"I think I'm going to vomit" you repeat for the thousandth time that hour.

"I promise nothing bad is going to happen. If anyone acts up I will personally make their life miserable." K repeats back.

The two of you have gone this same conversation many times since you arrived earlier that morning.

"I know, I'm sorry."

"Hey you don't have to apologize I just don't want you to ruin your night before it gets started. I really do have a good feeling about this. And you know me, when it comes to you I always err on the side of caution."

You laugh because thats the understatement of the century.

"Let's try to relax. Maki and Jo will be here soon and then in like hour Jisung and his friends will be here. Everyone is going to get along and who knows what might happen."

As if he spoke them into existence a knock followed by two voices that you adore interrupt your spiral.

"Have no fear because Maki has arrived!"

"Those words actually bring more fear to me." Jo laughs next to him. When he sees you he comes up immediately and engulfs you in his arms.

"Look Maki you brought her to tears!" Jo exclaims and makes you laugh. You let out a shaky breath and trust that these three are gonna have your back.

Time flies and before you know it there's another knock on the door. Your posture immediately straightens as you feel your heart pick up speed. K goes to answer and let in the group. Some familiar faces and one you haven't seen before.

"We come bearing snacks!" Jisung says triumphently while pointing to Minho and Seungmin who're holding all the bags.

"Hello party people! How are we feeling now that we're halfway through this semester?" Maki is loud and between him and Jisung bouncing off each other the groups merge together easily. You've never been so thankful for his outgoing personality as you are in this moment.

Mini groups form and different conversations flow between everyone. Seungmin, Jeongin, and Jo are together talking who knows what.

Maki and Jisung are huddled together looking toward you every few minutes. You fear they're scheming but have bigger things to worry about.

K is talking to Minho and you choose to ignore that since K has promised to be nice.

You notice the new face entering from the kitchen fresh drink in hand. You walk towards him figuring the best way to ignore the concerning conversations happening around you is to engage in one yourself.

"Hey, Felix right?"

"Yeah, you must be y/n. I've heard a lot about you."

"That's terrifying."

"Only good things I promise. I heard you're a music major like Sungie"

"Yeah we're actually working on a project together. That's how I met everyone. What're you studying?"

"I wish something as interesting as this group but I'm actually studying business and marketing."

"Ahhh I would not have guessed that. Do you like it?"

"Yeah, it's not the most intereting right now but when I think about how it could apply to my future I get excited." He looks off to the side and when you follow his gaze you see Minho looking back at you. His gaze quickly goes back to K with a tense look on his face.

You turn your attention back to Felix and continue talking for a while. Sharing stories about college and what it's like going to a different school than your other friends. You even get him to share some childhood stories of Minho that you will definitely be teasing him about later.

While you're reigning in your laughter Felix's attention is again stolen by something behind you. He exhales and says "I don't know what you did but he seems lighter."

"I doubt I'm related. Honestly, I probably led to a bunch of stress for him." You proceed to ramble quickly trying to explain the complicated situation. Felix can't help but laugh as you recount the tasks you put his brother through.

"I think that's exactly why he seems happier." He pauses for a moment before continuing "I like to think that I know Min pretty well. I know he's worried about getting to take over after dad and still keeping dancing in his life. Right now though I don't see the weight of that on his shoulders. I see him just breathing. I think a lot of that has to do with you." He walks away before you get a chance to respond and joins K and Minho's conversation.

"Everyone I have the best idea!" Jisung's voice rings through the room.

"Jisung last time you said that we lost Innie for two hours" Seungmin pipes in and Jeongin crosses his arms while nodding his head.

"Hey that was not my fault! How was I to know he's directionally challenged." Jisung defends himself

"Dude I followed your directions?!"

"Irrelevant! I think we should play a drinking game while watching an old drama. Like we take a shot everytime the lead gets slapped or for every fake out kiss or every slow motion fall."

Maki joins in "Yes I agree! We have the rest of the weekend to recover so let's drink and have fun tonight!"

"One small problem with that," K chimes in "I don't have enough alcohol here for everyone."

"I can make a run and get more." Minho says and it's one of the first times you've heard him speak. Your body relaxes to the voice which you're not going to look into.

"Perfect y/n can join you." Maki chimes in

"Wait why am I getting thrown into this?"

"Because it's K's house so he shouldn't leave what if something happens. You're the next oldest so the responsibility falls to you. You know what we would all want to drink so both groups are taken care of" Maki says as if it's the most logical thing in the world. Despite his words you're sure there's more to it.

"I would argue but I am actually nervous to leave AND Jisung in my house unsupervised."

"Ok fine but I still think someone else could go."

You turn to Minho and see him putting his shoes back on. It looks like he's smiling but it could be the shadows since he's looking down. You sense someone walking up behind you and know it's K before you turn.

"Hey it'll be fine, actually I think this is a good thing. Just remember, 20 seconds of courage is all you need." He basically whispers so only you can hear him.

"It's what I'll have to deal with after the twenty seconds that makes me nervous." You whisper back

"It's up to you but I think you should go for it. I've seen him watching you since he got here. It's pretty funny seeing him trying to act nonchalant while hearing you laugh at what Felix said."

"Really?"

"Trust me y/n you know I would never put you in a bad situation. Think about it at least. I don't want you to regret not putting yourself out there."

"Y/n you ready?" Maki shouts out from the doorway. Well it's now or never, you give one final glance to K who gives a double thumbs up. You don't stifle the laugh it brings before giving your attention to the other boys.

"Yeah lets go. I've got to prove I'm no longer the lightweight of the group."

The walk to the corner store was mostly silent but thankfully not suffocating. Occasionally talking about classes or making jokes about your son. It's light and easy. Something you don't have with many.

It's not until the walk back, bags in hand and laughter filling the air around you, that K's words echo in your head. Steps slowing you look at the man next to you. When he notices your not right next to him anymore he stops too. Turning his eyes flicker across you trying to gauge what happened.

"Y/n?"

Twenty seconds. You can be brave for twenty seconds.

"Are you ok?"

After everything that's happened you don't think he'll react badly. If he doesn't feel the same he wouldn't make a big deal of it. You can walk quietly back to K's and spend the rest of the night by his side. But if he does feel the same…

He's closes most of the distance between you and sets the bags down. Looking you over for any clues to deduce what's wrong. When his eyes meet yours again he stops, deep brown eyes widening searching for answers.

"What's wrong?" He whispers and it sends chills through you.

"I think I like you…"

His breathing stills, it's subtle and you probably wouldn't have noticed if he wasn't so close. His eyes blink rapidly while he takes in what you said. His reaction is adorable and it hits you just how fond of him you are.

Despite the silence only lasting a couple seconds it feels so much longer and your skin itches with the need to fill it.

"I know that's not great for you since you're already so stressed and busy but I needed you to know."

"I think I like you too" He cuts in and preemptively stops your rambling.

"What?"

"I like you" He repeats

"But you've talked this entire time about needing to focus and not having time for your current friends let alone a new one. Hell you didn't even want to be my friend because you didn't have time."

"That's initially true and definitely not one of my finer moments." He laughs as he brings a hand to rub from his collar bone to the back of his neck. "Priorities change though. I used to think about dancing all the time. Its what got me up in the morning and through my day. Doing everything I could to avoid thinking about having to move back home.

Now though… I find myself thinking about you. Wondering if you've eaten a proper meal or just shoved your face in a book and forgotten foods a necessity. I have to force myself not to show up at Maxident to see if you're working. When Jisung says he's going to study with you I shove aside my jealousy that he gets to see you and I don't."

"You like me?"

"I like you so much it scares me."

You take the final step forward to completely close the distance and wrap your arms around his neck. His body tenses at first but quickly relaxes as he melts into your touch, bringing his arms to your torso and pulling you closer.

It's in his touch that you finally let the nerves that have been eating at you all day leave.

You're not sure how long you hold each other before he speaks up. "We should probably get back before they send a search party. I think I'm still digging my way out of the hole with K."

His eyes glaze over as he says this and shivers at the thought. He bends down to pick the stuff back up while his other hand grabs yours.

The walk back is filled with shared glances and laughter.

"Ha I told you now pay up!" Jo shouts as he points at Seungmin who is grumbling while pulling out his wallet.

"Y/n I was counting on you! How could you do this to me!"

The interaction between Jo and Seungmin confuses you until you feel Minho's hand let go of yours. Quickly heading to the kitchen to drop off the drinks and give yourself a buffer between you and your friends.

"So I take it things went ok." You knew it was coming. turning on your heels and leaning against the counter you look at K and try to suppress your smile.

"Yeah, I took your advice and things went really well."

"Good, but know that I will not hesitate to make his life miserable if he messes this up. I can hold a grudge." Shaking your head at his reaction you start mixing drinks for everyone.

After a minute Minho joins the two of you. Stopping for a second when he sees K next to you. It doesn't deter him much because he finishes his journey and stands next to you to make drinks for his friends.

You look to him and match the smile he's giving you.

"Well this is gross so I'm going to go anywhere else" K says as he walks out.

The rest of the night is easy. Now that you're not plagued with nerves you can enjoy the movies and ease of drinking and talking with friends. Minho doesn't leave your side the rest of the night and others take note of it. Making playful comments, most of them towards Minho, and Jo continues sending you knowing looks. While he won't bring it up tonight you know he will be interrogating you later.

At one point you see Jisung and Maki giving each other a fist bump. Choosing to ignore it and let them have their secrets.

Seungmin is the first to speak as the night is coming to an end. "This has been fun but I'm going to get this boy home while he's awake enough to walk." He's pulling Jeongin to his feet much to the boys displeasure.

"No carry me!" He whines. The interaction between them is cute and despite the complaining coming from Seungmin you can tell he's equally as charmed.

Jisung, Maki, and Jo start getting ready to leave too. They're picking up some of the mess and you move to help them.

"Can I walk you home?" Minho's voice is soft, it's a tone you haven't heard before but you think you'll be hearing it more often.

"Oh actually I was planning on staying here tonight. K and I have plans tomorrow so I didn't see a reason to leave just to come back in the morning.

His face is disappointed but he masks it quickly "Ok then. I guess I'll see you soon?"

"Yeah message me when you get back."

"Don't worry y/n…" Felix comes up behind you and drapes one arm around you and the other reaches towards Minho. "I'll take good care of him on our journey back."

Minhos eyes are locked to where his brother is touching you. You can almost hear him rationalizing not causing harm to him.

"Alright let's head out Felix." His desire for Felix to be away from you winning out. Felix moves away to follow Minho to the door.

"Felix can I actually talk to you for a second?" Shocked to be called back he stumbles over his feet when turning back. Minho gives you a questioning look and you reassure him with a smile.

"Uh yeah."

You walk with him away from the group for some privacy "I don't want to overstep or anything so forgive me if I do. I feel like we were in a similar situation. Someone very smart, although I will never admit that to him, told me something and I think it could help you too." Felix's brows furrow in confusion likely trying to figure out where this is going. "Twenty seconds of courage can change a lot. I don't know what you're holding back but I think you should express your wants. If I'm wrong please ignore this but I can see the desire for something in your eyes. I think you deserve whatever it is you want. So be brave for twenty seconds and fight for it." You bring your fists up to emphasize the point.

His eyes sparkle when tears well up and he pulls you into a hug. "Thanks y/n"

When the two of you return to the group the room is cleaned and only Minho is left waiting by the door. "ready?" he asks when he notices the two of you walking up to him. "I'll text you." He says before leading his brother out of the house.

You quickly get ready for bed and as you're laying down thinking about how the day went you no longer bother fighting the smile etching itself on your face.

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Main Masterlist | Lee Know's Masterlist

Jeongin walks into your shared apartment after a long day of recording finding you on the couch folding laundry. “Welcome home, Innie” You smile up at his weary face. He walks over and begins helping you finish folding. “Today was a long day.” He starts making conversation. “Lots a re-recording?” You inquired. “Yeah, Chan wanted it just right” You nod at his reply, knowing many stories about his perfectionist tendencies. The two of you fall into the task at hand getting it finished in no time. He quietly grabs the basket of folded clothes and heads to the bedroom. You follow, expecting to continue with the mundane household task before settling into a relaxing evening.

He sets the basket down in front of the closet then he grabs a small duffel. You eye him, oh it was THAT kind of long day. Smirking, you lean on the dresser and watch as he walks back to the end of the bed and pulls out a few bundles of rope. “Strip for me” he demands with a seductive timber in his voice. With an idea of what he’s planning you give him a little tease. You ease your top up, slowly revealing your breasts. Then you turn and shimmy your bottoms off. Slowly revealing the roundness of your ass. When they are off he grabs you by your hips and rips your underwear off. “Hey! Those were a nice pair. ” You yell, even though the roughness turned you on. He pulls you into his chest to say, “You know I’ll buy you more.” before he kisses your forehead and releases you.

