#i.n reader

⋆˚꩜.ᐟ CHANNIE ⋆˚꩜.ᐟ

⋆˚꩜.ᐟ LEE KNOW ⋆˚꩜.ᐟ

⋆˚꩜.ᐟ CHANGBIN ⋆˚꩜.ᐟ

⋆˚꩜.ᐟ HYUNJIN ⋆˚꩜.ᐟ

⋆˚꩜.ᐟ HAN ⋆˚꩜.ᐟ

⋆˚꩜.ᐟ FELIX ⋆˚꩜.ᐟ

⋆˚꩜.ᐟ SEUNGMIN ⋆˚꩜.ᐟ

⋆˚꩜.ᐟ I.N ⋆˚꩜.ᐟ

He’s dressed casually— blue jeans, white t- shirt, black cap— but he still moves like someone used to being watched. But right now, he’s not. No one pays him much attention— no fans, no flashes, just the bell above the door and the way your breath catches in your throat.

He spots you instantly, then smiles brightly. Not for the cameras, just for you. You try to act natural, you always do. And you fail— every single time.

“Hey”, he says, like he belongs in this small place, “Back in Monaco for a few days. Missed your coffee”

You arch an eyebrow, “Do you even remember your order, Yang Jeongin?”

He tilts his head like you had offended him, “You hurt me like that”

Still, he gets it wrong. He asks for almond milk instead of oat but you correct him without hesitation, and that makes him laugh. That sweet sound you only heard once after you tripped on a loose cobblestone outside the café weeks ago.

He waits while you prepare his drink. Doesn’t pull out his phone, doesn’t rush or do some small talk about the weather. He watches you like people watch fire— from afar but with quiet fascination.

You slide his drink across the counter, “Welcome back”

He takes a sip, letting  a deep groan emerge from his throat, “God, I forgot how good this is. What’s the secret?”

“You were just drinking pit lane sludge in Italy”

“Fair enough”, he says, then leans his forearms on the counter, “I really did miss this place, tho”

“You just missed Riviera espresso”, you tease.

“No”, he says, serious, “This”

You know he doesn’t mean the shop. There’s something in the way he says it, looking at your eyes. You feel it, it’s electric— he missed you.

You quickly change the subject, “How was Imola?”

He talks about the rain delay, the chaos in Turn 2, his car’s balance. You realize he’s not bragging just by the way he tells it— honestly, chaotic, full of laughter. 

And then, after a pause, he says, “There’s a party tomorrow night”

You look at him, quite confused. There’s a party in Monte Carlo literally every day. So… why would he even mention this one?

“A yacht party”, he continues, saying it like it’s no big deal. Like it’s not the kind of event with guest lists and champagne that costs more than your rent. 

“Just a few drivers, some sponsors. Not too much”

You cross your arms, “And why are you telling me that?”

His smile turns sheepish, boyish, even,  “Because I want you to come with me”

Your breath hitches, “Jeongin…”

“You don’t have to say yes”, he adds quickly, reading the instant tension in your body

“I know it’s a weird ask. I just…”, he shrugs, “I think you’d like it. The wind, the view. It’s different from here. But… I would like to have you there by my side”

You stare at him. His world has always felt miles above yours. But now, he’s reaching down, not to pull you up, but to meet you halfway.

You swallow, still hesitant,  “I don’t have anything to wear”

But that just makes him smile wider, “I have a friend with a styling studio. I can take you there. Or we just say screw the dress code and show up in café aprons. I wouldn’t mind”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling wider too. And suddenly, you realize you’re saying yes.

“Good! I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon after your shift”

“But, Jeongin, I…”

But he is not listening to you anymore, he grabs his coffee cup, wears his cap back and walks out that door smiling like it is the best day of his life.

•°. *࿐

When a black Porsche pulls up outside the cafe, you almost hesitate. You almost convince yourself it’s better to stay in the world you know— aprons, espresso, and spoiled clients. But when the window rolls down and you see Jeongin with his cap backward, grinning wide and saying

“Get in, apron girl”, you forget everything you were questioning.

“No way. You drive like a lunatic”

He smirks, “And yet you’re curious”

He is right, you are. And you hate it.

As soon as you buckle your seatbelt, he pulls away fast, tires skimming the cobblestones. The Monte Carlo streets blur around you— the sea glinting to your right, wind catching in your hair. For a second, the whole city feels like a dream.

