#soobin ff

“soobin?” you poked your head through the door, watching as he looked up from his game, a smile growing on his face the second he recognized you.

“hey.”

“hi,” you stepped inside, shutting the door behind you.

“how was school?” he paused his game, his full attention on you for the time being.

“so tiring. i need to relax,” you sighed, the pounding in your head finally becoming noticeable.

soobin stared at you for a second before chuckling lightly.

“you can take a nap in my bed,” soobin spoke, “i’m gaming with beomgyu, but i’ll try and be quiet.”

the exhaustion in your eyes was evident, and you took him up on his offer happily, practically ready to just sleep on the ground at that point.

“oh, wait,” he stood up quickly, heading over to his tv to turn it on, “is jujutsu kaisen okay with you?”

you laughed quietly, getting situated under his covers, “i’m gonna be sleeping through it. put whatever on, soob.”

“whatever you say,” he smiled, walking back to his pc, “sleep well.”

you hummed in response, turning over to your side as you snuggled up, letting your eyes flutter shut as sleep began to envelop you.

you were grateful for this tradition. getting to hang out with your best friends after a long day of school. it didn’t matter if everyone was busy, just being able to be around them and enjoy each other’s company was enough for you.

you had to admit, ever since you started working along with going to college it got much harder to hang out, but you would always find ways to hang out with them multiple times a week, sometimes crashing on the couch overnight before leaving early for class the next day.

while you slowly lost consciousness, you listened to jujutsu kaisen playing quietly in the back, and the sounds of soobin tapping his keyboard as he talked with beomgyu quietly.

-

you woke up a good hour and a half later, feeling a bit more well rested.

you slowly sat up in bed, stretching your arms above your head as your eyes focused on soobin across from you.

all you could see from where you sat was the back of his head, and sometimes a glimpse of his side profile if he turned his head a bit.

you were pretty bored at this point, not knowing what else to do and deciding you wanted to spend time with your best friend.

soobin wouldn’t mind if you asked him to hang out, right?

you slowly crawled to the edge of the bed, calling out his name quietly.

“soobin.”

he didn’t hear, too engrossed with his game as he continued talking to beomgyu and hitting keys on his keyboard.

you reached your hand out to tap his shoulder lightly, “soobin.”

he jumped slightly at the action, pausing his game to turn around and look at you, slowly removing his headphones as he gave you an expectant look.

“what’s up?” he asked, fluffing his hair with one hand.

you cleared your throat, your eyes flickering across soobin’s face, suddenly aware of how attractive he really was. you blushed slightly, trying to not let it show how much of an effect he had on you. something about his hair in the dim light was getting to you.

“i was just, uhm.. bored,” you spoke quietly, now feeling embarrassed for pulling him out of his game to cater to your needs.

his face softened a bit, looking at his game before looking back at you, “you wanna hang out?”

“only if you want,” you sat back on your heels, trying not to look too desperate, but you were really bored and fiending for some attention at this point. and your eyes might have kept wandering to soobin’s lips a bit too much, or maybe it was you following his hand with your eyes as he brushed back his hair.

what you didn’t know was that he noticed everything, every little glimpse and action. he knew you were into him. but he wasn’t going to point that out.

“i would, but me and beomgyu still have a few hours of gaming left,” he responded with an apologetic look, trying to ignore the way your face visibly dropped at his sentence.

“how many?”

“like, uh, three,” he said, an embarrassed look on his face. you glanced at the clock to see it was already 10pm.

“oh, okay,” you responded, slowly beginning to scoot yourself back on the bed, “i’ll just go back to sleep.”

“you sure?” he turned around more, reaching for the tv remote, presumably ready to give it to you.

“yeah, i’m sure. don’t worry about it, i’m still tired anyway,” you yawned, lying back down and turning on your side, “i’ll talk to you later. night, soob.”

he hummed out a goodnight in response, before putting his headphones back on and turning around.

you were disappointed, you weren’t even going to lie. were you less important than the game to him? soobin would usually drop whatever he was doing to hang out with you when you came over, so of course you felt a bit discouraged right now.

but a part of you felt guilty for wanting his attention all to yourself. he was just trying to talk to beomgyu, and they deserve that without you whining. you decided to not ponder on it too much, and honestly soobin’s sheets were too comfortable for you to stay awake any longer. your thoughts became muddled as you once again let your eyes shut and went to sleep.

-

you woke up to the smell of ramen invading your nostrils. you really thought you were imagining things at first until you realized the smell was in fact right next to you.

you opened your eyes to see a large bowl of ramen, and a plate of kimchi sitting next to it. you smiled brightly as you took in the smell more, letting the comforting smell warm you up.

your mouth was watering as you took the first bite, letting out an audible hum and savoring the taste.

you figured soobin had to have made it at some point while you were asleep, looking up to see him taking a sip from his drink, head thrown back as he was close to finishing the bottle.

your eyes flickered to his adam’s apple, maybe staring for a bit longer than you needed to.

you silently thanked him in your head, not wanting to disrupt his gaming anymore, before taking another bite of the yummy dinner.

you didn’t even know if it could be called dinner anymore considering it was 11pm, but you were hungry.

you got lost in thought, eyes focusing in on soobin’s hands moving quickly across the keys, letting your gaze move to his head, watching his side profile become illuminated by his pc when he turned his head slightly.

it was eerily quiet in the room. soobin had turned the tv off at some point, the only light source in his room being his pc.

once again, your eyes dropped to his hands. long, skinny fingers hitting the keys quickly, sliding all over the keyboard as he typed a message out. a part of you felt bad for staring, but what could you say? soobin was attractive. anyone could see it.

you were lucky enough to call him your best friend, but there were certain points you wished you could be able to call him more.

small taps broke you out of your daydreaming, looking out the window to your left to see rain hitting the glass.

well, that’s amazing.

you didn’t remember seeing that it was gonna rain at all, and it was picking up pretty quickly, the soft taps on the window turning into fat droplets pelting the glass.

you grabbed your phone off the bedside table, opening the weather app only to see that it was going to be raining for the next few days.

and not just raining. storming. there was supposed to be thunder, lighting, and flash floods. you quickly accepted the fact you weren’t going home tonight, and if it was going to be storming like they were predicting you probably weren’t going to be leaving the apartment until it was over.

you slowly put your phone back down, going back to slowly eating your food, this time deciding to take a small bite out of the kimchi lying next to your ramen.

your attention was taken away from the food when you heard soobin shuffling in his seat.

he had turned around to look at you, seeming surprised you were awake.

“you’re up?”

“yeah, uhm, i just woke up like five minutes ago,” you responded, taking another bite of kimchi, “thanks for the food.”

he smiled, “it’s no problem, i felt bad for not being able to hang out. beomgyu just really wants to play games tonight since he’s not free any other day.”

“no, don’t worry about it, it’s fine,” you were still slightly disappointed, but you weren’t going to let that show.

“also, it’s supposed to be raining for the rest of the night, i guess it’s gonna storm pretty bad,” you added.

soobin turned to look out the window, nodding at the sight, “well, you can sleep in here then, it’s gonna be too cold on the couch.”

you shook your head softly. the couch was already pretty cold on normal nights, so you didn’t even want to imagine how cold it was going to be if you slept on it tonight. you were glad soobin was offering up his bed, but that meant he was going to be cold.

“i don’t want you sleeping on the couch either,” you spoke quietly.

he tilted his head at you, lips pouting a bit, “who said i was sleeping on the couch?”

oh.

oh.

your lips parted into a small ‘o’ as you processed his words, just nodding at him. you were totally fine. you could do this! sharing a bed with soobin? your best friend? no big deal. you looked down at your hands, playing with your fingers as you bit your lip, trying to ignore the feeling of soobin’s eyes on you.

soobin watched you for a bit, waiting for your reply which never came. he slowly turned around and went back to his game, unpausing it to join beomgyu again.

you picked up your phone once again, confirming to yourself that it was going to be storming. you put your phone down, deciding the best thing to do at this point was sleep, you hated storms, you didn’t wanna have to deal with them and considering you left your headphones at your house you had nothing to help you.

slowly climbing out of bed, you trudged over to soobin, watching the small smile on his face as he chuckled at something beomgyu said. you tapped him on his shoulder lightly and he turned to look at you quickly, telling beomgyu to hold on a second.

“yes?” he asked, taking in the tired look in your eyes.

“i’m gonna go to sleep, just wanted to let you know,” you answered, giving him a small smile before heading back to the bed.

“goodnight, sleep well,” was all he said in response before turning back to his game.

as you climbed under the covers you couldn’t help but feel even more disappointed at the fact soobin was once again choosing his game over you.

what you didn’t know was that soobin felt terrible and he wanted more than anything to spend time with you. if you had come on any other day, it would’ve been perfectly fine. but him and beomgyu haven’t been able to hang out like this in weeks and he wanted to be able to spend time with his other best friend too. with the screen going black on his pc in between levels, he saw your pouty frame sitting in bed and holding onto his bunny plushie, before sighing and finally lying down.

he slowly lifted one of his headphones off of one of his ears, just barely enough so he could hear the outside noise well. just in case you needed anything, he would be able to hear clearly.

you were getting more comfortable in soobin’s sheets, nearly on the edge of passing out. sleep was starting to reach out for you, ready to envelope you in it’s soft embrace, lulling you off into dreamland. you snuggled your face further into soobin’s pillow, consciousness slipping further away from you- then a strike of thunder.

a loud gasp tore itself from your throat as you shot upright, gripping onto the sheets beside you as you tried to catch your breath. almost as fast as you shot up, soobin was spinning around in his chair to see your shaking frame.

“y/n? are you okay? what happened?” he questioned, staring at you with wide eyes.

“nothing, nothing,” your voice shook as you answered, “just a bad dream.”

you weren’t entirely sure if he believed you, he didn’t say anything for a couple seconds and just stared at you, and all you could do was hope another boom of thunder didn’t reverberate through the sky.

“are you sure?” he pressed further.

“i’m fine, soobin. don’t worry about me,” you smiled, a tight-lipped smile that didn’t reach your eyes, but it was enough for soobin to nod at you and turn back around towards his game, still being sure to keep one headphone off of his ear.

letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, you slowly situated yourself back under the covers, trying to calm your breathing while snuggling further into soobin’s covers.

another boom or thunder shook the sky, your eyes scrunching shut as you held on tighter to soobin’s blanket, trying to ignore the loud noises. every time you were calming down more, another loud boom would follow, the sound filling your eardrums and causing panic to rise within you.

your knuckles were turning white from the hold you had on the sheets, feeling tears well up in your eyes as your breathing quickened. you just wanted the noise to stop. you hatred thunder.

ever since you were a little kid, you had memories of hiding under tables to get away from the thunder, letting out loud, wailing sobs as you clung onto your mom after she dragged you out, crying that you were scared of the loud noises in the sky. it was a fear that never truly went away, always sure to carry headphones with you if you knew it was going to rain so you could pop them in if thunder started and block the noises out of your mind. that however, wasn’t working today.

a small tear escaped your eye, followed by many more. you were trying to remain quiet, trying to calm your breathing which wasn’t really doing much, trying to push the fear out of your mind. small sniffles could be heard from you, burying your head further into soobin’s sheets, doing anything to drown out the noise.

you jumped at the feeling of a hand gently placing itself over yours, their thumb caressing your knuckles lightly. opening your eyes softly, soobin was kneeling next to the bed, concerned eyes looking into your teary eyes.

“are you scared of the thunder?” he spoke, glancing out the window before turning back to you.

you shook your head, staring at him, “no.”

“you’re scared of the thunder,” he replied.

“no, i’m not-” you tried to refute, but a crash of thunder sounded, your body tensing at the sound.

soobin stared at you for a bit with a solemn look on his face, his hand coming up to your face to wipe away your falling tears. you tried to ignore the way your breath hitched, and how your eyes widened slightly.

he stood up abruptly, startling you slightly, “come with me,” he spoke, holding out his hand for you to take.

your eyebrows furrowed slightly, but you knew you could trust him. you raised your hand slowly and grabbed onto his as you flung your legs over the edge of the bed, pushing yourself off to stand up.

you let him guide you over to his computer, his hands dropping to your waist to maneuver you to sit in his chair, giving you a small smile before he grabbed his headset.

“hey, beomgyu, y/n is gonna play with us for a bit. she’s taking my spot,” he explained into the microphone, and you heard a muffled response from the other side, not being able to make out what beomgyu was saying.

he pulled the headset off of his head, placing it over your ears and motioning for you to speak.

“hi,” you stammered, your hands resting on the edge of soobin’s desk, not wanting to mess up anything.

“hey y/n! i was getting sick of playing with that loser, i’m glad you’re here,” beomgyu responded, and you couldn’t help the abrupt laugh that slipped past your lips, lifting your head to look at soobin with a smile.

“what?” soobin asked with a confused look on his face, “is he talking shit about me?”

you shook your head, looking back down towards the screen, “well, i’m really bad at gaming. i wouldn’t get too happy. what even is this game?”

“we’re basically connected by a rope, and we have to work together to get the key that leads you to the next level. it’s mostly teamwork,” he explained while you nodded along to his words, forgetting he couldn’t see you.

“okay, i can do this. that sounds easy enough,” you smiled, your voice more determined as you placed your hands on the keyboard, looking up to soobin to make sure you were using the correct keys. he nodded, and you looked back down, ready to start.

you started walking forward, beomgyu’s character moving with yours, beomgyu going to jump while you fell, dragging both of your characters down.

you sucked in some air, your face scrunching up, “sorry! i didn’t mean to do that.”

you heard beomgyu’s muffled laugh on the other side, “you’re fine. not everyone can be an amazing gamer like i am.”

a soft giggle escaped your lips, shaking your head as you played along with an exaggerated tone to your voice, “oh, right, i’m so sorry. i’ll get it right next time.”

you lied. you had tried six more times, and the same exact thing happened every time. you were starting to feel more embarrassed and you could tell beomgyu was getting slightly restless.

you weren’t on time with beomgyu, you would jump too early and he would fall, or you would jump too late and he would fall. you looked down with an embarrassed look as a sigh left your lips.

“i’m sorry, beomgyu. i told you i wasn’t good at this,” you muttered, your hands coming up to cover your face.

“it’s okay, we’ve got this,” he reassured you, sensing how nervous you were starting to get.

“here,” soobin chimed in from behind you, his hands reaching around you to grab your wrists lightly, “put your hands on the keys.”

you nodded, lowering your hands to place them on the keyboard again, situating yourself in a more upright position.

you felt soobin place his fingers on top of yours, his warm touch sending a shiver up your arms. you sucked in a breath, one you were sure both beomgyu and soobin heard. you clenched your eyes shut for a second in embarrassment and wished soobin didn’t have this much of an effect on you.

“i’ll help you,” he whispered, leaning down so his head was next to yours. if you weren’t wearing the headset he would’ve been whispering directly into your ear. you pushed away the lustful thoughts that filled your brain, clearing your throat and nodding at his words.

“okay..” you squeaked, your voice small. this was humiliating.

“soobin’s gonna help me, beomgyu,” you informed him, soobin guiding your hand to click the restart button on the level, the screen flashing as you two were once again at the starting point.

“i heard him, don’t worry,” he spoke, and you smiled slightly. soobin’s hands pressed down on your fingers, guiding your character to move, quickly getting through the part you were struggling with before.

“not so hard, was it?” he asked so quietly, it was almost a whisper. you turned your head to the side slightly, your breath coming out shaky when you realized how close your faces were.

you nodded slowly, his eyes meeting yours with a small smile, “yeah..”

getting through the levels after that was easy, and you had gotten accustomed to the feeling of soobin being so close to you. you were bickering with beomgyu, the two of you talking about everything while you went through the levels, with the occasional jab towards soobin beomgyu would make.

you would laugh every time, soobin simply shaking his head. he was close enough to your ear to hear what beomgyu was saying, responding to the insults and listening to the way beomgyu would get quiet before bursting out with a laugh, not knowing soobin had heard him.

you had completely forgotten about the storm at this point, too caught up in the game as the levels got harder and harder. to be fair, you were barely doing any work. but it was still fun to at least be playing a part in it.

“okay, we have to lock in. this level is gonna be hard,” beomgyu said, and you heard him take a deep breath as you looked at the screen in front of you.

it definitely didn’t look easy.

“soobin, better work hard-“ beomgyu began to tease, his voice cutting out as soobin’s computer shut off, leaving the room pitch black. your eyebrows furrowed as you stared at the screen, turning to face soobin with a concerned look.

he mirrored your expression, turning to look at the screen, “uh.. let me..”

he bent down, checking the plugs and clicking the keyboard a couple times, a slight hum leaving him.

“i don’t know what happened, everything is still connected,” he mumbled, standing back up to look down at you.

a loud knock on the door caused you to jump slightly, soobin turning around to look.

“yeah?,” he called, waiting for a reply.

“the power went out!” hueningkai called from the other side, and soobin turned to look back at you, the computer turning off suddenly making a lot more sense.

“oh, makes sense,” he responded, reaching down to pull the headphones off of your ears and place them on the table next to you. the two of you shared an embarrassed look, both wondering why you didn’t think of that at first.

“hey, where’s y/n? i haven’t seen her,” hueningkai continued. you looked up at soobin with a small smile, a soft giggle leaving you.

“she’s in here. she’s staying with me tonight,” he responded, smiling back at you.

“oh,” he mumbled, a pause before his next words, “okay. goodnight.”

“goodnight,” the two of you called back, listening as hueningkai’s footsteps descended from the door. silence surrounding the two of you once again.

it was hard to see soobin at all. the room was pitch black, and he looked like a silhouette in front of you, nothing more.

“i’m gonna go get some candles,” he blurted, breaking the silence and beginning to make a move for the door.

your hand moved before you could think too much about it, grabbing onto his wrist and stopping him from going any further. well, let’s be honest, you weren’t stopping him at all. he could’ve kept walking if he wanted to. but he stopped for you.

“don’t go,” you whispered, your grip on his wrist loosening as you lowered your hand back down into your lap, beats of silence passing as you waited for his response.

he hummed quietly, turning back towards you, “okay.”

he was standing so close to you, looking down at you, and from the proximity you could make out his eyes, a sly smile playing on his lips as he spoke, “you’re really dependent on me, aren’t you?”

you rolled your eyes playfully, a laugh leaving you, “shut up.”

he did, surprisingly. he tilted his head to the side, almost observing you. a loud crash of thunder filled the room with noise, your eyes clenching shut as your body went rigid.

“soobin,” you squeaked out, not even realizing his name had left your lips as you looked up at him, panic flashing across your face.

you felt your eyes grow watery, a pout forming on your lips as you met his eyes. he looked like he was once again trying to figure out what to do. he couldn’t distract you with technology this time, he couldn’t block out the noise for you. a small tear slipped down your face, a broken whimper leaving your lips as more thunder sounded throughout the quiet room. you couldn’t even be embarrassed about crying over thunder at this point. you were so overwhelmed.

soobin’s hands reached under your legs, pulling them towards him, before reaching his arms behind your chest and lifting you up, holding you bridal style.

a small part of your mind flickered to how strong he was, how easily he was able to pick you up and how easily he was able to carry you.

he shuffled over to the bed, lighting tossing your body down as you landed with a quiet “oomph”. your eyes flickered down towards him, trying to make out where he was in the darkness.

you saw him lift one leg up onto the bed, leaning his upper body over you as he held eye contact with you, not saying anything, just watching how you reacted to him.

he slowly began to crawl up your body, the only noise being your shaky breaths and the rain hitting the window. shivers erupted across your body as you felt him get higher.

what the fuck is he doing? you thought to yourself, your eyebrows scrunching up in confusion as you watched him.

he was so close now, leaning right over your face. a lightning strike lit up the room, your eyes meeting soobin’s more clearly. there was desire evident in his eyes, your mind going haywire. you had to have been imagining that, right? there’s no way.

he leaned down very slightly, his voice quiet and breathy as he spoke, “do you want me to help you?”

a small gasp slipped past your lips, your eyes wide. you couldn’t say anything. the words wouldn’t leave your mouth. this was not happening. this was not reality.

he leaned down, his face so, so close to yours, before he moved his head towards your ear, his breath tickling your skin as he continued, “use your words. yes or no.”

a shiver ran down your spine, a shaky breath leaving your lips as your body finally forced the words out, “yes. please.”

you felt him smile against your ear, lifting his head once again so he was hovering over you. he reached one hand out to wipe the still-wet tears on your face, his thumb then trailing down to your lips and pulling your bottom lip down before letting it slap back into place.

god, he was so hot. you sucked in a breath of air at the action, your eyes locked on his as began to lean down.

it was soft. his lips were so soft, slowly moving against your own as he titled your head up slightly to access your mouth better. a soft whine slipped past your lips, your hands coming up to wrap around his shoulders.

he pulled away, looking into your eyes. this was your best friend. you were kissing your best friend. your hands slid up to his hair, tangling themselves in his roots and tugging slightly, hearing him suck in a breath of air before his lips were back against yours.

his tongue prodded lightly at your bottom lip, and you obliged easily, opening your mouth to let him in. he was so gentle with his kisses, but they were all-consuming at the same time. his hand that was on your jaw moved down your body, fingers playing with the hem of your shirt before he pushed his hand under slowly.

a gasp left your lips at the feeling of his cold hand on your warm stomach, his large hand splayed out on your abdomen. he wasn’t moving it, just holding it there, like he was waiting for you to tell him to stop. like he wanted you to tell him this was a bad idea.

you didn’t. you would never. fuck, you’ve wanted him for so long, you weren’t going to cut things off now.

his mouth was pushing harder against yours, his kisses getting slightly more rough. your thighs rubbed together while your fingers found themselves tugging at his hair once again. you felt him smirk against your lips, his hand finally beginning to inch up your abdomen.

another crash of thunder. your lips stuttered against his, the grip you had on his hair loosening at the sound. you were so enthralled, you had forgotten why you two started making out in the first place.

he pulled away from you slightly, just enough so he could speak, your lips still brushing each other so very lightly.

“focus on me. not the thunder. i’m right here,” he mumbled, placing a soft kiss to your lips before moving down to your neck.

you only nodded at his words. you felt like you were in a dream at this point. his lips softly kissed at your neck, nipping slightly in certain spots before he made sure to run his tongue over the spot, pressing a small kiss before moving on to another spot.

you rolled your head back against the sheets, giving him all the access he needed as a quiet moan slipped past your lips. a fleeting thought of how you would explain this to hueningkai in the morning popped into your mind but you decided that was a problem for tomorrow.

you felt his fingers reach the bottom of your bra before stopping and tapping your skin lightly. you guessed he was asking if it was okay to keep going further.

“yes,” you spoke, your voice breathy and sounding foreign to yourself. he hadn’t even done anything to you yet. his hand moved up higher, cupping your bra-covered breast in his hand and giving it a light squeeze.

a moan slipped past your lips before you shut your mouth quickly. you had forgotten you weren’t alone for a second. you felt him laugh against your neck, his breath tickling you and the sound so soft. he sat up, the hand that was holding himself up moving to the bottom of your shirt.

“can i take this off?,” his voice was quiet, but it wasn’t nervous. no, he sounded confident. it only turned you on more, a whine slipping past your lips as you nodded your head, arching your back slightly to make it easier for him.

he pulled your shirt over your head quickly, tossing it to a random corner in the room before he was leaving down, his lips latching on to your chest. you sucked in a breath at the action.