He grabs and unfurls one bundle and starts wrapping it around your ribs and over your shoulders creating a chest harness that emphasizes your breasts. Satisfied with that foundation he says, “Lay on the bed on your back with your legs folded and up.” He then knots the rope around your legs, thighs and calves pressed together, he places knots a couple inches apart. He makes sure your vulnerable bits are exposed as he goes. “I’ve been thinking of having you tied up in our bed all day, I’ve had to hide myself from the hyungs.” He murmurs while taking in the beauty of you all tied up. He climbs onto the bed and places his hand on the outside of each of your hips. “I love seeing you like this” he punctuates each work with a kiss along the backs of your thighs and butt. “I’m yours for the taking, Jeongin” You grant him permission he already had to devour you.

He slowly glides a hand from your hips to your pussy, “look at you, already so wet for me” he says as he uses his fingers to gather it before he sits up to show you. He maintains eye contact with you as he sucks you off of his fingers. He releases his fingers with a slight pop, “I haven’t even done anything yet, baby.” You swear you saw him smirk.

“Do you want me to give you more?” He asks, kissing your inner thighs. Inch by inch he kisses down your thigh - next to each knot - closer and closer to your sweet center. “Please. Jeongin. I need-“ you fall into a moan as he lightly drags his tongue against your clit. “Ok my love, you’re begging so well.” He continues kissing and licking your clit before he slightly sticks the trip of a finger. He doesn’t get in more than a knuckle before he is removing it - taking away all the stimulation all together. You feel your heart beating in your clit. You hear him chuckle and under his breath, probably to himself, you hear him say: ”So wet, and all mine” before he plunges two fingers into your slick heat. You gasp, he hooks his fingers up to stroke your g-spot. You tense around his fingers, wanting to buck for more stimulation. His other hand finds your clit and matches the rhythm of his other hand. He stills causing you to plead, eyes tearing up as the loss, “no, please”

He moves, gets up, and walks around the bed to where your face is. Bending down he says softly “You’re so beautiful when you cry for me” then he licks tears from your cheeks. Kisses you. He walks back to the other end of the bed and grabs you by your hips. Then he flips you so your ass is in the air, “Mm this is all mine” he growls then bites your ass. You gasp, the pain mixing with the longing for him to fill you. “Jeongin, fuck me, please, I need you” You know what he’s waiting for. He needs to hear you needy for him, needs to have to beg. It gives his satisfaction that just making you cum doesn’t. You hear a rustling then his chuckling. Then you feel a heavy weight on your back. “You beg so nicely” he then uses your wetness to lube his cock. You can hear the smirk in his voice. “You ready, baby?”

He slowly feeds your pussy his cock. You’re so full, his cock stretches around him, and the position he has you in makes the fit even tighter than normal. He gives you a moment to adjust. Once he feels you relax around him he starts to pump into you. Gripping your hips he fully seats himself before almost pulling out. Again. And again. He sets an exhausting pace while hitting that sweet spot deep inside. Your orgasm swells and over flows causing you to clench around him. The sensation is too much for Jeongin, his hips lose their original rhythm as he’s orgasm rolls through him.

He leans over you momentarily before saying: “you did so well baby,” kissing you down your back punctuating his praise. Sitting back up he slowly pulls out, and leaves the bedroom to get a wet towel. When he returns he cleans you up, puts the towel in the bathroom, grabs a bottle of lotion, and returns to your side.

Methodically he removes each knot. Adding lotion to where each one left a red mark on your skin. Once he finishes with the lotion he kisses each spot. “You’re too good for me.” He says while you sit up “Want anything specific to eat? We should get delivery, I’m not leaving you again today.” The night continues mundanely eating your favorite carry-out food and watching something funny with the man you love.

✩°💚°✧°💚°✩

"Uncle Jeongin are you going to actually stay for my lesson this time?" His attention back on his niece, she sat there with her arms crossed trying her best to maintain her scowl. All it did was make her look even cuter. Her cheeks puffed out begging to be squeezed.

Bringing his hand to his chest in mock offense, "of course I'll stay for the lesson. Nothing will distract me from finding out what you're gonna learn. The anticipation alone has me on the edge of my seat"

He clearly laid things on too thick if her unamused look is anything to go by. She goes back to eating and talking about the things she's excited to learn. Meanwhile he worried that there was in fact one thing that could distract him.

-

Because Jeongin is a weak man he is indeed back in this dusty arena. How can he not be when his best girl asked him to stay? It's worth it. The trainer chose barrels and U Yeong was ecstatic! It was a classic for a reason. She was only walking the pattern now, learning the technique before adding any speed.

U Yeong is adorable though. He's never seen her more focused. Nodding along when told to hold the reigns in a different spot, using all her might to move the horse in the direction she wants, and not paying any attention to him.

In her last lesson she would look in his direction making sure he was there. At least that's what he thought at first. Now he thinks it was more for reassurance. She seemed more unsure last time. Now though, she seems completely in her element.

She's more relaxed and he gets the appeal a bit more now. He would sit in as many dusty arenas as he had to. Especially if it meant he got to keeping seeing her confidence growing.

Time passes and he's done a great job at keeping a certain woman. That is until U Yeong is helping untack her horse and cool her off. Jeongin is walking outside to wait out of the way—and to get away from the never ending dust—when he hears music.

His attention is drawn to the outdoor arena, why U Yeong couldn't do her lessons here he doesn't know, when there he sees… well he isn't quite sure what he sees.

It's a person dressed in a full body unicorn costume? Prancing around the horse as one would if they were in a ballet routine. Arms moving, making various shapes in the air, but never directly toward the horse. Although it doesn't seem that the horse really minds much.

The more the horse shows no signs of disturbance the closer the person gets. Grabbing a stick like thing off the ground and using that to orchestrate the music.

The horse and unicorn pair now walk around the arena with the unicorn jolting and stopping every few steps. Meanwhile the horse is acting like this is just another Tuesday. Which it could be what would he know?

"What are you smiling at?" U Yeong materializes next to him. He nearly jumps out of his skin and instead of sympathy she doubles over in laughter. "Uncle Jeongin I've never been able to sneak up on you. Now I HAVE to know what you're looking at." She starts hopping to get a better view around him.

"You're watching y/n! I love when she works with desensitizing horses!" Before he can process what that means U Yeong is around him and running to the gate to watch.

He turns to follow, not wanting her out of his sight. This time when he looks the person has emerged from the unicorn suit and his breath gets caught in his throat.

He recognizes you right away, he only spent every day thinking about you. He forces himself to keep walking, "Yeongie we should head out. You need food and I need to get some work done."

"Just a second I wanna watch! Please!" Because he is a weak weak man he gives in immediately. He can't bring himself to feel upset about it though when she's basically vibrating with excitement. Swaying from one foot to the other she gasps in awe.

Her eyes widen and back straightens. Her gaze zipping back and forth between him and the arena. He looks over to see why. Needing to analyze the threat before it can hurt her.

"Oh god" Now fully emerged from the unicorn costume—currently laying across the horse. She's walking towards them. Surely it would be too awkward if he grabs U Yeong and walks away. He's trapped.

"Hi" her voice is soft, having an almost silky quality. Her focus is on U Yeong and he's grateful for that. His face feels warm so he can only imagine how red it must be.

"Hi, I like your horse." U Yeong squeaks out. "I just started learning but I really like it so far.""Thank you! It's a lot of work but I definitely think it's worth it. Especially if you have support from your parents." As if prompted by her words her eyes turn to him. There is a slight tilt to her head and her eyes narrow slightly, like she's trying to recall something. It must not be too important because she focused back on U Yeong quickly. "Do you want to pet her?" She looks back up to him immediately trying to assure it's safe, "She's nice and if you couldn't tell from my antics very calm. We use her sometimes for children when they're riding around the trails."

Jeongin looks down to his niece and knows that this day can go one of two ways for him. "That sounds nice, just for a couple minutes though. We don't have a lot of time."

"EEEH YAY thank you Uncle Jeongin!!" She's quick to duck under the railing and properly introduces herself. Easily falling beside y/n and listens to her instructions.

If he didn't know better Jeongin would think he was going into cardiac arrest. His heart is beating rapidly… He cannot have a crush on this girl he JUST met. Jeongin get a hold of yourself.

But then he looks at U Yeong laughing as the horse takes a treat out of her hand. And y/n is leaning down helping her and laughing too.

Oh he is so screwed.

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Main Masterlist | Jeongin's Masterlist

How he would survive those hours he wasn't quite sure. The lesson was barely halfway through and the novelty of being at a stable had quickly worn off. He is sitting in the stands observing his niece going between walking and trotting in circles. Sometimes she goes into the center and works on going backwards, he enjoys those because U Yeong has to make this funny clicking noise. He will be using that on her to corral her to the car. 

"Yah!! you know I'm standing here what was that for?!" Grateful for an excuse to leave the growing cloud of dust. Sparing a final look back to make sure U Yeong is paying attention to her lesson and not him he moves towards the noise. 

Looking around he doesn’t see anything glaringly out of place. Not that he would really know anyway. To his left there are a few people riding around in an outdoor arena. What looks like some sort of jumping course set up. He thinks U Yeong would love to do that one day. 

Continuing his investigation he looks to the right as sees a group of horses grazing and running around. Neighing as they chasing each other. 

“Luna I’m warning you, if you don’t stop this is going to take longer than it should.” His gaze snaps to the middle. Across the pathway he sees a horse tied to a metal bar. The pavement is wet as is the horse who is clearly upset about that fact. Its hoof moving to paw at the ground seemingly in protest of the current situation. 

“Luna, my love please if you let me wash your mane without protest we’d be done and you’d be back in your stall.” A woman comes into his view, mostly obstructed my the horses body but he can make out some features. 

The first thing he notices is how she is quite pretty. Her full attention on who he assumes is her horse. She bends down grabbing something and pours it in her hands. 

“Now Luna we’re both going to hate this but it must be done. Please just work with me for the next five minutes.” She’s clearly pleading with the horse. A bit hesitant when bringing there hand to the horses head. 

As soon as contact is made the horse starts freaking out. “Now see I warned you about this! It’s a necessary evil Luna please. Relax for another couple minutes.” She continues rubbing the soap along the horses neck and face. 

“I hate to say it girl but it’s about to get worse.” The horse seemingly in tune neighs and he chuckles when is sounds more like a sigh. 

Jeongin can’t bring himself to tear his gaze away. She turns moving things and grabbing the hose. He’s watching her every movement, no part of the horse stays dry, much to her dismay. However by the end neither is the woman. 

“Well girl another bath survived! I’m proud of us.” She finally steps around coming fully his view. She gives the horse a giant hug and if she wasn’t already soaked she surely was not. 

She starts cleaning up, his gaze still never leaving her. 

“Uncle Jeonign!! Where did you go?!” The voice of his niece snaps him from his staring. Realizing he’d been away for significantly longer than he meant his checks start to flush. 

Your head turns in his direction when his nieces shouts for him don’t stop at the first one. Embarrassed at being caught he straightens and quickly goes back inside. 

“There you are! Where did you go?” She’s already off the horse and changed back into her ‘civilian clothes’ He was DEFINITELY away longer than he meant to be.

“Nowhere, sorry how was your lesson?” 

“It was great! Today I did a trail pattern and next week we’re going to start doing contesting patterns!”

He tried to focus on his niece. Giving her the attention her enthusiasm deserved. He couldn’t get his heart to settle though. His face still burned from having your attention for a second. The way you looked his way and your eyes widened when you noticed him. God your eyes, he couldn’t get your eyes out of his mind. Afraid that when he closes his they’ll be the only thing he sees. 

“Uncle Jeongin, can we get food before we go home?”

“Yes and I know just the place.” He squats down grabbing her bag and guiding her to the car. 

Despite his better judgement he looks over to where you had been. Only to be met with an empty bar and wet pavement. 

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Main Masterlist | Jeongin's Masterlist

He was trying not to notice.

He really was.

“Seungmin-ah, you’re burning it.”

He blinked down at the frying pan. The egg was indeed going from sunny to… burnt eclipse.

“Ah— sorry.” He jolted, quickly sliding it onto your plate anyway. “Protein’s protein.”

You snorted, sitting at the counter in his kitchen, legs swinging. You were still in your oversized hoodie, hair half-tied, scrolling on your phone while he clumsily tried to be a functioning adult.

“Is this your way of breaking up with me?” you asked, eyeing the egg. “Slow poisoning?”

He rolled his eyes and set the plate in front of you, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “If I wanted to break up with you, I’d just block you and join a monastery. Less paperwork.”

“Oh my god,” you laughed, swatting his arm. “You’re so annoying.”

He was smiling when he pulled back, warmth blooming in his chest at the sight of you in his kitchen like you belonged there.

Then your phone buzzed on the counter.

Your expression flickered- just a fraction and you flipped the phone over so it was face-down.

Seungmin’s smile thinned without his permission.

“Who is it?” he asked lightly, heading back to the stove to rescue his own egg.

“Just… a friend,” you said. Too casual. “Nothing important.”

He glanced over his shoulder.

You weren’t looking at him.

