#ghostlyscripture

jisung doesn’t remember the last the he’s listed so intently to someone talk.

honestly, jisung’s never really been one to actively listen, but fuck- there was just something about the way your lips move around each spoken word that makes it so ungodly difficult to pay attention to anything else.

it doesn’t help that he’s had his eyes on you for longer than he could remember. ever since the first day you strolled into to his music theory class at the start of the semester, jisung has been, for lack of better words,dying to get his hands on you.

there’s just this… itch whenever he’s around you. it’s bone deep, too far below the skin to be satisfied easily. you’re just so perfect— kind, funny without even trying. and don’t even get him started on how good you are in the recording studio. jisung didn’t even know he could get turned on from watching someone mix a beat. but hey, they say college is where you learn things, right?

and trust, jisung has learned a lot.

for example: jisung has learned that he’s a dirty fucking perv.

an example of the example: there have been numerous times when you’ve been ranting about how bullshit your biased professor is—how he never grades your work fairly no matter how hard you work on it—and jisung will sit there wondering if your as expressive in bed as you are here.

he hopes you are. god, he would lose his mind…

speaking of you in bed, jisung has thought of you with his hand down his pants more often than anyone would constitute as normal. but honestly, can you even blame him?

you laugh at his jokes with a smile that makes his chest tight, and you somehow manage to smell like vanilla and something sweeter every single time you lean over his shoulder to look at his laptop screen.

it's honestly a miracle he hasn't combusted yet.

well, he has. many times, actually. but you get what he means.

but today? today is different.

today you're sitting cross-legged on his bed (his bed, jesus christ), textbook open in your lap as you complain about your latest assignment, and jisung is trying his absolute hardest to focus on his own textbook.

try as he might, all he can think about is how easy it would be to close the distance between you two. how easy it would be to kiss you, to make you let out pretty little noises, to force his cock down your throat and—

“hey ji,” you say suddenly, snapping him out of his daze. he sends a quick thank you to whatever higher being there may be that you hadn’t caught his staring. “can i talk to you about something?”

jisung looks up from where he’s sitting on the floor with a grin as if he hadn’t just been picturing the 69 different ways (pun intended) he could get you to take him. “sure.”

he watches as you take a deep breath, clearly debating on following through on whatever subject was on your mind. when another second ticked by without a response he arched a brow, fixing you with a look in hopes it would push you to hurry up.

you see it and promptly stick your tongue out at him. you both smile. you let out another exhale.

"i, uh…" you start, and jisung notices the way your cheeks flush slightly. "i went on a date last night. it was nothing like, crazy, yknow? just something a friend of mind set up."

oh.

jisung's stomach drops.

awesome.

"oh yeah?" he manages, keeping his voice in a careful neutral even though he feels like he's been kicked in the chest by some fuckass kangaroo. “and how’d that go?"

does he actually care? hell no. is he trying to be a good friend? sure, keyword there being trying.

you fidget with the corner of your textbook. "it was… fine, i guess? he was nice enough. we got dinner, talked for a bit." you pause, and jisung watches as your blush deepens. "and then we, you know… went back to his place."

jisung's grip on his pen tightens. he's not sure he wants to hear this, but he can't exactly tell you to stop now.

"and?" he prompts, hating how strained his voice sounds.

you let out a frustrated sigh. "and it was… underwhelming? like, really underwhelming." you're not looking at him now, focused instead on picking at a loose thread on his comforter. "we fooled around a bit, and he seemed really into it, but i just… i don't know. i didn't feel much of anything."

"what do you mean?" he's not sure if the relief flooding through him makes him a terrible person or not. his vote is no.

"i mean…" you trail off, clearly embarrassed. "he tried, like, touching me and stuff. it just felt… weird? not bad, just- nothing special, i guess. and then when things got more intense, i just kind of laid there thinking about my grocery list."

despite everything, jisung lets out a laugh. it’s short, cut off by the glare you shot his way.

"and the worst part," you continue, voice getting quieter, "is that he finished and then just… rolled over and fell asleep. didn't even care if i, you know…" you let make a vague gesture with your hand to make up for your lack of words.

"if you came?" jisung supplies, watching you nod a moment later.

"yeah. that." you finally look up at him. "is it supposed to be like that? because if so, i really don't get what all the hype is about."

jisung feels something twist in his chest—something between anger at the asshole who couldn't be bothered to take care of you and a dangerous, selfish hope. "no," he says, and his voice comes out a little sharper than he intended. "it's definitely not supposed to be like that."

"really?" you raise a brow, tone unamused and doubtful.

"really," jisung confirms, and before he can stop himself, he adds, "if a guy can't even make sure you finish, he doesn't deserve to touch you in the first place."

you laugh, but it's a hollow sound. "i mean, i don't know if i'd even know the difference." you shrug, trying to play it off casually even though jisung can see the genuine frustration in your eyes. "it's not like i've ever… y’know. gotten off before."

a beat passes.

jisung blinks. "wait, what?"

"yeah," you say, picking at the thread again. "not from someone else, not from myself. nothing."

"but—" jisung stops himself, trying to process this information. "didn't you have a boyfriend in high school?"

"yeah, for like a year and a half," you confirm. "but that doesn't mean i came. we fooled around, sure, but it never really… went anywhere for me."

jisung feels like his brain is short-circuiting. you—perfect, beautiful you—have never experienced an orgasm? it seems almost criminal.

"i think maybe i'm just not built for it," you continue, voice small. "like, maybe i'm just… glitched or something. everyone talks about how amazing it is, but i just don't get it."

"you're not glitched," jisung says immediately, more forceful than necessary. you look up at him, surprised. "trust me, you're not. you just… haven't been with anyone who knows what they're doing."

"maybe," you say, though you don't sound convinced.

jisung swallows hard.

his heart is pounding, and he knows what he's about to say is probably crossing a line, but he can't seem to stop himself. "if you want a second opinion…" he starts, trying to keep his tone light even though his hands are shaking slightly. "i volunteer as tribute."

the silence that follows is deafening.

you stare at him, eyes wide, and jisung immediately wants to take it back—except he doesn't. not really.

“i-“ you start before choking on your own words. you blink at him a few times, trying to gauge how serious he’s being. “what?”

jisung realizes what hes just said and immediately feels his face heat up.

he holds up his hands in a gesture that's somewhere between defensive and pleading. "i mean- say we’re working in hypotheticals here, yeah?" he says quickly, voice pitching slightly higher than normal. "just, you know, theoretically speaking. if you wanted to figure out what works for you."

you're still staring at him, and jisung can't tell if you're about to laugh in his face or leave. probably both. definitely both.

"i just mean, you said you don't know what you like, right? so maybe—hypothetically—it would help to, i don’t know- explore that?? with someone you trust. who wouldn't be weird about it."

he pauses, then adds, "or weirder than i'm already being right now."

you let out a breath that might've be a laugh, and some of the tension in jisung's shoulders eases. at least you're not running for the door.

"okay," you say slowly, and jisung's heart jumps into his throat. "hypothetically speaking… what would that even look like?"

blood rushes to his dick so fast that he genuinely feel faint for a solid second or two.

this is happening. this is actually happening.

"well, uh," he clears his throat. "i guess first we'd need to figure out what you like. what feels good to you."

"i don't know what i like," you point out. "that's kind of the whole problem here."

"right, but like-" jisung stands, taking a gamble by moving from the floor to sit with you on the bed. he takes the edge, but still manages to get close enough that his knee almost touches yours. he has half the thought of cheering when you don’t immediately jolt away. "there has to be something. like, when you think about… that stuff. what do you think about?"

your blush deepens as you look away. jisung wants to grab you by the cheeks and shove his tongue down your throat.

"i don't know. i guess i don't really think about it much."

"okay, but when you do," jisung presses, far too eager "what's the first thing that comes to mind? is it like… hands? mouths? something else?"

"i- i guess mouths? that’s a stupid way to put it, jisung." your eyes dart over to him for all of two seconds before flicking away again. “i like being kissed. and when people leave marks.”

jisung’s going to bust in his sweats.

he nods slowly, stashing away the information for it’s inevitable later use. "okay. that's good. that's a start." he pauses before asking "what about where? where would you wanna be kissed?"

your head tilts to the side slightly as you debate. it takes a minute for you to make up your mind, a minute that jisung’s spends memorizing the curve of your lips.

“my thighs. i like my neck and my tits, too, but my thighs.”

ok. scratch what he said before. he’s actually going to pass out, wake up for two seconds to jerk off, and then pass out again from how intense it’ll be.

“fuck” he breaths out with a laugh—half breathless humor, half utter strain. jisung raises a hand to run down his face, looking away from you to try and save himself even a little bit.

"okay," he says once he's collected himself enough to form coherent words. "okay, so, hypothetically, if we were doing this, i'd start there. with your thighs." he looks back at you, trying his best to gauge your reaction. "would that be… okay?"

jisung watches the way your eyes skim over him and highly considers throwing himself off the roof of his dorm when your gaze catches on the tent in his sweat pants.

“i like it more when people work their way down.” you meet his eye again and he feels his dick twitch to attention.

jisung's mouth goes dry. the casual way you say it—like you're discussing the weather and not actively trying to kill him—makes his head spin.

"work my way down," he repeats li. "from your neck?"

“my mouth.” you correct.

it takes a few seconds for jisung’s brain to catch up to what you were saying. when ir finally registered, jisung let out a heavy breath.

“y-you want me to kiss you?”

"i mean… yeah?" you say, and there's a hint of uncertainty in your voice. "isn't that where you're supposed to start?"

jisung lets out a breathy laugh, running a hand through his hair. "yeah, no, you're right. i just-" he stops himself, looking at you with an intensity that makes your stomach flip. "i just need to know you're actually okay with this. like, seriously okay. because once i start, i don't know if i'll be able to stop."

despite everything making up your current situation, you can’t help the laugh that pushes itself from your lips.

“jesus, sung- please don’t tell me you learned that from a bad porno.”

jisung's face flushes, but he can't help the grin that tugs at his lips. "fuck off," he mutters, but there's no real heat behind it. "i'm trying to be respectful here."

"i know," you say, and your expression softens. "and i appreciate it. but i'm serious, jisung. i want this. hypothetically, of course.”

jisung doesn't waste another second.

he closes the distance between you, one hand coming up to cup your jaw while the other braces against the mattress beside your hip. his thumb brushes along your cheekbone, and for a moment he just looks at you—really looks at you—trying to memorize every detail of your face before he gets what he's been craving for so long.

"tell me to stop if you need to," he murmurs, knowing damn well he won't be able to give this up. not now. not when you're looking at him like that.

he closes the gap completely, pressing his lips to yours.

and god, you're even better than he imagined.

and trust, he's imagined this—fuck, has he imagined this. a thousand times, maybe more. but none of his fantasies come close to the real thing. your mouth is soft and warm, and the little sound you make when he deepens the kiss goes straight to his cock.

you make that sound again—that small, needy noise in the back of your throat—and jisung responds on instinct, tilting your head slightly to get a better angle.

his tongue traces the seam of your lips, and when you open for him, he can't help the groan that escapes. he groans—actually groans—into your mouth, and he'd be embarrassed if he could think straight.

but he can't. because this is intoxicating. you’re intoxicating.

the way you taste, sweet and perfect. the way his hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair like they were made to be there. the way his other hand finds your waist, pulling you closer until there's barely any space left between your bodies and he can feel your heartbeat against his chest.

you've been kissed before, he knows that,but jisung wants to make you forget every single one of those losers you’d had before him. wants this to be the one you remember.

he puts everything into it, every press of his lips deliberate, purposeful, trying to learn exactly what makes you melt against him.

he knows he’s reached some sort of heaven when he feels you starting to go pliant in his hands.

jisung pulls back just enough to catch his breath, resting his forehead against yours. his eyes are dark, blown wide. he can feel how swollen his lips are already.

"fuck," he breathes, voice absolutely wrecked. "you taste so good." he doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s kissing you again, harder than before.

leave it to jisung to get turned on by how sweet your spit tastes.

his hand tightens in your hair—not enough to hurt, just enough to make you gasp—and takes full advantage of how your lips part, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that makes him dizzy with want.

you grab onto his shirt, fingers twisting in the fabric, and jisung feels like he might actually lose his mind.

everything about this is overwhelming in the best possible way—the warmth of your body pressed against his, the way you respond when his thumb strokes the sensitive skin at your nape, the little sounds you make as you kiss him back just as eagerly. he wants to catalog every single detail, burn it into his memory so it’s humanly impossible to forget.

his hand on your waist starts to wander, sliding down to your hip and squeezing. it isn’t a rough gesture, more so just to ground himself, to remind himself that this is all real. that this isn’t just another one of his twisted dreams.

he breaks the kiss to trail his lips along your jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses to the corner of your mouth, your cheek, the spot just below your ear that makes you shiver.

