🌃⊹°˖➴ in my dreams, i never have to be alone
kim seungmin x f!reader (implied x yang jeongin)
summary: prologue to don't wake me, I'm dreaming of home, but can be read separately. you, seungmin and jeongin have been best friends since the day you met - more than best friends, you've been living in each other's pocket, sleeping all three in a bed more nights than not. what happens when you and seungmin climb into the frat house jacuzzi at one of their parties? lines may finally be crossed
word count: 7k words
author's note: I have no reason for this except I couldn't stop thinking about them <3 can be read separately, but I really recommend reading the whole thing because the fic is so very dear to me. if you want to know, this is the gifset I was staring at while writing this. he's so dreamy. (also I have barely had time to write so this was written over many sessions so if it sucks, pls don't even tell me lol I know it's probably not my best, but it's the best I could do)
“Y/N we can’t …” Seungmin hiccups, “we can’t do this here!”
You giggle. The world spins a little bit, the stars in the night sky all blurry and streaky. EDM music booms from inside the frat house, through the clear night air, dulled by the closed windows and doors, but still clearly audible. The night air is balmy, the first warm one of the year.
The big terrace and the lawn of the frat are empty. It’s well past midnight. Chan herded everyone inside hours ago to avoid another noise complaint. You and Seungmin stole outside to smoke, shared a joint on the steps to the side entrance, huddled together, whispering, giggling, you sitting a step below him, your head on his thigh, sleepily blinking up at him in a way that sent his mind reeling.
On your way back inside, you spot it, mostly hidden from the main windows in the living room, behind an awning. The jacuzzi. One glance into the living room tells you that you’re alone. The party is in full swing, nobody’s watching. You don’t need any more of an excuse.
Alcohol makes you giddy and impulsive.
“Ah, come ooooon,” you singsong, already skipping over to it, kicking your sneakers and pulling your socks off. Seungmin follows, footing uneven, his sense of reason floating about five feet above his head, courtesy of the drinks and the weed and the energy and maybe even the cloudless night and the first smell of summer on the air.
The jacuzzi bubbles, shimmers an inviting light blue. It’s one of those nights where you feel invincible. Like the world was made for you. These are the nights you will tell your children about once they’re all grown up, you think. The nights that will prove to them that their Mom used to be cool, too.
You cross your arms, take a hold of the hem of your thin knit jumper, and pull it over your head without hesitation. The tank top you’re wearing underneath it follows. You don’t look back to see if Seungmin is watching. Something deep inside you hopes he is.
Alcohol makes you giddy and impulsive. Weed makes you horny and makes you want the two people you know you can’t have. Makes you toe the line, hoping you’ll stumble and finally fall across it.
“You know Innie would do it, if he were here,” you hum as you pop the button of your jeans.
Seungmin sucks in a breath. He could stop, he could not look, but your back is facing towards him. And he’s watched you plenty of times before, secretly, through a crack in the door, or not so secretly, before you crawled into bed with him and Jeongin, eyes greedily raking over any inch of skin you granted him to see. And a part of him wonders if you want him to watch. If you feel it all, too.
You shuck your jeans down your soft thighs, bend over to push them the rest of the way and kick them off your legs, and the rational part of Seungmin’s brain is fighting a losing battle. He thanks his lucky stars that he doesn’t get hard easily because you’re already descending into the hot, bubbling water, the fabric of your underwear clinging to you, before you turn around, waving him towards you with a smile on your face that spells trouble. Seungmin wonders if tonight will be the night that everything changes.
The jacuzzi is warm, but goosebumps race over your skin nonetheless. Maybe it’s the cool night air on your wet shoulders, or the weed, or the thrill of being out here while everyone else is inside. Or maybe it’s the way Seungmin is looking at you, his face unreadable, as always, but his eyes glimmering with something you don’t dare name. You lick your lips, and watch deliriously as Seungmin’s eyes follow the motion as if in a trance.
You smile, lift your finger, crook it, motion for him to come closer. He hesitates for only a second before he does.
Without taking his eyes off you, he toes off his sneakers, pulls off his socks, and finds the hem of his shirt with his hands. Tonight, you don’t look away. Watch him reveal inch after inch of milky, soft skin, stretched taut over his skinny frame. There’s a shadow of a happy trail under his belly button that you know too well, having spent too many stolen moments committing it to memory. His chest isn’t thick, but sweetly defined, his nipples pebbling in the cool night air. There’s a smattering of soft, dark brown hair curling on his chest. His collarbones look like they could cut glass, give him the air of a statue hewn from marble.
Then he pulls the shirt the rest of the way off, and he meets your eyes again, and you don’t know if you’re terrible at hiding just how much you want him, but you think his chest is starting to rise and fall more rapidly. Then his long, gorgeous hands find the fly of his jeans and your mouth goes dry.
Your eyes, glued to his hands as he undoes his pants, nearly makes Seungmin lose his head. He doesn’t know if you’re aware of the way you’re looking at him, or if you’re not looking at him in any way at all, and he’s just imagining it.