He drives fast. Not reckless, but playful. He weaves through turns with a skill that can only come from instinct and thousands of hours behind a wheel. Every time the car dips, your stomach lifts. Every time he laughs, you do too.

“This is insane”, you yell over the rush of the wind.

“You mean amazing”, he yells back.

He doesn’t take you to some designer boutique by the marina. Instead, he turns inland, toward the quieter side of the city, and stops in front of a little corner atelier. The windows are filled with soft fabrics, and the woman inside greets him like she is an old friend.

Jeongin leans in, “I told her I was bringing someone important”

You flush, “You’re ridiculous”

But that stays with you.

•°. *࿐

The boutique smells like lavender and expensive fabric. A soft French song plays on the speakers, murmured under the rustling of tulle and silk. The owner holds swatches to your skin, murmuring things in French, then in accented English. 

Jeongin lounges on the velvet sofa in a loose cream shirt, black slacks and that boyish, amused smirk that comes and goes like breath, one leg crossed over the other, elbow draped casually over the armrest.

But every time you step out from behind the dressing curtain, he sits straighter.

He tries to hide it— taps his phone, plays with his rings— but his eyes can’t lie. It keeps moving up to your calves, your thighs, the curve of your spine. Like he’s cataloguing the exact moment he’ll fall in love.

And then you step out in that dress. Cherry red. Low back. The silk clings to your shape like a magnet— fitted at the waist, soft cowl neck draping across your collarbones, ending just past your ankles.

Jeongin whistles.

You freeze, clenching your fists, “I don’t know, I think it’s… too much”

He doesn’t move.

Then slowly, hypnotized, he rises from the couch and crosses the plush carpet in three quiet strides. His eyes drag over every inch of you with a reverence that feels overwhelming. Without asking, his hand comes up, brushing a loose piece of hair from your cheek, fingers lingering just long enough to leave your skin burning.

“You look like Monaco made you itself”, his voice is soft, almost like a whisper.

You turn toward the mirror, inspecting the fit, the price tag glaring at you, “It’s expensive”

But he’s already pulling out his wallet with zero hesitation. Like buying you this dress is as natural as breathing, “It’s yours”

You stare at him, “Jeongin…”

He looks at you, eyes fixed on yours, and then, in a moment too smooth to feel real, his fingers brush your bare shoulder as he reaches the open zipper at your back.

“May I?”, he murmurs.

Your breath falters as you nod

His hand is steady as he zips the cherry dress up slowly, carefully, his knuckles ghosting over your spine. You feel his hot breath near your neck.

 “You… wow”, he says under his breath, as the zipper locks in place, “You actually might kill someone”

You give a shy smile, “Is that a compliment or a warning?”

“Both”

Just as the stylist returns, Jeongin’s name is called from across the boutique— one of the employees holding a garment bag with his tuxedo.

“Right on time” he says, stepping back, “I borrowed mine from Chan but figured I should try something less boring”

You raise a brow, “What happened to yours?”

Jeongin groans, “Don’t ask”

You smile, “That bad?”

He stares off into the distance, traumatized, “Seungmin”

“Ah”

“I left it hanging by the window after getting it steamed. Perfect. Ready”

You nod, “And then?”

“And then Seungmin decided to open the balcony door to ‘get some fresh air’ ”

Your brows furrow, “And…?”

“And apparently Monaco fresh air means seagulls”, Jeongin says flatly, “One flew in. Shit directly on the tux, like it was aiming. It got completely ruined”

You cover your mouth, choking on a laugh, “No”

“Oh yes. Seungmin just looked at it and went, ‘Well. That’s unfortunate’. Unfortunate!  Like it wasn’t his fault!”

You start giggling, “What did he do after?”

“Took a photo, laughed and walked away. Said he warned me about not trusting him”

“That sounds like him”

“I’m never trusting that son of a bitch again”

You shake your head, still grinning, “Well. At least you get to buy a new one”

He looks at you in the cherry dress again, eyes softening, “And at least I get to see you in that while I do”

“You like it?”, you ask

“More than like it”

He winks and then disappears into the changing room just to return minutes later in a sleek black tuxedo— double breasted, satin lapels, shirt unbuttoned at the top.

“Need help with your bow tie?”, you ask, tilting your head.

Jeongin steps toward you, “Since you are offering”

Your fingers move to button the top of his shirt for him and then, they find the fabric of his bow tie. He doesn’t move as you tighten it gently. He just watches you, mouth parted slightly, eyes darker than before. As you finish the last button, your knuckles graze his throat.