You took a big bite of overcooked egg like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

For a second, the urge to push just a little bit—tease you, lean over and steal your phone, demand to know—rose like a tide in him.

He swallowed it down.

You trusted him with your worst photos, your unfiltered rants, your messy crying, your “this might be annoying but can I say something?” texts at 3 a.m. He trusted you. He had to. That was what relationships were.

So he said nothing.

He turned back to the frying pan.

Behind him, your phone buzzed again, shivering against the counter. You reached for it just a little too fast.

౨ৎ

The first time he really noticed something off was at the company.

They’d wrapped up a long rehearsal for an upcoming stage. Sweat stuck his fringe to his forehead, and his hoodie clung damply to his back as he slumped against the wall of the practice room, panting.

“Dead,” Jeongin groaned, sprawled on the floor. “I’m actually dead. Tell my mum I love her.”

“Tell your mum you’re dramatic,” Hyunjin shot back, collapsing beside him.

Seungmin laughed faintly, wiping his neck with a towel. He checked his phone out of habit.

No new messages.

It was fine. You’d said you might be busy today.

He was about to chuck the towel at Jeongin when a familiar laugh floated in from the hallway. Your laugh.

His head snapped up.

The door was slightly ajar, a sliver of the corridor visible. You walked past with a cup of iced coffee in each hand, your hair tucked behind your ear, grin bright. Next to you, Minho walked with his hands shoved into his pockets, leaning down to say something that made you swat at his arm, nearly spilling the drinks.

“They’re getting iced coffee without us?” Chan’s offended voice came from somewhere behind Seungmin. “Wow. Fake friends.”

He watched you disappear around the corner with Minho, shoulders brushing as you laughed at something he said.

It wasn’t weird.

You and Minho had always got along. You liked his sarcastic humour, and he liked that you didn’t flinch when he teased you. There were always small pairings in their group’s orbit—people who clicked a tiny bit more.

It wasn’t weird.

Still, his hand tightened around his phone.

A minute later, it buzzed.

You:

just got to the company, gonna grab coffee first xx

You:

don’t overwork yourself today okay

He stared at the messages. Then at the door you’d just walked past.

He typed back, fingers slower than they usually would be.

Seungmin:

you’re already here? i’m in practice room 3

He waited.

The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

You:

ahhh i’ll see you later!!

You:

promise!!

Promise.

He read the word a few times. It echoed in his chest.

“Minho said he’s stealing your girlfriend,” Hyunjin said, flopped on the floor, scrolling through his phone. He smirked at Seungmin. “Should I fight him for you?”

Seungmin forced a snort, nudging his foot into Hyunjin’s side. “You’d lose.”

“Rude.”

He laughed with them, because that was what you did. Laugh at jokes. Play along. It didn’t mean anything.

Minho wouldn’t steal his girlfriend.

You wouldn’t let him.

Right?

౨ৎ

The second time, it was late.

Schedules had bled into each other like watercolours. They’d spent all day in the studio and half the night doing a variety thing that required them to be loud and charming and awake at a time when no human should reasonably be conscious.

By the time the van dropped Seungmin outside his building, his eyes felt like sandpaper.

He trudged up the stairs, thinking only of his bed. Maybe a shower if he didn’t collapse first.

The hallway was dim, the overhead lights casting long shadows. He fumbled with his keys at his door, yawning.

Then paused.

Down the corridor, a familiar silhouette leaned against the wall beside Minho’s door. You. Hoodie zipped up to your chin, arms folded, head bowed over your phone.

Seungmin’s hand froze on his key.

His brain struggled to catch up with the image in front of him.

You were here. At his building. At… Minho’s door.

A second later, the door swung open. Minho stood there in a loose t-shirt and joggers, hair slightly damp like he’d just showered. He smiled when he saw you, stepping aside to let you in.

He reached out to squeeze your wrist lightly as you passed him. You ducked your head, smile small and secretive.

The door clicked shut behind you.

Seungmin realised he was still standing there, half-bent, keys in hand, staring down the corridor like he’d forgotten how to move.

For a moment, he thought—wildly—that maybe you’d texted him. Maybe you’d came to see him too. Maybe you’d knock any second and—

His phone was silent in his pocket.

He straightened slowly, chest tight. Maybe he’d misread it. Maybe you were…

What? Dropping something off? Having a serious talk? Borrowing a charger?

At nearly midnight. At your boyfriend’s member’s door. Alone.

His brain presented all of these excuses, dressed them up in logic, tried to make them sound reasonable.

His stomach wasn’t buying it.

He unlocked his own door and stepped inside, shutting it softly behind him. He didn’t switch on the main light. The room glowed faintly from the city outside, shadows pooling in the corners.

He leaned his back against the door, eyes closed.

He could hear the faintest murmur through the wall. Minho’s laugh, low and unhurried. Your voice, softer.

The sound scraped at him.

He slid down until he was sitting on the floor, knees drawn up, elbows braced.

He told himself he was tired. That was why his eyes stung.

On the table, where he’d left it that morning, a small box sat wrapped in simple navy paper with a neat bow. He’d ordered it weeks ago, planned how he’d give it to you. Nothing huge, nothing dramatic—just a little bracelet you’d pointed at absentmindedly once in a shop, then forgotten, the way you always forgot your own wants before anybody else’s.

He’d remembered.

He stared at it.

On the other side of the wall, something thumped dully—like someone bumping into furniture—and you laughed, breathless.

His hand clenched.

The room seemed suddenly too small. Too quiet. Too full of sounds that weren’t his.

Seungmin pushed himself up and went to shower. The bracelet stayed in its box.

౨ৎ

The next day, you were… normal.

Annoyingly, painfully normal.

“Morning,” you chirped as you slipped into the company cafeteria, sliding into the seat across from him. You reached instinctively for his tray, stealing a chip. “Why are you up so early? Don’t you ever rest?”

He stared at you.

Up close, there were tiny things he’d missed last night. Faint red marks on your neck and arms like you had fallen over or-, quickly covered in concealer but visible in the harsh fluorescent lights if you knew where to look. A soreness in the way you rolled your shoulders once, like you’d slept badly or—

He swallowed hard, looking away. “I could ask you the same.”

“I had some stuff to do,” you said, the slightest hesitation in your voice. “Didn’t sleep much.”

“Mm.”

You frowned and leaned forward, peering at him. “You okay? You look… tired.”

“I am tired,” he said shortly.

Your eyes searched his face like they were trying to read lines he hadn’t realised he was showing. You opened your mouth, then shut it, chewing on your bottom lip instead.

Your phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen.

Minho:

remember ur meeting me at 7 tonight

Seungmin’s throat closed.

He flicked his gaze back to you. You were watching him with a small, tight smile, your hand wrapped around your cup.

“Who’s that?” you asked.

“Just Minho-hyung,” he said. His voice was flatter than he meant it to be.

“Ah.” You cleared your throat. “We’re… um. We’re working on something.”

“So I’ve noticed.”

The words slipped out before he could catch them, edged sharper than his usual teasing.

Your expression flickered. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

He picked up another chip, suddenly finding it very interesting.

“Seungmin…”

He could feel your gaze on him, heavy and searching.

Part of him wanted to fling everything onto the table right there. Say it. Tell you he’d seen you at Minho’s door, that he’d heard your laughter through the wall, that his chest had felt like it was splitting open on the floor of his apartment while you were—

But then what?

You’d tell him the truth. Or you’d lie. Or you’d tell him it wasn’t what he thought. And if he believed you, he’d feel stupid for doubting. And if he didn’t, he’d lose you anyway.

He wasn’t sure which option scared him more.

“I have practice,” he said instead, pushing back his chair. “I’ll see you later.”

He left his half-eaten breakfast on the tray and walked away.

Behind him, you didn’t call his name.

౨ৎ

It got worse after that.

It was in little things at first.

You cancelling on him more often. “I’m so sorry, something came up.”

You turning up late, hair damp, cheeks flushed, eyeliner slightly smudged. “The train was weird, I swear.”

sharing a quick looks with minho that you thought nobody saw.

He saw.

He saw everything.

And the more he saw, the quieter he became.

It wasn’t… anger, exactly. Not at first. It was more like a cold pool he kept slipping into, inch by inch, unable to find the edges.

He still texted you in the mornings. Habits embedded in muscle memory.

good morning

did you sleep

eat breakfast

You still replied.

good morning!!!

kind of slept…

stop judging my eating habits

He still laughed sometimes. At something you said. At something Jeongin did. At something stupid Minho muttered under his breath.

But the laughs were short now. They didn’t linger in his chest like they used to.

One evening, after another long rehearsal, he headed towards Practice Room 2 to retrieve the hoodie he’d left there earlier.

The corridor was mostly empty, deserted at this hour. Only one light was on above the door to the room, humming faintly.

He reached for the handle—then froze.

Through the frosted glass panel, two shadows moved.

One pressed against the mirrored wall, shoulders heaving slightly. The other stood close, body angled in, hands on the other’s arms, saying something low and urgent.

Seungmin’s fingers went numb on the handle.

The sound came next. A soft, breathy noise, half-gasp, half-laugh.

His heart hammered in his throat.

He should turn around. He knew he should. Whatever it was, whoever it was, it wasn’t his business. He didn’t want to see.

He hadn’t moved for ten seconds when the door suddenly burst open.

You stumbled out first, almost colliding with him, your face flushed, hair sticking to your temple. Minho followed close behind, one hand on your waist as if steadying you.

All three of you froze.

“Seungmin,” you said, breathless. “Hey.”

Your gaze flicked to his hand on the door handle. The realisation crossed your face in a flicker: he’d been about to walk in.

“We were just—” Minho started.

“Practising,” you said quickly, over him. “For—”

“You don’t have to explain,” Seungmin said.

His voice sounded distant to his own ears, like it belonged to someone else.

“Wait,” you said, eyes widening. “It’s not— it’s not what it looks like.”

He looked at the two of you.

Minho’s hand still sat, light but present, on your waist. Your hoodie was rucked up slightly, exposing a sliver of skin. There was a smudge of something on Minho’s collarbone—makeup, maybe—in a shape he didn’t want to think about.

“We’re working on something,” Minho tried again, more calmly. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“You keep saying that,” Seungmin said. “Really starting to feel surprised, hyung.”

He didn’t know where the words came from, but they were out there now, floating in the air like ash.

Minho closed his mouth.

You took a small step towards Seungmin, wrenching yourself gently out of Minho’s hold. “Can we talk?” you asked. “Please?”

He stared past you into the practice room. The lights were dimmed. The speakers still hissed faintly with the leftover echo of music. A water bottle lay on its side near the centre, a dark patch of spilled water around it, like a stain.

“I’m tired,” he said. “Maybe another time.”

Your face crumpled, just a fraction. You nodded, stepping back.

“Okay,” you whispered. “Another time.”

You and Minho walked down the corridor together, your shoulders not quite touching this time. You said something he couldn’t hear. Minho answered quietly.

Seungmin watched until you turned the corner.

Then he stepped inside the empty practice room and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He didn’t recognise the tight set of his own mouth.

౨ৎ

The breaking point came on a rainy Thursday.

The weather matched his mood almost aggressively. Grey, heavy skies pressing low over the city, rain streaking the windows, traffic sounds muted to a steady hiss.

They had a rare early finish. Some scheduling miracle. The others were discussing food in the corridor outside the dressing room, arguing over fried chicken versus ramen.

“Let’s just get both,” Chan said, already defeated.

Seungmin sat at the end of the sofa, phone slack in his hand. His thumb hovered over your name.

He hesitated. Then typed.

Seungmin:

are you free tonight

A minute passed. Two.

Then:

You:

ahh tonight’s a bit hard…

You:

sorry

He stared at the screen.

Before he could type back, another message popped up.

You:

we’ll do something this weekend, yeah? promise

Promise.

That word again. It sent a cold ripple through him.

In the background, he heard Minho laughing at something Jeongin said. When he looked up, he caught Minho glancing at his phone too, thumbs moving.

Later, as they all headed down to the car park, Seungmin drifted to the back of the group. His chest felt too tight; his limbs, too heavy.

“Hyung, you coming?” Jeongin called.

“I’ll meet you there,” Seungmin said. “Need to grab something I left upstairs.”

Chan raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be too long.”

He shook his head, already turning away.

He didn’t go back upstairs.

He waited in the lobby instead, watching the rain through the glass.

It didn’t take long.

Ten minutes later, you hurried into the building, hood up against the rain, trainers splashing on the wet floor. You checked your phone, then looked around.

Before he could decide whether to call out to you, footsteps echoed from the stairwell.

Minho emerged, shaking water from his hair, tugging his mask down around his chin. The smile that slid onto his face when he saw you was softened at the edges, private.

“You’re late,” he said.

“Blame the bus,” you replied, bumping his shoulder lightly. “And the rain. And my entire life.”

He huffed a laugh and reached out to flick your forehead. “Come on. We’re going to miss the booking.”