“soobin,” you whispered quietly, your voice shaky and ridden with need. you didn’t know where to put your hands, they were going from his shoulder, to his hair, to his biceps.

his hand snaked under your back and you lifted yourself off the bed as best you could as he undid your bra. you tried not to let the fact that he did it effortlessly with one hand linger for too long in your mind. he slid your bra off your body slowly, before leaning back down to press a kiss on your now exposed breast, his other hand coming up to play with the other one. his lips latched onto your nipple, lolling his tongue over the pebbled skin and you swore you were going to go insane.

gasps and whines were leaving your lips as he continued to pleasure both of ur breasts, humming against your exposed flesh. he pulled away just slightly, his hand continuing to squeeze and caress your other breast as he mumbled, “you’re so pretty, fuck.”

“more,” you whimpered out, any proper responses long gone from your mind at this point. your hands clawed at his shirt as best you could, trying to pull it over his head. he got the memo, sitting up and tugging the offensive piece of clothing off of him, your eyes taking in his now exposed chest.

it wasn’t something you hadn’t seen before- no, you had seen him shirtless hundreds of times. this felt different. so, so different.

he leaned back down, trailing kisses down your torso while his hands roamed before finally setting on the hem of your sweats, “lift for me.”

you pushed your hips off the bed slightly, giving him access to pull your sweats and panties down slowly. you heard a small gasp escape his lips, your legs pushing together out of instinct, “you’re soaking, y/n, fuck.”

he hummed, shaking his head before pulling your legs apart, “don’t hide from me.” you whined softly as your head lolled to the side, embarrassment flooding through you. you shouldn’t be embarrassed, really. but nerves were still coursing through your body, your eyes clenching shut.

“hey.” his hands rubbed your thighs lightly, pulling your attention back to him, “why are you so nervous?”

you didn’t say anything for a bit, pursing your lips as you thought of a response. “you make me nervous,” you finally mumbled out, looking down at him slowly.

he chuckled softly, his fingers moving further up your thighs, closer to where you needed him. a soft gasp left your lips, your eyes widening slightly. he hummed, his eyes flickering down and back up, “i do?”

you nodded, a small- and borderline embarrassing- whimper slipping past your lips. your hips wiggled slightly despite your nerves, trying to get him closer to where you needed him. “soobin, please,” you gasped out, your eyes staring into his.

he finally obliged, one of his fingers sliding through your folds, a sharp gasp leaving you. “keep your eyes on the mirror, baby,” he mumbled, giving you a smirk as your head fell back, your eyes barely being able to make out the sight that was being reflected on the mirror.

“want you to watch as i ruin you,” he continued, your body tensing at his words. god, you were not making it out of this. his fingers slid up to your clit, slowly massaging the bundle of nerves. your breathing sped up, a soft moan slipping past your lips as your hands grabbed onto the sheets beside you.

“soob, please. need you so bad,” you whined, grinding your hips up into his hand. his other hand moved to your abdomen, pushing down to keep your hips in place. a moan left you, your hands moving from the sheets to his hair.

“patience,” he replied, a teasing lilt to his voice. his fingers moved from your clit, two of his fingers prodding at your entrance before pushing in slowly. you moaned softly, your head rolling back. “eyes on the mirror,” he mumbled a reply, pulling his fingers out almost all the way before pushing them back in.

you didn’t really hear him, focusing too heavily on the feeling of his fingers. until you felt him latch onto your clit, his lips sucking lightly and drawing a mix of a moan and a gasp from your lips, “fuck!”

you pulled your vision back to the mirror, the sight barely illuminated, the only thing visible being your silhouettes- which were still incredibly hard to see. your fingers tugged at soobin’s hair, trying your best to contain your sounds as you bit your lip so hard you were sure you could draw blood soon.

he was licking and sucking at your clit, his fingers speeding up inside of you, the wet sounds that were leaving your pussy were something you would have normally been embarrassed by, but you were too far gone by this point.

whispers of his name and profanities were leaving your lips, your hands gripping his hair harder as he hummed against you, sending a chill throughout your body. you felt the first tingling’s of your orgasm creeping up on you, your legs threatening to close around his head.

“soobin- soobin ‘m close..” you struggled out between whines, unable to do anything besides take what he was giving you, throwing your head back against the pillow.

soobin removed his fingers, moving his hands to hold either of your thighs down as he moved his tongue, licking a long stripe up your heat. one of your hands flew from his hair to your mouth, struggling to hold in the noises leaving your lips at this point.

“you’re so fucking wet. tastes so good,” he mumbled against your lips, licking and sucking harder as he pushed your legs further apart, practically making out with your cunt, “you gonna cum for me? gonna cum all over my tongue?”

you nodded dumbly, too close to your orgasm to process his words or anything that was happening around you besides the feeling creeping up on you. your eyes were trained on the ceiling, your orgasm growing tighter, so close to falling over the edge.

a lightning strike lit up the room, giving you a perfect view of soobin’s head in between your thighs, your hand gripping his hair, and your fucked out face. you stared back at your reflection, the familiar feeling creeping up on you all too quickly.

“fuck, i’m gonna-“ you started, your orgasm cutting you off as your back arched into the air, your hand tugging harder at soobin’s hair. your body shook, his hands pushing your thighs down harder as he groaned into your cunt, the feeling heightening your orgasm. muffled whines pushed their way past your lips, although your hand was trying its best to muffle the noises.

soobin wasn’t slowing down. even as you started to come down from your orgasm, tinges of overstimulation mixing pain with pleasure, he kept going. “soobin.. too much,” you whimpered, your hand falling from your mouth to grab onto his hair, attempting to push his head away.

“you taste so good,” he responded, his voice muffled and sending vibrations up your core, your legs twitching at the feeling.

“soobin,” you mewled, tears welling up in your eyes as you attempted to push your thighs together, your head falling to the side.

he lifted his head, looking up at your shaking form with a small smirk adorning his lips, “you can give me one more, can’t you?”

he went back to eating you out almost immediately, except this time he removed one of his hands from your thigh, pushing two of his fingers inside your dripping hole, beginning to thrust them in and out.

you threw your head back, a gasp falling from your lips as your hands tugged at his hair. “i can’t.. soobin,” you whimpered, tears falling down your face at the feeling.

he moved his free hand, once again pressing his hand down on your stomach as he sped up his fingers, the feeling pushing you close to the edge once again. you but your lip hard, holding in the noises threatening to leave your lips as he continued his ministrations.

you couldn’t even give soobin a warning this time, your second orgasm crashing over you as your eyes rolled back, your pussy gushing all over his fingers and face.

he helped you ride out your orgasm, slowly pulling his fingers out of you once it started becoming too much again. he pressed a soft kiss to your sensitive clit, your legs jumping slightly at the feeling.

he pushed himself back up your body, enveloping your lips in a soft kiss. you tasted yourself on his lips, humming quietly into the kiss. he ground himself against your core, his bulge applying the perfect amount of friction against your clit. you gasped against his lips as your head tilted back slightly.

he looked down at you, a teasing expression on his face, “what’s wrong?”

you couldn’t care less that he was teasing you at this point, grinding your core up against him. “need you,” you mumbled.

“yeah?” he teased, continuing to grind his hard cock against you. he wanted to be inside you so bad, his sweats were painful at this point and your pussy was providing the perfect amount of friction for him. he wanted to keep teasing you, to see how far he could push you, but his self control was shattering more every second.

he pulled away, a whine falling from your lips at the feeling disappearing. you looked up at him with a pout, “why’d you stop?”

“i’d rather you come on my cock,” he replied simply, his words rendering you speechless. he tugged his sweats and underwear down in one go, his hard cock slapping against his stomach. the tip was red and leaking, your mouth dropping open at the sight. he stroked himself a few times with his hand, a cocky smile on his lips when he noticed your reaction.

“holy shit,” you mumbled, a new wave of arousal washing over you. he leaned his body over yours once more, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“are you ready?” he asked softly, lining himself up with your entrance. you nodded quickly, letting out a desperate hum as your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him back down to your lips. he reciprocated the kiss immediately, pushing his hips forward slowly and enveloping himself in your tight heat.

you gasped, your lips separating from his as your face scrunched up and a moan spilled past your lips, closing your mouth quickly. soobin’s eyes were closed, his eyebrows furrowed as he continued to move forward slowly, “fuck, you’re so tight.”

you couldn’t get any words out, noises stuck in your throat as he practically split you open on his cock. he finally bottomed out, his thighs flush against the back of yours. you could feel every ridge and vein, a deep breath leaving him as he spoke, his voice shaky, “i’m gonna start moving.”

“okay,” you whispered, a whine slipping past your lips as he pulled out, pushing himself back in quicker than before. you couldn’t think straight, your mind muddled and completely focused on how good you felt right now, how soobin was fucking you just right, setting a perfect rhythm.

“soobin, fuck,” you mumbled, your hands moving to his neck, his arms, his back, anywhere that you could get a hold of to ground yourself. the sound of skin slapping skin reverberated quietly throughout the room, the both of you trying your best to be quiet, but, fuck, it was hard.

“gonna make you cum on my cock. make you forget about everything else,” he sighed, his hand coming down to push on your stomach, your eyes rolling back at the pressure, “fuck, you’re taking me so well, baby.”

he stopped his movement, a frustrated sigh leaving your lips as you looked up at him, “no- no, don’t stop.”

he didn’t answer, grabbing your legs and pressing them to your chest, holding them there by the back of your knees as he started to move again, the new angle making him feel even deeper. “fuck, oh my god,” you whimpered, throwing your head back against the pillow. he had you practically locked under his hold, unable to do anything besides take all of him.

a certain thrust had him pushing up right against your g-spot, a broken gasp leaving your lips as your hand shot out to the sides, gripping the sheets as your eyes rolled back. soobin caught on quickly, rolling his hips up against the same spot, “right there?”

“yes, yes, please, oh my god,” you babbled, trying your best to hold the sounds threatening to push past your lips in. he picked up his pace more, hitting the perfect spot repeatedly. you felt your high growing quickly, the band getting ready to snap.

“soobin, i’m close,” you whined, his hand immediately coming down to rub circles on your clit. the added stimulation pushed you even closer to the edge, your eyes clenching shut.

“me too, baby. gonna stuff you full of my cum,” he groaned out, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he neared the edge, “you would like that, wouldn’t you?”

“pleeease, i need it. need your cum,” you whine, your hands pulling at the sheets harder as you feel the band in your stomach growing tighter, “i’m gonna cum- soob!”

he sped up his thrusts, rubbing harder at your clit, “cum for me.”

his words pushed you over the edge, your toes clenching and eyes rolling back as your orgasm exploded, your release gushing all over his cock. your pussy clenched tightly around him, making it harder for soobin to move as he groaned, watching how your face contorted as you succumbed to the overwhelming pleasure.

“fuck, baby. squeezing me so tight. i’m gonna cum, gonna fill you up,” his voice was strangled and shaky, his hips slamming against yours as he shot his cum inside you, throwing his head back and clenching his eyes shut. he rocked his hips slowly against yours, helping the two of you ride out your highs.

your breathing slowed down as your body relaxed into the sheets, trying to process what had just happened. his forehead dropped against yours softly as he pressed a soft kiss to your lips before releasing your legs, them instantly falling down by your sides.

“hey,” he whispered against your lips, a soft smile playing on his lips as his hands came up to your face, pressing another kiss to your lips before he continued, “want you to ride me.”

your eyes snapped open, staring into his eyes with an exasperated look, “soobin, i’ve come three times already. i can’t do another one.”

“oh, but i think you can,” he smiled, looking out the window before turning back to you, “besides, it’s still thundering outside.”

you couldn’t even get an answer out before he was flipping the two of you over, a gasp leaving your mouth as your hands shot out to his chest to steady yourself. the new position had him hitting different spots inside you, your pussy clenching around his hardening cock.

a corner of his lip lifted, his hand slapping your ass lightly, “turn around for me, baby.”

you obliged, pulling off of him with shaky legs as you both winced at the feeling as you moved your body, positioning yourself over him once again. you were trying to ignore the soreness in your legs, grabbing his now hard dick and aligning him with your entrance before slowly sinking down.

you bit your lip hard, holding back the moan of pleasure, a small whimper slipping out instead. “fuck, soobin,” you whined, your head dropping to your chest as you continued to lower yourself, finally feeling him bottom out.

“just like that, doing so good for me, hm?” he mumbled, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he helped guide your movements, your mouth falling open at the new feeling. you picked up the pace, bouncing up and down on his cock, your hands steadying themselves on his thighs, helping you move quicker as you bit back moans and cries.

your legs were stinging, threatening to give out on you as you tried to keep going and push yourself through the pain. it didn’t work, your legs dropping down as you took a deep breath. you tried to lift yourself up again, but soobin’s hands held you in place.

“relax,” he murmured quietly, bending his knees and pushing his feet into the mattress, his hips thrusting up into yours and immediately setting a brutal pace. you couldn’t fight the loud cry that left your lips, one of your hands slapping up to your mouth as you tried your best to muffle the desperate sounds leaving you.

he was so deep, hitting you in places that had tears welling up in your eyes, your hand gripping onto his thigh like a lifeline. “too much!” you cried, the hand on your mouth dropping down to his other thigh to hold yourself in place.

one of his hands moved from your hip, slowly sliding up the rest of your body before he reached your neck, grabbing your chin and angling your head up towards the ceiling. “look at yourself, baby. how good you’re taking me,” he spoke gruffly, voice consumed by lust.

your fucked-our face was staring back at you, teary eyes and mouth hung open, soobin’s hand holding your chin and his hips pistoning up into yours. his eyebrows were furrowed, his lips pulled between his teeth as he watched the way you sucked him in. you couldn’t help the loud moan that left you at the lewd sight.

it was like a dam broke. all the moans and whimpers you had been holding in were slipping past your lips as the tears that had been welling up in your eyes spilled over. he angled his hips just right, thrusting up against your g-spot again as a loud cry left you. you didn’t even have to tell him at this point, he knew. he kept the angle, repeatedly hitting the same spot that made you feel like you were on cloud nine.

he chuckled quietly behind you, his voice strangled as he spoke, “you want hueningkai to know how good i’m fucking you?” you clenched tightly around him at his words, a whimper leaving your lips. you could practically hear the smirk in his voice as he spoke again, “you liked that, didn’t you? dirty girl.”

“yes, w-want everyone to know- need you,” you stammered out, your voice shaky and cut off with moans. you were nearing the edge for the fourth time that night, loud, unabashed moans leaving your lips as your hands pushed harder against his thighs, trying to ground yourself somehow.

you were so far gone at this point, only caring about the pleasure coursing through you. you felt like you were in a different dimension. you were so close to tipping over the edge, your cunt beginning to clench around soobin as you cried out.

“you close, baby?” he asked, though he already knew the answer. he doubled down on his efforts, thrusting into you faster, if that was even possible at this point.

“please- please.. need to cum, fuck, please, let me cum, soobin, please, want you to fill me up!” you pleaded, tears falling down your cheeks as your eyes clenched shut. you were so close to falling over the edge, the knot in your stomach tightening more and more, so close to snapping, so close to-

your vision went white, your mouth falling open as a cry left you as your cunt spasmed wildly around him. it was euphoric, your body twitching and spasming as he held you in place, beginning to chase his own high. you could do nothing besides take it, whimpers and cries leaving your lips as the pleasure morphed into pain.

“i’m almost there baby, fuck, just-“ he started, his thrusts sloppy and quick as he neared the edge, “i’m gonna cum, fuck, fuck, fuuuuck”

you watched his face with bleary eyes when he came, the reflection dark and hard to make out. his eyebrows were squinted closed and his eyebrows furrowed, his mouth hung open as he filled you up, pulling you down as hard as he could, hot white seed filing you to the brim and spilling out from being so stuffed.

his grip on you loosened, pulling you back against his chest. the position was uncomfortable, your legs and back bent at a weird angle, but you were too far gone to think about that right now. he smiled at your pliantness, adjusting your legs for you the best he could, pulling himself out of you slowly.

you whined at the sting, his hand stroking your arm as he whispered, “it’s okay, just relax, alright?” you nodded, soobin sliding himself out from underneath you so he was next to you, turning on his side and facing you.

“hey,” he mumbled with a smile, watching as you turned your head to meet his eyes with a shy smile.

“hi,” you giggled, your voice hoarse and sleepy.

“i’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” he admitted quietly, biting his lip as he averted his vision.

your eyes widened slightly, turning your body fully to face him as you responded, “you have?”

“yeah,” he said, a small laugh leaving his lips as he looked back at you, “i’ve wanted you since we became friends. i just didn’t wanna make things awkward. but you would always give me these looks and i couldn’t tell if you liked me or not. tonight i just.. i couldn't help myself, i guess.”

your mouth fell open slightly, a smile forming on your lips as you leaned in to press a soft kiss to his lips, “i’ve always been yours, soobin.”

his eyes lit up, a big smile taking over his features as his hand reached up to cup your jaw, pulling your lips back against his. this kiss was different from the others. it was sweet, full of emotion and untold feelings that had finally come to surface.

he pulled away slowly, resting his forehead against yours as he spoke, “let’s get you cleaned up, alright?” as you nodded along to his words, the rain pouring outside the window as the storm raged on, one thought circulated through your mind.

maybe thunder wasn’t so bad after all.

oh, and how you were going to explain this to hueningkai in the morning.

Soobin’s good at keeping it cute, but the state of his room speaks otherwise. Busty figurines line his shelves and their big, sparkly eyes follow you. Most people’s heads would spin if they saw it. They’d try and fail at connecting the Soobin that appears in public and the bare truth of... Well. Him.

You sure did, the first time you had. A week ago. Poking your head in, it’s all that you were met with. Heads of pinks, blues, tiny tiny skirts, all an array against the backdrop of his decidedly dudeish decor otherwise. It felt like you had caught him jerking off, the way his ears went red and he sputtered and pleaded with you to just please go. You’re sure that the way you gaped, wide-eyed and stupefied, didn’t make him feel any better about it. But damn it, that’s just too good. He, your best friend, is an under wraps degenerate.

“Do you touch yourself to these?” you had asked him, covering your laugh with a hand because at least you had the conscience to not laugh right in his face. He had gone straight from red mortification to white and he snatched back the one you’d been turning over in your hands. It’s not like you were laughing at him, you guess. It’s more that you thought those ‘otaku’ shirts he wore lounging around the place were for ironic value, not… a precursor in plain sight to the state of his bedroom. To think that all that was stowed away behind that door that you’ve passed a hundred times like a rotten little secret.

What does it change? God, you wish you knew. The extent of your knowledge ends at the fact that you can’t quite look at him right in the eyes anymore without the thought flickering in the outskirts of your mind. Even as you sit curled up in his couch, littered with blankets that he kept because he knew that you liked them and would just steal from him anyway, and watch his back work in the kitchen.

How couldn’t you know? Literally how could it have sprung up on you like that? Are you a shitty best friend? But seriously. Soobin wasn’t a loser. He’s always been slow, easy nonchalance. You watch his forearms flicker as he tugs the freezer drawer open, full with muscle that’s never felt more at dizzying odds with what you imagined a dude that was into shit like that would have than it does now. The image it brings to mind of lanky, awkward limbs and a beard that crawls down the neck is not him. It’s frustrating. It’s been spinning in your mind, the thoughts bouncing off one wall just to hit another and then, like it has every day since you saw it, circling back.

It all boils down to one thought. The worst one, because it’s sticky and deeply unsettling. Because, since when did you start imagining what sort of stuff your best friend got off to? You wonder what the search bar of his go-to porn website looked like. You imagine what videos he gravitated toward, what about them had him clicking on them and then wrapping his fist around himself. It probably looks features something a lot like those figurines he has on display. You grimace.

Plopping down in an air of clean black pepper and musk, he offers you a pint of Ben & Jerry’s ‘Chunky Monkey’. A cheeky smile tugs at the corner of your lips. Still your Soobin, though.

“You got me ice cream?” you say, letting the sugar and cream melt on your tongue with a hum.

Soobin shoots you a glare. You have to snort. The question’s more irritating than genuine, and that’s why you asked it. When doesn’t he buy you ice cream? You never asked him to. If it’s, for whatever reason, what he wants to do though, that’s his money to spend. You’re blessed. “What are we watching?” he asks instead, taking up the remote in his hand from across the couch. The sleeves of his black cashmere sweater are bunched to his elbows.

“Dunno.” You lick off the spoon, tucking your legs to one side. “Probably some anime girls for you, though.” The words come out with a terrible, knowing lilt and a mean smile. You have to get the thoughts out from under your skin, purge them from your blood and put them out into the air so they can be more real and less like spiraling delusions. If you let the air settle on that too long, though, it’ll become heavy. And that’s also scary. Scarier, even. So you deflect. It’s freezing, anyway. Probably either the fact that it’s a crisp twenty degrees outside, or it’s the cold tub in your hands starting a slow creep into your bones. “What’s the heater set to?” you whine.

The way his gaze changes… Falters, even, on you. It turns into static electricity, standing the hairs on your arms and neck up with the weight of its presence. It flickers down to where you now realize your pale fluffy sweater has drooped off a plump shoulder so quickly that you might’ve blinked and missed it. But you didn’t, and you hate it. Because it makes all of this weirder. Your stomach goes up in a colorful explosion of butterflies and something that you should have stopped trying to poke three days ago while you were ahead.

Throat bobbing, Soobin laughs to himself with a bow of his head that brings his dark hair into his eyes. He shakes it all away and that plasticky smile almost looks barbed in the soft milky light of his living room. He’s prickled and gone red over countless jabs since that day, but something low in your tummy feels that it’s reaching a breaking point. You can see the strain beginning to tear at something he’s been keeping neat and tidy for a long, long time. And you just don’t know how to stop. It’s like sugar-high right on your tongue, sweeter than the sugar and the cream in your mouth as you blink at him and try to pin down just what exactly it is, sweeter than the flush in your cheeks that wholly at odds with your complaining about it being cold.

Speaking more to himself, he echoes a breathy, “Some anime girls…” The way he laughs over it makes you squirm, because it doesn’t sound like he really finds it funny at all.  “Pick whatever you want. I don’t care.” Tossing you a blanket, the fat knitted one that cradles you right back, he crosses his arms and settles in. His head hits the back of the couch with a dull thump. It illustrates the line of his jaw and the muscle there, working like he’s chewing over something. You always did like his jawline. It was a sharp, male thing in the soft set of his dimples and the sweet dark-chocolate of his eyes.

The air crackles. You both want to tuck into his side and recede back into what is safe and to see more about whatever… This is. This man you don’t know or understand how to interact with. You have some self-preservation in you, though, and there was warning in that slash of his mouth. An understated don’t touch it. Give it up. So you do the safe thing and you curl into the warmth of his side, just like you do every other night in your flimsy pajama shorts and your chunky socks to ward off the rest of the cold that you can’t cure with the crook of his body. Except now you know a secret.

The T.V. drones. You laugh when you’re supposed to, and so does he. You’re both good at pretending, you guess. That’s probably how things have ended up coming to this.

Taking a final spoonful of ice cream to your lips, it drools over the side and onto you. “Shit!” you say, assessing the damage where it fell on your clothes. It’s stained, that’s for sure. Your poor sweater. “This one’s my favorite… I just got it. Ugh.” Wincing, you peel yourself from his side.

Soobin sighs and stands up. “Is it ruined?”

“Probably.” You tug your lips to one side, looking up at him with big, disappointed eyes. Is the pout on your lips put on for him? Since when did you start doing that, too?

Those eyes flash again. Below the surface, you almost see yourself reflected in them. Sitting on his couch with the chub of your thighs pressed into him, sweat drooping so low it shows where the fat of your arm meets the swell of your breast, looking at him all new. You swallow thickly. If you can tell the difference in yourself, then he must be feeling it. A pit forms in your stomach. Are you being unfair?

