#aaaghhhhh

yes, he is the loudest person in most rooms because he can’t control the volume of his laughter, he can’t keep a secret for shit, and when he’s excited, he can’t contain it.

but on the other hand, when it comes to his relationships, he is very careful as to not come off too strong. changbin has a very seasoned roster of women to satisfy his every vice and desire — if he needs someone more vanilla, he’ll simply refer to the 🍨 emoji; if he wants to decompress, 🧊 does the trick and does it well — but there’s been one girl who he can’t attach a single symbol to.

the routine with you is different to any other girl he’s been with. usually, they are the ones to show up at his apartment, dressed in oversized hoodies and eyes obscured with sunglasses so expensive that it makes him cringe, but whenever he feels in the mood to meet you, he does all the heavy lifting. after he works out, he finds himself searching your name in his contacts and to his luck, his gym is close by to your place of residence and makes his way over.

also to his benefit, a simple text from him alerts you to get dressed into his favourite set, one that he gifted you himself, with lace so delicate that you have to wash it separately from the rest of your clothes: he only knew this because of your complaints that he almost broke the hook of the bra ripping it off. the time saved means he has more time to defile that body of yours with less delay and even lesser control.

he liked that about you: the fact you weren’t scared to argue with him, which heavily juxtaposed the doormat-inclined nature of the other girls he hooked up with.

the best part? you’re okay with being a pretty girl he sees from time to time. unlike many of the other women on rotation, you understand the implications and circumstances that come with dating a busy guy, and he’s happy that he can go through the exchange without focusing on his emotions. well, focusing on them too much.

if seo changbin is anything else, he is also a walking contradiction.

yes, he can act chill and detached, whatever you want him to be, but he cannot actually be any of those things when he is around you.

for some reason (unbeknownst to him) he lets his guard down when he’s in your proximity. maybe it’s the way your legs part when his hand finds its way into your underwear, or perhaps it’s the way you whine into his mouth while making out, but he has a sneaky feeling that the explanation is more sinister than he first anticipated.

he realised it when you were mumbling after a particularly passionate midnight session. it was an ache in his chest when he heard the way your voice sounded when it wasn’t moaning in its normally high-pitched manner — it sounded groggy, unconcerned with fulfilling a particular instinct to hide even the ugliest and most honest parts of yourself and, admittedly, perfect. long after you fell asleep, the acute sensation spread along his ribcage and found its way up to his head, leading him to imagining a world where he got to hear your voice, exhausted just like it was tonight, as the first sound he’d hear in the mornings and the last sound he’d hear before going to sleep. it made the voices in his head shrill in an agonisingly painful manner, but the feeling felt so piping hot that it quickly turned his mind cold to the thought of fucking any other woman.

more than that, you were his friend first and foremost, that was the only reason he could get away with seeing you so often. he couldn’t help but laugh at all your dirty jokes, or smile at your attempts at lifting weights whenever he gave you the free guest pass for the month to his fancy gym, that was all normal. what wasn’t normal was the fact that these friendly moments were beginning to blend in with the amorous encounters you shared, and talking in your sleep while curled up on his chest was just the beginning.

it was all his rules, anyways: he said that he would never call you anything other than slut or whore — he would definitely not call you baby — and you could never call him first and, if you had to, it better have been because you didn’t do too well last time and you needed to make it up to him.

despite this, it didn’t stop him from visiting you in the slightest, leading him to where he was tonight: outside of your door, gym bag slung over his shoulder and the sweat from his earlier workout making his vest stick to each ridge and curve of his muscles, revealing tight abs that became so defined under the black fabric.

“fancy seeing you here,” you muse, surprised by his lack of text beforehand. though you were suspicious, you still let him in.

changbin pouts and shakes his head, pondering on what to say and how to say it.

“well, you know… i just so happened to pass through the area and ended up here,”

a non-committal sound comes out in place of further questioning which catches changbin out, as evidenced by his fidgeting when he goes to sit on the arm of your couch.

