The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky now, dipping behind too-tall buildings, casting too-long shadows across the busy city streets as Hyunjin pulled up in front of your apartment. 7 pm, as promised, and not a moment earlier. He was leaning against his car when you stepped out and stole his breath. He couldn’t help the way his eyes roamed over your figure, unapologetically tracing the curves that were oh, so visible beneath the tight cream dress he’d requested you wear. 

Your heart stuttered when you saw him, donning an oversized black coat slung over a simple white tee. His hair was tousled like he hadn’t been able to keep his fingers from combing through it. The faint scent of his cologne wafted toward you as you strode closer, and he straightened, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across his face. 

“Damn, pretty,” he murmured, voice low and teasing as he opened the passenger door for you like the gentleman he was. “You look like you stepped right out of my sketchbook. Ready to experience some culture?” He leaned down as you slid into the seat, brushing his warm lips against your skin in a quick kiss to your forehead. The door clicked shut, and he rounded the car, sliding into the driver’s seat with that graceful ease that seemed to come naturally to him. 

The drive was short, but charged, filled with easy banter that felt like foreplay. He asked about your day, genuinely listening as you rambled about a frustrating work call and a viral video that made you giggle and cry in just 60 short seconds. He laughed with you–that deep, melodic sound that always sent the butterflies in your stomach swarming–and snuck glances when he thought you weren’t looking. 

But you were, every time, catching his gaze linger a little longer, like he was memorizing your every detail: the way your hair caught the fading sunlight, the curve of your smile. “Y’know,” he drawls lazily at a red light, his hand drifting to rest on your thigh, tracing slow circles. “I think this is going to be the best date out of all of them–mark my words.”

“What makes you think that?”

He tries to hide his nerves behind a cocky smirk, but you see right through it when his voice cracks the moment he opens his mouth to respond. “I’m taking you to my secret spot, muse. No crowds, just us and the art. It’s gonna be… intimate.”

By the time he parks on a quiet side street, the air between the two of you hums with unspoken anticipation. The museum was exactly as you imagined from his description: a hidden gem, squeezed between a sleek office building and a bustling green park. The entrance was unassuming, with no sign aside from a small plaque on the frosted glass door that read “Contemporary Gallery.”

Hyunjin holds the door open for you, his hand brushing the small of your back as you step inside. The cool air hits you first, carrying the faint scent of aged paper and fresh paint with it. 

“Jinnie!” 

A warm voice calls to Hyunjin from behind the desk. An older woman with silver-streaked hair beams up at him, rounding the corner for a quick hug. “Welcome back! It’s been weeks, I was surprised to get your call!” She turns towards you, bright smile and eyes both welcoming and intimidating at once. “Is this her? The girl you mentioned on the phone?”

Hyunjin flushes, the tips of his ears and nose turning a bright red as he scratches his neck with a shy grin, wishing so deeply that the floor would open up and swallow him whole. He groans, shifting his weight to glance at you from behind the hand covering the embarrassment on his face. “Pretty, this is Ms. Kim. She’s basically the heart of this place–keeps it running smoother than any of my paintbrushes.”

Ms. Kim’s eyes twinkle as she reaches for your hand, shaking it so hard the feeling reverberates up your arm. “He talked about you non-stop. Said he was bringing someone special along this time. About time, huh, Jinnie?”

You wouldn’t have believed it to be possible if you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes, but Hyunjin's bashful blush deepens to a sunburnt ember. He mumbles something about checking out the new exhibit and steers you away gently, with one hand on your elbow. You shoot him a teasing look as you wander into the first gallery room. 

“Talking about me, huh?” you whisper, bumping his shoulder with yours. The space was intimate, white walls dotted with abstract canvases and soft, ethereal lighting that made the colors pop. 

He shrugs sheepishly, though his eyes are sparkling. “Maybe a little. Can’t help it though–you’re inspiring.” He pauses by a large splatter painting full of vibrant reds and voided blacks swirling like a storm caught on canvas. “I come here a lot–when I need to turn my brain off. The guys are great, but sometimes the noise… the schedules, the fans, even our own chaos… It’s too much. Here, it’s quiet. They rotate pieces every few weeks, so there’s always something new to lose myself in.” His voice softened like he was sharing a secret, but before you can dwell on his words for too long, he turns you towards the painting. 

