alex

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

editor in chief, through which all things are possible @rainfallingfromthesky

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Epilogue

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THE SEQUEL: HEARTBREAKER -> coming soon

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BONUS MATERIAL

Y/N's Lines

Ch 26 Breakdown

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids

@hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts

@puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night

@d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk

@minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification

@starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace

@amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002

@hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff

@splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit

@jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @hynjinswrld @duhgurl @cheshireshiya

and with the way he keeps it in, it just builds. and builds. and builds. until suddenly he’s three drinks in at noon, sitting somewhere he doesn’t even remember choosing, staring at his phone because you’re not answering fast enough.

not even ignoring him. just… busy. with someone else.

oh, so you’re with them. cool. great.

and then he orders another drink.

because obviously that’s the solution.

and we’re talking about a noon here but it’s already on in the mornings. hyunjin wakes up already pissed off at his fucking chungus life. with a headache, most time.

his hands don’t know what to do anymore. before you, they knew exactly what they were for. he was born to end lives. now… now he just holds shit when not stabbing with it. he always looks so off nowadays. but always plays with something in his hands when spacing out, that’s our point here.

one morning, early, hyunjin’s already up. he always wakes up early. can’t not. currently sitting at the counter of his and binnie’s place, hunched forward with that ass posture of his, why is this guy so long, turning a knife slowly in his hand. not like a big one, just… enough to do damage if he wanted to. but he’s not using it. he’s just holding it. plus you would worry about him if he hurt himself. so he’s… not going to do that.

changbin stands there for a second, watching. then he walks over, holds his hand out. “give me that.”

“fuck off.”

“hyune.”

“i said fuck off.”

changbin reaches out and takes the knife.

hyunjin lets him. lets his hand go slack, lets it be taken because nothing matters. fucking psycho.

changbin turns it once in his hand, sets it down out of reach. sighs. mr emo should calm the fuck down. (or maybe changbin should open up his eyes and realize hyunjin is not wrong here, just a more expressed and deeper version of what changbin also was once before you let him hit. changbin is kind of an asshole here, always on your dick and not helping his friend who’s having it way worse.)

that’s why for hyunjin, it’s not just that you’re with other people, it’s who. it’s the details. it’s the images that won’t leave his head no matter how much he tries to drown them out.

you.

on his bed.

changbin’s hands on you.

changbin’s mouth on you.

right there. while he was just asleep. he keeps seeing it, over and over, and it’s not even something he witnessed, it’s something he imagines only, fills in with way too much detail that destroy him but most likely didn’t even happen. like hyune i promise you that they did not kiss that close to you as you imagine it.

it makes his stomach twist. makes his grip tighten on whatevers in his hands at the time. makes him want to break something. or someone’s bones. or his own head on a wall.

and hyunjin can’t be mad at you. couldn’t even try. because to him, you’re, fuck, you’re everything.

when you look at him? it all just stops, just for that long. the constant torture in his head and everything that holds in itself, gone. that’s why he still wants you just as bad. maybe worse.

if you asked him to wait? he would.

if you asked him to share? he might.

if you asked him to stay like this, falling deep into this and mad and completely fucked up over you, just a simple little human? he’d do that too.

but all this waiting just ends up making him… hungrier.

he’s constantly trying to figure out where he fits. where he’s allowed to stand. he doesn’t openly hit on you like jeongin, he can’t give you that. doesn’t do what he wants like seungmin, would mess up everything if he did. doesn’t cling like han, he’d feel annoying. can’t over-daddy everyone like chan, could never be on that level. can’t have the same charm as changbin does, doesn’t have it, what changbin was born with, hyunjin learned himself. wouldn’t get away with being creepy like minho(god, only minho can do it like that, even hyunjin wants to drop his panties when he sees minho be a creep towards you. anyone else would be dead if the boys saw someone act like that, but not minho)

he just… waits. that’s what he does, lives in the back, in the others’ shadows, not even his looks saving him now.

first time having feelings going well so far.

oh, sweetie.

but at least he still has the privilege to steal you sometimes, because you do like hanging out with him. he’s grateful for that. (only has himself to be grateful for, is still grateful for you) he can grab your hand and pull and you won’t resist. you’ll giggle and go with him, even while han keeps making little noises.

“hey, hey, where are you taking her?”

“out.” hyunjin says.

“no—”

“yeah.”

he actually had to stab han in the thigh once just so that he wouldn’t follow you. hyunjin always. makes. sure. the others don’t follow you.

he needs the contact to stay sane. just the two of you’s. he doesn’t even talk much in these hangouts, just sits with you, smokes one maybe, watching you. accepting his heartache when you lean on him a little.

internally, he’s fine then. okay. life is good but then he remembers(just imagines, fuck he remembers if he didn’t see it) changbin on his bed, and it all comes back. he has to throw up again.

“…you really didn’t wake me up, huh.” he mutters one time.

you look at him. you’re beautiful. “what?”

he shakes his head. looks good on him. “nothing.”

drinks again. conversation over. but it’s not over.

changbin has taken that knife out of his hand multiple times now.

walk in. see hyunjin. see knife. say “again?” take the knife. place it somewhere, knowing he’ll find it again anyway. “you’re going to cut yourself.”

“wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

“you’re being dramatic.”

“you’re in a fivesome.”

“…can’t even argue with you, dude.”

it hits him in waves. that would be the best metaphor, though he has lots more of those. one minute he’s fine. normal. functionalish. doing whatever the fuck he does during the day. then next he’s on his bed, flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, flushed, heart doing some weird, uneven shit in his chest.

his brain, all you. again. always you.

he’s just thinking. thinking about the way you act with him. the way you lean into him when he pulls you into him, how you trust him with being that close, trust him to protect you in that position. he feels so boyfriend when you do that. you’re the perfect girl. the way your hand fits in his like it was made to be there. he’s sure it was. it must. the way you went out with him before you knew the others. the way your tits look—holy shit tits. yeah these thought chains can be sweet, can be dirty, longing, desperate, needy, horny, everything.

it’s not just want, attraction. it’s this gross need that took over his perfect life.

it’s unhealthy.

but what the fuck is anyone gonna do about it. nothing. that’s what.

so he gets love drunk. and it’s pathetic. genuinely embarrassing for a man like this. ptoo. this was supposed to be the sound of spitting in him. anyways. he’s on his bed in these little episodes, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling looking like he just got shot by cupid himself. feels like it too. even ears red, little boy neck warm, just a boy thinking about you. no distractions. no phone. no alcohol (at least not yet, give him ten minutes).

and then there’s the other problem, which is that all this feeling has to go somewhere. and hyunjin is not good at expressing it. at all.

so it leaks. kinda like that. like one late night, hyunjin is not sleeping again. shocking. he’s been staring at the ceiling for… fuck knows how long, thinking about you, replaying everything, overanalyzing shit.

he gets up. no thoughts that drive him, just feels like going. walks out of his room, down the hallway. to changbin’s door, and opens it without knocking. (them not knocking on each other’s doors has gotten them into multiple situations now)

changbin is asleep. shirtless, sprawled out, one arm thrown over his head. he’a cute. such a boy. more man, maybe.

hyunjin stands there, staring. kinda forget why he came for. so he walks in, closes the door, and climbs into the bed.

fucking cuddles up to changbin. like presses into changbin’s side, throws a leg over him, one arm tucked between them and the other over changbin’s body.

changbin obviously wakes up to this, eyes opening, looking down, seeing hyunjin. processing… processing…

“hey, buddy.” changbin says.

“…hi.”

changbin exhales, so soft, adjusting to get comfortable again, then puts an arm around hyunjin.

“you okay?” he asks.

“no.”

“yeah. figured.”

hyunjin presses his face into changbin’s shoulder, trying to hide.

changbin understands. wishes he could do something for hyunjin. these two kill people btw.

at some point, hyunjin falls asleep. changbin goes back to sleep too. cuties.

and they could be doing this more, would help a lot, but when not, they’re at your place. everyone is at your place. it’s not your place anymore. it’s theirs too. they have collectively decided that your space is now their space. your time is their time.

like, some days you walk in, and felix is on your couch, flipping through one of your magazines like he can actually read. (he can)

he looks up when you come in, smiling ear to ear. “oh, hey.”

“hi, lix. what are you doing?”

“reading.” such a cutie. “my horoscope says i’m gonna change the world.”

“amazing, sweetie.”

and when you turn your head because hyunjin is talking to you about how the moon looks like your left tit or whatever emo shit he’s on today, and when you turn back, felix is eating the paper.

you don’t even have the energy to yell anymore. you just take the rest of the magazine before he eats the whole thing.

you like your magazines.

sometimes when the boys are all too much, too loud, too physical, too on you, and you need to calm down before you lose your mind or commit a homicide of your own, you sit down, grab the latest issue, and you read it. close every single one of them out. usually perfect legs crossed, flipping pages while han is trying to climb on top of the fridge, seungmin is shooting at changbin(your neighbors just started moving not too long ago), that’s the game, changbin has to dodge, jeongin climbs onto the back of the couch, start braiding tiny sections of your hair while talking to you. “and then i told the guy i was gonna wear his face as a mask for you, but he screamed so loud i had to—” you hum and don’t pay attention. felix is usually on the floor gnawing on something (sometimes a bone, sometimes one of your socks) making happy little noises, watching the others or plays with them when invited, minho stands there holding one of your bras, sniffing it every few minutes(fucking creep??? hello???), hyunjin tries to read over your shoulder. “this writer doesn’t understand true longing. i would kill myself for you.” chan’s the only one who sometimes just sits next to you quietly(when not sharpening something with little metal shavings accidentally ending up in your hair), arm around your shoulders, scrolling on his phone like a normal(ish) boyfriend until seungmin starts shit talking and they throw hands. it drives them insane because they want your attention so bad but you’re over here reading about skincare while three of them have their dicks out.

you need it because they’re always on you. touching you. leaning on you. sitting too close. standing too close. breathing too close. you’ll be in the kitchen and suddenly there’s a hand on you, any part of you. sometimes head, arm, the boyfriends get private areas privilege of course, whatnot. you’ll be on the couch and someone’s arm is around you. you’ll be walking somewhere and someone’s grabbed your wrist, your hand, your sleeve, something.

“where are you going?”

“over there.”

“why?”

“because i want to.”

“…come back.”

so you need your magazines to ignore them sometimes. and, surprisingly, they don’t bother you that much when they see you’re reading. well, they don’t stop bothering you, they still talk your ear off, but at least don’t rip the magazine out of your hands so you pay attention to them.

when shit gets too… well, psychotic, these men are sick and need you to stop them sometimes, we know that, sometimes you just shove the magazine into seungmin’s hands. he’s usually the closest to you. and you know he’ll hold it.

“read this and shut up for five minutes.” you say, going to the kitchen where minho and felix are about to castrate each other.

seungmin bitches “this is fucking stupid, why do women need ten tips for everything, just suck dick better, why am i—” but two minutes later he’s fully invested in the “sex tips for women who like it rough” article, eyebrows raised, nodding while reading.

you come back ten minutes later with jeongin crying because felix tried to bite his dick and seungmin’s just quietly reading under his breath “pro tip, communicate your needs… yeah no shit.” he hands it back without looking at you, face a little red. “mid.”

they’re always on your dick. you try to pee in peace and the bathroom door creaks open and one of them is just standing there. like changbin, saying “just making sure you’re okay, baby.”

“fuck are you looking at, get out.”

“okay. you’re so cute.” he says, smiling and waving.

chan will knock once, then walk in anyway, starts talking to you. he acts the most normal of them. acts. doesn’t mean he is. he’s not.

han will wander in scratching his balls, go “oh shit sorry” then just stand there watching. fascinated. “you pee like a girl… that’s so cool…” ??? okay??? once he got so excited he started clapping. “wow you’re really going!! good job!!”

seungmin doesn’t really come in unless he needs something or just wants to annoy you, but not like he minds the fact that you’re peeing. once the second you wrapped your used pad up he took it from your hands and threw it into the tiny trash can for you. you, to this day, genuinely can’t decide if that was cute or fucking creepy.

and your bedroom? fucking circus. you have one bed. one. one! you’re lucky that it’s a big bed, but not big enough for the fact that all of these men, freshly feeling men, deeply in love men, want to sleep touching you.

han is glued to you, nonnegotiable. if he doesn’t get to be next to you, it’s “no—no, i’m staying—i’m staying right here—” it’s too much, but you love him. it’s also kind of sad. it’s also incredibly fucking inconvenient when there are also other people in the room.

seungmin is just “this is disgusting.” “move over.” “why is he breathing like that.” “why is everyone breathing like that.” but god forbid he’s not involved.

chan just decides where he’s sleeping and everyone else adjusts accordingly. daddy has built this system up himself.

and you want changbin there, and no way you don’t get what you want(except for peace but whatever) so changbin will be touching you one way or another. that gives him more confidence too nowadayd.

you wake up some mornings with han drooling on your tit, seungmin’s arm over your waist, changbin curled up at your feet the baby(execute him now), and chan somehow taking up half the mattress, with an arm behind your neck!! then you look down and felix is on the floor waiting for you to wake up and spend time with him, jeongin is spooning a pillow, hyunjin is writing something on the ceiling with a marker(???), and minho is standing in the corner watching everyone. waves to you. you hate them. (you love them more than anything and you’re unbelievably grateful for them no matter how horrible they are to the world)

and naturally, now that they’re all over you and see that the others are also all over you, they will… not want to be all over the others too. difficult wording, point here, jealousy.

not so serious that they’ll kill each other(except if you’re minho, he’d kill anyone), god no, but still. some of them are fine with sharing, some get a bit jealous. (but still would share if you told them to. anything you want, y/n.)

right now, the mainly hated one is chan.

well, they actually love chan, in the limited way serial killers can love anything that isn’t themselves and their needs to kill. they look up to him. he’s the most put together in any given situation, minho and felix trying to rip each other’s faces off or jeongin threatening to “end it all” over a bad haircut that’s not even bad and he’s the only one who thinks so, chan’s daddy ass steps in and everything is fine in five minutes. okay, sure, he had to break hyunjin’s collarbone once, but still settled shit.

they respect him. they copy him sometimes. they see how he acts with you and try the same. but right now, mostly they want to kill him.

he’s spending solo time with you today. they know. it makes them want to hang themselves.

right now, hyunjin and felix are… somewhere. no one really knows where they decided to go, just that hyunjin needed to get out and felix followed because he likes hyunjin’s company. (let’s note that he doesn’t know he likes hyunjin’s company, his brain likes it without him being conscious of it.) so they’re spending time together in an alley behind a building. felix is gnawing on a forearm, making disgusting, crunching sounds while he talks to hyunjin.

“and then i was like, wait, what if you just—”

“yeah.”

“right? like you don’t even have to—”

“no, yeah.”

“and then it just, like, came off, right? like, completely off. i didn’t even know that could happen, but then minho told me to put it down and i really—“

“deep.”

hyunjin hasn’t heard a single word. not one. he’s staring off into the distance, mind somewhere else entirely. guess where, you. every few minutes felix offers him a bite and hyunjin politely declines without even looking at felix, it would be hard for anyone else, felix is beautiful. hyunjin just doesn’t care now. it’s sweet that felix still keeps offering the boys bites even though they always say no. he’s either thoughtful or thoughtless and forgot they keep declining. anyways, he swings his legs, talks, goes on, while hyunjin drinks, and drinks, and drinks.

minho and jeongin are out getting rid of a body together, the two of them dragging a trash bag through the woods. they don’t talk much. but they’re having fun. seungmin is waiting in the car, he’s not in the mood for moving around now.

changbin and han are at changbin’s(and hyunjin’s but whatever he’s not home) place.

han is whining. “i miss her already, man, what if—”

changbin has him by the collar, holding him in place with one massive fucking arm holy shit so hot while he stirs something on the stove. “she’s fine, buddy. just chill. i made pasta. eat.”

han tries to run toward the door again and changbin yanks him back. brutal respect to him for never once raising his voice, by the way.

so. you and chan have your place to yourselves. you’re in the kitchen doing shit, chopping things or stirring whatever’s in the pot, while chan is behind you.

he’s such a sex symbol. moves behind you without a sound, psychopath quiet really, big hands on your hips. he leans down, presses a soft kiss to the side of your head. “smells good.” reaches around to steal a piece of whatever you’re chopping, puts it in his mouth, and hums. approval. “missed you today.” he whispers. that, is harder to say. but he did great.

you lean back into him. “missed you too. how was the… thing?” you don’t say kill out loud. ew ew ew. sometimes you dance around it, sometimes you don’t. today feels like dancing.

it’s brutal development, where we are now, where you are about what they do. but you love them this way, learn to accept it.

“i did good. guy begged like a lil bitch at the end but that’s nothing new. told him to shut up and think about his family. made it faster for him.”

you turn your head enough to look at him, to see his pretty face, tasting the sauce off the wooden spoon. offer it back over your shoulder for him. “here. try this. too much basil?”

he takes the spoon, tastes it. nods. “perfect. you always nail it.” he sets the spoon down and wraps both arms around your waist now, pulling you back against him.

it’s weird, that killing gives him this much of a rush. a man who can be this gentle with you is that evil.

and you also give him that rush. you do the same shit to his nervous system but worse. or better, y’know. he gets these random adrenaline rushes just from the way you do even the most insignificant shit like sneezing. now his heart rate raises like it does when he’s chasing someone, so blood reacts to that, and oh look at that, his dick is filling slowly because his body chose you.

the part in his brain that used to only light up for, to react to violence, now does that for your voice. for your anything really, your whole being. he loves it, living with this now. weird. makes him feel human, that used to make him want to peel his skin off.

he’s so in love it’s dumb. lame. his psychology’s new, attachment that used to be impossible for a guy like him now feels like oxygen. you’re the only thing that brings him good emotions all the time. every little interaction with you, or just thinking about you really, gets his dopamine, his dumb man body, higher than any kill ever did.

so, his cock’s half hard now, pressing against the front of his jeans, and it’s not even because his brain got sexual information, it’s because you simply make him this happy.

before you, he thought this shit, talking, touching, just existing in the same room, was a waste of time, oh he didn’t need it. now he’d watch you do this for hours. he’d watch you sleep, he does.

you turn your head to look at him and he catches your mouth in a kiss, no tongue, just wet mouth on mouth. when he pulls back his eyes are dark, pupils big from the love and lust flooding his system. looks good on him. the white feather hawk tail deer hunter likes to keep me cold in the hot breeze summer ever.

“keep cooking, i’m good right here.” he murmurs, not wanting to stop your little woman activity for his dumb dick. but he could cum like this if he let himself, really could, humping you while you finish dinner, spilling in his pants because you do that to him. but he won’t.

“mm.” you reply. “give me time then, i want you to try this for sure. just thought i’d make something you like. i know you love spicy.”

he puts his cheek to your cheek. heartless psychopath, by the way. “i do. you know me so well.”

let’s ignore that he can’t deal with spicy. loves it, tolerating it is another case entirely. you know that, he forgets sometimes.

“i want to know you so well. i care about you, you know. so i worry. what if one day something goes wrong out there? what if you don’t come back? i don’t know what i’d do with all these assholes without you keeping them in line.”

chan smiles. he presses another kiss to your temple, then your cheek. “i always come back. got too much to come home to now.” his hands slide a little higher, palms on your sides, holding you closer. “tell me about your day. you were out earlier. anything interesting?”

“usual. ran into jeongin at the store. he obviously followed me there, but didn’t cause trouble so it was fine. i told him to tone it down or i’m banning him from the apartment for a week, and han tried to cheer him up by offering to share his ‘special’ energy drink. which is just vodka and red bull. they both ended up puking in the bathtub. they left after that. nothing else, actually.

chan hums and holds you to himself, letting you feel him. “fuck, baby. you feel good. always do.”

you bite your lip, getting all horny now too. “yeah?”

“mhm.” he hums, grinding against you a bit. just a little bit, not like, han, who would be full on humping you now. he looks away. “feels good when you worry.”

this is huge, coming from someone this closed off. the progress you made with these boys should get an award, no joke. it’s serious shit.

you add more things into the pan because they need vegetables and thankfully all eats them. then lean back into him more, letting him hold your weight. he’ll always hold your weight. “i do worry, chan. you’re not invincible. promise me you’ll be careful?”

his hips press in again, cock going between your asscheeks over the clothes. it’s not to start anything, just to relieve the situation in his pants. he’s obviously listening to you, kisses the side of your neck even, open mouthed and wet. hot. “i promise, baby. careful as i can be.” another press of his hips, more upwards, breath hitching just slightly. “talk to me more.”

you hum, giving everything a stir in the pan. “okay, fine. i’ve been thinking about getting a bigger place. this one bedroom is killing me with all eight of you basically living here. but then i think about moving and i get this weird panic because… what if the new place doesn’t feel like home? what if it’s too big and you all spread out?”

“mm. i get it. it’s grown on me too.”

you hum, focusing on the food even as your body responds to this man’s whole being. “i’ve been reading this article in one of my magazines about how to deal with difficult people. thought it was funny because none of the tips apply to you guys. ‘set boundaries’ yeah right, tried and didn’t work. ‘communicate calmly’ i do but it doesn’t do anything. but with you they work. you listen.“ you mumble. this is not favoritism, you love the others just as much as you love chan, it’s just a fact that he’s easier to deal with. “anyways, how was your day besides the thing? you went out earlier with minnie, right? didn’t come back covered in blood this time, so i’m guessing you two ate out or something? went well?”

“no that was murder too.”

“oh.”

“seungmin got a little creative with a crowbar, but it wasn’t that serious. you should be proud.”

you put your head back against his chest, smiling. “i am. the others couldn’t do that. han told me he almost set the couch on fire yesterday trying to ‘impress’ felix with some dumb lighter trick. you hear about that?”

he rocks you a little. it’s not even to relieve his boner, it’s just to be close to you. “heard the smoke alarm. changbin had to put the fire out. should’ve seen his face, he thought he ruined dinner for you.”

“poor bin.” you say, genuinely feeling a little bad. you add some soy sauce to the pan. sizzles. “he tries so hard. last week he brought me flowers, it was so cute. you notice how he’s been smiling more since… well, since he got added?”

he watches over your shoulder as you toss the things in the pan around. “yeah. innie’s worse though. he tried to do push ups in the living room to ‘bulk up’ so you’d notice him more. got to twenty, then felix walked by eating a sandwich and jeongin got distracted, fell on the carpet. nosebleed everywhere. han laughed so hard he pissed himself a little. changbin tried to help clean it up but used your good towel. the pink one.”

“NO.”

he hisses. “yeah, sorry.”

you sigh, reaching back with one hand to pat his thigh. “whatever, i’ll ask felix for a new one. speaking of, did you see what he did to my last magazine? ate half of it. i don’t even know how to respond to that anymore.”

his hands squeeze your hips as he rolls against you again, his cock pressing nicely between your cheeks. still patient though. “i’ll talk to him.”

“god, he’s so empty up there.” you say fondly. the food’s starting to look done. “but he tries. in his weird way. two days ago he brought me a flower. like one. picked it himself. it was sweet.”

chan’s hips keep humping into yours, sometimes in circles. “they all try. even seungmin. he bitched about your magazine the other day but i saw him reading the how to squirt article when he thought nobody was looking. turned the page so fast when i walked in. almost ripped it.”

you giggle. “he’s an angel. he leaves hickeys shaped like hearts sometimes. don’t tell him i noticed.“

“wouldn’t dream of it, baby.” oh, his voice is getting a little rougher, but he keeps the conversation going like nothing’s happening below the waist. skill. his free hand reaches around to steal a piece of broccoli from the pan, pops it in his mouth.

you turn the heat down and you lean back into him completely now, and he takes this deep, slow breath.

you smile, god, it’s weird that a smile comes so natural for you, compared to them, eyes half closed, enjoying him.“hey. i saw a bruise on your ribs two days ago when you were changing. it looked kinda nasty. you never told me how you got it. still hurting?”

he huffs against your hair, hips moving against your ass because he can’t help it. “no big deal. just some guy got lucky. nothing broken. barely even feel it anymore.”

you don’t buy it for a second. you turn around in his arms, grabbing the hem of his shirt and tugging it upward. “let me see anyway.”

chan raises an eyebrow, the one without the cute little mole, but lifts his arms to help, that calm, sexy smirk on his face(embodiment of dr dr feel good come make me feel real good fr) as you peel the shirt off over his head and drop it on the counter behind him. oh that’s dada right there. even with the bruise on his left side, ugly, purple yellow thing spread across his ribs, fresh.

your heart does a little twist, these guys are brutal, survive anything basically, but seeing him like this still makes you worry.

you’re the only one who worries for them like this. who knows them like this.

“fuck, chan… that looks like it hurts more than you’re letting on.”

you keep looking at him, not the bruise only,(of course) but just savoring that this is your man. that your man has this chest, these shoulders, these traps, these biceps, triceps, and not to forget that light little happy trail starting under his belly button, leading down into his jeans where his cock is visibly straining, begging for your attention.

it’s really important that it’s begging for yours specifically.

your hand slides down his stomach, fingertips moving over his abs, then lower. you cup him through his jeans, feeling how he presses against the layers of clothing. giving him a gentle squeeze, then a slow little tug, petting the outline of his cock.

chan takes a cute, deep little breath but he stays still, letting you touch however you want. “y/n…” he mutters, plea. there’s a tiny smile on his mouth. you want to rip him apart.

instead, you pull your groping hand away(the way his chest rises at that is panty dropping) and press under his belly button instead, pushing him back gently until his ass hits the edge of the counter.

he goes easy, leaning against it, watching you, letting you manhandle him because it’s you. his hands settle on the counter behind him.

you step in, rise up on your toes, and kiss him.

it’s slow. loving. a psychopath’s love on your lips, really. tasting each other.

one of his hands comes up to cradle the back of your head, the other on your waist, the soft wet sounds of making out in the quiet kitchen or the occasional pop from the cooling pan.

when you finally pull back you tilt your head and kiss along his jaw, then down to his neck. your mouth latches on, sucking blood up to the surface hard, leaving a trail of dark hickeys across his skin. so everyone will see it tomorrow and know exactly who put it there.

one goes right over the tendon that flexes when he swallows. that’s your favorite.

chan tilts his head to give you more room, sighing and grabbing into your hair in pleasure, letting you mark him up.

you keep going, down, down, down, kissing down the center of his chest now. your knees don’t even mind their position so just that your tongue can flick out over one of his nipples, circling it before you close your lips around it and suck gently.

chan’s hand pulls lightly at your hair, a soft grunt escaping him.

you part from him, giving the peaked little nipple(god you’re crazy about men’s nipples) one last little flick before you leave to lick across to the other one, giving it the same love, teeth involved now to make his abs tense under your finger.

lower. you sink down slowly, knees bending until you’re crouching in front of him, eyes locked on his the whole way. your hands slide up his thighs, feeling the muscle there before you lean in and press a soft kiss right to the bruise on his ribs.

soft, careful kisses right over the discolored skin. little pecks that turn into longer presses of your lips, tongue poking out on his hot skin. he’s such a man. a babe too, deep down.

“kissing it better.” you murmur on his skin, lips on the bruise where it’s turning yellowish now.

“it’s better already, baby. swear.”

you smile on the bruise and kiss it again. “good. i hate when you get hurt and don’t tell me. i want you to come home to me in one piece.”