“Booking?” you echoed as you fell into step beside him. “Rich of you to say when you’re the one who wanted to squeeze in an extra session.”

“Well, some of us care about details,” he said, voice fading as the lift doors closed behind you both.

A booking.

An extra session.

Seungmin stood in the lobby until the lift’s numbered panel stopped climbing.

Then, on some impulse he didn’t examine too closely, he stepped into the stairwell and began to climb.

The building was quiet, only the echo of his own footsteps keeping him company. By the time he reached the floor where the smaller private studios were, his breath came a little shorter, not entirely from the stairs.

He moved down the corridor, heart thudding.

At the end, one door was closed but not fully latched. Light spilled from the crack at the bottom.

He stopped outside, hand hovering.

Through the small window, he could see you and Minho inside. The room lights were lower than usual, giving everything a softened glow. The music was off; the speakers silent.

You stood in the middle of the room. Minho was close in front of you, speaking low, face serious in a way Seungmin rarely saw.

Then, slowly, Minho lifted his hand and cupped your cheek.

Seungmin’s breath left him in a rush.

You didn’t push him away.

Your eyes were shiny in the dim light as you looked up at him. Your hands fisted in the fabric of his t-shirt.

Minho’s thumb stroked your cheekbone once.

Seungmin’s fingers curled against the doorframe until his nails bit into the wood.

He couldn’t hear exactly what was being said. Just the tone. Intimate. Soft.

When you stepped forward, closing the distance between you and Minho until your forehead rested briefly against his chest, something in Seungmin’s chest gave way with an almost physical hurt.

He stepped back from the door like it had burned him.

His vision blurred for a second, the corridor tilting. He reached blindly for the wall, pressing his palm to the cool plaster.

He’d known.

He’d known for weeks, in the small tightening of your smile, in the way Minho’s name kept appearing where it hadn’t been before, in the locked screens and late nights and whispers.

But knowing in theory and seeing it in front of him were two different wounds.

The lift ride down was a blur. The rain had intensified outside, hammering against the pavement as he stepped into it without bothering to pull up his hood.

౨ৎ

That night, he didn’t sleep.

He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, listening to the phantom echo of your laugh from the other side of the wall—whether it was actually there or only in his head, he wasn’t sure anymore.

Around 1 a.m., he heard footsteps in the corridor.

A quiet knock sounded at his door.

He didn’t move.

The knock came again, a little softer.

“Seungmin?” your voice called, muffled through the wood. “I know you’re in there, your shoes are outside. Can you open the door? Please?”

He squeezed his eyes shut.

After a long moment, he heard you sigh.

“Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll… see you later, then.”

Your footsteps faded away.

He pressed his hand against his chest, as if he could steady the frantic stutter of his heart.

Eventually, exhaustion dragged him under. It felt less like sleep and more like surrender.

౨ৎ

The next day at the company, everyone felt the tension before they knew the reason.

“Did you and Seungmin fight?” Hyunjin asked you bluntly in the hallway, falling into step beside you.

You blinked, clutching your coffee cup. “What?”

“He’s… weird,” Hyunjin said. “Weirder than usual. He snapped at Jeongin because he was breathing too loud.”

“He was breathing like a cartoon villain,” Jeongin yelled from down the corridor.

You frowned, your grip tightening. “He’s been avoiding me. Every time I try to talk to him, he suddenly has a schedule. Or he pretends he doesn’t see me.”

Hyunjin snorted. “That idiot.”

“Hey,” you said weakly. “Less of the idiot. That’s my boyfriend you’re bullying.”

“Your boyfriend needs a brain refresh,” Hyunjin said. “Go corner him. He’s in Practice Room 5.”

You hesitated.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried. You’d noticed the way Seungmin’s replies had got shorter. The way his gaze slid past you in rooms where it used to seek you out automatically. The way his body was slowly closing in on itself again, old walls rebuilding brick by brick.

You’d asked him, once, if something was wrong.

He’d smiled, small and tired, and said, “No. Just tired.”

You hadn’t believed him. But you’d let it go, because the timing had been bad, because he’d looked so worn out, because you’d thought, I’ll find a better moment.

But moments kept slipping through your fingers.

“Go,” Hyunjin said, giving you a gentle push. “Please. Before he spontaneously combusts and we have to cancel a comeback.”

You took a breath. Then another. Then headed towards Practice Room 5.

You didn’t know that, a few doors away, Minho had just finished talking to Chan.

“It might come out today,” Minho said quietly, leaning against the wall, arms folded. “She’s going to tell him, I think.”

Chan sighed. “Finally. I’m running out of excuses when he asks where you two are all the time.”

“You could just tell him,” Minho pointed out.

“And ruin her surprise?” Chan scoffed. “Do you want to die?”

Minho’s lips quirked. “Fair.”

His smile faded quickly. “I just hope he listens,” he added. “He’s… been spiralling a bit.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Chan said. “He looks like he’s living inside a sad playlist.”

Minho pushed off from the wall. “We’ll fix it,” he said, a little more firmly than he felt. “We have to. I’m not dealing with a break-up on top of everything else right now.”

He didn’t know that the worst of it would crash in before anyone got the chance to explain anything.

Practice Room 5 was quiet when you stepped inside — too quiet.

Seungmin sat on the floor with his back against the mirror, knees pulled up, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows like he’d run his hands through his hair a hundred times. He didn’t even look up when you closed the door.

“Seungmin,” you said softly. “We need to talk.”

He let out a small laugh. It wasn’t amused. It sounded like it hurt him.

“That’s what people say when they’re about to end things.”

Your stomach twisted. “I’m not ending anything.”

He finally lifted his head — and the look in his eyes made your breath hitch.

Red. Tired. Glassy. Like he’d spent the night holding himself together by the edges.

“Then what are you doing?” he asked quietly. “Because every day it feels like I’m watching you walk away from me.”

You stepped closer, but he lifted a hand — not to push you away, but like he needed space to breathe.

“Seungmin,” you whispered, “what’s going on?”

His jaw flexed. He looked down at his hands, fingers twisting into the fabric of his joggers.

“You want honesty?” he said, voice low, shaking once. “Because I’ve been drowning in it.”

You nodded.

He exhaled shakily, then pushed himself up to stand, pacing a few steps as though the words were physically painful.

“I’ve seen you,” he said. “With Minho-hyung. At his door. Late at night.”

He swallowed hard. “I’ve heard you through the wall.”

Your chest tightened.

“I’ve walked in on you two,” he continued, voice rising despite him trying to keep it steady. “His hands all over you, you pressed up against him—”

“It wasn’t—”

“And you never told me,” he said sharply, voice cracking. “Not once. You just hid it. And every time I asked where you were, you lied.”

“I didn’t— I wasn’t trying to—”

“You were,” he choked out. “You were hiding something. Don’t tell me you weren’t.”

His breathing hitched — fast, shallow.

And then it happened.

His voice wavered.

“You looked so happy with him,” he whispered. “Happier than you’ve looked with me, lately.”

Your throat tightened. “Seung—”

He squeezed his eyes shut.

And a tear fell.

He wiped it away angrily, like it betrayed him.

More followed. He couldn’t stop them.

You swallowed. “So what, exactly, are you accusing me of?”

His laugh broke on the edges. “Do I have to say it?”

“Yes,” you said, eyes stinging. “Because I want to hear you say it, if that’s really what you think of me.”

He stared at you, chest heaving.

For a second, you saw the boy under the idol—the one who loved quiet mornings and stupid inside jokes, who’d once confessed, in a whisper against your hair, that he wasn’t always good at trusting that good things would stay.

“You’re… cheating on me,” he said finally, each word dragged out of him like it hurt. “With Minho-hyung.”

The world tilted.

You felt like the floor had dropped away beneath you. Air rushed in your ears; your vision blurred.

“No,” you breathed. “No. I’m not.”

“Do you know what it felt like,” he said, voice breaking completely,

“watching you laugh with someone else like that?”

His chest heaved. “Hearing you late at night through the wall, and knowing you weren’t with me—”

“Seungmin,” you breathed, stepping forward.

He stepped back.

“I thought I wasn’t enough anymore,” he whispered.

You felt your heart crack open.

“I thought you’d picked him,” he said, tears slipping down faster now, breath shaking uncontrollably. “I thought you were leaving. And it hurt so much I couldn’t even ask you, because if you said yes—”

He broke.

His voice dissolved.

He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, eyes squeezed tight.

“—I don’t know what I’d do.”

“ you’ve already chosen him. And I was just… the idiot who didn’t realise soon enough.”

“Don’t call yourself that,” you said automatically, your heart twisting. Despite everything, his self-loathing hurt worse than his accusation.

He laughed humourlessly. “What else would you call someone who needs it spelled out that the only person you’d spend that much secret time with is the one you’re fucking”

Your own eyes burned.

You moved toward him slowly, like approaching something fragile.

“Seungmin… look at me.”

He forced his eyes open — and the moment he saw your face, his lip trembled.

“I’m not cheating on you,” you whispered.

He stared.

The tears didn’t stop.

But everything in him went still.

“I’m not,” you repeated, voice shaking with how much you meant it. “I swear. I swear on everything. I haven’t touched him like that. I would never— ever— do that to you.”

His breath hitched — disbelief and hope crashing together, creating something unstable.

“But— I— I saw—” he stammered.

You stepped closer, gently catching his wrist.

“You saw things out of context,” you said desperately. “Things that looked awful. Things that I should never have kept secret. That’s on me. Not you.”

He stared at you like he didn’t know how to believe it, tears still streaking his cheeks.

“All the late nights,” he whispered. “All the touching—”

“It was choreography,” you said quickly. “For something I was creating for you. For our anniversary. Minho was helping me. That’s it. That’s all.”

His face crumpled.

You reached up and cupped his face gently.

And that was the moment he shattered.

A quiet, broken sound escaped him — like something ripped out of his chest — and he stumbled forward, crashing into you, arms locking around your waist as though he thought you might disappear.

He buried his face in your shoulder, and the sobbing came hard.

Full-body shaking.

Silent at first —

then ragged, painful breaths

and choked noises he tried to swallow down.

Your hands immediately moved to his hair, his back, holding him together.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered fiercely, over and over. “I’m so sorry, baby. I never meant to make you think that. I never meant to hurt you.”

His fingers dug desperately into your hoodie, clutching like he needed something to anchor him to the ground.

“I thought—” His voice broke into a sob. “I thought you didn’t want me anymore.”

“Never,” you breathed, pulling him even closer. “Never. I want you. Only you. I love you. I love you so much.”

He shook harder at that, like hearing it finally cracked something open inside him.

After minutes — long, aching minutes — he managed to speak again, voice hoarse against your shoulder:

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

You swallowed thickly.

“I should have,” you said. “I should have told you everything. I should have never let you go through this alone. I was stupid. I was secretive. I made everything look worse. That’s on me. Not you.”

He finally lifted his head — eyes swollen, cheeks wet, breathing uneven.

“You’re really not… leaving?” he whispered, voice so small it stabbed straight through you.

You held his face in both hands.

“Never,” you said. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re my person. Seungmin, look at me— you are the only one I want.”

His breath trembled, and another tear slipped free — slower this time, softer.

He leaned into your touch like he was exhausted from crying, eyelids fluttering.

“I was so scared,” he whispered. “It hurt so much.”

You thumbed away the tear.

“I know. And I’m going to make it up to you. I’m going to do better. I’m going to tell you everything, even surprises. You won’t ever feel like that again, okay?”

He nodded once — a tiny, fragile nod.

You pulled him back into your arms, and this time he didn’t sob.

He just held you.

Tight.

Clinging.

As if trying to make up for every minute he had feared you were gone.

After a long, quiet moment, he whispered into your shoulder:

“Can you stay with me tonight?”

You kissed the side of his head.

“I’m not leaving you. Not now. Not ever.”

He let out a shaky breath — the first peaceful one in days — and rested his forehead against yours.

“Good…” he murmured, voice raw. “Good. Because I don’t think I can handle losing you.”

You squeezed his hands.

“You’re not losing me,” you whispered.

You let out a small breath, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand as his breathing slowly evened out.

“And, Seungmin… there’s one more thing I need to explain,” you said gently. “Just so every single thing you saw makes sense.”

He looked up at you, eyes still red, but calmer now.

“When you saw Minho cupping my cheek,” you continued softly, “it wasn’t because of anything romantic. I was crying.”

Seungmin blinked.

“I’d messed up the choreography again,” you said with an embarrassed little huff. “And I had a full breakdown. Proper ugly crying. Minho was just trying to get me to breathe. He wiped my tears because I couldn’t stop shaking. That was all it was.”

His lips parted, a tiny, shaky exhale slipping out.

“And the marks you saw? The late-night door thing? I tripped on the stairs like an idiot and scraped myself. Minho was patching me up before we filmed the draft. That’s why I was at his door. That’s why I looked a mess the next morning.”

You gave a tiny, guilty smile.