“What do you think of this one? Chaotic or beautiful?”

You tilt your head, studying the piece, letting the bold strokes pull you in. “Both? Like, it’s messy, but there’s intent in the strokes. You can tell the artist was passionate. Kinda reminds me of a raw, unfiltered emotion, something that hits you all at once.”

Hyunjin slinks his arms around your waist from behind, dropping his chin to rest atop your head. He hums softly, his breath warm against your hair and his body molding perfectly to yours. “God, I love hearing how your mind works. You see things I miss sometimes; layers I didn’t even notice.”

His hands splay across your stomach, pulling you closer so that his fingers can trace idle patterns that send tingles through you. For a moment, the two of you just stand there, bodies pressing together in the quiet room while the outside world fades away. 

You move through the galleries like that–him asking your thoughts on sculptures that twist like lovers’ limbs, their marble surfaces reflecting under the lights; photographs capturing fleeting moments of joy and pain, black and white contrasts that make you wonder aloud. In one smaller room, filled with elegant lighting installations that reflect dancing colors across your face, you hear the faint click of a camera shutter. 

Hyunjin’s too late in trying to hide his phone, slowly lowering it like you aren’t actively glaring at him. “Hyunjin! Did you just take a picture of me?”

“No–”

“Hwang Hyunjin–”

He flinches at the way his full name rolls off your lips, unsure whether he’s afraid or aroused. “Yes…”

“Delete that! I probably look ridiculous–”

He shakes his head, turning the screen towards you with a grin. The photo was stunning; the light haloing your face, your expression soft and wondrous, like you were part of the exhibit. “Ridiculous? Baby, you are the art here. Look at the way the shadows curve along your cheek, the glow in your eyes. It’s perfect.” His voice drops, eyes darkening as he pockets the phone and steps closer, diminishing any space still left between your bodies. “I could paint you like this. Or just stare forever. Hell, I might frame this one.”

The museum is nearly empty, and it feels like your own little private world. Echoing footsteps on the polished floors and whispered conversations blend with the distant hum of an air conditioner. His hand never leaves your waist, the intimacy building slowly, simmering beneath your skin. As the minutes tick down, you find yourselves in a dimly lit alcove with a worn leather bench facing a massive mural of intertwined figures where bodies blend in a swirl of colors that scream passion. 

Hyunjin sits first, tugging you into his lap with a gentle pull and allowing you to settle against him. Your legs drape over his, and his arms enclose you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away. His fingers toy with the hem of your dress, absentmindedly tracing the skin of your thigh. For a moment, he’s quiet, just holding you, his heartbeat steady against your back while the scent of his cologne–something woody and fresh–wraps around you. 

“Y’know why I was last to ask you on a date, muse?” he finally murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. His lips brush your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I was scared. Terrified, actually.” He pauses, hand stilling on your leg as he gathers his thoughts. “Han’s got this unbreakable childhood bond with you. Felix got all your firsts, and Chan’s the one who holds everything together. I’m just the flirt–the one who teases from the sidelines and watches because its safer than admitting that I want more.”

You turn, straddling him now, cupping his face in your hands. His eyes are glassy in that vulnerable way that makes your chest ache. “Hyun, you’re not just that–”

He shakes his head, cutting you off gently, bringing his hands up to cover yours. “Let me finish, please. Those days when you ghosted us after everything? I painted garbage. Like actual shit. Everything that came out of me was dark and twisted, like my head was a storm I couldn’t escape. Seeing you with them–the way Han claims you, Felix’s softness, Chan’s control… It stung, but fuck, it turned me on too. This agreement works great for the voyeur side of me, but it fucking hurts the part that just wants you to choose me. I don’t want to just watch anymore. I want to be the one who makes you feel alive and messy and beautiful. Like art that breathes, muse. I want to paint your skin with my hands, hear you gasp my name, knowing that I’m not last in your heart.”

Your breath catches, heart pounding as you lean in, drawn to him like gravity. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you closer while his fingers entangle in the hairs on your nape. Before your lips can even brush, a loud static fills the room, followed by: “Attention, visitors. The gallery will close in thirty minutes. Please make your way to the gift shops and exits.”