"tell me if this is okay," he murmurs against your skin. he gets a strange high from the way your quickens pulse under his lips.

"it's okay," you manage, voice breathier than usual. "it's really okay."

jisung makes a satisfied sound deep in his throat, then goes back to kissing you properly. this time he forces himself to slow down, to be more deliberate.

he takes his time exploring your mouth, learning the way you respond to him—the way you whimper when he sucks on your bottom lip, the way you smile against his mouth when he does something you particularly like.

"you're so fucking cute," he mumbles, pulling back just enough to look at you. his eyes are soft, a little to innocent for the way he’s currently handling you. "been wanting to do this for so long."

"yeah?"

"fuck yeah," he responds with a laugh that’s only slightly crazed.

you never get the chance to ask exactly how long he's wanted this, how many nights he's fallen asleep thinking about it—about you. and honestly? you aren’t even sure you’d want that answer. it feels to heavy, too weighted with significance.

minutes pass. you’re not sure how many, neither is jisung. all you know is that he kisses you until your lips feel bruised under his and his head is spinning from lack of oxygen.

his hands roam more carefully now—not respectful, but not outright pushy. there’s enough intent in each brush that you can feel the restrained want in every touch. he palms your hip, traces the curve of your waist, thumbs at the silver of skin where your shirt has ridden up.

when he finally pulls away, you're both breathing hard.

his hair is a mess from where you've been running your fingers through it. when he catches sight of your lips—red and swollen from his kisses—he has to physically restrain himself from crashing back into you again

"we should…" he starts, then stops. he swallows hard. "we should probably slow down."

you blink at him, still a little dazed. "why?"

"because if we don't, i'm gonna fucking come in my pants," jisung admits with a breathless laugh. it's embarrassing but true—he's already painfully hard, and every little sound, every shift, brings him closer to that edge.

the way you're looking at him makes his chest tight. at the same time though, he's acutely aware of how you're still pressed against him, addicted to the heat radiating off your body.

"what if i don't want you to slow down?" you ask, and the boldness in your voice very nearly enough to do him in on the spot.

"don't say shit like that unless you mean it."

"i do," you say, and then you're leaning in and kissing him again.

this time, jisung doesn't hold back. he kisses you like he's trying to devour you, one hand sliding up your back to press you closer while the other grips your hip hard enough to leave marks. you can probably feel how hard he is, pressed against your thigh, and the knowledge that you know how badly he wants you makes his head spin.

you shift slightly, and jisung groans into your mouth, his hips jerking forward before he can stop himself. "fuck," he gasps, breaking the kiss. "you're gonna kill me."

"good," you manage, then kiss him again before he can respond.

jisung lets out a breathless laugh against your lips before shifting his weight, gently pushing you back until you're lying on the bed with him hovering over you.

the new position makes everything feel more intense—the way he's pressed between your thighs in a way that lets you feel how hard he is, the way his weight settles over you, the way you're looking up at him like he's the only thing in the world that matters.

"hi," he says, grinning down at you despite how wrecked he feels.

"hi," you echo, and the smile you give him back makes his heart stutter.

and then his lips are on yours yet again .

his mouth moves against yours with an ease that surprises him—like he's already learned exactly what makes you gasp and whimper. when he nips at your bottom lip, you arch up against him, and jisung makes a choked sound in response, barely holding himself together.

"you're so responsive," he murmurs against your mouth. "so fucking perfect. just how i thought you'd be."

his hand slides up your side, thumbing just under the curve of your breast, and jisung realizes with startling clarity that he needs more. needs to feel your skin against his, needs to map every inch of your body with his hands and mouth.

as if reading his mind, you reach up and push at his shoulder, urging him downward. "you said you'd work your way down, remember?"

jisung's breath catches and for a moment he just stares at you. a slow grin spreads across his face—the kind he knows is absolutely devastating.

"yeah," he says, voice rough. "yeah, i did say that, didn't i?"

he leans down to kiss you one more time, slow and deep, savoring it. promptly after, he starts trailing his lips along your jaw, taking his time. he presses open-mouth kisses to every inch of skin he can reach, committing the taste of your skin to memory.

when he gets to the spot just below your ear, he pauses for only a moment before taking the skin there between his teeth, sucking a mark into the sensitive patch.

you gasp, fingers tightening in his hair enough for jisung to make a satisfied sound. "gonna mark you up so good," he murmurs against your neck, lips hot as they brush against your skin. "want everyone to know you're mine."

the possessiveness in his own voice should probably alarm him, but he's too far gone to care.

you tilt your head to give him better access, and jisung takes full advantage, working his way down your neck with single-minded focus. this is all he's been dreaming about—getting to worship you like this, getting to make you feel good.

he sucks another mark just above your collarbone, then soothes it with his tongue. the whimper you make goes straight to his cock. jisung smiles against your skin.

"you sound so pretty," he says, voice muffled against your neck. "wanna hear what other sounds you make, jagi"

his hand comes up to rest on your ribs, thumb brushing against the underside of your breast. when you arch into the touch jisung can’t help his groan, pressing his hips down against yours just because he can.

the friction makes you both gasp.

"fuck," comes his his, the word hot on your skin as he continues his path downward.

jisung kisses along your collarbone, then down to the neckline of your shirt. he pauses there, looking up at you with eyes that are wide and begging. "can i?"

instead of granting him with a verbal answer, you reach down and grab the hem of your shirt, pulling it up and over your head in one swift motion.

jisung's eyes go wide, gaze immediately dropping to your chest.

over the span of five seconds, jisungs mouth goes from being as dry as a desert to his throat bobbing as he swallows down his own spit.

"holy shit.." he whispers, voice dripping with reverence. his hands come up to cup your breasts over your bra, thumbs brushing over your nipples through the fabric. "you're so fucking... fuck, baby- your perfect"

you squirm under the attention, and jisung only takes it as encouragement. he leans down to press his face between to the swell of your breasts, a groan rolling soft in the back of his throat before kissing down to your sternum. his hands stay on you, kneading mindlessly and without much care.

jisung thinks he might actually be in heaven.

and then you’re thread your fingers through his hair again pushing, deliberately, purposefully, until his face is buried in your chest.

jisung groans loud this time, breath coming out hot against your skin. "so eager," he murmurs in pure appreciation, a hand sliding around to your back to find the clasp of your bra. "what a rockstar- i fucking love it."

you arch to help him and jisung makes quick work of the clasp, tossing the fabric across the room without a second thought.

for a moment, jisung just stares.

his eyes are wide with hunger as they trace over your newly exposed skin. he's imagined this so many times, but nothing compares to actually seeing you like this.

then he's leaning down, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses across your chest, hands coming up to cup your breasts properly now that that last barrier is gone.

"so fucking perfect," he breathes against your skin, thumbs circling your nipples in a way that makes you arch up into his touch.

"god, i could live between your tits," jisung breathes out, voice rough rough around the edges while his hands continue to knead at you. "been thinking about this for months—how they'd feel in my hands, how they'd look covered in my cum, how fucking perfect they'd look bouncin’ in my face while you ride me." he groans, burying his face between them again like he can't help himself. "never gonna take my hands off of ya, jagi. can’t do it…"

then he takes one nipple into his mouth, and the cry you let out nearly makes him come on the spot.

jisung circles the sensitive bud with his tongue before sucking hard enough to make you writhe beneath him. his other hand works your other breast, pinching and rolling your nipple between his thumb and forefinger in a rhythm that matches his mouth.

he gets so lost in it that he almost forgets he isn’t dreaming. the only thing that snaps him back is the sound of his name on your lips.

"jisung," you gasp, and he hums in response, the vibration making you shudder beneath him.

he switches sides, giving your other breast the same devoted attention.

jisung can feel himself getting harder with every passing second, can feel how wet you must be through the fabric still between you. your thighs squeeze around his hips, and jisung grinds down against you in response, unable to help himself.

but the friction isn't enough—not for either of you—and when you roll your hips in a search for more, jisung breaks away from your chest with a sharp inhale.

his forehead drops to rest against your sternum as he tries to catch his breath and regain some semblance of control.

"you're driving me insane," he mutters, voice strained. his hands slide down your sides, fingers hooking into the waistband of your pants. he looks up at you, eyes dark and pupils blown wide, barely holding himself together. "can i take these off?"

"please," you breathe, and jisung doesn't need to be told twice.

he sits back on his heels, making quick work of your pants and underwear in one smooth motion.

the cool air hits your heated skin, and jisung's hands are immediately there, warm and grounding as they run up your thighs. he takes a moment to just look at you—all of you—spread out on his bed, and he thinks he might actually die from want.

"fuck," he says, voice raw. he drags a thumb through your folds "look at you. so wet already."

the embarrassment that flashes across your face makes jisung's chest tighten. he immediately leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your knee. "don't," he says gently, meaning it. "don't be embarrassed. this is so fucking hot. you're so fucking hot."

his hands massage your thighs, slowly pushing them apart, and blacks out when you just let him.

the sight of you all vulnerable and trusting, turned on and willing, is almost too much. he settles between your legs, and the reality that he's finally here, that this is actually happening, sends a sick thrill through him.

"i'm gonna make you feel so good," jisung promises, his breath ghosting over your inner thigh, pressing a lingering kiss there. he means it with everything in him. "gonna make you come so hard you forget your own name."

he continues with pressing kisses to yout thigh, taking his sweet time even though every instinct is screaming at him to rush. every press of his lips against your skin makes his own arousal spike higher, and by the time he reaches the crease where your thigh meets your hip, jisung's hands are shaking.

"jisung," you whimper, and the sound goes straight to his cock.

"i know, baby," he murmurs, pressing another kiss to your hip bone. "just wanna savor this. been dreamin’ bout having you like this."

he presses one more kiss to your hip bone, and then—finally, finally—jisung lets himself taste you properly.

his tongue slides through your folds in one long, slow lick, and the taste of you combined with the way your back arches off the bed, pussy pressing to his face, makes him moan.

"oh my god," you gasp, hands flying down to tangle in his hair.

jisung moans again, the sound vibrating through your core. "taste so fucking good," he mumbles, addicted. then he goes back to work with the single minded focus of making good on his promise.

he eats you out like it's his sole purpose in life—because right now, it is.

jisung’s been starving for this, and now that he finally has you, jisung loses himself completely.

his tongue circles your clit before he sucks it between his lips, and the way you respond? the sounds you make? the way your hips rock up against his face? it’s better than anything he's ever imagined.

and believe him, he’s imagined.

jisung's hands grip your thighs, holding you open as he works you over, trying to memorize every sound, every reaction. when he slides one finger inside you, slow and careful, you cry out, fingers tightening almost painfully in his hair.

"that okay?" he asks, pulling back just enough to speak.

when your eyes meet his you’re met with the sight of his face glistening with you, lips swollen and chin shiny. you have to swallow down a whine before you can mutter a small “fuck, yes, please-“

jisung grins—he can't help it—then goes back to sucking on your clit while his finger pumps in and out of you. the dual sensation is overwhelming for the both of you, albeit for wildly different reasons. for you, it’s the way he uses his tongue so fucking well, the wet, warm heat pressing flat against your clit so you can grind against his face to chase your own stimulation. for him? it’s how fucking sweet you are, how your walls flutter when he hits that spot that’s always just a little too far for you to reach on your own.

"jisung," you gasp. "i think- i think i'm—"

"yeah?" he purrs, adding a second finger and curling them in a way that leaves you breathless and seeing stars. "gonna come for me, rockstar? gonna come all over my fingers?"

the words combined with the relentless pleasure seem to push you right to the edge. when jisung takes your clit between his lips again, sucking hard, you fall apart, and jisung thinks he's never seen anything more beautiful.

your orgasm crashes over you in waves, waves jisung does his best to help work you through. his own pleasure spikes high as he watches you come undone.

your whole body seems to tense, thighs clamping around his head as you shake with aftershocks of it. he can hear you making noise—probably too much noise considering dorm walls are comically thin—but he fucking loves it, wants to hear it again and again.

jisung gentles his movements as you come down, not stopping until you're pushing at his head because it's too much, too sensitive.

he presses one last kiss to your swollen clit before sitting up, looking just as wrecked as you do. his hair a mess, lips swollen and wet, and he’s looking at you like you hung the damn moon. because fuck, that was the hottest thing he's ever done. sue him.