“i always do.” he murmurs. his hand strokes your scalp gently. “always come back to you.”

you move across his stomach then, kissing every inch of skin, dipping your tongue into his belly button for a second to hear the way his breath stutters. he likes that. then back up a little, licking over his nipples again on the way, sucking one into your mouth while your hand strokes lightly over his side.

back up, eventually, standing up again so you can kiss his mouth once more. this time chan meets you halfway, kissing you deeper now, tongue trying to meet yours immediately. big bad psycho man needed this now.

and he’s still so, so hard for you.

when you break the kiss you go back down again, lips finding his neck for more hickeys. you suck a particularly dark one on his collarbone, then soothe it with your tongue. not even close to the tendon’s number one spot in your favorites, but this looks good too. chan’s head is tipped back, eyes half lidded, blissed the fuck out. you kiss lower again, across his chest.

you move down to give the bruise another round of soft kisses, murmuring “still kissing it better.”

“it’s perfect now. doesn’t hurt at all. you fixed it.”

you always fix everything.

you give his hipbone a loving squeeze with both hands, then just again, rise up and kiss his neck again, add another hickey, then find his mouth.

now it’s getting mf wet. lips pulling and sucking until your knees are weak and it’s practically chan holding you up. but why wouldn’t he when you pour this much care into every kiss, every lick, every mark?

he can’t believe that he’s this lucky to have you. he’ll have to go and thank hyunjin for choosing you back then. hyunjin, who chan doesn’t feel bad for even while clearly seeing what he’s going through. he simply couldn’t care when you’re there and in his mind instead. plus the dude will live anyway.

you lose track of how many times you travel that path. down and up, kissing, licking, sucking, making out. each round slower than the last. his neck is a mess of hickeys now, a field really, body hot and flushed, the bruise looking the same but he said you fixed it so you fixed it. his cock stays hard the whole time, straining, leaking a little but no seeping through, but you never touch it again after that first tease. this isn’t about getting him off. it’s about you caring for your man, showing him with your mouth and hands that he matters, that his bruises get kissed, that his cold little psycho heart is safe with you, as crazy that is to say.

you could do this all night.

you pull back to look at him. his eyes are heavy, so beautiful, biiiiig lips a little red, fresh hickeys looking good on his skin. he looks thoroughly kissed and completely content. the dream man.

“hungry?” you ask quietly, nodding toward the cold food.

chan smiles, so rare. “starving, baby. but not for that.”

he leans in and kisses you again, slow, hands sliding to your skin now.

you make everything perfect in his feelingless little world. you make the black and white colorful. you put a meaning into everything.

hours later you’re tangled up in your bed now, sheets kicked halfway off because the two of you went at it like animals after allat slow kissing in the kitchen getting both of you hot and bothered. clothes gone in a second, man fucked you into the mattress until both of you were shaking and swearing and cumming so loud(the way chan was shouting was delicious) the neighbors probably thought someone was getting murdered (again). now the afterglow has you both… like this, naked, sticky, limbs around each other.

chan’s face is on your tummy, cheek on your skin, arm draped over your hip. babe’s almost asleep, breathing slowly, warm puffs ghosting over your belly button every time he exhales. he’s about to fall asleep.

you’re on your back, legs loosely tangled with his, one hand buried in his hair while the other rests on his broad shoulder.

the state you left him in is fucking brutal.

his whole torso is… wow. dark hickeys on his chest, some overlapping where you sucked the same spot twice. a lot of them. like an unsettling amount at this point. there’s a line of them down his stomach, fading into smaller ones right above where his cock is now soft and tucked against your thigh. his nipples are still a little puffy and red from how long you licked and sucked them. you even left a set of teeth marks on the inside of his left pec because you got carried away when he hit that spot inside you. his eyes rolled back then.

his back is shredded with your nail marks, long, red scratches running from his shoulder blades all the way down to the dimples above his ass. you can feel the raised lines under your fingertips when you slide your hand down there. that’s how rough you went. you’ll have to put something on it tomorrow. some cream. one particularly wild scratch is around his ribcage, right next to the bruise you spent so long kissing better earlier. on the side of his face, right under his cheekbone, there’s a fading set of nail marks where you grabbed him while he was pounding into you and you were cumming so hard you saw stars. and then there’s the hickey on his right ass cheek, even though it’s currently hidden under the crumpled sheet.

but right now, your full focus is on his curls.

you’re obsessed with them. they’re so soft, a little damp from sweat, so cute over his forehead and around his ears. like wdym boys have their little hairs too and they live with it.

you thread your fingers through it slowly, scratching lightly at his scalp with your nails when not gently tugging at the hair itself.

chan’s eyes are closed but they’re rolling the fuck back from pleasure under his pretty lids. he even lets out these tiny little “mhmfp” sounds and (which he doesn’t notice) his legs kick a little.

you smile at your big strong scary boyfriend and massage the base of his skull with your fingertips. another soft sound from him. his arm tightens around your hip before it loses tension again because you hit a good spot.

“your hair’s so fucking pretty.” you murmur. you don’t expect an answer. chan isn’t big on pillow talk about feelings, but he listens. he always listens when you talk. he’s okay with you talking.

he knows you know. communication, obviously. hyunjin should learn.

you gather a handful of curls at the crown of his head and give a gentle tug, then release, watching them bounce back into place. chan’s eyelashes flutter against your skin and he makes almost a purr now. you repeat, scratching behind his ear with your nails, then smoothing the curls down only to mess them up again on purpose. all the tension he carries around (the kills, the other seven, the constant everything on everything) just drains out through your touch.

you were born to deal with these psychos, and each of them was born to be right in your palm.

you twirl one curl around your index finger until it’s tight, hold it for a second, then let go so it springs free. cute. chan’s lips part against your tummy and he lets out a quiet “fuck…” under his breath. he can feel his love for you in his arms, not just his huge chest.

you’re like some cat, entertained by this. just playing around. how are they supposed to take your seriously like this??

you drag your nails from his hairline all the way back, then repeat, over and over. soothing. every pass earns you another one of those little sounds, sometimes a hum, sometimes just the tiniest hitch in his breath. big bad man who can choke someone out with one hand and stay completely calm while doing it is currently putty because you’re giving his hair some love.

you trace the shell of his ear with one fingertip, then bury your fingers back into the hair behind it. chan nuzzles closer to your tummy, nose(that you like riding so much) pressing into the soft skin there.

“i could do this for hours. they’re softer than they look, you know that? and the way they curl right here at the nape of your neck… fuck, channie. it’s so cute how hot you are even when you’re being all sweet like this.” type shit good dick makes you say.

“not sweet.” he mumbles, voice muffled and kinda raspy from all the groaning he did earlier. it sounds adorable. “just… tired. you wore me out.”

“hm.”

you know him. he won’t suddenly start talking about his feelings or how much he loves you out loud. but the way his arm squeezes your hip, the way his whole body relaxed on yours(means a lot coming from a psycho who was never felt attachment before) the way he keeps making those baby little noises every time you hit a good spot, that’s his version of i’m so fucking in love with you.

you keep playing with his hair for a long time. sometimes you just let your fingers rest in the curls, feeling the warmth of his scalp. boy warmth. sometimes you tug a little harder, and he rewards you with a deeper sound on your belly.

his nail marked back rises and falls under your arm. so sweet. he’s just a little meow meow(an unbelievably disgusting man to walk this earth)

you tug at a curl, watch it bounce, and smile when chan makes a little sound again. it’s so attractive. more attractive when you remember how fast he can snap spines. weird, how slowly you began to get over these little images. they’re not upsetting anymore, but seeing it in real life would still freak you out, no doubt.

you do it once more, then smooth everything down with your palm, only to mess it all up again because you can’t help yourself.

“love your curls so much.” you murmur scratching behind his ear. “love you, baby.”

chan, sleepy psycho he is, turns his face to press a kiss right below your belly button, then settles again, cheek back on your tummy.

god, you really do love this man.

“Y/N!!!”

han.

home.

the front door slams. immediately after you hear changbin’s slightly panicked voice “jis, buddy, please, calm down, they’re probably resting—”

something crashes. glass? a lamp? maybe the coffee table. another crash, louder. a third noise sounds suspiciously like a chair being thrown across the living room???

you and chan both sigh at the exact same time.

“should’ve locked the door.” he mutters.

before you can answer, the bedroom door flies open.

“hi y/n!! hi chan!!” han says, already kicking his shoes off so hard one of them smacks the wall and leaves a black little stain. you keep telling him to take them off at the door. “you guys won’t believe the day i had! i tried to steal this guy’s car but the keys were in his pocket so i had to cut his pocket off first and then the pocket had a hole and the keys fell into a sewer grate and then felix tried to reach in after them but his arm got stuck and—” he’s talking a mile a minute while simultaneously peeling his shirt off over his head. pants next, he hops on one foot, almost falls, catches himself on the dresser, then yanks them down along with his boxers halfway before stopping and pulling the boxers back up. he leaves them on, thank god. “—and then the guy woke up even though i swore i hit him hard enough and he started screaming so i had to sit on his face until he stopped moving and his nose made this wet crunch sound and blood came out his ears and it was so gross but also kinda funny and then changbin said i couldn’t keep the car anyway because it had blood on the seats—”

he fucking lifts the covers like it’s his god given fucking right and crawls into bed, wiggling between you and chan. half on top of you, one arm over your waist, face nuzzling into the side of your bare boob. his leg kicks out, his foot ends up between chan’s ass cheeks under the sheets.

chan doesn’t even fucking care anyone, just shifts his hips because whatever it’s han.

han’s pretty voice is slightly muffled against your tit now. “anyway i missed you so much i thought about you the whole time even when i was pulling that guy’s teeth out with pliers and you smell like sex. that’s nice. did chan make you cum a lot? he’s good at that. i’m getting better too, remember last time i lasted four minutes instead of two—”

changbin catches up, now at the door too looking exhausted. “i tried. i really tried to keep him outside longer. he just… ran.”

you smile, still playing with chan’s hair with one hand while the other reaches out toward changbin “c’mere, baby. it’s fine.”

he doesn’t need telling twice. he strips fast, shirt folded (really important that he folds it), pants folded, everything placed carefully on the chair(seungmin usually sits in when is not in the mood but still wants to be involved in some way) like a good boy before he closes the door behind himself. then he climbs into bed on your other side, under the covers and cuddling up to you with his head on your shoulder, one big arm going on you too, just under han’s dumb arm and above chan’s being.

now. we got, chan’s face still on your tummy, han’s face in your tits, changbin’s face tucked into your neck, his thigh just where his underwear ends next to chan’s head, and han’s foot still living happily between chan’s asscheeks. chan doesn’t mention it. han sure as fuck doesn’t notice.

you hum, a little sleepy. “seungmin is gonna be so fucking mad when he finds out he missed this. left out again. he’s gonna lose his shit. someone should text him.”

han lifts his pretty head to nod. “yeah. last time he found out we had group time without him he got so pissed he took it out on that one delivery guy. seungmin dragged him into the alley, beat his face in with the pizza box, then used the guy’s own belt to strangle him. the pizza was cold by the time we ate it. sad.”

changbin noses at your skin. “or remember when han accidentally sat in min’s favorite spot on the couch? he didn’t say anything, just waited until han went to take a piss, then followed him into the bathroom, slammed his head into the mirror three times, and made him apologize to the toilet while bleeding everywhere.”

han giggles. “yeah!! my forehead scar is from that! looks kinda cool though. he said ‘next time i’ll use the plunger’ and i believed him so i don’t sit there anymore.”

you snort, still playing with chan’s hair. “jesus. and the stranger thing last month?”

han is visibly excited to tell you about that, foot flexing happily between chan’s cheeks. “oh oh!! seungmin was already mad because jeongin stole his last cigarette, so when this random dude at the gas station bumped into him and didn’t say sorry, he grabbed the guy by the hair, slammed his face into the pump like eight times, then ripped the nozzle out and shoved it down the dude’s throat. started pumping gas straight into his stomach. guy died. we had to hose min off.”

changbin sighs into your shoulder. “he does get… creative when he’s angry. last time he thought chan was hogging you too much he keyed chan’s car with the word ‘selfish’ and then slashed all four tires. chan just fixed it and told seungmin to grow up. seungmin punched a hole in the wall after.”

“he’s lucky i like you more than i like my car.” chan mumbles into your stomach.

“mhm.” comes from han. “he also stabbed jeongin in the thigh with a fork then. jeongin screamed so loud felix dropped his human finger sandwich. he still walks funny sometimes. anyway, he can stay mad. i’m comfy. can i sleep here forever? even if seungmin comes home and tries to castrate me with a spoon?” home. like aw his psycho brain recognized this place as home.

changbin yawns, cuddling closer. “he probably will try. but i’ll protect you. mostly. unless he brings the brick again.” the brick. what could have that been.

you hum an agreement out. too lazy to speak. (but not to play with chan’s hair)

yeah long story short seungmin did end up losing his shit the next morning.

he walked in, already tired and done with everything(but when is he not) saw the four of you tangled up naked and cuddly, and went aaaall the fuck out. didn’t touch you, didn’t even look at you wrong. you’re his god. instead he grabbed changbin by the throat, slammed him into the wall, and started hitting him. men.

changbin, brutal respect to him here(zero respect he’s a murderer), took the first three punches like a champ, blood already dripping from his lip, before he finally swung back because seungmin wasn’t stopping.

they took it to the living room. seungmin headbutted changbin, so he picked seungmin up and body slammed him through the coffee table. seungmin came up laughing like a fucking maniac, genuinely what the fuck is his problem, tackled changbin into the tv, and they rolled around punching and choking and bleeding all over your floor.

they finally stopped when seungmin bit changbin’s shoulder hard enough to draw blood and make him unable to use that arm since the muscle hurt that much and changbin accidentally elbowed him in the balls. both of them ended up on the floor panting, covered in each other’s blood, too tired to keep going.

you made them both clean the mess while you and chan and han ate in bed.

but seungmin never once got mad at you. not even a little. you’re the only thing in his life that doesn’t get this treatment. you’re sacred.

he respects you like crazy. dead serious.

example, last week you told him “minnie, babe, can you keep an eye on felix? i won’t be home and he keeps chasing the mailman and i’m tired of it.”

“got it.”

later you come home and felix is tied to a kitchen chair with zip ties and a gag in his mouth. gnawing on the gag making happy cannibal noises but doesn’t move an inch. package is sitting untouched on the counter. that night you licked seungmin head to toe for that. he melted the fuck away. submissive babe.

another time you’re running late and you text him “make sure han eats something before 8pm. he gets hangry and starts humping the furniture.”

seungmin replies with a thumbs up emoji (which is the most effort he ever puts into texting). when you get home han is sitting at the table eating a full plate of spaghetti while seungmin stands over him with crossed arms. han has sauce all over his face and is mumbling “this is so good bro thank you”

you once told him “if jeongin is in the kitchen for more than twenty minutes, drag his ass outside and make him run laps until he keeps his cocktail recipes to himself.”

next day jeongin comes back sweaty and red faced, thighs burning, muttering “seungmin made me sprint while he timed me.”

seungmin just shrugs when you look at him. “he did eight laps. you’re welcome.”

you told him once that the group chat was getting too spammy and you wanted one day of peace. he immediately changed the group name to “shut the fuck up unless someone’s dead” and then threatened to remove anyone’s tongue if they messaged you after 8pm. jeongin sent a dick pic next to a corpse at 8:45. seungmin showed up at jeongin’s place ten minutes later with a pair of pliers. innie still can’t feel his left pinky. you took this rule out of order because you knew worse shit will happen.

he’s a violent, mean, sick fuck to everyone else on the planet, but the second you speak he turns into the most loyal little dog who ever lived. it’s actually kinda hot.

anyway.

days later you told the others you needed one single afternoon of peace with just changbin. they all whined except seungmin, and he teamed up with jeongin and hyunjin to entertain han for the day. they took him to the zoo.

han, to start the day, tried to climb into the monkey enclosure but luckily fell off. jeongin flirted with three different zookeepers trying to get them to let han “pet the big cats.” hyunjin drew the penguins and showed it to the sea lions. seungmin mostly stood there smoking, threatening to skin anyone who looked at the others wrong, but even he cracked a smile when han tried to hug a llama and got spit on.

at some point hyunjin stood at the lion exhibit monologuing about how the lions understood his pain and maybe he should just live in the savanna now. why is he fucking hilarious. han tried to feed the monkeys his own fingers. seungmin slapped his hand away. jeongin tried to steal a peacock feather for you and got chased by security. hyunjin cried because the butterflies were “too free and i am trapped in my longing for y/n.” seungmin threatened to throw all three of them into the shark tank if they didn’t behave. they behaved for exactly eleven minutes before han saw the gift shop and sprinted inside.

by noon, he almost got fucking bitten like three times. he kept pointing at every animal and yelling for the others to look too, jeongin flirted with the zookeeper girl so hard she gave him free popcorn, then immediately turned around and told hyunjin “she’s nothing compared to y/n.” they lost hyunjin for twelve whole minutes. he was talking with a dad whose kid was running around screaming.

at the end of the day they had dirt on then, ice cream, and a new knife. jeongin had hickeys from making out with the gift shop girl who slapped him after he moaned “y/n” into the kiss. he really did it just to imagine it was you kissing him. hyunjin was quietly crying into his notebook.

which brings us here.

you and changbin are finally alone in the big corner bathtub, water hot enough that steam is fogging the mirror and changbin is fucking dying inside but would rather boil alive than complain. the jets are not on a big setting, so they’re just working a bit on binnie’s back, and the whole bathroom smells like your fancy bath salts that you love and of course the boys will buy for you!!

the water is perfect for you, relaxing, changbin is lowkey dying. his chest and shoulders are turning red from the heat, little beads of sweat rolling down his temples, but he doesn’t say a single word. whatever you want goes.

you’re straddling his lap facing him, arms around his neck. his hands rest gently on your hips under the water, giving you all the love his sick little heart has.

you lean in and kiss him softly, lips sliding together warm and wet from the steam. really wet, he has to die from the heat. send help. but he kisses back just as gentle, tongue brushing yours in wet little strokes. you pull back a little, smile, then kiss him again, noses bumping, water sloshing quietly around you. creates a nice atmosphere.

your hands go down to move up and down his sides, nails dragging lightly over his wet skin. just teasing, running from his ribs down to his hips and back up again. naked men hips are breathtaking, on all eight of them.

every touch makes changbin shiver even in the boiling water. he makes a soft little sound into your mouth, almost a little moan, and kisses you again, sweeter. he could do this for hours and never get tired. well maybe he could pass out from the heat instead whatever.

you tilt your head, kiss the corner of his mouth, then his bottom lip, sucking on it gently before sliding your tongue back in. his hands tighten on your hips, then relaxes again, brain trying to deal with all these feelings.

you keep running your nails up his sides, soothing. he shudders, has to pull away to breathe for a second, then captures your mouth again in another kiss. innocent one.

his hands slide up from your hips, slow. sweet, not the palms that break bones but the palms that find your tits, cupping them both from underneath. so precious to him. he’s holding. thumbs brushing little circles over the soft skin next to your nipples, the more inside of your boobs, closer to your sternum. so loving. a man’s love, for you.

his psycho mind is still catching up to all of this, you can tell. the only high he ever chased was the wet pop of a neck snapping or the way blood sprayed across his face when he carved someone the fuck up. that was love to him. that was everything. (and his car. he loves that car.)

now he feels for you. love. actual love. really a still going crush that makes his chest hurt in the middle of a kill and get him excited that he’ll get to see you later.

but god, it also makes him do shit like this.

he leans in and kisses you again, wetter, weaker this time, mouth slow and so fucking sweet. his lips are plush from the steam, a little swollen already from how long you’ve been making out. he parts them on yours, tongue sliding in, tasting the inside of your mouth, he’s got all day to explore after all.

no rush.

just gentle, the soft suck of his bottom lip pulling yours in, then releasing, then doing it again.

you feel the way his jaw moves under your palm when you cup his face, the pretty shape of it flexing while he kisses you. it’s so intimate. only you can give him this.

one of his hands stays on your tit, while the other slides down your side, not once leaving your beloved skin, all the way to your ass. grips it gently, palm full of you, pulling you bit closer so your chests press together.

his little tummy squishes nice against your stomach when you settle in, so attractive. combined with the manly smell of him, intoxicating. plus he’s sweating so much now the water on his shoulders looks like it’s glowing under the bathroom light, fucking droplets sliding down his body before disappearing into the tub.

even though nothing about this is sexual to him right now (he’s not thinking about fucking, he’s thinking about how you feel, how much he loves you, how lucky he is), his cock is hard between you anyway. pressed up against your mound under the water, twitching everytime you shift or your nails drag up his face, or down to his side again. so sweet, the little guy reacting too.

he doesn’t even acknowledge it, though. just keeps kissing you, the hard on is nothing, something his body does because it’s stupid and in love.

every pass of your nails on his body earns you a tiny sound from him, little moans. so cute.

he kisses you harder for a second, tongue moving around yours, then pulls back to breathe. he needs it.

you drag your nails up his ribs again, slow, smiling at him, and he shudders, hard, mouth going back to yours immediately. he smiles into the kiss, the cutie(only feels excitement when snuffing out a human life) can’t help it, and tries to pulls you closer by the ass, just to feel more of you on him. his sweaty chest slides against your tits, the hand still cupping one of them giving the softest squeeze... was that a giggle he let out against your lips?

this is what you did to him. turned a man who only ever got hard from the smell of blood into someone who gets hard from your smile and your nails and the way you look at him.

he pulls back just a tiny baby bit, side of his nose brushing the side of yours.

“…y/n.”

“mm?”

he swallows, pink face somehow getting even pinker. “it’s… so hot.”

you giggle. he thinks you’re beautiful. “the water, baby? or me?”

“the water.” he mumbles, looking guilty. “i mean you too. but i’m boiling alive. my skin feels like it’s gonna peel off.”

you laugh, tilting your head back. he’d die for you. “and you didn’t say shit?” you lean back in, kiss the tip of his nose, then his flushed cheek. “get the fuck out then. go cool off.”

he moans. maybe at the relief, maybe because he doesn’t want to leave your touch yet.

you pat his chest. “go. i’ll follow in a minute. promise.”

he nods, presses one last slow kiss to your mouth, a little long, but no tongue this time, then carefully lifts you off his lap and sets you back down in the water. the jets keep working on your prettt back as he stands up.

fuck, the view.

water runs off his body, in sheets, on his muscles, his shape, his little soft tummy, water dripping from his still hard cock that bobs between his thick thighs. his skin is almost red everywhere the water touched. chest, shoulders, arms, even the tops of his ears. the nail marks you left on his sides stand out. the hickeys you sucked into his neck look almost purple now, they fit him. you almost wrap a hand around his cock, it’s so there, but really don’t want him overheating so you behave. he steps out of the tub carefully, feet leaving wet prints on the rug you love so much and hit felix once with when he was bad, and reaches for the towel hanging on the rack.

you watch every second of it. chewing on your nail.

the way his back muscles shift when he grabs the towel, the long red scratches you put there. the way his ass flexes, round, soft. the way his little tummy jiggles just slightly when he turns to face you again, towel in hand, cock still hard, now not visible because the towel in his hand just hangs over it. it hasn’t gotten the memo that nothing dirty is up.

he starts drying off slowly, rubbing the towel over his chest, down his stomach, on the scratches, then lower, patting his thighs dry while water keeps dripping from his hair onto his shoulders. fuck.

the way you’re biting your lips, he’s resisting the urge to dive back into the water to you.

towel now wrapped around his hips so it barely covers the bulge, he leans down, presses a quick kiss to the top of your head. “i’ll be in the bedroom. take your time.”

you watch him walk out, towel moving on his cute little ass.

the door clicks shut behind him, leaving you alone in the hot water with a stupid smile on your face.

weird.

duality of man. killer but also oh i won’t say anything about my organs getting boiled because y/n is comfy.

y/n is comfy.

you sink a little deeper into the water, grinning, letting the heat soak into you while you picture his cute ass in the bedroom, probably lying on the bed in just the towel, fanning himself, waiting patiently for you. the best boy.

yeah long story short after you got out of that boiling tub you rode him to almost death.

he was waiting on the bed in just a towel like you imagined he would, still pink and sweaty, looking at you with those big shining eyes. (those only go for his lady, no victim or hyunjin puking at home could make him feel what you feel) you climbed on top of him, pushed him flat, and took what you wanted. rode him until he was shaking, until his eyes rolled back, until he came so hard he went cross eyed and almost passed out. then you kept going until you got yours too, grinding down on him while he whimpered and begged and told you he loved you.

afterward he just laid there like a dead man, chest heaving, covered in fresh scratches and hickeys, towel long gone, cock soft and messy against his thigh. you curled up on his little tummy like it was a pillow and passed out with his arm around you.

next morning.

but today’s mission is simpler.

take felix to his doctor’s check up.

dumb fuck knows the way to your place at least(one of the things he doesn’t forget)

when he arrives he’s wearing one of your stolen hoodies, baby give it back, (oh he’ll get the bathroom mat again for that), and a pair of sweatpants that are backwards. his hair is not messy, surprisingly.

“y/n, we’re going to the doctor together, a date!”

you sigh and walk over to fix his pants(expensive pants, wtf) the right way around. he giggles the whole time, blushing when you pull his pants down and also blushing when you pull them up. “felix, baby, pants go front first. we talked about this.”

“oh. right.“ then he leans in and nuzzles your neck, breathing you in. “you smell like binnie. that’s nice.”

you pat his head, fingers sliding through his soft hair. he’s so stupidly beautiful. why does he have to eat magazines and people?

“come on, dummy. shoes on. let’s not be late.”

you finally get him out the door. he holds your hand the entire walk to the car, swinging your arm, and every few steps he stops to point at random shit.

“look, a bird. do you think it has feelings? i have feelings now. mostly about meat and you.” “that cloud looks like a kidney. i’m hungry now.”

he’s not fucking brain dead, no matter how much we refer to him to as one, so you don’t even have to tell him to buckle himself in. literally the dumbest thing anyone can do is not buckle themselves in. please i’m begging you to and stay safe.

“you’re so pretty. and smart. and you let me sleep in your bed sometimes.” he tells you while you drive.

“thank you, lix.”

crazy. a pretty face that makes people do double takes right before he rips their throat out with his teeth. and last week he bought you a diamond necklace. the range these boys move on is unbelievable. and sweet, considering that you’re their first… first of most things. there’s only one of you in their lives, like a “once-in-a-lifetime connection, essentially love at first sight” says google about a zing from hotel transylvania. “where monsters immediately identify their soulmate.” our only off here is that it wasn’t an immediate realization, anyways “it represents an undeniable, electric attraction, bla bla bla(i’m skipping sentences here, not quoting dracula) that often leads to a lifelong bond.” there we go. you’re their almost zing.

the waiting room is quiet. normal people. magazines (the ones he hasn’t eaten at home). his pretty ass sits next to you, looking around.

“remember what i told you in the car?”

he nods. “mhm. no talking about eating people. no talking about the mailman. no talking about killing. or the boys.”

“good boy.”

the nurse calls you both and she’s immediately smitten with you. her eyes light up when she sees how gently you’re guiding felix by the hand. she chats with you the whole time you’re in the exam room while felix sits on the paper covered table swinging his legs.

“he’s so lucky to have you.” she says warmly while taking his vitals. “most patients his age come in alone and act like it’s the end of the world. you two are adorable.”

felix smiles at her, then at you, then leans over and tries to rest his head on your chest right there in front of her. “she’s the best. i love her so much i’d die for her. or kill for her. or—”

“lix.” you cut in sweetly.