You sigh, pulling back reluctantly. “Cockblocked by a public service announcement.”

He groans, hands still on your hips and squeezing lightly. “Yeah, that’s a first for me.” He helps you up, smoothing your dress, letting his fingers linger just a moment too long. “Come on, pretty. Gift shop’s this way. I gotta get you something sentimental, like a postcard of that splatter painting to commemorate your best date ever.”

You make it halfway down the hall, hand in hand, before his steps slow to a stop. His eyes flicker to a side door marked “Restrooms,” and with a mischievous and feral grin sprawled across his face, he pulls you inside with a quick glance over his shoulder. He clicks the lock behind you, trapping you both in a single, spacious family bathroom with a large mirror over the sink, tiled floors that shine like they’ve been polished recently, and fluorescent lights that cast a harsh glow. 

“Jin, what–” He cuts your words off with a quick spin, pressing your back against the door, crashing his mouth into yours in a kiss that was pure heat and desperation. Your tongues tangle immediately, while his hands roam under your dress, nails grazing your thighs hard enough to leave faint raised lines in their wake. He bites your bottom lip, tugging gently, and then soothing it with his tongue, drawing a whimper from you. 

“Tell me you want this,” he pants against your mouth, eyes searching yours with a dark intensity. He presses his body further into yours. The hardness in his pants is impossible to ignore, and the feel of it grinding into your leg leaves you dizzy, barely able to process his commands. “Say it now, pretty. I need your words.”

“Yes,” you breathe, already aching. “God, yes, Jin. Please–”

That was all he needed to hear. 

He hikes your dress up roughly, fingers hooking into your sticky panties and yanking them down in one swift motion, slightly tearing the fabric at the seams. He falls to his knees like a prayer, pupils blown as he spreads your thighs wide, hooking your left leg over his shoulder. “Fuck,” he groans a little too loudly for two people having sex in a public bathroom. “Look at you–dripping already.” He takes his index finger and runs it through your folds gently, collecting your wetness on the pad, just to feel you. “This from the art? Or from me spilling my heart out to you, muse?”

Hyunjin pulls off your panties entirely, saving them before they touch the floor and stuffing them into his pocket with a quick wink. “For Jisung,” he says, and before you can respond, his mouth is on you–tongue flat and insistent, lapping at you like a man starved. It’s too messy, too noisy for such a small space. His saliva mixes with your wetness, dripping down your thighs and onto the tile. 

He sucks on your clit hard, curling a single finger inside you with a rough twist. When you gasp, hands finding his hair and pulling to steady yourself, he just groans, sending the vibrations to shock your cunt. 

“That’s it, pretty,” he murmurs, voice muffled, but commanding, pulling back just enough to let a string of saliva connect his lips to you before diving back in. “Pull harder. Show me how much you needed this.”

His words send a coil tightening in your belly, but who are you to not obey? 

“Fuck, you’re soaking my face,” he moans, adding a second finger deep inside of you, then a third without warning. His thrusts are quick, his free hand gripping your ass bruisingly to hold you steady as you buck against him. You wail at his menstruations while the sound of your wetness echoes obscenely through the room, mixing into a loud orchestra that’s sure to get you caught soon.

When you come the first time, it’s sudden and intense–a gush that soaks his chin and shirt collar, and he laps it up greedily, eyes rolling back like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted (because it is). “Good girl,” he praises, strain pulling at his vocal cords. “Gimme another. I want you shaking.”

He stands slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, but not before he leans in to kiss you deep, letting you suck the taste of yourself off his tongue. His cock twitches at all the thoughts of all the ways you can be nasty for him, and he spins you around to face the mirror, pressing in behind you. His chest is hard against your back, his pants down in seconds, cock hard as his angry red tip leaks for you. He rubs it against your ass, catching the tip in your slick skin. “Look at us,” he whispers, hand wrapping lightly around your throat, forcing your eyes to the reflection. “This is what I see when I paint–raw, fucked-up beauty. You ready for me to ruin you?”

You nod frantically, but he squeezes your throat in correction. “Words, baby.”