"holy shit," you breathe, and jisung feels a surge of satisfaction at how completely undone you look.

jisung crawls back up your body, pressing kisses to your stomach, your ribs, the valley between your breasts, before finally reaching your mouth. he kisses you deep, tongue sliding against yours in attempt to get you to taste yourself too.

"good?" he asks when he pulls back, and there's something vulnerable in the question. he needs to know you felt as good as he thinks you did, that he didn't disappoint you.

"so good," you assure him, reaching up to cup his face. "that was… i've never-"

"i know," he says softly, pressing a kiss to your palm. pride blooms warm in his chest. "first time for everything, right?"

you nod, still a little dazed, and jisung smiles. it's different from his earlier grins—softer, more genuine.

it’s only when he shifts his weight in discomfort that you realize how there’s still a devilish tent in his sweats. he catches the way your eyes drop, and immediately try and brush it off.

"don't worry bout me," he manages, even though his voice is strained and every nerve in his body is screaming for more.

"what about you?" you ask, and then your hand is on him, palming him through the fabric. jisung hisses, hips jerking forward into your touch before he can stop himself.

"i want to," you insist when he doesn’t reply, squeezing gently, and jisung nearly blacks out.

"baby- baby, fuck—" jisung whines, his hand shooting down to wrap around your wrist. he pushes your hand away as his head falls forward, sucking in heavy breaths between his teeth. he can feel the wet patch spreading across the front of his sweats, the aftermath of what just happened.

"i already- i already came, baby-"

you blink, processing his words. "you… already?"

jisung lets out a breathless laugh, cheeks flushing pink as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. he's embarrassed but also not because holy shit it was the most ‘worth it’ thing he’s ever done in his life.

"couldn't help it," he mumbles against your skin, words muffled. "you tasted so fucking good, and the sounds you were making?? fuck jagi, i didn't stand a chance."

your hands slowly raise to thread through the strands of his hair as if it wasn’t mussed up enough, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. jisung practically purrs at the touch.

"that's really hot, actually," you admit.

jisung lifts his head to look at you, searching your expression for any sign of disappointment or disgust. but all he sees is warmth, and something tender that makes his heart skip. "yeah?"

"yeah," you confirm, pulling him down for a slow, deep kiss. when you break apart, you're both smiling, and jisung feels something settle in his chest. it feels a lot like contentment.

"we should probably clean up," jisung murmurs after a moment, though he makes no move to actually get up. he's too comfortable like this, wrapped around you, feeling your heartbeat slowly return to normal beneath him.

"probably," you agree, but you don't move either.

jisung chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. "give me like, five minutes. then i'll get us a towel."

"five minutes," you repeat, fingers still playing with his hair in that way that makes him want to fall asleep right here.

but after a moment, reality starts creeping back in. jisung shifts, wincing slightly at the uncomfortable dampness in his boxers. "okay, actually i really need to change like, right now."

you laugh he reluctantly pulls away, watching as he stands on slightly shaky legs. you watch him with hooded eyes as he strips off his ruined sweats and boxers, tossing them into his laundry basket before grabbing a clean pair of sweatpants from his drawer.

"here," he says, pulling out one of his oversized hoodies and tossing it to you. "you can wear this if you want."

you slip it on while jisung grabs a damp towel from his bathroom.

he comes back to find you sitting up, his hoodie falling to your mid-thigh, and he has to take a moment to breathe and not pounce on you like a wild animal and fuck you right then and there.

"c'mere," he says softly, sitting beside you. he gently cleans you up, his touch careful and intimate in a different way than before. when he's done, he tosses the towel aside and pulls you back against him.

"soooo, that was..."

"yeah," jisung agrees, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "it really was."

there had been talk of childhood, how chan and the kids haven’t gotten a break in god knows how long, how your boyfriend had been a trainee for eight years before debuting. hell, you’d gotten through him calling himself a horrible person for making the kids cry during their survival show- but this?? this hits a spot in your soul far deeper than anything has in a long time.

it takes you a minute to pull yourself together, to wipe away the tears and get your breathing to even out, but even once they’re gone the sadness still lingers.

after the video comes to a close—after your ribcage squeezes harsh around your heart at chan’s sweet laugh after muttering a small when will i get married?—you have to take a minute or two to just sit with yourself.

the thing at the top of your mind is how badly you want to hug chan when he comes home.

over the next week or so you find yourself looking outside at night more than you normally would—or really just for a different reason than before.

you used to look out to admire the city life—the cars crawling along the streets, the neon lights that flicker every now and then, the buildings that reach into the sky—but now you look for something else: the stars.

at first you think maybe chan had just be exaggerating a little bit in the video, that there were some littered across the sky, just not as much as there were back at his home in sydney.

four days in you realize he was being truthful. there’s nothing.

correction: they are definitely there, but they just aren’t visible. light pollution. cloudy skies. it all shrouds them from the human eye.

it’s disheartening, to say the least.

you’ll make do, though. you always do. and if you can’t force away light pollution to dissipate enough to see the night sky in all it’s glory, you best believe you’ll take it into your hands.

the next evening you go to three separate stores in hopes of getting your hands on what would serve to be your saving grace: glow in the dark stars.

you found a few packs at the previous stores, but they were all stupidly small and too pricy for said size. who knew that plastic stars were such a commodity these days?

it’s at the third store—a little shop tucked into a side street—that you find exactly what you need. the pack is modest, a little worn on the edges but otherwise fine. when you flip it over and see the little picture demonstrating how you could arrange them, you know its perfect.

you walk out with five packs. a little overboard? sure. do you care? absolutely not.

chan doesn't get home until late that night, long after you've already arranged the stars across your apartments ceiling in scattered constellations—some real, some completely made up.

you’ve never been super grateful for chan’s tendencies to overwork himself by staying late at the studio, but tonight you can’t help but thank him for it. the stars took a little longer to hang up than originally anticipated, and you would’ve been crushed (and just a tad bit embarrassed) if he’d walked in on you balancing haphazardly on a barstool, plastic stars in hand as you decorated rhe ceiling.

the trail starts right above the apartment's front door, a sparse scatter of luminous stars that dot the ceiling in ones and twos. as the path winds further down the hallway in intentional spirals, the stars began to multiply—three here, five there—growing denser with each step toward the bedroom. by the time the trial reaches the living room, small clusters had formed, like little galaxies emerging from the darkness.

the closer it got to the bedroom door, the thicker the constellations became, stars overlapping and crowding together until they formed an almost continuous river of light that pooled above the bed in a breathtaking canopy.

some of them even spilled from the ceiling down the corners of the walls, filling the room with the softest glow.

it’s ridiculous. childish, even. but you can’t find it in you to care, not when pride grows warm in your chest at how pretty the sight of them is.

you’re making yourself at home in bed when you hear the familiar sound of the front door opening, followed by the soft thud of chan's bag hitting the floor.

"baby?" his voice carries down the hallway, tired but warm. "you still up?"

you prop yourself up on your elbows as you call back a soft “in here.”

you hear his footsteps padding down the hallway, only making it a few feet before he stops. there's a pause, one long enough that you know he's finally noticed.

"what the..." his voice trails off, confusion laced in each syllable.

you can't help but grin as you listen to him move slowly through the apartment, following the trail you’d spent so long layong out. his footsteps are slower now, more deliberate, like he's trying to piece together a puzzle.

when he finally appears in the doorway of the bedroom, his expression is priceless.

his eyes are wide, mouth slightly parted as he takes in the layout of glowing stars above the bed.

you cant help but think he looks like a kid who's just walked into a surprise birthday party.

"did you- did you put stars on our ceiling?" he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

you sit up fully now, tucking your knees to your chest. a laugh pushes its way from your lips, finding the question obvious but also endearing. "sure did."

"but… why?" he steps further into the room, craning his neck to look up at the constellations you've created. the soft green glow catches in his dark eyes, making them shimmer.

you can’t decide what’s prettier, him or the stars.

you take a breath, suddenly feeling a little shy about the whole thing. "uh, remember that episode you did with john park? when you asked if he ever missed seeing the stars?"

chan's expression shifts immediately. recognition, then something softer. he nods slowly.

"i started looking for them after i watched that," you continue, fidgeting with the hem of chan’s your shirt. "every night for like- a week. but there's nothing out there, chris. the light pollution, the clouds... you can't see anything-"

his eyes haven't left your face, and you watch his throat bob as he swallows.

"i just- i guess i couldn't stop thinking about it. about how you've been working so hard for so long, how you barely get breaks, and how even something as simple as seeing stars got taken away from you. so..." you gesture weakly at the ceiling, cheeks feeling warm. "i thought maybe i could bring them to you instead."

the statement came out more as a question then… well, a statement.

the silence that follows feels impossibly heavy. chan just stands there, staring at you with an expression you can't quite read, and for a horrifying moment you think maybe you've overstepped somehow.

but then his face crumples into something that can only be labeled as completely and utter admiration.

"channie-" you start, pushing yourself up and off the bed with the smallest laugh, taking a step forward to wrap him in your arms.

he beats you to it.

chan crosses the room in three strides and pulls you into his arms so tightly you almost lose your breath. his face buries into your neck almost immediately, and you can feel him shaking slightly.

"you're ridiculous," he mumbles against your skin, voice thick. "you're so fucking ridiculous and i love you so much."

your hands come up to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair. "i love you too, baby."

he pulls back just enough to look at you, and god, the way he's looking at you—like you've hung the moon instead of some cheap plastic stars—makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest.

"i can't believe you did this," he says, letting out a watery laugh. "i can't believe you listened to that stupid video and remembered and went out and bought- how many stores did you even go to?"

"three," you admit, just a tad bit sheepish.

"three," he repeats, shaking his head in disbelief. his hands come up to cup your face, thumbs stroking gently across your cheekbones. "you went to three stores to buy glow in the dark stars because i said i missed seeing the sky."

"well, when you put it like that—"

he kisses you before you can finish, soft and sweet and so full of emotion that it makes your chest ache for the nth time.

when he pulls away, his forehead rests against yours. "thank you," he whispers. "seriously. thank you."

you manage to grt in a "you're welcome," before he kisses you again, then once more for good measure.

finally, chan releases you in favor of looking back up at the stars—his stars.

he lies down on the bed, pulling you with him until you're tucked against his side, both of you staring up at the glowing ceiling.

"they're beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your arm. "you're beautiful. this is-" his voice catches slightly. "i think this is the nicest thing anybody’s ever done for me."

you burrow closer into his chest, letting your eyes trace the patterns above you. "you deserve nice things, chris. you deserve to see the stars."

his arm tightens around you, and for a long moment, neither of you says anything. you just lie there together in the soft green glow, wrapped up in each other while the weight of the day finally melts away.

"i don't think i'm ever going to be able to sleep without these now," chan admits quietly, a hint of humor creeping back into his voice.

you smile against his shoulder. "good thing i bought five packs then."

his laugh rumbles through his chest, warm and genuine and so utterly him that you can't help but smile wider.

"i really, really love you," he says again, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

"i really, really love you too."

방찬 bangchan

in public:

baby: i feel like this is his go to. uses it for greetings, getting your attention, all that good shit. uses this in the bedroom as well, but not as often as he does on just his day to day

hun: i don’t think he whips out the full ‘honey’, but will totally call you hun whenever he’s emotionally desperate. think arguments and apologies.

“please hun, i didn’t mean it, i swear to you i didn’t…”

in the bedroom:

babygirl: uses this when he’s leaning further into the dominance mindset. rough day at practice? growls it into your ear while nailing you from behind. lazily eating you out while half asleep? praises your taste with it.

“fuck, babygirl- feel so fuckin’ good around me” “my babygirl always tastes so good on my tongue. could stay here for days, baby…”

sweetheart: this is what slips from his lips when he’s needy, all hot and heavy and begging for something he can’t even remember. it sounds so sweet coming from him, all pitchy and cracked.

“s-sweetheart i, fuck… i need it so bad. please, please i can’t…”

이민호 lee minho

minho is a man of simplicity, we’ve seen this time and time again, so i feel like he only has two or three names he’d call you outside or just your name.

in public:

jagi: it’s simple, it’s plain, it’s common. minho uses this one most, both in and out of the bedroom. it’s his reliable go to when he doesn’t just wanna call you by your name.

in the bedroom:

kitten: called you this once around the boys, and jisung absolutely clowned on him for two months straight. it’s for that reason it’s now revered for you behind closed doors. the second this rolls off his tongue in that low purr of his, you know you’re in for it.

”c’mon, kitten. we can do better than that, can’t we?”