“Every little thing that looked suspicious… it wasn’t. It was just me being stressed, clumsy, and trying to keep a surprise for you without ruining it.”

Seungmin’s eyes shone again — not with fear, but with relief this time, with something untangling inside him slow and careful.

You cupped his cheeks, mirroring the way he’d held you moments earlier.

“I’m telling you everything now,” you whispered. “No more misunderstandings. No more secrets that hurt you. I swear.”

He nodded, leaning into your palms as though the warmth alone steadied him.

“Okay,” he murmured, voice low, raw, but finally at peace. “Okay.”

You pressed your forehead to his, closing the last bit of space.

“We’re okay,” you whispered.

He pulled you into his chest, wrapping his arms around you in a hug that was tighter than usual, like he’d realised how close he’d come to letting go and had no intention of making that mistake again.

You burrowed into him, nose pressed against his collarbone, breathing in the scent you’d missed when he’d been drifting away.

Outside, the rain began to ease, the sound softening against the windows.

Inside the practice room, in the quiet after the storm, you held on to each other.

Seungmin realised that quiet didn’t have to be empty. It could be full—of shared breaths, of mumbled apologies, of promises spoken aloud instead of left to echo around in fearful minds.

He still liked quiet things.

But from now on, he promised himself, they would be the kind of quiet that you could share.

The kind where, if something felt wrong, he wouldn’t sit alone with the noise in his head.

He’d reach for you.

Bangchan

Tits and tummy

Being on tour with your boyfriend was kinda hard, especially when you had a reservation and he got feral over your outfit.

He loved when you wore clothes with a deep cleavage even though you couldn’t wear it outside, not because he didn’t let you, but rather because he couldn’t take his eyes or hands off them. He became paralysed every time he saw a little bit of skin on your chest, his thoughts foggy, mouth stopped working, stopping whatever he was talking about as he almost started foaming at the mouth.

The restaurant reservation be damned he was taking this to the bedroom.

Your sweet moans travelled through the hotel room as Bangchan meanly pistoned his hips into you, your legs around his waist. But there was one thing he couldn’t take his eyes off, he was actually helpless. 

The way your tits jiggled with every thrust of his hips was dizzying to him. Every little movement made them move, making his cock painfully harder, and twitch as more blood pumped to it, and with your walls tightening around him, he was a dead man.

One of his hands came up to caress your tits - more like squeeze the life out of them. He couldn’t help it - they were so soft and perky. The flesh of it almost melted in his hands, taking him closer and closer to his release - even though there was no way to reach that reservation you fought tooth and nail for.

His cock was reaching a spot in you you didn’t know existed so you forgave him really fast.

His hands slid down to the delicate skin of your stomach, his eyebrows pulling together at the silky skin, thrust falling out of rhythm. 

“Ba- baby please let me come on your stomach” he whined desperately sounding unintelligible pleas leaving his mouth, begging for you, his climax way too close to actually wait for your answer.

You nodded just as he left you, hole clenching around nothing as he shot his load on the soft skin of your stomach and some even reached your boobs. Little whiny moans came from his mouth as he came down from his high.

As he opened his eyes and looked at your body proudly, covered in his release, hair messy on the pillow behind you and your eyes boring into his with daring glint, he knew this was going to be a longer night.

Lee know

Ass and thighs

His mind was somewhere else, but his body was still at the summer get-together the guys hosted saying there will be lovely weather, they should do a korean barbecue.

Little did he know it was the beginning of his downfall of you and that damned skin tight shorts of yours. 

It showed every curve of your ass to him every time you came out the door, placing yet another tray of food on the table just to go inside again, the muscles in your thighs tensing with every step, slightly bouncing the flesh of it.

He couldn’t wait to get you home and get that thing off you - but place it on the dresser rather than tossing it on the floor, it was a delicate piece of fabric he would love to see it on you more, and until then, he needed to survive with just teasing slaps on your ass and on the back of your thighs.

As soon as the front door of your home closed he was on you, hands wrapping around the back of your thighs grabbing the flesh of it, holding you up to wrap your legs around his middle. The kiss was all teeth and tongue, he was feral. Mouth kissing you all over, until he drops you on the bed.

“You wore these on purpose didn’t you?” he scoffed, shaking his head, piecing together what you had planned out. “Just to drive me crazy” a chuckle left his mouth in disbelief 

He comes in between your legs, hands coming to your waist, drooping into the waistband of your shorts, taking them off you with surgical precision - after all he wants to see this on you again. His lips leaving kisses in his hands wake, his eyes locked in yours as he went lower.

His eyes darkened as he reached your panties - which were drenched by now. He left an open mouthed kiss there and took it off you. 

His head was dizzy with your figure burned into his mind, hands couldn’t get enough of you, grabbing and caressing every part he could.

His hands travelled under your thighs grabbing your ass and he leaned in, his breath hot on your pussy, he wasn’t even doing anything but you were putty in his hands.

He licked a stripe from your clit to your hole slightly dipping in as your hands found his hair and scalp leaving crescent moon shapes on it.

His tongue flicked your bundle of nerves, your head thrown back from pleasure, as he switched between dipping his tongue in your hole and sucking on your clit.

One of his hands stayed grabbing the flesh of your ass, humming in appreciation every other moment. The sound and feel of his humming makes your eyes roll back into your skull. His other hand teases your slit, first dipping just knuckle deep into you, before he plunges two fingers into you, the pleasure dizzying.

The orgasm comes blinding, loud moans travel through your shared space as his fingers fuck you through it.

After he let you come down from your high he speaks up “If you wanted me to put you in your place you could’ve just said so Jagiya”

Jisung

Tits but backs also

It's the hottest day of the summer, when Jisung realized he hadn't gone in the outside pool yet, so no better time to invite the guys over for a pool party. All of them came with their girlfriends so you were chatting with them in the living room, the guys having the time of their lives in the pool when an idea struck Lee know’s girlfriend's mind.

“Wait, don't you guys also have a hot tub?” she asked with a naughty glint in her eye, smirk slowly growing on her face, when the others made apprehensive noises in the background.

“Yeah we do” you replied your smirk mirroring hers as all of you, took off the swimsuit covers you had on and slowly waltzed out to the hot tub.

The guy's noise immediately died down, all eyes on their own girlfriends, following the group of girls, sinking into the warm, yet cooling water of the tub, jets and bubbles wrapping around your bodies, cocktails sitting on the edge, with some appreciative moans left some of your mouths. 

Han was lost, the small top of your bikini was like an invitation he had to remove with his mouth, and the way it left all of your back open, he didn’t know which part of you to appreciate with his eyes.

Your eyes locked with his and he visibly gulped, but a ball came at his head aggressively pulling him out of his daydream.

A chuckle left your mouth as everyone went back to chattering, and the guys went back to playing.

The day had died down, the last guests were Jeongin and his girlfriend, and as you escorted them out, and went back to the backyard, Han was sitting in the hot tub, eyes quick on yours, with so much to say.

That's how you found yourself riding him in the jacuzzi, the water jets still going, and your movements splashing water everywhere.

His head was thrown back to the edge of the tub, his hands playing with your nipples as whimpers and cries left his mouth.

The warmth of the water surrounded you both, droplets sizzling on your evening-chilled skin, making the whole thing feel far more intoxicating than it ever could in a bed.

His hands wandered to your back keeping you close to himself, as he felt your rhythm falter, thrusting his hips up in the same mean way you did, bullying moans and unintelligible words out of your mouth - reverbing through the whole neighbourhood.

“Do you like this bikini Ji?” you asked breathlessly, completely leaning on him, body spent “i picked it out just for you” you admitted to him in a teasing manner, your hole unconsciously tightening around him at certain words, increasing the volume of his moans, and taking him closer and closer to the edge.

“Y-yeah, jagi… you’re s-so pretty,” he slurred, eyes opening to take you in from where his head was tipped back. He couldn’t stop thinking about the smooth skin of your back, the way it was out of the tub when the others were still here, the muscles tensing when you laughed too hard at something the girls said, it was burned into his mind.

One look at you was all he needed to come, the way your boobs bounced with every movement, your hair messy framing your face perfectly, and your kissed out look as your eyes rolled back, it was picture perfect.

Jeongin

Neck and ass

Jeongin was out with the guys at a bar somewhere in town, celebrating the end of their tour. The chatter was low but constant around him - glasses clinking, laughter echoing here and there.

He was in a deep conversation with Hyunjin about something - or rather, bickering - when Chan shoved his phone in his face, the screen lighting up with your Instagram story.

You were holding the necklace he’d gotten you, the one that rested perfectly in the dip between your collarbones. Some song lyrics played next to your figure, but he barely noticed them - too captivated by the way your neck looked, so delicate, with the faint mark of his hand still there if you knew where to look.

“You got her that necklace in Europe, didn’t you?” Chan asked curiously, snapping him out of his trance. Jeongin could only nod, still caught by the sight of you glowing through the screen.

He was home soon after, giving some scrappy excuse about not feeling well. The sound of his keys and shoes clattering disturbed the calm of the apartment, startling you in the process.

His hands were fast on you, the pace quite dizzying compared to the stillness before. Hands were on your neck kissing up your neck, when you snapped out of the arousal caused trance, mind still fuzzy, but there enough to question his actions.

“Innie what are you doing?” you asked, trying to slow his hands, slightly pushing him away but there was no stopping him, he was still enamoured by your glowing skin, teeth grazing, and sucking here and there.

“I love your neck baby have I ever told you that?” he asked to come up for a second but then resumed his work “but I think I did” he stopped then fully fake confusion on his face, eyebrows etched together “That’s why you decided to post that baby, didn’t you?” a playful smirk played on his lips paired with a knowing look in his eyes. “While I was out with the boys” he said tsk-ing with his mouth, disapproval clear on his features.

Then he didn’t stop until you both were naked in the bedroom. His hand came around your neck, the other holding your hip, grasping your body to his to see yourself in the mirror. His mouth next to your ear bit it a little then came next to you holding eye contact with you in the mirror.

“You see how you look like” the veins flexed on his hand as he held onto your neck, making your breathing harder, this slightly dizzying feeling adding up to all the sensations was too much. “So spent, so mine baby” he husked, eyes going over your body in the mirror, taking in the marks he left all over your neck, and from this perspective he couldn’t see the red hand prints on your ass but you felt them. 

His mouth went into the nape of your neck not appreciating the amount of marks on you, teeth grazing over you as a slight chuckle left his lips, eyes coming back up to the mirror to see your drained expression “you like to be marked by me baby don’t you?” he murmured to your skin, hips never faltering in their rhythm.

“That’s why you never take off that necklace doll, isn’t it?” you could only muster nodding and a bundle of intelligible words to him, pleading for him not to stop, which his smirk only widened at.

“Don’t worry baby I like it too” he teased, tone laced with the obsessiveness he felt towards you, his night could not get better after this.

BANGCHAN

You're lounging in the shared apartment you and Chan have called home for over a year now. It's one of those rare evenings where he's out late at the studio, and the ache of missing him has built up into something more... physical. You've dimmed the lights, slipped under the covers, and let your hands wander, imagining his strong arms around you, his voice whispering encouragements in your ear. Your breaths come in soft gasps as you tease yourself, lost in the fantasy—fingers circling your clit slowly, dipping inside to feel the slick heat building, your hips bucking slightly against your own touch. You're so immersed that you don't hear the front door open quietly, nor do you notice Chan slipping into the bedroom.

He pauses in the doorway, leaning against the frame, his backpack still on one shoulder. His eyes lock onto you immediately—the way your body arches under the sheets, the soft whimpers escaping your lips. He bites his lip, feeling the familiar stir in his pants as his cock starts to harden, the bulge growing uncomfortably tight against the fabric of his jeans. He shifts his weight, trying to adjust without making noise, but the sight of you pleasuring yourself, completely unaware, is too much. His breathing quickens, hand instinctively pressing against his crotch to ease the pressure, but it only makes him throb harder. He watches for what feels like an eternity—your fingers speeding up, your free hand gripping the sheets—but finally, he can't take it anymore.

"Having fun without me?" His voice is low, husky, laced with amusement and raw desire, cutting through the room like a whip.

You freeze, eyes snapping open in shock, your hand stilling between your legs as heat floods your face. "Chan! Shit, when did you get here? I—I didn't hear you."

He smirks, finally dropping his backpack and kicking the door shut behind him. "Long enough to enjoy the show. You look fucking incredible like that, babe. All flushed and needy." He approaches slowly, his gaze never leaving yours, the outline of his erection obvious now. "Don't stop. I want to see more."

"But—" you start, embarrassment mixing with the lingering arousal, but he shakes his head, sitting on the edge of the bed and grabbing your chin gently but firmly, forcing your eyes to meet his.

"No buts. Keep going. Eyes on me the whole time." His voice is commanding, eyes dark with lust as he leans back slightly, watching you intently. You hesitate for a second, but the intensity in his stare makes your core clench. Slowly, you resume, sliding your fingers back over your slick folds, circling your clit while maintaining eye contact. It's humiliating and exhilarating—his gaze burning into you as you build the rhythm again, moaning softly. "That's it," he murmurs, his hand trailing down to palm himself through his pants. "Faster. Show me how you make yourself come."