Something fundamental was changed the moment Soobin went from your untouchable best friend to the sort of man that decorated his space with anime tits. For so long, you stubbed out every single stray thought about him. Because guys like that didn’t look at you, did they? It’s pathetic, and to some degree you can recognize that. But something did change, and it’s got your heart doing something new and different. You’re letting it run loose with the plethora of things you haven’t up until now.

“Look,” he says, before he has to clear his throat to speak more clearly. His cheek flutters with a clench of his teeth, a flash of dimple like sprinkles atop the sight. “I’ll go turn up the heater. Go grab a shirt, okay?”

You blink. He’d become a blubbering mess when you saw his room the first time. Now he’s sending you in there yourself? You guess that since the cat’s already out of the bag, he’s given up trying to pretend about what he is and isn’t into. Laughing at him was cruel, and driving it in harder was even more so. Picking yourself up, you pad to his room.

Trying your best to not make eye contact with anything that might make you more insane, you tug open his dresser. His whole place smells like him, mellow and handsome, but his room even more. You rifle through his stash of graphic tees and sweats and find nothing. Soobin keeps a stash of shirts just for you. His shirts won’t fit you—not in the way you want them to. Usually, he brings them out for you to change into when you’re spending the night and itching for that feeling of stolen clothes hanging off the softness of your frame. For something to hit you at the thigh and drown you in excess, to look like you’d swiped it right from his dresser and covered yourself in it. He’d bought them just for you; purposefully oversized. It’s just a matter of finding where he actually keeps them.

His closet, then? There’s only so many places they could be. You roll open the door and narrow your eyes. Hanging jackets, sweaters, stuff forgotten up high on a rack, and the bare wood scent of a closet mingling with Soobin’s that comes off his clothes.

There’s a box on the carpeted floor, one flap open. From it, dangles a bit of pale cream fabric. Intrigued, you dip down to your knees. Probably in here. You’ve exhausted the closet and the drawer and found nothing, anyway.

What you pull out of that box is far from your collection of well-loved, oversized graphic tees. They come out frilly, delicate and strappy, all sweet in an array of pale pinks and buttercream yellows and they’re so scant it makes your face heat up just knowing he has them in his possession. There’s polka dots and stripes and they fall all over your lap as you, despite yourself, cannot stop pulling them out. It’s like a shameful game of how much worse can the next thing I pull out be? And it seems to get more impossible with each. It’s so heart-stopping it’s almost macabre.

They look just like the ones in plastic all around you right now, like the shit plastered on his walls. It’s fucking cosplay costumes. 

You are definitely, absolutely overstepping boundaries. No, you’re way out past that. This is so far out in the deep end, the water’s ear-high, and you don’t really know how to get back to where you can touch.

But who are these even for? Soobin may be a self-proclaimed otaku loser, but you know with a certainty that... Well. They’re not for him, right? Is there a girl? Fingers itching and throat dry, you fumble for a tag. Something. Anything that’ll relieve the new, strange fascination roaring in your ears. Everything you’ve already been plagued by is doubled down on, but your heart is also a spike in your chest. There is so, so much you didn’t know about him. And it's all been right here. Under your nose, and none of it did you notice. It makes your face numb, sends your brain in a thousand different, fuzzy directions. The Soobin you know is either a fake, or it’s just the very tip of the iceberg that makes up the whole of your best friend.

Your stomach, already in tight knots, drops down into your toes. Your heart stops in your throat. The fabric of the tag in your fingers reads in your size. Every single one of them does. Tugging out a tiny, ruffled white skirt, it’s the same. This thing would barely cover your ass, especially with how skirts fit on your body. But maybe that’s the point.

The room bleeds around you, the faces of those figurines and posters melting. Are these for you?

Soobin’s approach is too sudden for you to stuff them all back and hide what you were doing, even though your blood jumps to the surface you try as you might. The door flies open, and it’s like he knew, somehow, what you’d find.

“Fuck,” he growls, face wan. “Fuck, what are you doing?”

You want to drop the fabric from your hands like it’s hot. But you don’t, and it’s all the more incriminating, all the more mortifying. All those polka dotted cups and rosettes and lace send your cheeks up in flames as you blink dumbly at him, caught in the act. You wish for three seconds ago, when you could have stuffed this all back into the box and went back out there and pretended you didn’t see shit.

And you finally just don’t know what to say. You have no more pointed, mean jokes. Fragments of real sentences come fumbling out instead. “I.. It was… I was looking…” You don’t finish, choking on the thump of your pulse in your throat. But it’s not a lie. You were just looking for a shirt. This is just a symptom of a much bigger problem: that Choi Soobin has a stash of stupidly delicate costumes, and the evidence toward the possibility that he bought them thinking about you, or at least another girl with a body like yours, is damning.

“You were looking?” he says, eyes wild. He begins to shove them back where they came from like it’ll change the fact that you saw them. His hands tremble and shake. “I trust you to go into my room and you just start snooping through my stuff?”

Your mouth opens and you suddenly have a lot of things, but now they just won’t come out. Shaking your head, you watch as he cleans up the mess all except for the pretty set still in your hands.

His voice strains. “What the hell?” he says, exasperated and his eyes wildly searching yours. Gauging. Gauging how far too far is, and he may be a mess and he may be snapping, but the root and truth of that reaction is that you weren’t supposed to find it. His breaths come and go erratically. It looks like he might pass out, pupils blown wide and sharp.

The first words you can string along coherently come out flatly. “Are those for me?”

“What?” Soobin says, shoulders going rigid. “What the hell are you talking about?” He tries to laugh that off, a barked, unconvincing sound. “No. Fuck, no. They’re just… It’s a collector thing, alright? I collect them. I can’t believe you just…”

Dragging a thumb over the piece you still have, you eye the tag. When you walked in here for the first time and saw what you did, you imagined what Soobin might be into. Something like those petite girls that studded the shelves was what you landed on. It’s just the probability of the matter. It’s something you had to accept before you let hope hurt you. But this thing says something different, something that makes your tummy feel all tight.

“Give that to me.” He snatches it from you, still trying to pretend none of it exists. “Shit. Would you look at mec please? I’m not a fucking weirdo. I promise.” The word cracks.

That sounds like a plea to shove down the fact that he feels exactly like one. Like keeping little bits of lace fantasies like this is anything but perversion.

“Look at me,” he says, his desperation making it sharp.

When you do finally scramble up the last vestiges of your conscious thoughts, you hit him with a bare, “Do you want me to put it on?”

Soobin blanches further, as if he could. He looks like you just stabbed him in the chest. “What?” he stutters. “I… It’s not… I said it wasn’t for you.”

The pounding of your heart is the only thing you can hear. It pangs and pushes you over the cliff that you two have been clumsily teetering on for too long. “It’s pretty. What’s it from?” you say. What are you even saying? You should be asking him what all this is, but you can’t get the image of him deliberately surfing the web for costumes meant for your body. Of him opening that incognito tab and searching for plump thighs and soft cheeks and handfuls of body, just like yours. It brings to life something that you didn’t know you could feel.

“It’s… just a show. Just forget you saw it, okay? I know it’s weird. Let’s just go back and watch the movie. Please.” He’s still trying to scrub his hands clean, but god. It’s so wonderfully degenerate that he couldn’t. He couldn’t scrub the discovery from your brain no matter how hard he tried. This is the deep end.

“You don’t want me to put it on?” you ask, taking another gander at the cotton crushed under his fists. It’s erotic, really. The sight of something so distinctly feminine and delicate against him. In the hand of your best friend. “Is it for another girl, then?” The thought constricts around your chest. You would just have to shrivel up and die.

“No.” The word tears from him. Soobin runs a trembling hand through his hair, making a mess of the silky brown-black. “Damn it. It’s not for another girl.”

“Then can I?” you say, a final thread. It’s breathless.

The air stagnates around the two of you. And then it hardens and it breaks right in two as he opens his mouth, eyes tortured and blown black, and says shakily, “Yes.” Like it’s a stolen fantasy come true.

And here you are. His soft best friend that he’s been harboring feelings so wrapped up and close to his heart for that not even you had the slightest clue, so pent up that he bought shit for you and never even expected you to wear it. Forced to watch you run around in cruel, risky shorts with the plush of your thighs and the dimples all free because he didn’t see you that way, right? And you’re looking at him with glowing cheeks, eyes hazy and round, shirt sleeve slipping, and it probably is just that.

It doesn’t take much more convincing than that. Your legs are jittery and you feel all floaty as you steal the piece back and skip into the bathroom, disappearing.

The bathroom is not a hiding spot. It’s not a relief. Your breathing quickens as you shed your clothes and pull on these new ones, knowing what they mean. It quickens and drives you into such a frenzy that you have to give yourself a quick pep talk before stepping back out. Because, what if it’s not what he hoped? It’s a given by this point that he’s… into bigger girls, you guess. But what if you step out and his shoulders sag and he gives a tight smile, because on you it’s not what he had dreamed up when he went ordering these?

When you step out, the air is sucked straight out of the room. The flowy, cotton hem flirts high up on your thighs. The sleeves are puffy and round on your shoulders, coquettish, and they don’t try to hide their congruence with your shape. They don’t pretend that you’re made of straight lines. They work with your chubbiness, making a show of it. It’s all soft, white cotton and gossamer that represents a sleep shift. It’s comfy. You don’t want to tug it off, you find. You want to bend this way and press your arms together just so and to play with it. The headband with floppy ears on your head should be mortifying, too. A week ago you thought the figures on his shelves were nothing short of ridiculous, and now you’re dressed like one.

Soobin’s face is dead. He doesn’t make a choked sound. It doesn’t even look like he knows what to do. It’s a mirror of that look you had seen just the littlest bit of earlier, when you were testing the limits of him.

“What?” you say, fluffing the flowy, babydoll body of it and doing a spin. It moves with you. Without a doubt, he got a flash of your bottom in the swish of the pieces, “No?” 

“Please,” he chokes. “Come here. Please.”

Gathering up the willpower, you eat up the space between you and finally you’re in his space, on the floor beside him, dressed like this. It’s explosive. It’s like throwing a match into a puddle of fuel; fuel, being the pent-up, sordid need that Soobin has been made up of for so, so long. And fire catches.

Soobin’s mouth catches yours like he’s trying to eat you up. Bite into you like sweet pound cake. And oh, he eats. He tastes like sweetness, like the bite of ice cream he had stolen earlier. His tongue moves over yours, his teeth nipping like he can’t keep it at bay. Once the wall crumbles, all that’s left is the depravity. And Choi Soobin has a lot of that to spare, you’ve learned. You whimper and mewl into his mouth, brain racing to try and catch up with reality. It never really does.

He pulls back with tilted glasses and lips smeared with you. The shiver that starts from the base of your spine is more than bone-deep. “You taste so fucking sweet,” he says, out of breath and playing with the edge of a whine. A strangled growl. You don’t know, actually. All you know is that you want to hear more of it, want to hear him tell you that you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. “I knew you’d be sweet. I knew it. Can I please fuck you?”

It’s jarring. One second he can’t speak, the next he’s just… asking things like that. It makes you crazy. It flips your stomach over. “Soobin,” you say, lips wobbly.

That’s all he needs to hear. He’s like a dog that’s been waiting for a treat for too long for any sort of patience or tact.

The carpet abrades your ass as he tugs you by the hips down toward him. It steals the last bits of oxygen that you had been fighting to keep right away from you. It’s everything you never thought could happen and it’s coming to you in the form of your big, dumb best friend’s hands on you. Stars dapple the image of him reaching blindly up at his drawer like he can’t look away from you for even a moment. He fumbles, a clumsy mess that misses the drawer a few times, but eventually he finds what he went looking for.

Out of his dresser drawer comes a wand vibrator with a fat, rubber head. That’s it; you’re definitely not breathing.

You wonder if he bought that thinking of you, too. If he saw that shade of baby blue and all he could think, with such desperation, is that it would look good pressed between your shaking thighs. His cheeks are a dusty pink as he thumbs it on and it starts with a buzz. It’s been charged, then, and waiting. You also wonder if he’s pressed it to the slit of himself, thinking of the pretty spill of your thighs as he did it, thigh highs cutting into the chub there or any other thing he wanted to see you in.

The buzz starts on your inner thigh, first. He presses it there and watches how your body moves under it with a distinct, perverted delight. “Oh my God,” he says, straight from his chest.

Overcome with a lifetime of needing to hear that, you squirm. “Do you like it?” you ask. A stupid, air-headed question. But stupid and air-headed is just what you are right now. “Is it pretty?”

“Do I like it,” he laughs, the pads of his fingers rough where he dares higher on your thigh. The throb in your body takes the small crumb and doubles it. Triples it. Your entire center lights up. “Do I like it? Do you know how many times I came on my own stomach thinking about your fucking thighs? About fucking them? Saw you… Saw your shorts go up too high when you crawled and…” He can’t even finish, voice tightening. “Yeah. Yeah I like it.”

His hands are still trembling as he pushes the playful hem of the costume up. Up. He goes until he can see the full extent of your soft thighs, the seams of them pressing into one another all fluffy and soft and the true state of, the way Soobin looks at it, femininity and sex. He doesn’t stop until it’s ruched above your belly then above your breasts. And he stops to dig his fingers into your belly, to feel that it’s real and beneath him right now. That you are.

A moment of shyness creeps in as the air brushes all that exposed skin. The press of your breasts into the hunch of your arms that comes almost second to breathing as you feel his awareness on you, the tightening of your nipples that sends a buzzing thrill down your spine, all of it. And he’s seeing the full extent of what you look like beneath the soft, obscuring clothes. For the first time in a long time with him, you want to curl into yourself and hide it.

But it wasn’t Soobin that ever cared about the dimples in your thighs when you’d sport pajamas and stay over at his place. Not at all. That was all you. His adam's apple works, and then beseeching you with a sharp, heady, “No, please, let me fucking see you. I…” He wets his lips, eyes so dark that the chocolate there is just black. Shining. “Do you know what you’ve done to me, every day, for years? It’s not fair.”

Taking a stray hand, you drag it down. You feel the curve of your belly, follow it all the way down until you cup the roaring heat between your thighs. The place where all that softness meets, and it’s alive. It’s sending jitters through you. “You really… You seriously wanted me, Soobin?”

Soobin blinks. There’s a disconnect. Because where you keep asking him if he’s sure about this, if he thinks you’re pretty, that’s not what you find in his eyes. All that’s left in him is the need to eat something sweet, to feel all that softness arch into the hard lines of himself just so he knows what it feels like beyond the screen. Beyond the lowest of his perverted, melted thoughts. “Stop asking me that,” he says, voice hoarse. He slides his fingers beneath yours, still over the cotton of your panties but touching you right where it’s the loudest. Your breath catches sharply in your throat, heels digging into the carpet. “You’re starting to piss me off.”

You can feel your pulse. It’s all you can feel, really as he hooks his thumbs beneath the simple band of your panties and he drags them down the curves of your thighs. Slowly. Watching every inch. They’re a simple pale cotton, polka dotted. It’d send your ears glowing hotter if it were any other man, but this is Soobin. Look at what he’s got on you. Look at what he has hidden in that box, and whatever else he keeps stashed away in his brain that he wants to try out and do to you. He’s buzzing at the sight of them wrapped around your knees.

Nudging a thigh open further, he tests the buzz on his palm and kicks it up higher a few notches. Your stomach does a wild, deep flip. “Tell me if it’s too high, okay?” he says, breathing shallow. “Tell me anything. Tell me what you want me to do to you. Fuck, I’ll do anything you want.”

And then he presses it just above where you need it. You wiggle. It’s cruel. You were so ready. He remedies that by spreading you with two fingers, the sound of your wetness sending your hand over your mouth to fight the fluster, and pressing the head of the buzz right into your clit.

Lightning flashes behind your eyes. The sound you make is not your problem—not when you can’t even register it. You snap halfway up, nails digging into his wrist and the white in your vision swimming. “Soobin,” you warble.

“Fuck,” he says, caught on the sight of you. He tries circles, waxing and weaning the intensity. “Holy fuck.”

It doesn’t take long for it to all become too much. The shudder of that thing is violent, twisting up that knot in your belly so far that it stands the hair on your arms up. Your hips dig back into the floor, heels too. You need to be as far away from the sensation as possible. You need it right up inside you.

He takes a fistful of the fat at your hip, right where your tummy meets thigh, but that only works for a fleeting moment. You’re shaking and writhing on the ground, and he needs to be a part of it. Trembling with restraint, he hikes a leg of yours up, letting your plump calf float by his head, digging divots with his fingertips into your thigh to hold it up. Your body gives in to him, and it’s your favorite thing you’ve ever seen. The fact that you are built to take the shape of him like dough, and he is built to make that dent. It looks like his favorite thing, too.

“This is better,” he says, working the angle so that it hits the throbbing, sensitive underside of your swollen clit. You can only jolt and sob, spine aching to arch. “This is so much better. I want to die in them. Look at them. Look at your tummy. Please give me one. Please, I need it so bad. C’mon, baby. Don’t hold it back.” His voice is scraped raw. He presses a kiss into the inside of your knee and, like he can’t even stop himself from doing it, begins rolling his hips into the mess between your stricken thighs. A whimper falls from his bitten lips, but he won’t screw his eyes shut. The only thing he wants to see is this. You. All of it, every last bit, down to the way your tummy folds at the new sensation, tightening up. 

The friction of his jeans is it. Sparks fly. It’s like you’ve been struck by a live wire. You sob, digging your skull back into the floor. The release of it is white-hot, and it slows to honey as you listen to him curse and continue rutting his clothed bulge against you.

Oh, God. He pulls you in to taste your mouth again, fumbling with the zipper of his jeans so clumsily that you would laugh if you were anywhere else, doing anything else. But here, watching him so fucking crazy over you that he can’t control his hands, it’s got your head drunk on syrup and sugar. He springs out onto his stomach, and you can’t help making a noise into his mouth and tearing yourself from the heat of his mouth to catch a nosy look.

“Holy shit…” you say, still finding your breath, head still floating elsewhere in tandem with the ebb and flow between your thighs. And yet, it comes to life something new and starving at the sight. You knew your best friend was big and dumb and clumsy, and also now a pervert. But the sight still gives you pause.

You don’t have to be small with Soobin. He’s big enough to provide you that. Because your thighs might be fully and your tummy might spill over them when you sit, but as he takes them into his hands and positions you for himself just how he wants you and has got himself off imagining for how long, you don’t know, his palms eat up your frame. You don’t have to be small when you stare dumbly at the thickness and length and drooling tip has to be kissed away by him trying to distract you from it, all searing licks of his tongue as he presses the tip to your entrance. Your thighs are split around his tiny waist, tummy pressed into the muscle of his own, and there is no other way that Soobin would have it.

Bracing himself on the carpet beside your head, he guides the head of hick cock to your entrance. He just can’t stop kissing you, and you don’t even know if it's a distraction anymore, or if it’s just the need to be eating you whole. It doesn’t catch, slipping up through your slick and nudging your clit with a jolt.

Soobin’s teeth grit. You just laugh, bracing your forehead against his broad shoulder. He presses in true this time and you make a small, stunted sound into the fabric of his sweater. He’s big this way, too. You had seen it, but now you feel it. Scrabbling at his shoulders, you pull back to try and look in his eyes. Warmth radiates from your plush cheeks. 

“I know,” he says, voice close to a break. He shudders, sliding into you as slowly and quickly as he can manage. You feel every inch. The hold he has on your waist, your tummy, is ironclad. “One sec. One sec, please… I just…” His hips meet your bottom, and he’s all the way in. The idea of that, of your best friend inside of you, sends another pang of haze through you. “Okay,” he chokes and takes a hold of your hips. “Oh my God, you are… Okay, just… Like this.”

He swivels your hips in circles. You wince. It makes you aware of every inch all up inside of you, deep in your tummy. But then it starts to fade, and you start to take the shape of him like you seem to be good at. And he can see the moment it changes. “Okay?” he bites out. He’s doing so good.

“Okay,” you squeak. Okay as you’ll get. You just need him to make love to your body and show you exactly how he wanted to do it all those years you spent thinking he didn’t notice you. You need it right now, whining on top of you.

The wall breaks. The man that had kept this secret for years, so neat and strict that only now you’re seeing it? He’s gone. He is so far gone. All that’s left is the one that starts frantically fucking you like the degenerate he is. 

His hands and mouth are all over you. He tastes. He moulds the dough of your thighs to the shape of his hand, the point of your breast a too soft, too real weight in his palm, your tummy brushing up against his with every buck. He shudders at it all. “Baby,” he whines. His face crumbles, brows knitting and cheeks the same pink as yours. Curling his fingers into your hair, he feels you flutter. It sends his hips stuttering. “Another one. Another one, please. I can’t believe I’m fucking you.” The words come from his belly like they take everything in him to make. 

The sounds of his hips canting into your ass, the friction on your shoulders and back from the carpet, the way your belly body jiggles with each thrust he gives you. None of it matters. All of it exists just beyond your field of reality, which consists of his choking whines and growls and the second, more terrifying knot in your belly. “I’m trying.” You grasp at his shoulders, breathing in the musk of him above you. “More, Soobin. Please, I need more.”

That ignites a challenge in him. You feel it in the way his spine straightens and he falls into your neck. The concept that what he’s giving you isn’t taking you over the edge? He can’t handle that. Not after all that wanting and needing. Taking a bite right over your collarbone, which is made soft with a padding of fat on you, he tilts his hips, fumbles with his support behind your head, and he fucks you with a very simpleminded intention. You were going to cum again, and he’d lick the taste like sweet sugar right from your mouth. Each new, pitchier moan, he drinks it. His bangs stick to his forehead. It’s a miracle that his glasses are still on his face, but they fog around the rim where they meet his face. He’s flushed and all you can see is black in his eyes.

You dig your heels into the base of his spine. Deeper, you need him deeper. But how could he get any deeper into your belly?

“Where?” he cracks, shaking apart over you. His eyes are wild. It’s sudden, like he had been trying for so long to keep it down for you, but it’s consumed him finally. “Oh fuck.” His voice trembles with a noise that makes your brain go white. “I’m gonna… Baby, tell me where or I’ll…” The effort of his jumping hips, the tightening of his belly, it all works against him.

You don’t get to answer him. The world goes away again, and you shake apart under his chest. Your breasts press into him when you arch, and your tummy tightens so hard you almost wish it would stop so you could breathe. 

“God, your face!” he says, and it’s his final words. Soobin stills, a shudder starting at his spine and finishing with a sob into your neck, and he sacrifices what you know he really wants just in time to spill onto your belly. He shakes so much you think he might come down on you, but those sturdy arms keep him up just enough for him to kiss at your neck and pant warmth into your skin. He ruts a few more times, a final rope of white seeping warm and sticky into your psyche. And now, not only do you know what Choi Soobin feels like inside of you, what he sounds like and which exact angle he leans, but you also know exactly what it feels like to be painted in him. In your best friend. 

He pulls away when it’s all run through your systems and left nothing more than laziness and a molasses flood where your blood should be roaring instead and that afterglow chemical that makes you want to press your cheek into his chest and never leave. His face is a mess, glasses askew before he fixes them over his dusty pink cheeks, and he rakes his fingers through the damp hair at the base of your neck.

“Sorry,” he says, as if he’s finally coming back to himself. Not enough for the sight of his cum on your chubby tummy to not capture and keep his gaze, though. “I’ll… I’ll clean you up.”

It’s a question, the return of his nervousness. Are we still good? Is this weird? You just give him the slow, glowing smile of a girl that just had her brain turned to mush. “You’re a perv,” you say, giggling.

He left you a mess. You reach back behind your head and feel how the ground had teased it up. Your thighs are pink in the shape of his fingerprints. Pound cake, for sure. It looks fascinatingly a lot like he decided to top all that cakey softness off with strawberries and cream.