“yeah, but why’re you here now? it’s too early for you to be here already,”

truth be told, he had other places to be: all he had to do was take his pick. subpar sex was his usual preference, a quick decompress before heading to bed and to reset his energy for what was sure to be another busy day afterwards, so it made sense that most of the encounters you’d have would be more like…

…dates.

though laid-back and no-pressure, your hangouts didn’t make him want more than to just be in your presence. he could leave without shoving his cock down your throat or grinding into you with no issue. no, the only issue was that he found himself wanting to stick around longer. it was a real problem.

changbin rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, a sheepish smirk forming and dissipating just as fast once he becomes aware of how sweaty he is.

“let me go take a shower or something,” he rises.

wandering over to the kitchen, he hears a few glasses clink once you’re out of sight and stares at the entrance way until you emerge holding two mugs.

“is that a command?” you snicker, a bashful quality in your voice.

it would be a sin to admit where his mind went to when you said that.

to test the waters, you take a few steps closer, bending down right in front of him to set the cups down on the coffee table, ass backing up into his crotch. you feel him jolt an inch backwards before he gives in and places his hands on your hip and decide to toy with his unusual nervousness.

you straighten your posture back to normal, still pressing up against his body. “or an invitation?”

trying to sound untroubled, he says, “those things aren’t mutually exclusive, baby,”

“baby? that’s new,”

you notice his ears turn pink while he withdraws from you. clutching his bag and setting it down behind the couch, he goes towards your bathroom and abruptly stops, peeking his head out from the doorframe.

“i shouldn’t have to repeat myself.”

on the five or so steps between the hallway and the bathroom, he kept hyper-fixating on every minute detail about you.

for one, the pyjamas you were wearing — you looked all dainty dressed in a white camisole patterned with cherry-red splotches that he could not decide whether they were stars, hearts or polka dots and those short shorts that cut in a perfect place that didn’t show too much of your ass but certainly left room for imagination with what it prompted. each stitch and hem hugged your curves and dips perfectly and changbin could not help but force down a swallow to fix his drying throat at the idea of being able to admire you in that state again.

another thing was the absence of make-up on your face. you weren’t one to wear tons of products, but you typically wore some light coverage concealer and curled your eyelashes a little before he’d come over, so seeing you completely bare-faced was a rare blessing. something deeper, more profound than pure desire stirs in his mind and settles uncomfortably at the core of his thoughts while he gets undressed.

so, when the hot water hits his skin, it serves as momentary relief for what’s about to ensue and he basks in its overwhelming warmth, only until he hears the door open and click shut, to which then the steam evaporates off his skin, leaving a freezing cold trail of nothing in its wake.

“are you coming in or what?” he sounds more annoyed than playful.

something’s up. since he came through the door, since he went to the bathroom, since he didn’t even have a cup of coffee or tea or whatever it is he liked drinking, which was whatever you offered him for the most part. your brain tried to find some sort of explanation since you were certain that he was doing just fine when he called you last night, claiming that he missed you — though that should have been the first red flag.

“uhm, do you want me to?”

he shakes his head free of whatever malice clouded his speech. “yeah, of course, why wouldn’t i?”

on that, you step inside, wearing nothing but the necklace you never took off, something he had noticed when you hooked up for the second time. the pendant was in the shape of a swan, microscopic pink jewels adorning the inside and what looked like diamonds for the outline.

upon seeing your body, his breath hitched and is replaced by a groan. despite not being quite under the shower head yet, the water droplets on your body are speckled on your face, dotted on your chest and, when his eyes move further downwards, he can see you cross your legs together and squeeze your thighs.

he licks his lips. “i’m having some trouble on what to do first.”

“there’s only one thing to do here, binnie,” you giggle as you rest your arms on his shoulders.

half-uncertain and half-confident, he moves closer and holds your waist, thumbs sliding up and down easily over your body, getting progressively more wet. it’s new: this feeling of hard-earned ease, this feeling of his touch being dragged down by the weight of a million anvils, this feeling of tentativeness when all you knew about changbin was his ability to stand firm.

in order to somehow snap him back into reality — which he so desperately needed — you batted your eyelashes and slowly got on your knees. he never took his eyes off you and, instead of helping you back up, he used one hand to stroke himself and the other to hold your dampening hair back.

