usually hid under soft hoodies was suddenly on full display, and the air between you felt like it had been sucked out of the hallway.

​"are you okay ?" he asked. his voice was slightly gravelly, his chest rising and falling in a slow, controlled rhythm that matched the thumping of the music still leaking from your headphones. he looked down at you with a flicker of genuine concern, his eyes dark and observant.

​"y-yeah, i'm sorry," you managed to stammer, subconsciously stepping back to put some distance between your racing heart and his solid frame. he gave a small, curt nod — maybe a bit too quickly ? — and disappeared into his apartment.

minho leaned his back against the cool wood of his door, closing his eyes and trying to force his heart rate to settle. he had gone to the gym specifically to burn off the restless energy of thinking about you all day—a distraction that had clearly failed.

​your adorable, shy face, that rambling voice that always seemed to catch in your throat, and the way your muffled giggle echoed through the drywall; it was all imprinted on his brain. but he’d thought he could sweat you out of his system. yet here you were, literally crashing into him in the hallway.

​you looked soft and messy in your oversized t-shirt, smelling like vanilla and home, and for a split second when your forehead hit his chest, he’d almost reached out to catch you. his hands had twitched with the urge to keep you right there. but then he’d seen the way your eyes traveled down his legs, and the heat that flared in his gut was enough to make him flee. it was a strikingly dangerous kind of heat — the kind that told him he wasn't as in control as he liked to pretend.

he was losing his fucking mind and it was just thursday.

the weekend arrived, bringing a much-needed break from the office. you were in the middle of reorganizing your bookshelf, finally finding a place for the new stack of books you had ordered, when the bell suddenly chimed.

ding dong

you froze.

you weren't expecting anyone. you checked your reflection in the hallway mirror — hoping you didn't look as frazzled as you felt — and pulled the door open.

​there he was. the plague of your thoughts, standing in in the flesh. minho looked effortlessly handsome, nursing a sleepy joonie in one arm while his other hand gripped a plastic container. he looked caught between being amused by your startled expression and being strangely nervous about the mystery contents of the container.

​"hi, nice seeing you — again," you managed, your voice only slightly higher than usual. "and you too, lil baby," you added, reaching out to pet joonie’s soft head.

​as the kitten reveled in the attention, leaning into your touch, minho’s lips curled into a smile.

​"hello — is it really nice to see me?" he asked, his eyes dancing with mischief. "because from the muffled scream i heard through the wall last time, i was pretty sure you’d be running away the second i knocked."

​heat rushed to your cheeks. you pushed a stray hair behind your ear, wishing the floor would simply open up and swallow you whole. "uh, yeah — no. i mean, you just took me by surprise, that was all," you answered, praying he couldn't see the blush creeping up your neck.

​"that’s good to know then." he smiled, and you realized with a start that he was far too pretty for a human. "i actually made some aglio olio pasta, and i thought you would like some. consider it a peace offering for the cookies — which were delicious, by the way, if i forgot to mention it."

​"oh wow — thank you so much ! you literally solved my dinner crisis," you replied, taking the container. your fingers grazed his as the weight of the pasta shifted, and the brief contact felt like a static shock. "i'm glad the cookies passed the test. sadly, joonie couldn't have them." you looked back down at the kitten and started playing with his paws to avoid minho’s intense gaze.

"well, he certainly tried," minho said, his voice dropping into that low, velvet register that always seemed to vibrate right through you. "he spent half the night sniffing the air like he’d discovered a new religion."

​"you know," he started, rubbing the back of his neck, "it occurred to me that i'm about to hand off a homemade meal to someone whose name i don't even know. i’ve been calling you 'the cookie lady' in my head all day, which — to be honest — is a bit of a mouthful."

​you felt a genuine laugh bubble up, the tension breaking just enough for you to breathe. "the cookie lady ? i’'m almost flattered, i suppose."

​"i'm sure," he chuckled, the sound rich and near. "but seriously. i'm minho. lee minho. though i think you might have figured that out by now, considering you hadn't asked."

​"well i could see a new name in the entry register, and it didn't take too long to put two and two together," you shrugged amusedly, a slight smile on your face, "i'm y/n by the way, y/n y/l/n." you replied, the sound of your own name feeling strangely heavy in the quiet hallway.

​"y/n," he repeated. he said it slowly, the syllables rolling off his tongue in a way that made your heart do a nervous little stutter. he nodded once, as if filing it away in a very important folder in his mind. "well, y/n , it’s officially nice to meet you. properly, this time."

​​a heavy, charged silence settled over the threshold. the air was thick with the kind of electricity that only exists between two people who know they've been thinking about each other.

​​"um — would you like to come in ?" you offered hesitantly.

​minho hesitated for a heartbeat — his eyes flickered toward the interior of your home, then back to you, a smile hovering at the corners of his mouth. "ah, sure. thanks."

​you stepped sideways, holding the door open. as you shut it behind him, you felt a wave of gratitude that you had actually bothered to tidy up this morning.

minho's eyes roamed around your living room, taking in all details of your life spread in front of him. a few plants were placed on the window sill with tiny clay knick-knacks that seemed to be handmade. a book was placed on the coffee table, most probably the one that made you cry. a few paintings covered your walls, some done by you he guessed. your curtains were chiffon — a dusty yellow — and he could imagine your eyes glittering in the sunlight coming through them in the morning. the warm lights, the crocheted wall hanging, the mosaic coasters on the table — all gave life to the apartment.

it was full of personality — your personality.

and he loved it.

"those clay animals look really cute." minho remarked, a smile on his face as he pointed towards the window sill, "i'll even go on to claim that you made that one keeping joonie in mind, because how are they exactly the same ?"

you laughed as you observed the uncanny similarity between the clay kitten and the one blinking its beady eyes in minho's arms. "well — that's a pretty valid claim."

you placed the container on the table and asked, "would you like something to drink ? and no — i don't just survive on bean water." you added with a smile and mock defensiveness.

the statement earned you a laugh out of minho and you couldn't help but smile, the sound music to your ears. "okay okay", he raised his free hand in a surrender motion, " i take my bean water statement back — what options do you have then, y/n ?"

​"well — i have diet coke, chocolate milk, aaaaaand mango juice."

his voice was suddenly much nearer. you turned from the fridge to find him standing right at the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame. the space in the kitchen felt strikingly small with him in it. you pulled out two cans and ushered him back to the living room. he sat on the couch, joonie curling onto his lap immediately. you sat in the chair nearby, popping your can open.

your eyes were glued to his lips as they touched the aluminum for a sip. as his adam's apple bobbed, your thoughts strayed right back to that compression shirt in the hallway. you had to physically shake your head to stay present.

​suddenly, joonie decided he was done being a sleepy baby, eyes fluttering open as they landed on the can in minho's hand. before anyone could react, the kitten lunged.

​splash.

the diet coke exploded onto minho’s white t-shirt. the can clattered to the floor, rolling away as joonie sat back, blinking innocently. minho stood up with a start, the thin fabric of his shirt now soaked and clinging to his skin.

​without thinking, you rushed toward him with a handful of tissues, frantically dabbing at the dark splash on his white shirt. it was only when you felt the firm, warm rise and fall of his chest beneath your palm that the world seemed to stop.

​you were touching him.

​the damp fabric clung to his skin, making the contact feel strikingly intimate, and your breath caught in your throat as you realized how close you were. you looked up, only to find his gaze already locked with yours. your faces were uncannily close — so close you could feel the heat radiating off him, so close you could see the slight tremor in his own breath. for a heartbeat, neither of you moved — the only thing between you was the frantic thrumming of your heart and the weight of your hand against his chest.

​"oh-ohh, h-here are some — uh — tissues," you stammered, finally snapping out of the trance. you stepped back so fast you nearly tripped, shoving the damp tissues into his hands. your palm felt like it was on fire, the sensation of his warmth branded into your skin.

minho's first thought was that he could get used to the feeling of your hands on him.

good lord, he had to get a grip on himself — you were just trying to be nice.

jesus christ —

breathe minho breathe.

stay. fucking. calm.

he could still feel the phantom pressure of your fingers on his chest, and it was taking every ounce of his willpower not to catch your wrist and keep your hand there. a shiver ran up his spine as he looked at you, frazzled and blushing.

he could get used to this.

he could get used to you.

the way you looked right now, with your eyes wide and your lips parted, was more dangerous than any gym workout.

"a-ah, thanks," he replied, accepting the tissues, feeling the sudden loss of your warmth. "i'll get back, actually. need to clean up, plus this naughty guy needs his actual meal."

he grabbed joonie and headed for the door, his movements slightly rushed. you followed him, whispering a final thank you for the pasta. as his door clicked shut, the silence in your apartment felt ten times louder.

you leaned against your door, staring at the floor. the tension was no longer just a joke or a thin-walled coincidence. it was a physical weight, a striking reality that both of you were carrying back into your separate rooms.

in the flat beside yours, minho peeled off his soaked shirt and tossed it into the hamper. he looked at his reflection in the mirror, his chest still buzzing from where you had touched him.

tonight, the walls between 0801 and 0802 felt thinner than ever, and for the first time, neither of you wanted them to be there at all.

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Chan hasn’t seen you without makeup before.

Your freckles stretch across your face and down your body, a thousand tiny stains on your skin. You hate how dark they are, how many there are, the way they litter every inch of your skin. Which is why you slather yourself in concealer before you see him.

And normally, it wouldn’t really be an issue. You had made it a habit to hide them before every date, hell, you even left your makeup on when you slept in the same bed. He’d never commented on it, and you hoped he just hadn’t noticed.

Except today, he showed up without texting. Which, to be fair, you gave him a key so he could do just that. The idea of coming home from work to him already sitting on your couch with a glass of wine and a fluffy blanket sounded like a dream. You just didn’t expect him to do it today.

You’re sitting on your couch reading your favorite book, soft music playing in the background, when the rattling of keys startles you. He bursts through the door screaming, “I’m home!” in the cute way he always does when he shows up to your place, and you barely have time to pull your hood over your head before he’s walking over to greet you.

You hide your face with your book as best as you can. “Hi, Channie,” you say softly, only letting your eyes peek out from behind the pages.

He looks at you with his brows furrowed, clearly confused as to why you haven’t already tackled him to the ground with love and excitement.

“Everything okay?” he says with concern in his voice.

You nod your head, but you can feel your heart racing and heat creeping up your spine and into your ears. You start shaking your legs back and forth, a telltale sign that you’re nervous.

Chan kneels down next to the couch and meets you at eye level. He’s giving you that look, which means “I know you’re lying.”

You’re way too embarrassed to look him in the eye. The book you’re reading slides back up to cover your eyes. A hand closes over the top of it and lowers it slowly. You’re biting the inside of your cheek and cowering in on yourself, trying desperately to hide your entire body from view.

Chan rubs your shoulder gently. “What’s wrong, baby?” He looks worried and also slightly confused. 

“I’m not wearing makeup…” you mutter, tucking your chin into your hoodie. 

“That’s okay. I think you look beautiful.” He leans forward to kiss you on the forehead, and gets up and heads to the kitchen.

He doesn’t make it a big deal. Just says what he thinks and that’s that. You’re an anxious mess, and he’s just…Chan. Perfectly content, however you want to present yourself.

“Do you want some tea, sweetheart?”

“Yes, please,” you croak, your voice still small.

He puts a kettle on the stove and rummages around the kitchen, collecting mugs for both of you. You watch as he makes you your tea, and every worry you had previously starts to wither away. You wonder why you had been stressing so much about it before.

He walks back over with two cups and hands you one. You sit up to take it as he takes a seat on the couch next to you, sinking into the cushions. He’s smiling so wide, like he’s just happy to be here with you.

You stay quiet, sipping from your mug, waiting for him to break the silence. You’re reminded that he knows exactly how you take your tea, and you didn’t even have to ask.

“You’re in your head,” he observes, reaching over to gently pull down your hood.

“I just…feel bad, I guess,” you admit, speaking slowly, averting your eyes from his.

“For what?”

“I don’t know…lying? I look kinda different without all that stuff on my face.”

“Now you sound crazy.” He sets his mug on the coffee table and takes your face in both of his hands. “You are the most beautiful person I have ever laid my eyes on.”

Your eyes meet the kindest, most sincere face you’ve ever seen. His eyes are tired, but still so full of love. 

He continues, unable to help himself. “I mean it. You are a freaking goddess, and I am but a mere mortal man.” 

“Channnn,” you giggle, pushing his shoulder playfully. He’s so ridiculous, but he knows exactly what you need right now.

“I’m serious!” he persists. “I’m so lucky to be with you. And, I love you. It doesn’t matter if you decide to wear makeup or not. As long as you’re comfortable, that’s enough to make me happy.”

“I love you too,” you say, smiling at him as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

“Andddd, your freckles are the cutest thing I have ever seen. I mean…I didn’t think you could be any cuter.” Another kiss. “You surprise me every day.”

You feel warm and fuzzy, and it’s not from the tea. Chan understands you and accepts you, no matter what you decide to do. Maybe tomorrow you’ll still cover them up, or maybe you won’t. For now, you’re happy with a man who makes you want to love yourself as much as he loves you.

a/n: hehe sorry it’s so short and a little cheesy i hope you liked it ♡

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Your face would betray you even if you tried to lie again. He awaits your answer intently, though he already knows what it will be.