His eyes light up again and jaw ticks. Heart jumping in your chest, you laugh right in his face this time. It looks like, finally, you know the way to get under what Soobin pretends he is, right down to the core of him. Sugar-rotted. And he’s gonna wish you didn’t.

ash: okay yes this is super indulgent but i just see soobin and kai as the tubatus that could hold their own with a chubby girl. IM NEXT LETS GO!

The house sat strangled in silence. Every window clamped shut, every door bolted. You sat in the security room, eyes flicking from one grainy screen to the next. The neighborhood was dead still. 

Perfect rows of houses, each one shuttered, each one a tomb keeping the families pressed inside. Nobody outside, nobody moving, just that soft electric hum of the cameras reminding you the world hadn’t ended yet.

And then the hunger hit. Sharp and distracting. A reminder your body still wanted things even when your nerves were splitting. You pushed out of the chair, the carpet sighing beneath your feet, and drifted into the kitchen. 

The fridge door opened with a low seal-breaking hiss, and the cold air spilled out, kissing your skin. You grabbed something without thinking, your eyes already on the hallway shadows, your ears listening for anything besides your own pulse.

You turned, snack in hand, and walked back out. You didn’t see it or what you couldn’t see it. On the screen you weren’t watching anymore, two figures in masks stepped out of the neighborhood’s stillness, pale faces stretched into grins no one would ever want to see. 

One raised something heavy, swung, and the black eye of a camera fizzled into static. And just like that, the house had a blind spot.

You sank back into the chair, the vinyl groaning beneath you, and flicked your eyes over the wall of screens. That’s when you saw the static, jagged snow where a camera should’ve been. Your stomach flipped. Huh. That’s….weird. 

The word felt small, useless, floating in the humming dark. You told yourself it was faulty, that tech dies all the time, that nothing bad had really happened. And you weren’t going outside to check it. No way. Not tonight. That’d be suicide.

So you sat there, pressing the thought down like shoving clothes into an overstuffed drawer. Ignore it. Breathe. But then another screen twitched something fast, too fast. A shadow cutting across the edge of a camera’s view. 

Your chest seized. You leaned forward, face lit ghost-white by the monitors, eyes hopping screen to screen, trying to catch another flicker of movement. And then it happened.

On the feed from the front door, a figure exploded into view slamming its face close to the lens, filling the screen with it. Clear plastic masks stretched tight over their face, warping their features into something alien, something that shouldn’t smile but did. 

A grin cut across it, jagged, wet, too wide, painted red with paint or blood. You didn’t want to know. The speaker crackled as the thing shrieked, “Hiii-yaaa!” Your heart fell straight through you, pounding in your stomach like you’d swallowed it whole. 

The figure leaned close, fogging the camera lens with their breath, then rapped a knuckle against it like they were knocking on glass. Knock. Knock. “Hello… anyone home?”

The laugh that followed wasn’t loud, it was thin and papery, the kind of laugh that gets under your skin because it sounded like it came right out of a 90s horror movie. His face no, that mask hovered there, staring dead into the feed, pupils swallowed by the shine of clear plastic.

It was like he wasn’t looking at the camera at all. It was like he was looking at you.

What the hell? The thought stuttered out of you, weak, useless. You couldn’t blink, couldn’t pull your eyes away from the warped grin smeared across his face. “Come out,” he crooned, tilting his head too far, birdlike. “I just wanna play with you.” And then your name. Spoken clean, like it had always belonged in his mouth.

The snack slipped from your hand and hit the floor with a dull thud. You shot to your feet, the chair skidding backward on the tile. “Did… did he just say my name?” The words came out as a whisper, barely air, swallowed by the cold hush of the house. 

On the screen, he didn’t stop. His voice was syrup-slow now, curling around each syllable. “Okay, love. I’ll give you five minutes. Open the door, and we’ll have some fun together. If you don’t…”

The figure lifted a hand, the plastic sheen of the mask gleaming under the porch light. In his grip, a knife. He waved it like a promise, a toy he couldn’t wait to share. “…I’ll just find my way in.” The laugh came again, hollow and wrong, worming into the room around you. 

Your knees locked. Your chest burned. And the monitors hummed, showing every door, every window, every sealed entry that suddenly didn’t feel sealed at all. Oh God. What were you going to do?  

You told yourself to think rationally. To be rational. There was no way they could get in. The house was locked down tight, a bunker. Your dad had promised. But your nerves weren’t listening. They were screaming louder than your thoughts, louder than anything, a static roar in your skull.

On the screen, the figure stayed. Just there. Moving wrong. Tilting his head, dragging the knife along the porch rail like it was a bow over violin strings. He knocked over the potted plants your mom loved, clay pots shattering into dirt and petals on the concrete. He laughed at the mess like it was a private joke, like he’d meant to break them.

You couldn’t stay still. The ground felt like it had teeth. You turned around and your feet carried you upstairs before you’d fully decided where you were going. Your parents’ room. The closet. The lock box. The gun. 

You’d never fired one before. Not once. But how hard could it be? You've seen movies. You just aim. Pull. The thought was jagged comfort; this was backup, nothing more. Just in case. Because there was no way, no possible way, they could break in.

Still, on your way back down, you stopped at the kitchen. Hand reached out on its own, fingers curling around the handle of a butcher’s knife. You held it up, the blade catching the light, throwing a cold glint across your face. 

For a moment, you just stared at it. The sharpness. The reflection. The thin line where the metal split the world into two halves. You, and whatever was coming. 

You stepped back into the security room, the air colder now, humming with electricity and your own pulse. And then your stomach bottomed out. The figure was gone. Your eyes jumped across the wall of screens, one after another, frantic scans searching for a hint of motion, a flicker of shadow.

Nothing. Just the neighborhood, still and hushed, every house sealed up like mausoleums. The absence made it worse like pulling back a sheet and finding the body missing.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, tried to press the fear back down where it couldn’t claw so hard. The gun and knife went onto the table with a dull clink. You dragged the chair close, sat, tried to pretend the vinyl creak beneath you was just furniture and not bones bending. For a second, twenty maybe you almost convinced yourself you could breathe again.

Then the first camera went dark. Not static, not some fault black. And in that instant, you saw it: the figure, a blur of mask and movement, swinging a baseball bat into the lens. The feed snapped dead. Another screen cracked into nothing. And another.

Your eyes jerked from feed to feed, chasing the collapses, your breath stuttering shorter each time. Each blackout closed the house tighter around you, shrinking your world screen by screen. 

Until there was only one left. The front door. The camera flickered once, then steadied. And there he was again, mask filling the frame, that impossible grin smeared red across his face. He leaned close, breath fogging the lens, and his voice came through the tinny speaker, slow and final. “Time’s up.”

Your hand found steel first, then the blade. The gun slid into the waistband at the small of your back, heavy and awkward, but the knife fit your grip like it belonged there.

You stepped into the silence of the house, the kind of silence that feels watched, and remembered something you’d heard once if someone breaks in, kills the lights. Darkness makes them blind. You grew up within these walls. You could walk the place with your eyes sewn shut.

The basement swallowed you whole, air damp and waiting, like the house was holding its breath. Down there, the breaker box felt too easy, too ready, like a trap. 

You flipped the switches and the house died, folding into pitch. Coming back up, every step echoed too loud, too alive, and then you heard a shrill beep cutting through the dark. The alarm. You followed it like a tether until you saw the window open, curtains breathing in and out as if something had just slipped through. Your stomach turned. This wasn’t nerves. This was happening.

You moved without thinking, climbing toward your parents’ room. Best chance to hide, best chance to survive. But halfway up the stairs, movement. A figure detached itself from the living room and spilled into the hall. 

You dropped, pressing into the banister, wood biting your palms. The figure paused. A vase went over somewhere behind them, glass breaking like a scream. “Fuck,” the voice hissed, low and sharp. “Why the fuck are the lights out?”

You crept the rest of the way, slipping inside your parents’ room. Lock turned, a chair wedged under the knob. The bathroom door shut behind you. The dark inside was heavier, thicker, as though it had weight. You crouched low, the knife across your thigh, the gun digging into your spine.

You waited. You listened. The house shifted. Footsteps right outside, or below, or both. Any other night, you’d have called the cops, whispered into the receiver until the flashing lights saved you. But tonight wasn’t any other night. 

Tonight was Purge night. 

Midnight had only just begun and all Police, fire, and emergency services were unavailable until tomorrow morning at 7:00 a.m. and every second between now and seven a.m. stretched long and sharp, impossible to cross. If it came down to it, there was no question. You’d have to kill whoever opened that door.

Your ears stretched into the dark, straining for every shift of air, every tick of wood, every breath that didn’t belong to you. The house had become a drum, carrying each sound straight into your skull. Downstairs, you heard them slow steps, uneven, testing the silence like they were listening back for you. A drawer rattled, a heel scuffed against tile, then stillness so sharp it hurt.

You didn’t breathe. You didn’t move. You prayed the quiet would sell the lie that the house was empty, hollow, just another dark shell on a night built for breaking. No voice, no sound, nothing to tell them you were here. Just silence, stretched so thin you swore it would tear.

Your ears sharpened to points in the dark, every sound prying its way inside your skull. The house had never been louder wood ticking, pipes settling, air breathing in drafts you’d never noticed before. But beneath it all was him. Downstairs. A heavy step, then another. A scrape of shoe against tile, the faint clink of something metal? glass? being nudged out of place.

You pressed yourself smaller, tighter, as if shrinking might make you vanish. Your chest ached with held breath. Each inhale felt like a flare that might give you away. You told yourself over and over not to move. Don’t make a sound. Let the house do the lying for you. Let him believe it’s empty.

A floorboard groaned below. He paused. For a long, needle-thin moment, the silence weighed so much you swore it would crush you. Then his voice, low and jagged: “Anybody here…?”

He let the words bleed into the dark, like bait. No answer. You didn’t dare. A shuffle, then another step. He moved through the living room. Something toppled shattering sharp against the hardwood. A string of curses followed. He doesn’t know. He’s just looking. Just let him keep looking.

But the sound of his breathing climbed the stairs with him. Heavy, closer. Each step made your skin crawl tighter against your bones. You could see him in your head, hand sliding along the banister, eyes squinting into the black, ears working just like yours, hunting for the smallest mistake.

You pulled the knife close, pressed the flat against your thigh so the shaking wouldn’t betray you. The hallway creaked. Right outside now. His footsteps slowed, soft, deliberate. He stopped. For a breathless moment, nothing then the faintest whisper of skin against wood as he tested your parents’ door handle. A rattle. Another. Locked. He exhaled through his teeth. “Clever.”

You clenched your jaw until it hurt, gripping the knife so hard the handle cut into your palm. Any second, you thought, the door would break, the chair would shove back, and he’d be inside. 

But then silence again. Steps retreating. Back down the hall. Each one faded slowly, as though he wanted you to hear, wanted you to believe he was leaving. And still, you didn’t move. Because you knew that was the oldest trick in the book.

The footsteps stopped. The quiet was worse than the sound pressing against your eardrums until you almost wished he’d move again. Then the door shuddered. Once. Hard. The crash of wood and metal against wood. A ram, full-bodied, violent. Your scream ripped free before you could swallow it down, tearing out of your throat like it belonged to someone else.

You stumbled back, the knife slipping from your grip, clattering against the floor loud enough to kill you. Hands scrambling, you snatched it up, retreating behind the bathroom door, pressing yourself flat against the cold wall, as if that thin sheet of wood could save you.

The pounding came again. Harder. The chair groaned under the weight, legs scraping across the floor. Another slam, then another, rattling through your bones. The sound wasn’t human anymore it was wild, furious, the guttural violence of something that wanted in, wanted you. 

Each hit made the hinges scream, and all you could think was that the door wasn’t going to last. That nothing was.

The chair finally gave out with a crack that echoed through the room, wood scraping helplessly across the floor. The door swung open fast, banging the wall, and in the hollow that followed you heard him. His breath ragged but amused. “Oh,” he said, a little laugh tangled in it. “That was fun.”

His footsteps started again, lighter now, deliberate, creeping toward the bathroom. Each step dragged across your nerves. Then the knock. Soft, almost polite, like a neighbor dropping by. “Hey, babe,” he called, voice casual, almost sing-song. “This was fun. Why don’t you come out and we can have a little more?”

The smugness rolled off every word, thick enough you could feel it. Your hand shook around the knife, the weight of the gun digging into your back like it wanted to be used. You forced your voice to cut through the air, loud and sharp, even though your throat was trembling. “I have a gun, asshole! Why don’t you leave my fucking house!”

Silence. For a second, it almost worked. Then metal scraped. You turned just in time to see the knob begin to twist, slow, deliberate, like fingers savoring the feel of it. The door shook under his hand. The frame trembled with it. He was smiling. You didn’t have to see it, you could hear the smile in the rattle.

They say when danger comes, your body does one of two things: fight or flight. But there’s a third, and you found it. Freeze. Your muscles locked to the wall, every nerve gone rigid, breath trapped somewhere between your chest and your throat. You couldn’t move. You couldn’t even blink.

The door gave way with a groan, hinges crying out as the frame split, and then it swung open. The intruder stepped inside. No rush, no hurry. Just there. His presence filled the bathroom before he even crossed it. 

The air thinned, like the room itself was choking, and each breath you pulled felt stolen, like you weren’t supposed to have it. You stayed pressed to the wall, body stone, knife shaking faintly in your grip, while the darkness between you and him seemed to collapse into nothing.

He didn’t see you. Not tucked tight behind the bathroom door, not with his weight still inside the room. You took the moment, heart screaming at you to move, and shoved past him, bursting out into the bedroom.

For half a breath, it felt like escape. Then your body slammed into something solid, hard, unmoving and like the wall had grown arms. The impact rattled through your bones, dropping you to the floor. Pain flared hot in your spine as you scrambled, eyes climbing upward. And there it was. The mask. The same pale, grinning face that had stalked you through the night, blank eyes pinning you like insects. 

The mask held you there, every breath you managed catching sharp in your throat, and then the sound hit another set of steps, heavier, dragging the wood floor like boots clogged with mud. That was when it landed, the truth you didn’t want, there wasn’t just one. 

Your throat closes around the scream clawing its way up. Behind you, from the bathroom, a voice you already hated too much laughed low and easy. “Oh,” it drawled, pleasure in every syllable. “She’s so much fun.”

Your chest locked tighter, your brain screaming for air it couldn’t find. All night you’d told yourself it was one person, one shadow, one voice slithering through your house. One thing you could maybe fight, maybe outrun. But the way the floor creaked now, two rhythms folding into each other, your ears couldn’t lie. One in front. One behind.

You twisted your head just enough, bathroom door yawning open wider, his silhouette leaning there, casual as a friend in a doorway. The mask in front of you crouched a little, tilting its head the way people do when they’re studying something. 

The room shrank between them, walls pressing in until you were nothing but a pinned insect. Your knife felt small, toy-small, ridiculous against the weight of both of them breathing you in.

And then laughter. Not together, not at the same time. One chuckle dripping from the bathroom, low and amused. The other, closer, muffled by the mask, high and quick, like a broken machine catching air. The two sounds tangled around you, wrapping the dark tighter. 

You finally understood. The open window. The noise in the hall. The voice that moved faster than footsteps could follow. You hadn’t been running from one intruder at all. You’d been hunted.

The chair sat there. The one you’d jammed against the door. Only now it didn’t feel like furniture at all. Its crooked shadow stretched long across the carpet, and in that shadow, those eyes soulless, flat, swallowing you whole. 

You locked with them too long, until your chest burned from forgetting to breathe. Then you broke, tearing your gaze away, reaching for the knife you’d dropped. But a hand got there first.

The figure behind you snatched it up like it was theirs, turning the blade over in their grip, tilting their head as if admiring it under invisible light. The mask bent in a grin. “Awww,” the voice cracked through the plastic. “You thought this could save you?”

Your pulse stuttered. You scrambled backward, your knees aching against the floor, until your hand clawed at your waistband. The gun. Cold metal, heavier than you remembered. You yanked it free, raised it, pointed it right at them. 

They stepped back, both of them now caught in the tightening space between you and the walls. The air itself seemed to shrink, heavy with breath that wasn’t yours.

Then click. The lights snapped back on. And suddenly they weren’t shadows anymore. You saw them for what they were, and it was almost worse. They looked like they’d crawled straight out of a movie in black hoodies, gloves, boots, masks too slick as if they’d studied how to be intruders and dressed the part. 

The sight of them, so deliberate, so staged, made your skin crawl more than the darkness ever had.

Your voice tore out of you raw, shaking, louder than you’d meant: “Any sudden move and I’ll shoot!” The words hung in the room, sharp as glass. And the only response was the soft, muffled sound of someone chuckling behind the mask.

The gun trembled in your grip, the weight of it dragging your arms down, every muscle screaming to steady but refusing to listen. Your thoughts split in every direction, jagged, useless why you? 

“What do you want?” Your voice cracked the silence, thinner than you meant it to be. The one you’d collided with laughed, sharp and hollow, like glass rattling in a jar. “We’ve been wanting to play with you.”

Your stomach is knotted. You forced the words out louder, sharper. “How do you know me?” From the corner of the room, another voice spilled out the one that had crept from the bathroom. Mocking, sing-song. “Wow. We’re so surprised you can’t place our voices yet.” Your chest iced over. “What do you mean?”

But the moment shifted fingers tugged at the masks. Slowly the way a magician might pull a cloth from a cage. Plastic peeled away, and what was underneath froze you where you stood. 

“Soobin? … Yeonjun?” Their names crawled from your throat, barely sound, more disbelief than recognition. The gun dipped lower as your breath snagged. Two of your friends. At least, that’s the version you remembered. Faces you’d trusted. Laughed with. Faces now carrying something hollow, emptied of warmth.

“This has to be a joke,” you whispered, but even as you said it, you knew the answer. Yeonjun smiled, that same grin without the mask, only sharper now. “No, darling. It’s not.” His voice was velvet, but it left you bleeding as he stepped closer, the knife loose in his hand, swinging like a pendulum.

Soobin stayed where he was, eyes flat, arms loose at his sides, watching. Waiting. The walls seemed to close in with each step Yeonjun took, his shadow sliding long across the carpet toward your feet. 

You didn’t like the way Soobin’s eyes crawled over you, slow and greedy, stripping the air around you bare. It made your skin crawl, made you feel used up and dirty before he even touched you. His tongue dragged across his lips, wet and deliberate, and it pinned your nerves like bugs to a board.

You were too locked into that look, that hunger, to see Yeonjun move until it was too late. He lunged from the side, knife flashing. Pure panic jerked your arm up and you swung with the back of the gun, hard. The crack was wet, sharp. His nose burst open, blood spraying, his curse breaking out ragged as his head snapped back, hands clutching at the mess of his face.

Soobin rushed toward him, hands out like claws, distracted by his friend’s bleeding. It was your chance. You didn’t think, you ran. Out of the room, down the hall, your feet hammering the stairs so fast you skipped steps. The wood rattled under you. 

Behind, curses tore through the air full of rage and venom, their voices too close, chasing you. “Get back here, slut!” Their footsteps slammed against the floor, heavy enough to shake the walls.

You hit the bottom and jumped the last step, landing hard but still running. Straight toward the open window, the one you’d seen blinking red on the security feed. Outside was death tonight you knew that. 

Purge night meant shadows full of monsters. But right now, the monsters wore familiar faces, and they were inside with you.

You darted into the room, the cool night air spilling in through the open frame. You clawed onto the sill, climbed up, freedom a breath away when a hand clamped around your ankle. You looked down. Soobin. Eyes wide, wild, teeth bared. He yanked hard, dragging at you like he meant to pull you back. “Get back here, you bitch!” His voice was shredded, rabid.

You screamed and kicked with your free leg. The heel of your foot smashed into his face. A wet, snapping sound echoed through the house. “Fuck! You broke my fucking nose!” he shrieked, blood gushing over his lips, his grip finally slipping. You hauled yourself free, scrambled through the window, and dropped. 

The bushes tore at your arms and legs, scratches burning hot, but you didn’t stop. You landed hard, rolled, then bolted, sprinting across the lawn toward the nearest neighbor’s house, your breath tearing itself apart in your throat. 

Behind you, the night swallowed the sound of their curses, but you knew they’d follow. They weren’t going to stop.

You stumbled into the siding of your neighbor’s house, palms smacking against the cold metal panels. “Please! Let me in! Help me!” The words tore out raw, shredded. You beat your fists until they stung, until the sound echoed down the empty street.

You looked around, desperate for something, anything, a sign someone knew you were here. That’s when you saw the little red blink of a security camera mounted above the side wall. Watching. Recording. Hope cracked through the panic and you started waving your arms, frantic, screaming up at it. 

“Please! Please help me!” Tears blurred your vision, streamed hot down your face, but you didn’t stop, waving harder, screaming louder until your throat rasped. And then the red light blinked off. They’d killed the feed.

You froze, staring at the dead glass eye. Then rage broke loose in your chest. “You fuckers!” Your voice split against the house, wild, useless. You spun toward the next lawn, ready to run, ready to try again but you didn’t make it. 

A weight slammed into your back, heavy enough to knock the air from your lungs. You hit the ground hard, gravel biting your skin. Pain bloomed hot in your ribs as you groaned, clutching at your sides. The gun slipped from your hand, skittering away across the pavement.

A boot smashed into you, rolling you onto your back. Yeonjun loomed over you, that grin carved wide across his face, blood dried in thick streaks down from his nose and across his lips. His shadow swallowed yours. He bent down, close enough you could smell the copper on his breath, and cooed, soft, sickly sweet.

“Awww, baby. Did that hurt?” Another kick, sharper this time, ripped a hiss from your teeth. “I think,” he spat, voice hitching into a laugh, “Soobin’s hurting worse. With his broken fucking nose.” The next kick folded you, pain flaring through your chest. You clawed toward the gun, fingertips grazing metal

His heel came down, snapping your hand into stillness. Bones screamed. You gasped, struggling, clawing with your other hand to pry him off, but he didn’t budge. 

“Please, Yeonjun…” He crouched, picked up the gun, spun it in his palm like a toy. His eyes glittered, hollow and endless. “As much as I love the fight,” he whispered, pressing the barrel close enough for you to feel the cold metal, “let’s cut this out now.”

Then the gun swung down, the steel slamming into your skull. The world went black before the pain even finished blooming. 

The slap snapped you awake. Your head whiplashed to the side, ears ringing with that high-pitched whine that makes everything sound distant, underwater. The lights above you bled white into your vision, so bright it took time for the world to take shape again. And when it did, Soobin was the first thing you saw.

He stood right in front of you, his face painted with dried blood that cracked against his skin every time he smiled. And he was smiling now, his eyes dancing like this was a game show and you were tonight’s prize. 

Sweet Soobin. The computer science major, the guy who always offered to carry your books, who laughed too loud at your jokes. You never would’ve imagined he had this in him, this grinning, bloodstained hunger. But you never really know people, do you?

You tried to speak, to beg, but your mouth dragged against sticky resistance. Duct tape sealed you shut, your words swallowed back into your throat. Your wrists and ankles screamed against their bindings, the tape biting deep into skin, chair legs digging grooves into the floor with every useless thrash.

Your eyes shot toward the door, wide, desperate, praying for some kind of out. That’s when the tug came. Fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head sideways. The heat of someone’s breath slid into your ear before the words did.

“We’re gonna have so much fun,” Yeonjun whispered, his voice low. You felt the wet drag of his tongue against the shell of your ear. A whimper rattled out of you, muffled under the tape, your whole body jerking back. His grip only tightened, fist twisting in your hair, holding you still.