“Careful”,  he murmurs, “You keep touching me like that and we’re not making it to that yacht”

“You need to behave”, you whisper.

“Not when you’re this close”

And for a second it feels like the boutique around you disappears. Like all the fabric and mirrors and quiet music are just decoration for the tension between you.

When the stylist returns, breaking the spell, Jeongin steps back— still watching, still thinking god knows what in the back of his head.

"Well", he says, slipping his hands in his pockets, "at least we look like Monaco’s most dangerous couple"

You smile.

“Yeah. I think we do”

•°. *࿐

Afterward, he insists on one more stop before taking you home. He drives you up a winding road that curves above the sea. At the top, he parks, kills the engine, and steps out with a quiet, “Come on”

You sit on the hood of the Porsche side by side, watching the sun slide into the Mediterranean. Your knees are touching, his shoulder brushes yours every time he shifts.

He glances sideways, his voice suddenly softer, “You know... I used to be broke”

You blink, “You?”

He nods, “Lived in a tiny flat with my parents and two brothers back in Busan. Drove old karts until the wheels fell off. I know what it’s like… to want something and feel like the whole world’s laughing in your face for trying”

You say nothing, throat tightening

“I didn’t bring you with me today because I wanted to show off”, he adds, “I brought you because… I don’t know, I think maybe you forgot what it’s like to believe you deserve good things”

He turned to look at you— not the playful, teasing look from the café. Not the casual, cocky grin from the Porsche. But a quiet, intense look. His gaze drops to your mouth and hovers there just a little too long.

You inhale holding your breath as he leans closer. And then, just before it can happen— he pulls back, clearing his throat, “I should get you home”

You nod, cheeks burning, heart pounding against your chest, mouth still tingling from the ghost of his touch

•°. *࿐

Minho’s still sweating from the padel match. His shirt clings to his back, chest heaving slightly as he sinks into the cool cushions of a white leather chaise on the rooftop. Jisung and Hyunjin are laughing over something at the bar. The glass doors are open, and music spills softly from inside.

Laughter echoes behind him— his girlfriend’s voice.

“Minholicious, did you hear me?”

He blinks. Damn, he hates this pet name. 

With a heavy sigh, he looks over his shoulder. She’s gorgeous, of course— glossy blond hair close to perfection, long tan legs, flawless face even when she’s just standing. She’s holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a phone in the other. 

“There’s a yacht party tomorrow”, she says, stepping barefoot on the white marble floor, “George is hosting. Champagne, photos, sponsors, the whole deal. We have to go”

He doesn’t answer.

She pouts, “Don’t tell me you forgot. This is Monaco. You’re the golden boy here, everyone’s watching. You in Tom Ford, me in Dior? It’s brand synergy”

He turns back to the sea. He has everything they promised him— the wins, the wealth, the apartment overlooking the ocean, the girlfriend with the perfect smile.

And yet, the champagne doesn’t taste like expensive anymore. The adrenaline fades too fast. The nights are too hollow, even when they're busy. There are days when the sound of an engine is the only thing that drowns out the restlessness, the aching echo inside his chest. Days when he doesn’t even remember why he wanted this life in the first place.

Her voice takes him from his mind again, “Are you even listening to me, Minho?”

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, gaze fixed on the horizon like it might tell him something he desperately needed to hear cause while she talks about fancy parties and selling the perfect couple image, he can only think about how hollow he had become.

She steps closer when he doesn’t reply for the third time, “Minho, she says, voice high pitched, “I’m trying here. Why can’t you just…”

Still facing the sea, he finally speaks, voice low and flat, “You’re always trying”

She crosses her arms, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He turns his head slightly, eyes scanning the coastline, not her, “That every time we talk, it feels like a campaign. Like I’m your brand and you’re mine. Do you even care about what I want, or just what would look good in a headline?”

There’s a pause. 

Then, she exhales, sharply, “You’re being dramatic”

He finally looks at her with tired eyes, unreadable as usual,  “No. I’m just tired”

Of the rooftop, of the pressure, of pretending he doesn’t notice the way she only touches him when the cameras are on. Of people congratulating him on a life that feels nothing like his own.

“You’re just stressed. I get it. After the last GP and Jeongin…”

He cuts her off, cold, distant, “Go to the party tomorrow. Wear whatever you want”

She raises an eyebrow,  “You’ll be there with me, right?”

He doesn’t answer that part. Instead, he leans back into the chaise, eyes returning to the horizon, like giving up is just easier than fighting back.