“I don’t think so,” you whisper. Because it’s less vulnerable than “no.” Because you’re holding onto whatever dignity you have left. “But that doesn’t change anything,” you add quickly, handing his Eterna back to him, “this doesn’t change anything.”

You can accept that you don’t hate Hyunjin. You can’t accept that silly technology has fated you together. 

Even if he’s pretty. Even if he’s making you feel weak just from his stare. Even if there’s a part of you that wants to know the Hyunjin in this room with you. 

“I didn’t want it to,” he lies. 

His finger still rests beneath your chin, and the space between you is still nonexistent. It grew dangerously close to comfortable, and the implications of that are worrisome. You step backward, his hand falling to his side, your skin burning with the memory of his touch.

And you miss it. 

“I’ll send you the money if you want,” you offer.

Only he hasn’t thought about the money even once. He doesn’t care about it; he never really did. The one thought on his mind is you, an unfortunate constant these days. 

And god how he wishes things would be different. All that time spent wondering what would happen if you were his match amounted to nothing. 

It won’t change a thing. And why should it? He’s the one who called it nonsense and bullshit and every other synonym for stupid in the dictionary. Now he wants to take it as gospel?

Of course. Because he wants you. He wants you in a way he hasn’t wanted anyone in years. 

He shakes his head softly, loose strands of hair falling on his forehead. “Keep it.”

“Okay,” you swallow. “So, we go back to our normal lives now, I guess.”

“Normal,” he repeats, the word feeling unfamiliar. "At least we can stop carrying these around.”

He tosses his Eterna onto his desk, right next to the sketchbook sprawled open. Something feels wrong about throwing it so carelessly, no longer a fixture of himself. Like his entire future remains in that device and he’s simply discarding it. 

Reaching behind your ear, you trace your fingers over the node that’s become so familiar. “And we can take the stupid mindreaders out.”

“Forgot about those,” he laughs. You join in easily, giggles reverberating off the walls of his room. 

Has his laugh always made you feel so warm?

Slowly, the laughter dies out, and silence sneaks back in like a shadow. It makes your thoughts too loud.

It’s not too late to go back. You can tell him you’d like to see where this takes you—to give “fate” a chance. You can take back every misconception you previously held and learn the real Hyunjin. 

You consider it seriously for half a second. And then he’s clearing his throat, interrupting your internal debate. “I think we should go back down now,” he suggests. “Enjoy the rest of the party.” 

A half-smile tugs the corners of his lips upwards, and you have to find it within yourself to bite your words and smile back.

The decision’s been made for you. Maybe that’s fate, too.

“Yeah, you too,” you say.

A party is the last place you want to be at after what’s just transpired. Still, you head for the door, hesitating once your hand reaches the doorknob. Turn around, something within you screams. Don’t leave it like this.

You turn the knob and welcome the music that immediately drums against your ears. 

“Bye, Hyunjin.”

THE THING ABOUT FAME… your version of it, anyway… was that it followed you everywhere. it didn’t announce itself with trumpets or fanfare. it just… accumulated. like dust settling on untouched surfaces, like static humming beneath the silence, like something that had been stitched to your skin so long ago you had stopped noticing the threads, stopped pulling the pull, stopped feeling the pull stopped remembering what it felt like to move through the world without it.

even on your days off. even in the dark. even… here, in the shadows of a concert hall where you had hoped, naively, perhaps, to simply disappear into the crowd and watch the man you love do what he was born to do.

you were learning this now, weaving through the crowd outside the venue with ryujin on your left and chaeryeong on your right, acting as your unofficial bodyguards. they moved with the easy awareness of athletes; shoulders back, eyes scanning, creating a pocket of space around you that felt almost like privacy. ryujin’s hand hovered near your elbow, ready to steer, while chaeryeong’s gaze tracked the crowd like she was reading a defense, looking for openings, for threats, for the quickest path through.

it had been three months since the national championships. three months since that final point, that perfect spike, that suspended moment when the ball left your hand and you knew, with the bone-deep certainty that only years of practice could bring, that it was over. three months since the arena erupted, since your teammates buried you under a pile of bodies and screams, since your face ended up on every sports broadcast in the country.

three months of this… the recognition, the requests, the constant, exhausting being seen.

a girl in the crowd caught your eye and froze, her mouth falling open in recognition. you looked away just in time, letting ryujin's shoulder block her line of sight, and kept moving toward the doors. the bass from inside vibrated through the concrete, a low thrum you felt in your teeth.

you almost made it.

"y/n! oh my god, y/n, can we get a photo?"

you stopped. closed your eyes for half a second. then you turned, and you smiled.

it was genuine, mostly—you were grateful, really, you were. grateful for the support, for the fans who had watched you climb your way to the top, for the strangers who screamed your name like you mattered to them. but there was a thread of exhaustion woven through that smile, thin but undeniable, a weariness that three months of this had knitted into your bones.

“of course! c’mere, kiddo!”

ryujin stepped back to give you space, her eyes still scanning, still vigilant. she had done this a hundred times—on courts, in arenas, in the chaos of victory and defeat. she knew how to protect without hovering, how to guard without suffocating. chaeryeong was already on her phone, probably documenting this for posterity, because that was just who she was. your own personal historian, recording everything for reasons she never quite explained.

the girl who asked—barely sixteen, trembling with the kind of excitement that made you feel impossibly old, held up her phone. you leaned in, smiled, counted to three. the flash bloomed white behind your eyes, leaving spots in your vision.

"thank you so much! i'm your biggest fan! i watched every match of the tournament!"

"that means so much," you beamed, and it did. it always did. every fan was a reminder that you weren't just playing for yourself, that your sport meant something to people, that the hours of sweat and pain and sacrifice had built something larger than a trophy.

however, they were over thirty other people now, drawn by the commotion like moths to flame, and you could feel the crowd pressing in.

more photos. more signatures. more smiles. a boy asked you to sign his arm, and you did, your sharpie squeaking against his skin in a way that made you wince internally. a girl wanted a selfie for her lock screen, then burst into tears afterward. a couple asked if you'd record a video congratulating their friend on his birthday… and you did, your voice bright and warm even as your throat began to ache.

you did all of it. the whole performance. your face ached from the effort of holding the same pleasant expression, your voice grew hoarse from repeating the same grateful phrases, and somewhere inside you, a small, tired part of yourself wondered if this was what it felt like to be eaten alive.

not that you were alone in this. ryujin and chaeryeong moved through the crowd with the same practiced ease, the same automatic smiles, the same weary grace. they had been here just as long as you had; three months of interviews and endorsements and strangers wanting pieces of them. three months of being recognized in grocery stores, of having their meals interrupted for photos, of watching their private lives become public property.

chaeryeong appeared at your elbow like an answer to a prayer you hadn't quite dared to voice. her hand found the small of your back, a brief pressure, a signal, an anchor, and when she spoke, her voice carried that particular calm that came from years of navigating chaos alongside you, "we should head in. show starts in twenty."

you nodded, careful not to let the relief bleed too visibly into your features. "i'm so sorry," you murmured to the crowd, and your voice carried that warm, honeyed quality that interviewers always fawned over–genuine, they called it. approachable. the girl next door who happens to be a national champion. "we have to go. thank you all, really."

they let you pass, mostly, though hands reached out to touch your arms, your shoulders, like you were something sacred. you had gotten used to this too… the way people wanted to claim a piece of you, as if proximity alone might transfer some of whatever it was they saw in you. a woman grabbed your wrist, her nails digging in, and you had to gently extract yourself. a man shouted something about your legs, about the skirt you were wearing, and you pretended not to hear.

you'd learned that too. the art of selective deafness. the way to let comments slide off your skin like water drops, like they hadn't landed at all, like you couldn't feel them burrowing under your flesh and nesting there for later, for 3 a.m., for the moments when you were alone. you couldn’t quite understand the enormous hype over you. you were just an athlete, not some a-list celebrity.

inside, the hall was cavernous and dim, the kind of dark that made you feel like you could finally exhale. the opening act's equipment was still being cleared from the stage; roadies moving with practiced efficiency, coiling cables, breaking down drum kits, vanishing into the wings with armfuls of gear.

you followed your teammates into the vip standing pit, letting them carve a path through the packed floor until you found your pocket of space. it was close, so close you could see the wires snaking across the stage, the gaffer tape holding them down, the tiny leds blinking on the pedalboard. up close, the magic of a rock concert was just… infrastructure. just cables, monitors, and the scuffed floor where roadies had walked a thousand times, back and forth.

however, you knew better. you knew what happened when the lights hit. when he, along with his band, appeared.

"you okay?" ryujin asked, settling beside you. she was wearing a cropped jacket and high-waisted pants, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. she always looked put together, even in casual moments. you envied that about her.

"just tired." you ran a hand through your hair, careful not to mess it up too much. you had spent an hour getting ready tonight, and not just because you hadn't seen chan in months. you wanted to make an impact. wanted him to look at you and forget, for just a moment, that he was standing in front of fifteen thousand people.

the black tube top was new. a purchase you'd made on a whim last week, something silky and stretchy that hugged your curves in all the right places. it had caught your eye in a boutique window, mannequin staring blankly at the street, and you walked in before you could talk yourself out of it.

for what? a voice in your head had asked, the one that sounded suspiciously like your mother, always complaining about the entirety of your life decisions. you had never worn something like this before. never had the nerve, never really had the occasion–

eh, whatever. it looks good on me anyway.

and it did. you had to give yourself that. self love at its finest.

the skirt was scandalous, even by your standards: a tiny thing in dark denim that rode high on your thighs, leaving little to the imagination, the hem grazing the midpoint of your upper legs. you had paired it with heeled boots that laced up to your knees, making your legs look impossibly long. you had looked at yourself in the mirror before leaving your apartment and thought: this should do it.

you had also thought about chan's hands on your thighs. about the way he used to look at you when you wore anything that screamed you—that slow, appreciative gaze that started at your face and traveled down, down, down, like he was memorizing every inch. about the things he would whisper later, when it was just the two of you, his lips pressed against your skin and his hands exactly where you wanted them—

okay, stop. you’re in public. be normal for once.

chaeryeong leaned past ryujin to look at you. her eyes traveled down your body, and she let out a low whistle. "you look amazing, by the way. like… damn! chan’s really lucky to bag this baddie! he's going to lose his entire mind."

"that's the goal," you tried to sound casual, like you hadn’t spent an hour freaking out over this exact outcome.

"you didn't tell him you were coming?" ryujin inquired, catching on.

you shook your head. "wanted to surprise him."

ryujin raised an eyebrow, that single arch doing more than words ever could. a mischievous smirk tugged at the corner of her lips, "you think he'll be surprised?"

you thought about chan. about the way he noticed everything—the way your smile changed when you were tired, the way you chewed your lip when you were nervous, the way you moved through a room like you owned it even when you felt like you didn't. you thought about the months apart, the phone calls at odd hours, the way his voice went soft when he said your name.

you thought about the skirt, the boots, and the top… it was a carefully planned seduction.

"i think…” a tiny simper slowly spread across your lips, “he’ll be something.”

chaeryeong cackled, loud and bright, earning a few glances from the people around you. "oh, he'll definitely be something,” she mimed, fanning herself, “something that is definitely not family friendly.”

you laughed despite yourself, the tension in your shoulders loosening just a fraction. this was why you brought them everywhere. this was why you loved them.

before you could continue your friendly banter, the lights went down.

it wasn’t gradual, no slow fade, no gentle dimming. one moment the stage was bathed in the warm glow of house lights, revealing empty monitors and waiting instruments. the next, complete and total darkness, so absolute it felt like being swallowed whole.

the crowd screamed.

fifteen thousand voices, rising as one, a single living creature with fifteen thousand throats. the sound hit you like a wave, a physical force, pushing against your chest, vibrating in your ears. around you, bodies pressed closer, phones lifted high, recording a moment that would live forever in pixels and memories.

and then—

a single guitar note, ringing out in the darkness. pure. clean. suspended in the air like a held breath.

another. different this time, lower, a promise of what was coming.

the drummer, seo changbin, counted in; four beats, sharp and precise, that you felt in your bones before you heard them with your ears. the bassist, han jisung, joined, low and thrumming, and you could feel it vibrating through the floor, up through the soles of your boots, settling somewhere deep in your chest where it tangled with your heartbeat.

the crowd screamed even louder. you swore your eardrums were pretty much damaged at this point.

then the lights came up… and there he was.

bang chan. your beloved, obviously hot boyfriend. the man you hadn't touched in two months, two weeks, and three days.

he stood center stage, guitar slung low on his hips, one hand raised in acknowledgment of the roar that greeted him. the lights hit him from every angle, catching the sweat already beading on his forehead, his gorgeous blonde hair falling in perfect disarray, along with the sharp line of his jaw.

he was wearing black jeans, ripped at the knees, the fabric frayed and soft-looking from years of wear, from countless performances. a silver chain hung around his neck, catching the light with every movement, drawing your eye to the hollow of his throat, to the collarbone you had kissed and sucked a thousand times.

and a vest… just a vest, hanging over his chest, unbuttoned, revealing the entire expanse of his godly built torso.

no shirt underneath. you could see everything.

the cut of his abs, the way the muscles moved beneath his skin as he shifted his weight, as his fingers found the strings, as his body fell into the rhythm of the opening song; a living map of strength and grace, every flex and release of a language you had once been fluent in. the smooth expanse of his chest rose and fell with each breath, unmarked, untouched, waiting.

he looked like a god.

he looked like yours.

girl fucking dinner.