You weren’t surprised, not really. Yeonjun had always carried something dark in the corners of his grin, something that set your teeth on edge even when you’d called him a friend. You never knew why it unsettled you. But now you did. 

“No, babe,” he sneered, stepping into your line of sight, his eyes glinting with a hunger older than the night and the dried blood making him look like something out of an American psycho. “You’re not going anywhere.”

The knife slid into view, its edge catching the light, a flash of steel too close to your skin. Yeonjun dragged it slowly along your cheek, the point teasing, then biting just enough to break the surface.

A bead of blood welled, hot against the cool air, and before you could even flinch away, his mouth was there. His tongue licked the line, slow, deliberate, tasting you like it was his right. You cringed, your body recoiling from the heat of his mouth. He saw it. He didn’t like it.

The smack came fast, snapping your head to the side, ears ringing with the crack of it. Pain bloomed across your face as his hand moved down, steady, practiced, fingers slipping over your shirt. Buttons popped one by one, the fabric pulled apart until it hung useless at your sides. He leaned back, lips curling, eyes devouring.

“Wow,” Yeonjun breathed, letting out a low whistle. “You’re so pretty when you’re tied up and scared. Red’s really your color. Right, Soobin?” From the corner, Soobin’s face appeared, lit up like it was Christmas morning. 

His eyes wide, grin too sweet, too wide, like this was the best gift he’d ever unwrapped. “I think every color looks good on her,” he said, voice dripping with playful awe.

Yeonjun rolled his eyes, blade tapping against his thigh. “Of course you do. You’re in love with her.” The words cut sharper than the knife, spit out with disdain. Your gaze flicked between them, panic eating through your chest, trying to read the cracks in their faces and trying to find any way out.

Yeonjun crouched lower, so close his breath burned against your skin. His hand slid over your thigh, thumb pressing into the muscle like he was testing ripeness. His grin widened. “Don’t be so scared, baby,” he whispered. “We’re gonna take real good care of you.” 

The air in the room wasn’t just still, it was dead. A corpse-air, thick and tasting of dust and something else, something metallic and sweet-sour, like a penny on a tongue. His hand was a spider. 

A pale, five-legged thing that didn’t walk but flowed, a terrible and silent gravity drawing it up the inside of your thigh, under the cheap cotton of your skirt. Your muscles locked, a fortress gate slamming down, thighs clenched into a single, desperate barricade against that creeping advance.

From below, a low laugh bubbled up. It wasn’t a sound of joy. It was the dry rattle of stones in a tin can. Yeonjun looked up, and his eyes were not the eyes of the Yeonjun you knew. They were black, depthless things, and the smile on his face was a dare. A promise of worse. And the terrible, shameful truth was your body listened to that promise, not you. The barricade fell. Your legs, traitors, fell open.

His spider-hand found its destination, cupping you through the damp fabric of your panties. A whimper escaped your throat, a tiny, dying-animal sound. And from the corner of the room, another sound answered. A low, strangled groan.

Soobin. Sweet, blushing Soobin. His face was a mess of want and terror, a flustered tomato. 

His own hand was pressed hard against the front of his jeans, palming himself, his eyes glazed and fixed but not on you, not on Yeonjun but on the red patch of cotton being rubbed raw against your skin. He looked like a kid watching his favorite horror movie, equal parts thrilled and sickened.

Yeonjun’s other hand, cold and sharp, snapped your chin back to him. His grip was a vise. The world narrowed to the black pits of his eyes and the harsh, grinding rhythm of his hand. The fabric was a torture, a rough friction that was all wrong and yet.

“You can’t deny that you hate this, my love,” Yeonjun whispered, his voice a serpent’s hiss in the dead air. It wasn’t a question. It was a verdict. “but by the way your panties are soaking… I know. I know your body craves this attention. Doesn’t it, love? Huh?”

Then the pressure was gone. Before the relief could even register, his fingers hooked into the waistband of your skirt and your panties. With one brutal, efficient yank, he stripped them both down your legs and off. The air felt cold, a shocking violation against your bare skin.

He didn’t even look as he flung the small bundle of cloth aside. It sailed through the corpse-air like a shot ghost. And Soobin moved. He didn’t walk, he scrambled, a desperate, hungry crab-scuttle across the floor. 

He snatched your panties from the dust, clutching them to his chest for a terrified second before shoving them, a guilty, sacred relic, deep into his pocket. His blush was a fire now, burning with a shame so bright it hurt to look at.

Yeonjun removed your ankles from the chair legs and instead, he draped your legs over the cold, wooden arms of the chair, splaying you open to the room, to the dead air, to their hungry, watching eyes. 

You were a specimen pinned in a display case. You shut your eyes, wanting only the black, wanting to be anywhere but here in your skin. But he wasn’t having none of that.

A sharp, bright pain lanced through you as he pinched your clit, a punishment for closing your eyes, for trying to leave him. You cried out, and your eyes flew open to meet his grim, satisfied smile. 

Then his fingers, slick with your own betrayal, were inside you. Not one, but two, thrusting in a hard, fast rhythm that had no love in it, only a brutal claim. 

His thumb found that aching, punished nub and began rubbing slow, deliberate, maddening circles. And all the while, Soobin watched from the corner, his hand moving frantically in his pocket, his eyes wide, drinking it all in. Waiting for his turn.

The pressure was a live wire in your belly, a buzzing, awful thing you wanted to deny him. The privilege. The victory. He’d made you feel weak, and now he was making this happen. Your body had a different set of instructions, a different wiring. It arched off the chair, a strangled yelp tearing from your duct-taped mouth as a seizure of pleasure racked you, brutal and complete. 

Yeonjun didn’t stop. He was a man carved from ice and focused fury.

As your body shuddered through the last waves, he rose. His movement was liquid, predatory. His hand, cold and sure, circled your throat, not to choke, but to remind you of your place. The wooden chair legs screeched against the floor as he tilted you back, the world upending. Your wide, terrified eyes reflected his flat, empty ones. 

He didn’t speak. He just watched you, a scientist observing a frantic specimen, as he drove two fingers back into you, a hard, piston-like rhythm. A man on a mission. The overstimulation was a bright, white agony.

“You’re gonna come for me again. You hear me?” His voice was low, a whisper from a grave. It wasn’t a question. And your body, the damned, obedient thing, listened. A second, sharper climax was ripped from you, a silent scream behind the tape, your muscles clenching hard around his invading fingers.

He pulled them out with a slick, obscene sound, then delivered a stinging, open-handed slap to your oversensitive clit. The pain and shock blurred your vision. He never broke eye contact as he brought his glistening fingers to his lips and sucked them clean, tasting you. 

“Okay,” he said, the word flat, final. “Since you had your fun.” His hands trailed down to his own belt buckle, his hand lingered on the buckle, the sound of it unfastening louder than your pulse. “I think it’s my turn now.”

Tears of shame and shock welled in your eyes, making his smirking face swim. He leaned in, his free hand ripping the duct tape from your mouth in one swift, merciless tear. The burn was instant, a flare of raw pain, and a broken scream finally escaped your bruised lips.

He wiped a tear away with his thumb, the gesture horrifyingly gentle. He leaned in so close your noses touched. You could smell your own fear on his breath. “Okay, baby,” he whispered, the endearment a vile poison. “You are gonna open up that pretty mouth of yours so I can fuck it nicely.”

His other hand came up, cupping your jaw, his thumb pressing a warning against the hinge. “And if you bite me,” he breathed, his eyes locking onto yours, draining all the hope from the world, “I’m gonna make sure your legs don’t work again. Ever.” He gave your throbbing lips a soft, chilling peck. A promise.

The wood of the chair was a cold, unforgiving kiss against your back. Duct tape bit into your wrists, a silver-gray serpent holding you fast. Soobin stepped forward from the side, his smile a slick, oily thing in the half-light. It wasn’t a smile of joy, but of ownership, the way a hunter might smile at a trophy pinned to the wall. 

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay,” Soobin cooed, coming closer, His voice borrowed the shape of kindness, but not the soul, a sweet and poisoned syrup. His fingers, soft and almost apologetic, brushed a strand of hair from your forehead. “We just wanna play. Right, Junnie?”

Yeonjun didn’t answer with words. He pulled himself out, running a hand up and down his length with a dry, rasping sound that made your stomach clench. He brought it to your lips, the tip pressing against your clenched teeth. “Open up,” he whispered, and the whisper was worse than a shout. It was intimate, a secret shared between a predator and its prey.

A low moan escaped him as he pushed in. It started gentle, a lie so thin you could see the cruelty right behind it. It didn’t stay gentle. The gentleness was just the casing around the explosive. Then he began to thrust, hard and punishing, hitting the back of your throat with a wet, meaty impact. 

Your body revolted, gagging, choking, tears springing to your eyes as you fought for a breath that wouldn’t come. Each choke seemed to thrill him more.

“Oh, fuck,” he grunted, his voice guttural, stripped of anything human. “God, your fucking mouth. It’s a blessing, ain’t it? You were just… you were made for this. Weren’t you? Just a warm, wet hole made to take cock.” His hands were suddenly in your hair, gripping like a vice, the roots screaming. It was his anchor, his grounding wire in the storm of his own violence. 

You felt other hands then, Soobin’s hands soft and efficient, untying your right wrist. You peeked sideways, vision blurred with tears, and saw his sweet face, the empty eyes of a doll. He guided your numb hand to the front of his pants, making you rub him over the rough fabric. He was already hard.

“See?” he murmured, his breath hot in your ear. “You make us feel so good.” He fumbled with his own zipper, pulled himself out, and forced your limp fingers to close around him. 

You tried to pull away, a feeble jerk of protest, but his grip tightened, sweetly insistent. “No, no,” he chided gently, as if correcting a child. “Be good for me, too.” He started moving your hand on him, a frantic, desperate rhythm.

Yeonjun laughed around a groan, the sound muffled by the flesh in your mouth. A terrible, breathy sound. “Ha. Guess he couldn’t wait. Greedy little bastard.” He was brutally fucking your throat now, his rhythm growing ragged, chaotic. “Shit. Oh, shit, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come.”

You tried to pull your mouth away, a final, desperate act of survival, but the hands in your hair became iron, holding you perfectly, terribly in place. He leaned down, his voice dropping to a wet, possessive snarl that promised broken things. “You’re gonna swallow it. All of it. Okay, whore? You’re gonna take it like it’s a goddamn medicine. And if a single drop spills… I’ll break your fucking jaw. I swear to Christ I will.”

And with a final, shuddering thrust, he came, a hot, bitter flood down your constricted throat. You swallowed, again and again, gagging and swallowing, making sure to take every last drop, your eyes locked on his, wide with the primal, crystalline terror of what he was, and what he would undoubtedly do next. His breathing afterwards was the most terrifying sound of all.

Yeonjun’s absence was instantly replaced by Soobin, your grip on him tightening instead of breaking. Soobin’s sweetness was a cracked mask, his concern a viper’s kiss and his hands weren’t hands anymore; they were proprietors, taking inventory. 

One grabbed your breast, a rough, groping squeeze that had nothing to do with desire and everything to do with possession. The other trapped your hand, forcing it back onto him, guiding your numb fingers in a rhythm you didn’t choose. 

“Shit,” he hissed, his breath a hot gust against your neck. His hips pistoled against your fist, a frantic, dry friction. “God, you’re just… a set of holes, ain’t cha? Perfect little fucking holes.” He let go of your hand and his fingers, slick with his own sweat, dug into your jaw, prying your mouth open like prying the lid off a can. 

There was no transition, no warning, just the brutal invasion, setting a pace that was hard and rough from the first second. He didn’t let up. The world was a blur of sound and hurt. His ragged grunts, the wet, choking noises you couldn’t stop, the high, thin whine of a bedspring.

You couldn’t see shit. Your eyes were puffy slits, swimming in a hot saltwater haze. Your jaw was a white-hot arena of pain, a bone-deep ache that promised to linger for days. He didn’t even warn you. His body just went rigid, a final, deep thrust that seemed to touch your very spine, and he came down your throat in a hot, bitter flood. He stayed there, twitching, for an eternity, before pulling out, still hard and gleaming under the light.

Then Yeonjun was back. A smirk played on his lips as he released your left hand. He didn’t speak. He just fisted a hand in your hair and dragged you off the chair. Your knees buckled, hitting the floor with a jolt that shot up your spine. “Hey,” Soobin’s voice came, a faint, chiding note from the corner. “Not so hard, okay?”

Yeonjun laughed, a short, ugly sound. “Whatever you say, lover boy.” He hauled you up and tossed you onto the bed like a sack of grain. You landed on your chest, the air knocked out of you. Before you could even think to scramble, hands. Yeonjun’s hands grabbed your ankles and dragged you to the end of the bed. Your toes barely brushed the cold floor, leaving you exposed, bent over the edge.

You felt Yeonjun behind you, lining himself up. A final, pathetic plea escaped your torn-up throat, a last spark from a crushed thing. “Please…gentle. I’ve never…” You stopped yourself, the rest of the sentence too precious, too sacred to give to them. 

“Oh?” Yeonjun’s voice was a parody of surprise, a low, wicked thing. You felt his mouth on your ear, his lips moving against your skin. “Don’t you worry, love. I’ll pop this cherry for you. Nice and easy.”

It was a lie. The kind of lie only the truly wicked can tell with such gentle conviction. And then he pushed. Not nice. Not easy. A slow, inexorable, tearing pressure that gave way to a hot, white pain that struck through you like a lightning bolt, cleaving you in two. It was a pain that felt like it would never end, a brand being seared onto your very soul, and his low, satisfied groan was the sound it made.

The world had shrunk to the violent, rhythmic shudder of the mattress springs, a rusty, shrieking complaint with every one of Yeonjun’s thrusts. Your body was no longer your own; it was a thing being used, a rag doll lifted and dropped on the bed with a brute, pulse-like efficiency.

You’d curled in on yourself, a futile instinct, but he just hooked an arm under your knee and yanked you up, opening you up wider. The fight was gone, siphoned out of you along with your breath, leaving only a hollow, ringing terror.

To escape, you forced your head forward, focusing on the wall, trying to make it your whole universe, anything to fade away from the reality of his weight, his smell, the wet, slapping sounds of skin on skin. 

Soobin came back into view. He didn’t make the bed dip like a quake. He simply materialized on the mattress beside you, a cool presence. His fingers, soft as moth wings, turned your head toward him. His smile was a gentle, crooked thing, a stark and terrifying contrast to the violence happening to the rest of you.

“Shhh,” he whispered, his breath sweet, like mint and something vaguely chemical. His fingers played with the ends of your hair, then traced down your side in a lover’s caress, a world away from Yeonjun’s grip, which you knew with the certainty of a deep, forming bruise was painting your hips in blacks and blues.

“You are so pretty like this,” Soobin murmured, his eyes wide with a kind of awed, genuine affection. It was the most frightening thing you’d ever seen. From behind, Yeonjun grunted, a sound full of effort and contempt. “God, she feels like heaven. Tight little fucking glove. You think I should come inside?” he asked, his voice dripping with a sarcasm that curdled your blood. 

He hammered into you, a punctuation mark of ownership. “Just kidding, baby. I’m gonna pump it right up inside you. Gonna fill this pretty pussy so you feel me for days. A little reminder who you belong to.”

He sped up then, a final, frantic race toward his finish. Your body slid up and down the bed, the cheap sheets rubbing your chest raw, your nipples burning against your bra. You were unraveling, coming apart at the seams. “I’m cumming!” he roared, a raw, animal sound, and you felt the hot, sudden flood deep inside you, a violation that was both intimate and utterly impersonal. 

He collapsed forward, his weight crushing, and placed a wet, possessive kiss on the back of your neck like a brand. 

When he pulled out, it was with a slick, awful sound, and you immediately felt the warm, shameful trickle of his spend beginning its slow crawl down the inside of your thigh. You didn’t want to look. You didn’t want to see the mess he’d made of you. 

A sharp crack split the air a second before the sting bloomed on your ass cheek. You jumped, a fresh wave of tears springing to your eyes. “Look at that,” Yeonjun said, his voice already sliding back into its casual, cool menace. “Perfect.”

The mattress springs screamed a rusty complaint as Soobin slid up to the headboard. His movement was all wrong, too casual, too languid, like a snake rearranging its coils in a sunbeam. 

An arm, Yeonjun’s deceptively gentle, wrapped around your chest and hauled you up like a sack of grain. Soobin reached for you, his hands pulling you, making you straddle his lap. The fabric of his pants was rough against your thighs.

"Come on, pretty girl," he murmured, his voice a soft, horrible thing, like silk wrapped around a razor blade. He said it like this was some drunken backseat hookup, like they hadn’t kicked in your door on the worst night of your life to systematically unmake you. 

Something in you, some final wire that had been stretched to its molecular limit, snapped.

The crack of your palm against his face was a shock of sound in the thick air. His head whipped to the side, and there was a wet, grinding pop as his broken nose slapped back into some grotesque approximation of place. 

For a second, there was only silence. Then his eyes, wide and eerily placid, swiveled back to you. There was no anger in them. Just a vacant, intellectual curiosity, like a child who’d just pulled the wings off a fly and was waiting to see what it would do next. He didn't shout. He just pushed you off him with a terrifying, casual strength.

You stumbled back, right into Yeonjun’s waiting grip. His arms were iron bands around you. You fought, bucking, scratching, a wild animal caught in a trap. "Stop it," Yeonjun hissed, his breath hot and sour in your ear. 

Then you felt it. The cold, intimate kiss of the knife blade against your throat. It was so sharp the pressure alone felt like a cut. "You keep fighting, and I will paint these walls with you. They'll find you drained. And I will get away with it cause it’s purge night. You don't want that, do you, sweetheart? You don't wanna be my masterpiece."

But the animal in you didn’t care. Your elbow slammed back, a blind, desperate shot, and connected with a wet thud against his eye. He grunted, his grip loosening for a nanosecond. It was enough. You made a dash for the bedroom door, for the world, for sanity. You almost made it.

Soobin was on you. His fingers tangled in your hair and yanked, pulling you off your feet with a force that blinded you with white-hot pain. He dragged you back, your back slamming against his chest. He was humming. He was actually humming.

"Why," he whispered, his lips pressed against your ear, his voice still sweet, still reasonable, "do you keep doing that? It just makes it worse. It always makes it so much worse." He sighed, a sound of genuine, put-upon disappointment. "So here's the 'or else.' I'm gonna sit back down. You are gonna climb that pretty ass on me. And you are gonna ride my cock like the good little whore I know you are. Okay, babe?"

He said it like he was asking you to pass the salt. He pushed you away and walked back to the bed, settling against the headboard as if nothing had happened. Your back was to him. Your eyes were on the door. Freedom was ten feet away. Yeonjun let out a low, wet whistle from the corner. A taunt. A promise. Try it. See what happens.

You swallowed the metallic taste of your own pride, your own fear. It tasted like blood and ashes. You turned. You made eye contact with Soobin, whose expression was one of gentle, expectant patience. You crawled. You straddle him. His cock, hard and insistent, poked at your sore entrance. He looked down between your bodies, at where you almost touched, his head cocked.

"Put me inside you," he said softly. You reached under yourself, your hand trembling. You grabbed him. He let out a whimper, a small, pathetic sound that was more terrifying than any roar. 

You lined him up and sank down. A groan was torn from you. You were still raw, still torn from Yeonjun's brutal fucking. Soobin's eyes rolled back in his head for a second, then focused on you, glassy and awed. "Oh, fuck," he breathed, a devout worshiper at his own altar. "Even after getting ruined by Yeonjun... you're still so fucking tight."

The air in the room was thick and used, smelling of sweat and something metallic, like a battery leaking acid on your tongue. Soobin beneath you was all placid smiles, a deceptively gentle landscape. His hands, soft as a shop teacher’s, gave your cheek a double pat, a hollow imitation of affection.

 “C’mon, babe. Ride this cock,” he said, his voice a sugary murmur, the kind you’d use to coax a nervous animal. And you did. You lifted and came back down, setting a rhythm that was yours for only a moment.

A moan leaked out of him, a low, contented sound. He laced his fingers behind his head, a picture of casual ruin. His eyes, lust-hooded and downcast, never left your face, his bangs a dark curtain half-hiding the vacancy behind them. 

Your own vision swam, unable to focus on anything but the feeling, the wrongness of it. Your hands rested on his clothed chest, not for passion, but to steady yourself on this shifting, terrible ground.

Then Yeonjun was there, sitting on the bed beside Soobin like a spectator at a show. The sound of his hand tugging lazily on his own cock was a dry, obscene whisper in the room. His eyes were black pits fixed on the place where you and Soobin were connected, a wet, mechanical joining. “Look at that,” Yeonjun breathed, not to you, but to Soobin. “She takes it so pretty.”

Soobin’s placid mask slipped then, his grip on your hips turning sudden and brutal. He was fucking up into you, no longer letting you set the pace, taking it. Your hands flew back behind you, bracing, and you were just a thing being used, a socket for his plug. He was close, you could tell by the frantic pitch of his grunts, by the way he couldn’t stop the filthy babble from pouring out.

“Knew it… knew you were perfect for this… fuck, just a warm little vice, ain’t you? Made for this. Just for this. Shit—I’m cumming!” He did, a hard, shuddering release into you, and then his hands let go of your hips as if you’d burned him. 

You fell back onto the mattress, the air knocked out of you, a discarded doll.

But the feeling wasn't over. A tongue, wet and insistent, was on your sensitive clit. “Oh god,” you gasped, trying to close your legs, a feeble instinct. Soobin wouldn’t let you, his hands pinning your thighs apart with that same sweet, unbreakable strength. 

Yeonjun was over you, his mouth covering yours, kissing you with a possessive hunger. The violation was complete, a circuit of their torture closing, and you came with a sharp, traitorous yelp, your body betraying you utterly.

Soobin came back up, wiping his mouth. You felt naked, flayed open, even though you still wore your bra and shirt. They were both still fully clothed. The only sound was the ragged sawing of breath in the room. Then another sound cut through it, rising in the night outside the window: sirens. High, lonesome, and final. ‘

The end of the annual Purge.

Yeonjun let out a soft laugh, tucking himself back into his pants. “This was fun, babes,” he said, pulling himself off the bed. Soobin followed, but not before leaning down and giving your lips a dry, chilling peck. “I’ll send you the video,” he murmured, his voice still sweet as poisoned honey. You sat up, your blood going to ice. “Video?”

Yeonjun laughed again, a sound like gravel spinning in a dryer. Soobin just pointed a casual finger toward the corner of the room. There, perched on a stack of books, was a small digital camera. A single red light blinked back at you like a malevolent eye.

“You were so busy getting fucked stupid you didn’t even notice,” Yeonjun said, his voice dropping into something dark and serious, a steel cable wrapped in velvet. “So here’s how this works now. We call you, you come running. You’ll be our little whore until we’re done with you.” He glanced at Soobin, who was watching you with a twisted, lovesick adoration. “And Soobin’s in love with you, so… this is gonna be a while.”

You glanced around, heart pounding a little. You weren’t great with kids. Honestly, you found them exhausting and unpredictable. This one was already testing every ounce of your patience, darting between chairs and snatching cupcakes off the table like a tiny hurricane.

Your fingers twisted nervously around the hem of your dress. You were supposed to be calm and supportive—maid of honor material. Instead, you were on edge, trying not to lose it while the kid zoomed around like he owned the place.

A sudden shift in the room made you jump. You hadn’t even noticed someone else had come in. “Hey,” said a calm voice beside you. You turned, startled, to see a tall guy leaning casually against the doorway, hands in his pockets and a small, amused smile playing on his lips.

You blinked, trying to collect yourself. “Hey. Uh… wait, who are you? And why are you here?”