He pops the button, drags the zipper of his jeans down. You blink, like you’re coming out of a daze, then your gaze shoots up, your eyes meet his and heat licks up his spine. He realises he’s on borrowed time now, only precious little time to get undressed and into the water before he can no longer hide what you do to him. And he’d rather not find out like that, if wishful thinking has made him delusional.
You watch as he shoves his pants down, your gaze dropping right back down, over the swell of his cock in his briefs, mouth-wateringly heavy-looking even just like this, then down further, over the soft skin of his thighs, the sparse hair that decorates it. When his pants are finally off, your heart is in your throat, your fingertips aching for him to get in, to come closer, even if your courage fails you, even if you don’t get to touch him, just so he’s at least closer, but …
You huff out a laugh.
Seungmin looks up from where he’s haphazardly folding his jeans to throw them where his shoes are and meets your sparkling eyes, giggling.
“What?!”
“Just …” you laugh, the weed making every giggle fizz bliss through your veins like they’re filled with champagne, “just … god, just leave them and get in here.”
You hope Seungmin can’t hear the neediness colouring your voice. Seungmin does hear it. It makes his dick start filling out in earnest, and he throws his jeans out of dodge. He throws his jeans out of dodge quickly (he still doesn’t want them to get dirty and wet, he’d prefer not to have to walk home all the way across campus in only his wet boxers, thank you very much) and takes his first step into the fizzing water. It’s pleasantly warm. The bubbles of the jets tingle on his skin, sensitive from the weed.
Under your watchful eyes, he takes the next step, then another, until he finally sinks down onto the little bench opposite you, warm water lapping up to his chest, a bubble jet massaging his side.
You both freeze there for a moment, but you never stop looking at him, and it’s not like Seungmin can tear his eyes away from you. Your body is mostly hidden, miles of soft skin, hidden under the bubbling water washing against you, droplets beading on your shoulders. Your face is bathed in light blue, shadow and light dancing over your skin, making your eyes sparkle with every movement. A smudge of mascara under your left eye. A sore spot on your lip where you’ve no doubt been biting it, a habit you never could shake. Somewhere inside, the music is still playing, but it feels like the source of it, the party you escaped from, is half a world away. Like there’s only you and him in this moment. Seungmin’s heart hammers in his chest. It’s not the first time he felt like he was standing right at the precipice of something, with you and Jeongin, like one careless movement could change everything. But it’s never, ever felt this real.
Your breathless laugh breaks the silence, makes Seungmin’s eyes flick back up from where they were glued to your lips. Your heart is threatening to beat out of your chest, your whole body screaming for him. You get up on shaky legs, watch Seungmin’s eyes dip down to the swell of your tits in your wet bra for only a split second before they’re back to being trained on your face, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. It almost makes you laugh. He’s adorable. You take a tentative step forward.
“Why are you all the way over there …”_
And really, you’re clumsy on a good day, much like Jeongin is. Seungmin makes fun of you for it at least once a week, calling you a danger to yourself and society, taking hot pans and sharp knives out of your hands, his heart thumping in his chest. So he shouldn’t be surprised, when you take a step, your eyes widen, and your foot finds a smooth piece of the floor, instead of one that is covered in those little bumps that are meant to prevent just that – and tumble forwards.
You manage to catch yourself with a hand on the side of the jacuzzi next to Seungmin’s head, but you would’ve slipped sideways, maybe cracked your skull open, if his arm hadn’t shot out, as if on instinct, catching you mid-fall, wrapping securely around your waist and letting you down gently on the bench next to him, one of your legs draped over his lap and–
Oh. He caught you, of course he did, he always catches you, but … you’re so close. He’s right in front of you.
Your Seungmin. Your and Jeongin’s Seungmin. Your best friend. Your home. With his broad nose and his full lips, his cupid’s bow so pretty and kissable, his perfectly arched eyebrows furrowed in concern, probably because you just nearly fell, but you can’t care about that. His concern makes him look all serious and stern, his big, dark eyes, at half-mast, fluttering down to your lips. When he looks back in your eyes, all the sternness melts. Into something softer, something hungrier, something that you greedily wish was made just for you. It’s irresistible. You stare into his eyes. He stares back, his eyes flitting back down to your lips.
And you don’t know who leans in first, but his lips find yours and the only thing you can think is finally.
His lips are plump and as soft as they look, and they move against yours without a shred of hesitation, the tip of his nose pressing into your cheek. His hand comes up behind your head, nudges your head to the side, gently slides his hot, velvet tongue into your mouth and your stomach swoops. You don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on in your life.
When his tongue brushes against yours, you let out a choked moan that goes straight between Seungmin’s legs and if he was needy before, he feels like he’s starving now. He kisses you deeper, presses closer, feels your fingers run up his chest, over his shoulders, up to the sides of his neck, pulling him closer in turn, pressing your sweet lips against his harder, dragging his bottom lip between your teeth, and he follows, desperately, blindly, until you lose your balance and nearly fall backwards into the water again, but he tightens his arm around you just in time, uses his grip on you to haul you up and into his lap, a wave of water lapping over the side of the jacuzzi as you come to rest there, your knees on either side of his hips, your pretty ass on his thighs.