Your breaths turn ragged, fingers plunging inside now, curling to hit that spot that makes your toes curl. Chan's free hand grips your thigh, spreading your legs wider, but he doesn't touch you yet—just watches, his own arousal evident in the way he grinds against his palm. "Fuck, you're so wet. I can hear it from here. Keep looking at me—don't you dare close your eyes." The pressure builds unbearably, your body trembling as you chase your release, and finally, it crashes over you—waves of pleasure making you gasp and shudder, your fingers soaked as you ride out the orgasm under his unblinking stare.

He grins wickedly as you come down, panting. "Good girl. Now, mi turno."

Without warning, he stands, shoving his pants and boxers down in one fluid motion, his thick cock springing free—hard, veined, and already leaking precum at the tip. He climbs onto the bed, positioning himself between your legs, and grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand. "You've had your fun. Now I'm gonna fuck you senseless." He lines himself up, rubbing the head of his cock against your dripping entrance, teasing you with shallow thrusts that barely breach you. "Beg for it," he growls, but before you can, he slams in deep, filling you completely in one rough stroke. You cry out at the stretch, your walls clenching around him as he sets a brutal pace—pounding into you hard, the wet slap of skin on skin echoing in the room.

"Fuck, you're so tight and sloppy from touching yourself," he grunts, his free hand digging into your hip for leverage, pulling you onto him with every thrust. He angles his hips to hit your g-spot relentlessly, making you squirm and moan beneath him. Sweat beads on his forehead, his muscles flexing as he fucks you deeper, harder, the bed creaking under the force. "Take it all, babe—feel how hard you made me?" He releases your wrists to grab your ass, lifting you slightly for better access, his balls slapping against you with each brutal plunge. The room fills with your shared gasps and the obscene sounds of your arousal—his cock sliding in and out of your soaked pussy, stretching you wide. He doesn't hold back, rutting into you like he's claiming you, until you're both on the edge again. "Gonna fill you up," he hisses, and with a final, deep thrust, he comes hard, spilling inside you with a guttural groan, his cock twitching as he pumps you full. He collapses beside you, both of you breathless, but he smirks. "Round two soon? You started it."

LEE KNOW

Living with Minho means a life full of teasing banter and stolen moments of affection, even after two years together. Tonight, he's at dance practice, and the apartment feels empty without his playful energy. You've been scrolling through old photos of him, which only fuels the fire, leading you to the bedroom. With the door slightly ajar (a habit you both have), you lie back, eyes closed, fingers exploring the heat building between your legs. Soft moans escape as you picture his sharp gaze and mischievous grin.

The sound of keys jingling startles you, but it's too late—Minho pushes the door open, freezing mid-step with a takeout bag in hand. His eyes widen, then narrow with that signature smirk. "Well, well, what do we have here? Starting without me?"

You pull the blanket up instinctively, face burning. "Minho! You're early..."

He sets the bag down and saunters over, his dancer's grace making every movement hypnotic. "And you're impatient. But I like it." He sits on the edge of the bed, his hand brushing your knee. "Don't hide. Let me see."

Reluctantly, you let the blanket fall, and he hums in approval, leaning in to kiss you—slow, teasing, his tongue dancing with yours. "Were you thinking of me?" he asks, voice low and husky. When you nod, he chuckles. "Good girl. Now, let's make this a duet. Keep going—touch yourself for me."

You hesitate, but his intense stare urges you on. Your fingers resume their work, circling your clit, but Minho inches closer, his own fingers hovering just above your core, brushing the air teasingly. The proximity makes you whine, your hips lifting toward him. "Minho, please... put yours in me instead."

He tilts his head, smirking wider. Would you rather feel my fingers inside you? Hmm? Say it properly. Beg for it, baby. Tell me how bad you want them."

"Minho, come on... I need them. Please, fuck me with your fingers—they feel so much better than mine. I'm so wet already, just for you."

He chuckles darkly, but doesn't give in yet. "Not convincing enough. Louder. What do you want me to do with them?"

"Please, Minho! Shove them inside me, curl them, make me come— I can't take it anymore!"

Finally satisfied, he shifts to lie beside you, his body pressed against yours. "That's more like it." His fingers replace yours seamlessly, two sliding into your soaked heat with ease, curling expertly to hit that sensitive spot. You gasp, arching into his touch as he pumps them in and out, his thumb rubbing your clit in tight circles. The slick sounds fill the room, and you can't help but reach for him—your hand trailing down to the growing bulge in his pants, palming him through the fabric. He groans softly, hips bucking into your touch. "Fuck, yeah... keep going."

Emboldened, you slip your hand under his waistband, wrapping around his hard cock and pulling it free. It's thick and throbbing, the tip glistening with precum. You use your thumb to smear it over the head, spreading the slickness down his length as you stroke him slowly, feeling him pulse in your grip. Minho's breath hitches, a low moan escaping right in your ear, the sound sending shivers through you and making your core clench around his fingers.

To tease him further, you pull his hand away from you momentarily. He looks at you, confused, brows furrowed—"What are you—?" But then you bring his glistening fingers to your lips, sucking them clean, tasting your own arousal with a hum of satisfaction. His eyes darken, and you guide his hand back down, pushing his fingers back inside you.

His cock twitches hard in your other hand, and he lets out a ragged "Fuck babe... you're killing me." The words spur him on; he thrusts his fingers deeper, faster, scissoring them to stretch you while his thumb presses harder on your clit. You stroke him in time, twisting your wrist at the base, feeling him leak more precum onto your fingers. "You're so fucking dirty," he mutters in your ear, nipping at your lobe. "Gonna make you come all over my hand, then fuck you proper." His pace turns relentless, fingers curling just right until you're gasping, your orgasm crashing over you in waves, soaking his hand. He doesn't stop stroking you through it, and you keep pumping him, feeling him throb closer to the edge. "Now, my turn to beg? Nah—get on your back. I need to be inside that wet pussy."

CHANGBIN

Your relationship with Changbin is all about that gym-bro energy mixed with deep romance—after 18 months, you know each other's bodies like your own. He's at the gym tonight, and earlier, he sent you a photo: him all sweaty, flexing his massive arms in the mirror, tank top clinging to his broad chest. You're chilling on the sofa in nothing but one of his oversized tees (which hangs like a dress on you) and your panties, but that photo makes your mind wander—imagining those strong arms pinning you down, his sweat-slicked body grinding against yours. Heat pools between your legs, and before you know it, your hand slips under your panties, fingers teasing your folds as you rub slow circles over your clit.

The front door opens with a bang—Changbin's dramatic style. He drops his gym bag, spotting you immediately on the sofa, legs slightly spread, hand moving under the fabric. His eyes widen, then darken with hunger. "Babe... fuck, is this because of that photo?"

You nod, breathless, not stopping. "Couldn't help it. You looked so hot."

He grins, but instead of joining you on the sofa, he drops to his knees in front of you, his hands on your thighs. "Let me see. Show me everything."

Heart pounding, you hook a finger in your panties and pull them aside, exposing your glistening pussy to him—swollen and wet from your touches. Changbin's breath catches, his mouth watering at the sight, and you can see the bulge in his gym shorts growing rapidly, his cock straining against the material. "Goddamn, you're dripping already," he mutters, licking his lips. "Keep going. Masturbate for me, right here—up close."

You obey, fingers resuming their work, rubbing your clit and dipping inside at a tantalizing pace, mere inches from his face. He watches intently, his hot breath fanning over your skin, making you throb. The way your arousal shines, the slick sounds—it's too much for him. Suddenly, his mouth is on you, tongue diving in without warning, lapping at your folds like a starved man. "Fuck, you taste so good," he groans into your pussy, the vibrations sending shocks through you. His tongue swirls around your clit, sucking hard, while his fingers join in—two thick ones pushing inside, curling and thrusting messily. Saliva mixes with your wetness, dripping down his chin as he devours you, moaning loudly against your core. "So fucking wet for me—gonna eat this pussy all night."

He's rock hard now, unable to ignore it; with his free hand, he yanks down his shorts, freeing his thick cock and stroking himself roughly, matching the rhythm of his fingers in you. "Look what you do to me," he pants between licks. "Gonna come just from tasting you." The intensity builds—his tongue flicking relentlessly, fingers pounding deep—until you shatter, coming hard on his mouth, your juices flooding his tongue as you cry out.

Desperate, you grab his shirt and pull him up, crashing your lips against his in a feral kiss, tasting yourself on him—salty and sweet. "Inside me, now," you demand, guiding his cock to your entrance. He thrusts in with a deep groan, both of you moaning at the stretch

"Shit, babe, you're so tight," he grunts, starting to pound into you on the sofa, his sweaty body covering yours. The gym scent clings to him—musky and masculine—mixing with the smell of your arousal as he drives deep, his thick cock stretching you wide with every thrust. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, your nails digging into his broad back. "Fuck, yes—take it like that," he growls, his hips snapping forward relentlessly, the sofa creaking under the force. "You were fingering yourself thinking of me, huh? Got all wet from my pic? Now feel the real thing—I'm gonna ruin this pussy."

"Binnie, harder—please," you beg, your voice breaking as he obliges, slamming in deeper, his balls slapping against your ass with wet, obscene sounds. Sweat drips from his forehead onto your skin, and he grabs your thighs, spreading them wider to hit that perfect angle. "That's my girl—moan for me. Let me hear how much you love my cock filling you up." His pace is brutal, muscles flexing with each powerful stroke, one hand sneaking between you to rub your clit roughly, making your walls clench around him. "So fucking slippery—gonna make you come again, then pump you full of my cum."

The friction builds unbearably, your bodies slick and sliding together, his grunts mixing with your whimpers. "Changbin, I'm close—don't stop!" you cry, and he smirks, leaning down to bite at your neck. "Come on my dick, babe—squeeze me tight." Your orgasm hits like a tidal wave, pulsing around him, and he follows soon after, thrusting erratically as he spills inside you with a deep groan. "Fuck, take it all—yeah, just like that." He rides it out, slowing to shallow pumps before pulling out, watching his cum leak from you with a satisfied grin. "Gym session's got nothing on this workout. Hungry for round two already?"

HYUNJIN

Hyunjin's artistic soul has always made your year-long relationship feel like a dream—poetic dates, late-night sketches of you. Tonight, he headed out to a ceramics class, one of his favorite hobbies, promising to be back soon. While he's gone, he sends you a short video his teacher took: him seated at the wheel, shaping a jar from wet clay. His long fingers mold the material expertly, guiding it into form with precise, sensual movements—his sleeves rolled up, revealing the lean muscles of his arms flexing subtly. Those hands... they've driven you wild before, and watching them now, slick with clay and so deliberate, sends a rush of heat straight to your core. You can't help it—replaying the video on loop, you strip down and climb onto the bed, legs spread wide. One hand dives between your thighs, fingers rubbing your clit in circles while the other kneads your breasts, pinching your nipples until they're hard and sensitive. Soft moans fill the room as you imagine those same hands on you, shaping your body like clay.

The door opens quietly—Hyunjin's always been graceful like that. He steps in, still carrying his art bag, and freezes at the sight: you on the bed, completely exposed, legs open with one hand buried in your dripping pussy and the other teasing your chest. Your arousal glistens under the low light, and he can hear the wet sounds of your fingers moving. His eyes widen, cheeks flushing, but he's utterly hypnotized—mouth slightly agape, unable to look away. It takes him a moment to find his voice, and when he does, it's breathless and reverent. "Oh my god, babe..."

You pause, hand stilling as heat floods your face, but the hunger in his eyes only makes you wetter. "It's your fault—the video you sent. Watching your hands... I couldn't stop thinking about them on me."

He drops his bag, approaching the bed like he's drawn by an invisible force, his gaze locked on your hands. "Fuck, that turns me on even more. Please... let me take over. I need to feel you." You nod, breathless, removing your hands as he climbs onto the bed fully clothed at first, his eyes dark with desire. "Show me where you want me," he murmurs, his voice husky and low. He starts slow, almost reverent—his long fingers tracing your inner thighs before replacing yours at your core. Two digits slide over your slick folds, circling your clit with the same precision he used on the clay, making you arch and gasp. "So wet already... all from watching my hands?" He smirks faintly, dipping his fingers inside you, curling them slowly to explore every inch, his thumb pressing down on your clit. "I love how you react—look at you, clenching around me like you can't get enough."

He sheds his shirt, revealing his toned torso, and leans down to kiss you deeply, tongue mimicking the movements of his fingers—teasing, probing. "Taste how sweet you are," he whispers against your lips before trailing kisses down your body, sucking marks on your breasts while his hand works faster, pumping in and out with lewd, squelching sounds. You tangle your fingers in his long hair, pulling him closer, and he groans, the vibration humming through you. "Hyunjin, more—fuck, your fingers feel amazing," you moan, and he adds a third, stretching you wider, his pace turning relentless as he watches your face contort in pleasure. "That's it, baby—come undone for me. I want to see you shatter."