“—or just be really good and not say anything weird.” he finishes, giggling.

he’s so underweight the scale actually beeps in concern when they weigh him.

the nurse frowns at the number. “he’s lost three more pounds since last visit. are you sure he’s eating enough?”

you sigh and launch into the usual cover story while felix distracts himself by counting the dots on the ceiling tiles out loud. “he’s just got a crazy fast metabolism. burns everything off. we try to keep him on high calorie stuff but he’s picky. likes… meat. a lot of meat.”

felix perks up. “yeah, big chunks of meat. sometimes raw if i’m in a hurry—”

“cooked.” you interrupt smoothly, shooting him a look. “always cooked. he’s just dramatic about textures.”

the nurse nods sympathetically, clearly buying it because you’re so calm and put together and she already likes you.

she starts checking his arms and freezes when she sees the mess. bite marks. deep ones. some fresh, some old and scarred over. bruises in the shape of fingers, knuckles, teeth. scars. one perfect crescent bite right above his elbow that definitely came from changbin during one of their play fights.

“oh my… what happened here?” she asks, concerned.

felix giggles again, swinging his legs harder. “oh those? that’s from—”

you clamp a hand over his fuckass mouth and lean in to whisper to the nurse. “he’s… a little mentally disabled, you know? just a touch. gets confused sometimes. wanders off, bumps into things, doesn’t always understand personal space.” fucking lie. there is nothing wrong with felix that can be diagnosed. well, except him being a total psycho, but that has nothing to do with him being dumb. he really is just this empty. but that’s not a disability. “he doesn’t know he’s different. we try not to make him feel bad about it. the bruises are from him playing too rough with the other boys at home. and the bite marks, well, he gets excited and nibbles when he’s happy. like a puppy.”

the nurse’s eyes go big immediately. she nods. “oh, bless his heart. that makes so much sense. you’re such a good girlfriend.”

felix is sitting on the table swinging his legs, humming a little song under your hand while he stares at the poster of the human digestive system. every few seconds he reaches out to touch your arm or your hair, smiling when you let him.

you take the hand away, keep chatting with the nurse while she checks more of him. she asks about his diet again and you spin the same story “he only likes certain textures, lots of protein, we’re trying to get him to eat more veggies but it’s a process.” you don’t mention that his version of protein usually comes from humans and the changes in weight is because he can’t always get what he’s craving, throws tantrums and doesn’t eat or eats lots at one sitting or just a little fruit plate you made him. he’s okay, no reason to worry about his weight, it always changes and he’s doing fine. human is just… not what usually humans eat.

the nurse looks horrified but also impressed by how casually you handle it. “that sounds exhausting for you. you’re such a good partner taking him to all these appointments.”

felix leans over and plants a loud, wet kiss on your cheek, leaving a little spit trail. “she’s the best partner. i’d eat the world for her. wait no, i’d buy her the world.“

you pat his head, smiling at the nurse.

she laughs softly, clearly charmed by the whole thing. “you two are honestly the cutest couple i’ve seen in months. most guys his age are rude. he’s an angel.”

felix smiles. “thank you.”

the nurse melts. “oh my gosh, he’s adorable. so innocent.”

you manage to keep a straight face. innocent. sure. the same guy who rips people apart with his bare hands and teeth.

okay. doctor. another woman. when the doctor tries to check his blood pressure and he starts giggling uncontrollably because “the squeeze feels funny!! like when seungmin chokes me but nicer!!”

when she asks him to open his mouth for the tongue depressor he sticks his tongue out as far as it goes and tries to lick the stick.

you have to physically hold his hand down when she goes for the reflex hammer because he keeps trying to snatch it.

the doctor ends up looking at you. “does he… always do this?”

“yes.” you say flatly. “every single day.”

doctor looks at the nurse. nurse nods in confirmation. great.

“any recent injuries?”

“uhhh i cut my finger last week but then i ate the scab so it’s fine now!!”

“any dietary concerns?”

“i only eat… beef.“ that was a taught answer.

“any sexual activity?”

“y/n and me haven’t had sex yet but i really really want to. she lets me cuddle though and that’s almost as good. sometimes i hump her leg when she’s sleeping but i think that’s normal right?”

you smack his arm. “felix.”

“sorry!!” he giggles, not sorry at all.

the doctor just sighs and moves on.

blood draw, felix sits there swinging his legs, holding your hand, and when the needle goes in he doesn’t even react??? fucking crazy, what he is.

on the way out he gets a lollipop. he unwraps it, sucks on it happily, leaning against you in the parking lot, so pretty it hurts.

“that was fun.” he mumbles around the lollipop. “can we come back next week? i wanna see if they have bigger lollipops. i want you to take me the next time too.”

you sigh, pull him down by the collar of your hoodie to kiss his forehead. he calms down immediately, eyes closing, making a dumb happy noise in his throat.

so. getting back to your place, finally, holding felix’s hand while the other unlocks your door.

han is on your couch, legs kicked up on the coffee table, looking too hot and manly like that for the fact that he’s watching a cartoon about talking animals solving mysteries. a really colorful cartoon. next to him, also watching the dumb cartoon, is hyunjin. grown ass, pretty as sin hyunjin, one elbow on the armrest, temple resting on two fingers, eyebrow pushed up so high it’s basically in his hairline. his face screams i am getting closer to the void and also why the fuck is this rabbit wearing pants. think of the steve harrington picture in tiktok comment sections.

it’s fucking hilarious.

you pat felix’s back. “go play with them, baby.”

“okay!” he skips over (actual skips) and drops himself right between han and hyunjin.

now it’s han on the right, giggling and pointing at the screen, felix in the middle swinging his legs and making little “hehehe” sounds, and hyunjin on the left still doing the exact same temple finger pose, eyebrow frozen in existential crisis.

you shake your head and head toward the kitchen.

changbin is standing by the counter in nothing but sweatpants(that he left at your place for occasions exactly like these, just a reminder, you two fucked last night) the second he sees you his whole face does that adorable thing, big dumb smile breaking out, shoulders dropping, his posture getting better. there are faint nail marks visible across his sides, one dark hickey peeking above the waistband.

he meets you halfway, arms already open.

you cup his face and kiss him soft and sweet. he melts into it immediately, like melts, big hands settling gently on your waist, humming happily into your mouth.

“missed you.” he mumbles when he pulls away. “how was the doctor?”

“fine. he didn’t slip. you guys described it as worse.”

“because with us, it is.”

over at the kitchen counter seungmin and jeongin are sitting on the stools, seungmin is shoveling cereal into his mouth, while jeongin gestures with his spoon. they both waved when you came in.

“—so then i told the guy if he screamed again i’d shove the pliers up his urethra instead of his nose.” seungmin says around a mouthful of cereal.

jeongin nods. “solid. i prefer the slow eyeball route. makes them really panic, y’know?”

“yeah but eyeballs pop too fast. nose takes longer.”

you sigh and reach over to grab jeongin’s empty bowl. seungmin still has half a bowl left so you leave his alone. you rinse jeongin’s out quick, put it into the dishwasher, then, a loud crash comes from the bathroom. something heavy hitting tile, followed by a grunt and the sound of something hitting the wall.

you stop.

from the couch han yells without looking away from the cartoon “minho and chan are in there settling something!!”

hyunjin is still not breaking eye contact with the talking rabbit. “they’ve been at it for twenty minutes. something about whose turn it was to hide the last body.”

whatever. they’ll sort it out.

seungmin finally glances at you, spoon halfway to his mouth. “you good?”

“yeah. it’s fine.”

jeongin looks up at you. sweet boy. (if we made a chart of who’s the worst from the boys he’d be in the top three) “want me to go break it up?”

“no. let them fight. they’ll tire themselves out.”

another crash, this one sounds like the toilet paper holder getting ripped clean off the wall and then immediately used as a weapon. there’s a wet smack, then a low grunt from chan that turns into a growl. something heavy drags across the floor. then a loud metallic clang that can only be the shower curtain rod being bent into a new shape.

you sigh. “whatever.“

comes the sound of a head being bounced off the sink. then the unmistakable noise of the medicine cabinet exploding open, bottles and tubes falling, then plastic crack against bone.

wetness that sounds suspiciously like someone’s face getting pressed into the toilet bowl, followed by gurgling and chan laughing. then a high pitched metallic screech as the towel rack gets torn off the wall.

glass shatters, probably the mirror, and there’s another crash. then a wet slap like someone just got bitch slapped onto the wet tile, followed by both of them breathing hard and… is that minho laughing?

you keep loading the dishwasher, rinsing a spoon, plates.

more thuds, the crack of knuckles against jaw, mean groaning, the shower turning on by accident and spraying water everywhere, someone slipping and eating shit with a loud “fuck—” then both of them cursing at the same time.

men.

silence.

the bathroom door finally opens. out stumble minho and chan looking… fucking horrible, jesus.

both shirtless, obviously. clothes got shredded somewhere between the sink and the shower curtain. chan’s got his left eye shut, swelling, a perfect imprint of your toilet brush handle branded across his cheek, and three long gashes across his chest that look suspiciously like they came from minho’s nails trying to claw his heart out for sport. there’s a fork, a FUCKING DINNER FORK sticking straight out of his left shoulder, blood trickling down his abs. more bruises on his ribs already. what happened to his nipple?

minho’s not doing any better. he’s limping hard on his right leg because there’s a broken piece of the shower curtain rod jammed into his thigh. what the fuck. blood’s soaking his pants. his whole torso is filled with bite marks, type shit anger makes men do, and his neck has a perfect circle of teeth where chan tried to rip his throat out. one of his ears is red and bloody, and there’s soap still bubbling in a nasty open cut across his forehead. he’s leaning sideways, same as chan.

you whine. “boys!”

they both freeze. chan tries to play it chill, blood dripping off his chin, but even he looks sheepish. minho just stares at you with those dead creepy eyes, blood trickling down his temple.

you point at the kitchen stools. “sit! fuck’s sake.”

they drag their feet over and drop onto the stools with grunts of pain. chan winces when the fork in his shoulder shifts. minho’s whole being makes a wet squelch.

the other three in the kitchen watch the whole thing, eyebrows raised. not at the injuries, just trying to guess it you’re gonna freak out internally or you’ll break a wooden spoon on their heads.

you grab the giant fucking first aid kit from under the sink (the one that’s basically a hospital in a box at this point, you need it with them) and stand between chan’s spread knees. first the fork. you grip the handle gentle, thumb stroking his collarbone to distract him.

“deep breath.”

you yank. chan hisses through his teeth. blood wells up and you immediately press a thick pad of gauze to the hole, holding it firm while you murmur “good boy, that’s it, almost done.”

you tape it down tight, then move to the toilet brush imprint on his cheek. you dab it with antiseptic, lots of it, blowing cool air on the sting. he could snap a neck one handed. “this one’s gonna bruise pretty. makes you look tough though. my tough man.” he leans into your touch, looking up at you. such a pathetic little sweetpea. (worst man to exist)

next the chest gashes. you clean each one with a warm cloth, wiping away blood, then smear antibiotic over the red lines. the other four watch your ass while you do it. some of jeongin’s drool end up on the countertop.

you save the (looks like bitten) nipple for last. it’s swollen and angry and… seeping a little. you clean it extra gentle, tongue clicking softly. “minho really went for blood huh?”

by the time you’re done with him he has gauze everywhere, tape crisscrossing his chest, but at least he’s not leaking on your floor anymore. looks good though. new thing to try in the bedroom.

now minho.

you look at the curtain rod in his thigh. “boys?”

jeongin immediately stands up. “of course.”

changbin holds minho’s shoulders. “i’m here.”

seungmin is lazy to help. just sits there with his now finished bowl, also lazy to put that into the dishwasher, watching the two other boys fight the rod out of minho’s leg.

they succeed. the rod comes out with a wet schlick and a fresh gush of blood.

you shove gauze into the injury immediately, your other arm curling around his pretty head to rock him a little. “there you go, deep breaths, i got you.” he gets a head kiss too. “innie, can you get his pants?”

“yeah.”

minho holds into you. arms around you. he’s adorable.

when he gets minho’s pants off for you, you wrap the whole thing, around and around his thick leg(hot) until it looks like he’s wearing a cast.

you move up to the ear next. it looks horrible. you clean the torn, TORN parts, murmuring “pretty boy” he holds onto your hip, eyes squeezed, breathing hard.

but survives. gets a temple kiss and a “good as new.” from you when he’s done.

the bite marks across his torso take forever. there’s like twenty of them, some overlapping though. you clean every single one, slow and loving, so loving, wiping away dried blood and fresh fluids, then smoothing ointment over each perfect imprint of chan’s teeth.

minho feels crazy. crazy in love. and crazy violent from it. he feels like he’s going to blow up.

you finish with the cut on his forehead. you wipe it clean, dab some cream on it, then press a butterfly bandage over it while blowing gently on the sting. “all done, creepy.”

meanwhile, oh your fucking god, the shit jeongin and seungmin talk about. just running their mouths.

jeongin: “look at her go. nurse y/n in the house. bet she’s got better bedside manner than the one who stitched my dick back together last month.”

seungmin, when he had a mouth full of cereal: “minho’s thigh looks like a glory hole.”

“a hole is a hole, bro.”

changbin gives your back a supportive caress from time to time. at least he’s helpful.

in the living room, han keeps tugging on hyunjin’s sleeve, watching the dog fly on some cheese rocket now. what the fuck are they watching seriously. “hyune, look!! the dog’s flying, that’s so cool! do you think i could fly if i ate enough cheese too??”

felix tugs the other sleeve. “hyunjin hyunjin hyunjin!! what if the cheese was made of people?? would it fly faster??”

hyunjin sighs through his nose. “yes, han. flying cheese is a legitimate theoretical concept in cartoon physics. and no, lix, human cheese would probably just smell bad and attract more cannibals. now watch the rabbit, he’s about to say something stupid.”

back in the kitchen you step back and look at your work. gauze, tape, bandages, kisses on every injury. both of them are still leaning sideways but at least they’re not bleeding on your floor anymore. you did great.

you wipe your hands on a towel and plant a hand on each of their heads, ruffling minho’s hair and smoothing chan’s. “you two are idiots. next time settle it by arm wrestling like normal men.”

chan hums. minho’s pretty ass just stares up at you with those wet eyes. you fixed more than just the holes in his body.

felix tugs hyunjin’s sleeve again. “hyu!! the cheese is winning!!”

hyunjin sighs. “yes. the cheese is indeed victorious. profound metaphor for life.” ???

“yo.” jeongin says, holding his pretty face in his hands. “this is exactly like that time hyunjin and seungmin went for each other’s throats in the woods house. remember? shit was biblical, bro.”

seungmin sighs. “biblical my ass. pretty emo bitch tried to slit my throat with a fucking wine opener.”

changbin bounces a little against the counter. “i was there. thought we were gonna have to bury one of them in the backyard. or both.”

minho looks up at you(he looks like a wet kitten) and then back at the others. “hyunjin ended up with a corkscrew through his left nut.”

chan nods, watching the floor. “yeah. he tried to stab min with the fireplace poker. missed and put it through his own foot instead. then seungmin shoved his head into the deer head mounted on the wall. hyunjin looked horrible. then they started rolling around on the rug. seungmin ended up with a black eye shaped exactly like hyunjin’s ring. hyune had teeth marks on his ass so deep we could read min’s dental records.”

jeongin leans forward. “don’t forget the part where seungmin tried to drown hyunjin in the hot tub. then hyunjin started talking about how min’s mother was a whore while bleeding from the mouth. seungmin threw him through the glass coffee table. hyunjin had glass shards in his back for days.“

“still managed to kick me in the balls so hard i pissed blood for three days.” seungmin mutters.

“but you ripped his pants off with teeth and then tried to shove a whole fucking log up his ass as revenge.“ jeongin says.

“then he smashed my face into an anthill.” god, seungmin being bratty is so hot.

chan shifts, even though it clearly hurts his ribs. “they both ended up tied to the same tree with duct tape because we got tired of the noise.”

“okay but what even is the woods house?” you ask.

changbin is a babe. “it was this rich victim’s vacation cabin. super cool, big stone fireplace, hot tub on the deck overlooking the lake, full kitchen, basement we turned into a playroom for… you know, guests who don’t leave. sorry. innie put the deed in his own name after we cleaned the place out, so now it’s technically ours. we go there sometimes.”

jeongin wiggles his eyebrows at you. “and it’s been way too long since we went. the hot tub’s probably lonely. the basement’s collecting dust. we should all go. take you with us this time, y/n.“

seungmin leans down to slap the side of your thigh. “yeah. i could chase you through the trees a little. hm?”

“ew ew ew.” jeongin puts his hands up. “not in front of me, bro.”

“pussy.”

minho’s creepy eyes actually sparkle for once. “i could show you the basement. lots of hooks. soundproof.” ???

chan grunts in agreement, looking half asleep on his stool. “you’d like it.”

“hyunjin!! hyunjin!!”

“dude look!! they’re getting married!!”

“hush.”

you smile.

chan finally pushes himself up from the stool with a groan, his little fork hole hurting. he gives minho one or those manly pats on the shoulder, good fight, no hard feelings, they’ll do it again next week. then he limps over to you, presses a soft, lingering peck to your lips. “i’m gonna go lie down before i fall over. thanks for patching us up.“

you kiss him back gently, thumb brushing his bruised cheek. “go rest. yell if you need anything.”

chan limps off toward the bedroom, still leaning sideways. he looks horrible and also unbelievably hot. like bandages stay ON.

you lean back against the counter, listening to your leftover boys in the kitchen plan their cute little vacation. like aw. they’re men and they want to be there with their friends and they’ll go. aww.

“hyunjin, the rabbit’s throwing the bouquet, catch it!”

“sure.”

you turn back to minho. he looks horrible. “you gonna be fine, creepy? need anything before i—”

“y/n!!”

“y/n y/n y/n!!”

what NOW. you look over. han and felix are both half standing, leaning over the back of the couch. huge puppy eyes. han’s waving both arms. felix is bouncing on his toes, hoodie sleeves flapping. fucking twink.

“come sit!l

“please please please we saved you the best spot, it’s warm!”

seungmin grunts, spoon scraping the bottom of his bowl. “let her go.“

changbin leans over and kisses the side of your head, sweet as ever. “go on.“

you sigh, give minho’s cute little psycho head a pat, and head for the couch before the begging turns into actually yanking at your clothes.

you sit down between felix and hyunjin. han needs to learn that he doesn’t get to have you every single time just because he’s loud and cute and dumb, even if we’re starting with small steps like this, sitting only a person away.

felix’s arm wraps around yours, fingers lacing with yours so he can hold your hand against his chest. oh he disgustingly in love, nuzzling into your shoulder, humming happily, leg thrown over your thigh.

on your other side hyunjin shifts to drape his arm along the back of the couch behind you.

han whines from the other end. “but i wanted to sit next to her, i saved the spot with my butt warmth.”

felix giggles and nuzzles closer to your arm. “too slow.”

you ignore han completely and turn your head toward hyunjin. “what’s up? you okay?”

“mm.” he says, thumb moving to stroke your neck. he’d like that if you did that to him one day. “how are the wounded soldiers? did you have to perform surgery with a spoon again?”

you hum and lean into his side a little. “the usual. they behaved.”

from your right felix tugs your arm, trying to get your attention. “y/n y/n look, the dog is in court.”

you don’t even glance at him. keep your eyes on hyunjin. “tell me more. how you feeling?”

hyunjin’s eyes actually sparkle a little. you caring about him drives him crazy. makes him forget all the dread that the picture of you kissing his roommate on his bed brings to him.

han leans over felix’s lap. “y/n, the cheese just exploded into glitter, look!”

felix whines and pushes han’s head away gently with his free hand while still clinging to your arm with the other. “stop it, she’s talking to hyunjin… but y/n the glitter cheese is really funny though.”

you reach over with your free hand, pat felix’s head once without breaking eye contact with hyunjin, then pull your hand away. han makes noise and flops backward, arms crossed, pouting.

han will learn eventually. or he won’t.

“you didn’t answer me earlier.” felix says, voice softer. so deep, so cute. “i asked you something.”

you watch hyunjin’s face. “they told me about that house in the woods.”

“yeah?” he says.

you nod. “they said it’s under innie’s name. invited me.”

felix tugs at your arm. “hey.”

han leans over again. “what are you talking about, what house?”

hyunjin exhales quietly through his nose. the fucking dog keeps talking on the tv. “they would. show off a little.”

“been there?”

“few times.”

“they said it’s quiet.”

“it is.”

“and kinda hidden.”

“very.”

his hand slides slightly, fingers on your arm.

“why aren’t you answering?” felix says, insistent. “i’m talking to you.”

han makes another noise, frustrated. “yeah, why aren’t you?”

it’s like they don’t exist. it’s killing them.

hyunjin has to hold back a smirk. like a cocky smirk. this feels good after his little heartbreak. let’s not forget that these boys are pure evil, after all, them being funny and in love with you doesn’t change the way they act with each other. unfair assholes.

“you thinking of coming?” he asks you.

“maybe. they made it sound nice.”

his gaze drops to your mouth. then back up. “it is.”

your shoulder presses a little more into his side. “you’ll come too, right?”

direct.

felix straightens a bit, eyes widening. “hey—what—”

han leans over him again, draping himself across felix now just to get closer to you. “what are you saying?”

hyunjin looks at you more… private. biting his lip. “if you want me there, i’ll be there.”

you smile. his hand moves on your arm.

“okay, no, this is—this is weird.” felix says. “you’re not talking to us.”

han nods. “you’re ignoring us, y/n why are you ignoring us—”

you turn just a bit more toward hyunjin.

his eyes don’t leave yours. “gets real dark out there.”

“you like it?”

“i do.”

“why?”

he tilts his head slightly, considering. “no distractions. just… what’s in front of you.”

your gaze holds his. “and what would that be?”

silence.

“…depends.” he says.

felix makes a frustrated sound, tugging on your arm slightly.

“hey.” han says. “hey, look at me.”

felix whines.

han is trying to catch your eye. “can you—can you look at me for a second—” his posture’s off, his hands keep fidgeting, eyes flicking between your face and hyunjin’s. “did i—did i do something?”

you don’t even glance. hyunjin bites a smile back. he pulls you closer.

han notices that. “okay, no, that’s—hey—that’s not—”

he reaches over felix, trying to touch your arm.

felix holds you closer to him. “no, wait, i’m holding it—”

“move—”

“no—”

they start wrestling over your arm.

you do not acknowledge this. at all. hyunjin watches it happen out of the corner of his eye. takes a slow breath.

“this is so unfair.” felix whispers loudly.

“i know.” han whispers back, equally loud. “she’s not even looking at us.”

“i asked like three times.”

“i asked five.”

“that’s more.”

“i know.”

they both look at you.

you continue ignoring them with impressive consistency.

han makes a small, desperate sound. “i can be quiet, i can—i won’t talk, i’ll just—just—”

felix nods. “yeah, me too. i’ll be quiet.” he lasts exactly two seconds. “…hey.” you don’t react. “…this is really hard.”

“yeah.” han says miserably.

hyunjin runs his hand over your arm. he thinks you’re doing great.

they sit there. quiet. for maybe three whole seconds.

“hey!” both of them at once.

“no.” hyunjin says.

“okay.”

silence again.

“chan.” han blurts out, sudden and loud. “where’s chan?”

“yeah, yeah, get chan, he’ll fix it—”

they both look around. for the first time in, what, an hour? two? han’s hands flap uselessly. they both spin around, searching the room for chan.

chan is nowhere in sight.

there’s a pause.

“…wait.” felix says.

han’s pretty head snaps toward him. “where is he?”

felix looks around again. “he was here. he was just here.”

han’s breathing changes to fast. “no, no, no—he was—he—he was here— where did he go—”

you ignoring them. talking to hyunjin. not looking at them. not answering. and now chan(who usually solves things for them) isn’t even here.

nothing is making sense.

han’s face crumples. “what the fuck? what the fuck is happening—”

“i don’t like this.” felix says, grabbing tighter onto your arm, yanking at it. “i don’t like this at all—”

han lets out the most pathetic sob you’ve ever heard and launches himself over felix and into your lap. his arms lock around your neck so tight you almost choke, face burying into your shoulder. “y/nnnnnn.” he wails, voice muffled and wet and adorable. “don’t ignore us please please we’ll be good we’ll eat vegetables and i’ll stop humping the couch when you’re not looking i swear—”

felix throws himself half on your lap too, arms wrapping around your waist, face pressed into your neck. “y/n we love you so much it hurts when you don’t look at us—my please—“ hic “please still love me!”

they’re heartwarming. big ugly sobs, snotty and loud, bodies shaking on you.

han keeps repeating “y/n” whining for his girlfriend while felix just sobs “we’re sorry we’re sorry we’re so sorry” into your collarbone.

you and hyunjin lock eyes over the top of their heads.

hyunjin’s eyebrow is arched so high it’s basically touching the ceiling. he lets out the longest, most exhausted sigh you’ve ever heard from him.

well. that didn’t work.

“alright, alright.” you murmur. your very loving arms come up, one around han’s back, the other sliding around felix’s waist, pulling both of them in tighter. “shhh, babies. i’m right here. i was just talking to hyunjin for a minute.”

all your they need to learn space effort? completely fucking gone. forget about it.

han is shaking, body convulsing. “i thought—” he starts, then stops because he doesn’t even know what he thought. “you weren’t—i didn’t—just don’t do that—”

“y/nnnn—” felix cries. “you weren’t—why weren’t you—”

“don’t, don’t do that.” han mumbles into your neck. “don’t ignore—euh.”

“i’m right here.” you coo.

“okay, okay.” felix sobs.

hyunjin is… weirdly turned on by this.

“don’t do that again.” han mumbles into your neck. “don’t—don’t pretend i’m not there.”

“i wasn’t pretending.” you say, squeezing felix.

“…you were.” felix insists, but he’s just confused.

“i was making a point.”

“…i didn’t get it.”

“…yeah.” hyunjin mutters. “we noticed.”

you shoot him a look. he lifts his hands slightly. what? it’s true.

han pulls back to look at you, eyes big, glassy, beautiful. “what point?”

“that you can’t have my attention every second.” you say.

“…why not?”

genuine confusion.

felix nods. “yeah.”

“because i’m a person.” you say. “not something you pass around or grab whenever you want. you boys always do this, since the very beginning i met you guys. i need some space too. i always tell you. but you’re right for crying, and i’m sorry i made you feel bad, okay? i was kind of mean, sorry.” means a lot that you teach them that apologizing is mature, that it’s fair, that they should, that recognizing your faults is the right thing to do. “just keep my needs in mind the next time.”

they both go quiet. not because they understand, but because… that sounded important.

“…okay.” han says slowly. “but can i still be here?”

“yes.”

he cuddles back to you.

felix relaxes too with a satisfied little exhale. “okay. that’s fine then.”

that’s all it took.

you lean back into hyunjin again. “they’ll get it eventually.”

“no, they won’t. but it’s cute that you think that.”

you keep rubbing their backs, big slow strokes, pressing little kisses wherever you can reach, han’s forehead, felix’s cheek, the top of han’s ear when he tilts his head.

hyunjin wants to pounce on you.

eventually the sobs go off into wet sniffles and hiccups. han’s death grip around your neck loosens. felix stops shaking and starts making those tiny contented hums he does when he’s happy again. their teary little faces slowly turn back toward the tv. they’re adorable. (ruthless serial killers)

the cheese rocket has landed and now the rabbit is talking to some carrot.

they both go quiet after that, just watching the screen in silence. han’s thumb rubs over your collarbone. felix nibs and drools on your shoulder but you don’t mind now.

you glance at hyunjin again.