For all the times you’ve touched, all the times you’ve sat in his lap, you’ve never crossed this line. He thinks it’s because you both knew that if you had, you would’ve ended up right here.
You blink at him, your lips, swollen, kiss slick and slightly parted in the most adorable little o and then wet hands slide into the hair at the back of his head, and you’re kissing him again, so deeply and greedily arousal lances through him and his hips stutter up into nothing. His dick is hard. Just a little bit of kissing with you, and he’s full-mast, absolutely rock fucking hard and aching. He would laugh if your tongue wasn’t in his mouth and he wasn’t trying to not lose his damn mind.
He winds his arm around your waist, but he doesn’t even have to pull – you drag yourself closer all on your own, chest pressing against his, your hips dragging forwards until oh good god.
He doesn’t dare move, sitting there with you perched basically on his cock, you sucking his tongue into your mouth because … because … There’s not enough … fuck, there’s not enough fabric between you. Your chest is covered, but he can feel your belly against his, the softness of your arms over his shoulders, your naked waist under his palms – and your barely clothed heat right above his cock, only separated by two flimsy pieces of soaking wet cotton that allow him … he drags you closer, kisses you harder, his breath hot and heavy against your tongue, trying to distract himself but also selfishly, foolishly, desperately needing you closer because – fuck, he can feel every single curve of your pussy against his cock, and he has never wanted anyone as badly before in his life.
Your hand slides deeper into Seungmin’s hair, tugs just enough to make his breath hitch, as you slowly, carefully, experimentally grind your hips forward, carding through the short black hair as you kiss him, pulling ever so slightly, which makes him groan into your lips desperately.
Your other hand slides down, explores every inch of him you can reach, gliding over the skin of Seungmin’s shoulder, his arms. When your palm drags down his chest, grazes his nipple, smoothes up towards his collarbones and his neck, his cock twitches underneath you and, shit, you knew Seungmin was big (though not too big, you always thought, judging from the stolen glances when he was in his boxers or his sweats – long and thick in just the right proportions that he would probably feel heavily inside of you) but feeling the thickness of his cock drag against your barely clothed centre makes him feel so much bigger.
You would be nervous, but you know you can take it; have shoved several fingers into yourself on nights alone in your room, or those few nights when it was just you, alone in Seungmin’s bed, pressing their pillows into your nose, dreaming of Seungmin, dreaming of Jeongin … The thought of Jeongin nearly makes you buckle under the weight of your longing. Your mind is still hazy, and it’s ridiculously easy to imagine what it would be like if he were here with you, instead of back home, for his grandma’s birthday. If he was right here, in this damn frat house jacuzzi, almost naked, too, his eyes dark, the tips of his hair dripping rivulets of water that run down his toned, thick chest. You find it simultaneously easy and difficult to imagine what he would be like, maybe because you know him so well. Your mind wanders. You imagine the heat of his body behind you, his beautiful, big, knobby hands wrapping around your body, one cupping your breasts, the other reaching out further, sliding into Seungmin’s short, dark hair, tugging even harder than you are, or maybe softly cupping his face … You imagine his hard cock, rutting against your ass as he leans over to drag Seungmin into a filthy, open-mouthed kiss …
You whimper into Seungmin’s lips and Seungmin’s swears he gets dizzy, with you, the heat of the jacuzzi, the grind of your pussy over his cock, your greedy, demanding hands mapping out each and every inch of his body. It’s everything he wanted, but he can’t help it, his mind wanders because it inevitably always does, to you and … to Jeongin.
Seungmin’s hand runs down, smoothes over the plush of your ass, down your thighs and up to your ass again, and he wonders, he can’t help but wonder what it would be like if Jeongin was here.
The mental image of him, sitting in one of the deck chairs, leaning back casually, maybe, his ridiculously built arms crossed over his thick chest, that stupidly cocky grin on his face, narrow, foxy, almost predatory eyes locked onto you and Seungmin, watching you, watching the filthy kisses and Seungmin’s hands and the way you’re rutting your pussy over him, the water doing nothing to hide what’s going on. God, keep going, imaginary Jeongin says, laughs, leans forward, brings one hand down to palm his cock, I’ve been wanting this for years …
Seungmin nearly comes, right there and then, only holds on by a thread and an ungodly amount of self-control, his fingers digging into your hips, forcing you to still.
His head falls back with a quiet groan, eyebrows drawn together and when his head lolls back forward, your breath hitches in your throat. He looks wrecked. He looks beautiful. You’re so fucking in love with him.
“Y/Nie,” he whispers, screws his eyes shut, but you interrupt him.
“Don’t tell me to stop. Please, don’t tell me to stop.”
It’s a breathless whisper, your eyes glued to his lips, your wet hands coming up to cup his face, one of your thumbs swiping over his cheek. His heart aches. He blinks. His heart cracks open. His feelings bleed out of his fingertips and into your skin.
“I don’t want you to stop,” he murmurs, and you meet his eyes. And you understand. The smile that tugs on your lips is beautiful, lit as it is by the blue of the jacuzzi, and he’s helpless. He’s so fucking in love with you.