사창빈 seo changbin

in public:

honey: changbin needs his pda or else i’ll fear he’ll die- you’re just so sweet, so of course he musters up the sweetest pet name one can muster.

in the bedroom:

princess: you’re his love, his queen, his everything. it’s his one and only job to take care of you, so while his between your thighs with your taste on his tongue and your wetness coating his chin, he just has to remind you how high he holds you.

“my princess always tastes so good on my tongue. could stay here for days, baby…”

황현진 hwang hyunjin

i feel like hyunjin is the kind of person who gives you his all no matter where you are or what company you’re in, that’s why there aren’t sections to his petnames :3

pretty: is this an adjective? yes. does hyun use it as if it’s a name fit for a goddess? also yes. it’s not just a descriptor of him, it’s an embodiment of what you are as a whole. he’ll greet you with a kiss pressed to your hair and a little mumble of “hey pretty”. the members tease him about it sometimes, but when has that ever stopped him?

”pretty, would you mind passing me my paints?”

baby: uses this in the same way he does ‘pretty’—constant, fond, full of affection. the two are interchangeable for him, and sometimes he’ll even throw the pair together when he’s drunk or otherwise giddy.

”c’mere, pretty baby, lemme hold you”

angel: once again, every word hyunjin says to you can be nothing less than the praise you deserve. you are his angel, and he won’t let you go a day without reminding you.

love: pretty self explanatory. he’s a romantic through and through, is he not? he wasn’t the first in your relationship though—it was you who called him it first, it made his heart do something loud in his chest, and now he uses it with in hopes you’ll fell that little kick too.

한지성 han jisung

in public:

baby: we’ve all seen the skzcodes. this shit rolls off his tongue at every chance he gets. poor thing struggles to speak a single sentence without dropping a baby or jagi.

in private:

rockstar: honestly i feel like this is exclusive to idol!jisung. maybe i’m just a little too deep in the nerd!sung hole, but i feel like this is only something that would come out of his slutty little mouth after a performance or while riding him stupid in the recording studio.

“such a fuckin’ rockstar. you take me so well, ‘m losin’ my mind-“

이필릭스 lee felix

sunshine: is this incredibly cheesy? possibly. but honestly, felix can’t be too bothered. it’s sweet, and he feels like it fits you better than most other things.

lovely: you really are. lovely, that is. when he calls you this his eyes get a little shine to them that make it so incredibly obvious how absolutely gone he is for you.

“thank you, lovely. you’re all i could ever ask for”

김승민 kim seungmin

in public:

hun: pretty basic, and i feel like he definitely picked this up from channie over the years. he looks up to his hyung so much, and chan just treats his girl so good. it’s what he calls you most often, in passing, in greeting, so on and so forth.

in private:

pup: this isn’t exclusively bedroom talk, but more of a reserved title. he uses it sparingly, as warning or what follows after. he’ll use it in text after you send him a picture while he’s away on tour, or whisper it against the shell over your ear when you can’t keep your hands to yourself in public.

“careful, pup. i’m not in the mood to play right now”

slut: this is what follows his warning, when he’s bending you over the kitchen counter and fucking into you like you’re made for nothing but his pleasure.

”such a slut. couldn’t keep your hands off of me for two seconds, could you?”

양정인 yang jeongin

jeongin takes all of his mannerisms from his members. it’s not his fault—the grew up around them, so it’s not surprising that he takes after them.

in public:

pretty: was around hyunjin and his girl once when he called called her pretty, and jeongin was absolutely enraptured with the way her cheeks dusted pink. now he uses it on you, calling you pretty like it’s the only word in his vocabulary when you come around.

“hey pretty, you wanna go for for mandu later?”

in the bedroom:

slut: seungmin is who he looks up to most. one day seungmin had been a few shots too deep and was rattling off about how his girl was such a slut (incredibly lovingly) the last time he’d taken her as his plus one to some most recent branding event. long story short, next time you and jeongin were going at it, he let the name slip just to see how you reacted. let’s just say it’s become a frequent in his rotation.

“you a slut, baby? yeah? tell me about it…”

event taglist: @ariaaleelynn @yunhorights @thequeenofdramaqueens @sk1nnylikefel1x @cinnamoon-roll @karlee10261990 @quaxing-lour

hyun ㅤ♡ㅤ [11:03pm]

you awake? need you for sketch practice come over??

you [11:05pm]

now?

hyun ㅤ♡ [11:05pm]

yes please need some inspiration

the door swings open before you can knock a second time.

hyunjin leans against the doorframe with a glass of red wine cradled in one hand—casually ethereal, if thats even a thing.

the dim lighting from inside his apartment casts soft shadows across his face, and he's wearing that loose gray hoodie you love maybe a little too much, the one that makes him look effortlessly beautiful even at an ungodly hour like this one.

"hi angel" he says, voice a low purr that flows just right with the lateness. his eyes crinkle at the corners as he steps aside to let you in. "thanks for coming."

"sketch practice at eleven?" you tease, slipping past him into the apartment. "very professional."

he laughs softly as he closes the door behind you with a soft click. "what can i say? inspiration strikes at inconvenient times."

and it’s true. you’ve been with him long enough that it isn’t very out of the ordinary.

the apartment is quieter than usual, the kind of stillness that makes you hyper-aware of every sound—the soft clink of hyunjin's glass as he sets it down on the kitchen island, the shuffle of your shoes as you toe them off by the door. there's music playing from somewhere, something instrumental and gentle that you can't quite place.

"wine?" hyunjin offers, already reaching for a fresh glass because he knows you all too well.

"if you don’t mind," you shoot back, knowing damn well he doesn’t.

when you glance towards your boyfriend you notice the bottle on the counter is already empty, and his glass—the one he'd just set down—is nearly drained.

you have some catching up to do, it seems.

you follow him with your eyes as he pours you a glass with careful precision. his movements are unhurried, deliberate, like he's savoring the ritual of it.

when he hands you the glass, his fingers brush against yours for just a moment, warm and lingering. he smiles. you smile back.

the liquid is rich as it flows past your lips. its the kind of wine that probably cost more than you'd ever think to spending on a single bottle—aged and unbelievably smooth as you swallow.

"so, where's this sketch practice happening?" you make air quotes with the hand not currently occupied.

hyunjin chuckles his way through a right there, gesturing toward the couch with his now-refilled glass. "i just need you to sit for me. just get comfortable."

the space has been rearranged since the last time you were here.

his easel is set up near the window, angled to catch the soft glow of the city light outside. sketching materials are laid out on the side table—charcoal sticks, pencils, an eraser worn down to a nub. the couch has been pushed back slightly too, creating more space in the center of the room.

you tuck one leg beneath you as you settle onto the couch cushions, cradling your wine glass in both hands while you shift around until you’re perfectly content with you position.

hyunjin watches you for a moment, head tilted with that half smile you cent help but love. he lets his eyes linger for a moment longer before nodding to himself and moving to stand behind the easel.

"perfect, baby" it’s quiet, almost like it’s spoken more for himself than you.

the compliment comes so easily, so naturally, that it makes warmth bloom in your chest.

you take another sip of wine every now and then but otherwise try to stay still for hyunjin’s sake.

it so calming watching him in his craft. you watch as his eyes flick between you and the paper, hand moving in bold strokes you can’t quite see but completely trust.

hyunjin is beautiful, that’s a nonnegotiable. whether it be dancing or performing, he’s is undeniably incredible. that being said, there’s just something about watching him lose himself in art that’s so… addicting.

the room falls into a comfortable silence that’s only broken by the soft scratch of charcoal against paper and the gentle instrumentals music drifting through the apartment.

you try to hold still, focusing on the way the streetlight outside casts a warm glow through the window, painting everything in shades of amber and shadow. it catches hyunjin’s features just right, and the sight warms your heart faster than the alcohol warms your skin.

while you admire him, hyunjin works with an intensity you've seen before—the kind of focus that makes the rest of the world fade away.

"tilt your head just a little to the left," he says softly without looking up from his work.

you adjust, he hums in approval. "that's it. perfect."

minutes pass—five, ten, maybe fifteen.

your wine glass sits nearly empty and forgotten on the coffee table, and you find yourself less focused on staying still and more on studying him. there’s concentration etched into his features, a slight crease between his brows from where they’re knit together, lips pressing together as he erases a stroke he doesn’t deem good enough.

"you're staring," hyunjin mutters, clearly amused that he can feel your eyes on him without even looking up.

"well, you're the one who invited me here to stare at me," you counter, failing to suppress a smile.

he does spare you a glance then, one that’s warm and utterly disarming. "fair enough."

the charcoal continues its dance across the paper, filling the silence that follows your back and forth with its rhythmic scratching.

you watch as hyunjin leans back occasionally to assess his work, head this way and that in that contemplative way artists do, before diving back in with renewed purpose.

"how much longer do i have to sit still?" you ask after what feels like an eternity but is probably only twenty minutes.

"getting restless, love?" there’s a hint of teasing in his tone as he sets down his charcoal and steps out from behind the easel, wiping his hands on a cloth.

there's a smudge of black on his cheekbone that he either doesn’t know is there or can’t be bothered to remove.

hyunjin approaches slowly, his gaze sweeping over you with the same careful attention he'd been giving his sketch.

you love it when he does that—stares at you like you’re art.

when he reaches the couch he doesn't sit beside you. instead, he stands in right in front of where you’re sitting, full attention on you now that there isn’t a canvas blocking his view.

"the lighting's changed," again, he sounds like he’s speaking more to himself than to you."and the angle’s not quite right."

before you can ask what he means, his fingers are on you.

they brush gentle as they tilt your chin up slightly. he lingers in the way he always does when he touches you, thumb brushing just below your jawline in a way that makes you shiver. and suddenly the air in the room feels a lot warmer than it did just seconds ago.

"there," he whispers, his eyes locked on yours. "much better."

you half expected him to go back to his artwork, but you aren’t at all surprised when he doesn’t.

hyunjin stays where he is, standing close enough that you can smell the faint scent of his cologne mixed with that undertone that can only be described as hyunjin. his hand drops from your chin but doesn’t leave your body, simply dropping to your shoulder.

"stay still for me," his words are clear, though there's something in his voice that suggests stillness isn't really what he's after anymore. you’re not sure it ever really was.

not trusting your words, you offer a simple nod.

your heart pick up its pace as he steps to the side, taking you in from another angle yet again. his fingers trail along your collarbone as he moves, a touch so light it could almost be accidental. you would’ve taken it that way if you didn’t know hyunjin well enough to know nothing he does is accidental.

"your tense, darling," he says softly, thumb dipping to rest perfectly right at the hollow of your throat. he presses, just for a moment, but it’s enough for your eyes to flutter closed. you hear him hum, deep and satisfied. he lets you savor the pressure for a second or two more before his hand moves again, his fingers squeezing into the muscle of your shoulder.

you can't help the small sound that escapes your throat—thing between a sigh and a hum of relief. hyunjin's hand pause for just a moment before continuing their massage, moving down to your shoulders in slow, deliberate strokes.

"better?" his voice is lower than a whisper somehow, something drawn and straight from his chest.

"much," you manage, voice shakier than intended.

his hands slide down your arms, fingertips tracing the lines of your muscles as if he's memorizing them. when he reaches your wrists, he gently repositions your hands, placing them in your lap with careful precision.

"there…"

when you’re eyes opening again you’re looking at him head on. he’s dropped to his knees, kneeling in front of you with the admiration of a man who breaths art. it’s a little overwhelming, honestly—the way he refuses to take his gaze off of you.

"…the light is hitting you differently now."

you swallow hard, suddenly very aware of how close he is. "is that good or bad?"

"it's perfect," he breathes, and his hand comes up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. his fingers linger there, tucking and smoothing, his touch feather-light against your temple.

the pretense of sketching feels like a distant memory now. charcoals and paper sits abandoned across the room, the unfinished piece a forgotten witness to whatever this has bleed into.

"hyunjin," nothing follows after his name, all words dying on your tongue like you’re body want’s to savor the taste of him.

he's studying your face now with that same intense focus he'd given his sketch, but this feels different—more intimate, far more tailored. his thumb traces along your cheekbone, brushing down your jaw before skimming in antagonizing slowness.