“lesson learned?” he murmurs.

“slow steps.” you whisper back, still rubbing han’s back and felix’s hip. “they’ll get there. eventually.”

you’re definitely sucking han off later for this pathetic little performance. but for now you just hold them.

crisis over.

lesson… not really learned.

but attempted.

okay not even attempted because han lets out a shaky little breath on your neck, then another, hotter one, and his arms tighten around you again, but now to hold himself up better.

“y/n, i… i need you…” he whimpers into your neck, voice wet and needy.

lesson definitely not learned.

you close your eyes, taking a big breath, then… then… fuck’s sake he’s humping you.

“han. baby. we’re on the couch. there are people around. public living room. not the time.”

he doesn’t hear you. or he hears you and his single brain cell can’t process what you just said. he nuzzles into your neck, lips on your skin, hips grinding, desperate. “i’m so hard it hurts, please, just a little… i’ll be quick i promise i’ll be so quiet.”

“han.” you hiss, trying to push his hips back gently. “not here. the others are right fucking here.”

“but they’re watching cartoons, they won’t mind, i love you so much my balls feel full and sad…”

hyunjin and felix are watching with enormous eyes.

holding their fucking breath. hyunjin’s eyebrow is frozen in pure fascination, lips slightly parted. his whole body has gone still, drinking in every second of han’s pathetic grinding and whimpering. felix’s eyes are even bigger, hungry, mouth hanging open a little as he stares at the way han’s hips move against you.

they watch, breathing a little faster, clearly turned on by the fact that they’re this close to something they’re not allowed to have yet. it’s hot to them, seeing one of the “chosen four” get needy right in front of them, knowing they don’t get to touch you like that. they don’t get to fuck you, don’t get to be inside you, don’t get to be openly needy like this in front of everyone. but now they see it this close up. voyeuristic.

they’re both leaning in unconsciously, eyes glued to you two. like fucking porn.

you try again, one hand pushing gently at han’s slutty little hip. “han. public. people. stop.”

“but it hurts. please just touch it a little, i’ll be so quick, i promise.”

he needs to be put down. euthanized. neutered. something.

it’s even deeper for the other two after those words because han is being so relatable right now. like literally yes y/n it hurts just please touch it a little. that’s all they want too.

you’re about two seconds from dragging him off to the bedroom by his ear to chan when minho slowly limps over.

stops in front of han. says in that flat, creepy monotone: “you want to see my cats?”

han’s head snaps up. his eyes go wide. “all of them?”

minho nods. “yes. they missed you.”

“holy fuck yes!!” he scrambles off your lap, dick still visibly hard in his pants but suddenly irrelevant. he grabs minho’s arm (not careful of the bandages) and starts dragging the limping murderer toward the door. “let’s go let’s go i wanna pet dori he let me hold him last time—”

minho lets himself be pulled, but right before they disappear out the door he glances back at you. his version of i love you is saving you from situations like these. he did this for you.

you mouth a “thank you” and he gives a tiny nod before limping after han.

“bye y/n i love you i’ll be good i promise!”

the living room goes quiet except for the cartoon still playing.

felix, seeing that that situation is over, gently takes your hand. sighs. what does this angel could possibly have to sigh about. he brings two of your fingers to his mouth, innocent for a murderer, and slides them between his soft lips. oh, sweetheart. he starts sucking gently, tongue moving under your fingers.

god, he’s heartwarming(you shout his head off at least twice a week because he got blood inside the apartment again). you pump your fingers once because you know he likes it and he deserves it now, and felix’s eyes roll straight back into his head. actually moans, the sweetie. his whole body shudders.

hyunjin is going to combust just from watching. he’s genuinely starting to think about acting dumb just so that you’d give him this treatment too. like give him your fingers now.

you finally peel your eyes away from felix’s pretty little face(that does things to you, you can’t deny) and glance toward the kitchen.

jeongin has lost his shirt somewhere in the last five minutes??? hello?? his back is breathtaking. broad. literal work of art covered in old scars and fresh little bruises from whatever he got into yesterday. cutie. the muscles shift and flex as he does something in the sink.

you can see the little dimples above his ass. he really is hot. annoyingly hot. unbearably hot. fucking hot. has the kind of back you want to drag your nails down just to watch him arch. fuck.

thinking all this while the official boyfriend(well, one of them) is right next to him btw. shoulder to shoulder, both of them with their backs to the living room but at least seungmin has his shirt on. you’d be lowkey worried they’re plotting something again, but then changbin walks over to your little trio on the couch.

you want to RIP this man apart. bare chest and soft little tummy on display still, like put a baby in me. especially with the way he leans down and pats felix’s head, GENTLY.

felix makes a happy little sound around your fingers but doesn’t stop sucking.

changbin looks at you. “i’m heading home soon. you wanna come with me?” his eyes go to hyunjin. “you coming too?”

hyunjin leans his head back. “yeah. might as well.”

you smile up at changbin. “sure. sounds good. let me wrap things up here.”

felix makes a sad noise when you finally pull your fingers out of his mouth. a thin string of spit connects your fingertips to his bottom lip for a second before it breaks. he whines softly, lips chasing them for a second, disappointed.

“felix. hey.” you say gently, cupping his face with both hands, he doesn’t mind his own spit on him anyway. “i’m going out with binnie and hyune for a while, okay? you did so good at the doctor’s today. i’m really proud of you for not telling the doctors about the mailman or anything weird. you were good.”

he smiles, nuzzling into your palm. “really?”

“really. now go watch the rest of the cartoon. behave while i’m gone.”

he nods. “i’ll be so good. i’ll only eat one crayon if i get sad.”

you kiss his forehead and stand up. hyunjin gives your neck one last slow stroke before he pulls his arm back, rising with you.

you head into the kitchen for a quick glass of water. jeongin and seungmin are still at the sink, talking about something that sounds suspiciously like the best way to dissolve teeth.

“i’m heading out with bin and hyunjin for a bit.” you say, reaching past jeongin for a glass then to fill it.

seungmin nods. “don’t do anything i wouldn’t do.”

“that leaves a lot of options open.”

you step up behind him, lean in, and press a sweet kiss right to the side of his neck. was it on purpose that it was right over that sensitive spot you know drives him crazy? yeah, don’t be silly.

seungmin stiffens. there we go. you love leaving him horny on purpose.

jeongin turns his head just in time to catch the end of it. then he shoves his pretty face into the side of your head, nose burying in your hair, arms trying to snake around you. “my turn, my turn—”

you shove his face away with your palm. “down, boy.” you bend down to put your empty glass in the dishwasher and notice both seungmin’s and jeongin’s cereal bowls are already inside. well, you put jeongin’s there, but not seungmin’s. “look at you two actually putting shit away by yourself. i’m proud of you.”

seungmin turns around, sporting a half hard bulge you left him with. “it was me.” he’s so cute because like you need to know that he did it for you!!

pulled a face off in one move yesterday btw.

you give jeongin’s cheek a quick pat before heading back toward the living room. changbin got a shirt on since that(went into your room for it, the sleeping chan didn’t even wake up). hyunjin’s eyes flick over to the couch where felix is watching his cartoon.

“ready?” changbin asks, reaching for your hand.

you take it, lacing your fingers with his. “yeah. let’s go.”

changbin presses a soft kiss to your temple(my boy changbin getting feelings even though he’s a brutal psycho!! fuck it up changbin!! be a good boyfriend changbin!!) then the three of you leave.

god, you love how fancy their apartment is.

you love eating breakfast here. sitting at the island in one of changbin’s or hyunjin’s big shirts while one of them makes food, usually changbin, and those times hyunjin usually reads the news on his fucking ipad(this man and his fucking apple ecosystem), occasionally glancing over at you.

you love watching the city out those big windows, especially at night. you love the soft lighting in the living room that makes everyone look so hot. like why don’t they throw orgies in here? (you don’t know this but hyunjin once did, next day he cleaned up so good that changbin never found out)

now that we’re at this topic, you also really love fucking like animals with changbin when hyunjin’s not home. like, really, loud, sweaty, no restrictions, no rules or limitations sex on every surface. you love curling up by the windows with a mug, watching the city lights while his tongue is between your legs or while you’re just… sitting. could be either.

he gets loud when he cums. manly shouts that bounce off the pretty ceilings(yours has pesto stains on them from one of minho’s and seungmin’s fights). you love that he gives noises. you’ve broken two chairs and one coffee table because he gets too enthusiastic and forgets what his thick thighs can do.

but right now? right now you mostly love how fucking all about you they both are.

changbin unlocks the front door with one hand, keys jingling, then steps aside and gestures for you to go first. hyunjin does the same on the other side, holding the door open.

partly because they’re gentlemen.

partly because they’re in love with you.

and partly because you have a great ass and they both want to watch it as you walk in.

“go on.” changbin says, nodding inside.

“yeah.” hyunjin says. “after you.”

you can feel their eyes on it the whole three steps it takes to walk inside.

hyunjin is fucking mad tho. mad over the fact that changbin gets to tap that. changbin gets to fuck that perfect ass whenever he wants. changbin gets to bury his face between those ass cheeks and thighs and make you scream while hyunjin is stuck in the next room.

it burns. he wants it so bad it makes his stomach twist, makes him have to throw up.

he was there before changbin even considered looking at you like that.

and if he’d just… if he’d just said something earlier… if he’d just… but he didn’t.

and now look where that got him. fucking idiot.

changbin shuts the door behind you, kicking off his shoes. “client today was a fucking nightmare.” he says, running a hand through his hair. “he was calling me the whole time you were away with felix. some rich asshole who wants to ‘get shredded for his mistress.’”

hyunjin heads straight for the kitchen, already reaching for a glass.

“yeah?” you ask, cutely getting your shoes off.

“yeah. i’m thinking okay, cool, leg day, cardio, whatever. then he starts asking if i can meet now. i already have told him no a hundred times at least. fucker. then told me he’ll do it himself then and i tell him what to do. no.”

hyunjin snorts from the kitchen. “hate those.”

“he’s going to hurt himself.” changbin continues. “and then he’ll come back acting like it’s my fault.”

“it will be your fault.” hyunjin calls out, already pouring himself a drink. “you didn’t stop him.”

“i did.”

“clearly not enough.”

changbin shoots him a look.

hyunjin just raises his glass slightly in response, completely unbothered.

“what’d you do?” you ask.

“told him we’ll redo everything.” he says. “properly. slower. he hated it.”

“good.”

“yeah.”

there’s a pause.

“had to deal with a buyer after that.”

ah. there it is. changbin’s little side job of selling organs.

hyunjin lets out a low whistle, taking a sip. “bad one?”

“annoying.” changbin says. “kept asking questions.”

“that’s never a good sign.”

“no.”

hyunjin sets the glass down, then reaches for a cigarette, tucking it between his lips. he flicks his lighter. click, flame, inhale.

there it is. drink in one hand. cigarette in the other. leaning back against the counter.

like, how?

how the fuck is he this beautiful while living like this?

you stare for too long. he notices. his gaze flicks to you, then away again. inhales. exhales.

“price wasn’t even the issue.” changbin says. “he just wouldn’t shut up.”

“should’ve shut him up.” hyunjin mutters.

“considered it.”

“and?”

“wasn’t worth it.”

hyunjin taps ash into a tray, looking at you looking at changbin, paying attention to changbin, not him. but at least you’re here.

he’ll take it.

even if it’s not everything he wants. he’ll take it.

meanwhile all that’s in your mind is how comfy the couch looks. insert that picture where squidward looks like death and next to him spongebob is throwing his hands up smiling ear to ear. you and hyunjin fr. anyways, you do go and make yourself comfy on the couch, then pat it on either side of you. “come here, both of you. tell me more.”

changbin drops down on your left, big arm around your shoulders. hyunjin sits on your right, long legs laid out, cigarette letting that pretty smoke come. changbin tried to get him to stop smoking at least in the apartment but i think we see it didn’t do much.

changbin is still irritated but relaxed now that he’s home, that he’s with you. “guy kept calling his biceps the guns. i wanted to tell him the only gun was the one i had in my back pocket.” now that he said that, he begins to wonder where did it go. it sure got out his pocket at your place, must be there somewhere if nobody took it.

hyunjin hums. flicks ash into a fancy crystal tray. tf. “clients get stupider every week. last week some guy asked me if i could ‘source’ a liver that still had the gallbladder attached because ‘it adds flavor.’” he takes another drag, exhales “i charged him extra.”

changbin groans and squeezes your shoulder. “at least your idiots pay in cash sometimes. mine keep trying to pay in bitcoin. like fuck your mom.”

you don’t know if you should be turned on or deeply concerned and upset about what you’re hearing. both work.

changbin’s phone starts buzzing in his pocket.

he gets it out. looks at the screen and sighs. “it’s minho.” he picks up. “yeah? what’s up?”

you and hyunjin go quiet, watching bin’s face. it stays neutral for the first ten seconds. then his pretty jaw moves. then the vein on his forehead starts popping. another vein bulges in his huge left bicep. the big arm around your shoulders slowly turns hard. just again, turned on or, well, terrified is the other option in this scenario, you don’t know what you should be.

he listens for another thirty seconds, says “mm” twice, then hangs up. without saying goodbye, by the way. the phone gets placed down with way too much care. looks like if he slams it he’ll break the entire table.

he stares straight ahead at the window for a long time.

“han and jeongin fucked up. bad.”

you and hyunjin look at each other. you both can tell the two aren’t in danger or with police, changbin would be out the door already if that was the case, so you’re not worried.

changbin, though.

“they picked up some guy from the bar. everything was going fine until they cut off the guy’s fingers, all ten of them, and told him if he could juggle them for thirty seconds without dropping any, they’d let him go. minho said the guy was screaming, blood everywhere, fingers all around the place.” his hands flex on his (thick)thighs. the veins in his forearms are now basically fucking his skin. “they found it funny. apparently, they were laughing so hard they didn’t notice the guy’s girlfriend had followed him from the bar and tried to record. they almost got caught on camera. minho had to go clean it up, drag the girlfriend inside, and deal with the mess.”

so that’s what the case is. an almost caught. he gets angry at those.

the psycho part of changbin doesn’t come out in the way he acts, like minho having defects with communication, for an example. seungmin also has a hard time communicating sometimes but he’s significantly better. anyways, changbin’s defect doesn’t work socially.

what his main problem is, is dealing with anger.

this is why he killed for the first time, we already know that. it was pure, blinding anger. he can’t process it. never could. it doesn’t leak out in mean little comments or creepy staring like the rest of the boys. changbin explodes.

therapy? useless. talking? makes it worse. even fucking it out doesn’t work, so you don’t even come in handy now. plus getting his dick hard is difficult when he’s having one of these anger meltdowns. nothing helps. he just has to deal with it until it’s gone.

he stands up slowly. “i can’t deal with this shit.”

you’re mortified by what you just heard about what the two boys did but you’re also lowkey excited to see what he’ll do now. like that’s your boyfriend, go boyfriend, crash out!!

“those fucking idiots.” he says, voice shaking. “i told them. i fucking told them to keep it clean. but nooo, han has to turn every kill into a fucking children’s birthday party and jeongin just has to let him do it.”

“hyunjin. we are SO fucked.” you whisper.

something flies past your heads.

(not aimed at you, never at you, changbin would rather saw his own arms off)

hyunjin takes a slow drag from his cigarette. “myeah.”

you both get behind the couch. it looks stupidly cute from the outside, you two not visible but his smoke coming out anyway.

changbin flips the coffee table with one hand. it crashes into the wall. “i do everything right! i train those stupid clients, i move the organs, i keep the bodies from piling up in the fucking hallway, and these two dipshits treat it like a fucking joke!”

a lamp flies past. then the remote. then one of hyunjin’s fancy poetry books (hyunjin winces).

you peek out to take a look at your boyfriend now throw a little vase hyunjin purely keeps on the (now flipped over)coffee table for decoration. you turn back quickly and look at hyunjin with big eyes.

and he exhales a smoke ring???

“are they fucking five!? i told them, i fucking told them, keep it simple! strangle and dump! but nooo, they gotta make it into amateur porn! ‘funny’ my ass! i’m gonna shove my foot so far up han’s dumb fucking colon he’ll taste my toes for a week!”

another object flies, this time it’s the heavy crystal ashtray hyunjin was just using.

“i’m gonna skin jeongin alive and turn his little face into a fucking puppet. i’m gonna make han eat every single finger he juggled. raw.”

he grabs the expensive leather ottoman and throws it into the kitchen. wow.

hyunjin calmly takes another drag of his cigarette.

“binnie, baby—” you start.

“and the woooooorst part?! they’ve did this hundreds of times already! and they never.” he claps his hands. “fucking.” clap. “learn!” clap clap clap clap. “i’m gonna shove both their heads up each other’s asses and—”

another object flies. it bounces off the wall and lands in the potted plant hyunjin mothers so hard. he actually puts his hand out towards it but pulls it back into his lap almost immediately.

he sheds a tear for his beloved plant then moves on. “this is your boyfriend.” he whispers, tapping ash into an empty glass he grabbed on the way down. “romantic.”

“shut up. you’re hard, aren’t you?”

“painfully.”

crash.

silence.

changbin finally stops, chest heaving, standing in the middle of everything. he looks around at the mess, then at the couch you’re both hiding behind.

“…sorry.” he mutters. “didn’t mean to scare you.”

you peek over the couch, smiling. “you didn’t scare me.”

hyunjin takes one last drag, flicks the cigarette butt into the glass, and stands up. “i’ll order new furniture. again.”

he was two seconds away from leaning in and stealing a first kiss while changbin was distracted. his lips were already tingling with the possibility. but changbin came down from the rage too fast. damn it.

changbin rubs the back of his neck. “i’ll pay for it.”

you crawl out from behind the couch, smiling ear to ear and stepping over the shit he destroyed, and wrap your arms around his waist from behind. “you’re okay.”

he leans back into you. in the smallest, saddest voice you’ve ever heard from him “they juggled fingers, baby.” like aw okay binnie :(

hyunjin watches the two of you. jealous. fuck. he needs another drink. what happened to his earlier one anyway? oh, it’s pouring down the wall right there. okay.

yeah, shit like this happens all the time.

like seungmin’s mean little bitchass gets set off and suddenly it’s world war iii. (yeah he’s the worst, just blows up over anything small) last month jeongin ate a little yoghurt (the one seungmin had been thinking about all day) and seungmin tied him to a dining chair with duct tape and zip ties, then spent forty five minutes beating the absolute shit out of him with a bag of frozen chicken breasts.

chicken breasts everywhere. raw meat juice all over the floor. when seungmin finally calmed down he just cut jeongin loose, patted his bloody cheek, then crawled into your bed at 3am and cuddled up to you.

han once got mad at felix for eating the last of his crayons (the blue ones taste best, apparently, han just uses them to draw). han started screaming at the top of his lungs, stomped into the kitchen, grabbed a plate, and smashed it directly onto his own forehead. the plate shattered. his eyes rolled back and he dropped, out cold for six minutes. you had to ice his forehead.

once minho wordlessly took one of chan’s knives and left it covered in some random guy’s spinal fluid. chan found it, then destroyed every single plate in minho’s kitchen by throwing them one by one into the bathtub. when he was done he sat on the edge of the tub, covered in shards, and whispered “i need a minute.” he let you patch up his cut hands.

chan is fucking HILARIOUS in general. like another one was when he smashed a blender in one hand because jeongin pissed him off.

now that we’re at jeongin, oh he’s the hot babe ever(deserves death), you left him on seen once and he spent three hours shouting at hyunjin at the top of his lungs while carving lines into his own thigh with a razor. then crawled to your door at 2am covered in blood, begging you to kiss it better.

yeah he’s really… unstable.

not as unstable as hyunjin tho. last time he got jealous of changbin he disappeared for six hours and came back with someone else’s tongue in a jar as a gift. you made him throw it away but let him cuddle you while he read you something. he wants so badly to be allowed.

minho is… fucking terrifying. once chan accidentally sat in minho’s favorite staring at y/n spot. minho killed ten people that day.

felix doesn’t get mad lots. or angry. or any of those. he once got mad because you called han baby and not him. he disappeared for three hours and came back dragging a whole ass traffic cone he stole. he tried to eat it.

and we already saw today what happens to changbin. like he does this. once jeongin made a your mom joke and changbin flipped the entire couch, punched a hole through the wall, then spent twenty minutes doing pushups.

they are genuinely horrible at dealing with feelings. well, who can blame them, this is their first time experiencing them, but still, this canNOT be good for you. your mental health. your pussy, sure, the boyfriends do fuck it out sometimes, but let’s be real, it’s extremely unhealthy that you have to deal with these fuckers all day long.

but you like it. so, it is what it is. you’re fine.

you have fun with them. that fun can mean going out with hyunjin for coffee or yanking felix off the couch by both hands on his hips because he keeps humping it, but you really did grow attached to these boys. who cares that they tried to kill you.

that fun can also mean just hanging out with the boyfriends. little dates. seungmin once dragged you to a hardware store just so he could “look at knives and feel better.” you ended up making out in the aisle between the chainsaws. han likes when you let him eat you out. LET him. he has to beg. chan just wants to lie on your chest and have you play with his curls. changbin just needs to touch you to have fun, that can mean his toe in your ear, even. just please omg he has to touch y/n.

lol. men are so fucking adorable you might actually have to smash a plate on your own head too at this point.

like wdym these eight brutal psychos have little feelings??? wdym they get genuinely upset and their little hormones work and testosterone works and it comes from their balls?? AWWW MEN’S BALLS!!! balls gotta be the cutest fucking thing on earth istg. they’re so vulnerable!! they protect them!! they cup them when they’re scared!! the others kick them during fights and they curl up and it HURTS them!! sensitive little guys just hanging out between their legs, trying their best, getting cold and going up inside then dropping back down!!! hello to you too balls!! but they also make cum and babies and rage and horniness and all the stupid boy things and they’re just. down there. existing. between their stupid little legs. swinging. awww.

what do you meeeeaaaann all eight of your psychos have their own pair!!! men are SO cute.

you had to literally bite your fist the other day when hyunjin was manspreading on the couch and you remembered there’s a whole sensitive little sack there, vulnerable and warm and full of his lowk suicidal sperm. aww.

i’m crine the FUCK is your problem y/n😭😭😭

seungmin has straight up slapped your hand away in public before when you tried to sneak a feel. didn’t even look at you. just smack on your wrist, then kept talking to the cashier like nothing happened while you stood there grinning.

you MIGHT have gotten soft on these psychos.

you’re a freak.

but tbh each of the four you’re actually dating needs exactly you. exactly your sex drive. exactly the way you are.

cute. so fucking cute. men are awesome.

sometimes when chan is just sitting on the couch minding his own business, biiiig thighs spread, you’ll casually reach over and grope him through his pants. you’re brutal. palm covering his soft cock and balls, squeezing around.

he just sits there. letting you play w the jewels. sometimes he’ll keep watching whatever he’s watching, sometimes he’ll look over at you(calm, MANLY) murmur a “having fun, baby?”

you love how he feels. that he has those there. love how he trusts you completely with the most sensitive part of him.

when you get a little too enthusiastic and squeeze too hard he just jerks his hips away once and says “ow”. then you lean in and kiss his cheek as a little apology.

he accepts it. patting your head. he loves it. truly thinks he found a once in a lifetime gem with you.

god you’re so down bad.

you feel lucky too. unbelievably. what do you mean you have these psychos at your feet.

kinda… literally at your feet.

what we mean here, is once han is being annoying again, all around you. he keeps bumping into you, pushing you, giggling around, trying to “help” you reach the top shelf even though he’s only about two inches taller and mostly useless.

“y/n you’re so short it’s cute, wait no, i’m short too, we’re both short, that’s why we fit so good when i’m inside you!!”

you spin around and slap him lightly across the face. not hard. it’s genuinely just playful. doesn’t even hurt.

his eyes cross instantly. his mouth drops open, body jerking. he squeaks a “hnn?”

his knees buckle. he drops to the floor, landing on his ass with a pathetic little whimper. one hand flies between his legs, cupping his dick through his pants as his stomach and crotch and abdomen muscles flex.

his face has pure confusion. bliss. eyebrows furrowed, eyes crossed, mouth open.

he came so hard.

“wha— whaaat?” he whines, voice high. his hips twitch up into his own hand as ropes of cum flood his pants. he has tears pricking his eyes from how hard he came and how sudden and so not ready to. his hand is squeezing his twitching cock. that just came while soft. from a slap.

he’s never looked more pathetic or more adorable in his entire stupid life.

you stare down at him. “han. baby. i barely touched you.”

“i knowwww. i think i need new pants, ma—maybe new baaaaalls. y/n, can you slap me again but harder this time?”

you end up crouched in front of him, cradling his dumb flushed face while he keeps making little hiccupps, still gently palming his spent cock. he leans into your touch, nuzzling. dumbest fuck on earth. you’d keep him in a jar if you could.

now that we’re at a sexual topic, it deserves some recognition that seungmin is… surprisingly pathetic in bed. he talks a big game but the second he’s inside you he gets just… whiny. a lil flower, basically. “fuck— you’re so tight, gonna make me cum too fast again, shit—” he tries to stay confident and a mean cunt but ends up whimpering into your mouth, hips stuttering, begging you not to clench because he’s embarrassingly close. the dream boyfriend.

and about changbin, so we include all the four, he has stamina. like stamina. that man can fuck you for hours. (can, not always will. it’s only realistic that you tap out after about two rounds if not one.) then he’ll kiss every tear off your face and ask if you want another round “just to be sure you’re satisfied, baby :)”. insane. built different. (built himself to be different, he didn’t get those muscles and fat out of nowhere. he worked for this, let’s appreciate that)

anyways,

you watch them play sometimes from the safety of the couch(and by play you mean fists, wrestling, knives, guns), chin in your hands.

morons with weapons.

like minho has jeongin in a headlock on the living room floor. the others are doing their own shit around, they’re fine with anything as long as they can breathe your air in.

you watch them. they be rolling around on the floor trying to choke each other out and the second one of them senses danger near the crotch region their hips do that instinctive little squirm/twist away. protecting the goods. always protecting the goods. hips do that instinctive little tuck. ass clenching, balls drawing up, hiding. it’s so automatic. so fucking adorable.

the attackers are absolutely going for the sack on purpose because they know it would hurt them too.

men are sweet.

“quit guarding your little grapes, you pussy.” minho snarls, trying to knee jeongin in the balls while jeongin twists.