He winds his hand around the back of your neck, leans up and crashes his lips back into yours.
This time it’s you who pulls away, breathing hard, pressing your forehead against his like being any further away from him would physically hurt you. Your eyes meet.
“Jeongin,” you mutter, and you look so worried. But Seungmin knows. He’s seen how you look at him, how your eyes follow him across any room. How you always stretch an arm over him when he’s in the middle, so you can touch Jeongin, too. He has worried, agonised, of course, whether it was him, only him, but now, with you in his lap and all the love in the world in your eyes, all he can do is let out a nervous laugh.
“Yeah,” he breathes, “me, too.”
You pull back a little, far enough that you can see his entire face.
“You … too?”
It makes nerves bubble in his veins. He’s not good with words, never has been. He thought he could get away with not having to take the chance, not having to say it.
“You’re in love with him,” he says, almost matter-of-factly. The blush blooming on his cheeks says otherwise. You blink at him, then huff in defeat. Here goes nothing. You hope he kissed you like that because he loves you back.
“I … I am, but … I’m also in love with you.”
You say it so sweetly, so calmly. His belly erupts into butterflies.
“M-me, too,” he mumbles, pulls you closer again until he can kiss your lips softly. “Both of you. Always have been.”
You let the words sink in. You laugh out in disbelief. Something in your chest clicks into place.
“Do you …” you start, leaning in to nudge your nose against Seungmin’s. His eyes flutter shut in a movement so vulnerable it sends your heart into a flurry. “D-do you think he loves us, too?”
Seungmin smiles almost sadly, drags you closer, presses a kiss to your cheek, all without opening his eyes once.
“I don’t know,” he answers truthfully.
Your lips brush against the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then his jaw. The gesture is so soft it makes his heart skip a beat. He runs a thumb over the skin of your lower back.
“I think he might …” you murmur, press another kiss to the bottom of his jaw that makes him shiver, despite the warmth of the water.
“Yeah?”
Seungmin asks, and you nod. You press a sloppy, wet kiss against his neck and his cock twitches. God, he’s so turned on.
Gently, he coaxes your face from his neck, cups your face until you’re looking into his eyes again. His other hand disappears back under the water, to your thigh, wandering up, hooking a finger under the waistband of your panties at the side of your waist. Your breath hitches and he smiles at you, makes sure you’re listening, before he manages to get it out.
“And just for the record, I love you, too,” he mumbles, and you stare at him for only a split second before you dive in.
The kiss this time is much less gentle. It’s sloppy, giddy, your smile brushing against the one he can’t hold back any more, pressing your body closer, swivelling your hips down over his cock, still half hard, despite all the talking. The finger he has hooked into your panties drives you fucking crazy. With one of your hands still buried in his hair, you let the other find his there.
When you pull it away from your body, you feel him falter, like he’s about to pull back and apologize, but when you slowly guide his hand between your legs, he shudders out a breath. And he doesn’t need to be told twice, though his breath comes shallower as his fingertips gently brush you over the cotton, the water making everything feel so different, but still mind-numbingly good, but still not even nearly enough.
“Come on,” you mutter, kiss him again, let your tongue dip into his mouth and right back out, making him chase your lips, “touch me. I’ve … ah I’ve waited too long for this.”
And to his credit, he doesn’t hesitate. His fingers slip the material of your panties to the side, and then his middle and ring finger slide over your clit, wet and slippery with the water, and your head falls forward, your forehead thunking against his almost painfully.
“Holy fuck, baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with arousal. He rubs at your clit softly, gently, before dipping down, exploring you with his fingers. They’re sure in their touches, almost practised, and the thought makes jealousy flare up in your chest. You’ve only known him, known them, for two years, but that had always felt like a fluke. Like something had gone wrong somewhere, like you were meant to have grown up with them, meant to have been there to be their first, to not have to deal with the knowledge that there was someone before you.
Seungmin dips the tip of his ring finger inside of you, does a little twirling motion with it that makes you half insane with need. You rock your hips down, causing his finger to slip in to the first knuckle, and he sucks in a breath. You kiss it away, hips still moving in little movements, gentle fucking yourself on his finger. And he lets you. Just kisses you back, offers you his hand to hump, and it’s infuriating.
“Seung, please, for the love of God,” you huff against his lips, and he laughs, breathlessly, “I know you’re trying to be all gentle and shit, but I trust you, I’ve been waiting for this for two years, I need you inside of me yesterday.”
Seungmin doesn’t say anything, but there’s something deep, swirling in his eyes, before he pulls your hips down and buries his finger into you to the knuckle. His other hand, that’s still resting on your waist, traces a tortuously slow pace up your side. He leans forward, presses his lips to the wet, salty skin of your neck, sucks. You hope it leaves a mark.
“Two years …” he breathes. He fucks his finger into you, slowly but deeply, and it makes pleasure shiver down your spine. Then he crooks his finger, rubs the pad of it against your walls, and you can’t hold back the helpless twitching of your hips into his touch.