"you're so beautiful," there’s something so raw in his voice as he says , something that makes your breath catch. "i can't… i can't even concentrate."

his hand cups your face, thumb still resting against your lip, and when his eyes meet yours you see the question in them.

the want.

it’s a question you answer by leaning forward and closing the small distance between you.

hyunjin's lips move against yours with a hunger that steals your breath, his hand sliding from your face to tangle in your hair.

it’s hard not to melt into him as he deepens the kiss, the press of lips quickly becoming more teeth and tongue. your hands coming up to clutch at the soft fabric of his hoodie in an attempt to ground yourself.

when he finally pulls back, you're both breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours. his eyes dark, searching yours with a lazy purpose.

"i've been wanting to do that all night," he admits, voice rough. his thumb traces over your slightly swollen bottom lip again.

"then why the sketch practice excuse?" your question is paired with a airy laugh.

a corner of his mouth lifts in a sheepish smile. "because i'm not good at just asking you to come over at eleven at night without a reason." his hand moves to cup the back of your neck, fingers playing idly with the hair at your nape. "and because i really did want to draw you. you're my favorite subject."

the confession makes your heart stutter.

hyunjin kisses you again, slower this time. his free hand finds your waist, pulling you closer until you’re sitting on the edge of the couch with him kneeling in between your knees.

you lose track of time—it could be minutes or hours—as his lips map a path from your mouth to your jaw, then down the column of your neck. each kiss is punctuated by soft breaths, by the occasional scrape of teeth that makes you gasp and whine.

"hyunjin," you breathe, and his name sounds different in your mouth now—heavier, slurred with alcohol and want.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, and the intensity in his gaze makes your stomach flip.

"tell me to stop," he whispers, though his hands say the exact opposite, fingers tracing patterns along your sides that make you itch with warmth.

"i don't.” you admit, and the words come out far steadier than you feel.

something shifts in his expression—relief, desire. maybe both.

he stands then, pulling you up with him until you're pressed flush against him, feeling the solid warmth of his body through the thin layers of his clothing and yours.

"good," he murmurs against your ear, sending another wave of shivers through you. "because i don't think i could."

his hands slide down to your hips so his thumbs can presd into the skin just above your jeans.

when he guides you towards the couch again, you go willingly.

the backs of your knees hit the cushions and you sink down, pulling him with you. your head ends up propped on the armrest, your back pressed to the bottom cushions as you stare up at your lover.

hyunjin settles over you, pressing a knee pressed between your legs and supporting his weight on his forearm so he can hover above you. when he lowers himself to kiss you again, you feel the full length of his body melt against yours.

"you're perfect, darling" he whispers between kisses, hand sliding under the hem of your shirt to rest against the bare skin of your waist. "so perfect."

in that moment you decide there are only three things that matter: hyunjin's weight pressing you further the couch cushions, his mouth hot and insistent against yours, and the way his fingers are tracing deliberate paths along your ribs in a way that makes your breath catch high in your throat.

"tell me what you want," he murmurs against your lips, pulling back just enough to look at you. his pupils are blown wide and there's something almost desperate in the way he's looking at you—like he's trying to memorize every detail of this moment before it disappears into the next.

there’s still a part of you that doesnt quite trust that your voice can get across how bad you need it, so instead you reach up and pull him back down, answering with a kiss that's all heat and want.

hyunjin groans into your mouth. the sound vibrates through your chest, as his hand slides higher beneath your shirt, fingertips grazing sensitive skin that makes you arch into his touch.

"need to hear you say it, love. need to know how you want me to cherish you."

"you," you manage, voice barely above a whisper. "just want you."

hyunjin’s following hum is one full of contentment. his mouth finds your neck again, kissing and marking the sensitive skin there in a way that will definitely leave evidence.

hyunjin’s an artist. he knows a good canvas when he sees one, especially if its carved in the perfect slope—the column of your neck.

you should probably care about that, but you can't bring yourself to when his hand is sliding higher, when his knee is pressing more firmly between your thighs.

"been thinking about this," hyunjin confesses against your collarbone. he pushes himself up until he’s sitting between your legs, his newly free hand coming to push the hem of your shirt higher. "all week. every time i tried to sketch, all i could draw was you."

"show me," the words are bold, fueled by wine and darkness and the way he's staring at you like you're something precious. "show me what you were thinking about, hyun."

"yeah?" his voice is rough, strained. "you sure?"

your answer consists of you reaching for the hem of his hoodie. he helps you pull it off, taking his hands off of you just long enough to tug it over his head and toss it aside. the dim lighting catches on the planes of his chest, lean muscles and absurdly defined v-line on full display.

you only get to admire for a few seconds before hyunjin’s mumbling "your turn," and pulling tour shirt off with careful reverence, like he's unwrapping something sacred.

for a moment, he just looks at you, his gaze traveling slowly from your face down to where his hands clutch at your waist. "beautiful," he breathes. "you're so beautiful."

he leans down and presses a kiss to your sternum, trailing lower and lower as he maps a path with his mouth that makes your back arch off the couch. his hands dig into your sides, and when you gasp his name you can feel the way his lips curl against your skin

"you like that, baby?" he asks and you can only nod, letting your fingers curl into his hair and tug in encouragement.

time feels like it’s become something fluid, meaningless. there's only the sensation of his mouth on your skin, his hands learning every curve and dip of your body for the hundredth time while he whispers your name like a prayer.

you're dimly aware of more clothing being shed—his jeans, yours, the rest of the barriers between you disappearing until there's nothing but skin against skin, warm and intoxicating.

"come here," hyunjin murmurs, settling back against the couch and pulling you with him.

somehow you end up straddling his lap, knees bracketing either side of his hips, and the new position makes you acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies.

his hands find your hips, holding you steady as he looks up at you with something like you’ve been carved from marble. "you're so perfect like this," he voice is rough with want. "can't believe you're real."

you lean down to kiss him slow and deep while his grip on your hips tightens. when you rock against him in a playful roll, hyunjin breaks the kiss with a sharp intake of breath, head falling back against the couch.

"don't tease," he groans, but there's no real complaint in his voice—just need.

"who says i'm teasing?" you whisper against his ear, and the shudder that runs through him is satisfying on a level that’s soul deep.

his hands slide from your hips to your thighs, fingers pressing into your skin with just enough pressure to leave marks.

"then don't make me wait."

and because you need it just as bad as he does, you do as told, lifting yourself up slightly to position yourself properly.

when you sink down onto him, the space between you is filled with a harmony of gasp and groans. for a moment neither of you move, you needing time to adjust to the unholy stretch of it all and hyunjin craving a moment to bask in the sheer warmth of you.

"god," hyunjin breathes, head tipping forward to rest against your shoulder. his hands grip at you like you're the only thing keeping him sane. funny, considering you’re the reason he needs an anchor in the first place.

"you feel so.." he starts but apparently can’t quite find it in himself to finish, the words disappearing into nothing more than a whiny exhale. he guides your hips into a slow rhythm, groaning as your hips circle over his. you follow his lead without complaint, finding a pace that makes both of you shudder.

hyunjin’s mouth finds your neck, your collarbone, kissing over any patch of skin he can physically reach. he marks you with messy kisses and harsh bites that will leave their marks for what you can only assume will be days.

"so good," he murmurs between kisses, voice fraying and strained. "you're so good, so fucking perfect-"

the praise makes something warm bloom in your chest, spurring you to up the pace slightly. hyunjin's grip on your hips tightens, breathing growing ragged.

"that's it, love," comes his encouragement, one hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair. "just like that. you're doing so well."

his words are interspersed with kisses, with gasps, with soft sounds of pleasure that drive you further, faster. you can feel the tension building in your core, spreading through your limbs like electricity.

"hyun-" you’re gasp of his name earns you a proper kiss this time, hyunjin swallowing your moans as his hips move in rhythm with yours.

one of his hands slides between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with practiced ease and circling with just the right amount of pressure. it’s the combination of sensations—his touch, his movement, his voice, his attention—that sends you spiraling past the point of return.

your rhythm falters as pleasure crashes over you in waves. hyunjin holds you through it, whispering praise and encouragement as you come undone in his arms. the sight and feel of you reaching your peak is enough to push him over that edge too, and he buries his face in your neck with a groan as he follows you into bliss.

for a long moment, neither of you move.

you're both breathing hard, hearts racing, tangled together on the couch in a mess of limbs and sweat and satisfaction. hyunjin's hands are still on your hips, but his grip has softened to something gentle, tender as he handles you.

hyunjin’s the first to move after all is said and done, reaching over the back of the couch to grab the throw blanket draped there. he wraps it around your shoulders with careful attention, making sure you're covered before settling back and pulling you against his chest.

"you okay?" he asks softly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your back beneath the blanket.

"more than okay," you give a little laugh and poke him in the side. "though i have to say, that was some intense sketch practice."

he laughs with, the sound rumbling through his chest where your head is resting. "yeah, i might have had ulterior motives."

"might?" you tease, tilting your head to look up at him.

his expression softens, one hand coming up to brush hair away from your face. "okay, definitely had ulterior motives. i just wanted you here. wanted to see you, be with you." he pauses, a slight flush coloring his cheeks. "the sketch was real though. i really do love drawing you."

you give a satisfied hum as you settle into his embrace, the blanket cocooning you both in warmth. the instrumental music is still playing softly somewhere in the background. you can hear hyunjin’s heartbeat drumming faint beneath your ear, steady and reassuring.

"stay," is what he mutters against your hair when the silence stretches a little too long. "don't go home tonight."

"wasn't plannin’ on it," you sigh as you snuggle closer.

his arms tighten around you, and you feel him press a kiss to the crown of your head. "good. because i'm not done with you yet."

"oh?" you look up at him again, this time with a raised brow. "what? more sketch practice?"

he shrugs with an unfairly beautiful smile. "among other things."

you laugh at his nonsense, planting a small kiss to his shoulder to reward him for his stupid words and stupider smile.

you’re warm. it’s not really a shocking revelation, considering you’re bundled under fleece bedding and a weighted duvet, but it’s still the first thing that your brain latches onto when you slowly stir back into consciousness.

your chest expands as you brave inhale deep through your nose. the air you’d just taken in leaves you in a yawn.

the longer you lay there, the more the warmth starts to eat at your skin, worming its way below your skin to wrap around bone in a way that suggests comfort even though it leaves your skin a little damp with sweat.

with a little grumble and another yawn, you force yourself to open your eyes enough to take stock of the room around you.

you’d forgotten to pull the curtains closed the night before, and the sun has taken that as invitation to flood the room with that golden kind of light you can only find in the early hours of morning. it really is like gold, liquid and almost surreal as it illuminates the scene in front of you—the clothes you’d started folding before getting too tired. dori curled at the edge of his mattress, brothers no where in sight. the bed that’s too big.

too empty.

that alone is enough to mute the calming warmth of the morning sun.

minho had been gone for a few months now. actually, it’s been three months, twenty five days, and… ah yes, one hundred and forty three minutes. you set your phone back down and let your eyes fall closed.

it was part of the job, you knew that when the two of you had first started talking about making your relationship work, but fuck did the crazy travel schedules make it a little difficult at times.

not difficult in the sense that it put a strain on your relationship, you were both mature enough for that to go without problem, but it just got a little lonely sometimes. you both felt it in your own ways, even if neither of you would openly admit to such.

you weren’t mature enough to not care about that pride.

minho had been scheduled to return two days ago, but some unexpected weather had caught the boys by surprise and left them stuck in japan until the planes could take to the skies again. you'd been understanding, of course. a little disappointed, sure, but understanding nonetheless.

it wasn't anyone's fault that mother nature had decided to throw a tantrum.

you decide that wallowing isn't going to do you any good. with a resigned sigh, you push yourself up onto your elbow, already planning to slip out of bed and start your day. maybe you'd make yourself some breakfast, clean up the apartment a little, take dori out for a walk—

but before you can even swing your legs over the edge of the mattress, you feel it.

an arm, warm and solid, slides around your waist with a kind of lazy determination. the grip is gentle but firm, and before you can process what's happening, you're being pulled back against a chest that's far too warm and far too real to be your imagination.

you freeze.

"minho?" your voice comes out as barely a whisper, almost afraid that if you say it too loud, the moment will shatter and you'll wake up alone again.

a little mm is the only response you get, low and sleepy heavy in a way that rumbles through his chest and vibrates against your back.

his face burrows into the curve of your shoulder, and you feel the soft press of his lips against your skin—once, twice, three times in lazy succession. each kiss is unhurried, like he has all the time in the world and nowhere else he'd rather be.

you try to turn around to look at him, but his arm tightens just slightly, keeping you right where you are. another hum, this one almost petulant, as if to say don't even think about it.