“Let me know what time”

She stares at him for a moment longer, then huffs a quiet breath and disappears inside. And when she’s gone, Minho stays there wondering why he feels lonelier with her than when he’s actually by himself.

•°. *࿐

The door clicked open, and Jeongin stepped into the quiet calm of his oceanfront penthouse apartment . He paused for a second, still holding the boutique bag in his hand, the goofiest grin tugging at his lips that hadn’t left his face since you tried on that cherry red dress and spun in front of the mirror just for him.

He could still smell the faint trace of your perfume on his hoodie— and worse, he kept catching himself reaching for it, just to bring the scent closer.

“There he is!”

 Chan’s voice came from the living room, where he sat sprawled across the couch in joggers and a tank top, sipping Dom Pérignon. 

 “Took your time, didn’t you? I was starting to think you’d kicked the bucket”

Jeongin set the bag down carefully beside the console and kicked off his shoes.

“Had errands”

“Errands?”

 Changbin popped his head out of the kitchen. He had a blender jar in one hand and a wooden spoon in the other.

“Dressed like that? You left here in cologne and confidence, bro. Just tell us. She’s hot, isn’t she?”

Jeongin just blinked, without answering and walked to the fridge to grab a water bottle. He tried to keep it cool, but his face had already betrayed him.

“Oh no. Oh my God”,  Chan pointed, eyes widening,  “You’re smiling. You’re doing that stupid dimple smile”

“No, I am not”

“Jeongin. You’re blushing, bro”

“Shut up”

“That smile’s too soft”, Changbin said, pointing the wooden spoon at him, “You’re done for”

Jeongin ignored them and opened the fridge. He grabbed a bottle of water and leaned against the counter, trying not to replay the way your skin felt so warm against his fingers as he helped you with the zipper or how you looked at him in the dressing room while you buttoned his shirt.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about”

“Don’t try to lie to us”, Chan chuckled, “I know that look. That’s the ‘I’d buy her the entire damn boutique if she asked’ kind of look”

Jeongin rolled his eyes, “You’re exaggerating”

But then his phone buzzed, and the second he saw your name on the screen, his face lit up— flushed cheeks and dimples showing up.

He smiled at the screen, feeling his heart thud a little too fast.

You:

Thanks again for today. I still can’t believe you bought me a dress 😭😭 I’m still smiling.

You:

Being that dangerously charming should be illegal, yang jeongin

He exhaled slowly and texted back:

Jeongin:

You’re the one who’s dangerous. 

Jeongin:

Glad I could make you smile. Still thinking about that dress and your breath dangerously close to my neck , pretty girl.

He hit send. When he looked up, two grown men were staring at him like he just proposed to someone on live TV.

“You did not just call her ‘pretty girl’ ”, Changbin said, stunned.

“Our Jeongin?!”, Chan added, blinking, “Who once said he’d rather die in a car crash than cuddle after sex’ just called someone ‘pretty girl’ in his kitchen?”

“You’re already whipped”, Changbin said.

“I am not whipped”

“No, no. You are. Fully, hopelessly, tragically whipped”

Jeongin tried to hide his grin behind the water bottle. But he failed. Completely.

 Changbin leaned on the counter like this was an investigation, “Who is she? Monaco girl? Grid girl? A gambler? Maybe a hooker?”

The youngest blinked, completely speechless

“You two are the worst”

“We’re your friends”, Chan corrected, “Which is why we’re allowed to mock you while watching you fall head over heels like an idiot”

 Chan set his glass down slowly, “Where’s the guy who once said dating was ‘a mechanical failure waiting to happen’?”

He turned to Changbin for backup. Changbin nodded, grinning wide.

“Yeah, he literally told that reporter in Brazil last year that ‘love is for people who don’t qualify on pole’”

Jeongin buried his face in his hands, “You guys have an incredibly good memory for things I regret”

“You mocked Han for catching feelings on a one night stand”, Chan continued, pointing accusingly, “You said romance was a ‘media strategy with worse consequences than a bad pit stop’. I remember that because it stayed with me”

Jeongin groaned, dragging a hand over his face,

“You guys are making stuff up”

“Nope”, Chan leaned back, grinning, “I even saved the quote in my notes app. Just in case you ever fell in love”

Jeongin’s ears turned bright red. He opened his mouth, then closed it.

“That guy”, Changbin said solemnly, “Is dead. Buried. Six feet under. R.I.P”

“May he rest in peace”, Chan added, pressing a hand to his chest, “Because that Jeongin? That one? He’s gone. Whipped. Soft. A simp”

“It’s not like that…”, Jeongin began.