You nod blindly, but you can’t think of anything but the feeling of him inside of you
“M-more, pl-please,” you murmur, and this time you don’t have to wait. Seungmin bullies a second finger inside of you, and you sigh, eyes screwing shut because the pressure is so good. He sets a slow pace, fingering you open on his fingers so deeply and intentionally that you nearly double over, your thighs threatening to start trembling with every brush of his knuckles over your g-spot.
Seungmin knows he’s staring, but he can’t rip his eyes away. You look like a vision, better than any of his dirtiest dreams, better than any porn he’s ever watched; not like that ever did much for him, anyway. But you, towering over him, one of your hands on his shoulder, nails digging into skin, your eyes shut, head thrown back, sinful mouth open, moaning softly – your bra strap fallen down your arm, back arched, your tits jiggling with every bounce as you take your pleasure from him, fuck yourself on his fingers … it’s insane. He’s insane.
“Fuck, I love your fingers,” you babble, almost drunkenly. Seungmin’s chest swells with pride. “You have the nicest hands I’ve ever seen. Except maybe Innie’s.”
Seungmin’s guts burn with arousal. Should he be jealous? He’s not. He huffs out a laugh, but it’s gravelly.
“Except Innie’s, huh,” he teases, and watches as your lips pull into a smile. He crooks his fingers and you moan through it. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. You lean down, find his lips, lick into his mouth filthily.
“You don’t think so?” you murmur into his mouth, and suddenly Seungmin understands the game you want to play. You unravel him with one sentence.
“Do you think I don’t see when you stare at his hands? Like last week, when he touched your thigh …”
Seungmin shivers. Last week, when you were all lounging on Seungmin’s couch on their phones, sending each other TikToks back and forth, when Jeongin’s hand had casually found his knee, slid up to rest on his thigh, just high enough to brush against the fabric of his shorts that had ridden up. Seungmin thought he had been at least a little bit subtle, though he knows his eyes were glued to Jeongin’s beautiful hand, his long fingers, the heavy silver ring, his thumb over his skin. He didn’t know you were watching then. God, you had been watching.
He shudders, and you huff out a laugh, though he can hear how much this affects, you, too. You fuck yourself down on his fingers harder, and it rips another twin moan out of both of you.
“W-wanna f-feel you both,” you whisper, and Seungmin’s thoughts spiral, imagines what it would feel like, Jeongin’s fingers, trailing up his wrist, up his own fingers, pushing inside of you alongside his, knuckles grinding against his as you writhe and beg above them, stretched, riding their fingers, begging for …
“Fuck,” he gasps out, the moan that follows louder than any sound he has ever heard himself make. His hips stutter up hard, make a wave of water rush out of the jacuzzi, soaking the wooden deck surrounding it.
You laugh, grind on his hand, your heart thundering in your chest. You feel manic. Insane. Drunk and high and everything in between.
“F-fuck, baby, fuck,” Seungmin curses. His brain feels like it’s about to leak out of his ears. “I never thought I would say this but, fuck, please let me fuck you. Please. I’m going insane.”
Another laugh, light as air, but with something laced into it Seungmin has never heard before. He feels crazed.
You tug at his wrist, enough to let him know to remove his fingers from you, and he complies, nearly loses his head when he feels your fingers tug his boxers down. It’s all a little bit awkward in the water, with you perched on his lap, but somehow you manage it. You suck in a breath when his cock finally springs free. He tries not to let it get to his head but fails spectacularly.
“Like what you see?” he teases, trying to play off just how affected he is. You wrap your hand around him, start stroking him torturously slowly and hum in agreement. You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth with a soft laugh and a lazy grin that’s infuriatingly hot.
“Do you have any idea,” you mutter, press a kiss to his lips, “how often,” another kiss, “I’ve woken up,” another, deeper now, as you pull your underwear off your legs, “with your or Innie’s hard on pressing into my ass?”
Seungmin can’t help but laugh, but it’s breathless. He nearly chokes when he feels the head of his cock nudge against your folds. Everything suddenly feels too hot.
Your eyes get softer, and then you sink down.
“I’ve been dreaming of you for years,” you murmur and bottom out, and Seungmin feels like the breath is punched out of him. His hands fly to your hips, your back, trying ground himself because the feeling of you wrapped around him, so tight and hot and inviting is nothing short of overwhelming.
When he’s buried in you to the hilt you pause, take a moment to get used to the stretch, to the overwhelming knowledge that it’s Seungmin inside you, his hands on your body, his beautiful dark eyes staring into yours, his plump bottom lip caught between his teeth like he’s trying to hold on, too.
It’s surprisingly comforting to be here, in his lap, your nails scratching over his scalp, your chest pressed against his, skin on skin. But then again, it makes sense. It’s Seungmin. You’ve always been safe with him.
You let your forehead fall forwards, come to rest against his again, before you carefully raise yourself up until only the tip of his cock is buried in you, before you sink down again. Seungmin moans, deeply, gutturally, slides down the seat of the jacuzzi to give you more room, to angle his hips and when you fuck yourself down on him again, it’s so good you nearly collapse into his arms.