"seoul!" his voice filled the space, rough and electric, amplified by speakers the size of small cars. it bounced off the walls, off the ceiling, off the twenty thousand screaming fans who answered him with a roar that shook the floor beneath your feet. "how we feeling tonight?"

the crowd answered. fifteen thousand voices, screaming as one; a wall of sound so intense you felt it in your teeth, in your bones, in the places where your heartbeat had taken up residence.

and then the first song hit, and you forgot to think at all.

he was magnetic. you knew this, of course—you had known it since the first time you saw him on stage, approximately a year ago, before you even knew his name, before he became the person you texted good morning and good night. you had been at that concert with friends, just another face in the crowd, and you had watched him perform and thought: that man is going to be super famous. that man is going to be something… a world-renowned rockstar.

you hadn't known then that he would become yours.

but watching him now, after months apart, was like seeing him for the first time all over again.

he moved across the stage like he owned it, like he was born for this exact moment, in this exact light. his body was a weapon and an instrument all at once, every gesture precise and powerful. when he jumped, you could see the muscles in his thighs bunch and release. when he dropped to his knees at the edge of the stage, you could see the sweat dripping down his chest, catching the spotlights, glittering like diamonds.

you found yourself gripping the metal railing before you too hard, your knuckles white.

down, girl, you thought. there are children present.

ryujin elbowed you, hard. "girl, you're drooling."

you shoved her back, but you couldn't stop staring. couldn't tear your eyes away from the way he moved, the way he commanded the stage, the way his voice wrapped around every note like it was born there. fifteen thousand people screamed his name, and all you could think was how lucky you are to be his. how you can’t wait to reunite with him.

how you can’t wait to—

ahem, moving on.

the set continued. song after song, each one better than the last. he addressed the crowd between tracks, his voice breathless and intimate, like he was sharing secrets instead of performing for thousands. he told a story about writing one of the songs at 3 am, alone in his studio, missing someone.

you knew that someone was you.

your heart clenched.

at one point he crouched at the edge of the stage, reaching out to touch hands in the front row. you watched the way fans nearly fainted at the contact, the way their faces transformed with the sheer impossibility of being close to him. a girl was crying. a boy was screaming so hard his voice cracked. chan smiled at theml, and you felt a surge of something complicated—pride, yes, but also a fierce protectiveness. he was yours, and you had to share him with all these people.

however, that was the deal. you had known it from the beginning.

and then—

he was mid-song, halfway through a track you recognized as one he had written late at night in his studio, with you curled up on the couch behind him. you remembered that night: the way he had kept turning around to look at you, as if checking that you were still there. the way he had played the same chord progression over and over until it was perfect. the way he had finally given up and crossed the room to kiss you, pulling you onto his lap, burying his face in your neck.

the lyrics were about longing, about distance, about wanting someone you couldn't reach. you had heard it a hundred times, in recordings and soundchecks and quiet acoustic versions played just for you. but tonight, in this context, it hit differently.

it hit like a fist to the chest.

his eyes scanned the crowd as he sang. casual at first, the way performers did; sweeping across the sea of faces, never landing anywhere for long.

and then they landed on you.

you saw the exact moment he registered what he was seeing. his eyes widened—just slightly, just for a fraction of a second, a flicker so brief that anyone else would have missed it. but you had been watching him for years. you knew every micro-expression, every subtle shift, every tiny tell that gave away what he was really thinking.

his mouth opened to form the next word, but there was a beat of silence before it came out. a hitch. a stumble. a pause so small it barely existed, but you felt it like a skip in your own heartbeat.

he recovered instantly, because he was a professional, because he had been doing this long enough that muscle memory carried him through. however, his gaze stayed on you, and you watched something shift in his expression.

hunger. that was the only word for it. a raw, undisguised hunger that made your breath catch and your skin prickle with awareness. he was devouring you with his eyes, the top that hugged your perfect curves, the boots, and the fucking skirt… he was cataloging every detail, every inch of skin, every choice you had made for him.

and of course, you were letting him. you indulged in it.

the song continued. he kept singing, kept performing, kept doing the thing he was born to do. however, his attention was fractured now, split between the twenty thousand people screaming his name and the one person in the vip pit who mattered most. every few lines, his eyes found you again. lingering. burning. traveling down your body in a way that made you feel stripped bare, even though you were fully clothed.

two months, two weeks, and three days of texting, video calls, and i miss yous. two months, two weeks, and three days of sleeping alone, of reaching for someone who wasn't there, of pretending that distance didn't feel like a small death every single day.

and now he was looking at you like he wanted to eat you alive.

you could technically, shamelessly, feel the gush of wetness between your legs.

pushing certain feelings aside, you lifted your hand to your lips, slow and deliberate, savoring the way his eyes followed the movement. you pressed your fingers to your mouth, held them there for just a moment, before blowing

his jaw tightened. you watched the muscle jump beneath his skin, watched him physically restrain himself from whatever instinct was screaming through him. he turned away, facing the other side of the stage, but not before you saw the smirk tugging at his mouth.

oh, you were in huge trouble.

ryujin was losing her mind beside you. you could hear it in the high-pitched wheeze of her laughter, feel it in the way she gripped your arm hard enough to bruise. chaeryeong had her phone out, because of course she did, because this was the kind of moment that demanded documentation, that would live forever in their group chat, that would be pulled out at parties, weddings, and funerals for the rest of your lives.

you didn't care.

you were too busy watching the back of his head, the line of his shoulders, the way he held himself differently now that he knew you were here. the performance continued—he was too professional for it not to, yet there was something else threading through it now. something sharper. hungrier.

something that belonged only to you.

THREE MORE SONGS, you counted them. each one felt like foreplay.

he performed a track that required him to lie on the stage, his chest heaving, his eyes closed, one arm thrown over his face. you watched the way his stomach moved with each breath, the way the sweat pooled in the hollow of his throat. when he sat up, his hair was plastered to his forehead, and he pushed it back with a gesture that was so casual, so unconscious, that it felt almost private.

he performed a song that required him to stand at the front of the stage, gripping the mic stand like he was holding on for dear life, his voice raw and beautiful and cracking just enough at the edges to make it real. you remembered him singing this one to you in the dark, his lips against your ear, his hands on your hips, the words meant for you and you alone. you shifted where you stood, suddenly aware of how warm it was in here, of how the skirt felt shorter than it had an hour ago, of how his eyes kept finding you even as he sang to everyone.

and then, near the end of the set, he stepped to the front of the stage and raised a hand.

the crowd muted, anticipatory. fifteen people, silent in an instant, hanging on his next word.

"i wanna talk about something," he said, his voice softer now. intimate. the lights dimmed around him, leaving him in a single spotlight, isolated, and vulnerable. "this next song is about someone special. someone who's been with me through a lot of late nights and early mornings. someone who…"

he paused, and his eyes found you again. "i haven't seen in way too long."

the crowd murmured, a wave of curiosity rippling through the arena. phones rose in the air, a constellation of screens recording a moment none of them fully understood.

"she's here tonight."

the scream that went up was deafening. you felt ryujin grab your arm, shaking you hard enough to rattle your teeth, and chaeryeong was screaming too, high-pitched and delighted, her phone now definitely pointed at you instead of the stage, capturing every second of this moment that would live forever in your shared history.

people were looking around, trying to figure out who, where, which one of us; heads turning, phones swiveling, a wave of confusion and curiosity sweeping through the vip pit.

and then—

"y/n."

he said your name like it was a prayer. like it was the only word that mattered in any language, in any world, in any lifetime. it dropped into the silence between his sentences and landed like a stone in still water, sending ripples through the crowd.

"my girlfriend." his voice was warm, intimate, even amplified to twenty thousand people. "my national champion. the most beautiful woman in this room.”

the screaming intensified. you could feel your face heating, could feel every eye in the venue turning toward you—not just the vip pit now, but the entire arena, fifteen thousand people all looking in the same direction, all searching for the woman who had just been named.

“can we get her up here?”

the spotlight swung.

it found you, blinding you for a moment, white light searing against your retinas. you blinked against it, raised a hand to shield your eyes, and then you found yourself walking towards the stage (when had you started walking?), your heart pounding in your throat so hard you could taste it, metallic and electric.

the aisle seemed endless. each step stretched into eternity, the distance between you and him both agonizing and exquisite. people reached out to touch you as you passed, and you let them, your hand brushing against theirs, fingers grazing fingers, but you couldn't look away from him. couldn't tear your gaze from the man waiting at the edge of the stage, one hand extended toward you like an invitation, like a promise, like a homecoming.

security helped you up the side steps. hands guided you, steadying you as you climbed, but you barely registered them; barely registered anything except the figure waiting for you at the top, silhouetted against the lights, his hand extended toward you like a lifeline.

the stage was brighter than you had expected. hotter. the lights beat down like a second sun, pressing against your skin, making everything feel slightly surreal. you could see the crowd now, spread out before you like an ocean, endless and overwhelming in a way you hadn't anticipated. fifteen thousand faces, all looking at you. fifteen thousand phones, all recording. fifteen thousand strangers, witnessing something you had thought would always remain private.

and then chan's hand closed around your wrist and pulled you to him.

he was real. he was real. you could feel the heat of him through your clothes, could smell the sweat, his cologne, and the something that was just him that you had been missing for months. his skin was slick under your palms. his heart hammered against your chest, a wild rhythm that matched your own. and he was smiling down at you like you were the answer to every question he had ever asked, like the universe had finally given him exactly what he wanted, like all the waiting and the distance and the late-night phone calls had been worth it just for this moment.

his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his side. you could feel every inch of him: the hard planes of his chest, the solid warmth of his thigh against yours, the way his fingers dug into your hip like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go. like he was still convincing himself you were real.

he then tossed his microphone.

you heard it clatter somewhere behind him, heard the crowd's surprised laughter ripple through the arena, but you couldn't look away from him. couldn't tear your gaze from his face, from his eyes, from the way he was looking at you like nothing else in the world existed.

and then he kissed you.

it was soft. gentle, even. his lips were warm and slightly salty from sweat, and he cradled your face in his hands like you were something precious, something breakable, something he had been waiting his entire life to hold. his thumbs traced your cheekbones as he kissed you, slow and sweet, and you could feel him smiling against your mouth—that smile, the one that was just for you, the one that meant he was exactly where he wanted to be.

the crowd lost its collective mind.

you couldn't hear them. couldn't hear anything except the rush of blood in your ears and the soft sound of his breath against your lips. the fifteen thousand screaming fans faded into white noise, into static, into nothing at all. there was only him. only his mouth on yours, only the way he held you like you were the most precious thing in the universe, only the desperate, aching relief of finally being able to touch him again.

you reciprocated his kiss with everything you had—two months, two weeks, and three days of longing poured into a single moment. your hands palmed against his chest, feeling his heart hammer beneath your palms, feeling the heat of his skin through the open vest, feeling every rapid breath he took against your lips.

his hand slid into your hair, tilting your head back just slightly, and he deepened the kiss just enough to make your knees weak. just enough to remind you what you had been missing. just enough to make promises that words couldn't carry.

when you finally pulled apart (breathing was still a thing humans needed to do), he rested his forehead against yours. his breath came in hard, uneven gasps, mingling with yours in the small space between you. his eyes were bright, almost wet, and you could see the promise in them.

later, that look said. clear as words, clear as a vow, clear as everything you had been waiting for. just wait.

THE CONCERT ENDED TOO FAST. one moment, you were on stage, wrapped in his arms, the taste of him still on your tongue. the next, the lights were coming up and the band was taking their final bows.

you had found your way back to your friends. the crowd filtered out slowly, still buzzing, still screaming, still riding the high of a performance that had been nothing short of transcendent. you found ryujin and chaeryeong in the aftermath, pushed to the edge of the chaos, both of them vibrating with excitement. ryujin's hair had escaped its ponytail, dark strands framing her face in sweaty disarray. chaeryeong's cheeks were flushed with the effort of screaming for two hours straight, but her grin was absolutely feral.

"go," ryujin said, before you could even ask. she was already pushing you toward the backstage entrance, her hands firm against your shoulders. "we'll find our own way back. go see your boyfriend."

"you sure?" you looked between them, guilt flickering even through the haze of longing. they had come with you, after all. they had helped you navigate through the crowd, protected you from the chaos, and stood by your side at all cost. leaving them felt almost wrong.

chaeryeong waved her phone vaguely. “just go!"

you hugged them both, quick and fierce, breathing in their familiar scents—ryujin's expensive perfume, chaeryeong's vanilla lotion, and you were already moving through the chaos backstage, following a staff member who led you through a maze of corridors.

the backstage area was a different world: concrete floors and bare bulbs, cables snaking along the walls, road cases stacked in corners with stickers from a hundred different venues. you passed crew members carrying equipment, people on headsets murmuring instructions, exhausted-looking staff who nodded at you with the blank acknowledgment of those who had been working for eighteen hours straight. no one stopped you. no one asked for credentials. maybe they knew who you were. maybe they just didn't care.