“my grapes are precious, you cum gargling— OW FUCK—”

felix once bit chan’s thigh so close to the balls that chan yelped. like imagine that scary ass psycho yelping. because he doesn’t usually yelp.

han knees seungmin in the nuts while giggling while playing tag. hyunjin will grab a handful of minho’s package mid grapple just to hear that cold motherfucker make a high pitched noise. changbin can always end a fight with shouldering into someone’s crotch.

can’t stress it enough, men are unique and funny and cute.

you were made for men.

not just any men, these men.

and oh, the way they come back to you. each get their little asses beaten by each other or get angry and destroy everything or get confused about their huge feelings for you, but since they know you’re safe, you’re y/n, they immediately come to you.

let’s start with chan’s baby ass(should fucking behead him) he’ll limp to you with fresh bruises, split lip, whatnot, and just collapse onto the bed or couch of yours. he just wants you close.

he lets you baby him then. enjoys it, wants it.

let’s go age order now, mkay? minho shows up covered in blood, silent, and just stares at you with those dead eyes until you open your arms. crawls into them. wraps himself around you in the weirdest positions, face buried somewhere on your body (neck, stomach, between your tits, wherever), and just breathe you in. for hours. that, calms him down.

changbin is the usual when he crashes down from their boy fights. after one of his big meltdowns he gets so guilty it’s painful. you can’t tell him enough times that it’s okay that he acts like this when he’s angry. he’s just a man. anyways, he’ll find you immediately, wrap those huuuuuge arms around you, and hang on you while you do whatever. he needs the reassurance that you still love him.

hyunjin will rest his head on your thigh while you play with his hair. he needs you. needs to find you. he yaps about how the world is empty and meaningless except for you. the FUCK is his problem. he needs your attention more than anything else. first boy or whatever.

han is… fuck, you already know, a dumb little bitch. like he got mad and did something stupid again. he’ll launch himself at you full force, wrapping around you, talking into your chest. same boy that tried to kill you once.

felix… aww. he comes back to you literally whimpering, covered in blood and whatever he was eating, and immediately tries to climb into your lap. baby, no, shower. after that, he’ll nuzzle into you and sometimes ask if you still love him. (he wouldn’t by himself, but he saw it on tiktok. also asks if you’d love him if he was a worm)

seungmin is a tsundere little bitch about it. done with his little blow up? start looking for you. crawling back to you. stomps around(with the exact movement a horse would) while hugging your arm only. grown ass man btw. you have to coax him into letting you clean him up. he’ll grumble the whole time (“i don’t need this shit”) but the second you kiss the bridge of his nose he goes boneless.

jeongin is such a personality. didn’t we already talk about him screaming into his pillow about you? well he acts like that didn’t happen, just finds you after to get relief, kneels on the floor, clings to your lap, sighing loudly, telling you in great detail how everyone is against him and how he suffered. you have to play along and kiss his “wounds” (even the fake ones) while he preens under the attention.

slut.

i mean him, not you.

never you.

that’s because they trust you this much. they’re also so fucking comfortable with you it’s actually insane.

and they expect you to be just as unbothered as they are.

example, you’re in your bathroom, brushing your teeth. the door opens(not a single knock knocked) and minho walks in without a word. steps up to the toilet, unzips, pulls his dick out, starts peeing. he doesn’t even look at you just stares at the wall. shakes off then tucks himself away. washes his hands and leaves. no big deal to him. meanwhile you’re standing there with your toothbrush hanging out of your mouth bc like ???

han will barge into the bathroom while you’re on the toilet just to show you something on his phone. he’ll stand there holding the screen in front of your face.

“han i am peeing give me two seconds”

“why?”

the other rock brained is felix. the empty headed little cannibal has walked in on you showering multiple times. you’ve had to start locking the door(though we already talked about them just fucking picking the lock then), and every single time he stands outside whimpering. (doesn’t remember he can literally pick locks)

you try to change shirts and jeongin walks in mid titty out. “oh don’t mind me, keep going.” you tell him to get out and he looks heartbroken. “but i’ve seen them before. why are we regressing as a society?”

changbin is horrible. fucking hell you think about him and have to hold your head in your hands. he’ll walk in while you’re changing pads and starts running his finger through your hair. “you cramping bad today, baby? want me to rub your tummy?” fucking horrible.

hyunjin sometimes sits on the edge of the bathtub while you’re soaking and read you something he wrote, completely ignoring the fact that you’re literally naked in the water. and if you dare tell him you need five minutes alone he’ll sit outside the door and monologue sadly about “the cruel walls you build between us” until you let him in.

seungmin will stand outside muttering “the fuck is the point of being together if i can’t even watch you wash your ass?” like y/n this is human rights violation. let him IN.

minho just… appears. you’ll be changing and suddenly he’s in the corner staring. no words. you undress to take a shower, turn to the shower, he’s standing inside. at the end of the day you get into bed, pull the covers down and he’s UNDER THEM.

how did he not kill you then if he’s THIS good?

felix, as we know, has zero concept of personal space or gendered boundaries. he’ll try to go into the shower with you “to help wash your back.” he’ll stick his cold hands up your shirt in the middle of the kitchen because “your tummy is warm and mine is cold.” when you tell him no he gets this heartbreakingly confused look. “but you let changbin do it, why not me? i love you too?”

chan is at least dada about it. he’ll come out of the shower with just a towel around his shoulders, everything else hanging out, and start making coffee like that. like okay wet daddy put that weapon away. and he tells you “what’s mine is yours, baby.” okay i take it back.

you whine one day that your boobs hurt, maybe pms, maybe han was too enthusiastic the night before, whatever, and chan reaches over, hooks two fingers in the collar of your shirt, and tugs it down.

just pulls your tits out into the open air.

he stares, few fingers poking at them, then tucks them back in and gives you a little forehead kiss. “they look fine.”

but when felix does the exact same thing two days later, it’s different!!

you’re on the couch complaining that your chest is sore and felix, who is very much not your boyfriend, is like “oh no!! let me see!!” and reaches over to yank your shirt down. full tits out in the living room while jeongin and minho are playing cards on the coffee table. you have to slap his hands away and pull your shirt back up while he looks… so lost. he genuinely doesn’t get why that’s crossing a line. to him, your body is community property because he loves you so much and he shares everything with the other seven boys.

they’ve seen you naked, fucked you (some of them), bled on you, cried on you, so why does the bathroom door need to be closed? why can’t they just walk in while you’re peeing? why can’t felix crawl into bed with you and han?

you close the bathroom door. han: “but why?? you’ve seen me naked before!! i’ve seen you bleed from the pussy!! why can’t i watch you pee???”

minho gave you the saddest stare when you told him you didn’t want company while you were changing a tampon.

and you’ve seen every inch of them (and they’ve seen plenty of you) so why the fuck would they hide anything?

because these boys are so comfortable with you.

take hyunjin, for example. you go over to their place one afternoon because he said he wants to show you this new painting he’s been working on. he leads you into his room, closes the door, and immediately starts stripping. shirt off. pants off. underwear too. your heart stops. his dick swings free for a second, soft, while he casually steps into clean boxers like. you’re not even there. your heart starts beating again.

he pulls his sweatpants up, grabs the painting, and turns around. “so what do you think?”

seungmin will casually scratch his balls while talking to you. full hand down the front of his pants, digging around, rearranging while he tells you about the guy he stabbed earlier.

you make a face.

he raises an eyebrow. “what? they itch.”

even better when he walks into your room completely naked, dick swinging, just out of your shower, and lies face down onto your bed. starfish. he’ll throw a leg over you and go straight to sleep while you’re trying to watch a show. if you complain he just “you’ve had it in your mouth, don’t act shy now.”

jeongin is tiring. you actually have to cry laugh. he’ll come up behind you while you’re cooking, press his morning wood against your ass(you’re fine with him doing this, he wouldn’t do it if it made the love of his life uncomfortable), and talks to you. “so then i was strangling the guy and his head turned purple and— waaaaaait, you’re not wearing panties under this? slut.”

“because i thought i was spending the night with changbin. where is he?!”

sometimes they?? switch?? places?? randomly??? like genuinely hyunjin walks into your bathroom and minho comes out. and hyunjin is nowhere. and there is no possible exit he could have gotten out on. or you send chan to the shop to get you something and felix comes home with it. then you think you’re talking to felix and when you turn around it’s hyunjin answering, two completely different voices mind you. you’re always so confused.

they genuinely don’t get it when you try to enforce boundaries. you’re their safe person. their person. so why would they hide basic bodily functions from you? it doesn’t compute in their boy brains.

underneath all the boundary issues is the fact that they trust you completely. that’s sweet though. they feel safe with you in ways they’ve never felt safe with anyone, only the others, but you’re different. so they offer you every part of themselves, the gross, the vulnerable, the naked, the soft dick, post shower, morning wood, post fight, post rage, post cry parts, without hesitation.

they all know, on some level, that women are more physically fragile. no sexism here, this is biology, though some of them know of it in the sexist way, some the biological. men and women are built different. standard knowledge. they’ve killed enough of both to notice the physical differences. they know your body is softer in places, more sensitive, bleeds differently, gets sore easier, boobs aren’t the same as pecs. they know you can’t just punch you in the arm like they punch each other. but the social boundary thing? the “this is my body and sometimes i want it to be private even from people i love” thing? can’t get it at all.

jeongin, hyunjin, changbin, and chan(chan respects you as his girl) are the ones who at least register the differences. they know boobs aren’t just funny squishy chest lumps like their own. they know periods suck and make you more fragile. they understand that randomly grabbing your ass in public might get them slapped while they can slap each other’s asses during fights and it’s just bro shit. they know girls need a little more… finesse. socially. emotionally. physically.

the others though, their brains simply do not… do not most of the time. they could understand if they tried, really could, but they simply don’t use those brain cells. well, the sunshine twins don’t, and minho and seungmin just don’t want to.

so you scold. they listen. sort of. for about three days. then han is back to trying to hold your tit in the middle of clothes shopping and felix is asking if he can sniff your armpit.

before you, there was nothing. we know that. now it’s just a big wobbly thing inside of them. love? terrifying. jealousy? torture. longing? makes them want to chew their own hands off.

their little hearts are really fragile right now.

and they relieve that by being quite the opposite on the outside. by murdering just as brutal as they used to. (crazy, the fact that they enjoy doing that)

chan has this weird little system that turns the feelings, the itch to kill inward first, then lets it go(aka murdering) when it’s a little more upset at him. bout to blow. he’ll go out, find someone who reminds him of his own insecurity, usually slowly, calmly choke them out while staring into their eyes. almost he’s having a conversation with himself. last time he came back with someone’s tongue in his pocket. forgot to take it out and you did when you were washing those jeans. you cried. he felt horrible.

feeling sad is also a new feeling. it’s heartbreaking. they actually feel bad for normal people because oh they had to live with this through their entire lives? but they mostly feel bad for you, because you also did. and you’re above everyone.

back to chan, he ends up lying down with you usually, needing you to give him any type of physical touch. but when he gets it he’s fine. (if we ignore his feelings fucking messing his system up)

about minho, when the feelings get too messy he goes out and does his cute little horror shit (keeping people alive for days, removing things slowly, enjoying their screams. he once kept a guy alive for twelve hours just so he could ask him philosophical questions about love while cutting out his liver piece by piece. then he came home, crawled into your arms, and stared at you for hours. you don’t even mind anymore. he your lil creep.)

changbin is unstable, just not (usually) in front of you. he caught someone looking at you wrong once and spent the next four hours breaking every single bone in the guy’s body. then came home, clung to you.

hyunjin suffers beautifully. little bitch always does. he’ll write twenty pages of the most heartbreaking shit about unrequited love, then go out and slowly take someone apart. he takes his time. makes it artistic. removes organs one by one while talking about the void you left in his chest(insert that talking to wall gif). babe(fucker) just needs you to let him rest his head on your chest.

han is dumb but evil. they all are, let’s not forget that. his brain can’t handle the new emotions so he always does shit with no clear purpose. last week he got jealous of chan taking you out and went on a rampage. caught some poor jogger, beat him unconscious, then tried to share the body with felix by playing tug with the intestines??? he came back covered in blood, tackled you onto the couch(you threw up). feelings are hard.

felix’s empty little brain wasn’t built for this much emotion. when it hits him he gets confused and restless and jealous(worse now that he knows what that is) and freaks out.

last week he got sad because you patted han’s head and he literally jumped at a random pedestrian in broad daylight, sank his teeth into the guy’s neck, and started eating him alive. blood everywhere. still managed to not get caught. tf. came home with blood in his hair and on his face and immediately pouted and crossed his little legs when you scolded him.

seungmin takes his emotional instability out on whoever’s unlucky enough to cross his path. the other day he was pissed because you smiled at changbin when you should have been making seungmin an omelette!! (still got it tf he pissed off about) he went out and found some random dude, tied him to a chair, and spent two hours explaining in great detail why the guy’s existence offended him while slowly peeling the skin off his arms like orange peels. slow. talking the whole time. “she smiled at him. smiled. you ever smile at someone that pretty? no? then shut the fuck up.” when the guy passed out from pain seungmin just slapped him awake and kept going???

he came home with blood in his hair and crawled straight into your lap. was relieved that you couldn’t see the blood in his dark hair but then you smelled it. he got outside time.

jeongin will have a childish breakdown. usually midkill, his lil(huge) ass sobbing about how you don’t love him enough while carving hearts into some girl’s chest. “do you feel this? this is what my heart feels like!!” he once begged you to tell him he’s pretty. it’s actually heartbreaking how undeveloped he is, we’ll talk about it more later.

they’re all so fragile now.

the new emotions are eating them alive from the inside.

they don’t know how to process love or jealousy or fear of abandonment. they don’t know anything, and especially not how to express it. they’re actually in a terrifying situation. especially for men.

hands constantly shaking. all eight’s.

but no matter how bad it gets, no matter how brutally they take it out on the world, they always come back to you.

always.

bangchan.

minho.

changbin.

hyunjin.

jisung.

felix.

seungmin.

jeongin.

bangchan.

minho.

changbin.

hyunjin.

jisung.

felix.

seungmin.

jeongin.

Halloween at the dorms was never quiet.

With eight grown men running around in various stages of costume disasters, fake blood smudged across expensive hoodies, and someone—definitely Han—screaming because Hyunjin had hidden plastic spiders in his shoes again, silence was impossible.

But Minho had expected chaos.

What he hadn’t expected was for his entire emotional stability to collapse the second his front door opened.

Because standing there, clutching your hand with tiny fingers, was his son.

Dressed as Leebit.

For a moment, Minho genuinely forgot how to breathe.

The little white bunny hoodie swallowed your son whole, oversized ears flopping sideways as he stared up at his father with wide, sparkling eyes. Tiny whiskers were drawn onto his cheeks in slightly crooked lines, and the fluffy tail attached to the back bounced when he shifted his weight excitedly.

And then—

“Appa!”

Minho made a sound that no one in the history of humanity had ever heard before.

Somewhere between a gasp, a wheeze, and his soul physically leaving his body.

Behind him, Changbin blinked. “Oh my god.”

“I think he died,” Felix whispered.

“No, seriously, look at his face,” Jeongin said, already laughing.

Minho couldn’t hear any of them.

Because his son—his actual son—was wearing his character. Tiny. Round-cheeked. Looking unbearably proud of himself.

“Surprise,” you said carefully, already grinning because you knew exactly what kind of reaction this would get.

Minho just stared.

Then he slowly crouched down in front of your son like he was approaching a wild animal.

“…Who are you?” he asked softly.

Your son giggled immediately, bouncing on his feet. “Leebit!”

“Leebit?” Minho echoed weakly.

A nod so aggressive the bunny ears flopped into his eyes.

Minho put a hand over his mouth.

“Oh, he’s gone,” Chan muttered from the kitchen.

“Someone catch him.”

Your son grabbed the edge of Minho’s sleeve. “Appa, look!” He turned around in a circle to show off the costume properly, tail bobbing. “Eomma made it!”

Minho looked at you with genuine betrayal.

“You did this to me on purpose.”

You laughed. “Maybe.”

He looked back at your son.

The tiny hoodie sleeves covered half his hands. His little sneakers squeaked against the floor when he moved. The face paint on his nose had smudged slightly from him rubbing at it in the car.

Minho felt his heart physically cave in on itself.

He reached out carefully, almost reverently, and tugged one floppy bunny ear between his fingers.

“…You’re so precious,” he whispered like it personally offended him.

Your son beamed.

That was apparently the final blow.

Minho grabbed him instantly, hauling him into his arms with a dramatic groan and burying his face into the tiny bunny hood.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god—”

Your son squealed loudly, kicking his feet. “Appa!”

“You can’t do this to me,” Minho mumbled into his shoulder. “You can’t just show up looking like this.”

“Hyung is literally shaking,” Jisung announced from the couch.

And he was.

Minho was actually trembling a little as he held him.

Because it wasn’t just the costume.

It was the way your son had clearly been excited all day. The way he kept patting the bunny ears proudly. The way he looked at Minho like he’d hung the moon itself.

Like dressing up as Leebit was the coolest thing imaginable because it belonged to his dad.

Minho was weak to a lot of things.

Cats.

You.

Late-night fried chicken.

But nothing—and absolutely nothing—destroyed him faster than his son loving him openly.

“Take a picture of us,” Minho demanded suddenly.

Felix already had his phone out. “Way ahead of you.”

“No, wait.” Minho adjusted the bunny hood carefully around your son’s face. “Okay. Now.”

Another squeal escaped your son when Minho started nuzzling his cheeks aggressively.

“Too cute,” Minho muttered. “Actually criminal.”

“Dad, breathing is important,” Seungmin said dryly.

Minho ignored him completely.

Your son suddenly grabbed Minho’s cheeks with both hands.

“Appa where your ears?”

The room burst into laughter.

Minho blinked. “My ears?”

“You need bunny ears too.”

“Oh, he’s right,” Hyunjin said immediately. “Hold on.”

Within thirty seconds, someone had shoved a pair of white bunny ears onto Minho’s head.

And somehow—

Your son looked absolutely delighted by this development.

“Same!” he shouted excitedly, pointing between them.

Minho looked like he might cry.

Actually cry.

Chan saw it first and started cackling. “He’s emotional!”

“I am not emotional.”

“You absolutely are.”

Minho tightened his hold on your son defensively. “He said we match.”

“That’s your breaking point?” Changbin laughed.

“Yes.”

Honestly, fair enough.

Your son leaned against Minho’s chest comfortably, playing with the bunny ears on his father’s head while Minho looked at him like he’d personally invented happiness.

And maybe it was ridiculous.

Maybe it was just a costume.

But Minho couldn’t stop thinking about how small he still was.

How one day those tiny hands wouldn’t reach for him automatically anymore.

How eventually Halloween costumes would become “embarrassing” and he’d stop asking his parents to match him.

The thought alone made Minho hold him tighter.

Your son noticed immediately.

“Appa?”

Minho kissed the top of the bunny hood softly. “Hmm?”

“You squishing me.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Noooo,” your son giggled dramatically.

“Too bad.”

“You’re obsessed with him,” you told Minho knowingly.

Minho looked at you blankly. “Obviously.”

And honestly?

It only got worse from there.

-

By the time the group actually went out for Halloween activities, Minho had fully transformed into one of those unbearable parents who wouldn’t stop showing people pictures of their kid.

Every five minutes:

“Look at him.”

“We know what he looks like, hyung.”

“But look again.”

The pictures got progressively more ridiculous too.

Your son sitting on Minho’s shoulders with bunny ears falling sideways.

Your son holding a tiny pumpkin bucket bigger than his torso.

Your son asleep against Minho’s chest while still wearing the costume.

Minho nearly cried at that one.

“He fell asleep mid-candy,” he whispered emotionally.

Seungmin looked exhausted. “Please stop narrating your feelings.”

“No.”

Outside, Seoul buzzed with Halloween energy. Kids in costumes ran around excitedly while decorated storefronts glowed orange and purple in the evening dark.

Your son, however, only cared about one thing.

“Pudding.”

“Ah,” Minho nodded seriously. “A man of culture.”

Tiny fingers wrapped around Minho’s hand as they walked down the street together, bunny ears bouncing with every step.

And Minho kept glancing down.

Just checking. Just making sure this was real. Because there was something so absurdly soft about your child waddling around dressed as a mini version of his dad’s character.

At one point, a STAY walking past recognized them.

Her eyes widened immediately.

“Oh my god—is he dressed as Leebit?”

Your son perked up proudly. “Yeah!”

Minho physically puffed up with pride beside him.

“He picked it himself,” Minho informed her immediately.

You snorted because that was technically not true.

Minho had absolutely influenced him by constantly giving him Leebit plushies.

Still, the STAY looked like she was about to melt too.

“That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“I know,” Minho replied without hesitation.

You stared at him. “You said that so fast.”

“Because it’s true.”

Your son tugged on Minho’s sleeve then pointed dramatically toward a decorated candy stand where they also sell puddings.

“Appa. Puddings.”

Minho gasped softly. “He even likes the same snacks as me.”

“Please calm down,” Jeongin said.

“No.”

Minho bought him the puddings immediately.

And then a candy bag.

And another.

“Minho,” you warned.

“He’s celebrating.”

“He’s three.”

“Exactly.”

Your son sat on Minho’s shoulders afterward happily eating his pudding while playing with the bunny ears on his father’s head again.

At some point, he leaned down and whispered loudly:

“Appa.”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Minho stopped walking.

Completely.

Like someone had pressed pause on him.

Your son blinked innocently. “Appa?”

Minho looked genuinely emotional now.

Chan saw it and immediately lost it laughing again.

“Oh my god, he’s REALLY gone.”

Minho ignored him entirely.

Instead, he reached up carefully to squeeze your son’s tiny hand where it rested on his head.

“I love you too,” he said quietly.

Then after a beat:

“More than pudding.”

Your son gasped dramatically.

That apparently meant everything.

-

Back at the dorm later, things somehow became even more chaotic.

Because now the members had decided your son was the official mascot of the evening.

He was passed around between them constantly while still wearing the Leebit costume.

Felix fed him chocolate carefully.

Changbin let him sit on his shoulders.

Hyunjin kept fixing the bunny ears dramatically like a stylist on a runway shoot.

And Minho?

Minho hovered nearby the entire time like a possessive cat.

“That’s my kid,” he kept saying randomly.

“We know,” Seungmin replied for the fiftieth time.

“No but look at him.”

“We ARE looking at him.”

Your son eventually waddled over to where Minho sat on the couch and climbed directly into his lap with sleepy determination.

The sugar crash had officially arrived.

His tiny body curled automatically against Minho’s chest.

“Mmm sleepy.”

Minho’s entire face softened instantly.

The room quieted a little too because everyone knew this look on him.

The unbearably soft one.

The one he only got around his family and cats.

He adjusted the bunny hood gently away from your son’s eyes.

“You had fun?”

A sleepy nod.

“Got lots of candy?”

Another nod.

Then, barely audible:

“Best Halloween.”

Minho looked destroyed by the statement.

Absolutely obliterated.

Your son’s eyelashes fluttered sleepily while he played absentmindedly with the zipper on Minho’s hoodie.

And Minho just watched him.

Like he couldn’t believe someone this precious existed.

“You’re staring again,” you murmured fondly from beside him.

“He’s cute.”

“I gathered.”

“No, but you don’t understand.”

You laughed quietly. “I think I do.”

Minho shook his head seriously. “He’s dressed as me.”

“As Leebit.”

“Same thing.”

That made you laugh harder.

But honestly? You understood.

Because Minho loved deeply.

Sometimes too deeply to explain properly. He wasn’t always loud about it. Wasn’t always openly affectionate in front of others. But when it came to the people he loved, he gave them every soft piece of himself without hesitation.

And your son had him wrapped around one tiny finger from the moment he was born.

Maybe even before that.

Your son shifted sleepily again before mumbling:

“Appa bunny.”

Minho visibly melted.

“Oh no,” Jisung whispered. “He called him Appa Bunny.”

Minho closed his eyes briefly like he was trying not to combust.

“Yeah,” he whispered back to your son. “Appa bunny.”

That was it.

Hyunjin actually had to turn away because he couldn’t stop smiling.

“This is sickeningly cute.”

“Disgusting,” Seungmin agreed.

Chan pulled his phone out again. “I’m documenting this.”

“No pictures,” Minho said immediately.

Chan blinked. “You’ve taken literally four hundred tonight.”

“Those are different.”

“How?”

“Because I took them.”

“No logic whatsoever,” Changbin muttered.

Your son was almost fully asleep now, warm little body heavy against Minho’s chest.

The bunny ears drooped over his forehead.

Minho brushed them back carefully.

Then softer than anyone expected, he whispered:

“Thank you for loving things connected to me.”

The room went quiet.

Because yeah.

There it was.

The real reason Minho looked so emotional all night.

Your son didn’t care about fame.

Didn’t care about popularity or performances or schedules.

He just loved his dad.

Purely.

Completely.

Enough to want to become a tiny version of something associated with him for Halloween.

And Minho—who often acted unaffected by everything—was devastatingly weak to that kind of love.

Your son stirred slightly at the sound of Minho’s voice.

Then, without opening his eyes, lifted one tiny hand and patted Minho’s cheek clumsily.

“I love Appa.”

Minho made the tiniest wounded sound.

“Oh he’s DONE done,” Felix whispered.

Minho looked genuinely close to tears now.

Not dramatic crying.

Just that quiet, overwhelmed softness sitting visibly in his eyes.

He kissed your son’s forehead slowly.

“I love you more than anything.”

And he meant it with terrifying sincerity.

-

Getting your son out of the costume later that night turned into its own ordeal.

“Noooo,” he whined sleepily, clutching the bunny hoodie. “Wanna wear it.”

“You have to sleep, baby.”

“Leebit sleeps too.”

Minho immediately turned to you. “He’s right.”

You stared at him flatly. “Don’t encourage him.”

“But he made a valid point.”

“He’s stalling.”

Your son looked between both of you before deciding Minho was clearly the weaker parent.

“Appaaaa.”

Minho folded instantly.

You watched in disbelief. “Unbelievable.”

“He can wear it a little longer.”

“He’s covered in chocolate.”

“A little chocolate builds character.”

“That is not how parenting works.”

Minho hugged your son protectively. “You’ll never take us alive.”

Your son giggled deliriously.

Eventually, after much negotiation and promises that the costume would still exist tomorrow, your son finally allowed you to change him into pajamas.

Though not before insisting Minho wear the bunny ears one more time.

So now there sat Lee Minho—kpop idol, terrifyingly sharp dancer, intimidating sarcastic menace—

Wearing fluffy white bunny ears while tucking his son into bed. And somehow it suited him perfectly.

Your son looked so tiny under the blankets.

Still smelling faintly like candy and outside air.

Minho sat beside him carefully, brushing soft hair away from his forehead. “Did you have the best Halloween ever?” he asked quietly.

A sleepy nod.

“And next year?” your son mumbled. “You match me again?”

Minho’s expression cracked instantly.

“Of course I will.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

Your son smiled sleepily.

Then reached for Minho’s hand beneath the blanket.

Minho went still immediately before curling his fingers carefully around the tiny hand holding his.

It hit him suddenly then.

How fast this was all going.

How one day his son wouldn’t need bedtime tucks-ins anymore.

Wouldn’t ask him to match costumes.

Wouldn’t reach for his hand automatically.

And the thought terrified him a little.

Because Minho loved fatherhood more than he’d ever expected to.

Loved every sleepy cuddle.

Every random “Appa look!”

He wanted to freeze moments like this permanently.

Your son blinked slowly up at him.

“Appa?”

“Hmm?”

“You happy?”

Minho smiled softly.

“So happy.”

That seemed to satisfy him.

Within minutes, your son was asleep completely.

One tiny fist still loosely wrapped around Minho’s finger.

Minho didn’t move for a long time.

Just sat there quietly in the dim light of the night lamp.

Looking at him.

Memorizing him.

Eventually, you leaned against the doorway softly.

“He asleep?”

Minho nodded without looking away.

“He was really excited about tonight,” you whispered.

“I could tell.”

“He kept saying he wanted to be like Appa Bunny.”

Minho physically melted at the sentence.

You noticed immediately and smiled knowingly.

“Oh, there it is.”

“He said that?”

“Mhm.”

Minho looked back at your sleeping son again with an expression so unbearably tender it made your chest ache.

Then quietly:

“I don’t deserve him.”

You walked over immediately. “Don’t say that.”

“He’s just…” Minho exhaled shakily. “He’s so good.”

You leaned your head against Minho’s shoulder gently.

And for a moment, neither of you spoke.

The room was peaceful now. Your son’s quiet breathing filled the silence.