“I’m Soobin,” he said quietly, as if that was supposed to make everything less chaotic. He nodded toward the tiny tornado tearing through the room. “Looks like we are on babysitting duty, we’ve got our hands full.”

“I’m really not great at this,” you admitted.

The kid zoomed past again, nearly knocking over a vase, and your nerves tightened.

“Okay,” you said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s do this.” 

The kid wasn’t making it easy. Every time you thought you had him cornered, he slipped between your legs or darted behind the couch, giggling like this was all a game.

“So,” Soobin said, crouching down, “what’s his weakness? Candy? Toys?”

You shook your head, breath catching as the kid zigzagged past again. “I don’t know what if he gets extra screen time, maybe he’ll calm down.”

Soobin grinned. “Perfect. Let’s bribe him.”

You both knelt, and Soobin called out, “Hey, kid, want to watch one more cartoon before bed?”

The kid’s eyes lit up. “Yeah!”

You exchanged a relieved smile as Soobin flicked the TV on and settled the kid between you on the couch. The little guy’s energy slowly drained away, his heavy eyelids drooping as the cartoon played softly.

Within minutes, his head lolled onto Soobin’s shoulder, and he was fast asleep.

Soobin looked over at you, quiet but kind. “I’ll take him to bed.”

Before you could protest, he gently scooped the kid into his arms, careful not to wake him. You watched as Soobin carried the sleeping boy down the hallway, soft footsteps barely audible on the carpet.

You stood there for a moment, heart a little lighter than before, realizing that babysitting with Soobin might not be so bad after all.

You were still standing by the couch when Soobin reappeared, his footsteps soft, his presence even softer. He gave you a little smile as he padded back into the room, rubbing a hand at the back of his neck.

“He’s out cold,” he said, voice low. “Didn’t even stir.” You smiled, easing back onto the couch. “You’ve got a touch, apparently.” He shrugged with a humble grin, then glanced toward the kitchen. “Wine?” You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Why not?”

He disappeared for a moment, returning with two glasses and a half-full bottle of red. He handed you a glass, their fingers brushing, brief and electric. Neither of you mentioned it. The TV played on, low and forgotten, as you sat side by side, sipping slowly. The warmth of the wine settled in your chest, and the quiet between you shifted—no longer awkward, but charged.

Soobin looked at you over the rim of his glass, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re not so bad at this babysitting thing either.” You chuckled. “Thanks, I think.”

There was a pause. Not empty. Full. His gaze lingered, darker now. You met it, not quite ready to look away. “Hey,” he said quietly, voice lower than before. “You’ve got something on your lip.” Your brows furrowed, but before you could wipe it, he leaned in—just enough. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth.

And he didn’t move away. Neither did you. The air between you tightened like a string pulled taut, and when he leaned in that last inch, you didn’t stop him. His lips found yours, warm and hesitant at first, then deeper, firmer. You melted into him, tasting the wine on his mouth, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve.

But then—

The sound of the front door opening shattered everything. Laughter. Voices. You and Soobin sprang apart like you’d been electrocuted. His hair was a little messy. Your breath was unsteady. You both sat stiffly, trying to look as casual as two people who definitely weren’t just making out in the living room.

Footsteps approached.

“I’ll, um…” You stood quickly, setting your glass down with more force than necessary. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He looked up at you, still slightly breathless, eyes searching yours. You gave him a quick, almost sheepish smile before turning and heading toward the hallway. Your footsteps were fast, your heartbeat faster. The soft click of your bedroom door was the only sound you allowed to linger. 

The morning of the wedding was a blur of curling irons, zippers, and soft panic. You kept your hands busy, tying ribbons, fixing veils, touching up your sister’s makeup. Doing anything to avoid thinking about last night.

But your thoughts betrayed you every time. The press of Soobin’s mouth. The way he’d looked at you right before. The way he’d looked after. And the fact that you had fled the room like your own heart was something to be embarrassed about.

Now, standing near the altar in your dress with the bouquet clutched tighter than necessary, you tried not to scan the guests for him. Tried and failed. Soobin wasn’t hard to spot.

Tall, stupidly handsome, perfectly disheveled in his groomsman suit. He was talking to the groom, smiling casually like he hadn’t completely scrambled your brain the night before. Like he hadn’t kissed you with enough heat to melt the air between you.

And when his eyes finally found yours, it was instant. That jolt again. He gave you the smallest smile, subtle but just for you. You looked away quickly, cheeks burning, heart stuttering under your ribs.

Throughout the ceremony, your eyes kept brushing his. During the speeches, the toast, the dinner...you could feel him across the room like gravity. And he wasn’t even trying to hide it.

You tried to focus on the celebration, on your sister glowing as she danced with her new husband, but every glance from Soobin made it harder to pretend nothing happened.

Later, after the first dances, while guests were laughing and drinks were flowing, you were grabbing a fresh drink from the bar when his voice cut through behind you, smooth and far too close.

“You ran off pretty fast last night.”

You turned to face him, your breath catching. “I—yeah. It was… late.” His eyes twinkled. “Is that what we’re going with?” You gave a small, nervous laugh, fiddling with the rim of your glass. “I didn’t know what to say.”

“I could tell,” he said, not unkindly. “But… just so you know—I don’t regret it.” That silenced you. Not because you didn’t believe him, but because you didn’t know how to say that you didn’t either.

Then his voice dropped, a little lower, a little rougher. “Want to get some air?”

Your heart skipped. “Air,” you echoed, dumbly. “Yeah.” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. You hesitated, then nodded, pulse already racing. Soobin reached for your hand, brushing his fingers lightly against yours in a way that made your whole body aware of the contact. It wasn’t full-on bold. But it was enough to make your breath stutter again.

He didn’t take you outside, though. He led you quietly down one of the side hallways of the venue, then paused in front of a supply closet. You raised your brows.

“Seriously?”

Soobin grinned. “Unless you know a better hiding spot in mind.”

He opened the door, peeked inside, then gestured. You stepped in, heart pounding, and he followed, shutting the door behind you. It was quiet. Dim. Your back brushed against a shelf full of extra linens. You were pretty sure there was a broom poking your calf.

“This is ridiculous,” you whispered, half laughing, half mortified.

He leaned against the door with a crooked smile. “You’re cute when you’re nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” you lied, voice shaky. Soobin stepped closer, just close enough to make your breath hitch. “Good. Because I kind of want to kiss you again.”

You swallowed hard. “In a closet?”

“So… is that a no?” Your fingers curled at your sides. “no.”

His hand rose slowly to cup your cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing gently over your bottom lip. His gaze lingered there, full of something raw and reverent.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he whispered, like it was a secret meant only for the quiet between your heartbeats.

His other hand found your waist, drawing you to him until your bodies touched. It was warm, alive, trembling with anticipation. He moved in gradually, his breath ghosting over your lips. You tilted your face up to meet him, offering the smallest nod of permission, your pulse thundering like a war drum.

His mouth found yours.....soft at first, exploring, savoring. A kiss that tasted of wonder and need. But soon, it deepened, turning desperate, hungry. He kissed you like he was drowning and you were his only breath.

“God, I need you,” he rasped, pulling away just enough to speak, his forehead resting against yours. “Last night… the way you tasted, the way you moved beneath me, I've been thinking about it nonstop. It's driving me insane.”

His hands slid down to cup the curve of your ass, lifting you slightly as he pressed you gently back against the shelving. The closet was cramped, shadowed and secret, but you hardly noticed. All you could feel was him.

“Soobin…” you gasped, your head falling back as his lips trailed down your neck, warm and open, his teeth grazing your pulse. “We shouldn’t… not here…”

“Shhh,” he murmured into your skin. “Let me take care of you. No one’s going to find us. Just you and me, sweetheart.”

His fingers gathered the hem of your dress, sliding it up with reverence, exposing your thighs to the cool air. His touch was firm, purposeful, yet gentle as he parted your legs and stepped between them, cradling your body as if it belonged to him.

You whimpered, torn between reason and need, but when his mouth found yours again, every hesitation unraveled. He kissed you like he meant it, like you were his salvation.

He guided your hand down to the front of his pants, letting you feel him twitching beneath your touch. “Feel that?” he groaned. “That’s all for you. I’m aching for you, baby.”

He rocked his hips against your center, the friction enough to make your breath catch and your knees weak. You clung to him, the hunger in your body coiling tight like a spring, ready to snap.

“Please…” you breathed. Whether it was a plea for more or for restraint, you couldn’t say.

But Soobin heard what you truly meant.

He freed himself with a few hurried motions, his cock thick, flushed, and glistening at the tip. You gasped at the sight—at the weight of what was coming.

Still holding your gaze, he shifted your panties aside with one hand and rubbed the head of his cock through your wet folds, teasing, testing.

Then, with a single, aching thrust, he filled you completely.

“Soobin—” Your cry was swallowed by his kiss as he buried himself to the hilt, stretching you open, claiming you.

Without breaking the kiss, he slid his hands down the curve of your thighs and bent slightly. “Hold on to me,” he whispered, voice low and rough.

You barely had time to react before he lifted you effortlessly, his strong arms hooking beneath your thighs. A gasp escaped your lips as your body rose, and your legs instinctively wrapped around his hips, locking behind him.

“Fuck,” he groaned, forehead pressed against yours. “You feel unreal. So warm. So tight. So perfect.”

His hips began to move, slow at first, savoring every inch. You held onto him with everything you had, each thrust sending a fresh wave of pleasure through your trembling body. His hands gripped your thighs, grounding you, as the rhythm between you grew faster, more desperate.

Every movement was worship. Every breath was shared.

“So good,” he panted, mouth hot against your jaw. “I can’t… I’m not going to last. I need to feel you cum for me. Need to fill you up.”

His words made you moan, your own release spiraling closer, tighter.

“Yes—yes—don’t stop—” you begged, your voice breaking as your body surged forward into ecstasy. You shattered around him, your walls clenching, pulling him deeper as pleasure bloomed from the center of your soul.

Soobin cried out your name, and with one final thrust, he came hard, burying himself in you as he spilled deep inside—pulse after pulse of heat filling you. His entire body trembled with the force of it, arms locking tight around you.

The world stilled. You held him. He held you. Only your breaths remained—shaky, tangled, real. He pressed soft, reverent kisses to your cheeks, your lips, your hair. “That… that wasn’t just sex,” he whispered, voice hoarse and true. 

You kissed him back, slow and lingering, your body still trembling from the aftermath. When your lips finally parted, he rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes.

“Stay with me tonight,” he murmured. “Don’t go. I need you next to me.”

And the way he said it...the vulnerability in it made your heart ache in the best way.

Because you realized…You needed him too.

NOTES ~ technically my second series BUUT this one is going to be mostly smau/pure smau lolol. originally the title was going to be WAAAY shorter but it ended up like this somehow (it’s so creative omggg) 😭 we’re calling the acronym 1DAB3H (one-dab-threh?) 😥 it was inspired by the korean name of crown (one day, a horn grew from my head) soo.. ANYWAYS this might turn out horribly but like i hope y’all’s enjoy..

PLAYLIST ˎˊ˗ here!

CHAPTERS ── .✦

PROFILES one ﹏ two 000 prologue 001 #holyfckingairball 002 scored one point !!! ….kinda ( more tba! )

STATUS: ongoing (10.12.25 - ??)

TAGLIST ( open ) ୨ৎ you wanna be on the taglist? ^3^ comment on this post or send me an ask (specify the name of the series if the latter) to be added~~

tags: @pagesoobinie @soobinieswife @dudekiss3r @littlemoasoobin @ijustwannareadstuff20 @soobinz-wife @discobin @theynchapter @zoros-earring @itsdragonius @taehyunstoe @smellofbrownies @chbq2 @lirinovo

perm taglist: @stvrrlau @lusayyawnn

“Which brings us to Le Chatelier's Principle in real-world chemical reactions,” Professor Choi says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “This will be review for most of you, so I won’t go into too much detail.” 

Chemistry is your favorite thing in the world. It’s real-life magic. And Professor Choi sees it that way too. His olive green chinos are wrinkled from walking from his office. The sleeves of his white button-down are pushed up so he can write freely on the whiteboard while his burgundy tie sways with his scurries. 

Sparks of passion fill his eyes as he lectures. And he never disappoints with his cheesy jokes. Although you seem to be the only one that laughs at them—maybe you’re the only one that gets them. Not many students in his class are the experts in chemistry you are. You took it as a break from your intense course load and the elective credits are a nice bonus. 

Most of your professors are so old they barely know how to turn on their laptop and are so deep into their tenure they’ve given up. If you bothered showing up to their office hours, you’d be lucky to find a professor, let alone a helpful one. So you’ve become a frequent visitor in Professor Choi’s office hours, talking about advanced chemistry he can’t wait to teach but it’ll be at least five years before he can. In the meantime, he’ll settle for nerding out with you in his office for a few hours every week.

“Great class today, everyone,” he says. “Have a great weekend and don’t hesitate to visit me during my office hours with any questions!” That sentence started out as a normal speaking voice but ended up a shout over the shuffling of the desk chairs and backpacks. You’re typically the last one out, but you save your questions for his office hours tomorrow. 

-

“Hi,” you say, lightly tapping your knuckle against his office door.

Turning around in his chair, his lips form a pout in surprise at seeing you. “Were you waiting outside? Sorry that meeting ran a little long—” He shuffles to organize his desk. 

“That’s okay.” Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, he rests his hands on his thighs and looks up at you. Did he just look you up and down? Don’t be ridiculous. 

“What can I do ya for?”

“Right,” you start. “Can I…?” You ask, motioning toward the spare chair, waiting for his nod before sitting. “You know Professor Vaughn’s class?” You barely catch it, but his eyes roll. Professor Vaughn is the worst professor you’ve had. Boring, harsh, impatient. It doesn’t help he teaches one of the most complex forms of chemistry. “I’m not really getting this week’s content and was wondering if you could help me.”

“Of course.” He smiles. And it’s devastating. The sparkle in his eyes and those dimples. Craning his neck to look at your notes riddled with red question marks, he nods. As soon as he sees the title of your notes, he says, “Let’s think about this from a quantum mechanical perspective. If we assume that the π-complex is forming, we’re talking about a stabilization due to delocalization π-electrons, right?”

In what feels like no time at all, an hour has passed and the conversation has been the complete opposite of Professor Vaughn’s lectures. Questions led down rabbit holes, leading to other theorems and more questions. As he glances up at you through his glasses, there is an undeniable tingle in your stomach.

It’s not like you haven’t noticed how attractive Professor Choi is. He’s tall, lean but undeniably strong, he has the most perfect silky black hair and the prettiest brown eyes, and his pout—indescribably cute. And again—those goddamn dimples. He’s the perfect mixture of sexy, handsome, and pretty. You’d never think of doing anything with a professor, but you can’t help your mind wanders during the slower lectures. 

How long have you been staring at each other in silence? Too long probably. He clears his throat. “Well,” he says, looking at his watch. “My office hours have been over for a few—”

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” you say, stumbling as you stand, attempting to gather your things as quickly as possible. But he shakes his head, trying to shrug it off. 

“That’s okay,” he says. “I, uh, I just have my emails waiting for me.”

You nod, shoving everything into your bag and heading out the door. What was that? You’re probably overreacting, you think to yourself. He’s charming because of his looks, there’s no way he’d— No. Don’t even finish that thought. 

-

"How is it that someone who scored the highest in my theoretical chemistry exam is turning basic lab work into a spectacle of incompetence?" Professor Vaughn boasts over your right shoulder. No doubt his thick eyebrows are furrowed.

As your hands tighten around the test tube, you know exactly what to do—you always do—but everything slips through your fingers in his class. 

"I’m trying to get the reaction to stabilize," you stammer, eyes darting between your hands, the chemical reagents lined up on the table, and your notebook.

Professor Vaugn’s expression hardens as he steps closer, looking down his nose at your station. "Trying is for high school sophomores. If you’re still trying, you’re behind."

Taking a deep breath, you carefully add three more drops to the mixture but the reaction goes wrong. Again. A plume of white smoke rises from the beaker, and the liquid turns an unexpected, muddy brown.

"Unbelievable," Vaughn mutters loud enough for everyone to hear. Everyone knows you’re the best student in your class. Well, everyone except Soren, who’s so jealous of your intelligence they can hardly stand it. They simply smirk. "I expected more from you."

Your heart sinks. You checked those calculations three times. Maybe it’s your shaky hands. Or the pressure of him looming over your shoulder. Or the other stuff on your mind. 

"Are you going to sit there and guess again, or would you like to double down on failure with your next attempt?" Vaughn sneers, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I’m not guessing, Professor. I—"

"Can’t manage a basic reaction?" Vaughn interrupts with his icy voice. "I’m beginning to wonder how you even made it into this program."

"I’m perfectly capable. The solution is just—"

"Wrong. Yes, we’ve established that." Vaughn’s lips curl into a patronizing sneer. "Maybe chemistry isn’t the field for you if this is the best you can manage." That got everyone’s attention—it would be an interesting sight to see you fail. It so rarely happens. Sure, you’ve been doubted before but have always proven yourself. Today would be no different.

You take a deep breath and count to yourself, One. Two. Three. Four. Five. 

As you block out Vaughn’s piercing gaze and the weight of the other students’ eyes, you carefully remeasure the chemical, adjusting the proportions this time, methodically double-checking your work. You add the reagent once more, slowly, and watch as the solution begins to shift. 

A moment passes. The reaction stabilizes and the solution turns a clear, pale blue. 

"Finally," Vaughn mutters. You don’t even have to look at him to know he rolled his eyes. He turns to walk away but pauses. "Barely acceptable. Next time, you won’t be given the luxury of so many failures."

-

Bursting through the door upon dismissal, you can’t get to the restroom fast enough, barely making it to a stall before tears stream down your cheeks. 

“One. Two. Three. Four. Five,” you whisper to yourself. 

Sometimes, chemical reactions need to be dealt with instantly, but that’s an overwhelming amount of pressure. You give yourself five seconds before you absolutely have to deal with it. Same thing here. Cry. Count to five. Wipe your tears and move on.

But it’s difficult to move on this time. You’ve counted to five a few too many times today. But the only person you want to talk about it with is—

Professor Choi,  Are you available to meet me in Lab 270 tomorrow afternoon? I’ve been struggling with some reactions and could use some help. I’ll be there from 2:00—4:00.  If not, no worries! 

Sniffling, you hit send on your email app, shove your phone in your bag and head home. 

The next day drags on and on. Did he even get your message? Expecting an empty lab, you’re surprised to find Professor Choi waiting for you behind a laptop wearing a cute tweed jacket with suede elbow patches. His eyebrows are furrowed as his focused eyes study the computer, but they brighten at the sight of you. 

Initially surprised by your confusion, he squeezes his eyes shut and says, “I didn’t respond to your email, did I?” He’s already got the lab station set up. How long has he been waiting on you? “So, how’s Professor Vaughn’s class?” Did someone tell him about yesterday? God, you hope not. 

“Fine,” you deadpan. Shaking your head, you say, “I’m sorry…I’m just kinda stressed.” 

“I can go if you need some time by—”

“No,” you say, softening your tone. “I’d really appreciate your help.”

And he’s more than willing, letting you ask whatever you want, never interrupting or talking over you like most of the men in the program. He gives you space to explore ideas and theories, listening closely instead of answering everything for you.

And he’s so damn sexy when he’s the one doing the ranting. The way he talks with his hands, ones that are so big with fingers so long you wish he would wrap around your—

“Shut up.”

“Excuse me?” He asks.

Oh shit, did you say that out loud? What a fucking nightmare. “Uh, sorry, just…talking to myself. Too many thoughts racing around the ole dome.”

A slight pout forms on his lips as he continues his rant. Now, the only thing you can think of are his lips wrapped around your—

“Ah!” Your hand slips toward the Bunsen burner and, great, now you’ve got a nice burn on your thumb. 

“Oh gosh, are you okay?” He stands quickly. “Let me see.” His fingers graze your palm, igniting a fiercer burn than the actual flame just did. “Run it under cold water, okay?”

In the meantime, he straightens up your station before meeting you at the sink. “Is something wrong?” His words make you jump. “You seem distracted.” 

That’s all it takes. The floodgates open. You rant about the sexist piece of shit Professor Vaughn and his power moves to intimidate you when he knows you’re the best student in the program. About how embarrassed you were in lab yesterday. Last semester when you raised your hand to correct an equation on the board and he gave you a firm talking to about respect after class. 

He watches you carefully, handing over a towel for your hands as you take a steadying breath, fighting back tears.

“Did I ever tell you why I started studying chemistry?” he asks. You sniffle, shaking your head. “My grandfather. He was a baker.” His voice softens, and you look up to find his eyes full of kindness. “Every Saturday, he’d make me work in his bakery. I didn’t mind—it felt like magic, you know? But really, it’s science. It’s all precision, measurements, timing.” 

A smile tugs at his lips. “Once, I tried baking a cake for my mom’s birthday, followed his recipe exactly. Measured the flour, the sugar, the cocoa. When I pulled it out of the oven, it was hard. Flat. I was sure he’d be disappointed, calling it a waste of time and ingredients. I was terrified. But he looked at it, smiled, and told me to try again the next day. When I asked why it didn’t work, he said I needed to ‘feel my way through it.’”

You sit there, the sting from your burn now fading, but your heart’s still aching, wanting something from him—a hug, a kiss, even just a pat on the shoulder.

“If I’d gotten it right the first time, I’d never know what overmixed batter looks like. Or that I like more cocoa than he did. Or that you should coat berries in flour.” His smile creeps up to his eyes. “Seeing how failure could make you better—it made me curious. I wanted to understand why some things worked and others didn’t, why I needed to feel my way through it, to get into the details.” He makes eye contact with you again. “That’s why I went into chemistry. Baking taught me the magic is in the little things—if you’re willing to screw up and keep going.”

Nodding, you smile back. His words hang in the air for a moment, like they’re meant to settle, but something’s missing. 

“All I’m saying is, its okay to fuck things up, okay?” he says, his candidness drawing a chuckle from you. “How else would you learn?”

-

The world’s drained of color—only hazy shades of grey and beige are left. Your palms press against a cold marble countertop with the faint sound of running water echoing in the distance. The reflection of the mirror looks like you, but not quite. The woman in the mirror has her lips painted a dark, sultry brown, a shade you’d never choose. And the outfit is far too dressy for a lecture. Shadows fall where there shouldn’t be any. 

The hallways are unfamiliar, yet you know it's the same building you visit almost every day. It's blurry, like you’re walking through a memory that isn’t yours. 

You look down at the saddle shoes on your feet clicking against the tile floor, unnervingly filling the emptiness. It feels like someone else is controlling your body but you don’t question it. You can’t. Your hand raises, knuckles brushing a wooden door before it creaks open on its own. 

On the other side of the door, Professor Choi faces a green chalkboard. Has that always been in his office? Hurriedly scribbling down equations, he glances between the board and the notebook in his hand. When he looks over his shoulder at you, his eyes soften and a slow smile spreads across his face. “Come in,” he says gently, setting his notebook aside. His voice wraps around you, making the room feel smaller, closer. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Your spine tingles. “I know,” you reply, but the words sound hollow, like you’re speaking from somewhere else. 

“Here,” he suggests, holding a piece of chalk out to you. The way he gestures toward the board is magnetic. As you take it from his hand, your fingers brush his. “What do you think of this?” An unfinished equation waits to be solved. His presence looms behind you, close but not quite touching as you reach up to solve it. Your heart pounds, every stroke of the chalk on the board heavier than it should.

“Impressive,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough around the edges. You turn to face him and he’s closer than expected, his warmth radiating against your skin. The air is thick with something unspoken. You step closer, tentative at first, then quicker, more certain. Your lips almost brush his, but he pulls back, his breath catching.