"his dressing room is down that hall." the staff member gestured vaguely towards a corridor that looked exactly like every other corridor… very helpful, you mentally face-palmed yourself. "last door on the left. he should be there in a few minutes. he's still doing meet and greets."

you nodded, throat tight, "thank you."

she smiled, small yet genuine, and disappeared back the way you came, leaving you alone in the hushed stillness of the backstage corridor.

the hallway was empty now, quiet in a way that felt almost surreal after the chaos of the last few hours. the sound of the crowd had faded to a distant hum, muffled by concrete walls and closed doors and the strange, suspended quiet that existed backstage. your heels clicked against the concrete floor, each step echoing off the walls, a rhythmic counterpoint to your heart—which was pounding louder, harder, faster with every step toward that unremarkable door at the end of the hall.

you were suddenly, acutely aware of everything.

how short your skirt was. how much skin it left exposed—thighs bare, hips bare, the hem riding higher with each step. how the black tube top hugged every curve, leaving nothing to the imagination. how the boots made your legs look impossibly long, how they clicked against the floor with a confidence you weren't sure you actually felt.

how the air felt cool against your heated skin, raising goosebumps in its wake.

you were halfway down the hall—maybe a little more, maybe twenty feet from his door, when arms wrapped around your waist from behind.

you knew it was him before you even felt it. before the warmth registered, before the familiar shape of him pressed against your back, before his breath ghosted warm against your ear. you just knew, the way you always knew, the way you had known since the first moment you met him.

he fit against you like he had been made to. like the universe had designed him specifically to wrap around you, to hold you, to be your home. his chest pressed against your back, solid and warm. his arms locked around your waist, pulling you flush against him. his face buried in your hair, and you felt him breathe you in, deep, slow, and desperate.

you leaned back into him, a smile spreading across your face before you could stop it. your eyes fell closed, and for a moment, there was nothing but this. nothing but his arms, his warmth, his presence after so long.

"hi," you breathed.

he didn't answer.

instead, he spun you around and pressed you against the wall.

the concrete was cool against your back, a sharp contrast to the heat of him as he crowded into your space, as his hands found your hips, as his body pinned you exactly where he wanted you. your eyes flew open just in time to see his—dark, hungry, burning with something that made your breath catch.

and then his mouth found yours.

this was the kiss you had been waiting for. not the soft, gentle thing on stage, the one meant for publicity. this was private. this was desperate. this was the one that stole your breath, that made your knees weak, that reminded you exactly what you had been missing.

his hands were in your hair, tangling in it, pulling gently just the way you liked. his body pressed against yours, solid and real and there in a way that video calls could never replicate. you could feel every inch of him, the hard planes of his chest, the rapid beat of his heart, the way his thighs bracketed yours and pinned you in place.

he kissed you like he was starving. like you were the first meal he'd had in months, like he had been wandering in a desert and you were water. his lips were urgent, demanding, and you opened for him without thinking, your tongue meeting his, your hands fisting in his vest and pulling him closer.

he tasted like sweat and the energy drink he always had on stage, something citrus and sharp… and underneath it, that familiar something that was just him. the taste you had dreamed about, had longed for, had tried to conjure in empty moments when the distance felt unbearable.

you couldn’t get enough of it. couldn’t get enough of him.

his hands left your hair, traveled down your body, gripped your hips. he pulled you closer, and you could feel how much he had missed you, could feel the growing bulge pressing against your thigh.

"fuck," he breathed, pulling back just enough to look at you. his eyes were dark, pupils blown wide, his chest heaving. "you have no idea…"

he stopped, shook his head. his gaze traveled down your body, from your eyes to your lips, down the curve of your throat, over the black tube top that hugged every line of you, lingering on the tiny skirt that rode high on your thighs, following the long line of your legs in those heeled boots. you watched his throat move as he swallowed, watched his jaw tighten, watched the man unraveling before your eyes. you couldn’t help the smirk on your lips.

"that skirt." his voice was rough, barely controlled. "that top." another swallow. "what were you thinking?"

"that i missed you."

the words hung in the air between you, simple, true, and somehow more vulnerable than anything you could have planned. his expression softened—just for a moment, just a flicker of something tender beneath the heat, before the hunger returned, sharper now, edged with something that looked almost like desperation.

"come on."

he grabbed your hand, his fingers warm and familiar as they wrapped around yours, and pulled you down the hall. past a few unmarked doors, past a stack of equipment cases, past a crew member who quickly looked away. his grip was firm, insistent, like he was afraid you might disappear if he let go.

he stopped at the last door on the left. a piece of paper taped to it read BANG CHAN in messy marker.

he pushed it open and dragged you inside.

THE DOOR LOCKED SHUT BEHIND YOU, and suddenly the world outside ceased to exist. there was only this small room, cluttered with tour debris: a rack of clothes, an open suitcase, empty water bottles, and a couch pushed against the wall. there was only him, backing you towards that couch, his hands on your waist, his mouth ravaging yours with an urgency that had always made your head spin; dizzy with an overwhelming need to feel more of him.

your hands fisted in his vest, dragging him closer, closer, impossibly closer—as if you could collapse two months of distance through sheer force of will. the fabric bunched beneath your fingers, and you felt the heat of him bleeding through it, the frantic rise and fall of his chest, the way his heart pounded against his ribs like it was trying to escape his body and find its way into yours.

his tongue moved against yours, claiming your mouth with a desperation that answered your own. he kissed you like a man starved, like you were oxygen and he had been drowning in the depths, like every second apart had been its own small death and this… this… was finally, impossibly, being resurrected.

one of his hands slid up your spine, fingers pressing into the tender skin between your shoulder blades, pulling you flush against the solid warmth of his chest. you felt everything—the hard planes of muscle, the frantic rhythm of his heart, the way your body fit against his like it had been designed for exactly this purpose. his other hand gripped your hip, fingers dimpling the flesh just enough to make you gasp against his mouth.

and as the back of your knees met the edge of the couch, he pulled you down with him, the momentum shifting, rearranging, until you found yourself straddling his thighs, him perching you against the thickness of his legs.

“channie…” you softly gasped as his mouth latched onto your neck, sucking greedily at the sensitive skin. he lavished attention at one spot, both lips and tongue creating a perfect storm of pleasure and pain until he was sure a dark purple mark would bloom there tomorrow. then another, and another. your fingers would find their way to his blonde hair, tightening the moment you felt his mouthwatering bulge against your clothed heat.

“i miss you so much, baby…” between your legs at his romances, you could feel it—the wetness seeping through your thin lace panties, soaking into the fabric of his jeans. chan couldn’t help the groan against your skin, his lips travelling back to savor your lips once more.

the kiss deepened, becoming messier; all tongue, saliva, and heat, more urgent as your hands roamed each other’s bodies. his hands slipped under your skirt, pushing the fabric up against your thighs as his fingers dug into the soft skin.

his chest rose and fell rapidly as you helped him discard his vest, pushing the fabric off his shoulders and letting it fall somewhere behind him on the couch. the garment joined the growing pile of things that no longer mattered, abandoned without a second thought, without a single glance, because the only thing worth looking at was right in front of you.

your hands found his chest, palms pressing flat against the warmth of him, feeling his heart hammer beneath your touch. he felt you explore, felt your fingers trace the lines of muscle, felt you relearn the body you had been separated from for far too long.

but you wanted more. you needed more.

“i miss you too—oh…” the moan that left your throat was immediately swallowed by his mouth, his tongue dominating yours whilst you felt one of his hands squeezing and massaging one of your breasts through the fabric of your tube top.

another breathless moan escaped you as his thumb circled your nipple through the thin material of your top, your teeth slightly dragging on his lower lip. your back arched into his touch, pressing your breast more firmly into his palm.

“fuck… you’re insane for this baby,” he breathed against your lips, pulling away just slightly to look at you. without warning—not that you were complaining, his hand pushed your tube top down to free your breasts. you whimpered at the sudden cold sensation overriding your senses, the chill raising goosebumps across your skin, and you instinctively pressed closer to the warmth of his hand.

both his thumb and forefinger found a pert nipple, pinching and rolling it between his fingers. he squeezed your breast once again, testing its weight, before leaning in to capture the other in his mouth, giving it a solid suck.

“oh!” before you could catch your breath, his other hand snuck into your skirt, his fingers rubbing against your clothed heat. the fabric of your underwear was completely soaked now, and you could feel every rasp of his fingers against your clit. the dual stimulation had you gasping, “chan—mmph…”

“you like that, baby?” he mumbled against your breast, fingers rubbing faster, applying more pressure exactly where you needed it. your breath hitched, hips bucking slightly against his hand. you could feel a wet muscle circling and tasting each of your breasts, making sure the both of them got the same exact attention they deserved.

“channie… please..” and that was how easy it was to drive a man feral. a gentleman he was to fulfill your wishes, he finally hooked his fingers into the side of your underwear and pulled it aside, wasting no time in sinking two fingers to the hilt in your clenching walls. you were immediately a moaning mess under his touch, his fingers sloppily slithered their way through your velvet walls, curling his fingers against the spongy tissue.

“fuck,” he groaned, feeling how easily you took him deep. your hands gripped on to his broad shoulders, anchoring yourself as you angled your hips so that you could take more of him. his lips would eventually leave your breasts, his lust-filled eyes watching how your face contorted with pleasure, how your breasts bounce slightly with the movement.

“you’re so beautiful,” he started to fuck you with his fingers, his palm pressing against your clit with each trust. your eyes rolled back as his fingers deliciously hit your spot, wet, lewd sounds of your cunt filling the room, “so fucking beautiful.”

“chan… i can’t—” you could feel yourself getting closer to your peak embarrassingly quickly, your fingernails imprinting scratch marks upon the soft canvas of his skin, “i need you—ah… so bad…”

“shh…” he soothed, his thumb pressing down hard on your sensitive clitoris as he continued to finger you. your body was shuddering, your thighs quivering around his hand. you welcomed his fingers in contrast to your words, legs opening wider and wider as he continued, “stay a little longer for me.”

your breath hitched the moment your walls clenched around his fingers as your orgasm built rapidly, threatening to consume you. you moaned his name once again, feeling yourself teetering on the edge as his fingers.

“baby i’m—”

before you could even process anything, he suddenly pulled his fingers away completely, leaving you gasping and empty.

a frown appeared on your lips, brows furrowing, “what are you—”

before you could complain, your eyes travelled down to his hand. he deftly popped the button of his jeans with one hand, pulling down his pants as he freed his cock with one shift motion. it sprang out thick and heavy, already glistening with pre-cum. you were practically, shamelessly, drooling over the sight.

“can’t help it, beautiful,” he exhaled a deep breath, now guiding you from his thigh to his lap, and your body shuddered when you felt the tip of his cock rubbing against your entrance, yet not pushing in yet, “i need to fuck you, right this instant.”

fucking hell. you swore you could literally cum right this instant.

a tiny smirk sprawled on his face as he read your expression, enjoying the way your dirty thoughts flickered across your face like an open book. he always could read you, always knew exactly what you were thinking, and right now he was taking immense pleasure in watching you try to form a word that he had already anticipated.

“wh…what are you waiting for, then?” you managed, the question coming out half-challenge, half-plea, your arms wrapping around his neck, your grip tightening as he kept dragging his cock painfully slow across your labia, utilizing your juices as natural lube.

“as you wish,” his smirk faltered as he slowly lowered you down onto his cock, letting you feel every inch slide inside your needy cunt. both of your mouths fall open to let out a satisfied moan, your fingers gripping his hair tightly. chan held you still for a moment, an arm securely wrapped around your waist, allowing you to adjust to the deep penetration.

the way his cock filled you deliciously did not help—an overwhelming pulse of pleasure crawling down your spine as his thick cock began pistoning into your slick cunt with a wet slap.

one. two… his hands gripping your hips as he began rocking you, his cock effortlessly hitting that oversensitive spot inside you one at a time. you could only moan in response, your fingernails raking against his back whilst holding him close to your chest, your breasts pressed onto his chest.

“oh… chan… you’re so big…”

your remark elicited a grunt from him—encouraging him to slam you down harder, making you moan louder as his fingers dug into the curve of your ass, spreading you wider to take him deeper.

“fuck… take it…” his lips attacked your neck once again, kissing and sucking as he continued to pound into you from below, his hips snapping up to meet yours. his tongue swiping at your sore skin, “take it… this dick is yours…”

you knew damn well that the world outside didn’t exist right now, you knew that people could be eavesdropping… yet you simply didn’t care. the only thing mattered was the way he filled you, the way his hands owned your body, the way his lips branded your skin. you were more than proud to taste his name on your tongue, your voice a rasp of devotion every time his cock hit your deepest spot.

your mind barely registered anything when he lifted his free hand to his mouth, his tongue wetting his fingers thoroughly. you could hear the slick of him coating them with saliva, your body instinctively clenching around him as you waited for what was coming next.

“ch—chan…” you threw your head back in pure bliss, your strands cascading down your spine as your body convulsed around him. his slick fingers had traced lower, teasing your clitoris once again.

“come on, pretty girl…” he panted against your ear, his huge cock stretching you to your limits, “cum for me… i wanna see this pussy cum.”

your stomach tightened as you felt the pressure building, his words pushing you closer to your edge. you decided to ride him faster, colliding with his own thrusts; your breasts delightfully bouncing by the impact, a sight for sore eyes. his fingers would then find the base of your neck, wrapping around them gently.