“look at you,” he exhales finally.

with the help of his hand interlaced with your hair, he gently pulls you forward towards his dick, a hiss escaping through his teeth upon feeling your tongue against his tip.

with a smirk, you begin to lick the underside of his shaft using the tip of your tongue to trace abstract lines that would overlap with his veins. before, when you first started sleeping with each other, it was difficult to take him all at once with the girth and length that he has; but now, it came like second nature to ease yourself in because you could handle it. that’s what he showed you at least.

leaving small kisses on him, you find a way back to his tip and gently begin to create suction on the head of his cock, flattening your tongue out. when you were ready, you looked up at changbin, who looked enamoured with the sight, but instead of smiling down at you like he usually does, he instantaneously changes focus to the ceiling, eyes screwed shut.

not thinking too much of it in the moment, you take another inch of him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks. the sensation of his hand gripping the back of your head so tightly motivates you even more, so you hum at his reddening face and continue.

“shit, you’re so good at this,” he mumbles, pushing your head up and down his length. “fucking made for this, huh?”

a string of gags and a quick nod makes him even more riled up, slowing the movement of your head and meeting your throat by thrusting forwards instead. his cock throbs every time your lips close around him and he curses in return. each wet slobber only gets wetter as the stream of water coming from the shower head douses you.

it’s entertaining — being drenched in more ways than one.

and even more entertaining, changbin he continues his whines, trying to keep looking at the grout in between the tiles on the wall, but ultimately betraying his mind through his choice of words.

“good fucking girl, there’s my baby…”

“shit—fuck— right there, angel, mhm…”

everything he said echoed and bounced off the walls of the shower, the tiles being tainted with the moans of desire escaping his mouth. he looks down at you — big mistake.

seeing your mouth envelop his entire length at once was no match to the feeling, but being able to experience both at the same time only fuelled his passion. all in all, with every suck he lost all control, more concerned with the pretty girl on her knees for him and somehow even more worried about said knees hurting from kneeling on the shower floor.

“you wanna get up baby?” changbin inquires, eyebrows furrowing in a mix of pleasure and apprehension.

you shake your head.

at this point, he’s unsure if he wants you to get up and give him other ways to please himself or if he wants you to keep going until you collapse at his feet. he tilts his head but you continue your motions with the added stroking of your hands up and down the parts you were unable to fit into your mouth.

it’s just that you make him feel like he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. like he shouldn’t see you as just another one of his hookups, like a disposable girl that can give him what he wants before taking off in the early morning. but he fights it.

the obscene noises that are coming out of your mouth, shortened by the very little oxygen coming in through your nose, plague his mind with clouds of incoherent thoughts. as your head bobs up and down, he can’t help but inch closer, his high fast approaching. by no means is he going to finish first, though.

he backs away.

in an unfamiliarly gentle fashion, he helps you to your feet. he’s never been the most kind during sex.

but something weird happens.

his eyes, glued to your own, glaze over and in a blink, his lips are on your neck like a man possessed. leaving purple bruises along your collarbone and aching spots of burst blood vessels behind your ear, you look up, allowing him to mark you viciously. something about him was more desperate, more hungry than usual. and, even though he tried to hide it, he was failing — miserably.

under his grasp, you press your lips to his shoulder, unable to suppress your moans.

you whimper. “fuck me, bin… need you inside…”

it’s clear as day that you don’t notice his absurdly unpredictable behaviour — spending one minute tender and the next ruthless — so he hesitates, halting his assault on your neck to take you in. with an inhale, his face says it all.

he’s going to mess it up, isn’t he?

“baby.”

there it is.

“mm?”

you whimper, squeezing at his biceps and batting your eyelashes, still dazed from the flurry of hickeys that he left and all of the blood from your brain going straight into them, turning them more purple.

changbin short circuits at your tone. he swallows hard and tries the name on his lips again.