He looks down, your name a whisper on his lips, soft and pained. “I—” His eyes flicker up to meet yours, then fall back down like the weight of your gaze is too much.

“What?” You ask, your voice barely more than a breath. Your eyes dart between his, lingering on his tempting mouth. He leans in again with desire in his eyes. He wants to kiss you. You can feel it. And for a moment you think he might.

But he pulls away, his forehead nearly resting against yours. “I don’t think we should be doing this,” he says, his voice strained, as if saying the words is physically painful for him.

“Why not?” The question slips from your lips before you can stop it, frustration and longing lacing your tone.

His hands flex at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to touch you. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to, or—”

“Why would I feel like that?” you interrupt, your voice impatient. Your heart races, pounding in your ears, drowning out reason.

“I’m your professor,” he breathes out like it’s a curse. His words only fan the flames of the tension building between you. There’s nothing wrong with that, you think to yourself. It’s not like you’re fresh out of high school—you’re a grad student, close to starting the same PhD he earned barely three years ago. He’s no more than five years older.

“I don’t care,” you insist, stepping even closer, your lips a breath away from his. “I want you to kiss me.”

His eyes darken, his resolve faltering as his gaze drops to your lips. “It’s a mistake,” he whispers, but his voice trembles with indecision, trying to convince himself more than you.

“Make the mistake,” you urge, your voice soft but sure. Your hand reaches for his tie, tugging as light as you can just to bring him that much closer. “You said it yourself, it’s okay to fuck things up.”

There’s a beat of silence, so thick it feels as though the room itself is holding its breath, waiting. And in that moment, the space between you seems to collapse, the weight of everything unsaid pulling you closer. 

The millisecond before your lips touch, you breathe awake. 

You bolt straight up, feeling around your soft bed sheets, breathless as your heart pounds from the vividness of it all. For a moment, you linger in the feeling, brushing your fingers over your lips, feeling the warmth of the almost kiss. But reality sinks in and your stomach drops.

Reaching for your phone, you check the time. Great, it’s almost time for his class. But there’s no hazy world to hide in. Skipping class might be an option but an exam reminder drags you out of bed. 

- 

Trudging across campus, your stomach sinks lower with each step. How can you look him in the eye? Dropping your bag to the floor with a thud, you hang your head low. Let’s just get through this exam and get outta here. 

“How’s your hand?” Professor Choi’s voice shakes you out of your thoughts. “Sorry,” he chuckles, holding his hands up. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.” Looking at you like you’re the cutest puppy he’s ever seen, you can’t bring yourself to speak, but you hold out your hand. The second his fingertips touch yours, you flinch and jerk it back. 

“Um—” you start. “Better, thanks.” Turning away from him, you distract yourself with a random notebook from your bag. 

“...You okay? You shouldn’t be nervous about the exam.” When you look up, you’re met with eyes that appear…hurt? 

“No, it’s not that.” That’s not a good answer. “Just…” What would you even say? I had an incredibly vivid—and delicious—dream about you last night and now I need to know how your lips feel in real life? “Cramps.”

“Ah.” He nods and leaves you alone, awkwardly walking to the front of the class to make some announcements and general good wishes before the exam. With your fist pressed to your chin, you refuse to look up, hanging your head low even as he slides you your copy. 

There’s a bright green post-it stuck to it with a note, It’s okay to fuck it up! Your heart races as your eyes dart around searching for him. When you find him, he gives you a soft smile. You return the smile but rush to unstick it before anyone sees, storing it in your notebook for safe keeping. 

-

As you return to your apartment, the post-it stares back at you like you’re the guiltiest son-of-a-bitch in the world. It’s practically calling you a whore. And you can hardly take it anymore. You can’t bring yourself to face him for class a few days later—although skipping feels like a cardinal sin. Soon enough, though, your email dings. 

From: Choi Soobin, PhD I noticed you were absent from class today. I hope everything’s okay. The lecture notes are attached for your reference. Feel free to stop by my office hours with any questions. Professor Choi

Did your heart just flutter? Why are you walking toward his office? When you knock on the door, he stands—more like stumbles—to greet you, “Hi!” 

“Hi, Professor Choi…” You linger in the doorway, clutching your notebook tight to your chest. “Sorry I missed class—”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah—”

“You’re not overwhelmed with coursework, are you?” His eyes search yours, and there’s a softness in his voice that makes it hard to look away.

“No, no, I’m alright. I just…had a migraine this morning,” you say, shrugging slightly. “It’s gone now, though.”

He nods, easing into a warm smile. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” His gaze doesn’t waver and the intensity makes your pulse quicken. “So, I’m guessing you’re here to go over questions from the lecture?”

“Actually, it’s Professor Vaughn’s class I’m struggling with. His lecture today was…brutal.”

“I’m shocked,” he says sarcastically. “The man’s got a gift for making simple concepts sound like Greek.”

“Exactly,” you laugh, the tension in your shoulders easing. “I thought it was me, but he seems to take pride in making everything harder than it needs to be.”

“Trust me, it’s not you,” he says, a glint of warmth in his eyes. “He’s terrible. And annoying. And boring. And I’d tell him that.”

You raise a brow, skeptical. “You wouldn’t.”

“Well…” He breaks into a grin. “Maybe after I reach tenure. Though he may be retired by then.”

“Or dead,” you say matter-of-factly. He looks at you awkwardly then you both laugh, genuinely. There’s an ease to it.

He gestures to your notebook. “Alright, let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

-

“I can’t believe I’m laughing at that,” you say, a giggle escaping your lips. 

“You always laugh at my bad jokes,” he replies, staring at your face a little too longingly. If you were anyone else, he might find some excuse to touch you. Maybe brush a piece of lint off your shoulder, lightly touch your arm while he laughed at something you said, or something as casual as a fist bump. 

If he were any other guy, you’d be much more obvious, making it crystal clear you want him to kiss you right now. But you can’t. You don’t even know how he thinks about you. You’re probably just another student to him. 

“Well, those are all my questions,” you say, awkwardly packing your bag. 

“Yeah, you can, uh…head out…” he trails off as you start to rise from your seat. 

You’re searching for something to say, something to let you stay just a little longer. But nothing comes. He watches you walk toward the door, the silence hanging in the space between you. 

“Pens!” His voice suddenly burst out, loud enough to make you stop mid-step. “They, uh—I went to a conference last week and they gave me a ton,” he says, scrambling to gather a handful from his desk. 

You take them, your fingers brushing against his in a way that feels far too intimate. His eyes lock with yours, the touch sending a ripple of tension through you. “But you’re, uh…picky about your pens, aren’t you?” He asks, his voice softer now, almost unsure.

Laughing quietly, you say, “Yeah, but…that’s okay.” Your words are heavy with subtext you can’t bring yourself to say out loud. “Well, goodbye.” You offer him a smile, stepping back toward the door. “Thanks again.” 

“Yeah. Goodbye,” he says, but his feet shuffle forward as if he’s moving without thinking. Awkwardly reaching for a handshake, he realizes your hands are occupied. Instead, he reaches around you for the door handle, but he gets a tad too close and your brain scrambles. 

Before you can hold yourself back, you drop the pens, letting them clatter to the floor as your arms wrap around his neck. Your lips meet his in a rush, warm and soft. While your eyes close to savor the feeling, his widen in shock before he relaxes into your touch and wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you closer. 

It’s everything you’ve been holding back—unspoken feelings unraveling in a heartbeat. His lips move against yours with a hunger that surprises you, the world melting away as you lose yourself in the moment. You feel weightless, your pulse racing as his hands grip your waist a little tighter, as though he’s afraid to let you go.

When you finally break apart, breathless and dazed, he presses his forehead to yours, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re never gonna use those pens, are you?” he asks, his voice low and rough, like he’s trying to anchor himself in humor, trying to bring himself back down to earth.

You laugh, shaking your head. “No,” you admit, your heart still pounding. “They’re garbage.”

Before you can think, you kiss him again and this time, he doesn’t hesitate. His mouth crashes into yours with an urgency, like he’s wanted to kiss you since the second he laid eyes on you. His lips are soft, but his kiss is demanding, making up for all the lost moments between you. For those few minutes, nothing else matters—you bask in one of the greatest kisses either of you have ever had. But not for long.

Reality catches up too quickly. You pull away suddenly, breathless and wide-eyed. “Oh my god—” you gasp, backing up, your fingers graze your lips trying to make sense of what just happened. “I’m so sorry—”

“No,” he interrupts quickly, shaking his head. “Don’t be. I—” He’s stumbling through his words, just as lost as you are but neither of you regret it. “I wanted—”

“That was…” You can’t even finish your sentence. It was everything. Too much, too fast, too real. But you can’t take it back.

“I—” He’s trying to find the right words, to reassure you, to tell you he felt it too, that he wanted it just as badly. But he’s as flustered as you are, his voice rough and unsure.

“I’ll just…go throw myself off a bridge now,” you mumble. You can’t even look at him as you make a beeline for the door, your face burning with embarrassment. You think you hear him say something, but the blood rushing in your ears drowns it out.

You leave the room quickly, your heart about to burst through your chest, trying to process what just happened. The kiss lingers on your lips, a mix of exhilaration and terror swirling inside you. It’s too much to handle.

But, hey, there’s one bit of good news. At least he kissed you back. 

-

What the fuck are you supposed to do now? Drop his class? It’s too late in the semester for that. And you need those credits. Wait until the end of the semester to talk to him again? Can you go that long without his lips on yours again? 

Back at your apartment, you rummage through your books to find the university’s code of conduct, hurriedly searching for anything related to “appropriate relationships,” “faculty-student relationships,” “consensual,” blah blah blah, whatever the university has coded sleeping with a professor.

The University strongly urges those individuals in positions of authority not to engage in conduct of an amorous or sexual nature with a person they are, or are likely in the future to be, in a position of evaluating.

Your eyes read over the words, “strongly urges” once more. Not totally against the rules, you suppose. Even if you did wait until the semester was over, you’d need to report it. You wish you could talk with him about it, but bringing this up is tricky. Is it moving too fast? You can’t text him, you don’t have his number. And using your student email to send a message to his faculty email that says, “Oh, by the way, I checked the rules and we’re in the clear to have sex!” is a terrible idea. 

Maybe one kiss in his office doesn’t mean anything. Oh, but it was everything. 

-

After much deliberation, you convince yourself to attend his class a few days later. You’ve brought the code of conduct along, as well as a bright pink post-it sticking out of the book. To avoid any form of small talk with him, you wait outside right until the start of class. 

Along the way to your desk, you silently plop the code of conduct on his desk and scurry away. When you work up the courage to look up at him, he’s flipped to the marked page. Highlighted on the page is the paragraph that “strongly urges” people in positions of authority not to sleep with students. 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed. The message couldn’t be clearer, he thought. You’re practically telling him to leave you alone. But when he finally reads the post-it, his heart flutters. Written in your handwriting, it says, It’s okay to fuck it up! complete with a smiley face. 

As much as he tries to fight it, he glances up at you to catch your gaze. And just as the slightest smile appears on his face, a big one appears on yours. You hide it with your palm as you start at the blank page of your notebook. Blinking, he shakes his head and begins his lecture. But how can you concentrate now? 

You’ve gotta give it to him, he delivers his lecture perfectly. If it were you, you’d barely be able to think. Hell, you barely can throughout the whole thing. 

Now that you’ve gotten that smile of permission, you finally let yourself daydream. 

Has his ass always been that cute? Has he always been that tall? Has his voice always been that deep and sexy? 

You don’t even know what he’s talking about, but that’s okay, you can always stop by his office hours. “What do you think?” He asks. 

Oh shit, he’s looking at you for an answer. He can always rely on you to keep class moving along when everybody else is dead silent. You shake out of your thoughts, panic-reading the board to come up with something. It's similar to your discussion you had the last time you went to his office hours. The time that ended in that gorgeous kiss. Throwing together an answer, his eyes brighten as he cheers, “Exactly!” 

Oh my god. He’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. You could just gobble him up. 

-

“So, I suppose we should talk about…” Professor Choi trails off, leaving the sentence hanging in the air like it’s obvious what he’s getting at. And it is. But you stay quiet. You wanna hear him admit it. You raise an eyebrow, playing coy.

You decided to press your luck by visiting his office outside scheduled office hours—right after class—to simply test the waters and gauge his reaction to the code of conduct and that kiss…that incredible kiss. 

“You know…” He gestures vaguely between the two of you, sighing like okay, fine, I guess I’ll say it. “I like you and you like me, right?” His voice dips just slightly, enough for you to notice the hesitation. “Unless I’m totally misreading—”

“No! You’re not…misreading anything,” you’re quick to say, along with a chuckle. Phew—he was worried there for a second. So goddamn cute. “What do you wanna talk about?”

He exhales a small laugh, but his smile is strained, cautious. “I want to make sure you don’t feel…weird about this.” Hand sliding nervously along the edge of his desk, he traces the wood grain before his eyes flick up to meet yours. Truth be told, he’d never do something like this with a student. Never want to make anyone feel pressured. But he never thought he’d feel like this. Giddy and blushy like you’re his first crush. 

“Why would I feel weird?” You tilt your head, genuinely curious. You’ve thought about this—about him—far too much for any of it to feel weird.

“I’m just terrified you feel like you need to do something about this.” You’re taken aback, confusion visibly etched across your face. “You know, because I’m your professor or because I’m in the department and I know your plans for a PhD here.” His voice softens, vulnerability creeping in. “I don’t want it to feel like I’m pushing you into anything.”

“I don’t,” you say gently. “It’s not like that.”

He nods, though the tightness in his jaw doesn’t disappear. “Because if you ever even remotely feel like I’m pressuring you, I want you to tell me. Immediately. I mean it.”

“No,” You shake your head, almost too fast. “I mean, it doesn’t feel like that. Not at all. I’ve thought about this…about us, a lot.” Your voice falters for a moment as his eyes widen, softening in a way that makes your stomach flutter. You weren’t expecting him to look at you like that—so open, so relieved.

His fingers twitch as if he’s resisting the urge to reach out to you. “Yeah?”

You nod again, more confidently this time. “But I think we should wait until the semester’s over. Before we…you know…do anything.”

He smiles gently and leans back, visibly more at ease. “I think so too.” 

But you didn’t realize how fucking difficult it would be to get through the last six weeks of the semester. Every class you sit there, thighs pressed together thinking about the dirtiest things you want him to do to you. Every office hour you went to, you could practically swim through the thickness of the tension between you two. 

It didn’t help how cute he was being. Post-its he’d leave on every exam of yours—You’re gonna do great! You’ve got this. Trust your instincts.—encouragement no other student got. You kept every one of them in your bedside table drawer. 

When finals week finally arrives, it wasn’t just about exams; it was about counting the hours until you could finally be with him. Or at least talk to him like he wasn’t your professor. As he handed over your final exam, the familiar green post-it note was stuck to it: Happy Finals Week! 

Your internal scream was so loud, you’re worried your classmates heard it. You’d pre-written a post-it to stick to it once you returned the exam. It had your phone number, a smiley face, and the words: Since you’re not my professor anymore. 

-

After a full day of checking your phone every twenty seconds, you started to give up. Was he just playing you? Did someone else see the note? Did he change his mind? But finally, you receive a text.

hi! this is soobin (professor choi lol). i was wondering if you wanted to get dinner or something?

soobin!! omg yes i would love to get dinner with you :) how’s tomorrow? 

how about right now? if you want, of course! no pressure we can totally wait until tomorrow it’s up to you

You squealed into your pillow, kicking and giggling like an idiot. Should you be flirty back? 

i can be ready in 30 min. 364 oakridge drive. it’s an apartment building- i’ll meet you downstairs. 

be there in 45 :) 

-

Like a perfect gentleman, Soobin meets you at the passenger door, swinging it open with a charming smile before gently closing it behind you. The slow walk up to his front door makes your stomach stir. He has to fumble through his keys to unlock it. 

Once inside, he slips his shoes off quietly, revealing cozy patterned socks that make you smile. Meticulously, he hangs his jacket on a coat tree and places his keys in a speckled clay catch-all that rests on a table next to a houseplant. As he walks toward the kitchen, he glances over his shoulder, his voice low and inviting. “Do you want a drink or something?” The warmth in his gaze makes your heart skip a beat.

You’re drawn to this softer side of him. In class, his tone is bright and dorky. In his office, it’s casual and laid-back. At dinner, it was sweet and charming. But now? Now it’s sultry, almost sexy. Like he can’t wait to be with you but would never, ever pressure you. 

“Hot tea?” You suggest with a steady voice, despite the butterflies in your stomach.

“Sounds good,” he agrees, switching on his tea kettle. In the meantime, you take a look around his much neater than expected apartment. 

The mid-century modern furniture is impeccably arranged—a sleek sofa, a low coffee table, and a stylish armchair with an even more stylish decorative pillow. Perfectly nurtured plants thrive around the room, adding a green vibrancy to the minimalist backdrop, breathing life into the space. A gallery wall above his expensive-looking couch features travel photos, beautiful art, and a few subtly science-inspired pieces. In the corner across the couch is a sleek electric fireplace underneath a huge TV. 

“Who’s this?” you ask, your heart swelling as a fluffy gray cat glares at you through one half-open eye. Her perfectly groomed fur and regal posture make her look like she owns the place. Just then, Soobin steps into the living room, holding two steaming mugs of tea, filling the air with a warm spice. 

“That’s Molly…short for Molecule,” he says. “Don’t worry, she’s sweet.” 

Extending your hand toward the cat, he starts to sniff you. “Hi, M—wait,” you pause, looking up at Soobin with a teasing smile. “Molly, short for Molecule?” He nods, his grin widening. “You’re adorable,” you tell him. Has anyone ever blushed quite like he did just now?

He stares down at his feet, clearly caught off guard. “You’re,” he starts. “Well, you’re cute too.” His sincerity makes your smile grow even stronger.

“Can I sit?” you ask, nodding toward the couch.

“Oh,” his smile falters for a moment. “Yes, of course. Make yourself at home.” You plop down on his couch, settling into the surprisingly soft cushions. Molly clearly doesn’t think the couch is big enough for the two of you, so she strides over to probably the nicest cat tree you’ve ever seen.

You sip your hot tea and your body finally relaxes. As you reach to sit it on the coffee table, he politely asks, “I don’t mean to be a square, but can you use a coaster?” 

“Of course,” you say, complying with the request. “So, tell me,” you begin, clearing your throat. “How’d I do on my final?” Humming, he stands to rummage through his messenger bag slumped over a dining chair. You gasp, “A ninety-seven?” Thumbing through the pages, you find a single red X on possibly the easiest question you’ve had on an exam since high school: What is the atomic number of oxygen? “Are you kidding me?” 

Any attempt to mask your embarrassment is impossible. It only deepens when you look up and catch him already watching you—lips pressed tight, failing miserably to hide a smug, amused smile.  

“I, uh…” You scratch the back of your neck. “I got that one wrong on purpose. You know, so as to not raise any suspicion.” 

His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, did you now?” You nod. “That was on the exam just so Toby wouldn’t get a zero.” You nod begrudgingly. “And you put 10! That’s not even close. That’s—”

“Neon,” you grumble. “Yeah I know…” you say, avoiding his eyes as he laughs playfully. 

“Neon’s a noble gas and oxygen is a—”

“Reactive nonmetal,” you cut him off. “I know, okay?” You shove his shoulder playfully, but your grin betrays you. “It was a high-pressure environment. Sitting in an exam room with your professor watching you."

"I barely looked up from my laptop,” he reminds you. 

"Your presence is distracting enough," you shoot back, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Ah, so my intellectual aura threw you off?”

“I dunno…is that what you think, professor?” You ask cheekily. “Maybe it was something else.” You’ve tossed the exam onto the coffee table, moving closer. 

“Like what?” 

“Just…you. You’re distracting.” You smirk, the words slipping out almost involuntarily, like they’ve been waiting on the tip of your tongue. 

Intrigued, he tilts his head and asks, “What about me?” There’s something magnetic in the way he looks at you—like he knows the answer but wants to hear you say it, to savor the way it sounds coming from your lips. 

You hum, tracing the lines of his body with your eyes, mapping out uncharted territory before exploring it. You don’t want to move too fast, but every fiber of your being screams for more. He’s not lighting a fire inside you—he’s setting the whole forest ablaze. Sure, your imagination has been running rampant since he returned your feelings six weeks ago, but now that you’re here, he scrambles every thought.

“Your eyes…” you say while yours flick over his face, taking in every curve, every freckle, every lash. “They’re so pretty.” 

A smile—small but real—tugs at the corners of his lips. The kind that’s private, meant just for you. His eyes darken as he leans in, the space between you shrinking. You glance down, noticing the way his long fingers curl around the mug handle. There’s something almost hesitant in the way he holds it. You take it from him gently, setting it atop a coaster as quietly as you can.

“Your hands…” you whisper, fingers barely brushing his knuckles, tension coiled under his skin. They’re hands that have worked, experimented, written things down—hands you want on you. Guiding one to your thigh, the squeeze he returns sends a shudder through you. 

Everything between you is electric. Your breaths come faster now, more desperate. Every inch you move toward him is a test, a slow-motion collapse of restraint.

“Your legs…” A soft breathless chuckle escapes as you glance down. His lips part like he’s about to speak, but you don’t give him the chance. Boldness surges through you like a current and you hike one leg over both of his, straddling him. The shift is seismic. His hands move to your hips, gripping you, afraid to let go. The heat of his touch spreads through you, anchoring you in place, though it feels like everything around you is spinning.

“And your lips…” you murmur, leaning closer, your breath mingling with his. “Oh my god, those fucking lips.” You can’t stop staring at them, just a breath away now, soft and wet. Your pulse races. 

You cup his face, lifting his chin until his eyes meet yours again. His pupils are blown wide, the desire in them unmistakable. Your thumb brushes his bottom lip, and the moment stretches, suspended. You lean in just enough to feel his breath on your lips. 

“Kiss me,” you whisper.

And he does.

It isn’t tentative—it’s dam-breaking. Like he’s been starving for it, holding back for years. His lips are soft but urgent as his hands tighten around your hips to pull you closer. You taste jasmine tea on his lips, a subtle sweetness mingling with the spice of his cologne—clove, pepper, something dark and addictive. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper against his lips. “I can’t believe I had to wait so long to kiss you again.” You kiss him again and he moans sweetly into your mouth. Just as the kiss deepens, he retreats, his breath ragged. “You okay?” 

Nervously nodding, he says, “Yeah,” but his eyes flicker away. He tries to kiss you again, but you place your hand on his chest, gently stopping him.

“Wait,” you say, eyes searching his face. “What’s going on? Am I being too—”

“No,” he says, almost a little too urgently. “It’s not that. It’s just…” His hands fall to the couch. Bracing to tell the truth, he squeezes his eyes shut before adding, “I need to tell you something.” You sit back on your heels, still in his lap but giving him room to speak. 

“What is it?” You ask softly. 

“There’s this thing… I haven’t—uh…” He stumbles over the words, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“Soobin?” you ask, your voice gentle but steady. That’s the first time you’ve called him by his first name. It feels utterly…vulnerable. “Are you a virgin?” The question is delicate. Shutting his eyes again, he takes a deep breath. 

“No,” he says. “Well, not exactly.” You narrow your eyes at him. What is that even supposed to mean? “It’s just…it’s been a while. And before then, I hadn’t had a lot of sex. And I haven’t had any…recently.” 

“How long?” you encourage, your eyes softening.

“A year.” 

You hum softly in acknowledgement, watching his confidence falter. Instead of pulling back, you lean forward, trailing slow, deliberate kisses along his neck. He trembles under your touch, a soft gasp escaping his lips, your hands moving all over his body, claiming him.