“ so good…” you cried out against the pressure, ears tuning into the sound of your skin slapping. you were basically cock-drunk at this point, “so fucking good—harder, please…”

“anything for you, gorgeous,” your desperate plea made his hips move faster, his huge length slamming into you with a much brutal force. the couch was shaking violently beneath you, letting out a loud, protesting creak with every thrust. “i don’t think i could ever live without this pussy of yours—fuck…”

your body began to tremble uncontrollably as you felt your own orgasm building deep within you. you were going to come, and somehow, chan could tell just by the furrow of your brows.

“come on, baby,” he pulled you down for another kiss. your mouths crashed together messily, all tongue and heat as he continued to hammer into you. his tongue invaded your mouth, mimicking the rhythm of his cock, “cum with me.”

just as you thought you couldn’t take anymore, your back arched sharply off the couch. a sharp cry escaped your throat, swallowed by his hungry mouth as your body finally crumbled. your pussy clamped down on his thick cock like a vice, squeezing, and pulsing around him. he kept fucking you through it, his thrusts becoming sloppy and erratic as he chased his own release, "fuck y/n… good girl."

the praise shattered what was left of your composure, your pussy clenching around him in rhythmic waves as you milked his cock greedily. he felt your walls fluttering and pulsing, drawing his own release out like you were made to pleasure him. that single phrase—good girl, was his undoing.

"fuck—i’m gonna fill you up, baby..." his voice cracked as he was close to his orgasm. with a final thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, his thick member throbbing as he released stream after stream of hot semen into your waiting pussy. you moaned against his mouth, your own body shaking as you felt your boyfriend’s essence filled you up completely.

chan continued to grind into you slowly, his softening length still buried inside your swollen cunt as he kissed you deeply, tongue lazily exploring your mouth.

“fuck, baby…” he panted, his arm wrapped around your sweating figure possessively, pulling you closer to him. you pulled away and rested your head on his shoulder, taking your time to adjust your breathing, “i love you so fucking much…”

his kiss was light and tender upon your neck, his nose inhaling your scent as he buried his face against your shoulder, “i fucking do… i love you…”

you chuffed out a laugh, pressing a light kiss on his bare shoulder, “i love you more….” pant. “that was so hot.”

“you’re the one who’s hot. so fucking hot,” he mirrored your laugh, his hand squeezing your ass gently, remembering how tightly your pussy was clenching around his cock just moments ago. “could basically do this a few more times.”

hearing this, a mischievous plan came up to your cock-drunk mind. you pulled away from his embrace, your eyes meeting him once again, “what’s stopping you, handsome?”

his eyes darkened with renewed desire, taking in your sweaty, satisfied expression. he loved seeing you like this… all fucked out and still wanting more. a slow smirk spread across his face as he leaned in close, his breath hot against your lips, "not a damn thing, babe..."

© lynsbng 2026

You weren’t born the smartest, in deep contrast to your boyfriend, Jisung, who’s the top of his class.

Dating a genius comes with a price, and that is your conscience taking a toll. You were pretty, popular, however a bit ditzy. A tiny bit. A tiny lot. Eventually, as a dutiful boyfriend—Jisung decided to help you. Well, tried to.

Nothing works, no matter how hard or efficient his method is. A real challenge to actually get you to sit still and study. All your papers come out wrong, sighing whenever he needs to correct them. Yet, he tries. Because he loves you too much. He loves the silly dumb expression you make whenever he points out your mistakes, the slight pout of your lips, the curve of your brows forming a frown. He adores it. But you have your finals soon, and he needs you to pass.

So. He decided to set up his game. His plan was simple.

First, he’ll mask the study sessions as ways to spend time together. Calling you over to his dorm in the guise of a sleepover. Dragging the strap of your bag off your shoulders as you make it inside of his dormitory, urging you to his bedroom. “Hm, baby.” he calls, acknowledging the confused blink you give him. “Brought your laptop?”

You nod, beaming. “To play games? You promised to,” replying with such eagerness, he almost feels bad for lying.

“Yeah, totally.”

It did start as a gaming session.

Which he turned into a game of guessing, creating a whole discourse. Therefore, explaining the situation, in which you were doing the research your professor assigned a week ago, just to be able to prove him wrong after he particularly pissed you off. Completely unaware that you were given such tasks. Noting down the information as he played dumb, refusing to give you the right answer—to the point of brimming tears to your eyes, knowing damn well he wasn’t. That he was playing with you.

Second, he’ll set the atmosphere whenever you show efforts to study. Casting a dim lampshade by your desk, comfortable, easy to focus. Unfortunately, you always have something to say, “Sungie, this is making me sleepy. Are you sure that’s necessary?” you whine, slapping your pen on the wooden surface with a click. Laying your hunched face on your arms in defeat as you yawn.

He pats you on the head, a gentle caress. “That’s because you aren’t paying attention. Do I need to raise the brightness, want to go blind baby?”

You shake your head, heaving upwards. “No.”

He smiles, pecking your lips adoringly.

Here it was.

The third step.

Each time that you get something right, or decide to study on your own. He’ll reward you with a kiss. It starts off as innocent, a smooch here and then. Soft lips finding your cheek, forehead, lips.Which undeniably escalated as time went on, and you started craving more. Salivating for more. Your grades tilted upwards, a small insignificant upgrade. But it was still progressing. A minuscule step is gigantic for an ant. Though, time was ticking, and there were little to no hopes of you achieving that grade. He raises the bar, making the stakes higher. The rewards become more satisfying for your poor–dippy brain to understand. Something that you’d get lots easier, the simplest route being the one of your body.

“Baby focus,” he hushes, fingers deep inside your squelching cunt. You’re shaking, probably begging him to let you cum, you can’t tell. “I’ll ask you again, hm?” curling his digits so sweetly, hitting that vulnerable part of you. You mumble a ‘no’, gripping his wrist but he pays you no mind, resulting in his session. “How does feedback inhibition regulate metabolic pathways? Use an example like threonine deaminase in amino acid synthesis.”

This is torture. He’s torturing you.

It’s the third time he’s asking you this question, and the third time you’re about to get it wrong. Edging you on each incorrect answer. “—Jisung… please.”

His fingers slow, stilling them within the embrace of your snug walls. “That’s not the answer,” he coos, nuzzling his face on your shoulder, eyes meeting your nearly-closed ones. “Come on, I know you’ve got the answer.” Smiling, he takes his ministrations out of your throbbing core, coaxing a whimper of disapproval from your throat, but it quickly fades when he uses the same hand to draw your jaw open. “Is it on the tip of your tongue?” he asks, bringing the coated digit inside your mouth, playing with the muscle of your tongue. “Hint?”

Nodding, you taste yourself on him. Tasting like something you shouldn’t be doing in this context, but the lack of him inside has you sobbing, so close to the edge—only to get snatched away. Again.

“Okay, picture this.” he says. You can’t, his absence is all you can muster. He flicks the surface of your forehead, flickering your lashes open. Giggling lightly. “Think about what happens when there’s too much of the final thing the cell is making. Does the cell keep going forever, or does it have a way to stop it?”

There’s a second of silence, hesitation sinks it. Trying your best, it’s so cute. You’re so cute, he just wants to give you everything you want. To have your already stupid expression fucked out on his cock, tongue, fingers. Anything he can gift you with.

“I don’t know, Jisung.” it comes off as tired, sighing in a pout. "The enzymes just keep working until the cell runs out of energy—?”

He returns your sigh, his proximity fading as he sits back on your bed, earning a soft whine of disapproval from you. From the lack of warmth provided. He picks his notebook, writing in the question with a roll of ink. “Fine, you don’t know. I’ll just go back to my dorm then.”

“Wait—no!” you reach for him but he’s already on the verge of packing. Panic seers, not wanting him gone yet. You ruminate, the hardest you can. The answer is there—barely able to remember it. He stands and you tug on his sleeve, “Jisung wait— the end product, it binds with something,” knuckles tightening on the fabric of his shirt, eyes begging him to stay.

“On what?”

All… allestric… “Allosteric site!”

“And why?”

“To uhm, inhibit it to prevent production—overproduction?” you’re unsure, but his smile coils something in your stomach, growing you hopeful.

“Kiss?” he asks, you shake your head. Grabbing his wrist, pulling his hand back where you need him the most.

“More,” it’s a plea, and he indulges. Pushing you back on the bed as he climbs on top of your figure, palm resting on the flesh of your thighs.

“That brain of yours can really only muster a thought when given attention, hm?” giving you a gentle squeeze when you pout, gaze trailing to where your fingers tighten on his wrist, begging him to give in already. “You want it so bad baby… did biology make you this wet?”

“Don’t be mean,” you swallow in a hitch, chest heaving under him.

Grinning, Jisung brings his lips to the corner of your mouth, a gentle contact. “‘M sorry, so proud of you.” he praises, finally running his knuckles across the hood of your clit, applying little to no pressure. Not enough, but just enough to rip the faintest gasp out of you. “Smart girls deserve big prizes, you think?”

“Yes—yes, please, Sungie.” your whine melts him, ice to the morning sun. Hot mouth leaves open kisses to the side of your jaw, driving low to your neck. Hiking your tank top up, spilling out your tits for him to latch on. He had insisted that you wear no bra today, perhaps you hadn’t caught on to his perverse intentions. He assumes you’re still oblivious, a saint to your eyes, even when he’s being so mean. Lips wrap around the swell of your nipple, an obscene suck, he moans as if he was the one being rewarded for your right answer.

He is.

Glasses tilting over his frame when you nearly knock them off his face in an attempt to push him away—pull him closer. Can’t decide. Can’t think. He presses two fingers on your slit, lubing them properly before moving to your clit, thighs jolt close, but he holds them wide. Laying between your thighs, his erection rubs on the bed, a shiver of dull pleasure coursing through. He wishes he could bury himself in that nasty cunt of yours already, but he has other plans in mind when he pampers your thighs with subtle kisses. Teasing. You sob, and he pities. Licking a stripe off the spilling juices at last, hips jerking forward. The first lap is patient, because he’s trying to be. It doesn’t last long when he catches on your taste, your smell, the sound of your reactions. Both up there and down here. Losing the virtue as soon as it came when he lets out a delirious whimper when you tug on his hair, nails brushing his scalp to escape the inviting sensation.

He spreads your folds apart with his fingers, tongue probing at your clit, encircling it. Heels dig onto the mattress, too sensitive after his teasings. Puffing out a breath of cool air, smile smug when you keen towards it. He inches downwards, nose rubbing on your nub deliciously, sending a wave of pleasure across your nerves. “God, yn. Baby, tastes so good. Tastes like mine.” he’s whining, middle finger breaching you open. Your stomach flex, contracting under the coiling knot returning from his earlier torments. He adds another when he deems necessary, curling them into your sweetest spot. You crumble, drawing embarrassingly close fast. “Hold it in, a little longer.” he demands, his own voice coming off as hitched. The spectacles of his glasses fogging under the searing tension.

“Can’t—” you breathe out, and he adds to the fire. Spitting on your aching cunt with a hum, watching the glob of saliva drool past your lips to the pumps of his fingers. He licks at the liquid, the wet sounds getting louder with every movement of his muscle. Thighs quivering under him, but he doesn’t care. He riles in it, humping the mattress in a hope of satisfying the pain of his hard cock. Parting his fingers, he lets his tongue slide in along with them. The pace of them’s so different. Too different—body confused on how to react with every shiver snapping through. He moans, each noise vibrating at your core. You can’t.

“Jisung—fuck,” cursing, thighs pleading to suffocate him, he loves it. Giving you the chance to block his airflow, to bury himself inside your seeping cunt and perish from suffocation. His choked moan tilts you over the edge, guts wrenching as you come around him. Clenching impossibly onto his adoration, wetting his chin with your overflow. He’s unrelenting, adamant on sucking the liquid out of you. Every single drop. Making it out when your cries turn louder, landing one last kiss onto the hood of your overstimulated clit.

Yet there he was, lounging on the deck of the beach house like he belonged there, hair catching the sunlight. Your heart tumbled over itself as memories of that night six months ago flooded back, unbidden.

“You okay?” nayeon nudged you with her elbow. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine,” you managed, gripping your weekend bag tighter. “Wasn’t expecting so many people.”

The beach house was supposed to be a simple weekend getaway with close friends. But somewhere between planning and execution, it had turned into a “friends of friends” situation to fill the 3 story house that felix's family offered for the stay.

“Yeah, Felix invited some people to fill the space,” Nayeon explained, completely unaware of your internal crisis. “That’s hyunjin over there, by the way. He’s actually pretty fun once you get to know him”.

You wanted to laugh.

Or cry.

Maybe both. Because you were already very familiar with how “fun” hwang hyunjin could be.

Six months ago, you’d met him at a bar. He’d been charming and gorgeous, all easy smiles and playful banter. One drink had turned into several, flirting had turned into kissing, and kissing had turned into...

Well.

You’d slipped out of his apartment before dawn, leaving nothing but a lipstick stain on his collar and a dip in his pillow. It had seemed like the right thing to do at the time. You weren’t looking for anything serious, and he didnt quite seem like the settling down type.

Now, watching him chat lively with your friends like the universe’s cruelest joke, you wondered if you should have at least left your number.

“Girl,” nayeon waved her hand in front of your face. “You sure you’re okay?”

Before you could answer, hyunjin looked up. His eyes met yours across the deck, and for a moment, your heart stopped.