“baby?”

sweeter, more uncertain, not any less changbin by any means.

but this was no longer his bedroom persona: this was the guy who you would confide your deepest secrets to over a beer, this was the guy who would feed you soup when you were sick, this was the guy who would pick you up from a date that went south. this was your friend, changbin. not some rough, domineering hookup.

it was him.

he shakes his head, like he can see what you’re thinking behind your eyes.

“don’t… don’t let this change anything… please?”

“for your sake or for mine?” your hand remains still on his arm but now your gaze is more focused.

the incessant run of the shower, wetting his hair, makes him squint his eyes, but from what little of them you can see, you see regret. you see fear. you see pain.

despite that, you give him what he wants.

normalcy.

reaching for his shoulders, he scoops you up without a word, not breaking eye contact once, and leans your back against the cold tiles of the shower walls. you wrap your legs around his torso and try to gather what friction you can muster up.

with a bowed head, he looks up at you through his eyebrows and exhales for what seems to look like his first time ever using his lungs. one hand guides his length into you, slowly — but surely — penetrating you.

it’s messy. the tears pricking in his eyes, the grunts that signal a complete loss of control, his thrusts sloppy. when you look at him, you bite your lip in pity, nodding permissively.

using the hand that isn’t holding you up, he wraps his fingers around your throat and pushes your head back against the wall.

you try not to. you swear. you bite down harder on your lip. but then, you yelp.

worry flashes across his face.

he wonders for a brief moment if he’s hurting you; even after dizzying himself with the idea, he keeps trying to shake the thought. you always do this, he always chokes you out and you seem fine and it gets you off—

so why does it feel so wrong? is it because today he was feeling more emotional? or is it because it hurt you all this time and you’ve just never said anything about it?

he wants it to feel normal. in search of a sensation that is ordinary enough, he forces his cock deeper inside of your vagina with the sole purpose of finishing and leaving this to blow over, even if it meant no sex for a week. not even just no sex with you, no, the whole concept turned him off of it. he would rather jerk himself off alone than go back to using another girl to please himself.

you’re not speaking as much as you usually do, but your body is not any less responsive. that’s the only thing that gets him through the act without losing his mind.

he pistons inside of you at a brutal pace, wrecking what you had with him as well as what other men had ever done to your cunt. he set expectations, he fulfilled them: he did his job. you roll your eyes back, fighting back by pushing at his shoulders, but nothing changes.

the grip around your neck is firm and assertive and the look he gives you is still dark and the cadence of his thrusts is violent yet steady.

this is normal. you give him normal and you don’t ever have to think about more than normal.

changbin’s legs seize and he pushes inside of you again, slamming against your cunt, exclaiming a chesty “fuck!” as he comes.

he lets go of your throat and instead of letting you down, he continues fucking himself into you, only pulling out to swirl at the entrance of your hole to gather up his cum and insert himself back inside. exhausted and rather volatile, you simply shake your head.

“there’s only so much we can do now,” you manage.

he knows what you mean.

your sentence is unfinished, so his mind finishes it off for you. there’s only so much we can do now that we let our feelings get mixed in with it.

he thumbs at your clit and you finish not too long after, leaning forwards so that your chest is flush against his. you stay there for a while; there’s no movement apart from the water raining down on your bodies.

the silence is not awkward, it is certain. the air holds the confessions, the apologies, but nothing could ever weigh down the sorrow that has befallen your faces.

too much has been said, too much has been done and what you had has been ruined forever.

no more movie marathons, no more over-the-phone therapy sessions, no more clandestine affairs in the dead hours of the night.

he had to leave this alone. the thought broke him, but he still had enough energy to put you down and step out of the shower, collecting a towel.

you turn off the shower and let him dry you for the last time in the forseeable future. he massages your thighs and you step out, letting him dry you further. when he’s done, he’s still kneeling before you.

all he can do is press his damp hair against your stomach, squeeze his eyes shut and pray that his feelings go away so that you don’t have to.

to capture you in this way, he looks up, his eyes settling on the glistening metal of chain of your necklace, falling between the valley of your breasts.

because if seo changbin is anything, he is nothing without you.

dividers: @cursed-carmine