"when did you…" you start, but he cuts you off with another kiss to your shoulder, this one lingering a little longer. his breath is warm against your skin, and you can feel the way his body molds perfectly against yours, like two puzzle pieces that had been separated for far too long.

he doesn't say anything. he doesn't need to. the way he holds you, the way his thumb traces absent circles against your hip, the way he presses his nose into the crook of your neck and just breathes you in—it all says enough.

another grunt, low and satisfied, and you feel him relax even further into you, his weight a comforting presence at your back.

you let yourself sink back into his embrace, hand coming up to rest over his arm, fingers tracing mindlessly over his knuckles and the veins that snake up his forearm. "i missed you, min"

he responds with a soft, sleepy noise that sounds almost like agreement, and then another kiss, this one pressed just below your ear. his lips linger there for a moment before he settles again. that’s when you get your first real words out of him. “i know, jagi.”

minho grows silent after that, still and content. for a while, you think that might be it—that he'll just hold you like this until sleep pulls him back under, content to exist in the quiet warmth of the morning after so long away.

you’ve known him long enough that you should’ve assumed otherwise.

the shift is subtle at first. his hand, which had been resting innocently at your hip beforehand, palms slowly at the bone. it's slow, almost imperceptible, like he's testing the waters or maybe not even fully conscious of what he's doing. his fingers splay wide, palm pressing flat against the soft fabric of your tanktop as he drags his hand up your side in a way that's both lazy and deliberate.

you feel the path he traces—over the curve of your waist, up along your ribs, each inch of movement unhurried but unmistakably full of purpose. his touch is warm, almost hot through the thin material, and it leaves a trail of heightened awareness in its wake.

your breath catches slightly, and the way you hear his his little hum in response—feel it against your shoulder—makes that halt in breath far worse than it needed to be. it's a low, satisfied sound, smug and far too pleased with the reaction he's pulled from you.

minho’s hand pauses just below your chest, thumb brushing back and forth in a gentle arc that makes your skin prickle with anticipation. you squirm slightly when he makes no move to actually palm at your tits properly, minho apparently finding perfect contentment in just feeling, mapping out the shape of you with drowsy patience.

"min," you mutter, not even sure what you're asking for. your voice comes out softer than intended.

he makes another one of those sleepy sounds, somewhere between a hum and a grunt, and his lips find your shoulder again. this kiss is different from the others—slower, wetter, just the barest hint of teeth that makes your pulse jump.

he’s always been so good at playing games like this. it’s enraging.

his hand finally moves again, sliding back down to your hip to where it can slip just under the hem of your tank.

the first touch of his skin against yours is like a spark.

he doesn't rush. instead, he just lets his fingers dance along the bare skin of your hip, admiring the way you shift slightly with impatience as time stretches.

you can feel the way his breathing has changed, a little deeper now, a little less even. his chest rises and falls against your back in a rhythm that matches the slow, meandering path of his hand.

he drags his palm up again, this time under your tank, and the sensation of skin on skin is enough for your eyes to flutter closed with a satisfied sigh. it’s almost embarrassing how something as simple as contact gets you worked up, but after so long apart, can you really be blamed?

his hand is so warm, almost burning as it travels up your side, thumb brushing against your ribs in a way that's both ticklish and something else entirely.

when he reaches the underside of your breast, he pauses again. for a moment, he just rests his hand there, feeling the way your breathing has quickened, the way your heart beats a little faster under his touch.

"you're so warm," he mumbles against your neck, voice still thick with sleep but edged with something darker now, something that makes your thighs press together in a way you hope is subtle. his thumb brushes up, just barely grazing sensitive skin, and you can't help the soft sound that escapes you.

that alone seems to provide enough encouragement for him to continue.

minho’s hand cups you fully now, gentle but possessive, and he makes another one of those little satisfied grunts. his lips find the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, and he kisses there slowly, open-mouthed and lingering.

his other arm, the one you're half lying on, shifts so that his hand can slide down to your stomach. he spreads his fingers wide, palm pressing against the soft skin just above your navel, and you can’t help but feel surrounded by him—his chest at your back, his arms around you, his warmth seeping into every part of you.

god, you missed him.

both hands start to move again, working in tandem but never rushing. one continues its lazy exploration of your chest, thumb circling and pressing at your nipple in a rhythm that makes your breath come faster. the other slides lower, fingers dancing along the waistband of your sleep shorts in a way that's more teasing than anything else.

you press back against him, and you feel the evidence of his own interest, hard and insistent against the curve of your ass. he groans softly at the contact, and his grip on you tightens just slightly.

"stayed gone for too long," he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear. "need you."

his hand slips just under the waistband of your shorts, not going any lower yet, just resting there with his fingers splayed across your lower belly. it’s intoxicatingly possessive, claiming in a way that’s so simple but so fucking attractive.

you cover his hand with yours, not to stop him but just to feel, to ground yourself in the reality that he's really here, really touching you like this after so long apart.

"i'm not going anywhere," you whisper, and you feel his smile against your skin.

"good," he says simply. "because i'm not done with you yet."

when his hand finally, finally, slides lower, it doesn’t elicit a gasp. there’s a single, fluttery exhale that punches out of you, taking any resolve you might have held with it.

he takes his time, fingers moving with that same unwavering patience, like he has all morning to learn you all over again. every touch is deliberate, every caress designed to pull those soft sounds from your throat that he seems to collect like treasures.

the morning sun continues to pour through the window, painting everything in that golden light, and somewhere at the edge of the bed, dori has started purring. but you barely notice any of it, too focused on the way minho touches you—slow and possessive and so, so thorough.

his lips find your neck again, kissing and sucking at the sensitive skin there, and his hands continue their wandering exploration. there's no rush, no urgency. just the two of you, tangled together in the warmth of the morning, making up for lost time in the slowest, sweetest way possible

you're halfway through measuring out the dry ingredients when you hear his footsteps, the sounding giving him away as he wanders from the living room into the kitchen.

seungmin doesn’t say anything to alert himself until he’s settled right where he wants to be.

he leans against the counter beside you with his arms crossed. you don’t give him that satisfaction of looking up at him, but out of the corner of your gaze you watch as he tilts his head slightly to the side, completely unashamed as he studies you.

"busy?" he finally asks, though it isn’t really much of a question.

"obviously," you mutter, stirring the bowl with more focus than necessary. the wooden spoon scrapes against ceramic, rhythmic and steady.

seungmin only hums, the sound low and thoughtful. the silence stretches for a moment too long and is only broken by your huff of annoyance.

he apparently doesn’t take your dramatized exhale as the hint it is though, because in the next second you feel him taking the end of your bow string between his fingers, giving it a harsh tug so that the knot comes undone with ease.

"seungmin, what the hell?"

"what?" he's already stepping back, feigning innocence as he raises his hands like he’s been caught. it would be endearing if you knew he didn’t actually care. "it was crooked."

"it was fine." you complain, but it’s immediately met with a mouth little “it wasn’t, though” from the man beside you.

you exhale hard through your nose. sometimes the nerve seungmin has drive you a little too far up the wall.

you drop the spoon in your mixing bowl in favor of reaching behind you to tie your bow again, ignoring the way his gaze lingers on your hands. you shoot him a little look of warning before going back to your stirring.

but seungmin doesn't move. of course he doesn't. no, you’re stuck with him, it seems.

"you're stirring too fast."

"i'm not."

"you are. you're going to overwork the dough."

"it's not dough yet, it's batter, and i'm doing it exactly what the recipe says." you don't look at him. you won't.

"if you say so."

you force yourself to keep going, cheek pinched between your teeth to help physically hold back another snapping comment. the kitchen smells like vanilla and butter, warm and sweet, and you're trying to focus on that instead of the way he's still standing there, still watching, still—

something light and powdery hits your cheek.

you stop stirring.

slowly, you turn your head to look at him. there's a faint dusting of flour on his fingertips. his expression is completely neutral.

"did you just…"

"you had something on your face," he says smoothly.

"i didn't."

seungmin releases a breath of air through his nose that’s awfully similar to laugh. "you do now."

you stare at him. he stares back, unbothered, mouth twitching at the corner like he's holding back a smile.

you want to throw the spoon at him. you want to shove him out of the kitchen and into his room and tell him he’s a stupid idiot with a surprising lack of braincells for someone as smart as he is. instead, you grit out a “you’re impossible” before turning your back to him, bowl in hand was you try to keep your dignity intact.

you raise a hand to wipe at your cheek even though you know it’s only making the problem worse, smudging the flour over your skin further instead of wiping it away as intended. it’s not really about the act of getting clean though, it’s the show of annoyance.

"and you're cute when you're messy," he says, and it’s so casual that it almost doesn't register at first.

almost.

your hand stills. heat crawls up your neck and blooms in a faint shade of pink avross your cheeks. you slowly start to turn towards him before thinking better, because what are you even supposed to say to something like that?

"i'm not messy," you mumble in defense, giving the batter a weak stir with the spatula as you try your damnedest to look like you aren’t effect. which you aren’t. you’re fine.

"you are…" he counters, and this time you do glance over.

you’ve never regretted a glance faster in your entire life.

seungmin’s closer now. much, much closer. his eyes meet yours, dark and deep and calculating—unreadable in the way that always makes your pulse stumble because you know damn well what it often leads to. "and i think you like it."

you open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out. he's looking at you like he knows something you don't, like he's already three steps ahead and just waiting for you to catch up.

and maybe he is.

"seungmin…" his name comes out breathless, barely a whisper, and he catches it with his mouth.

the kiss is slow, deliberate, like he's savoring the way you melt into his palms in under a second of his attention. his hands slide down your sides, squeeze at your waist, palm at your ass. he lets his hands stay there the longest, using them as leverage to pull you flush against him

"messy," he murmurs against your lips, staying close enough so you can feel the way he smiles, endlessly pleased with himself. "so messy and desperate for me, aren’t you, pup?"

you want to argue, to push back, but then his fingers are tugging at the tie of your apron again, this time with purpose instead of useless teasing. it falls away easily, and seungmin leans away just long enough to pull it up and over your head.

seungmin doesn’t grant you a single second to breathe before his fingers are working at the waistband of your pants.

"seung, wait-" you start, but your voice cracks when he flips you around, pressing your hips firm against the counter. the cool edge digs into your skin, helping to ground you even as everything dissolves into directionless need.

"waiting's boring," he whispers, low and so close to your ear that you can feel the warmth of his breath fan across the sensitive skin., you can also feel the length of him pressing into your thigh, hot and insistent.

despite that though, the way you can feel he needs you just as bad as you need him, seungmin doesn't rush. he never does.

his hands slide your pants down slowly, fingers skimming over your thighs, your hips, tracing patterns that make you shiver. when he finally touches you properly—fingers slipping between your legs, finding you already wet—he lets out a soft, satisfied hum.

"knew it," he purrs, almost to himself. "knew you liked being called a messy slut, don’t you baby?"

you bite your lip to try and withhold the satisfaction of granting him an answer, but your body betrays you. you hips press back against his fingers in a subconscious search for more, and he chuckles, low and infuriatingly calm as his middle finger circles lazily over your clit.

"thought so."

he works you open with his fingers first, methodical and patient, curling them just right until your knees threaten to give out. you grip the edge of the counter, knuckles white, trying to stay grounded, but he's relentless. he knows exactly how to take you apart.

"seungmin, please."

"please what?" his voice is teasing as always, but there's new edge to it now, something darker. his fingers slip out of you, and you hear the sound of his belt, the rustle of fabric. "tell me."

"just- just fuck me already."

he laughs, soft and breathless, and then he's there, pressing into you in one slow, torturous slide. you gasp, hands scrambling for purchase against the counter, and he pauses, lets you adjust, his hands firm on your hips.

"messy," he says again, and this time it sounds almost reverent. he pulls back, then thrusts forward, setting a rhythm that's just slow enough to drive you insane. "so fucking messy."

you can't think, can't focus on anything except the way he fills you, the way his hands grip you like he's afraid you'll slip away. the kitchen fades—no more vanilla, no more butter, just the sound of your breathing, the slick slide of him inside you, the way he groans low in his throat when you clench around him.

he shifts the angle and hits something deep and perfect.

with a cry your head falls forwards, struggling to keep your eyes open as you blink down at the counter. seungmin moves to lean over you, one hand braced on the counter beside yours, the other sliding up to wrap around your throat—not squeezing, but holding. it’s not so much a threat as it is a reminder, reminding you that he's there, that he could if he wanted to.