But there wasnt a hint of recognition. No hint that he remembered the way you’d gasped his name in the dark, the way his hands had traced every inch of your skin, the way he’d whispered “stay” against your shoulder just before you’d fallen asleep.

He just smiled politely, the same smile he’s probably giving everyone else too, and went back to his conversation.

Right. Of course he didn’t remember. You were probably just one in a long line of one-night stands for someone like him. The thought shouldn’t hurt as much as it did.

“Come on,” nayeon said, tugging you towards the house. “Let’s get settled in before the others arrive.”

Inside, the house opened into a huge room with soaring ceilings and an open floor plan that made the space feel endless. Ocean views followed you everywhere through the massive windows, and the whole place smelled of the beach

“The bedrooms are upstairs,” nayeon said as she led you up the staircase. “Most of them are on the second floor, but there are two master bedrooms on the third.”

it seemed like the universe had a twisted sense of humor. Not only did you have to spend the weekend pretending you didn’t know how hyunjin’s brows draw together when he’d cum, but your room ended up right next to his—the two largest bedrooms on the top floor, sharing a wall and a connecting balcony. Of course.

“My god, the view’s amazing!” Nayeon gushed and threw open the balcony doors. The sound of waves immediately filled the room, along with fresh, salty ocean air. “You can see the whole beach from here.”

But you were too busy staring at the wall next to you, a door—one that must lead to hyunjin’s room—was hidden behind a cupboard. You could hear muffled movement from his room, the sound of his laugh drifting through the wall that seemed far too thin, suddenly remembering other sounds he could make.

Is it too late to fake some sudden illness and go home?

“Yeah,” you said, dropping onto the edge of the bed. “Amazing.”

Through the wall, you could hear male voices chatting and laughing, followed by the sound of a door sliding open. Probably the balcony doors. Your shared balcony. Where he could walk past your windows at any time.

“I know it might be much, but felix's friends are actually really fun once you get to know them. Especially hyunjin, even tho he can be a pain in the ass.” Your stupid heart tumbled over itself once more at his name. “And single, if you’re interested. I could—”

“No!” The word came out louder than intended, and you heard the conversation next door pause briefly. Lowering your voice, you added, “I mean, no thanks. Not really looking for anything right now.”

Nayeon gave you a strange look. “You sure you’re okay? You’ve been acting weird since we got here.”

“Just tired from the drive,” you lied and stood up. “Maybe I’ll take a quick shower before everyone else arrives.”

“Okay...” She didn’t sound convinced but got up anyway. “I should go anyway, Ive got some unpacking to do.”

You waited until she left before falling with your face first onto the bed with a groan. Perfect. Not only did you have to spend the weekend next door to your one night stand who might or might not remember you, but now your best friend was trying to set you up with him.

Through the wall, you heard hyunjin laugh at something, the sound familiar enough to make your chest ache.

How were you meant to survive this?

𓆉

You’d barely finished unpacking when jisung, one of felix's friends you had a brief interaction with upon arriving, burst into your room without knocking. “Hey! We’re setting up a net for beach volleyball. You in?”

“Ah, I don’t really—”

“Everyone’s playing!” He was already on his way back to the door. “Even seungmin, who's allergic to the idea of fun"

Before you could form a proper excuse, nayeon appeared behind him. “Come on, it’ll be fun, the sun is out and it’s better than hiding up here all afternoon.”

And that’s how you found yourself trudging down to the beach, trying to convince yourself this was fine. Totally fine. Just a fun game of volleyball with friends. Nothing to worry about.

But then the boys started stripping off their shirts. It was like watching some ridiculous scene out of Top Gun as they all shed their shirt in the afternoon heat. But it was hyunjin who made your brain go silent completely.

He pulled his shirt off, and suddenly you were having vivid flashbacks to exactly how that toned chest felt under your hands. The sun caught his hair like a halo, and when he stretched his arms over his head, the muscles in his back shifted in ways that should not make your knees so weak, but here you were, rooted to the spot, your pulse racing as if it had a mind of its own.

“You’re staring,”nayeon whispered next to you.

“I’m not,” you definitely were. How could you not? It was like someone had taken every beach volleyball scene from every summer movie ever and combined them into one ridiculous moment.

Teams were forming, to your luck, with an uneven number. you volunteered to sit this round out. Not that you were particularly eager to participate in the first place. You were perfectly happy watching from the safety of your beach towel, where the risk of accidentally brushing against hyunjin’s bare chest was thankfully minimized.

The game started, and it quickly became clear that everyone was taking it way too seriously, as jisung and hyunjin seemed to be in some sort of competition to see who could spike the ball more impressively.

“Show off,” you muttered to yourself as hyunjin delivered a rather dramatic jump serve, the ball landing dangerously close to your foot. But he must have heard you, because he caught your eye with a wink that made your stomach flutter. “Like what you see?”

“I’ve seen better,” you said before you could stop yourself.

His eyebrows shot up and a slow smile spread across his face. “Have you now?”

Oh god. Were you flirting? This was definitely flirting. You needed to stop staring at the way sweat was making his skin glisten and focus on... literally anything else.

“Pay attention!” momo yelled, and hyunjin barely managed to dodge the ball she’d spiked directly at his head.

The game continued, growing more competitive with each round. You had to admit, it was entertaining watching your friends become more and more dramatic with each point. changbin and jisung had some sort of rivalry going on, while Nayeon and momo were arguing about which teamed had more points.

But it was hyunjin who kept drawing your attention. The way he moved was almost unfair and you found yourself following the drops of sweat as they made their way down his neck, remembering how that skin had tasted under your tongue.

“Incoming!”

You looked up just in time to see the volleyball heading straight for your face. Before you could react, hyunjin dove in front of you and caught the ball just inches from your nose. The movement sent him sprawling across your legs, his face entirely too close to yours.

You blinked at him for a few moments, then whispered, “Thank you.” But the words came out too soft, almost like they had that night when he’d helped you into a taxi and then convinced you not to take it and instead come home with him.

Time seemed to slow, the crashing waves and voices of the others fading into white noise as hyunjin’s eyes met yours. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—a flash of recognition.

His breath caught, barely noticeable, and his hand on your leg tightened ever so slightly. You watched his eyes, saw the exact moment his gaze dropped to your lips, and suddenly you were back in that bar, both of you caught in that same magnetic pull.

“You’re welcome,” he said, his voice so low that only you could hear it. There was something in his tone, a hint of question, like he was trying to place a hazy dream. His thumb brushed against your skin, possibly by accident, possibly not, sending shivers up your spine.

The moment stretched, taut as a bowstring, thick with shared memories—memories you weren’t even sure he had. Then someone yelled “Dinner!” from the direction of the house, and the spell broke.

𓆉

The sun was setting by the time everyone had showered and gathered around the huge dining table on the deck. Fairy lights twinkled overhead and the sound of the waves could be heard in the background as the chaos of people trying to organize a meal unfolded.

You’d taken extra care getting ready, telling yourself it was just because of the salt and sand, not because of the way hyunjin had looked at you on the beach. You’d chosen a light summer dress and had let your hair dry naturally in the sea breeze.

felix ended up ordering way too much from the local seafood restaurant, you concluded as you surveyed the spread of food on the table.

You ended up squeezed between nayeon and seungmin, which should have been a relief. Instead, you found yourself very aware of hyunjin sitting directly across from you, his hair still slightly damp from his shower, wearing a loose white linen shirt that he should really button up and stop teasing the entire table with glimpses of his toned chest.

“Pass the crab?” he asked, and when you handed him the plate, your fingers brushed. The contact sent a shiver through you, and you could have sworn you saw his breath catch. But then he was turning to laugh at something jisung said, and you were left wondering if you’d imagined the whole thing.

“—and then he just fell face first right into the sand!” jisung was saying, gesturing wildly with his chopsticks. “You should have seen it!”

“We were all there, literally two hours ago,” seungmin deadpanned.

“The game was rigged anyway,” momo said, reaching for another plate of grilled shrimp. “You can’t put Mr. Perfect over here on a team and expect it to be fair.” She jerked her thumb in hyunjin’s direction.

“What can you do?” hyunjin said, his eyebrows knitted together, but a grin played on his lips. “I just happen to be naturally gifted.” And then his eyes caught yours once more across the table.

Heat crept up the back of your neck as you remembered how he’d felt when he’d sprawled across your legs, his skin sun warm and slightly sandy. How his touch had lingered just a fraction too long to be casual.

Something had changed in his expression, so subtle that anyone else might have missed it. But you’d spent hours that night memorizing his faces. His smirk when he had you right on the edge, his soft smile when you were trembling beneath him, the way his eyes darkened just before he—

Nayeon snorted. “Yeah, sure.” And you looked over at her, breaking the eye contact before you could do something stupid like climb across the table and find out if he tasted as good as you remembered.

When the dinner was over, momo suggested to play drinking games, to which some agreed, seungmin groaned in disagreement but gathered in the circle anyway, and so it was decided.

Your stomach dropped. The last thing you needed was a drinking game where people confessed their secrets. Especially with the way hyunjin kept looking at you, like he was one memory away from connecting dots you really didn’t want connected.

“I think I’ll pass,” you said, pushing your plate away. “The sun really did take it out of me.”

You gathered your plates and the sound of the others setting up their drinking game followed you into the kitchen—jisungs voice carrying over everyone else’s as he argued about rules, momo shouting something about “no questions about exes,” and seungmins long drawn out sighs.

A salty ocean breeze swept into the kitchen through the open wall of windows overlooking the water as you rinsed your plate. “You know,” a voice came from behind you, making you jump, “I was starting to think you hate me.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was hyunjin—you’d recognize that voice anywhere, had spent months trying to forget how it sounded when it was rough after he’d cum. But you turned anyway, finding him leaning against the doorframe, the kitchen suddenly feeling so much smaller.

“What?” The word came out embarrassingly breathless.

“Let me rephrase, for someone who doesn’t hate me, you’re doing an impressive job at avoiding me.”

“I’m not avoiding you.” You turned back to the sink. “I’m doing dishes.”

“Sure. The dishes.” His voice got closer, and you could feel the heat of him just behind you. “Though I have to wonder why someone would work so hard to avoid someone they’ve never met before.”

Your hands stilled under the running water. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve barely looked at me all day.” He was close enough now that you could smell his perfume that had lingered on your clothes for days after that night. “Want to tell me what I did to deserve the cold shoulder? Because usually, I at least remember if I’ve pissed someone off.”

Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “You haven’t done anything,” you said, which was technically true. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Except maybe be too good in bed and then forget about it entirely.

“No?” His voice dropped lower, and you could feel his breath on your neck. “Then why—” He cut himself off. “Wait. Have we met before?”

You spun around, hands dripping water onto the floor. The motion brought you chest to chest with him, trapped between his body and the counter. “No,” you said, too quickly, way too quickly. “Definitely not.”

“You sure about that? Because you seem familiar—”

“Must just have one of those faces.”

He moved closer still, one hand braced on the counter beside your hip, effectively caging you in. “Is that so? Because I’m sure I’d remember a pretty one like yours.” You felt your breath catch in your throat, every nerve in your body screaming. He was going to kiss you, wasn’t he? You should probably do something. Like move.

Or breathe.

But then he simply stepped back, his smile widening. “Sorry. Must have mistaken you for someone else,” he said and the loss of his warmth felt like whiplash, leaving you cold despite the summer heat that still lingered in the air. You watched him retreat towards the door, casual as anything, like he hadn’t just turned your world sideways.

Through the open door, laughter spilled in from the deck, breaking the spell that had held you captive. hyunjin paused in the doorway for a moment, silhouetted against the warm light from outside, before disappearing back into the noise of your friends.

You stayed at the sink, trying to convince yourself that the heat in your cheeks was just from the summer air and ignoring the way your heart refused to settle in your chest. What had just happened? You had no idea. But one thing was painfully certain.

This weekend was going to be a long one.

𓆉

Next morning, you decided to get up early and have your coffee on the beach before anyone else was awake. Sleep had been hard to come by anyway, with too many thoughts of certain one night stands keeping your mind racing.

Dawn was just beginning to break over the horizon, painting the sky in orange and gold watercolours and the ocean stretched out before you, quiet and calm, each small wave catching the early light like diamonds.

You’d wrapped yourself in an oversized cardigan against the morning chill, bare feet buried in sand that was still cool from the night before. And of course, because the universe hated you, or maybe loved you, because you heard hyunjin making his way to you.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, settling into the sand beside you without invitation.

You clutched your coffee mug tighter. “Something like that.”

“Yeah, me neither.” He stretched his long legs out in front of him, and you definitely didn’t notice how his shorts rode up slightly, definitely weren’t thinking about how those thighs had felt under your hands. “Keep having these weird dreams.”

“Oh?”

“Mmm.” As he turned to look at you, the rising sun painted his profile gold, catching his eyelashes. There was something different about him in this light — softer somehow, more like the man who’d asked you to stay than the one who’d cornered you in the kitchen last night. “About a girl in a silk dress. Red lipstick. The most amazing laugh I’ve ever heard.”

Your heart stopped.

“Funny thing is,” he continued casually, “I can never quite see her face in the dreams. But I remember how she tasted. How she felt pinned beneath me. How she clenching around my fingers. How she said my name when she—”

“Stop,” you whispered.

“Why?” His voice was softer now. “Because you don’t want to talk about that night? Or because you thought I wouldn’t remember?”