His hand on your hip is steady, strong, and he uses it to coax you back up, then down, until you’re starting to set a steady rhythm. It’s pathetic, really, how gone you are, your thighs already shaking, but the pressure of him, the way he fills you and drags against you – it’s perfect. He’s perfect. You’re so close already.
He drags the hot palm of his free hand up your spine, settles between your shoulder blades, drags you forward, until he can press his face against your sternum, his hot breath ghosting over you, before he starts pressing kisses there, travelling from there to your collarbones, down the swell of your breasts. You loosen one of your hands from where they were digging into his shoulders to drag down the cup of your bra and Seungmin groans and immediately latches his mouth onto your nipple, lapping at it, sucking it into his mouth, making you sob out in pleasure. Nobody has ever made you feel this way before, and you have no idea if it’s because it’s him, or because you’re in love, or because your bodies are just that perfect for each other.
Your belly burns with pleasure, hot and tight with an orgasm that is building, but can’t be reached because your legs are trembling, and the stupid water makes it difficult to set any kind of faster rhythm, and the frustration makes tears build in your eyes until you can’t hold back the frustrated sob.
Seungmin’s head shoots up, and he stares at you worriedly for only a second, before he puts two and two together. Carefully, he lifts you up until his cock slips out of you, pecking your lips when you let out a pitiful whimper at the loss, and then he wraps an arm around your waist, supports himself on the back of the jacuzzi and hoists himself to his feet. You squeal, tighten your hold around his waist with your legs, cling to his shoulders, but he doesn’t stand for long, instead turns, places you down on your back on the decking of the jacuzzi, your ass sitting perfectly on the edge, before he all but crawls over you, his arms next to your head, his legs still in the water.
“Please, don’t cry … that just … that made me feel things I didn’t know I could feel,” he grumbles out, his pupils blown, eyebrows furrowed together like he can’t believe what he’s saying and God, you love him so much. You giggle, drag him closer until you can pull him into a filthy kiss, one he reciprocates immediately. You pull back, swipe a thumb over his bottom lip, watch in fascination as Seungmin’s mouth opens, his tongue darts out to lick at it.
You look at him with all the fake coyness you can muster.
“You don’t wanna make me cry on your cock?”
Seungmin groans, his head falling into the crook of your neck as he half-heartedly punches the decking next to you.
“Oh God, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he mumbles, and your heart swells. You run your hand down his back, drag your nails over his skin until he shivers.
“You can’t die, we need to tell Jeongin we love him, still,” you giggle, completely, stupidly, desperately in love, and Seungmin laughs into the skin of your neck.
“God, I hope he loves us back,” he mumbles, before he pushes himself upright, his eyes still glued to you, but his whole body on display for you, and wraps a hand around his cock and starts stroking himself. You don’t even know where to look.
“Me, too,” you breathe, watch as Seungmin runs a reverent hand down the side of your thigh, wraps your leg around his waist, leans in, lines up his cock and pushes back into you in one smooth movement. The moan you let out sounds like a sigh of relief.
“F-fuck,” he stutters out, “I’ll never get used to this.”
You only whimper in return, a sweet, pitiful sound that stokes more of that fucked up fire in the pit of Seungmin’s stomach. He always knew sleeping with you or Jeongin would rock his fucking world, nothing like high school girlfriends and ill-fated, casual club hookups that didn’t care to learn what he wanted. He always knew sleeping with someone he was in love with would be it for him – but nothing compares to the real thing. He’s obsessed. Utterly, and entirely fucking obsessed with the way you look like this, the way you wrap around his cock like you were made for him, the way you trust him so easily, let him take care of you, the way your features he knows so well helplessly fall into pleasure. It makes him feel drunk on bliss, his whole body burning, every sensation dialled up to 11. You blink at him, your eyes rolling back for a second when he fucks into you deep, and then you reach out; stretch out your hands, tug at his arm until he folds himself over you, and you drag him into a kiss that makes him groan into your mouth.
The kiss is sticky and hot and wet and messy and your legs are wrapped around his waist, hips rocking up to meet every one of his thrusts, and he knows he won’t last long. And it gets even harder to hold on when he fucks into you, bottoms out and grinds his cock in deeper and probably grinds over your clit because you tighten and gush around him so hot and constricting that it makes the world around you blur into the background, his mind, his body, everything, filled with you you you.
His hips work almost by themselves, something animalistic in the way he thrusts you into you, trying to go deeper, get closer. His nails dig into the wood of the deck, his other, shaky hand wrapping around your thigh, trying to hold you in place as he fucks you into you like a madman, spurred on by every moan, every gasp, every delirious little sound he manages to pull out of you.
He’s hurtling towards his orgasm so fast he can barely catch his breath and warn you, slurring something half-conscious into your lips that makes your hands fly to his ass, angle him to grind into you just right, and he’s rewarded with a quiver of your walls around him that punches the breath out of him.
He fucks into you, chasing his high, your high, moans tumbling freely from his mouth right into yours, slick lips sliding over slick lips, hot breath colliding until you squirm, grind into him just as he grinds into you, and then you’re coming, right underneath him. Your back arches, your breath catches in your throat, and you sob out in pleasure, your cunt clenching around him so tightly he can barely move, but it’s enough to send him hurtling over the edge as well. He pulls back, not too far because he feels like he might die if he does, but just enough so he can slip his cock out of you and fist himself desperately until his toes curl and his eyes roll into the back of his head, and he spills, hot and heavy, all over your belly.