"that's it," he breathes, lips brushing your ear again. "that’s my messy baby. so pretty for me."

the pace picks up, harder now, more desperate, and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge. seungmin must feel it too, because he takes it upon himself to work you just the way he knows you need. his thrusts hit at just the right angle as his hand tightens just slightly on your throat, and that's all it takes. you shatter, gasping his name, vision blurring as pleasure crashes through you like a fucking tsunami.

he follows moments later, burying himself deep with a choked groan, and you feel the warmth of him spilling inside you.

he stays there, hips pressed tight against yours, breathing hard, and for a moment everything is still.

when he finally moves to pull out the drag of him is overwhelming in a way that makes all air catch in your throat. his release follows him as he goes, sticky and warm as it drips slow down your inner thigh.

you're about to move, to clean yourself up, before his hand catches your hip in a way that makes you still.

"don’t," he says, voice rough and ragged around the edges.

you glance over your shoulder, confused, but his gaze doesn’t meet yours.

seungmin’s eyes are glued to your pussy, wrecked and swollen, watching as his cum dragging down your skin. without a single word he reaches out, thumb dragging through the mess to smear it further over your thigh.

"look at you," he murmurs, and if you weren’t mistaken, the tone he used wasn’t something far away from awe. "such a damn mess."

heat floods your face. embarrassed, you try and wiggle away from his sight, his hands, but he keeps you held firmly where he wants you, thumb still tracing idle patterns through the slickness on your thigh.

"seungmin—"

"what?" he looks up at you then, eyes glinting with something smug and satisfied. "you said you weren't messy. but look at you now."

you open your mouth to argue, but the words won't come. he leans in, presses a kiss to your shoulder, soft and almost tender.

"exactly how i like you," he says quietly. "messy. mine."

and despite everything—despite the flour still on your cheek, the way your legs are shaking, the absolute disaster you know you look like right now—you can't help the way your heart stutters at his words.

maybe being messy isn't such a bad thing after all.

[a/n] 2: look at me being a good samaritan and letting you guys still get the thrill of voting on polls 😋

the apartment is quiet when minho pushes open the door, the kind of quiet that settles into spaces when they've been empty for too long.

except his apartment hasn't been empty, not really.

he knows you've been here, taking care of his cats while he's been away for the holiday promotions. what he doesn't expect is to find you still here though, all curled up and cozy on his couch like you own the place.

and what’s the cherry on top of this whole little surprise? it’s not the fact that you were supposed to leave this morning, nor the way you’re laying sprawled on the couch asleep. no, it’s that way your doing it all in his hoodie.

minho pauses in the doorway, bag still slung over one shoulder. the sight alone is enough to stop him in his tracks—you, small and soft against his cushions, the oversized black fabric swallowing your frame. one of his cats, soonie, is curled up near your feet. the scene is domestic in a way that knocks the air out of his lungs.

he sets his bag down as carefully as possible, not wanting to disturb the perfect picture you make. even then, the soft thud of the bag against the floor is enough.

your eyes flutter open, unfocused at first before they find him standing there. "minho?" your voice is rough with sleep, confused.

that confusion is quick to shift to something not far off from panic as you realize that he’s not just showing up unannounced, but it’s you that shouldn’t be here. especially not asleep and wrapped in his clothes.

you bolt up so quickly that you’re hit with a pang of whiplash. with a groan you raise a hand to the back of your neck to ease out the tightness, blissfully unaware of how the hoodie—his hoodie—shifts and slides over your shoulder. "you're back early."

minho simply shrugs and says "wrapped up sooner than expected," before stepping further into the apartment. his eyes never leave you, tracking the way you're trying to smooth down your hair, the flush creeping into your cheeks. "didn't know you'd made yourself so comfortable." his hand lifts lazily to gesture at you in your entirety.

it’s then that you actually look down at yourself, and your blush deepens when the full gravity of what you’re wearing really hits you. "i—it was cold. and it was just... there."

"just there?" he repeats, and there's something in his voice, something dry and amused that makes you squirm.

minho offers you a raised brow before turning to move towards the kitchen, unhurried as he gets a glass from the cabinet and goes about filling it with water. "so you just help yourself to my closet when i'm gone?"

"i was house sitting," is the defense you feed him as you push yourself up from the safe warmth of the couch cushions. you pull the sleeves over your hands before crossing your arms. "and it's comfortable. sue me."

minho takes a sip of his water, watching you over the rim of the glass. his gaze is steady, knowing, the kind of look that makes you feel like he can see right through you.

you hate it when he does that.

"comfortable," he echos your words again. you have half the mind to call him a parrot before the sound of glass clicking against marble fills the air. "or does it smell like me?"

your mouth opens, then closes.

minho gives satisfactory little click of his tongue, knowing damn well he‘s got you trapped with that one. he can see it in the way your eyes widen slightly, the way you can't quite meet his gaze anymore. "that's- i didn't—"

"didn't what?" he's leaning against the counter now, arms crossed with the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "didn't think i'd come home and find you wrapped up in my clothes like you missed me?"

"you're reading too much into it," you grumble as you too make your way to the kitchen, fingers playing idly with the hem of the hoodie like you need something to do with your hands.

"mm. sure i am.”

you ignore his little remark as you brush past him to reach for a glass from the cabinet. minho stays quiet, far too concentrated with the way his the hoodie shifts on your body as you move, how the fabric falls to brush just above your thighs.

have you been walking around his apartment like this the whole time he's been gone? the thought does something cruel to him, something that makes his dick twitch and his head feel fuzzy.

"you know," minho drawls, voice coming just a tad bit lower than than his usual tone. "you look good in my clothes."

your hand freezes on the glass. slowly—so, so slowly—you glance over at him. "…what?"

"you heard me." is his response as he pushes off the counter. within seconds you feel him behind you. he’s warm, warm and so close that his presence feels nothing short of suffocating. "you look good wearing my things."

your heart pounds so hard you in your chest that you wouldn’t be surprised if the hammering broke a rib or two. "minho-"

"say it." he cuts you off, his hands come to rest on the counter on either side of you to effectively cage you in place. he doesn’t touch directly, but he doesn’t need to. he knows that. minho knows you well enough to know that the proximity alone is enough to leave you overheating. "say you wore it because you miss me."

you turn around slowly to face him, not realizing how much closer the shift would actually bring the two of you until it’s far too late.

it’s at that moment you accept your lose.

minho’s face is inches from yours now, so close that it’s easy to see how his pupils have blown just so. he looks down at you like he's been thinking about this—about you—for far longer than when he walked in the doorway.

"and what if i did?" your voice comes out breathier than you want it, but it isn’t really something you can help. not with him this close. not with the way he's looking at you.

"then i'd say you're not as subtle as you think you are." his gaze drops to your lips, then back up to your eyes. if you were a little quicker on your comebacks, you’d make some snide remark about how he isn’t as subtle as he thinks. "i'd say i've noticed the way you look at me when you think i'm not paying attention. the way you find excuses to be near me."

"you're one to talk," you do shoot back this time, finding your voice. "you think i haven't noticed you watching me? the way you always seem to be wherever i am?"

something flashes in his eyes—surprise, maybe. or satisfaction. "observant," he hum, and there's something like approval in his tone. "i like that."

"what are you doing, minho?" you whisper, but you're not pulling away. if anything, you're leaning in.

"what does it look like i'm doing?" his voice is barely above a murmur now, lips so close to yours that you can feel his breath with every exhale. "i'm done watching. i'm done pretending i don't want this."

"want what?"

"you." the word is simple, direct, so utterly minho that it makes your breath catch. "i want you. been wanting you. and seeing you in my apartment? in my clothes??” he scoffs, jaw tightening. "you're not making this easy."

"maybe i don't want to make it easy." your hands come up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palms. "maybe i want you to work for it."

his laugh is low, dangerous. "is that right?" one of his hands leaves the counter to catch your wrist, his thumb digging into the skin right above your pulse point. "your heart's racing. you sure you wanna play games with me, kitten?"

"you know me, min. i love a good game…"

the kiss is everything you didn't know you needed—firm and demanding and achingly thorough.

minho kisses like he does everything else, with focus and intensity, like he's been thinking about this and now that he's finally getting it, his only thought is to do it right. his hand comes up to cup your face, angling you exactly where he wants you, and you melt into it, into him.

when he pulls back, you're both breathing hard. "still want to play?" he asks, voice is raw and strained.

"just shut up and kiss me again."

he does. and this time, there's no hesitation, no holding back. his hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you gasp into his mouth at the contact. he takes advantage of it, sliding his tongue against yours until you’re left dizzy from the taste of him.

it doesn’t take long until the only thing grounding you is the solid warmth of his body against yours.

when your hands move to tear the hoodie from your body, minho slaps them away before they can even grab hold of the hem.

"keep it on," the order is mumbled against your lips as his hands slip beneath the heavy fabric to find bare skin. “need you to keep it on, yeah?"

"possessive," you manage, the laugh you pair it with coming out shaky.

"you have no idea." his lips trail down your jaw, your neck, finding that spot that makes you whimper. "seeing you in my clothes, in my space—do you know what that does to me?"

you can feel exactly what it does to him, pressed against you like this. "tell me," you breathe.

"makes me want to keep you here." his teeth graze your collarbone. "i’m gonna fucking eat you alive, jagi." he down hard where your neck and shoulder meet, smoothing over the patch with his tongue before promptly repeating the action again further up. “…gonna ruin you for anyone else."

"then do it, minho. follow through." the words are out before you can think better of them, but they’re not something you regret.

how could you regret something that leads minho to lifting you with maddening ease until you’re seated on the edge of the counter, the bulk of him moving to stand in between your thighs like he has every right to.

"you’re a brat." his hands are on your thighs now, thumbs dragging in circles that make it incredibly difficult to think straight.

"’m horny. there’s a difference" you breathe as you pull him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist.

what happens next is a blur of sensation—his mouth on yours, on your skin, his hands everywhere but never where you need them most.

the hoodie stays on, just like he wanted. he maps every inch of you with his fingers, his lips, learning what makes you gasp, what makes you moan his name in that falsetto that he loves so much.

"been thinking about this," he confesses against your skin, voice ragged. "been driving myself crazy thinking about you."

"could've said something sooner," you manage. minho response consists of doing something with his hips that makes your head fall back, all hopes of coherent thought quickly being rendered impossible.

the kitchen counter is cold against your thighs, a sharp contrast to the heat between you. minho is methodical even now, even like this, paying attention to every reaction, every sound you make, and using it against you to drive you higher.

it's overwhelming, the intensity of it, of him, and when you finally break, it's with his name on your lips and his hands holding you together.

minho’s hands slide up your thighs, pushing the hoodie higher, bunching the fabric at your waist. "keep it on," he says again to really drive it into your fuzzy little head. all you can do is nod. it isn’t really like you can form words right now, not with the way you can feel him everywhere.

his fingers hook into your shorts and underwear with ease, dragging them down and off in one smooth motion. the air is cool against your skin but it doesn't last because in the next moment he's there filling the space.

his body crowds against yours in the best way. one hand braces against the counter beside your hip while the other grips at your thigh, using the the placement there to drag you forward until your pussy is dragging over the bulge of his jeans.

"you have no idea," he breathes, his eyes dark and focused entirely on where your bodies touch. mesmerized. "how long i've been thinking about this. about you like this."

you can't help yourself—your hips roll against him, seeking friction, seeking more.

the movement is instinctive, desperate, and the groan it pulls from him is obscene. his grip on your thigh tightens, guiding you in encouragement you to do it again. so you do. you grind down harder this time, feeling the rigid length of him through the denim, and the cold metal of his zipper catches your clit it sends a sharp cry tumbling from your lips.

"fuck," he hisses, his head dropping to your shoulder. "you're gonna kill me, kitten." but he doesn't stop you. if anything, his hands urge you on, helping you find the rhythm that has you both panting, the friction building into something unbearable and necessary all at once.

when the grind starts leaving you more desperate than satisfied, you reach for him, fingers fumbling with his belt and zipper. minho lets you, watching you with that intense gaze that makes you feel like you're the only thing in the world that matters.

when you finally free him, he groans low in his throat, the sound sending heat pooling low in your belly.

"minho," you whisper, and it comes out needy, desperate.

"i know, jagi" he says, and then he's there, the blunt pressure of him against you making your breath catch. "i've got you."

the push in is slow, devastatingly so. he’s gracious enough to give you time to adjust to the stretch, time you absolutely need because fuck.

your head falls back as a gasp rips from your throat, the sound tapering off into a high whine. minho’s hand comes up to cradle the back of your head in an attempt to keep you from hurting yourself on the cabinet.

when he finally starts the rock of his hips that you’ve craved for so long, it’s everything you ever imagined it to be and more. minho is all control, all purpose, each thrust calculated to hit exactly where you need him.

the counter digs into your thighs but you don't care, can't care, not when he's filling you so perfectly.