You stared at the ocean, unable to meet his gaze. “You didn’t seem to yesterday.”

“I recognized you the moment you walked into the beach house.”

Your coffee nearly slipped from your hands. “What?”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t remember the girl who stole my favourite shirt on her way out the door?”

Heat flooded your cheeks. “Then yesterday, in the kitchen—”

“I wanted to see how long you’d keep pretending.” He smiled, the bastard had the audacity to smile at you when he revealed that he was playing you the whole time. “You’re cute when you’re nervous, you know that?”

“You’re mocking me.”

“Mocking you?” His eyebrows rose. Then he leaned closer to you, but you still refused to look at him. “I spent six months trying to find the girl with the kind of laugh that makes you feel drunk just hearing it, who left before I could ask for her number—”

“It was just one night,” you interrupted.

“Was it? Because I distinctly remember asking you to stay.”

“I couldn’t.”

“why not?”

You finally met his gaze fully, and immediately wished you hadn’t. Because he was looking at you the same way he had that night. He was enjoying this. Playing with you, teasing you, making you feel like a flustered schoolgirl.

“Does it matter?” you asked.

“You’re really a bit slow, aren’t you?”

You wanted to protest, but then jihyos voice carried across the beach, “Breakfast! Come and get it before jisung eats everything!”

𓆉

The breakfast table was just as chaotic as the dinner the night before. especially with jisung already piling his plate high with pancakes while momo scolded him for taking too many.

You’d barely settled into an empty chair when hyunjin slid into the seat next to you, as if he hadn’t just admitted that he’d been playing jokes on you the whole day before.

“Can you pass me the syrup?” he asked innocently, but there was nothing innocent about the way his thigh pressed against yours under the table.

You handed him the bottle without looking at him, trying to focus on pouring a second up of coffee without spilling it everywhere. Which was made all the more difficult when his hand found your knee under the table.

“So what’s everyone’s plans for today?” jihyo asked, passing around a plate of fresh fruit.

You tried to concentrate on the conversation, you really did. But hyunjin’s hand was inching higher up your thigh, and your brain was shorted out. You kicked him under the table, aiming for his shin.

He didn’t even flinch, just smiled wider and continued whatever conversation he was having with seungmin about later activities, all while his fingers danced along the hem of your shorts. You felt a sudden surge of heat, definitely not from the summer sun.

“You okay?” Momo asked suddenly. “You look a bit flushed.”

"m'fine!” Your voice came out higher than intended as hyunjin’s fingers skimmed just slightly under the edge of your shorts. “Just... hot.”

“It is pretty warm this morning,” hyunjin agreed, his tone perfectly pleasant even as his thumb pressed into that sensitive spot on your inner thigh that he somehow remembered. You kicked him again, harder this time.

“Did someone just kick the table?” Nayeon looked around suspiciously.

“Must have been the wind,” you said stupidly.

You grabbed his wrist under the table, intending to push his hand away, but he just laced his fingers with yours and kept them there on your thigh. It was like he was asserting dominance, staking his claim, and you were suddenly trapped.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” jisung asked through a mouthful of pancakes. “You’re acting weird.”

“Totally fine,” you managed. “Just didn’t sleep well.”

“Hmm, me neither,” hyunjin chimed in, his voice all false innocence. “Must be all these weird dreams I keep having.” You dug your nails into his hand in warning, but he just squeezed your hand in response, his grip tightening.

“Dreams?” jihyo asked.

“Oh, you know,” hyunjin began thoughtfully, “the kind that keep you up all night, thinking about... things that got away.”

You were going to murder him. Slowly. Possibly with the butter knife you were currently gripping way too tight.

“That’s... weirdly poetic for you,” nayeon said, raising an eyebrow.

“You wouldn’t want to know,” he replied, and you felt his fingers inch just slightly higher once more, making you jump and bang your knee on the table.

“what is wrong with you two this morning?” momo asked, looking between you and hyunjin.

Under the table, you finally managed to grab his hand in yours and hold it still. But that backfired when he started playing with your fingers instead, his thumb brushing across your knuckles in a way that made you gasp. You definitely wanted to kill him. Right after you figured out how to breathe normally again.

“So, beach day? I wanna go snorkelling,” jisung said, thankfully drawing attention away from whatever was going on under the table, and everyone agreed. just then, hyunjin freed his hand from yours and placed it back on your knee before trailing it up your thigh.

“I need more coffee,” you announced abruptly, standing up so fast your chair scraped against the deck.

“I’ll help,” hyunjin offered, already rising.

“No!” The word came out too sharp, making everyone look at you strangely. “I mean, I’m good. Thanks.”

You practically fled into the kitchen, your skin still tingling where he’d touched you. Through the window, you could see him chatting with the others, looking completely unaffected while you were here trying to remember how to make your heart beat normally.

When is this weekend going to end?

𓆉

“You sure you’re okay?” Nayeon asked, swimming up beside you. “You’ve been weird all morning. Is the sun too much?”

“I’m fine,” you said for what felt like the hundredth time today. “I’m not used to be around so many people.”

The water was crystal clear, stretching out in various shades of blue that seemed to go on forever. Everyone had eagerly jumped into snorkeling, with jisung and momo already in a heated competition about who could spot the most fish.

You adjusted your mask for the tenth time, trying to focus on anything except how good hyunjin looked in just swim shorts. He was a few meters away, the sunlight catching the droplets of water that clung to his ridiculously toned shoulders.

you needed distance. You needed space to breathe, to think, to do anything other than stare at him.

“If you say so.” nayeon didn’t look convinced. “But tell me if something’s bothering you, okay?”

“Guys, come look at this!” jisung called from where he was floating near some corals. “Rainbow fish!”

Everyone swam over to where he was pointing, and you had to admit, the sight was beautiful. Countless colourful fish swam through the coral, creating a vibrant palette under the water.

You followed the fish as a sudden pressure against your calf made you flinch. hyunjin. He had brushed against your leg. It could have been an accident, a mere consequence of the crowded water, but somehow, it felt like anything but. You knew better. Nothing about hyunjin was ever accidental.

You drifted slightly away from the group, desperately needing to put some distance between yourself and hyunjin. The vibrant corals blurred into streaks of colour as you swam further from the group, the shouts of jisung and momo fading.

The water a bit away from them was deeper, a darker shade of blue. As you peered down, you noticed the sandy ground was dotted with small stones, and a different kind of life seemed to thrive here. Sea anemones swayed gently in the current, and schools of silver fish, smaller than the ones near the reef, darted in and out of the anemones.

You floated on your back for a moment, gazing up at the sky, a vast expanse of pale blue flecked with fluffy white clouds as the sun warmed your face. It was so peaceful, and you were happy for the small pause amidst the chaos of the house.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

You startled at hyunjins voice right behind you, nearly inhaling water through your snorkel. He’d somehow managed to swim up without you noticing, and now he was close enough that his arm brushed yours in the water.

“What are you doing?” you hissed, pulling your snorkel out.

“I know a better spot.” He nodded towards a more secluded area around the curve of the beach. “If you’re interested.”

You glanced back at the others, but they were all absorbed in whatever jisung had found. “I don’t think—”

“Come on,” he said, already swimming away. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Not even a little bit.” But found yourself following him anyway.

He led you around a small outcropping of rocks, the current tugging gently at your fins, to a quieter part of the reef. His hand on your arm gently guided you through the water. The water here was somehow even clearer, as if a veil had been lifted, revealing a breathtaking underwater scenery with colourful coral formations that created a labyrinth of archways and caverns with small fish swimming in between.

“How did you—”

“I came here earlier this morning,” he said, treading water close to you. “While you were pretending to ignore me after breakfast.”

“I wasn’t—” You cut yourself off as he dove under the surface, the sunlight playing across his back as he swam deeper.

You followed him down, your breath taken away by the sight. This part of the reef was like something out of a documentary. Swarms of tropical fish swirled around you in ribbons of colour, and the coral itself seemed to shine in the filtered sunlight.

When you surfaced, hyunjin was watching you with an annoyingly knowing smile. “Worth following me?”

“It’s alright,” you said, trying to sound unimpressed even though you were anything but.

He laughed. “You’re still trying to play hard to get?”

“I’m not playing anything.”

“No?” He swam closer, close enough that you could see droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes. “Then why did you follow me here?”

“To see the fish.”

“The fish.” His voice was amused. “Sure. That’s why you’ve been watching me all morning?”

“I have not—”

“You know,” he cut you off, moving even closer, his body brushing against yours in the water. “You’re pretty when you get all flustered. Just like that night. Same flush you had when I made you cum three times.”

Ha? He had been keeping count? You frantically tried to replay that night in your head — there was the first time against his apartment door, then on the kitchen counter, and... oh god, he was right. The bastard had been counting. The smirk on his face told you he knew exactly what you were thinking about.

You splashed water at him. “We are not talking about that.”

He wiped water from his face, grinning. “No? Should we talk about this morning instead? About how you nearly jumped out of your skin when I touched your—”

You dunked him mid-sentence.

He came up spluttering, pushing wet hair from his eyes. “Okay, I probably deserved that.”

“You definitely deserved that.”

But he laughed, and despite yourself, you found yourself laughing too. There was something infectious about him, something that made it hard to keep your walls up, dissolving your defenses with unnerving ease, like mist beneath the morning sun.

“We should head back,” you said finally. “Before they come looking for us.”

“Probably,” he agreed, but made no move to leave. Instead, he floated closer, until his chest pressed against yours. “Or we could stay here a bit longer. I could remind you of all the other ways I can make you wet.”

Heat flooded your body. “hyunjin...”

“Yes?” His hands found your waist under the water, pulling you flush against him. One thigh slipped between yours, and you had to bite back a gasp at the friction. “You know, I still remember exactly how you sound when you’re trying not to moan my name.”

“We can’t.” But your body betrayed you, arching into his touch as his fingers skimmed along your ribs, dangerously close to your breast.

“Can’t?” His lips ghosted over your lips, his thumb tracing circles on your hip under the water in a way that made you think of how those fingers had felt inside you. “Or are you afraid you won’t be able to keep quiet this time?”

Before you could answer, jihyo’s voice carried across the water. “Where did you guys go?”

You pushed away from him quickly, already swimming back towards the group. “Coming!”

“This isn’t over,” he called after you, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“It never started!” you shot back, but you were smiling too.

𓆉

hyunjin spent the rest of the afternoon driving you absolutely insane.

After snorkeling, he’d positioned his beach towel suspiciously close to yours, spending an unnecessary amount of time applying sunscreen to his chest and arms. His movements were deliberately slow, fingers sliding over muscle in a way that had you remembering exactly how those muscles had felt flexing under your tongue.

You knew without a doubt he was putting on a show for you—every movement a reminder of how those arms had looked braced above you as he’d fucked you against his apartment door, how they’d felt pinning your wrists to his sheets.

During lunch, he’d somehow ended up next to you again, his bare thigh pressed hot against yours under the table like this morning had taught him nothing. Except this time, his hand didn’t just rest on your knee. It spent the entire meal tracing patterns up your thigh, fingertips dancing dangerous close to where you’d been aching for him.

Your breath caught every time his hand “accidentally” slipped under the hem of your shorts, remembering how those fingers had curled inside you, how they’d made you beg.

The afternoon beach volleyball rematch was even worse. He kept finding excuses to touch you—steadying you with a hand on your waist when you stumbled in the sand (the same way he’d gripped your hips while taking you from behind), reaching around you to grab the ball (his breath hot on your neck like when he’d whispered how good you felt around him), his chest pressing against your back, closer than needed (making you remember how it felt to be pressed between him and that apartment door).

But dinner? Dinner was pure torture.

He’d shown up freshly showered, hair still damp and tousled in that way that made your fingers itch to grab it (like you had when he was between your thighs), wearing a dark blue linen shirt that he hadn’t bothered to button properly once more and spent the entire meal finding new ways to make you squirm.

He’d catch your eye across the table and slowly lick sauce off his thumb, making you remember exactly how that tongue had felt when he’d spread you open. When passing dishes, his fingers would brush against yours unnecessarily long, making you shiver. At one point, he’d stretched his arms above his head, his shirt riding up to reveal his lower abs that had you gripping your fork so hard your knuckles turned white.

He knew exactly what he was doing, too—you could tell by the smug look on his face throughout the whole dinner.

Thankfully, no one else seemed to notice anything amiss. They were all too busy with their own conversations, completely oblivious to the way he was systematically dismantling your sanity with nothing more than glances and touches.

Every time you thought you’d gotten yourself under control, he’d do something else — run his fingers through his hair the same way he had when you’d been on your knees in front of him, or bite his lip in a way that had you crossing your legs under the table. By dessert, you were a mess of sexual frustration and murderous impulses.

He was enjoying this, the bastard. Testing your control, seeing how far he could push before you broke. And the most infuriating part?

It was working.

𓆉

After dinner, everyone wandered into the living room in various states of food induced laziness. You’d barely managed to claim a corner of the big couch when momo disappeared into the kitchen, returning with an armful of wine bottles and a certain look in her eye that spelled trouble.

“No one move,” she announced, setting the bottles on the coffee table. “I have an idea.”

“Your ideas usually end with someone crying,” seungmin commented from his spot on the floor.

“Or arrested,” Nayeon added helpfully.