And right on cue, Jeongin’s phone buzzed. The screen lit up: your name again

You:

“Also… you know you didn’t have to help me with the zipper, right?”

Jeongin didn’t even look up from his phone, just smirked. Which made his situation even worse.

Then a second buzz:

You:

But I didn’t stop you 😇

“Is it not? Jeongin. Or should I say Simpeongin?”, Chan asked, narrowing his eyes

Jeongin:

Was I supposed to resist that dress?? Be serious

Changbin grabbed a throw pillow, sulking into it,  “He used to be one of us. A commitment phobe. An elite member of the emotionally unavailable club”

 “What happened to, ‘If she can’t keep the pace, I ain’t going down on her’?”

Jeongin finally looked up, “Guys, I never said that last one…”

“YOU DID! In Belgium. 2024. It was raining”, Chan snapped.

Jeongin’s phone buzzed again. He opened the message app and read the message.

You:

Still thinking about how warm your hands felt on my back…

And then— he bit his lip. The kind of lip bite that would make any woman get on their knees

“Shit! He’s biting his lip now!”, Chan shrieked, “We are witnessing his demise”

“Text her back, lover boy”, Changbin growled, “Tell her she just assassinated years of reputation with one single line”

Jeongin, still flushed, grinned to himself and typed something with one thumb, completely unbothered,

Jeongin:

You really want me to lose it with Chan and Changbin here??

You replied seconds later, 

You:

Humm… maybe 😌

Meanwhile, Chan was lying flat on the floor whispering, “The man who once said 'romance is a scam run by wedding rings and chocolates companies' is now texting with his feet kicking in the air like a teen in love…”

“This is worse than early retirement”, Changbin muttered.

“No”, Chan said dead serious, “This is domestication”

Jeongin just shakes his head, resting his chin on the counter, smiling like an idiot.

“Yeah”, he says softly, “I’m doomed”

There’s a moment of silence. They exchange glances, then Chan claps his hands. 

“Alright, sex drawer! Do you need condoms? I have extras. All types. Latex free. Assorted flavors. The green ones even glow in the dark”

Changbin perks up, “No, wait. Those ones suck. I’ve got the ultra thin ones. Max sensitivity. You want to feel everything, trust me”

Jeongin chokes, “Okay, first of all…”

“Lube?”, Chan interrupts, “Water based is safer, but silicone based is slippery like a Formula 1 in the rain. Just saying”

"Okay, no. No no no!”, Jeongin says quickly, “We are not having this conversation”

“I have the one that gets warm on contact” Chan continues, ignoring the younger.

“And I’ve got the flavored ones” Changbin adds, “For, you know, activities”

“Please stop talking”, Jeongin says nearly choking

“We’re just trying to help”, Changbin says, looking hurt, “Also, positions. Start with missionary, obviously…”

But once there’s trust,” Chan says thoughtfully, “spooning hits different. Very underrated”

Jeongin looks like he’s about to implode. He clasps his hands together like he’s praying for divine intervention, “I am begging you”

Changbin leans in, “Wait. Are you gonna eat her out first or…”

Jeongin drops his head onto the counter, “I literally hate both of you”

 Chan says cheerfully, “It’s called support”

“Do you two realize I’m not a virgin?!” Jeongin explodes, throwing his arms up 

Changbin blinks. “Wait, what?!”

Chan’s eyes narrow. “Since when?!”

“Since none of your business!” Jeongin shouts. “Why am I being subjected to a TED talk on missionary like I’m nineteen and at a virgin summer camp?!”

“We were just trying to help,” Chan says, half defensive.

Jeongin wheels on them, pointing like he’s in court, “Oh really? You? Help me? What the hell do either of you know about functional dating?”

Chan and Changbin exchange a look.

Jeongin doesn’t wait.

“Changbin, your last relationship ended because that yoga instructor told you crying during sex was ‘way too much’ ”

Changbin turns scarlet, “That was taken wildly out of context…”

“She said, ‘your whimpering disrupted my chakra alignment’ ”

Chan nearly falls over laughing.

“And you!” Jeongin turns to him,  “You once told a girl you couldn’t commit because Mercury was in retrograde, but then got back with her because you missed her dog!”

Chan defends, “He was a very good boy!”

Jeongin doesn’t stop, “You’ve both been in more situationships than actual relationships! Half of your exes think you are serving in the Korean military!”