"so good…" he mutters, almost to himself. "so fucking good for me."

his hand slides under your hoodie again, this time to palm at your breast. his thumb brushes over your nipple once before he twists it between his thumb and forefinger. it sends you arching into the touch with a whimper.

the kitchen is filled with the sound of skin on skin, your gasps and his low groans. your hands scramble for purchase as he starts hitting harder, one gripping his shoulder, nails digging in, while the other braces against the counter behind you.

"need you to touch yourself, kitten" he purrs, deep and breathless. "need to feel you come around me."

you do as told, hand sliding between your bodies to find your clit, and the added stimulation makes you cry out. minho watches with blown pupils as you work yourself closer to the edge.

"that's it," he encourages, his movements becoming less controlled and far more desperate. "let go. come for me."

it builds fast, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter until it snaps. you come with a broken sob of his name and he follows moments later with a guttural groan, hips stuttering as he buries himself deep.

for a moment, neither of you move. his forehead rests against yours, his hand still cradling your head, the other gripping your hip hard enough that you can already feel the bruises before they’re even visible.

minho is the first to break the silence with a breathy "fuck,", and you can't help but laugh, breathless and giddy.

"yeah," you agree, because what else is there to say?

a beat of silence, and then"i meant what i said. i want this. want you. not just tonight."

his words send what little sobriety you’d started to collect right back out the window. "you're sure? minho, this—"

"i'm sure." he cups your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. "i don't do things in halves. you should know that by now."

"i do," you whisper, covering his hands with yours. "i want this too. want you."

the smile he gives you is small but genuine, reaching his eyes in a way that makes him look younger, softer. "good," he says simply, pulling you into his arms. you go easily, and it’s the easiest decision you’ve ever made in your life.

[a/n 2]: some of you may be asking yourselves ‘ghosty, why isn’t hyunjin on the poll anymore??’ and i have arrived to provide you that answer 🙂‍↕️ on the night of friday 19th your girl is working until ELEVEN PM, and i fear i simply do not want to stress myself out more than necessary. soooo on that night you guys will be gettin hyunjin’s story!! it’s already finished and queued and lovely, and i hope you all enjoy it!! now, with that psa outta the way, you may continue on to voting <3<3

you’re half asleep where you sit on the couch, curled into the corner of the armrest and the cushions as you wait for your boyfriend to come home.

the two of you had gotten into an argument earlier that day. you can’t even remember what it was about know, just that it was something stupid and childish and honestly not worth the brain power. regardless, jisung had decided to skip off to the bar with his friends as a way of detox.

how do you know this? felix had sent you a selfie of the two of them earlier in the night.

jisung hadn’t mentioned, hadn’t detailed where he was disappearing to. no, why would he?

either way, the little clock at the top of your phone screen reads 12:00am and jisung is no where to be seen.

and you don’t see him. not until 2:00am, at least.

that’s when the front door is pushed open, the sound of the knob hitting against the wall being swiftly followed by the stumbling off footsteps. the sound is enough to pull you from your restlessness—having been drifting in and out of sleep for the past hour and a half.

groggy, you push yourself up enough to get a clear shot of the front door and the man that stands, or really, sags against the wall toeing off his shoes.

jisung’s a bad drinker in the sense that a single glass of beer is enough to get that asian glow glowing. a bottle of soju? you’re nursing a needy baby for the rest of the night. from the looks of it—the pink flush soaking his cheeks and creeping below his neckline, the way his hair is mussed like he’s been running his hands through it all night—your boyfriend is more than a few bottles deep.

after his shoes are successfully shoved against with wall with zero ceremony, jisung stumbles a little further into the apartment. he makes it all of four steps before he sees you, the sight freezing him right where he stands.

you’re sitting on the couch, sure. but your sitting on the couch in his hoodie, the material fitting you in a way that makes you seem even softer than he knows you are. and that sight to a drunk jisung? it’s something that rivals the gates of heaven.

“jagiya,” the pet name leaves his mouth in a slur, soft and drawn as he shuffles over to the living room to join you on the couch.

he plops down next to you with a weight that spooks you a little bit. it takes maybe two seconds before jisung’s leaning into you, trying his damnedest best to nuzzle himself closer to you.

“look at you, baby… wearin’ my hoodie,” he mutters happily once he’s weaseled his way into your arms, lips grazing the fabric over your collarbone with each word. “missed you. was sooo mad at you, but then i saw you and now i’m just… soft.”

he warrants you no time to speak before jumping to the next subject swirling around in his alcohol fuzzy mind.

“wait, why are you still up, baby??” he pulls back enough to look at you, and the first thing you notice is how his eyes managed to water in record time. “you… you waited up for me? even after we fought??”

and before you can answer his questions, he’s started off on his rambling yet again, this time with the addition of pressing messy kisses all over your neck and cheek.

“m’sorry, jagi- shouldn’t have let without tellin’ ya. stupid, stupid sungie…” he shakes his head as if to reprimand himself before tucking himself back into the crook of your neck. “but you forgive me, right? pleasepleaseplease?? i’ll be so good from now on, i’ll even.. i’ll even let you buy my snacks tomorrow!”

you're too tired to deal with his drunken antics, but the way he's clinging to you like a lifeline makes it hard to stay mad. your hand comes up to card through his hair, the motion automatic and soothing. "that’s not how that works," you mumble, voice thick with sleep.

jisung pulls away enough to pout up at you, but the puppy eye bit falls off quickly as he takes in how exhaustion clings to your expression.

his arms wrap around you like a serpent, slow but unshakingly firm. he uses the hold to draw you closer to him, nose pressing against the column through as he hums. “you sleepy, baby?” he asks, fingers toying absentmindedly at the hem of your shirt. “yknow, m’sorry for staying so late. shouldn’t have left you alone…”

“it’s fine, sungie” and it’s not necessarily a lie. not really. you know he needs space sometimes, so it’s not something you really stick to him. you’re annoyed, sure, but not enough to chew him out for it at this very moment.

you’re too tired. jisung’s too drunk. it wouldn’t end well no matter which way it went.

instead of fighting him about it, you take the high road and slip a hand into his already mussed hair. it takes no time at all before he melts into an absolute puddle of a man, a hum rolling low in his throat as you scratch idly at his scalp.

the silence stretches between you for a moment, comfortable despite the weight of everything unsaid. jisung's breathing evens out against your neck, and for a second you think he might've actually fallen asleep—but then his fingers resume their lazy path along your waist, tracing the hem of the hoodie with renewed interest.

jisung’s always been a very hands on individual, but when he’s three shots deep and left to his own devices? that’s when each little twitch of his hands is more of an ask than just a comforting touch.

"…jisung, you're drunk."

"mhm," he hums against your neck, not denying it in the slightest. his fingers trace patterns along your hip, slipping just beneath the hem of the hoodie. "drunk on you, maybe."

you can't help the soft scoff that escapes you, even as your eyes threaten to slip closed again. "that's not what i meant."

"i know what you meant," jisung mumbles, pressing another kiss to your throat. his hand slides lower, fingertips grazing the waistband of your sleep shorts. "but i wanna make it up to you, jagi. lemme make you feel good, yeah?"

the words send a shiver down your spine despite yourself, but you catch his wrist before he can go any further. "sungie, you're wasted. we shouldn't—"

"please?" he interrupts, pulling back just enough to look at you with those glassy, pleading eyes. "i was so mean earlier, leaving like that. just… just let me show you how sorry i am. how much i love you."

your grip on his wrist loosens slightly, exhaustion making your resolve waver. jisung takes advantage immediately, gently but persistently guiding his hand past the elastic band of your shorts.

"sung-"

"shh, baby, just relax," he coos, fingers finding their way between your thighs with practiced intent. "gonna take such good care of you. promise."

you should stop him. you know you should. but the combination of his touch and the genuine affection dripping from his slurred words makes it so hard to think straight. your body betrays you, already responding to the lazy circles he's drawing against your clothed center.

"that's it," jisung praises softly, nuzzling into your neck as his fingers slip beneath the thin fabric of your underwear. "see? knew you'd let me make it better."

his movements are unhurried, almost clumsy in his inebriated state, but it doesn't make them any less effective. he works you slowly, two fingers running through your folds with the kind of desperate tenderness that only drunk jisung seems capable of.

"love you so much," he slurs against your skin, punctuating each word with a kiss. "love how you waited up for me. love how you look in my hoodies. love how you warm you are…"

you can't suppress the quiet sound that escapes you as he finally slides a finger inside, the intrusion gentle but deliberate. your hand flies up to grip his shoulder, whether to push him away or pull him closer, you're not entirely sure.

"there she is," jisung presses in a second finger with agonizing slowness. "my pretty girl. been thinking about you all night, you know that? couldn't stop."

"you-" your words catch in your throat as he curls his fingers just right. "you left because you were mad at me."

"was stupid," he admits easily, working his fingers deeper. "so stupid. should've stayed. should've just…" he trails off, seeming to lose his train of thought as he focuses on the task at hand. "should've done this instead."

his thumb finds your clit with surprising accuracy for someone so gone, rubbing lazy circles that have your hips shifting despite yourself. the fatigue that had been weighing you down is slowly being replaced by a different kind of heaviness, one that pools low in your belly.

"love the sounds you make," jisung continues his rambling, words muffled against your neck. "love how you smell. love how you taste—fuck, i wanna taste you so bad right now."

"not tonight," you manage to say, voice breathy and pathetically weak even to your own ears.

"mm, okay," he agrees easily, too focused on the way you're starting to clench around his fingers. "later then. tomorrow. whenever you want. anything you want, baby. just… just keep making those pretty sounds for me."

his pace picks up slightly, still lazy but more insistent, fingers pumping in and out with a wet sound that would be embarrassing if you had the energy to care. instead, you find yourself melting further into the couch, into him, letting the pleasure wash over you in slow waves.

"that's my girl," jisung praises, each syllable dripping with affection. "doing so good for me. always such a fuckin’ rockstar, aren’t you baby?’ even when i don't deserve it."

"you don't," you breathe out, but there's no real bite to it.

"i know," he agrees, curling his fingers again in that way that makes your breath hitch. "but you love me anyway, right? tell me you love me, jagi."

"i do, ji. i, fuck-"

"love you more," jisung stubborn with his insistence, thumb pressing harder over your clit. "love you most. gonna spend the rest of my life making up for being an idiot today, i swear it, baby."

you're too close to the edge to argue, too tired and overwhelmed to do anything but let him work you higher and higher with his unhurried ministrations. your fingers dig into his shoulder as the tension builds, coiling tighter in your core.

"come on, rockstar," jisung coaxes softly, lips brushing against your ear. "let go for me. wanna feel you. need it."

his words are your undoing.

the combination of his fingers working you open, the thumb circling your clit with just the right amount of pressure, and the sheer desperation in his voice—it all crashes over you at once.

your body tenses, then releases in a wave of pleasure that has you gasping against him.

"that's it, baby," his words are reverent as he works you through with gentle, steady movements. "so pretty when you come for me. so perfect."

jisung doesn't stop until you're twitching from oversensitivity, your hand finally coming down to still his wrist. it’s only then does he withdraw his fingers, and it takes less than a moment before he’s sliding the slick digits between his lips.

his eyes flutter closed as he damn near moans at your taste alome.

"jisung-" you protest weakly, but he's already sucking them clean with a satisfied hum.

"couldn't help it," he mumbles, pulling his fingers from his mouth with an obscene pop. "told you i wanted to taste you."

you're too exhausted to respond, your body still thrumming with the aftershocks as you slump further into the couch. jisung seems to take your silence as contentment, immediately tucking himself back against you with a little sound that’s both smug and satisfied.

"you're not mad anymore, right?" he mumbles into your neck, arms wrapping around your waist just as they had before. "said i was sorry. showed you i was sorry."

"we're talking about this tomorrow," you manage to say, raising a hand to card through his hair again. it’s a little greasy, but the softness at the ends makes it bearable. "when you're sober."

"mm, if we gotta," it only takes a few words for you to clock that he’s already half asleep.. "but you'll still love me tomorrow, right?"

"unfortunately," you murmur, but there's no hiding the fondness in your voice.

his only response is a sleepy hum, his breathing evening out as he finally succumbs to the turmoil that is alcohol and exhaustion. you should probably wake him, make him brush his teeth, get him to bed properly—but you're too tired to move, too comfortable.

so instead, you let your eyes slip closed, jisung's weight warm and familiar against you, and decide that yesterday’s problems can wait until tomorrow.