When he’s spent, he collapses into your arms. It only takes a few seconds before post-nut clarity hits him like a truck; suddenly, he can feel the ache in his thighs and the pruning of his fingers, remembers where you are when the music from the frat house slowly filters into his consciousness. Before he can freak out, he buries his face in your neck, forces himself to take a few deep breaths, lets the realisation that he can touch you like this now, without hesitating, without overthinking it, soothe him. You’re his. Nothing can hurt him now. You run soft fingertips down his spine. If this is aftercare, he realizes now, it’s what he has always needed.
Slowly, gently, he pulls back, until he can see your face. Sleepy, lax with pleasure, make up smudged and a small smile on your face. Gorgeous. He has to force himself to look away. To turn, to fish his soaked boxers out of the jacuzzi, using them to wipe gingerly between your legs, wipe his sticky cum off your abdomen.
You’re quiet, until you’re not, and your words make him freeze.
“Why did you pull out? Do you hate me?”
Seungmin blinks at you, the shock and disbelief on his face so serious it makes your poker face slip immediately, and you dissolve into giggles. You feel like you’re floating, booze and weed and the hormones from your orgasm making you feel like you’re barely there.
“Just kidding, thanks for not getting me pregnant,” you sigh, when your giggles have calmed down, and Seungmin huffs and rolls his eyes, but it’s different this time. He doesn’t turn away, instead dips in to press a quick kiss to your lips, less as a response to what you said, more to reassure himself that this is real because the way his heart is aching with affection for you and how needy he’s suddenly feeling is threatening to make him freak out.
Your lips are still hot and swollen and pliant, but the kiss itself is softer now. A lazy, loving dance of tongues, your fingers tracing the shape of his jaw, threading through the hair on the side of his head. He shivers, and not because of the cold night air.
When you pull back, you’re smiling. Seungmin’s heart seizes.
“We’ll talk to Jeongin,” he says, watches as your eyes soften even further, a devastating little sigh drips past your lips. You nod.
“After his game?” you ask, sadly. You don’t need to say anything else. Seungmin understands. But it doesn’t mean his heart doesn’t ache at the thought of having to resist making every one of his dreams a reality and having to keep something from Jeongin for two whole weeks. But he knows you’re right. You can’t risk it. There’s too much riding on Jeongin’s game.
“After his game,” he agrees.
You kiss him again, sweet and quick, then deeper until his mind is fuzzy, but then something shatters in the house and there’s yelling and Seungmin once again realizes that you’re both naked in the frat house yard with half the college just a few yards away. He gets up, stretches his hand out for you to take, and pulls you to your feet.
“Let’s go home, yeah? Before someone realizes we just fucked in their jacuzzi.”
skzms masterlist // ko-fi
GENERAL TAGLIST OPEN 🔖
(please be 18+ and have your age in your bio, otherwise I won't add you)
💌⊹°˖➴ don't wake me, i'm dreaming of home
yang jeongin x f!reader x kim seungmin
summary:
“Hey,” Jeongin protests, “boys and girls can be friends …”
Jisung raises an eyebrow.
“… and … boys and boys …”
“Girls and bisexual boys in kinda codependent threeway friendships where they all spend more nights sleeping in the same bed than in their dorm rooms–“ Jisung trails off, and Jeongin groans.
He grabs the fox plushie Seungmin won for him at the fair last year and hurls it into Jisung’s general direction before burying his burning face in his pillow.
He doesn’t see his friends like that … right?
word count: 13.1k words
author's note: I did not plan to write this, but then I answered an ask and my love @stayconnecteed came into my inbox excited about seungyang and my brain just ... ran with it. I love this. where hyunibini was difficult to write, this poured out of me. I adore them. they mean the world to me. enjoy!
warnings: college!au; codependent besties to lovers; a little bit of angst; mxm action, as usual; unprotected sex; panic attack? he's going through it; side minsung bc I'm me; mention of past vomiting and nauseau, not graphic at all
skzms masterlist // ko-fi
Jeongin takes the steps up to Seungmin’s third floor apartment two at a time.
His knuckles rap against the door in an anxious pattern, and stands back, rocking back and forth on his heels impatiently. He’s met with silence, then more silence. It doesn’t usually take Seungmin this long to open the door – and Jeongin knows he’s home. He always goes straight home after your and his social media management lecture.
He’s just about to take out his phone to text him when he hears faint noises from inside. He takes a step closer.
There’s whispering, but who it is or what they’re saying, Jeongin can’t make out. Something thuds to the floor. Then footsteps approach the door.
Jeongin steps back just in time before the door is ripped open.
“Jeongin!? W-what are you doing here?”
Jeongin raises an eyebrow at Seungmin.
“What do you mean what am I doing here, I practically live here.”
Seungmin blinks, shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his hand still in a death grip around the doorframe.