“Or both,” you muttered, trying to ignore how hyunjin had somehow appeared in the armchair closest to your corner of the couch. He’d rolled up his sleeves during dinner, forearms on full display, and you were having a hard time not staring at his fingers. Fingers that you knew from experience felt so good in your mouth to keep you from—

“Never have I ever!” momos voice cut through your dangerous train of thought. A collective groan rose from the group.

“Not again,” seungmin said, already trying to get up.

“Sit your ass down,” momo commanded, pushing him back down. “We’re bonding.”

“We bonded plenty last night,” felix tried, but momo was having none of it and before you knew it, everyone caved.

The questions started innocent enough. Never have I ever broken a bone. Never have I ever been arrested. But as the wine flowed, the questions got progressively more suggestive.

“Never have I ever liked someone thats already taken” nayeon said, and half the circle drank. “Never have I ever faked it,” was momos contribution, and several people groaned but drank anyway.

You were starting to feel a bit hazy, the wine making everything feel warm and soft around the edges. Which was dangerous, because hyunjin kept looking at you like he was remembering exactly how you’d sounded that night when you definitely hadn’t been faking anything.

“Never have I ever,” changbin announced then, “had sex with someone in this room.” For a moment, no one moved, then hyunjin raised his own glass slowly, taking a long sip.

“Who?” jihyo shrieked, looking around the circle. “hyunjin just drank, so someone else here has to—” Her gaze swept over everyone suspiciously.

“Someone’s lying,” nayeon sang, already tipsy enough to find this hilarious. “Come on, fess up!”

You kept your face carefully neutral, even as you felt hyunjin’s eyes burning into you. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Not this time.

“Maybe it was before any of us knew each other,” jihyo suggested, but momo shook her head.

“No way. Look at his face!” She pointed accusingly at hyunjin. “He’s got that look. You know, that ‘I know something you don’t know’ look.”

Hyunjin just smiled lazily from his armchair, swirling the wine in his glass. “Maybe I just like keeping you all guessing.”

“You’re a dumbass,” jihyo said, but the group’s attention was already shifting as jisung launched into the next question.

You released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, but made the mistake of glancing at hyunjin and he gave you a look that sent a shiver of heat through you.

He looked to casual considering what he just did He could have at least warned you, given you some sign he was about to blow up your secret. But no, he’d just taken that deliberate sip, probably getting hard on watching you squirm as you tried to keep your poker face.

𓆉

Sleep was impossible. You’d been tossing and turning for hours, replaying the day’s events in your mind—from that moment in the ocean to his deliberate almost-reveal during the game. The walls of this fancy beach house seemed paper thin at night, every small sound amplified in the darkness.

That’s how you heard his door open around 2 AM, followed by quiet footsteps heading downstairs.

You waited a few minutes, telling yourself you were just thirsty, that going downstairs for water had nothing to do with knowing he was maybe down there. The wooden steps creaked softly under your bare feet as you made your way down.

Silvery moonlight streamed through the massive windows, creating silver patterns on the marble countertops of the kitchen. hyunjin stood at the island, drinking water from a glass, looking unfairly handsome in just sleep shorts and a wrinkled t-shirt.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he whispered when he spotted you.

“What’s your game, hyunjin?” You kept your voice equally low, padding closer. “That thing earlier? During never have I ever?”

“Game? I’m not the one who was afraid of drinking”.

“Because unlike you, I don’t feel the need to announce our business to everyone.”

He set his glass down, turning to face you fully. “Our business? So you admit there’s something to announce?”

“That’s not—” You caught yourself before your voice could rise. “What are you trying to achieve here? With all the—” you gestured vaguely, “touching and teasing and almost exposing everything?”

He stepped closer, and suddenly the kitchen felt way too small, even though it was like three times the size of your apartment. “Maybe I just want everyone to know that night wasn’t as casual for me as you seem to think it was.”

You felt the weight of his words settle in the quiet kitchen, heavy with meaning you weren’t prepared to unpack while moonlight caught his features in a way that made him look softer, almost vulnerable.

“What are you talking about? It was only one night.”

“Was it?” He moved closer, until you had to tilt your head back to keep eye contact. “Because I remember asking you to stay. I remember waking up to an empty bed and spent the next six months thinking about why you left.”

“I... you were just saying that in the moment. People say lots of things in the moment.”

“Do they?” His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face. “Is that why you ran? Because you thought I didn’t mean it?”

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore how your skin prickled where he’d touched you. “hyunjin...”

“You know what I think?” His voice dropped even lower, barely a whisper in the quiet kitchen. “I think you’re scared. Not of me, but of the fact that you wanted to stay too.”

“That’s not—” But the words died in your throat as his thumb traced your jawline.

“Then why are you down here?” He was close enough now that you could feel the heat of his body against yours. “If it was just one night, just something casual, why did you follow me down here in the middle of the night?”

The counter pressed against your back—when had you started backing up?—and hyunjina arms came to rest on either side of you, caging you in. Position achingly familiar, reminding you of how this all started six months ago.

“I was thirsty,” you said. You did not even believe yourself as you said it.

His laugh was barely a breath against your skin. “Liar.”

And then his mouth was on yours, and god, you’d forgotten how good he was at this. His lips were soft but demanding, one hand sliding into your hair while the other gripped your hip, forcing you close against him. You gasped into the kiss, and he took the opportunity to deepen it, his tongue against yours in a way that made you forget your own name.

It was different from that first night—less urgent, more intense. He kissed you like he was trying to prove a point, like he was laying claim to every moment you’d denied him these past six months. His teeth caught your lower lip, and you had to bite back a whimper, too aware of your sleeping friends just a floor above.

“Still want to pretend this is nothing?” he whispered against your mouth, and you could feel his smile when your only response was to pull him back down for another kiss.

His hands slid down to grip your thighs, lifting you onto the counter. You wrapped your legs around his waist, drawing him closer as his mouth moved to your neck, kissing your throat just the way you like it, just the way he somehow remembered.

“Someone could come down,” you breathed, your fingers tangled in his hair.

“Then I guess you’ll have to be quiet.” His teeth grazed your skin, making you shiver. “Think you can manage that? Because I distinctly remember you being quite vocal last time.”

You tightened your grip on his hair in return, but that just made him groan softly against your throat. “You’re stupid.”

“Mm, that’s not what you said that night” His hands slid higher under your shirt, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts. “In fact, I remember you saying some very different things—”

You cut him off with another kiss, partly to shut him up and partly because you needed his mouth on yours like you needed air. His fingers teased along your ribs, your back, your thighs, touching you everywhere except where you desperately wanted him to.

But then his fingers found the edge of your underwear, and you had to bite his shoulder to keep from moaning as he slid his fingers inside you, making you cum all over his fingers in seconds—just like that night 6 months ago.

You were done, dizzy, breathless, clinging to him as he stripped your shorts and underwear down your legs. He pushed one leg up your chest as he lowered you back down onto the marble kitchen counter, your other leg still wrapped around his waist. His forehead pressed against yours as he thrust inside, hard, slow, perfect angle—just like that night 6 months ago.

He tossed you around, manhandled you, fucked you against the fridge, threw you onto the couch and fucked you there too. He whispered your name, his voice husky against your ear, every letter a caress, even as he picked up pace, even as his hand closed around your throat, even as you bit into the pillow below to muffle your screams as he made you cum again. Multiple times. In various positions. Using his own cum as a lube for the next round—just like that night 6 months ago.

And his hand found yours, intertwining your fingers as he ate you out on the stairs just before you wanted to go back to bed, but he wouldn’t let you, making you cum again before he carried you off to the laundry room to fuck you one last time for sure good measure—just like that night 6 months ago.

𓆉

Morning came way too early, sunlight streaming through windows you’d forgotten to close. Every muscle in your body ached in the most pleasant way, reminding you of exactly how many surfaces hyunjin bent you over last night.

Yeah. You were definitely going to be feeling this for days. You winced slightly as you sat up — apparently kitchen counters weren’t the best choice for certain activities, or the stairs, or the laundry room.

When you finally made it downstairs, moving perhaps a bit more strangely than usual, hyunjin was already at the breakfast table. Because of course he was, looking absolutely perfect and rested in a fresh shirt, casually sipping his coffee like he hadn’t spent half the night reminding you exactly how good he can make you feel.

“Well, someone looks rough,” jihyo commented as you lowered yourself carefully into a chair. “Too much wine last night?”

You caught hyunjin hiding a smirk behind his coffee cup. The bastard didn’t even have the decency to look tired.

“Something like that,” you muttered, reaching for the coffee pot and trying not to wince at the stretch. Your thighs burned in protest of the movement, and you could swear you saw hyunjins smile widening at your slight grimace.

“Must have been some wine,” jihyo said, eyeing you suspiciously. “I don’t remember you drinking that much during the game.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” felix asked, looking concerned. “You’re walking kind of funny.”

“I’m fine, really,” you managed. “Too much wine, that’s all.”

nayeon, who sat next to you, leaned in closer. “careful, your ‘too much wine’ is showing,” she whispered, pointing to your collarbone. Your hand flew to your neck, suddenly remembering all the attention hyunjin had paid to that area—especially that moment on the couch when you’d begged him to finish what he’d started before anyone heard you, while he sucked a very dark bruise right above your collarbone.

You quickly buttoned up your cotton shirt higher, but from jihyos growing grin, it was too late.

𓆉

The rest of Sunday passed in a lazy haze, with everyone moving a bit slower thanks to varying degrees of wine headaches. Most of the day was spent sprawled out on beach chairs, hiding behind sunglasses and drinking coconut water that felix swore would help with hangovers (but, in fact, did not).

You dozed on and off under an umbrella, trying not to think about how your body still ached in several places from the night before, and enjoyed your last day at the beach before you’d return to work on Monday.

When evening rolled around and it was time to pack up, the house became a chaos of suitcases and forgotten chargers. You were struggling with your bag next to your car, trying to figure out the best angle to lift it into the trunk without stressing your still sore muscles, when hyunjin suddenly appeared and took it from your hands without a word.

“I can manage,” you protested, but he was already lifting it into your trunk with an effortless ease that really shouldn’t be as attractive as it was.

“I’m know you can,” he said, closing your trunk with a soft thud. “But maybe I just want an excuse to do this.”

Before you could ask what ‘this’ was, he pressed a small folded piece of paper into your palm. You opened it to find a phone number written in his neat handwriting.

“Since you didn’t stay for it last time,” he said softly.

“What makes you think I’ll use it?”

“Because this time, you want to stay just as much as I want you to.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping so only you could hear. “Besides, I believe we still have a few surfaces in my apartment left to explore.”

You shoved his shoulder. “Stop.”

He caught your hand before you could push him again. “Use it. Please?” His voice held a note of softness, an unexpected tenderness that made your heart ache with a strange longing. You nodded, tucking the paper safely into your back pocket.

“Still not announcing anything to everyone tho,” you warned as nayeon called out that they were ready to leave.

“Yet,” he said with an eye roll. Then, before you could react, he pulled you in for one last kiss. It was slower, deeper this time, his hands cupping your face as he kissed you, as if he was afraid he might forget the feel of your lips.

“Someone could see us,” you whispered against his lips, even as your fingers curled into his shirt.

“I don’t care,” he murmured, one hand sliding down to your waist to draw you closer. “Let them see.” He kissed you again, shorter this time but no less intense. “Besides, they’ll find out soon enough when I take you to this little resturant I’ve been wanting to show you.”

You pulled back slightly. “Oh? Someone’s confident about getting a second date.”

“Third, technically,” he said. “If we’re counting the first night at the bar. And that thing against the washing machine last night.”

“Those don’t count.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to make the next one special. Maybe dinner first. Then I can show you my apartment. Properly this time, not just the entrance hall and kitchen counter.”

“Is that your way of asking me out?”

“That’s my way of saying I’m not letting you disappear for six months again.” He pressed a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Use my number this time, yeah?”

“hyunjin!” felix’s voice carried across the driveway. “Stop making out and help me with these bags!”

Hyunjin laughed against your lips, stealing one more kiss before reluctantly pulling away. “Think about it. The date. My apartment. All the surfaces we haven’t used yet.”

“Go help felix,” you said, pushing him away even as you smiled. “Before he comes over here.”

“Call me,” he said, walking backwards with that stupidly handsome smile. “Or I’ll just have to show up at your office. Make a big scene. Maybe bring flowers. Really embarrass you in front of all your coworkers.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me!” He finally turned then to help with the bags, leaving you to shake your head, your lips still tingling from his kisses.

The drive home felt different somehow. Every now and then, your hand would drift to your pocket, fingers brushing over the folded paper with his number, making sure it was still there.

The beach house grew smaller in your rearview mirror until it disappeared completely, taking with it the memories of lazy afternoons under the summer sun and heated nights. But other things lingered—the ghost of his lips against yours, the warmth of his hands, the way he’d looked at you like you were something worth waiting for.

Maybe you’d call him tomorrow. Or maybe you’d wait a day or two, just to prove you could. But knowing you, you’d likely message him the moment you set foot in your apartment.

A smile tugged at your lips as you pulled onto the highway, the setting sun painting the sky in strokes of rose and lavender. Whatever happened next, one thing was for sure—this weekend had changed everything.

and maybe that wasn't so bad.

a/n: first time posting a long fic kinda nervy..this took me like 2 days but Im really proud of it :)