“Oh, Professor Choi,” you whisper, your voice dripping with heat and promise. “We’re gonna have so much fun.”

-

As your breath slows, you sit up and let your hand linger over his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm. “Tell me,” you start. “What do you like?” 

“Um,” he swallows, trying to force the lump down his throat. He’s so hesitant but he finally says, “Touching.” 

“You touching my body or me touching yours?” 

He exhales shakily. “The first,” he says, confirming with a squeeze to your hips. 

You hum against his ear. What are you gonna do with him? Tease him forever? Let him have his way with you? You ask, “Why don’t you take my shirt off for me?” 

Gracing his hands over your arms, he grounds himself again before asking, “You sure?” 

“I’m sure.” You nod, guiding his hands to the top button of your blouse, letting him slip it through the buttonhole. One by one, he exposes more of your skin, his heart thumping harder with each passing second. Pushing the silky fabric past your shoulders until your top half is only covered by a bubblegum pink mesh bra, leaving almost nothing to the imagination—except for the red embroidered hearts over your nipples.

After easing the shirt out from your trousers, you reach back to pull at the sleeves, letting the shirt fall to the floor. He slips his finger under one of your bra straps, pulling it to the side, but you stop him. “Wait. It’s your turn.” 

Tugging on his tie, you slip it through the collar and unbutton his dress shirt. Seeing his body bare in front of you for the first time, you’re practically drooling. You indulge in running your hands all over his body, lean with subtle muscles, from his chest to the bottom of his abs. 

“How come you got to touch me if I didn’t get to touch you?” He asks innocently. 

“You’re right,” you chuckle. “I’m sorry.” You smile and sit up to press your palms against his and let your fingers intertwine. Your heart melts and you fear you may throw up. “Did you want to take my bra off first?” He nods. Fumbling fingers reach behind you to snap it off, letting it fall to the couch. As he sees your bare tits, his eyes widen and he lets out the cutest little Oh. 

He’s hesitant to do anything. You have to guide his hands to massage your tits—and they’re the perfect size for you. 

“You’re so…soft,” he says, looking up at your eyes, like he’s not sure if that was okay to say. 

“You like them?” He nods eagerly. Experimentally swiping a thumb across a nipple, it hardens at his touch while you let out a sharp gasp. 

“You like that,” he says matter-of-factly. “Can I taste?” Nodding, you lean forward, welcoming his lips. His body finally relaxes as he moans against your skin. Circling the tip of his tongue around your nipple, he’s teasing you. And oh my god do you love it. 

One of your hands threads through his hair and you stuff the other down your pants, but he grabs your wrist softly. 

“That’s not fair,” he whispers and you concede, keeping your hands to yourself. With one hand, he stuffs your tit back in his mouth while the other plays with your other nipple. His hot, wet mouth on one nipple and his teasing fingers playing with the other sends waves of pleasure through you that may send you over the edge.

If you don’t do something to ease your need, you’re not sure how much longer you’ll be able to take this. You resort to grinding against his hard cock, making his hips buck. 

Lifting your legs off his, you swing around to sit next to him, palming his cock over his trousers. Desperately clawing at the waistband, you unbutton and unzip his pants, encouraging him to kick them off. He stands to slip them off and as you reach for the band of his boxers, he stops you. 

“Your turn,” he whispers. And you comply. But not without a show. Standing slowly, you push him to the couch and turn your back to him. As you push your pants down, your ass looks delicious in your thong that matches your bra—mesh bubblegum pink with red trim. When you turn back, he’s fisting himself over his underwear. 

“Nuh-uh, that’s not fair,” you say. Returning next to him on the couch, you feel him over his boxers and your mouth waters. Goddamn you can’t wait for him to be inside you. “Do you have any lube?” He nods and shortly returns with a barely used tube. 

While he stays standing, you sit up on the couch, running your hands across his muscular thighs and perfect pelvis. Looking up at him, his eyes are bright, darting all over your body like he’s afraid to miss something. He fiddles with his waistband, flipping the elastic over softly. A small smile flicks across your lips before you tug his boxers down his legs, leaving trails of kisses along the way.

Encouraging him to sit down, you look down at his cock, long and hard and dripping with precum. Finally, you drag your fingertips up and down his cock before squeezing him. He moans like you’ve never heard a man moan before. Laying your head on his shoulder, you sprinkle kisses all over his skin, finding a spot behind his ear that makes him squirm. 

He hisses and—almost involuntarily—wraps one of his hands around yours to use his long fingers to guide your hand up and down. There’s something magical about someone with so little experience telling—no, showing—you what to do with his body. It’s electrifying. He hasn’t been touched in so long that he’s desperate to get off and can’t waste time with words. But no words need to be shared. His movements tell you what speed he likes. 

Snaking his other arm around you, he stuffs his fingers in your hair and clenches his fist, subconsciously tugging the strands. His lips are right against your ear, breathing rapidly and heavily and he can hardly take it anymore. You watch his chest rise and fall as he clenches your hair, moaning getting quicker, he squeaks and whines. 

Hurriedly pressing his lips to your temple, you can’t take your eyes off his cock as he shoots short spurts of cum all over his stomach. It takes a moment for him to catch his breath before he gives you a sweet smile. 

You don’t let up with kisses all over his body. Sprinkling kisses here and there while he cleans himself up with a hand towel he’d brought with him when he got the lube from his bedroom. Once he’s clean, he slouches down the couch. 

“Will you sit on my face?” His eyes are ever so sweet and innocent, like he’s finally able to test all his fantasies. “Please…” You hum like you’re only considering it, but we all know you’ll say yes. “Please, mommy?” Everything halts. 

“Mommy?” 

“F-fuck—” he sits up, ears turning redder than you’ve ever seen them—anyone’s ears for that matter. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked first—”

“No, no…” you say gently, cupping his jaw to make him look at you. You can’t help yourself—you press your lips to his again and you lose yourself in his intoxicating kiss. But you break it and say, “Keep calling me that.” 

“M-mommy?” You hum. Before you give him what he asked for, you shove your tit in front of his lips. He doesn’t need to be told what to do. His plush lips wrap around your hard nipple while he thumbs the other. It feels like fucking heaven.

“That’s my good boy.” He lets out the most pathetic whimper you’ve ever heard in your goddamn life. His eyebrows furrow, looking up at you through his lashes. “Are you my good boy?”

“Yes,” he says, nodding eagerly. “Yes, mommy. Of course.” 

“Soobin,” you breathe in disbelief, dropping your head back. “You’re so sexy, I swear to god.” 

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head. “That’s you.” He smiles. “Will you please sit on my face now?” He slouches down again without waiting for an answer. “Please.” You hike your leg up to rest your foot against the back of the couch, gently hovering over him. But he wraps his hands around your hips to yank you down. As he flicks his tongue over your clit, you might be embarrassed by the volume of your moan, but there’d be no reason to. 

“I thought you said you didn’t do this a lot?”

“Well,” he takes a deep breath. “This was always what I was best at.” You chuckle. “Wait, no—” he shakes his head. “I’m good at the other stuff too. I hope.” Returning his tongue to your clit, you gasp and fall forward, bracing yourself against the back of the couch. He seizes the opportunity to get fully entranced in your taste. 

There's an impossible contrast—your body melts, muscles soft and pliant as you surrender to the pleasure but, at the same time, goosebumps prickle along your skin, sharp and electric. Warmth and vulnerability layered with a thrill that leaves you shivering, somehow both at ease and on edge.

But then he snakes his hand behind your ass to tease your asshole with his pinky. And it's overwhelming. Your knees are so weak you can hardly hold yourself up. The way his hands feel on your body, touching you in all the right places, flicking his tongue perfectly, moaning so temptingly along with the built up tension—it is so much. So. Fucking. Much. 

It builds in your stomach—teetering on the edge and god you only hope he doesn’t stop what he’s doing. But you can’t form words to tell him that. But he knows. 

And then it happens. 

You feel like you’re floating—or falling may be more accurate—as your orgasm washes over you, thighs quite literally quivering around his face as you come undone on top of him. For him. Unable to hold yourself up any longer, you roll and plop to the couch and he sloppily replaces his tongue with his fingers. You make a mental note to show him exactly where your clit is later. How is it that he found it so easily with his tongue but missed it with his hand? You guess he was right—oral is what he’s best at. Your chest heaves with your deep breaths as you come down from your high, watching him smirk at you. 

“Oh my god,” you say breathlessly. There’s a beat of silence. “What the fuck?”

“What?” He chuckles. 

“I wasn’t expecting that.” 

“I told you I’m good at it.” 

“Where’s your bedroom? This couch is too small for what we’re about to do.” 

Once he shuts his bedroom door to keep Molly out, he pulls you by your waist to press his bare body to yours and kisses you again so romantically it takes your breath away. 

“Wow,” he whispers against your lips. “You’re so beautiful.” 

“Oh my god, shut up.” You go straight back in for more kisses. But you break it— “But not literally, though. Please keep saying stuff like that.” You giggle together, slowly falling toward the bed until you’re gently laid on your back and he’s over top of you. 

“Can I, like, kiss all over your body?”

“Of course,” you say. “You don’t need to ask.”

And then he does exactly what he wants. Starting at your lips, he moves to the corner of your mouth, trailing behind your ear and down your neck. The way his breath tickles your neck sends shivers down your spine and you need more, more, more. 

As you lay there, simply basking in the feeling of him taking his time exploring every inch of you with the softest lips you’ve ever felt, you can’t help but be giddy. He’s tentative in some areas and eager in others. After he kisses the sensitive skin under your breast, he carefully observes your reaction. When he delicately presses his lips to your pelvis, his eyes flutter up to yours nervously. 

“Soobin,” you say breathlessly. He hums against your tummy, shaky hands running up your thighs. “I need you please.”

“You need me?” You nod. “Where do you need me, mommy?” You groan, arching your back, not even knowing where to start. You need him everywhere. 

“Inside me,” you say. “Please, I’ve been thinking about it for so long.” 

“Have you?” He asks innocently, using his fingers to play with the folds of your pussy so casually, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. “I should be the impatient one.” But you know why he’s taking it so slow. He’s nervous as hell right now. 

Aligning his cock with your entrance, he slowly pushes himself inside you. And it's utterly exhilarating. For both of you. He falls forward, framing your face with his forearms, digging his nose into your neck. 

“Fuck…” He whispers shakily. Your nails drag down his back at his inexperienced hip rolls. “Oh my god, what are you doing to me?” Despite his inevitable desperation, his thrusts are controlled. He’s trying his very best at least. But his cock is so fucking perfect, you figure he’d make you feel good no matter what he does. Although, a little part of you thinks about how good he’ll be at fucking you in a few months after a little practice. Or lots of practice. 

He whispers swears, your name, and mommy…over and over again. Then he sits up, looking down at your body. Awkwardly fumbling as if he wants to say something, his mouth isn’t cooperating with his brain. He slowly comes to a stop, sliding out of you and barely touches your calf. 

“Can you, uh…would you mind, um—” 

"Do you wish to see me on my knees? Is that it, darling?"

“Yes, mommy…please, I’ve never—” 

“You’ve never had someone on their knees for you?” You ask and he silently shakes his head. “You’ve been such a good boy for me. Of course I’ll get on my knees for you.” You oblige to his request, turning yourself around and arching your back to give him a perfect view of your ass. He groans at the simple sight of your body. He swipes his hands over the swell of your ass, squeezing here and there. 

He clears his throat and asks, “What do I do?”

“Oh,” you chuckle lightly. “Just get on your knees and guide yourself in. Make sure it’s the right hole,” you say light-heartedly, trying to ease the tension a bit. 

But when he’s finally inside you again, it’s heaven. And he indulges in himself a bit—thrusting faster, harder, making your ass jiggle. The lewd sounds of his cock in your wetness and his hips smacking your skin makes it all the more erotic. But it doesn’t take long before—

“I like it better the other way, I think,” he says matter-of-factly. “Is that okay?”

“Of course that’s okay, babe,” you say, flipping back over and spreading your legs. And he slides right back inside you, letting his head fall back. But your tits bouncing are simply too tempting not to look at. They’re why he prefers it this way, so why not look at them as much as he can? He retreats a bit, opening his mouth like he wants to ask you something but he’s too shy. 

“What is it, baby?”

“I was just wondering if you…if you could—would you want to be on top?” His tone is genuinely sweet. “Like what position do you like?”

“Missionary’s my favorite too,” you say. “But I would, hm, I would really like to be on top for a bit.” Switching quickly, you align yourself over his cock and sink down on him so, so, so slowly, letting out a big sigh of relief. “Oh my god, Soobin. Are you fucking kidding me?” You don’t think you’ve ever felt so full before. The feeling stretches all the way to your toes. “I need to hump you like crazy for a bit,” you say with a chuckle. He nods like that’s perfectly fine with me, mommy. 

And you do exactly that—bounce on his cock as fast as your body lets you, relieving that built-up tension. Over the last few months, you wanted to jump his bones every time you were in the same room and that feeling never let up, like there was a tension thermometer in your body that was constantly stuck at boiling. 

But perhaps it was a bit more painful for him because an occasional rut up into you isn’t enough anymore. He holds your hips to keep you in place, fucking up into you as fast as he can. Head dropping back, he groans, your name leaving his lips. 

“Mommy?” His eyebrows furrow, looking utterly pathetic. “Let’s switch back. Please.” Hiking your leg over his hips, you land roughly on your back. Gently grabbing your hands, he pins them above your head, aligns his cock at your entrance, and slides inside you, rolling his hips so deliciously. As he kisses you, he swallows your moans. Trailing down your neck, he whispers, “Please tell me I’m making you feel good, Mommy.” 

Your eyes roll back in pleasure and you say, “Fuck, you’re making me feel so good.” 

Slowing his thrusts, he asks, “What else would you like me to do?” Smiling up at him, you rub his thighs. Waiting for an answer, he covers your collarbone in kisses, making his way back to your ear. After nibbling gently on your earlobe, he whispers, “Tell me how to make you feel even better.” Oof. Shivers. 

“Rub my clit,” you say. He sits up, fumbling with his fingers. “Use your thumb,” you giggle. “Wait.” Reaching for his hand, you let spit pool in your mouth before wrapping your lips around his thumb. Sucking on it, he looks at you like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Then he follows your instructions, rubbing your clit with his thumb while he fucks you, listening intently to every instruction, every a little to the lefts, up a little bit mores, and he never gets impatient. 

Your back arches impossibly high and you say, “I’m close, babe. Don’t stop.” You rub your own nipple, but he moves your hand out of the way, wetting his thumb with his own spit before circling it for you. 

Everything has been building to this moment. Staring at him in every lecture, longing for his touch. That kiss in his office was just the start of your addiction. Attending his office hours didn’t help, but you couldn’t stay away. You needed to be closer to him. To feel heat radiating off his body. To smell his spicy cologne. To watch his fingers wrap around his pen and wish they were wrapped around something else. 

All of it was for this moment right here. Cumming around his cock for the first time. You can’t wait any longer. There’s a white hot burning in your belly that’s getting more furious by the second. His name leaves your mouth in a yelp before fireworks explode inside you. 

Your legs shake around his waist as he fucks you through it, not changing a single thing. Overwhelmed with pleasure, you grab his wrist to stop him from rubbing your nipple to make sure it’s the most perfect orgasm you’ve ever had—not too much and not too little. 

And it’s neither. Instead, it’s perfection. You knew it would be. It seems to last forever but somehow not long enough. As soon as you finish, you miss it. 

Catching your breath, your vision clears up as you look up at him with a smile. He shyly asks, “How was that?” 

You take a deep breath and say, “Oh my god, that was so good.” Rubbing soothing strokes up and down your thighs, you can tell he’s getting impatient. But still—he’d never pressure you in a million years. 

Bending to kiss your neck again, he whispers, “Can I cum inside you?” You nod frantically. 

“Please.” 

“I have condoms if you want.” You think about it for a second. Really. You would love nothing more than to feel him fill you up. But it’s risky. “Mommy…” His hips slowly start moving again, encouraging a decision from you. “What are you thinking?”

“Cum inside me, please. Wanna feel all of you,” you say, rubbing his back. He smiles, pressing his lips to yours in a passionate kiss that sends your head reeling. He sits up and squeezes your thighs over and over, adoring the way your body feels in his hands. Soft and squishy and intoxicating. Licking your own thumb, you pinch and rub one of his nipples, making his mouth drop open. He didn’t even think of having his own nipples played with. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” he gasps. You praise him, Cum inside me, baby. You’ve been such a good boy for me. I want you to feel so good for me, okay? And he’s rutting his hips into you roughly, using your body for his own pleasure. You simply can’t get enough. You want him inside you forever and ever. “You’re…” he trails off. “You’re gonna make me cum, Mommy.”

“Go ahead. Cum for me.” Like it’s a command, his hips stutter and his cum fills you up, warm and sweet and heavenly. Swears and other inaudible words you hope are compliments spill out of his mouth. Falling forward, he digs his face into your neck once more, twitching until he comes to a stop, taking deep breaths. 

You expect a warm smile to echo his warm cum filling you up but he stays put. In fact, he doesn’t move or say anything for quite some time. So much time passes that his cock has slipped out of you on its own, his cum leaking down the swell of your ass. 

You finally break the silence, “Are you okay?” He nods awkwardly. “Look at me.” He shakes his head. “What’s wrong?” He still won’t budge. “Soobin, what’s going on?”

“I’m embarrassed,” he whines.

“Huh? About what?” 

“Calling you mommy,” he finally sits up. “I was just caught up in the moment—I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—”

“Honey,” you giggle, sitting up with him. “I told you I liked it.” 

“You weren’t just saying that?”

“I don’t think I would’ve came that hard if I didn’t like it.” 

His eyes brighten before adding, “I guess so.” It genuinely was one of the strongest orgasms you’ve ever had. Surely, he has to know that, right? But wait— 

“Was it good for you?”

“Oh my god,” he’s finally relaxed a little, peppering your face with kisses. “That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had, I swear.” He stands, walking into his en-suite to get you a towel, damp with warm water. “So…” he starts awkwardly. “Should we, like, report this to the dean?” 

“Is that your way of asking me to be exclusive?” He blushes as you brush some of his hair behind his ear. “Because my answer is absolutely.” You press your lips together. “Although, can we hold off for a while? Just until next semester starts?”

“Be in our own little world for a bit?” He smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You’re taking a break until next semester, right? Are you working right now?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I got a bunch of scholarships to pay for school,” you say proudly. 

“Why am I not surprised?” 

“Because I’m the smartest person you know,” you say cheekily. 

“No lectures until next semester, so I’m pretty much free.” He smiles, clearly wanting to say something more, but bites his tongue. “Can I ask you something?” You nod. “This may be moving way too fast, but do you maybe wanna spend the holidays here? With me?”

The next few weeks are a whirlwind. Both of you admit it’s too fast. But neither of you care. The fireplace roars as you decorate his Christmas tree together, wrapped presents, baked cookies, everything you could think of that ooey-gooey couples do. 

And of course, nightly sex is a bonus. You simply can’t get enough of each other. And you just about lose it when you walk into the kitchen on Christmas morning. He’s standing at the counter wearing a Santa hat, flannel pajama pants, and a black tank top making your favorite tea. 

“Ah, there she is! Good morning,” he says with a smile. You take a plate full of chocolate chip waffles from him. But not before he kisses you. Cupping your cheek, he pulls you into perhaps the sweetest kiss you’ve ever had. You can feel his smile on your lips. 

You sat on the couch mindlessly, lounging against it comfortably as you watched a blur of people pass, all shuffling and hurrying around as they spoke into their headsets. You sighed softly to yourself, bringing your hand up to your throat as you swallowed slightly, hoping to lubricate your throat somehow after practically screaming your lungs out for a few hours just before. Just then, a group of loud voices filled the hall, a few guards escorting them. “Ah, seriously, Soobin! You always try so hard. Aren’t you embarrassed?” Beomgyu snickered, elbowing Soobin as the taller man groaned in annoyance. “I don’t try hard. I’m just naturally talented.” The others laughed softly at the bantering between the pair before they grinned widely at the sight of you. “Y/N! Hey! We didn’t see you at send-off, what’s up?” Yeonjun called out, smiling with a small wave. You quickly got up from your seat, smiling as you smoothed out your clothes. “I figured it’d be less hectic if I came backstage first. Would also avoid being seen walking here with security,” you said with a small shrug, one of your eyebrows raising briefly as the tallest of the group stayed eerily quiet. “Yeah, makes sense! Well, I’m gonna go check out what they have for catering. I’m famished,” Kai sighed dramatically, Yeonjun perking up excitedly at the mention of food. “I saw they had some kind of noodle dish! Let’s go see it.” You and the others watched as the oldest and youngest left, Taehyun and Beomgyu quietly excusing themselves to leave you with Soobin. He smiled tiredly as he walked up to you, his hands instinctively reaching out to rest on your hips. “I missed you. I mean, I know you were watching — but I missed you,” he said sheepishly, laughing quietly to himself as he tried to word his emotions properly. You shook your head with a smile. “I get what you mean, don’t worry! I missed you too. You were amazing. It made me so happy and proud seeing you shine on stage.” His expression melted into a fond one before he reached up to place a hand on your cheek, his brows furrowing as his lips pressed into a thin line. “Your voice is kind of sore, Y/N. I think we had some cough drops and honey around here somewhere. Let me check. Just sit down for a bit,” he urged gently, smiling in satisfaction as you complied. He looked around the tables and through his members’s bags, muttering that they wouldn’t mind anyway — they were all close enough not to care. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he looked back at you from where he was standing. You could already tell that he’d ‘failed’ in his mission to find something for your throat, so you reassured him softly. After all, how could you be upset when your boyfriend, so gentle and caring even after a long concert, still tended to you so sweetly? He sat down next to you, the couch sinking slightly under his weight. “I’m sorry,” he said with a small frown, his bottom lip jutting out slightly. You hummed softly in response, sitting back against the couch as he followed suit, his eyes fluttering shut in exhaustion. “Y/N.” You turned to face him, leaning forward the slightest bit to see his face properly. “…Yeah?” His eyes remained shut as he responded quietly. “I know another way to help your throat. It’s a pretty popular remedy. It’ll coat your throat to make it hurt less.” And you, thinking so innocently of the situation, believing that your tired boyfriend had honest intentions, happily agreed.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

“H-Hnng — shit. Feels so good!” he gasped out with a small grunt, his right hand resting on the side of your head to keep it in place. Your fingers clawed at his thighs as you looked up at him with glossy eyes. He clasped his free hand over his mouth, groaning at the sight as his length twitched on your tongue, making you whimper in response. “S-So beautiful. Couldn’t think straight the… fuck… whole concert ‘cause of you,” he punctuated his words, thrusting his length further down your throat as you gagged and sputtered, struggling to keep up. “Wanted to show e-everybody who my pretty g-girlfriend was.” You let him fuck your throat freely, his words slurring and turning whiny as you felt him twitch uncontrollably in your mouth. “S-Shit, shit, shit! G-Gonna coat your throat with my remedy. S-Swallow it all, ’kay? C-Can’t go wasting it.” You moaned around his length, causing a guttural moan to escape his lips as his hot seed coated your throat, and you swallowed every last drop — just like he asked. He panted heavily, his chest heaving as he brushed his damp hair from his eyes. He looked down at you, a small smile gracing his lips as he carefully helped you up, tucking himself back into his pants quickly after. “How’s your throat now? Better?” You laughed slightly. “Honestly? It’s even worse. But hey, my voice isn’t that raspy now.” He grinned widely, his dimples peeking out. “Oh well. Don’t worry — that’s just a side effect of my special remedy.”