Minho finally stood carefully, making sure not to wake him before pulling the blanket higher around his tiny body.

Then he leaned down and kissed his forehead again.

“So cute,” he whispered helplessly.

You laughed under your breath. “You’ve said that at least fifty times today.”

“Still true.”

He switched off the lamp afterward, and the two of you quietly left the room together.

But halfway down the hallway, Minho suddenly stopped walking.

“What?”

He looked at you seriously.

“I think this was the best day of my life.”

You burst into laughter instantly.

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m serious.”

“All because he wore a bunny costume?”

“He dressed as MY bunny.”

“That is not different.”

“It is to me.”

You shook your head fondly, reaching up to fix the bunny ears still sitting crookedly on his head.

“You’re completely whipped.”

Minho looked entirely unashamed.

“Yeah,” he admitted easily. “I am.”

And honestly?

Watching him completely melt over your son all day had made you fall in love with him all over again too.

Because beneath the teasing and sarcasm and dramatic complaints, Lee Minho loved with his whole heart.

Especially when it came to his child.

Especially when tiny hands reached for him like he was home.

Minho suddenly pulled out his phone again.

You groaned immediately. “More pictures?”

“I need to look at them again.”

“Minho.”

“He was tiny.”

“He still IS tiny.”

“But emotionally tiny.”

“That sentence made no sense.”

Minho ignored you, already smiling stupidly at another picture of your son in the Leebit costume.

Then quieter this time, almost to himself:

“I hope he still wants to match me when he’s older.”

Your heart softened instantly.

“He will,” you said gently.

Minho looked unconvinced.

“What if he thinks I’m embarrassing?”

You snorted. “You are embarrassing.”

“That’s not helpful.”

“But he’ll still love you.”

Minho looked down at the photo again.

His son’s gummy smile. The floppy bunny ears. The pure excitement in his eyes.

And something warm settled deep in his chest all over again.

Maybe one day things would change.

Maybe his son would grow taller and quieter and too cool for matching costumes.

But tonight?

Tonight, he had tiny bunny ears.

Sticky pudding and candy hands.

And a little boy who looked at him like he was the center of the universe.

That was enough. More than enough.

Minho smiled softly to himself before locking his phone.

Then he looked at you with complete seriousness.

“We’re saving that costume forever.”

You laughed. “Of course we are.”

“No, like forever forever.”

“I know.”

“And if he tries to throw it away someday, I’m stopping him.”

“That feels emotionally manipulative.”

“I don’t care.”

You shook your head fondly before taking his hand.

“Come on, Appa Bunny.”

Minho smiled happily at the nickname.

And as the two of you headed to bed, he glanced back toward your son’s room one last time with the kind of love that felt too big to fit inside a single person.

Then quietly, mostly to himself:

“Best Halloween ever.”

a/n: written in < 3 days out of pure horniness and desperation oopsi I WAS LOCKED TF INNN no beta we die like men (when have I ever beta read my fics lmao). Also my first ever formal hwa fic! it should have been reverse Isekai months ago but I abandoned it lmao i should stop writing about hwa only and write for other members but it's hard because I like him so much. Anyway can you believe in order to avoid writing one fic I wrote three drabbles and TWO full fics? Insane. I can't wait for lemon drop. Morse code scene inspired from Taylor Swift but make it Morse code instead of signs and sorry if it's incorrect I used Google and whatever their first reccomended website it. I don't even know where the plot was going lmfao. I should really write for other members, wdyt of an ai san or ai yunho? Like they're human but not quite. Yeah I'll stfu now (might write a spin off with foodplay if anyone's interested...)

Idk what the plot is even but fuck it we ball

i.

Pop quiz time: what do you do when your cute next door neighbour comes to help his adorable little sister sell lemonades during summer break?

a.) offer some help

b.) become a loyal customer (support local businesses)

c.) fuck said cute neighbour (the brother, not the sister Jesus fucking Christ)

Correct answer: all of the above.

It all started when Sora, the next door little angel that sometimes come to visit because her parents left your parents to babysit her when they're busy (terrible idea, heh) decided that for summer, she's going to be making a lemonade stand.

Now you're familiar with Sora— She's an adorable nine year old with rose tinted glasses and probably the human personification of a damn coil the way she bounces every second. Sometimes she comes to visit when you're on break from school, and spending time with her is always fun.

The person you're not familiar with however, is her older brother— Seonghwa. From what you know, he's around your age but went to a university overseas so he isn't home much. You've exchanged a few polite nods with him, nothing much. One thing for sure though, he's damn fine. High cheekbones, high nose bridge, sultry eyes and plump lips. Ever since the Park family moved next door three years ago, you've been interested in him. Alas, your efforts to get to know said fine shit is cut short for obvious reasons (cough him moving overseas cough).

So being the damn angel you are, when walking your dog Sparkles (the damn poodle won't stop barking at nonexistent squirrels and you swear to God she's probably possessed) and spotting a small booth with a cardboard sign, the words “LEMONADE” scribbled with a black marker you decided to saunter over. Sora perks up upon seeing you and she immediately sits up straighter.

“seven dollars for one cup, Sora?” You comment upon seeing the price taped to a jug full of lemonade on the stand. “Recession” she hums “mummy said I won't make much if I sell it for five, but I'll sell it to you for five. Just don't tell anyone” she beams. “Do you want one?”

Before you could even respond, a voice came from behind Sora. You didn't even notice Seonghwa was hauling another jug of lemonade until he grunts. “Oh. Hi.” You greet him and he flashes you a smile “You're the next door girl right? Mom told me all about you and how kind you are to Sora. Thanks for taking care of her” he smiles, plump lips stretching to the side to reveal pearly white teeth. “No problem, Sora is an angel” you smile at Seonghwa as Sora pours you a cup and you lean in to sip it.

You flinched immediately— the damn thing tasted like battery acid. But nevertheless, you held it in and smiled at them both. You'll never say to Sora’s face how her lemonade is less preferable than toilet cleaner.

“Mm! Got a unique taste to it” you gave a commercially fake smile towards Sora who, bless her, believed it. She beamed. You don't exactly believe in lying to kids, but you don't want to be the one to break to her that her lemonade tasted like shit. Seonghwa however, gave you a pitiful smile as you handed Sora a crisp five dollar bill and left (because Sparkles was barking at nothing again and tugging on the leash). You pray that no one suffers food poisoning from this.

It rained that night— More than a rain, actually. It was a storm. Wind was howling like an abandoned lover, as rain poured mercilessly from the sky. You were unbothered, snuggling with Sparkles in bed as you binge watched another season of The Resident.

The aftermath of said thunderstorm however, was no joke. Apparently Sora forgot to put her lemonade stand in yesterday after poisoning five aunties who were talking their dogs on a walk and approximately four other kids with her battery acid, er— lemonade. It was early in the morning, cold dew kissing the air as you tugged gently on the leash to ensure Sparkles isn't doing weird any weird shit when you see what mark the storm left on Sora’s little cardboard box sign.

Glitter was running, soggy cardboard, and smudged letters. You stood there, mouth agape when the front door clicks open and Sora appears. A small gasp left her mouth as she saw what happened last night, her bottom lip quivered as she stormed back inside. Not long after, Seonghwa showed up. A plastic bag in his hand as he shook his head.

“I told her I'd help her haul the entire thing in yesterday. But she refuses, said she'd like to start selling first thing today.” He sighs while picking up the soggy cardboard and placing it inside the plastic bag, “she's really sensitive about the things she works hard on” he grunts as he hauls the bag on his back. “Been talking bout this all week long, refused any help, said that she will raise so much money for the animal shelter down the road.”

You didn't know what to say, so the both of you just stood there for a while. Not saying anything. You don't even remember what happened afterwards until you find yourself taking the leash off of Sparkles inside your house. The old dog just shakes off the feeling of the leash before scurrying towards his water bowl.

ii.

Hours later, you're on your bed. Absentmindedly thinking about Sora and her lemonade project. Your eyes trail to the window— Seonghwa’s room is right in front of yours. Most of the time it's empty, safe for the rare occasions there are guests staying over or he comes home. That's when you got an idea.

You grab a rolled-up sock from your bed and lob it toward the window across from yours.

It thuds against glass with a soft, pathetic thump. Seonghwa’s curtain twitches, then opens. He appears seconds later, shirtless (god bless), confused, blinking into the orange of the sunset like you summoned him from a nap. “Did you just throw something at my window?” You point. “Help me remake the lemonade stand.”

He stares. “You threw a sock at me for this?”

You shrug. “All my rocks are outside.”

There’s a pause. He tilts his head, amused. “Sora doesn’t want help. That’s kinda the problem. If she had let us help earlier, it wouldn’t have fallen apart like it did.”

“I know.” You pull your knees up to your chest, hugging them. “But maybe she needs to learn that asking for help isn’t a failure. That it's okay.” Seonghwa leans on the windowsill. “You really care about her, huh?”

“She’s nine. Of course I do.”

Another pause. He disappears. You think he left. But two minutes later, your doorbell rings. He’s holding a notebook, a pencil behind his ear, and a tape measure. “Okay,” he says, stepping in like it’s his house. “Cart or booth? Wood or cardboard? If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.” You blink. “You’re just gonna barge in?” as he walks past. “You threw a sock at my head,” he deadpans, settling beside you on the floor. “We’re way past boundaries.”

You end up clearing your floor, dragging a rug aside so you can both sit cross-legged with a pencil and pad between you. Seonghwa sketches while you ramble. “Something with wheels, right? So Sora can push it. Not too heavy. Maybe with a little shelf for cookies.” He hums, focused, nodding slowly. “You think we can repurpose the bike wheels in our garage?” You blink. “You just have bike wheels lying around?” “We’re hoarders,” he says plainly, then glances at you. “But the good kind. Useful hoarders.”

By midnight, you’ve got a design. A narrow wooden cart with two big wheels in the back and a single rotating caster in the front. He says he’ll handle the frame if you take care of painting and decoration. “You’re the aesthetics department.” You point a finger at him. “And you’re the structural engineering team.” He grins. “Damn right.”

The next morning, you’re in his garage, hair tied up, covered in sawdust while he cuts planks of wood with a circular saw. You’re in charge of measuring and marking. Occasionally he looks up and murmurs things like, “Be careful,” or “You’re holding that wrong,” before gently adjusting your grip. Every time his fingers brush yours, your brain shorts out just a little. He doesn’t even notice. Or maybe he does and he’s pretending not to. You can’t tell.

He makes a dumb pun about plywood (??? Why) and you groan so hard your soul leaves your body. “Why am I helping you again?” you mutter, sanding down a wheel bracket. “Because you love Sora,” he says smoothly, reaching for the drill. “And maybe me, a little.” You freeze. He smirks. “Kidding.” You laugh too loud, awkward, trying to play it off while your face burns.

When the frame is finally done, you bring over paints and glitter from your room. You spread a tarp out on the grass and start painting together—light yellow with white trim, sun shapes and lemon doodles on the sides. You go overboard with the glitter. Seonghwa says nothing but quietly paints a lemon with sunglasses on the back panel and names it “CEO Sora.” You nearly die laughing.

At some point, music’s playing from your speaker, a playlist you forgot was queued. It’s soft indie stuff, background noise. Seonghwa’s arm is resting casually near yours. You’re both crouched low, drawing a tiny “Thank you for supporting” sign together. Your knees touch. You think you’re imagining it when he glances at you and says, “You’d make a great older sister.” You snort. “That sounds like a diss.” He shakes his head. “Nah. Just meant… you’re good with kids. Good with her.” You glance at him. He’s watching you again. His gaze is warm. Steady. You look away before your heart does something stupid.

Later, when you’re packing up the supplies, he brushes dust from your cheek. “You’ve got sawdust everywhere,” he says softly. You look up at him, your breath catching. But he pulls back like it’s nothing, like your heart didn’t just lurch. You shove a rag into his chest. “Clean yourself first, CEO Lemonade.” He laughs, low and unbothered, and it makes you want to scream into a pillow.

By evening, the cart is finished. Tomorrow, you’ll surprise Sora. Tonight, you sit on the grass with Seonghwa beside you, lemonade in one hand, cookie in the other, and try not to wonder what it’d be like if he stayed a little longer this time.

(And a selfish part of you wanted him to do so)

iii.

The next morning, you're up early, heart racing like you're about to deliver a TED talk to a room of toddlers. You and Seonghwa had rolled the finished cart into his backyard late last night, parking it beneath the cherry tree where the sunlight makes everything look a little magical. The yellow paint gleams. The glitter sparkles. “CEO Sora” beams from the back panel with his cool lemon shades. It’s stupidly cute (he's also stupidly cute today but you digress).

The hard part, though, isn't the cart. It's getting Sora out of her room. She's been quiet all morning. No bouncing, no knocking on your door, no asking for cookies or drawing requests. Just silence. Seonghwa glances up at her window and sighs. “She hasn't even touched her cereal.”

You nod slowly. “Let me try.”

You knock on her door and gently push it open. She's curled up on her bed, hugging her favorite stuffed raccoon. Her eyes flick toward you, then away again. “Hi, bunny,” you say softly, walking in and sitting at the edge of the bed. “We want to show you something.”

She shakes her head, face half-hidden behind the raccoon. “I don’t want to do lemonade anymore.”

“I know,” you whisper. “But… it’s not about lemonade anymore.”

A pause. Then a tiny, reluctant, “...what is it about then?”

“It’s about not giving up.”

That gets her attention—just a little. Enough for you to hold out your hand and wait. A long moment passes. Then, finally, Sora slides off the bed and takes your hand without a word.

You lead her outside.

The second the cart comes into view, she freezes. Eyes wide. Her hand tightens around yours. She gasps audibly, like you just unveiled a unicorn. “Wh—” she breathes. “Is that…”

Seonghwa steps out from beside the tree, wiping his hands on a rag. “Made it just for you,” he says. “Well, we did. She designed it. I just… didn’t cut off my fingers in the process.”

Sora walks forward slowly, like she’s afraid it’ll disappear. She runs her hand along the edge, traces the lemon doodles, the cookie shelf, the sign that reads “Sora’s Summer Sips 2.0.”

Then she turns to both of you, eyes shining but hesitant. “Why?”

Seonghwa kneels in front of her, soft smile on his face. “Because you worked hard, kiddo. And it sucks when things fall apart. But it’s okay to ask for help when they do. You don’t have to do everything by yourself, alright?”

She bites her lip. Looks at the cart. Then at you. Then back at Seonghwa. “But I messed up. I didn’t want anyone to help. That’s why it got ruined.”

“And now?” you ask gently.

She’s quiet for a second. Then nods.

“I want help,” she says. “Please help me.”

You smile.

Seonghwa messes up her hair with a grin. “Attagirl. CEO mode: reactivated.

And just like that, she beams. Like she’d never cried in the rain at all.

Time for second phase of the plan: Assuring that she distributes lemonade this time and NOT battery acid.

iv.

The next day, Phase Two begins: Operation Make Sure Sora Isn't Accidentally Selling Citrus Poison.

You're in Seonghwa’s kitchen, armed with lemons, mint, strawberries, a bottle of honey, and absolutely zero confidence in your chemistry skills. Sora is seated at the counter, feet swinging, ready to reclaim her throne. She insists on squeezing the lemons herself, proudly declaring, “I have strong arms now.”

Seonghwa’s on cookie duty, tying an apron around his waist like he was born to be somebody’s hot husband. You pretend not to notice. You absolutely fail.

You whip out a notepad. “So. Our baseline is—”

“Battery acid,” Seonghwa cuts in, tossing chocolate chips into a bowl. “We’re working our way up from battery acid.”

You roll your eyes. “We could’ve just let her keep poisoning the community.”

“But then we wouldn’t have this quality time,” he says easily, grinning. You freeze, but he’s already back to mixing dough like he didn’t just say something that made your stomach flip.

You test your first batch with strawberries and honey. Seonghwa sips it and raises a brow. “It’s giving... healthy cafeteria water.”

“Unbelievable,” you mutter. “I am trying.”

“No, no. I taste the effort. It's delicious... adjacent.”

You throw a dish towel at his face.

Sora giggles.

Two more attempts later, you land on something decent: lemon, mint, honey, and a splash of soda water. Seonghwa takes one sip and goes suspiciously quiet. You blink. “What now?”

He lowers the cup and looks at you. “That’s actually good.”

You frown. “Like, actually actually?”

He nods. “Like… I’d buy this. If you smiled at me while handing it to me, I’d buy two.”

You stare.

Then laugh.

Then go right back to scribbling ratios like he didn’t say something wildly flirtatious.

He watches you for a beat. “You’re cute when you ignore compliments, you know.” You glance up, confused. “Was that a compliment?”His smile falters for half a second—just a beat. “Yeah. But never mind.”

You look back down, cheeks warm. You’re terrified of reading into it. Because what if you’re wrong? What if this is just him being nice and you’re projecting because he’s hot and you’ve had a dumb attraction for years? Heck it's not even a crush— you're not close enough with him go call it a crush. You’ve had enough of letting your heart run wild.

So you pretend not to hear him. You hand him the next cup instead. “Tell me if this one tastes like hospital lemonade,” you say.

He takes it silently.

But later, as you’re baking brownies and he helps you clean the mixing bowl with two fingers and a grin, you hear him murmur, “God, you're dangerous.”

You pretend not to hear that, too.

Sora insists on helping with the cookies the second she smells the dough. One moment, Seonghwa’s carefully brushing flour off your cheek with the world’s softest touch—fingertips slow, deliberate, thumb lingering near your jaw like he’s about to say something he’s been holding in since forever—and the next, there’s a loud thud, a stool dragged across the tiles, and a very determined nine-year-old climbing up between you both like Moses parting the Red Sea (hello, junior cockblock).

“I’m head chef,” Sora declares, tying her tiny apron with the solemnity of a master baker. “You two are my assistants.”

You and Seonghwa exchange a look. His mouth twitches, amused. You can tell he was just about to do something—say something, maybe. The kind of thing that makes your breath catch and your brain glitch. But now he’s reaching for the chocolate chips obediently, shoulders slouched in mock submission.

“Yes, chef,” he says.

You stifle a grin and mimic him. “At your service, chef.”

Sora immediately starts throwing ingredients in like she’s summoning a storm. Flour, sugar, half a stick of butter—you lose track. She’s chaos incarnate, narrating her every move like a baking YouTuber while Seonghwa keeps trying (and failing) to get a word in. Every time he turns toward you—eyes soft, voice lower—Sora loudly interrupts.

“do we need baking powder?”

“Seonghwa, can I taste the dough?!”

“Wait! I wanna crack the egg—NOOO you DID IT WITHOUT ME—”

You’re both choking on laughter within minutes. Seonghwa gives up flirting entirely and just bumps your shoulder lightly every now and then when Sora isn’t looking. Once, you catch him just... staring. Not in a weird way. Just this quiet, fond expression while you wipe frosting off Sora’s nose. You glance at him and whisper, “What?” but he only shrugs, smirking.

“I’m thinking about filing for demotion,” he says. “Being a junior assistant. Less chaos.”

“Denied,” you reply. “You’re too tall to escape this mess.”

Later, Sora declares the cookies “scientifically perfect” and insists on making heart shapes with the leftover dough. You’re pressing one flat with your thumbs when Seonghwa leans down beside you, his arm brushing yours. “If I ever ask you out,” he murmurs under his breath, “are you going to pretend you didn’t hear that too?”

You freeze. For a moment, the world quiets. But Sora immediately launches into a rant about how heart-shaped cookies bake faster because “love is lighter,” and Seonghwa just sighs and goes back to rolling dough.

You never answer him.

And he doesn’t push.

But when you hand him a cookie later, heart-shaped, slightly burnt, made with chaos and too much sugar—he takes a bite, smiles softly, and says, “Tastes like a maybe.”

The clock ticks past 11:30 when you tape the last cookie bag shut. The kitchen smells like vanilla, butter, and sweet exhaustion. The table is a warzone of ribbon scraps and sticker sheets, but somehow, between the two of you—it’s organized chaos. Seonghwa leans over the counter, sleeves pushed up, a rogue smear of flour on his cheek that he still hasn’t noticed. Sora’s finally asleep upstairs, curled into a sugar-coma burrito with her raccoon plush. You’d both tried to send her to bed two hours ago. She’d only gone after confirming you’d save her a heart-shaped cookie with extra sprinkles.

You exhale and stretch your back, groaning quietly as the muscles protest. “I haven’t done this much arts and crafts since year eight science fair.” Seonghwa chuckles, dropping another finished bag into the box. “Let me guess. You made a volcano.”

“Please. I was an overachiever. I made a solar system diorama. With rotating planets.”

He raises an impressed brow. “Hot.”

You snort. “I’ll pretend that wasn’t sarcasm.”

“It wasn’t,” he says, quieter. “I think it’s cute you were like that.”

You glance at him, a little off-balance from how sincere that came out. He’s looking at you again. head tilted, eyes darker in the low kitchen light. The soft hum of the fridge fills the silence between you. You suddenly feel too aware of how quiet the house is. How late it is. How close he’s standing now.

He clears his throat, pulling back a bit. “It’s been nice… being home,” he murmurs, picking up the tape again but not really using it. “It’s weird, though. I feel like I never saw you much before.”

You raise a brow, fiddling with a twist tie. “You moved here three years ago and then immediately disappeared overseas. You’re like a part-time ghost.”

He laughs under his breath. “I guess I didn’t time it well.”

“You didn’t. I thought you were imaginary for the first six months.”

There’s a pause. You don’t look up, but you feel it. The shift in his body language. The way he’s facing you more directly now. His voice drops, softer, lower.

“Well, I see you now.”

You glance up, blinking. “Huh?”

His eyes hold yours. “I said, I see you now.”

The air stills.

You blink again, heart thudding. He’s still holding a cookie bag, but his hands aren’t moving. And then, slowly, casually—he steps closer. Just one step. But it’s enough. You’re between him and the counter now, your back to the table. He doesn’t touch you, not yet. Just leans in a little, gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips.

“You keep pretending you don’t notice,” he murmurs, voice brushing against your neck. “But you do.”

“Notice what?” you ask, too fast, too breathless.

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, his hand brushes your waist lightly, barely there. And then you feel it: his lips, warm and feather-light, pressing a kiss to the curve of your neck. Not rushed. Not clumsy. Slow. Intentional. Like he’s been wanting to do it for weeks and only just let himself now.

Your whole body goes still.

Your brain promptly blue-screens.

He pulls back only a little, breath still warm on your skin. “Tell me if I’m wrong,” he whispers.

You don’t say anything.

You can’t.

You are the color red, you are emergency alarms, you are all-caps-texting-your-best-friend-at-2am energy.

And then,a shuffle upstairs.

Tiny feet.

A sleepy voice down the hallway:

“Hwa… I want milk…”

Seonghwa blinks. You both freeze.

He steps back like someone hit a reset button. You whip around, yanking open the fridge like it personally betrayed you, pretending to grab the milk like your heart isn’t punching through your ribs.

From behind you, he chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess we’re back to reality.”

You don’t look at him.

You’re too busy trying not to pass out.

v.

Moral dilemma time;

You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling like it personally offended you. The fan clicks overhead. The house is quiet again, and Sora’s probably curled up in her tangle of blankets dreaming about lemonade domination. And all you can think about is the way Seonghwa said, “You see me now.”

You did. You do.

You’ve always seen him—even if it was only in flashes. Hauling suitcases out of a car, sleeves rolled, hair damp with sweat. Helping Sora carry an inflatable pool across the lawn with that easy, capable energy that made your stomach flip even then. Sometimes he’d wave. Sometimes he didn’t notice you at all. And that was fine. You were just the girl next door. Babysitter. Friendly face (god. How annoying, his existence that is. Not in a bad way...)

Not… this.

And now you’re spiraling. Because sure, he kissed your neck, but what does that mean? And even if he meant something by it, can you let it mean something? You care about Sora. She's not just some neighbor's sibling, she's your kid on some days. You cut her crusts and helped her rehearse a talent show dance. What happens if this goes somewhere and then doesn’t? Would it be weird? Would she feel weird?

You groan, grabbing your pillow and smashing it over your face. Great. Fantastic. You’re a grown adult, and yet somehow this feels like the most confusing sleepover-level crush you’ve ever had.

You wanted him. You want him still. But now you’re wondering if you’re being selfish for it.

Because what if loving him ruins the thing that matters most?

Not the flirting.

Not the neck kiss.

But Sora’s little world.

And you're not sure you're willing to risk that.

vii.

The lemonade stand opens at 11.

By 11:17, you're almost sold out of brownies.

You hadn't expected the response to be this wild, sure, your little Instagram promo got a few shares, but apparently “CEO Sora’s Summer Sips” hit the local mom group circuit like wildfire. You’ve got toddlers in crocs, dads in visors, middle-aged ladies with lap dogs—everyone is here.

Sora's glowing. Literally glowing. She's got sunglasses on and a little apron with “Boss” embroidered across the front. Every time someone compliments the cart, she says, “My staff made it,” like you and Seonghwa are her unpaid interns. She's thriving.

You're... slightly dying. Not because of the heat. Not because of the stress. But because Seonghwa's been next to you all morning, helping hand out cups and pass cookies, acting like he didn’t kiss your neck twelve hours ago in the same house you’re both now selling snacks from.

He’s calm. Charming. Helping Sora count change, holding a paper cup in that way that makes his fingers look stupidly nice. You, on the other hand, have dropped the same bag of cookies three times and nearly called a customer “mom.”

And then, like a cursed prophecy, a woman in her mid-forties with a giant sunhat and an attitude rolls up. She glances at the menu and scoffs.

“This lemonade’s five dollars? That’s ridiculous. It’s just lemons and water.”

You open your mouth to respond, but Seonghwa gets there first. He doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t roll his eyes. He just smiles politely, steps forward slightly, and says, “You're welcome to make your own at home. But this one’s made with care. And mint from our neighbor’s garden. And emotional labor. Lots of emotional labor.”

The Karen glares at him.

He smiles wider.

She mutters something under her breath and walks off with a dramatic huff. You watch her go, stunned, and then look at him.

“Did you just... politely obliterate her?”

He shrugs, handing the next kid a cookie. “She underestimated Sora’s empire. That’s on her.”

You stare at him. He glances at you. You immediately look away, pretending to care deeply about the placement of a napkin.

He’s too smooth. Too tall. Too... aware of what he’s doing.

And you’re spiraling again.

Because the kiss happened. And he hasn’t mentioned it. And neither have you.

And now he’s out here defending overpriced lemonade like a knight with a really nice jawline and a soft voice and the ability to kill a Karen with grace.

It’s fine. Everything is fine. You're not melting into a puddle of conflicted thirst and emotional repression.

“this was fun!” Sora chirps, tugging on your sleeve. “Can we do this again next weekend?”

You force a smile, ignoring the way Seonghwa glances at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Of course,” you say, smiling at her. “Anything for the little CEO.”

vii.

The last day of the stand ended with confetti cake cookies and a lemonade toast.

Sora had counted the earnings herself, nose scrunched in concentration, and walked proudly into the animal shelter with a stuffed envelope of cash in both hands. She’d handed it over like a diplomat making peace with a foreign nation. The workers cried. She beamed. And on the way home, she tugged on your hand and whispered, “Thanks. You helped me make people smile.” Then she gave you a tiny plastic cup of lemonade and hugged you so tightly her glitter stuck to your shirt.

You cried a little in the bathroom during break. You’ll never admit that out loud.