You're teetering on the edge, body trembling, when he suddenly pulls his fingers out, leaving you whining at the emptiness. He licks them clean with a hum, eyes locked on yours as he strips off the rest of his clothes. His cock is hard and leaking, slender but perfectly curved. But instead of entering you right away, he slides his fingers back inside, pumping slowly to build you back up. "Do you think you can endure any more?" he asks, voice low and teasing, a wicked glint in his eye.

You nod eagerly, not entirely sure what he means but too aroused to care. "Yea, whatever you want—just don't stop."

He grins, slowly withdrawing his fingers again, leaving you empty and aching. "Good. Now, put two of your fingers inside yourself—deep as you can." Heart racing, you obey, sliding two of your own fingers into your soaked pussy, feeling them sink in easily amid the slickness. The added control makes you moan, but then Hyunjin positions himself between your legs, lining up his cock. He pushes in slowly, making room alongside your fingers—the thick head breaching you first, then the full length stretching your walls around both his shaft and your digits. The sensation is overwhelming: the burn of the extra fullness, a sharp sting from the intense stretch that borders on pain but ignites pure excitement, making your core throb and drip even more. Your body adjusts with a delicious friction, every inch of him sliding against your fingers inside you.

"Fuck, you feel so good like this—so full, handling all of it inside you," Hyunjin groans, voice strained as he bottoms out, his cock throbbing against your fingers. "Look at you, taking your own fingers and my dick... such a greedy little pussy, stretched so wide for me." He starts to move, shallow thrusts at first to let you acclimate, the wet slide amplified by the extra intrusion. The sting fades into pure bliss, every nerve alight as he picks up speed, his hips rolling deep while your fingers add pressure from within, rubbing against his length with every motion. "That's it—feel how packed you are? Gonna ruin you for anything else." His free hand rubs your clit in tight circles, heightening everything, and the room fills with the obscene sounds of your shared arousal—slick, messy, and intense.

He doesn't hold back now, thrusting harder, his cock dragging against your fingers inside you, creating friction that makes you see stars. "Hyunjin, it's too much—I'm gonna come!" you cry, and he smirks, leaning down to bite your lip. "Do it—come around all of us, baby." Your orgasm crashes over you, walls pulsing wildly around the fullness, soaking everything as you tremble. He follows soon after with a shuddering groan, spilling hot and deep inside you, the sensation amplified by the stretch. He carefully withdraws—guiding your fingers out after his cock—before collapsing beside you, pulling you close, fingers still tracing lazy patterns on your skin. "Next time, join me in class... or we'll make our own art right here."

@little-mix-fan-forever @emeraldgem22 @honeyyyy21 @doliveiraa @blackbrumous @ stellasays45 @iconicallyher

he mumbles under his breath about deadlines and “noodle anatomy,” so softly you almost think you imagined it. at other times, he just stares at the ceiling, unmoving, as if some divine inspiration might drip down from the drywall. and every now and then, he groans so dramatically it sounds like he’s dying, only for you to find out he’s just trying to draw a bent knee.

he’s quiet. not shy, and not in a way that makes you feel obligated to fill the silence. just… contained. coiled. the kind of quiet that holds weight— his thoughts are vivid and volatile, too loud to voice, so he seals them between the pages of his sketchbooks. it’s safer that way. nothing escapes. nothing catches fire.

you’ve never seen him bring anyone home.

not once. not even after those late-night figure drawing classes, or the weekend studio exhibitions where people tend to get a little too wine drunk and giggly. you’ve never heard him talk about crushes or hookups or even eye someone on the quad. never even caught him flirting. he barely acknowledges strangers in passing, doesn’t register compliments from the girls who sometimes stop to peek through the dorm windows and whisper about “that one hot art guy.”

he doesn’t go out much either, never really parties, barely shows up to campus events, and treats grocery runs like hostile field missions. most of the time, he’s holed up in his room with the door cracked open, back hunched over his tablet or sketchpad, headphones in, eyes glazed over with focus.

there are moments he doesn’t respond when you speak. you’ll knock, pass his room more than once, and the only hint he’s still breathing is the dim glow of his monitor. you pause, staring in, wondering— not for the first time— how long he’s been cooped up in there. whether he’s eaten. whether he’s slept. whether he’s working on something normal, or… something else entirely.

because you know what he draws.

he told you. casually. one night, when you were both cross-legged on the floor, splitting leftover takeout and surrounded by plastic chopsticks and empty bubble tea cups. you asked what his senior portfolio theme was, expecting something pretentious, or maybe poetic.

“manga,” he said, chewing absently.

“oh, cool,” you replied. “what genre?”

“ecchi.”

you raise a brow, confused. “…what’s that?”

he looked up slowly, eyes wide, expression borderline unreadable. “tasteful porn.”

you immediately choked on your noodles.

and that was that.

you never brought it up again. but the image of him calmly saying “tasteful porn” with the straightest face lives in your head rent free. still makes your ears burn if you think about it too long.

what’s worse is that you shouldn’t even be surprised.

but you were. maybe because hyunjin doesn’t quite fit the mold of some guy who spends most his nights hunched over his tablet, painstakingly rendering the way sheer fabric sticks to flushed skin. the way lips part, the way spines arch. he’s too pretty, ethereal even— too clean to be that filthy in private. soft jawline, delicate wrists, lips always stained pink from strawberry pocky. he uses cherry blossom shampoo. wears fuzzy socks. once, you caught him microwaving hot chocolate at two in the morning while humming the sailor moon theme song under his breath.

by all logic, he should be drowning in girls. flirty art majors, clumsy lit students, curious econ girls who like the idea of a mysterious artist boyfriend. he should have people throwing themselves at him, sliding into his dms, leaving their numbers on napkins.

but he’s not.

and maybe, just maybe, that’s because hyunjin is a total, certified goon.

the type of guy who probably jerks off to his own hentai panels with one hand in his sweats and the other still holding his apple pencil so he can make edits mid-stroke.

the type who’s too obsessed with his imaginary girls to even look at a real one.

and unfortunately for you— you’re one of them.

+

you agreed to model for his senior art portfolio last month.

he’d asked you during one of your late-night kitchen run-ins, voice low and uncertain, sketchpad balanced on one knee while he waited for his ramen to finish spinning in the microwave.

“it’s not explicit explicit,” he said, peeking up at you from under his lashes, his thumb absently smudging the corner of a half-finished eye on the page. “it’s more suggestive. tasteful.” his tone wavered between hopeful and rehearsed, like he’d been planning to ask you for a while but hadn’t quite worked up the nerve until now.

“think… moody lighting,” he added, as if that would somehow soften the blow. “lace. maybe a garter belt.”

you blinked. “a garter belt?” the words came out with an airy laugh, light and teasing, a little incredulous but not entirely opposed.

he didn’t flinch. instead, he perked up with faux earnestness, flipping his pencil between his fingers like a conductor’s baton, brows lifted in dramatic flourish. “it’s for the drama,” he insisted, as if that explained anything at all. as if drama alone justified sketching someone in lingerie.

yet somehow… you ended up agreeing.

you needed the extra cash, your campus job barely covered groceries, and your last textbook rental had drained what little remained in your savings. but part of you was flattered, too. no one had ever asked to draw you before, and definitely not like that.

but if you were really being honest, a small part of you liked the way he looked at you when you posed.

he made you feel like art. something worth preserving, not just for the shape of your body or the softness of your skin, but for the way you existed in stillness. the rhythm of your breath, the curve of your spine, the light pooling into the hollows of your collarbones. he watched with quiet fixation, eyes moving from page to skin, jaw clenched in concentration, and everytime his pencil scratched against the paper, it’d sent a phantom shiver down your spine.

he made you feel beautiful.

you hadn’t realized you were making a mistake.

not until tonight, when he’d left for his night class and you were rummaging behind his desk in search of your charger, the one you always forgot in his room. you’d been reaching behind a pile of books and folders when your elbow bumped something, knocking it to the floor with a dull, soft thud.

a sketchbook.

black, unmarked, a little worn around the edges. it didn’t look important or any different from the others he always left lying around. you bent down without thinking, planning to toss it back where it came from.

but it had fallen open.

you froze. you told yourself you wouldn’t look, that it wasn’t yours to see.

and then you looked anyway.

curiosity, or something worse, pulled you toward the page.

and there you were.

not soft. not modest. not the dimly lit, “tasteful” pose you’d assumed he’d capture.

you were drawn sprawled out, every inch of you on display. legs spread wide, toes curling into fabric you recognized as your own sheets. your back arched off a pillow from your bed. one hand gripping the edge of the blanket. the other buried deep between your thighs. your face was flushed, lips parted, eyes hazy, mouth frozen in a moan that felt way too specific to be imagined.

and it was detailed. painfully so.

you could see the shading where sweat would gather. the tension in your calves. the wrinkle in your brow. your own hair drawn strand by strand, fanned out like a halo.

your stomach flipped. heat bloomed somewhere low and unsteady.

you turned the page, almost on instinct, heart already pounding.

there were more.

you on your knees, spine arched, wrists tucked behind your back. your head tilted at just the right angle to show off your throat, the delicate notch above your collarbone. the lingerie you wore last week— sheer lace cups, dainty silk bows, garters clipped to thigh-highs—recreated in uncanny, microscopic detail. every clasp, dimple in your skin, subtle ripple of imagined pleasure inked in with a hunger that felt… dangerous.

you stared at the pages, transfixed. breath caught somewhere in your chest, hands beginning to tremble. you hadn’t meant to look, hadn’t planned to turn the first page, let alone the second… but once you did, you couldn’t stop. every drawing felt intimate, obsessive, memorized. the way he rendered you with such aching precision—each curve of your body, every fold of lace, every imagined tremble of your thighs, made it nearly impossible to look away.

it was clear he hadn’t just sketched you from reference; he’d studied you, remembered you. poured hours into capturing the parting of your mouth when you sigh, the subtle shift of your hips in that particular set of lingerie, the way your body folds, stretches, and exists on the page, alive and familiar.

you were still staring when you heard the jingle of his keys at the door. your heart clenched instantly, breath stuttering as you snapped upright, hands suddenly clammy and slick with heat. your thighs instinctively pressed together before you could stop yourself. there was panic, yes, caught red-handed with something you were never meant to see— but tangled beneath it, humming in your veins like a low, slow current, was something far darker. not dread or guilt. something warmer. hungrier. the realization bloomed slowly and thickly at the back of your throat, and you swallowed it down like a secret; what you felt wasn’t entirely fear. it was want.

the door clicks open behind you, followed by the soft creak of the hinge, the muted scuff of sneakers hitting hardwood, and some more indistinct shuffling near the entryway as he drops his things. hyunjin steps inside, expression dulled with exhaustion, shoulders loose, hoodie slipping off one side of his frame. he moves like he always does after a long day— quiet, fluid, like he’s still half inside his head.

until he sees what’s in your lap.

his sketchbook.

his secret.

you.

he halts mid-step.

for a second, he doesn’t say anything. no words, no movement, not even a blink. his eyes trace the shape of the moleskin cover, the way your fingers are curled around the edge of a page, your gaze is wide and locked onto his, like you’ve been caught doing something unspeakable. maybe, because you have.

but the reaction you expect never comes. there’s no stammering apology, flustered excuses, desperate attempt at backpedaling or some pathetic plea to forget what you saw.

instead, he smiles.

and it’s not the kind of nervous, sheepish grin you might’ve imagined if this moment had played out in your head. no. it’s something far more sinister. cooler. slow-spreading and deeply smug, as if this was inevitable and he’s known all along.

“you weren’t supposed to see that,” he says, voice low and smooth, like he’s just commenting on the weather.

he walks toward you with the kind of unhurried confidence that makes your throat go instantly dry, his footsteps soft against the floorboards, eyes never leaving yours. he stops just in front you where you’re still frozen, sketchbook heavy in your hands, heart beating loud enough to feel it in your teeth.

“but…”

his head tilts slightly as he crouches in front of you, long fingers curling over the edge of the cushion near your knee. the shift in posture shouldn’t feel as intimate as it does, but it roots you in place. he’s close— close enough that you can see the faint flecks of lead still dusted on his fingertips, the faint ink smudge on the side of his hand, the crescent of dried eraser shavings caught beneath his nail.

“…since you have…”

his voice dips even lower now, almost playful. like he’s testing you and he knows you’re too curious to say no.