Changbin hides his face on his hands

“And the other half are in a group chat called ‘Did Chan actually ghost us or is he just an asshole?’ ’”

Chan gasps, “That chat exists?!”

Jeongin storms off toward his room, mumbling, “Unbelievable. TED talks, fluorescent condoms, and love life coaching from two men who treat romantic attachment like it’s a seasonal illness”

Changbin mutters, “You know, he used to be the quiet one”

Chan sighs, “They grow up so fast”

•°. *࿐

Later that day:

Jeongin lays back shirtless on his bed, one arm bent behind his head, skin still warm from the shower. The sheets are tangled loosely around his waist as he scrolls when your name pops up again.

You:

Photo message

His chest tightens.

It is a mirror pic. You are in the yacht party dress, or more precisely, almost in it. The zipper is halfway up. The curve of your back are exposed

No face, no nudes— just that.

Just enough to short circuit his brain

He sucks in a slow breath.

You:

Guess I need help with the zipper again 🥺

He coughs once, sits up slightly, presses a hand over his face like that would help. It doesn’t.

Then, he types

Jeongin:

You are actually dangerous

Your response is even more dangerous:

You:

Photo message

Another mirror angle  this time, from the front. Still not showing everything, but enough to see the neckline and the soft press of your chest beneath it. Just a hint. 

He nearly drops the phone. His stomach flutters and his hips shift under the sheets.

You:

Does it still drive you crazy, or should I find another dress?

Jeongin exhales a curse, thumb trembling slightly as he types

Jeongin:

That dress is gonna live rent free in my brain forever

I’m genuinely scared to see what you’d do if I were actually there

A few seconds passed before your reply comes

You:

 Wanna find out?

His breath catches. He leans his head back, thudding softly against the headboard, a grin creeping across his face. He doesn’t answer right away, just stares at your photo again.

He'd help with the zipper again.

And again.

And again.

A moment later, his fingers move, typing slow.

Jeongin:

Good night, pretty girl. If you need help with that zipper tomorrow too… you know where to find me 👀

He sets the phone down. The screen goes black but your image stays— carved into him.

Jeongin doesn’t move at first. He couldn’t. His fingers twitch against the sheets, his pulse pumping in his ears. Your dress had slipped down one shoulder— just one— but it was enough to undo him.

The memory of your hands on him earlier, tracing the buttons like it meant something more, makes his skin burn. And that laugh against his jaw?

That finished the job.

He turns on his back, eyes closed, breath shallow. His body is still reacting— too much too fast. Every inch of him misses you. Every part throbs with the kind of hunger that can’t be fed by imagination alone. But it doesn’t stop him from trying.

Jeongin slides a hand over his stomach, fingers dragging across the tense muscles— slow, testing. His breath hitches as he dips lower, pressing his palm down like he could soothe the ache. He is already hard, already aching, the sensation dizzying and full of frustration. He pushes his sweatpants lower with a grunt, his movements impatient. His other hand grips the sheets, knuckles white.

And then he touches himself.

Not rough, not rushed— mindful. Drawing it out the way you would if you were there. He imagines your eyes on him, watching how his body responds. Imagines you leaning in, whispering something wicked, lips brushing his ear.

Jeongin’s hips shift, his jaw clenches tight as he pumps slowly, teasing himself the way you would tease him— pausing, squeezing, exhaling your name alone in the dark. The rhythm builds with every thought of your mouth and your hands on him, your warmth pressed on his side when you sat too close on the hood of his car. He isn’t even halfway to undone and he is already falling apart.

He curses under his breath.

His thighs tense up. His head tips back against the pillow, sweat starting to bloom in his temple. And still, he keeps it slow. Torturous slow. Each motion is another memory as Jeongin drags his thumb over the tip, hips jolting with the jolt of sensation.

He bites down on a groan, swallowing it.

Everything feels too much but not enough. His muscles burn with the need to hold onto this a little longer— to stay in the feeling of you, the ghost of that almost kiss.

He can imagine you— dress slipping lower, knees parting slightly as you’d whisper, “You gonna do something about it, Red Bull?”

And with that, he loses rhythm,  hands moving faster, breath ragging His release hits hard— violent and helpless. It tears through him with a sharp gasp, hips jerking, fingers clawing at the sheets. Your name breaks from his lips like a surrender.

He lays there after, ruined and shaking— chest heaving, sheets twisted, eyes still on the ceiling.

Because even after, there in the dark— you still have a hold on him.

All he can see, hear and breathe. 

Is you.

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