Now that you’re home. Your room’s dark, your legs are star-fished across the sheets, and Sparkles is snoring somewhere under the blanket at your feet like a gremlin. You’re lying there, staring at the ceiling, heart full in the weird way that only happens when something good ends. The kind of full that leaves a little ache.

The flour fight. The cookie assembly line. The stupid amount of glitter you’re still finding under your nails. Seonghwa laughing with cookie dough on his nose. You felt like a kid again. Like someone cracked open time and gave you a soft place to exist for a while.

You roll over with a sigh.

And then you see it.

A flicker.

From across the small patch of grass and fence seperating your house from the Parks.

Your curtains are drawn half open, and from Seonghwa’s window—faint, but consistent—you spot a light. On. Off. Off. On. Flash. Pause. Flash.

You blink. Sit up a little. It’s definitely his phone flashlight. But he’s not waving. You thought he was doing something, raving? At this hour? Alone?

He’s...doing it in patterns.

Your brain jolts. No way. You recognise this (thanks, girl scouts!)

You grab your laptop, fingers flying as you pull up a Morse code translator.

.. / -- .. ... ... / -.-- --- ..-

You type. Translate.

I miss you.

Your breath hitches.

You glance back. He’s standing there in the dimness, hoodie half-zipped, phone in hand, like this is normal.

You type back a message and flash your own phone flashlight from the edge of your curtain.

.-.. --- .-.. / -.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . / -. . . -.. -.--

Lol you’re needy.

Pause.

Flash.

Flash flash. Long flash.

You translate.

- .... . -. / .. / ... .... --- ..- .-.. -.. / .... .- ...- . / ... .- .. -.. / ... --- -- . - .... .. -. --. .-.-.- / ..-. ..- -.-. -.- / -- .

Then I should have said something. Fuck me.

You choke on your spit.

Your flashlight wavers in your hand.

You stare at your screen, rechecking the translation three times. He doesn’t move. Just tilts his head slightly—waiting.

You swallow, before responding slowly.

.... --- .-- / -.. --- / .. / -.- -. --- .-- / -.-- --- ..- / .- .-. . -. .----. - / .--- ..- ... - / .... --- .-. -. -.--

How do I know you aren’t just horny?

Long pause.

Then the longest message yet.

-... . -.-. .- ..- ... . / .. / .... .- ...- . / .-.. .. - . .-. .- .-.. .-.. -.-- / .-.. --- ... - / -- -.-- / -- .. -. -.. / . ...- . .-. -.-- / - .. -- . / -.-- --- ..- / ... -- .. .-.. . -.. / --- .-. / .-.. .- ..- --. .... . -.. / --- .-. / ...- --- .. -.-. . -.. / -- -.-- / .--- --- -.- . ... / .- -.-. .-. --- ... ... / - .... . / ..-. . -. -.-. . .-.-.-

Because I have literally lost my mind every time you smiled or laughed or voiced my jokes across the fence.

Your hands are trembling slightly. The phone feels hot in your grip.

You bite your lip and flash one word back.

.... --- .-.. -..

Hold.

You slip out of bed barefoot, heart thundering, nerves on fire.

And across the fence, Seonghwa’s light finally goes dark. And yet you refuse to let this fire die like the other times. You crouch by your window again, the phone cold in your hand this time.

You could leave it. Let it die in the quiet. Pretend the moment passed.

But the ache’s too real. The way he looked at you in the kitchen. The neck kiss. His stupid calm voice when he shut that Karen down. His hands, his laugh, the way he always made room for Sora in every conversation—even when his eyes never quite left you.

So you tap out a message. Slow. Hesitant.

.. / .-- .- -. - . -.. / - --- / -... . / ... . .-.. ..-. .. ... .... .-.-.- / .. / .-- .- -. - . -.. / - --- / .- ... -.- / ..-. --- .-. / - .... .. -. --. ... / - .... .- - / .-- . .-. . -. .-..-. - / -- .. -. . / - --- / .- ... -.- / ..-. --- .-. .-.-.- / -... ..- - / ... --- .-. .- .-.-.- / .. / .-- --- .-. .-. .. . -.. / .- -... --- ..- - / .... . .-. .-.-.-

I wanted to be selfish. I wanted to ask for things that weren’t mine to ask for. But Sora. I worried about her.

It takes a few minutes. You almost think he fell asleep. And then his light flashes again.

Long pause.

Then:

- .... .-. . . / -.-- . .- .-. ... / .- --. --- / ... .... . / - .- .-.. -.- . -.. / .- -... --- ..- - / -.-- --- ..- .-.-.- / - .... . / --. .. .-. .-.. / .-- .... --- / .-- .- ... / ... --- / -.- .. -. -.. / .. - / .... ..- .-. - / - --- / .- ... -.- / .... . .-.. .-.. --- .-.-.- / .- -. -.. / -.-- . ... / .. / .-.. --- ...- . / ... --- .-. .- --..-- / -... ..- - / .. / .-.. --- ...- . -.. / -.-- --- ..- / ..-. .. .-. ... - .-.-.-

Three years ago she talked about you. The girl who was so kind it hurt to ask hello. And yes I love Sora, but I loved you first.

You cover your mouth with your hand, heart tripping all over itself.

He continues before you can respond:

- .... . .-. . / .-- . .-. . / ... --- / -- .- -. -.-- / ..-. ..- -.-. -.- .. -. --. / - .. -- . ... / .. / .-- .- -. - . -.. / - --- / --. . - / ..-. ..- -.-. -.- .. -. --. / ... . .-. .. --- ..- ... .-.-.- / -... ..- - / .. - .-..-. ... / -.-- --- ..- .-.-.- / .. - .-..-. ... / .- .-.. .-- .- -.-- ... / -... . . -. / -.-- --- ..- .-.-.- / .- -. -.. / .. / .-- .- -. - / - --- / -.- .. ... ... / -.-- --- ..- / ... . -. ... . .-.. . ... ... --..-- / .-.. .. -.- . / .-.. --- ... . / .- .-.. .-.. / .-. .. --. .... - .-.-.-

There were so many fucking times I wanted to get fucking serious. But it’s you. It’s always been you. And I want to kiss you senseless, like lose all right.

You stare. The words blur. You’re clutching the phone too tight.

Another pause. Then a last line:

- . .-.. .-.. / -- . / -.-- --- ..- / -.. --- -. .-..-. - / .-. ..- -. / .- .-- .- -.-- / ..-. .-. --- -- / -- . --..-- / -... . -.-. .- ..- ... . / .. / .-.. --- ...- . / .... . .-. / ..-. .. .-. ... - .-.-.-

Tell me you don’t run away from me, because I love her first.

You stare at your phone for a long moment after sending your last message.

Fingers trembling, eyes fixed on the darkened window across from yours. The Morse code's gone quiet. No more flickers. No more signals. Just that open-ended silence, like he dropped a truth and disappeared into it.

You swallow, heart pounding in your ears.

Then you type one more line. Phone flashlight filling the dark like lightning during storm. Just a message. Just a whisper across the quiet street.

“Come over.”

No reply.

Seconds stretch long, sticky with anticipation. You shift on your bed, Sparkles still softly snoring at the foot, totally unaware of your mental breakdown. You start to think you’ve misread everything. Maybe he didn’t mean it. Maybe you just—

click.

You hear it.

Across the street, his balcony door slides open.

You scramble up, already pushing your window up with both hands. The night air rushes in, warm and thick. You lean on the ledge, eyes wide as he steps into view—barefoot, in a hoodie, hair messy like he’s been pacing. No phone. Just him.

He looks up.

You nod once.

And that’s all it takes.

He doesn’t say a word as he scales the ledges between the two houses. You've always thought it was stupid how wide your bedroom window was, but right now? Right now it's made for this. For him. For the second he plants his foot on the inside and climbs in, gaze locked to yours, face unreadable but burning.

The second he’s inside, your heart stutters.

You open your mouth to say something—but you don’t get the chance.

His hands are already cupping your face. His mouth crashes into yours with months of restraint finally snapping, kissing you like he’s starved for it—like he waited too long and he’s done waiting. You gasp, and his fingers tangle into your hair, pulling, angling, devouring. He kisses you like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth, your jaw, the sound you make when he bites just a little.

It’s fast. Then it’s slow. Then it’s desperate.

You stumble back onto the bed, dragging him with you, and he follows like it’s instinct. His hoodie’s already on the floor, your hands already slipping under his shirt. He mouths at your throat again—same spot he kissed last night—only this time there's no interruption. No Sora. No milk.

Just his breath against your skin.

His voice, low and wrecked.

“I wanted this so fucking bad.”

You arch against him. “Then take it.”

And he does. His hand slides down your waist like it’s been there a hundred times before—possessive, certain—until it curves around your ass and grips. Firm. Deep. He groans against your neck when you jolt in surprise, letting out the softest little sound, somewhere between a gasp and a choked moan.

Then

Smack.

The contact stings just enough to make you arch into him with a breathy, startled, “Hwa—!”

He grins against your skin, wicked and low, as his teeth nip your neck, not gentle, but not cruel either. Just enough to make your skin bloom with heat. “Wanted to do that for a while,” he murmurs, voice dark with hunger, lips dragging slow against the curve of your throat. “Every time you walked away from me. Every time you bent over to grab something and didn’t even notice.”

Your breath catches. “That’s because I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know,” he cuts in, biting again. “That’s what made it worse.”

His hand squeezes again, fingers digging into the flesh like he’s laying claim. You squirm—eyes fluttering, lips parted, and he just hums against you like your reaction feeds him. Like the sound you made is something he’s going to tease you about later, when your body isn’t pressed so tightly against his, begging for more.

“You always make that face when I touch you here?” he whispers, another sharp smack punctuating the question.

You can’t even answer.

Not when his mouth is back on you like he plans to ruin your name from the inside out.

viii.

You’re already breathless when his hand finds the hem of your sleep shorts, fingers toying with the waistband like he’s asking permission—but also like he already knows the answer. He’s still in that stupidly hot basketball tee, sweat sticking to the neckline, his grey sweatpants riding low on his hips. Everything about him is unfair. Everything about this is reckless.

“Wait,” you whisper as he starts to tug down, only because—

“Rrrrgh.”

Both of you freeze.

You whip your head toward the foot of the bed where Sparkles, your tiny mop of a poodle, is slowly rising from his blanket nest with a low, suspicious growl—hackles raised like Seonghwa is an intruder and not, you know, the man actively making out with his owner.

Seonghwa blinks. “...I forgot he was there.”

Sparkles bares tiny teeth.

You groan, slipping off the bed to scoop him up. “Not now, Sparkles. Go patrol the hallway or harass my siblings or something. Please.”

You pad barefoot to the door, open it quietly, and place Sparkles in the hallway like he’s being exiled from the kingdom. “Go. Go be judgemental somewhere else.”

He snorts—but trots away, dignity intact.

You close the door, click the lock.

And immediately yelp when hands grab your hips from behind and yank you back against him.

“Where were we?” Seonghwa murmurs against your ear, already dragging your shorts, and your underwear—with them down your thighs in one smooth pull. He kisses the back of your neck again, teeth grazing that same spot that made you melt before, and his voice drops into something that makes your knees wobble. “Oh, right. Here.”

You can barely think.

His hands slide over your skin like he’s trying to memorize it—thumbs grazing the soft dip of your hips before he spreads you open from behind, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the view. He groans, low and wrecked, like he’s seeing something he’s dreamed about and it’s somehow better in real life.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re so sweet. Like—messy jam. Sticky. Dripping. I want to ruin my hands on you.”

You whimper.

And then you feel his fingers brush between your legs.

Firm. Teasing.

Sliding through like he’s checking how ready you are, and humming when he finds his answer.

You press your forehead to the bed, trembling.

And Seonghwa?

He just chuckles darkly behind you, settling between your thighs like he’s planning to stay awhile.

Gone was the sweet older brother to Sora.

Gone were the terrible jokes and the crooked, dimpled smile that used to make you laugh from across the lemonade stand.

This man—this version of Seonghwa—was unrecognizable.

He was on his knees behind you now, his breath ghosting hot across the back of your thighs, hands gripping your hips like he owned them. His eyes were fixed between your legs with a look that sent shivers up your spine. Not playful. Not teasing. Just hungry. Reverent. Like he’d found something sacred and filthy and his.

“Fuck,” he murmured, voice thick and low, thumb spreading you open just a little more. “You really let me in here like this, huh?”

You could barely respond. Your cheek was pressed to the bed, knees parted, hands gripping the sheets like they’d keep you grounded.

He didn’t wait long.

Two fingers slipped inside—smooth, slow, curling just right—and your breath hitched, hips jerking at the sudden stretch.

He groaned behind you.

“God, you’re tight,” he breathed, moving his hand just enough to hear the sound your body made around him, slick and obscene. “You feel like—fuck, like you were made for me.”

You moaned, biting your lip hard enough to hurt, the burn and stretch already drowning you in heat.

He curled his fingers again, this time deliberately, dragging them along a spot that made your spine arch and your legs tremble.

“Ohhh, there she is,” he whispered, lips brushing your lower back. “Thought I lost you for a second.”

His other hand slid up your back, grounding, calming—almost tender—as he leaned over you, voice in your ear.

“Can I keep going?” he asked softly, like a man already past the point of return. “Can I make you forget your name a little?”

And God help you—

You nodded.

His pace shifts without warning—gentle fingers turning rougher, deeper, faster.

You gasp, the sound ripped from your throat as his long, slender fingers drive into you with intent. Every movement is precise but merciless, like he knows exactly what he's doing. Like all that skill—the way he mixed dough, tightened bolts on Sora’s cart, handled everything with quiet perfection—was meant for this. For you.

His free hand presses into your lower back, keeping you arched as he thrusts his fingers harder, knuckles slick as they drag against that spot that makes your legs shake and your voice crack.

“Fuck, Hwa—!” you whimper, barely able to hold yourself up.

He groans behind you, forehead resting between your shoulder blades for a moment as he watches how you fall apart around him.

“You like this?” he mutters, voice ragged. “Of course you do. Look at how fucking wet you are—dripping down my hand like you’ve been waiting for this all summer.”

You sob his name, back arching helplessly when he curls his fingers hard, sharp, relentless. The slick sound of him working you over fills the room—so messy, so obscene, and so impossibly hot.

He leans close again, mouth brushing your ear.

“These fingers built Sora’s damn cart,” he growls, dragging them deeper, faster. “And now they’re gonna make you fall apart.”

And you do.

You writhe, body trembling, thighs shaking as he fucks you on his hand like he’s trying to imprint himself into your skin. You’re dizzy, ruined, whimpering with every thrust—and still he doesn’t slow down.

Only when your walls flutter tight around him—pulsing, soaking his fingers—does he finally ease up.

Just enough to whisper, “That’s it, baby. That’s what I wanted.”

And he still hasn’t even used his mouth yet.

You’re still trembling, breath shallow, body limp across the bed like he wrung every thought out of you with his hand alone. You barely notice when he pulls his fingers out—until you hear it.

A soft, wet sound. Followed by a low hum.

You turn your head just enough to look over your shoulder.

He’s sucking his fingers.

Slowly.

Like he’s savoring every drop of you on his tongue.

He groans low in his throat, almost to himself, eyes fluttering shut like it’s that good. “Mmm,” he murmurs, licking the last of you off with a lazy swipe of his tongue. “Sweeter than the lemonade. Sweeter than the cookies. Think I’m addicted.”

Your stomach flips. Heat floods right back between your legs even though you haven’t recovered from round one.

And then he does it.

He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants and drags them down slowly, letting them fall past his thighs. No boxers. Just thick, flushed length springing free—hard, leaking, aching for you.

You sit up on shaky elbows, staring.

You barely think—your body moves first. You slide off the bed and sink to your knees in front of him, wide-eyed and reverent.

He freezes.

“What are you—”

You glance up, and his breath catches.

You look like sin. Knees on the floor, lips parted, face still flushed and glowing from what he just did to you.

“oh?” he chokes out, completely unraveling. “You’re seriously gonna—? Like that?”

You nod once. Innocent.

And wrap your hand around him.

He nearly buckles.

Never in a million years did you think this would happen.

Not in this room. Not like this.

Not with the boy next door—sweet, polite Seonghwa—climbing in through your window at midnight and now standing in front of you, flushed and panting while you’re on your knees, mouth full of him.

But here you are.

And he tastes like heat and salt and something heady, your tongue swirling as you take him deeper, inch by inch, letting him feel just how much you want this. Your eyes flick up to meet his—and the look on his face nearly undoes you. His hand clutches your bedsheet behind him, jaw clenched like he’s trying not to make a sound.

He’s heavy on your tongue, thick and pulsing, twitching when you suck around him with slw, filthy intent.

“Shit—” he hisses through his teeth, voice low and tight. “Fuck, baby, you can’t just—”

You hollow your cheeks and he groans, head tipping back as his other hand finds your hair, threading through it but not pushing—just holding. Grounding himself.

His thighs twitch.

He’s trying so hard to be quiet. To be good. But every time your lips slide back down, every time you take him a little deeper and hum around him like you’re savoring a lollipop, he chokes on a curse and sways forward slightly.

“Y-You’re gonna kill me,” he whispers, hips bucking the tiniest bit.

And you?

You’re already smiling around him.

Because if he thinks this is the end, he hasn’t seen anything yet.

Your hand strokes the base of him slowly, lazily, while your other cups him beneath—gentle, teasing, deliberate. You feel the way his thighs tense, how his breath hitches above you. Every pass of your tongue, every swirl around the head has him trembling, his abs flexing under his tee, sweat starting to bead at his temples.

You’re relentless.

He looks down at you, jaw slack, eyes dark and dazed, eyebrows drawing together like he’s trying to hold something in—like it’s too much. Every time your lips slide over the tip again, he lets out this soft, strangled moan that sounds like it’s been punched out of him.

“F-fuck,” he breathes, voice cracking. “Baby, I—I’m close—”

You hum around him, slow and smug, and that alone nearly makes his knees give out. You feel him throb against your tongue, feel his hips twitch forward—and that’s when his hand suddenly cups your cheek.

Gentle. Steady. Warm.

“Wait,” he whispers, breath shaking. “Stop—wait, wait.”

You pull off him slowly, lips glossy, confused for a second until you look up. His eyes are half-lidded, dark with want, but soft, full of restraint.

“I wanna be inside you,” he says, almost like an apology. “Not just your mouth. You.”

He leans down, brushing your hair behind your ear as he kisses your forehead with trembling restraint.

“Let me feel you,” he murmurs, barely holding back. “I need to.”

ix.

Seonghwa fucks good.

Seonghwa fucks hard.

Note to self: never, ever assume that the soft-spoken, painfully pretty boy next door is a bottom just because he smiles politely and wears pastels. Because right now?

You are getting plowed.

Your face is buried into your sheets, knuckles white as they clutch your pillow, and Seonghwa is behind you—hips snapping forward with a force that knocks the breath out of you every time. His grip on your waist is bruising, holding you steady as he pounds into you like he’s trying to reshape the memory of him in your mind—like the sweet older brother to Sora was just a decoy and this is who he really is.

The sound of skin slapping echoes soft but filthy through the room, the creak of the bed barely covered by the ragged breath between you.

“F-fuck,” he hisses, voice wrecked, leaning over to press a hand between your shoulder blades, pushing you deeper into the mattress as his pace snaps. “This what you wanted, baby? This what you’ve been thinking about?”

You can’t even answer. Your mouth opens but all that comes out is a moan strangled into your pillow.

His hand slides down your spine, slow, deliberate, only to wrap around your throat gently from behind—not choking, just grounding. Claiming. His hips never falter, driving into you again and again, the stretch still dizzying, the pressure building fast.

“You feel so fucking good,” he pants into your ear. “So tight for me—like this pussy knew I’d be here.”

You whine—helpless, ruined—and he just groans deeper, lips brushing your shoulder, his sweat dripping to your skin. You feel him twitch inside you, feel the heat coil tighter and tighter in your core.

Both of you are trying not to moan too loud.

Both of you are failing.

And neither of you care.

His thrusts grow desperate—sloppier, rougher—his pace no longer steady but driven by instinct, the kind of need that makes him groan low in his throat with every grind of his hips.

“Baby,” he pants, voice breaking as his grip tightens on your waist. “You close? Tell me.”

Your moan is half-buried in the sheets, your head nodding furiously as your body trembles beneath him. “Y-Yes—yes, Hwa, I’m close—”

“Fuck,” he breathes, and his rhythm snaps again—faster, deeper, each thrust hitting that spot that has you seeing white. “That’s it. Come with me, baby. Wanna feel you—wanna feel you squeeze me.”

You cry out when the coil inside you snaps, body clenching around him, thighs shaking uncontrollably. And that’s all it takes.

He groans—deep, guttural, wrecked—as he pushes in to the hilt and stays there, trembling hard. You feel him throb inside you before it hits—hot and thick, his release pulsing deep as he fills you, warmth spreading with every twitch of his hips.

His hands don’t stop holding you. He leans forward, chest pressed to your back, lips dragging across your shoulder as his voice drops into a shaking whisper.

“Fuuuck—fuck, baby, you feel so good. So warm, so full—shit—made for me.”

You both go still, panting into the silence, your legs trembling as you feel him soften inside you, the mess between your thighs sticky and slick and his.

His breath is still ragged when he presses a kiss to your spine and mumbles, “I’m never letting you babysit for free again.”

You don’t remember falling asleep—just the soft shift of his weight, the warmth of his body pressing close, and his arms wrapping around you from behind.

No teasing. No filth. Just his breath against the back of your neck, his fingers gently stroking your hip as he pulled you into him like you were something fragile he needed to keep safe.

His whisper was the last thing you remember before sleep claimed you.

"Get some rest, baby. I’ve got you."

And now—

You wake up to sunlight pooling across the floor.

No arms. No Seonghwa.

Just your sheets a mess and your body sore in all the best and worst ways. You blink slowly, eyes adjusting to the soft glow as you stretch—and immediately regret it.

Every muscle aches. Every one.

Your thighs, your back, your voice, your soul.

You roll over, half hoping he’s still there.

But the other side of the bed is empty.

Your heart sinks a little. Was it a dream?

You sit up slowly, dragging the covers over your chest as your mind spirals in a sleepy haze.

And then—

Scratch. Scratch.

You blink toward the door.

More scratching. More intentional judgment in every claw scrape.

You sigh, shuffle out of bed, and open the door.

Sparkles stands there. Tail curled. Eyes narrowed. Like he knows.

You stare at him.

He stares back.

You sigh again. “Don’t look at me like that. You left the room. This is your fault.”

He snorts and trots in like you’re the disappointment.

You watch him hop onto the foot of your bed, spin in a circle, and settle with the dramatic weight of a dog who knows everything and will be discussing it at length with his therapist.

You collapse beside him.

And try very hard not to smile at the ache between your legs.

It wasn’t a dream.

You flop back onto your bed with a dramatic sigh, Sparkles curled beside you like a silent witness to your crimes. The ache in your thighs is real, and your dignity? Somewhere on the floor next to last night’s sleep shorts. You close your eyes, still half-lost in the memory of Seonghwa’s mouth, his hands, his everything—

Ding dong.

You groan. Now what?

Your phone buzzes. It’s your mom.

[Mom]: Sweetie, there’s a guest for you at the door.

[Mom]: He’s very polite. Cute. Smells like laundry detergent.

You sit up slowly, confused, hobble to the window and peek outside.

And there he is.

Seonghwa.

On your front porch.

Wearing a clean button-up and jeans, hair still damp from a shower, hands tucked into his pockets like a boy about to ask someone to prom. He glances up and sees you at the window—smiles, shy and soft like nothing unholy happened last night.

You open the door, blinking at him in the morning sun.

“Hey,” he says. “Thought I’d, uh, come by and see if you wanted to walk Sparkles with me. You know. Since we’ve been... busy.”

You stare.

Then deadpan, “Ironic, you asking me to walk when you ruined my legs.”

He turns crimson.

But he beams.

“I’ll carry you,” he says without missing a beat.

You snort. Sparkles trots between you both, judging still, but cooperative.

And as the three of you set off down the street, shoulder to shoulder, you realize it’s oddly perfect. Like the universe handed you a paper cup and said: here, try something sweet for once.

Because love?

Sometimes it is lemonade.

And sometimes it’s Lemon-aide.

Sticky, messy, made from sour things and sugar and effort.

You’re his aide. He’s yours.

And somehow, through lemons, you both made something stupidly good.

It has been a few months now.

Enough time for your friends to stop blinking in surprise every time they catch you smiling at him, enough time for the rumors to die down and the whispers in the halls to quiet to a low murmur—though they never go away entirely when it comes to Sirius. 

He is, after all, Sirius Black: loud-mouthed and sharp-eyed, honey-voiced and maddeningly beautiful.

And yet, somehow, he chose you. Or maybe you chose each other, slowly, stupidly,and  sweetly.

You know what people must think. That you temper him. That he ignites you. That your silences fill in the blanks he never bothers to pause for. That he, for all his recklessness, somehow found something steady in you.

Which is why you’re heading to meet him now outside of class. Sirius had promised to spend the entire day with you today, as he was lately busy with studying.

You’re almost there when you hear his voice.

It’s not unusual—he talks loudly, as though the air is something that belongs to him, like even his words are allergic to restraint. But it’s the way he says something now that makes your steps falter. 

You’re still around the corner, concealed by the stone archway. You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. 

“Sirius!” James Potter’s voice cuts through the corridor, warm and familiar, and it’s easy to picture his wide grin as he strides up to him. 

“Come on, padfoot. We’ve got a pitch slot and I need someone to test my latest throw. You still owe me from last week when you ditched.”

Sirius laughs, the sound low and raspy in the way you’ve come to know too well. “Didn’t ditch,” he says. 

“Oh, piss off,” James retorts. “You coming or not?”

There’s a pause. You imagine Sirius running a hand through his hair the way he always does when he’s pretending to think, when in reality he’s already made up his mind and just wants to seem dramatic.

“Can’t,” Sirius says finally, not sounding even the slightest bit apologetic. “I’ve got a packed schedule today.”

James scoffs, exaggerated. “What, you’ve started revising now? What exactly are you busy with?”

“No,” Sirius replies, too casual, too breezy. And then, with no warning at all, he adds, “I’m spending the day with my girl.”

It hits you like a whispered spell.

Not “my girlfriend,” not your name, not even some half-serious nickname. Just that. My girl.

You’re suddenly aware of everything—of the way your heart is thudding against your ribs like it’s trying to escape your chest, of the heat crawling up the back of your neck, of the way your fingers have curled slightly into your sleeves like you’re trying to make yourself smaller. 

You’ve never been someone who takes up space easily, and right now, the sound of those two words fills every corner of your body, makes you feel almost... lit up.

It’s not the fact that he said it. You know you're his girl. He’s told you in the way he tucks his fingers into the loops of your jeans just to pull you closer in the quiet corners of the library. 

In the way he lights up when he sees you walk into the common room, mid-sentence with Remus, stopping only to grin like you’ve rewired the gravity in the room. 

In the way he sits behind you during study sessions just to braid strands of your hair and mutter things like “beautiful,” and “gorgeous.”

But still—my girl.

You’re fairly certain you and James both made the same face at the same time. That vaguely unhinged, utterly stunned, slack-jawed expression that usually precedes a dramatic spill or a burst of inappropriate laughter in the Great Hall.

Somewhere in your brain, a single electrical wire sparked, and then everything short-circuited.

You could practically see James’s eyebrows lifting halfway to the ceiling, and it’s almost hilarious, almost.

Because you would have laughed—if you weren’t frozen, rooted to your spot like some enchanted statue.