“do you wanna see the rest?”

you shouldn’t.

you really, really shouldn’t.

but you nod.

and something in him clicks.

he reaches for the book, knuckles brushing your thigh as he takes it gently from your lap. doesn’t ask again or give you time to second-guess. just shifts his weight to sit beside you, so close your knees bump, and flips to the next page with the ease of someone completely unashamed.

the next drawing makes your breath catch.

you— on your stomach, wrists bound above your head with a ribbon that trails off the page. your thighs are spread wide open, panties pushed to the side, one heel still hooked halfway off your foot. you can see your expression sketched in detail, mouth parted, brows drawn tight, eyes looking up with something caught between desperation and bliss.

he turns another page.

this one’s rougher. messier lines, heavier shading. you’re riding something, someone, but only the vague silhouette of a figure is visible beneath you. the focus is all on your body. the way your tits bounce. the tremble in your thighs. the glint of a tongue drawn wet and flicking out from behind your lips. your head is thrown back, hair wild, and between your legs— slick. so much slick. rendered in obsessive strokes that make you shiver.

you blink. “hyunjin, what the fuck—”

“what?” he says lightly, not even looking at you. “it’s art.”

he’s already on the next page.

you reach for it instinctively, trying to stop him, but he only laughs, quiet and amused, and tilts the book slightly so you can see better.

“thought you wanted to see the rest.”

your stomach twists. “how many are there?”

“depends,” he shrugs. “just the ones of you?”

you freeze.

he turns another page. this one’s so filthy your face burns.

you’re gagging on something thick, your hands gripping at the base, tears drawn in delicate lines down your cheeks. your mascara is smudged. your spit is dripping off your chin. there are notes in the margin, little technical observations. ‘make angle of throat curve more exaggerated,’ ‘adjust hand position,’ ‘redraw drool line thicker.’

you glance at him, stunned, but he’s completely calm. flipping through pages like this is the normal shit ever and he’s showing off a vacation album, not a growing collection of depraved, hyper-detailed hentai of you.

“why..” your voice cracks, and you clear your throat. “why me?”

he finally looks at you then.

really looks.

there’s no hesitation in his face. no shame. just a flicker of something deep and unwavering.

“you said yes,” he says simply. “you stood in front of me in that stupid lace and let me stare. what did you think i was gonna do? draw a fucking fruit bowl?”

“i thought it was for your portfolio—”

“it is,” he says, smiling again. “you’re the whole thing.”

you swallow hard. “you should’ve told me.”

he laughs, dry and low.

“would you have still posed?”

you don’t answer. because you don’t know.

he proceeds to turn another page.

this time, you’re bent over the kitchen counter in this one. there’s cum dripping down your thighs.

“you didn’t tell me to stop,” he says softly.

your pulse jumps. “i didn’t know what you were doing.”

“you never asked.”

the silence stretches.

he flips another page. then another. each sketch more obscene than the last. erotic positions you’ve never even imagined. angles that make your skin burn. and he narrates them all with a kind of detached pride, fingers gliding over each line like he’s showing off fine china.

“this one took me all night,” he murmurs, turning the book slightly so you can see the details. “couldn’t get the way your mouth stretches quite right. ended up using a mirror.”

“jesus,” you whisper, barely able to look away. “hyunjin, you’re insane.”

he grins, leaning closer. “and you let me draw you.”

his voice is low. warm. full of something dangerous.

“so what does that make you?”

you don’t answer.

you literally can’t.

because you’re still staring at the next page, and your thighs are pressing together before you even realize it.

+

it’s hard to say who came onto who first.

whether it was you, him, or the invisible thread between you finally pulled taut and snapped— you aren’t sure. but the sketchbook lands somewhere on the floor long forgotten, and then hyunjin’s hands are suddenly on your thighs, warm and steady. the next thing you know, you’re pressed into the mattress of his bed, his body hovering close, like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

you’re still breathing hard, dizzy from everything you saw. your body’s betraying you, flushed and prickled with heat, and he sees it. god, he sees everything.

his voice is low, right beside your ear. “you’re still looking at me like i’ve done something wrong.” his thumbs press lightly into the soft flesh just above your knees, parting them further until your legs fall open around him. “but you haven’t said stop.”

you should. you could. your lips fall open like you want to say something, but the words never physically come out.

he chuckles.

“that’s what i thought.”

his fingers trail up your bare thigh with an artist’s touch, slow and reverent, tracing invisible lines like he’s mentally drafting his next sketch. his eyes never stray, just stays locked on your face. not your lips, not your chest, but your eyes— studying every twitch and flicker as if he’s trying to memorize how your shame turns into arousal.

and fuck, it’s working…

“do you know,” he says, almost idly, as though it’s just casual conversation. “how many nights i’ve spent drawing you from memory?”

his hand slides higher, dips beneath the hem of your shorts, brushes against the dampened fabric of your panties. his smile sharpens.

“you always wear the cutest little things. i couldn’t help it.”

you choke on your breath when he presses the heel of his palm against your cunt. not enough to relieve anything, but enough to remind you who’s touching you. who’s seen you like this, over and over again, in his head and on paper and in every single fucked-up sketch you were too horrified, and too curious, to stop looking at.

he leans in, mouth grazing the shell of your ear.

“you don’t know what it’s like,” he murmurs, “to spend hours perfecting the way your lips wrap around something thick. or the way your thighs shake when you’re close. i studied that. every twitch. every fold. every drip.”

his tone darkens, the words clinging to you like sweat.

“and it still wasn’t enough.”

he pulls back to look at you, fingers still nestled between your legs, his hand heavy and possessive like he owns what he drew— and maybe he does. he always has.

“you wanna know the real reason i never bring anyone home?”

you blink, mind hazy. “what?”

he slides your panties to the side with maddening precision, but his fingers stay light, barely ghosting over your folds.

“because i didn’t need anyone else.”

you whimper when the pad of his middle finger circles your clit, featherlight and cruel.

“i had you.”

a slow exhale leaves your chest, shaky and broken, and he watches you unravel, patient and quiet, savoring it the way someone might linger on the best part of a page.

then he kisses you without warning.

his mouth is soft at first, almost deceptively gentle. but the moment you lean into it and give in, he deepens it, tongue sliding over yours with the same practiced hunger he puts into his art. he kisses the way he draws: greedy, precise, a little filthy.

your hands fist into his hoodie, and he grins against your lips.

“fuck,” he breathes. “you taste better than i imagined.”

he pushes his fingers deeper between your folds, finally giving you the pressure you need. your hips jolt, a whine slipping from your throat, and that’s when you feel it.

his other hand has moved to your wrist.

he’s guiding it down.

and, fuck, he’s so hard.

you palm him through his sweats, wide-eyed and breathless, and he shudders, grinding into your touch shamelessly.

“you did this,” he says through a clenched jaw. “you and your fucking poses and that look on your face like you didn’t know what you were doing to me.” his hand moves with more purpose now, two fingers pressing inside you slow and deep while his thumb rubs tight, messy circles against your clit. he groans when you clench around him.

“this tight already?” he whispers, nose brushing yours. “and i haven’t even started drawing tonight.”

you try to reply— something, anything— but all that comes out is a pathetic, broken litttle moan.

he smirks, biting your bottom lip.

“so desperate. is this why you went snooping? hoping to find something to get off to?”

you shake your head. “i didn’t- i didn’t mean to—”

he laughs. “no?”

he curls his fingers just right and your whole body jerks, hips stuttering. he hits that gummy spot inside you that already has you seeing stars, mouth falling open around a breathless moan.

“then why’re you dripping all over my hand, sweetheart?”

your face contorts with pleasure, heat rushing to your cheeks as his fingers slowly withdraw, slick and shining. he raises them between you, holding the evidence up for you to see.

“look at that,” he murmurs, softly.

your arousal glistens in the low light, coating his fingers, dripping down his wrist. he slides them into his mouth and moans, eyes fluttering shut for just a second before they snap open again, dark and hungry.

“better than i imagined,” he breathes, already sounding wrecked.

“but we’ll keep going, yeah?”

his hand finds yours again, guiding it back to the bulge straining in his pants— heat pulsing through the fabric, through your palm, through the space between your bodies that’s disappearing by the second.

“you’ve only seen the sketches.”

+

you were half-expecting him to crumble when you climb into his lap.

at least, you wanted him to.

he’d spent the past thirty minutes sounding like the world’s most depraved art school simp, flipping through sketch after sketch like some perverted little museum curator. and now? after everything he’s admitted. you’re wet, twitchy, and riding the high of control. he’s throbbing under you, eyes wide, flushed to the tips of his ears. you think maybe he’ll let you ruin him. maybe he wants that.

but then his fingers dig into your hips. hard.

and the shift is immediate.

his back straightens. his mouth parts, but no breathy little beg ever comes out.

just a low, measured murmur in your ear:

“take your panties off.”

your brain short circuits.

“what—?”

he grips your jaw and tilts your face toward him, gently, never rough, but his touch is firm. decisive.

“you wanna climb into my lap, ride my cock like some spoiled little muse?” he says, tone deceptively calm. “fine. but you’re gonna do it the way i imagined it.”

your breath catches. your heart pounds. your cunt pulses.

fuck.

you strip without thinking. panties discarded somewhere on the floor, shorts shoved down past your knees. he watches, shamelessly, licking his lips once as his eyes drag down your body.

“there,” he says, like you’re finally arranged the way he likes.

he strokes a palm up your inner thigh, fingers ghosting over your folds, smearing slick deliberately. your hips twitch forward, chasing his touch.

he tuts. “so needy. bet you soaked the pages of my sketchbook, didn’t you?”

“hyunjin—”

“don’t act shy now,” he murmurs, voice darker. “you flipped through every page. stared at every filthy little pose i drew you in. legs spread, gagging, dripping.”

his fingers part your folds. dragging through them.

“this wet for me already, and i haven’t even put it in?”

you gasp when he presses the blunt head of his cock against your entrance, not pushing, just teasing, smearing precum over your folds like he’s painting.

“beg,” he says softly.

“hyun—”

“you were bold enough to go through my stuff,” he cuts you off, thumb pressing against your clit in painfully slow circles. “now beg.”

and god, you do.

you don’t even try to hold onto what little pride you had left. not when he’s touching you like that, looking at you like he already owns you, like he’s just recreating a scene he’s drawn a thousand times.

“please,” you whisper. “i want it.”

“say it properly.”

“please, let me ride your cock.”

he grins, smug and breathless, and finally, finally, lets you sink down on him.

and it’s perfect.

so thick you swear it stretches something deeper. you brace against his chest, gasping as he fills you up, each inch a slow, merciless press that has you trembling, mouth agape, nails biting into his skin.

“shiiit,” you whimper. “feels so—”

“tight,” he grits out. “fuck, baby, you’re so fucking tight.”

he lets you sit there for a second, fully seated on him, cunt fluttering as your body adjusts, becoming more attuned to his length. you were expecting him to move, to take over.

but he doesn’t.

“go on then,” he instructs. “ride me. show me what you learned from those drawings.”

you start moving, tentatively at first, slow little rolls of your hips— and his hands were simply there to guide you. firm and assured, shaping the rhythm as if he’s sculpting the moment himself, dragging pleasure from you at the exact pace he wants.

“there,” he hisses. “that’s it, just like that, bounce for me- yeah, baby, just like that.”

you ride him harder, chasing the friction, hips grinding down with more purpose as your moans rise in volume, ragged and desperate. and then his hand wraps around the base of your throat. not enough to block any major airways, just holding you there as an anchor.

“don’t cum yet,” he whispers.

you nearly sob.

“hyunjin- fuck, ’m so close—”

his hips buck up into you and your whole body jerks, another sharp gasp leaving your throat as your cunt clamps down hard, tight, pulsing around him, overwhelmed by the sudden depth and force.

“not yet.”

you clench your fists against his chest, thighs quivering, the ache mounting unbearably.

“please, please, i need—”

he shifts, arm wrapping around your waist, and slams you down onto him as he thrusts up again, harder this time, hitting your walls so deep you couldn’t help but scream.

“you think you get to snoop through my private sketchbook, make me beg, and then cum on my cock whenever you want?”

he flips you before you even get the chance to answer. he moves fast, smooth, overwhelming. now you’re flat on your back, and he’s towering above you, hand gripping your thigh, shoving it up against your chest as he sinks right back into you.

“you’re mine now,” he groans. “gonna fuck you until you forget your own name. gonna redraw you like this- cumming around me, crying for me.”

he thrusts deep and sharp and mean.

“gonna sketch you full of my cum.”

“hyun, fuck, please—”

he leans down, kissing your jaw, your cheek, your lips, almost sweet even as he rails you into the mattress.

“i got you,” he pants. “fuck, baby, i got you. you can cum now.”

and when you do, practically shaking and crying, cunt gripping him so tightly he’s nearly on the verge of blacking out. he follows immediately, moaning against your neck as he spills his thick, hot seed inside you.

he stays there for a moment, still buried deep, panting hard, chest pressed to yours and rising with each unsteady inhale. then he pulls out slowly, eyes fixed on the way his cum spills from you and drips down your thighs, letting out a satisfied hum.

“don’t move,” he says, already reaching for his sketchbook that was left abandoned on the floor.

“hyunjin—”

“shhh,” he coos, “you’re perfect. let me draw you like this.”

he pauses, glancing down at the creamy mess between your legs.

“maybe from memory again.”