“Yes, Jinnie. Fuck me, please.”

He slides in slow at first, relishing in the feel of your ridged walls shaping around his dick. Both of you watch your reflections as he stretches you, your mouth falling open in a silent gasp. But then he snaps, thrusting hard and deep, the pace brutal and unrelenting. His other hand rubs your clit in messy, rough circles, fingers slick from your previous orgasm and moving unforgivingly. 

“Gonna mark you up, baby,” he growls, teeth sinking into your shoulder deep enough to break skin. You cry out, nails scratching at the hand he still has around your throat, and he just sings your praises through it. “So good for me, pretty, taking me like this. My perfect little mess–uh, fuck–look at how you clench around me.”

He pulls his hand away from your clit, pressing it into the small of your back to arch you into a better angle. His hips slam into yours with wet, echoing slaps. Grunts escape him with each thrust, low and animalistic, mixing with your muffled moans as you try (and fail) to keep quiet. “Fuck, listen to that,” he pants, slowing just enough to let the sounds ring out–skin on skin, wet and obscene. “You’re so fucking wet for me–gonna feel this for days.”

His thrusts pick back up again, and his eyes light up with that mischievous glint. “Hold on, pretty… gotta capture this.” He reaches for his phone from his pocket, propping it up against the soap dispenser and hitting record with a quick tap. The camera catches what your reflection already shows–ruined makeup, frizzed hair, him thrusting into you from behind while your face twists in pleasure and your body jolts with each snap of his hips.

“Smile for the boys,” he whispers, voice dark and teasing, and not missing a beat as he fucks into you harder while the phone captures every grunt, every muffled whine, and every slick slap.

You come around him again, walls fluttering and clenching hard enough to make him groan. He pulls out just to stroke himself over your ass–painting hot streaks into your skin in messy, hectic lines. 

But he wasn’t done. He flips you around roughly, lifting you onto the sink with ease. “Need more,” he mutters, sliding back in with a single, deep thrust, the mess from before making it even slicker and louder. You wrap your legs around him, riding down as he thrusts up, his hands bruising your hips. 

“Jin–” you moan, head thrown back as you cry out his name. “Fuck, Jinnie–bite me.”

He does, nipping your collarbone, your neck, leaving a trail of blooming red marks like you’re his personal canvas. You return the favor, nails raking down his back beneath his shirt and drawing a faint line that sprouts with blood. It makes him hiss, pounding even harder. He comes deep inside you with a guttural moan, pulling out slow so it drips, mixing with the cum on your thighs in a filthy display.

Still catching his breath, he grabs the phone, stopping the recording with a smirk. “And… sent.” He taps the group chat, attaching the video with a quick text following it: “Proof I own. Listen to her, ruined.” Your phone buzzes in your bag, but you’re too spent to care, laughing weakly as he helps you clean up with paper towels and warm water, his touches turning soft again. 

“That was…”

He cuts you off with a slow, sensual kiss. “Us,” he finishes, resting his forehead on yours. “Messy, and rough, and perfect, my muse.”

The museum lights have dimmed by the time you two sneak out, giggling like kids with a secret. He holds your hand the entire car ride home, and at your front door, he kisses you again, deep, slow, lingering in a way that makes you debate pulling him inside and going for round two. 

Inside, your phone was blowing up–the group chat in full crashout mode over the video. 

[Han:] HYUNJIN WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK???

[Han:] DELETE THAT SHIT

[Han:] WAIT, NO! SEND THE FULL VERSION FIRST

[Lixie:] Hyung, you didn’t

[Lixie:] wait, won what?

[Chan:] Jin, you’re a menace. Victory lap, much?

[Chan:] Delete the video if she says

[Chan:] send the full copy for research purposes first though

[Hyun:] don’t worry, sungie

[Hyun:] i saved her panties for you

[Hyun:] she was dripping for me all day

[Hyun:] they smell straight up like her cunt

[Hyun:] and they’re still wet

[Lixie:]...

[Lixie:] that’s not fair

[Chan:] since when are you a panty-sniffer lix?

[Lix:] still not fair

[Han:]...

[Han:] i’m on my way over

[You:] Jisung, you’re disgusting

[Han:] and proud

to be continued...