Then came Sirius’s voice again, casual and clear, carrying from inside the classroom, smug in the way only Sirius Black can be when he knows exactly where he’s headed.

“Anyway, I’ve gotta go,” he says, and you can hear the smirk in his voice, “She’s probably already out there waiting for me.”

James groans dramatically. “Tell your girl I’m filing for abandonment.”

“See you later, prongs,” Sirius calls back, followed by the scraping sound of a chair and the creak of hinges swinging open.

Panic sparks in your chest.

You leap back from the wall like you’ve just been caught with your ear pressed to the keyhole—because, well, you have, essentially—and immediately fumble with your bag, turning slightly so it looks like you’ve just arrived. 

And then there he is.

Leaning against the doorframe like it’s something he was born to do. Hair half-tucked behind his ears, tie loose, expression bright and unreasonably happy for someone who got an earful from Slughorn not two days ago. 

His eyes find you instantly, like he was already reaching for the sight of you before he even walked out.

“Hi, baby,” he says, voice soft and amused and utterly at home in the syllables.

“Hi!,” you reply, a little too fast.

His brow lifts slightly. “Hi.”

Your heart trips. “Hi.”

He stares at you for a beat, then lets out the kind of laugh that sounds like it comes from his chest. The kind of laugh that should probably be bottled and sold as some form of antidote in your humble opinion.

“You look a little too happy for a Monday, baby,” he says, stepping closer, his hands shoved in his pockets and his head tilted as he studies you. “What’s happening?”

You shrug with deliberate nonchalance, fighting the smile that tugs at your lips. “Can’t I be happy?”

He grins like you’ve just said something precious. “Of course you can,” he says, reaching out to squish your cheeks between his hands so your words are suddenly a little garbled.

“Just wanna know what’s got you extra happy today.”

You mumble something unintelligible, eyes darting away, and he narrows his own suspiciously.

“Hmm?”

You free your face from his fingers and try not to giggle. “It’s nothing.”

“Nuh-uh,” he says, tilting his head with mock offense. “You don’t get to smile like that and then say ‘nothing.’ Come on, tell me.”

You hesitate, toeing the stone floor with your shoe. “I, um. I heard you.”

Sirius blinks. “You heard me?”

“In class,” you clarify, shifting your weight to the other foot and feeling heat crawl up your neck. “When you were talking to James.”

He tilts his head again. “You get happy when I talk to James? That’s new,” he murmurs, brushing his knuckles softly across your cheek—his touch featherlight.

His eyes, usually sharp with mischief, are softened now, warm and brimming with a quiet kind of awe.

You swat at his chest lightly. “No, Sirius.”

He laughs again, utterly delighted. “Okay, okay, sorry. What did I say?”

You bite your lip and look away. “Never mind. Forget it.”

“Absolutely not,” he says, eyes glinting with curiosity. “Now I need to know.”

You shake your head stubbornly, lips pursed, trying not to smile, but Sirius isn’t fooled.

He takes a slow step closer, tall enough that his shadow stretches over you, the scent of him curling into your breath. The air between you tightens.

“Wait,” he says suddenly, voice pitched low with amusement, grin sharpening like he’s just solved a riddle he’s been working on since breakfast, “Was it when I called you my girl?”

Your face gives you away in an instant.

Your eyes widen, the way they always do when you’re caught off guard, as if your thoughts have leapt too fast for your expression to catch up. Heat blooms high in your cheeks, blooming pink and soft across your skin like sunrise, betraying every effort to stay composed.

“Oh my god,” he says, actually laughing now, hands braced on his hips as if the revelation physically knocked the wind out of him. “That’s what got you all smiley?”

You narrow your eyes, cheeks blazing. “Stop laughing!”

He tries, he really does, but the laughter keeps bubbling out of him, shameless and golden. 

You huff and turn on your heel, nose in the air like you’ve just declared a personal war against him.

But you don’t get far.

Before you can take a single step away, he moves—quick and fluid, one long stride and he’s behind you.

His fingers find your waist with ease, curling firmly around your sides, and in one seamless motion, he pulls you back—hard enough to make you stumble slightly—until you're flush against his chest.

He holds you close. So close it feels like you’re standing inside the space between seconds.

“Hey, hey, c’mere,” he murmurs, voice lower now, softer, brushing against your skin like silk. His arms slip around you fully, drawing you in again, and this time, you don’t resist.

“Why so shy, baby?” he whispers, tilting his head, eyes sparkling with mischief and tenderness all tangled together.

You pout instinctively, your fingers resting lightly against his chest. “Nothing.”

His brows lift. “No, no. No hiding. What is it?” He leans down, brushing his nose against yours. “You are my girl though, right?”

You glare up at him, but your heart is not cooperating.

“You just... never called me that before,” you say, quiet, soft enough that it barely survives the space between you.

Sirius exhales, and pulls you even closer, resting his chin lightly on top of your head.

“Well,” he says into your hair, “You should start getting used to it.”

You don’t even get a moment to tease him back before he’s wrapping his arms around you again, tugging you flush against his chest like holding you is as instinctive as breathing.

He rocks you gently side to side, his chin hooked over your shoulder, and you can feel the quiet grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he speaks.

“You’re so cute, y’know that?” he murmurs, voice low and warm, like he’s sharing a secret meant only for your ears.

He says it again, and again. Each repetition comes between a kiss to your cheek, his lips brushing against your skin with unbearable fondness, his long hair tickling across your jaw like satin.

“My girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss just below your cheekbone.

Another kiss, this time closer to the corner of your mouth. “My pretty girl.”

You giggle, trying and failing to turn your face away as warmth floods your cheeks. “Sirius, your hair’s tickling me—”

He just smiles into your skin, clearly unbothered. Another kiss, this one slower, more lingering, pressed just beneath your ear. “My favorite person.”

You squirm in his arms, laughing harder now, your hands curled into his shirt as you try to wriggle away, but he only holds you tighter.

“My most favourite girl.”

Each word hums against your skin like a spell.

And you, useless and smitten thing that you are, melt for him completely.

A quiet giggle escapes you, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you bury your face in his chest to hide the way your cheeks are burning. 

You try to squirm away, overwhelmed and giddy, but his grip tightens gently and he tilts your chin up with two fingers, catching your gaze with a look so full of open affection it robs the breath from your lungs.

He holds your face like it’s something precious, like he’s afraid to let it go. His thumb brushes just beneath your cheekbone, featherlight and impossibly gentle, and then he says—quietly, sincerely—

“Can I get a kiss?”

The way he looks at you in that moment, like you’re his whole damn universe, is almost too much. 

His long black hair falls into his eyes, the ends brushing his cheekbones, his mouth barely parted.

His eyes are shining, glassy with something deeper than a smile, and he’s smiling anyway, soft and crooked like the words he wants to say are too big to fit in his throat.

There’s a trembling silence where you don’t know how to speak.

Because this is the part no one sees.

This is Sirius Black in love. Not loud, not cocky, not showy or flirtatious. But bare, unshielded, and tender to the point of devastation.

And somehow, it still surprises you—how much he feels.

Because he plays it smooth, always, with his smirks and his swagger and his stupidly charming quips.

But deep down, Sirius is just as flustered to be around you as you are around him. Maybe even more.

He still hasn’t gotten used to saying your name out loud without his heart stammering. Still can’t look at you some days without wondering if you’re a dream made flesh. Still marvels at the fact that when you walk into a room, you’re walking toward him.

He calls you his girl like it’s nothing. But to him, it means everything.

Because you’re not just his girl. You’re his world.

You lean up slowly, your hands resting against his chest like he might vanish if you touch him too fast. Then you press your lips to his, soft and sweet.

He smiles against your mouth before pulling back slightly, his eyes still closed, like he’s trying to savor the moment just a little longer. A beat passes. Then—

“Can I get another one?” he whispers, one eyebrow lifting, that same mischievous edge bleeding back into his voice.

You blink at him. “You’re so—”

But you don’t get to finish.

Because he kisses you again—harder this time. His hand cups the back of your neck, his other arm firm around your waist, pulling you in like he’s afraid the world might steal you away if he lets go.

And when he kisses you like that—like you’re his first and last prayer—there’s no doubt left.

Sirius Black is utterly, hopelessly, and beautifully in love with you.

And even if you don’t quite realize it yet — he’s been yours all along.

His lips are still brushing against yours when he pulls back the slightest inch, gaze hazy and wonderstruck, as though he’s only just now realizing that you’re real. 

His thumb is tracing absent shapes at your waist, his breath slow and uneven like he’s trying to memorize the curve of your mouth by air alone.

His eyes, dark and warm and barely blinking, drink you in like he’s never seen anything so beautiful. Like he doesn’t want to miss a single second of whatever this is.

And then, of course, he leans in again for a third kiss. 

You stop him with a hand on his chest and a breathless little laugh. “Sirius,” you whisper, dragging out the syllables. “You can’t keep kissing me, we have a whole day ahead of us, and we’re still in the bloody hallway.”

He leans his forehead against yours with a groan, dramatic and wounded, as if you’ve just denied him water in a desert.

“But I thought you were my girl,” he says, pout in full effect, lips parted and brow creased with the exaggerated tragedy of it all.

“My girl doesn’t let me kiss her as much as I want? This is unfair.”

You burst out laughing, fully this time, and the sound of it sends a visible shiver through him.

He never gets tired of hearing it, probably never will.

“Come on, Black,” you tease, grabbing his hand and turning on your heel to pull him down the corridor behind you, your fingers threading easily through his.

“I need someone to help me carry the books I ordered.”

At that, Sirius lights up like someone’s handed him a trophy. “Books?” he says, perking up.

“You ordered books and didn’t tell me? That’s a violation of trust. But don’t worry, love—I’ll carry them, all of them. You won’t lift a single bloody finger.”

You glance back at him with a smirk. “Wow, look at you,” you tease, eyebrows raised.

“All manly now, huh? Sirius Black, the knight in shining armor, savior of poor girls with heavy textbooks.”

“I am manly,” he insists, puffing his chest out like an idiot and giving your joined hands a little swing. “And chivalrous and noble and handsome and criminally underappreciated and—.”

You snort. “Okay, I get it!”

But just as you’re rounding the next corridor, Sirius glances down and suddenly stops short, yanking you to a halt beside him.

“Wait—you’re carrying your bag?”

You blink, confused. “Um... yes?”

He gasps so dramatically you’re worried for a moment he might start clutching his chest. “What a horrible boyfriend I am,” he cries.

“Carrying nothing. Letting my girl do the heavy lifting like some kind of untrained baboon.”

You laugh again, shaking your head as he makes a scene of freeing your bag from your shoulder.

“Give me that. No, seriously, give it. I was raised better than this. Even my horrible, bloody mother would’ve scolded me for letting you carry your own things.” – He takes the bag from you with exaggerated care, slinging it over his shoulder – “Granted, she’d probably scold me just for being in public with you, but the point stands.”

You giggle again, unable to stop smiling, as he then reaches for your hand once more, the two of you falling into step like you were made to.

Your hands swing gently between you, fingers warm and safe in his.

And from that moment on, he never stopped.

Sirius Black referred to you as his girl in every corner of the castle, whether you were there to hear it or not.

He’d say it proudly, like the words alone lit something inside him.

And when you weren’t around, you’d better believe he was still talking, still rambling, and surely still flustered.

Cheeks tinted a soft, unmistakable pink, he'd go on and on to anyone who’d listen—usually James—about how smart you were, how good you smelled, how pretty you looked with your nose buried in a book or your hair tied back or when you laughed with your whole body like you did when he tickled your sides.

James, for his part, teased him relentlessly. But Sirius didn’t mind. Not even a little.

Your birth was viewed as a new beginning, of sorts. The Omatikaya had gone through so much loss, so much pain in the years that the Sky People had inhabited their planet and planned to make it their own, in hopes of replacing their dying Earth with the beautiful and brutal Pandora. Many Omatikaya had lost their lives as a result of the humans greediness, leaving many orphaned and physically scarred from the destruction they caused. It was hard to see a bright future with the humans constantly taking and taking from the People and the planet they resided on. But, it seemed to get a little bit brighter once Jake Sully, the great and mighty Toruk Makto, had lead the clans to victory against the Sky People in the Great Battle. The humans had no choice but to leave the planet, finally allowing a peaceful and bright future to form itself for the Omatikaya and the rest of the Na’vi living on Pandora. Many celebrations were held in thanks to Toruk Makto’s as well as in triumph for the humans finally leaving their home after thirty years. But another one was celebrated after it was announced that Neytiri te Tsahka Mo’at’ite was with child, marking a new era for those who were succeeded after the Great Battle.  You were the new stepping stone for the bright future of the Omatikaya. An omen of good fortune to come to all of Pandora.

Being the eldest child of Toruk Makto had been difficult, especially growing up. Much was expected of you, duties upon duties being put onto your shoulders from such an early age. You had to live up to such high expectations, something that came with being the first child of Jake Sully, a once Dreamwalker, and the clans most fiercest warrior, Neytiri. Constantly training to one day stand in front of your people and be recognized not just as Toruk Makto’s kid but as their leader as well. Although you had the typical features a regular Na’vi should have, four fingers on each hand and no traces of hair on your brow bones, children are still cruel. They constantly called you names that most definitely shouldn’t be repeated, pulled on your tail and hair, spit at you, told you that you’d never be good enough to be clan leader one day, and bothered you during your trainings. You’d cry to your Sa’nok about it once you came home from training, sniffling into her neck as you repeated the awful things kids your age said to you. And even with your parents butting in and demanding the children to stop, you couldn’t help but believe the words they uttered, plagued by the possibility of them being right. So, you pushed and pushed yourself to be the best you could be. Spending whatever free time you had from archery training in your Grandmother’s tent, eager to learn what every herb did and what technique she used when applying paste onto an injured Na’vi, watching her every move. And spending whatever free time you had from that practicing your tracking skills. You did a lot to prove yourself and tried your best to look unfazed by the little amount of sleep you received daily. But as the words that you and your family had to potentially leave your home and clan, everything that you knew, spilled from your Sempul’s mouth, the only thought that came to your mind was Was it all not enough?

Adjusting to your new life at Awa’atlu was extremely difficult. You were a foreigner in a foreign place and your title meant nothing to these people. Sure you earned a little respect and street cred from being the eldest child of the Toruk Makto, but it still wasn’t enough to earn you place amongst the Metkayina. So, once again, you trained and trained until your muscles felt utterly useless from the amount you swam and your lungs felt numb from continuous breath holding. But, as every day passed and the sun rose in signal for a new start, you slowly got the grasp of the way of the water. And you actually found yourself relaxing in the oceans water as you silently floated there once you were excused from your training, a small smile on your face. It was nice to finally relax for once, the feeling a bit foreign to you. Back home, you never got a chance to relax, always busy with pleasing your parents and everyone else in the clan, leaving you without any room to simply breathe. The whole thing kind of felt like a vacation almost. No longer having this weight on your shoulders to become the next clan leader and live up to your clans expectations of you. That is, until the humans find your family in the one place you were supposed to be safe.

You grew up with the stories of the Sky People and their selfishness, how quick they were to claim something that wasn’t theirs and how quick they were to fight over it, not caring for the blood that they spilled in the process. Growing up, you’d have nightmares about the humans coming back to Pandora and slaughtering the ones you loved right in front of you, not being able to move quick enough to stop them. Your Sempul often pulled you into his arms and rocked you in comfort, trying to whisper sweet nothings into your ear as you fell asleep in his hold. He’d then lay you back down in between himself and Neytiri, placing a soft kiss onto the crown of your head before quickly falling asleep as well. As you aged, they became few and far in between, dreaming of flying your beloved ikran or messing around with your youngest siblings. But once the humans returned to Pandora a year before leaving for Awa’atlu, the came back in full force. Your family were awaken many nights by your crying or screaming, rousing you from your sleep to comfort you, sobbing into their gentle hold as the dream kept repeating in your minds eye. You were terrified of having your family be taken away from you and, perhaps, that’s where your fear of disappointment came from and not the cruel children you had encountered early on in your life. You wanted to be a protector and protect the ones you loved, and protect you did.

The sting of the salt water is what drew your attention to the middle of your aching chest, looking down to witness the crimson red leak from your body and mix itself into the clear water you were submerged in. You hadn’t even realized you were shot in the process of jumping into safety, barely even processing the whizzing bullets flying passed you as you dived feet first into the water. All you were focused on was getting your little tsmukans, Neteyam and Lo’ak, to safety during their mission to rescue their human friend, Spider. Your personal safety was the last thing on your mind, demanding that your brothers and Spider go first jumping into the moon pool, shooting back at the fake Avatars. There weren’t many times where you saved your brothers asses from the things they managed to get themselves into, that job being put onto Neteyam by your parents. So, this being one of the only times that you saved both of their asses and were going to die as a result, put a gentle smile on your face. At least I would go out protecting those you cared about, you thought to yourself.

Your struggle was noticed by Neteyam, halting him in his celebrations with Lo’ak and Spider. “Are you alright, tsmuktu?” He asked, making his way towards you as he glided through the water. His eyes didn’t clock in on your hand over your chest yet, too busy watching you nearly drown as you struggled to keep your head above water. It was as if once you registered that you were shot, your body began to shut down at the realization. Your once strong legs forged by the oceans unpredictable current were now struggling to keep yourself up and lazily kicking, your left arm desperately trying to make up for your legs inability to work at the moment, making crazed movements underneath the water to stay upright. You lungs and chest also burned, not accepting any of the air you tried to suck in from above the waters surface. “I’ve been shot, skxawng,” you uttered, spitting out the water that managed to make its way into your agape mouth. Everything burned, even within the oceans cool water.

 “Fuck,” Neteyam whispered, grabbing the arm that wasn’t covering the open wound in your chest and wrapping it around his shoulder, trying not to openly sob at your cries of protest in pain. It was now Lo’ak’s turn to notice your current state. He tensed at your cry and found himself praying to the Great Mother that it wasn’t what he thought it was. Neteyam’s following statement only solidified his fear, “(Y/N)’s been shot! Help me get them up!”. Both the brothers and Spider helped you up onto the back of Lo’ak’s ilu, Neteyam settling himself behind you as Spider gripped onto the side of the ilu’s saddle. The four of you raced to the nearest piece of rock that was in direct eyesight, Lo’ak calling out to your Father once he notices him atop the rock they were aiming for. Fear had instilled itself into the younger Sully brothers, hoping that whatever was happening was not the last time you would take a breath.

“Watch their head, bro!” Lo’ak called out against the crashing waves, rocking his, and everyone’s else’s, body up against the jagged rock they were trying to hoist you up on to. You coughed up a mouthful of water in response, gasping for air once the wave that splashed you pulled back and granted you air. “What happened?” Jake hurriedly asks, pulling your body into his arms before gently setting you down onto the rough surface of the rock. He swiftly moves you to your side to assess if whether or not the bullet that pierced you also came out the other side. His heart dropped once he saw the exit wound, even more of your blood gushing out from it. Jake could only close his eyes as he gently shifted you back onto your back, dread making its way up his stomach and into his heart. Jake had witnessed a many of deaths during his time in the marines on Earth. And although he had gotten used to the feeling those deaths gave him, nothing would’ve ever prepared him for the feeling of losing one of his children before his time. Jake found himself thinking of his twin brother, Tommy, at this time, wondering if his death had been like yours, painful, or had been quick and peaceful. Jake quickly shook his head at the thoughts. This is no time to think of your late brother, Jake, he thought. Your child needs you.

 “Is-Are they going to be okay?” Spider asked, keeping his distance from Jake and the rest, guilt crawling up his chest and settling into his throat. He tried to gulp down the feeling, but that seemed to only make it worse. No one answers the human boy, too occupied with their dying loved one in front of them. You never made an effort in befriending the boy, your Mother influencing your thoughts on the boy as well as being too terrified to. If all Sky People are said to be what your Mother told you as a child, then you didn’t want to interact with one. But, as you lay dying on the small piece of rock, you couldn’t help but feel bad for not giving the kid a try. One conversation wouldn’t have hurted, right?

Neteyam had put both of his hands over the wound in your chest, as demanded by your Father, in order to slow the blood from further oozing out. “You’re gonna be okay, okay?” Neteyam comforted, although it seemed to be more directed to himself than you, “You have to be. You’re my big tsmuktu. You’re invincible.”. Neteyam’s words only caused more tears to leak out from your eyes. You hadn’t even known you were crying. Whether from the pain or the realization that you were, in fact, dying, you did not know. Neteyam always looked up to you growing up. Although you were only a year older, he still viewed you as his role model. You carried yourself with such grace and confidence, he often found himself trying to memorize your strides and how you pulled back a bow effortlessly, practicing what he could remember whenever he was alone, desperate to be just like his older sibling. As the both of you grew older and drifted apart, he still viewed you as someone to look up to and strive to be like. A much younger Neteyam also viewed you as invincible, untouchable by the bad things that lurked within the depths of the dark corners of Pandora. And now, as a teen, he still viewed you as invincible. Even as you lay bleeding out in front of him, he still thinks you are because you protected him and Lo’ak and Spider from the soldiers on the ship. You gave up your life for him, and for that, he doesn’t know what to do with it.

   “You still have to finish that bracelet for me, (Y/N),” Lo’ak sobbed out, grasping your free hand into his as he knelt in front of you, next to Neteyam. You only shakingly smiled at your brother, trying your best at squeezing his hand in response, but your fingers only gently fluttered at the attempt. You had begun to weave a bracelet for your youngest brother the night after he was abandoned at the Three Brothers, hoping to cheer him up from the hurtful words your Father spewed at him. You were never a good weaver so it took longer than expected, even with the help of your tsmuke, Kiri. Upon hearing of your struggle from the complaints of Kiri, Lo’ak felt warmed at the nice gesture you were doing. Growing up, Lo’ak always loved the things you made, even if they were a total disaster and halfway down. He still cherished them in his heart. He often found himself ‘accidentally’ breaking a bracelet he or someone else made and asking you to fix it for him or make him another one, excitedly waiting behind you as you did so, tail furiously wagging behind him in joy at his successful attempt at getting you to make him another bracelet of your creation. You pretended to not notice Lo’ak’s continuous purposeful breaking of handmade bracelets he received, happy to make him another one. It made you feel wanted and useful, especially if you had another encounter with one of the child bullies within your clan that day.

“D-Dad…” You weakly called out, turning your head and gaze towards your Father. Tears were running down his eyes as his gaze shifted back onto you, smiling down at you the best he could, putting on a front so you wouldn’t worry. “Yes, angel?” He asked, taking your right hand into his large ones, resting it against his cheek in hopes of comforting you. “I-I did it. Y-yeah? I pro-protected them, D-Daddy. I tried. R-re-really hard. I did. Got th-then t-to safety,” you responded, struggle evident in your voice as you stuttered over your words. That’s all you wanted to do back on that ship. Protect your brothers and get them to safety. You were glad to have achieved your goal, but at what cost? You were only sixteen years old and had so much ahead of you. Even before being forced to leave your home clan, you dreamt of becoming a fierce warrior and leader for your people and possibly having a family of your one day. But that all was ripped from you by a single bullet. Jake found himself cursing Eywa and all the other higher beings for taking his child’s life away far too soon to actually experience it. It wasn’t fair at all. But, nothing ever if fair is it? The Great Mother only gives and borrows energy, having the power to take it away all in one breath. And Jake is learning the hard way of what the Great Mother is truly capable of.

         “Yeah, yeah you did, angel. You protected your brothers and brought them back to me,” Jake answered, brushing some matted flyaways from your forehead, the dried up seawater making the hair cling to your skin, “I’m so proud of you.”. Upon hearing that statement, you felt contentment settle itself between your bones. You longed for those five words for years, especially if they came from your Father. It wasn’t very often that either of your parents expressed their feelings about your accomplishments to you. Sure they might’ve bragged to other clan members about how you claimed and bonded with your ikran in little than two minutes, setting a new record for young Omatikaya, and they might’ve put you on a golden pedestal to others, highlighting how nearly perfect you were at everything you did. But they never said those kinds of things to you up front. A few “Good job”’s here and there, but nothing too impactful as those five words that your Father just uttered.

         It seemed as if the constant battle your body was engaging with had came to an end, numbness spreading to your entire being as the only thing you could do was continue to breathe shallow breaths and look up at your Father. Your heart was tired of pumping blood throughout your body only to be pushed out of it. Your lungs could only take small breaths at a time, not having the energy to fully expand at your inhales. Your head began to feel fogging, all your senses dimming as you barely registered your Mothers ikran harshly landing in front of you. “What-” the question that Neytiri was going to asked for stuck in her throat as her eyes fell into the scene in front of her. Her eldest child, the light of her life, was limp and covered in blood, who she hoped wasn’t yours. “My baby,” she whispered, quickly falling onto her knees in front of you, Neteyam moving out of the way so your Mother could see you in your final moments. Flashes of her giving birth to you, feeding you from her breast for the first time, playing with you as a babe, teaching you how to walk and talk, and all your other firsts you experienced throughout your sixteen years of life on Pandora raced through her mind once she saw the bullet wound settled into the middle of your chest, draining all life from you. You had been her first child, her pride and joy, and to see you like this, pale and sticky with your own blood, made her want to trade places with you. In an alternative universe, she would’ve.

         “Oh, Great Mother, please. No!” She shrieked, grabbing onto both of your biceps, trying to hug you closer as more of your soul and life slipped away at each passing second. You wanted to comfort her, to tell her that it’ll all be alright, but you physically weren’t able to speak, too fatigued to open your mouth. So, you just laid there as your Mother brought you close to her chest, seemingly trying to share her life force with you, to spare you from the cold grasp of death. Jake could only watch as Neytiri pleaded for the Great Mother to spare you, heart strings tugging at her desperate wails. He knows that Eywa always has a plan, but does that really include taking his eldest child’s life away? He began to doubt the entity that breathed life into everything on Pandora, just like he did back on Earth with all the other ones. Would she really be that cruel?

         Lo’ak was the first to notice you completely go slack and relaxed, your eyes focused on the eclipsing sun in front of you. He didn’t want it to be true, calling out your name in hopes for your eyes to shift from the sun to him. But, it never came. Neytiri pulled you back from her chest, gently shaking you in hopes that you’d awake. But, you didn’t. Upon the realization that the eldest Sully child had finally passed and was reunited with Eywa, everyone broke. Neytiri let out multiple screams and wails, begging for you to come back. Jake had only closed his eyes once again, tears escaping from his waterline. Neteyam looked down at his blood stained hands, feeling like his palms were on fire. Even then, years after your death, Neteyam can still feel the weight of your blood on his hands and the sticky feeling it left behind, no matter how many times he scrubbed at them. Spider continued to stand in his spot, motionless. He couldn’t help but feel as if your death was his doing. Maybe if he didn’t get kidnapped by Quaritch, you’d still be alive. Maybe if he didn’t need Lo’ak’s help in rescuing him from the ship, you’d still be alive. Maybe if he was able to go into cryo and be shipped back to Earth, you’d still be alive. And Lo’ak felt his body go cold. He slumped back in the spot he was sitting in, bringing his hands up to his face as he sobbed into them. He felt as if he was at fault too. Maybe if he didn’t insist on going to get Spider, you’d be alive. Maybe if he didn’t get caught in that net, you’d still be alive. Maybe if he didn’t go to that stupid broken down lab and get held hostage by Quaritch, you’d still be here. But that’s all the Sully family can do. Think of what if’s and only pray that your soul makes a safe return into the afterlife and that you only stay blissfully ignorant to the fact that you died and are no longer living. They can only hope.