“Just … didn’t know you were coming …”
“Well, neither did I, but I was in the area because I was at that coffee shop next to the Sigma Kappa Zeta frat, you know, the one where I forgot my charger last time. So I went there to pick it up and guess who I run into?! Bang Chan! And Felix, you know, the blonde, smart one from our business class – I think they’re hooking up by the way, there’s definitely a vibe there – and we got talking and– wait, you’re not listening are you?”
Seungmin had been nervously staring at him throughout his whole monologue, until a noise from behind him startled him into half turning around.
“N-no, I was listening, it’s just, uh, not the best time.”
Everything clicks into place for Jeongin very suddenly.
“You’ve got someone in there.”
He doesn’t word it like a question. It’s obvious now, the nervous tap of his foot, the way he’s holding the door closed, the … oh wow, the slowly darkening love bite on his collarbone, still glistening wet against his milky soft skin. Something in his guts twinges.
“Y-yeah, sorry,” Seungmin mumbles, runs his hand through his newly cut, short, black hair. It makes him look more grown-up, less than the boyish Seungmin from a year ago. Did he cut it before or after he started hooking up with people. When did he even find the time?! You and Jeongin basically lived at Seungmin’s apartment, and never had much more than the odd one-night stand with someone who wasn’t scared off by the fact that you were constantly glued to one another.
With a bitter taste in his mouth, Jeongin realises that that may not have been true.
“Ha, I can’t believe it,” Jeongin scoffs out, tries to swallow the awkward wobble in his voice, “I didn’t know you had it in you, Seung.”
Seungmin smiles awkwardly, shifts his weight again. Jeongin can basically feel the impatience rolling off of him. He wants him to leave. Ouch.
“Well, then I will just call Y/N and tell her about how I just secured us the Lee Felix for our group project …”
“That’s great, Innie, you go call her,” Seungmin says lamely, and Jeongin’s face starts burning. This is so awkward.
“Well, see you tomorrow. And, uh … have fun!”
He turns on his heels and speedwells down the hallway before he can embarrass himself any further. Have fun?! What the fuck is wrong with him.
His face is still burning when he pushes the door open to his room. He must be more flustered than he thinks because he accidentally slams it into the wall so hard it makes his roommate nearly jump out of his skin.
“Jesus, you need to start skipping the gym, Innie, you don’t know your own strength,” Jisung squawks from where he’s pretzeled onto his computer chair, one sweats clad leg clutched to his chest, some music project or another open on his old MacBook.
Jeongin just grumbles in return, toes his shoes off and throws himself onto his bed.
Jisung, ever as observant, swivels his chair around and gives Jeongin a sympathetic smile.
“Rough day?”
Jeongin sighs.
“Not … not really, just …” he sighs, sits up, “I just made a fool out of myself in front of Seung. He … had someone over.”
Jisung’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Like … had someone over had someone over?”
Jeongin nods. Jisung makes a face, like he’s impressed.
“Damn …”
Jeongin scoffs. Protectiveness flares up in his chest.
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
Jisung blinks at him.
“I’m not surprised that he has someone over, he’s really cute,” Jisung mumbles, and Jeongin feels the need to growl. Jisung barks out a laugh. “He’s not my type, don’t worry. It’s just …”
He falters, but Jeongin fixes him with another glare and Jisung pulls his other leg up, hugs them both against his chest until he looks tiny, swallowed up his chair, before he speaks.
“I just kinda figured … what with you and Seungmin and Y/N always being glued together …”
Jeongin stares at him blankly. Jisung sighs, like Jeongin is a child who doesn’t get it.
“I figured something would happen between all of you.”
“Hey,” Jeongin protests, “boys and girls can be friends …”
Jisung raises an eyebrow.
“… and … boys and boys …”
“Girls and bisexual boys in kinda codependent threeway friendships where they all spend more nights sleeping in the same bed than in their dorm rooms–“ Jisung trails off, and Jeongin groans.
He grabs the fox plushie Seungmin won for him at the fair last year and hurls it into Jisung’s general direction before burying his burning face in his pillow.
He doesn’t see his friends like that … right?
At least he didn’t in the beginning, when they all met during fresher’s week, sneaking away from the club to smoke a joint on the swings of the dark, empty playground in the nearby park. Or maybe he deluded himself back then, in an effort not to lose the only friends he had made so far, even if Seungmin’s big hands were warm and his smile bright and boyish, your legs were soft under his fingertips when he helped you climb up to the slide, your hair smelling like smoke and perfume. Fuck.
When he looks up, Jisung is still watching him, but he has his legs crossed underneath him now, his bag of weed paraphernalia on his lap as he pours some of the ground buds into a translucent paper.
“So, where were we? Codependent, sexually charged threeway best friendship …”
Jeongin growls for real this time, kicks his leg out in Jisung’s direction.
“Shut the fuck up, or I’ll tell Minho that you ripped a picture of him out of the campus paper and jerk off to it as if Instagram doesn’t exist.”
Jisung screams, blindly grabs for the fox plushie and throws it at Jeongin so hard the little plastic button nose actually hurts when it hits his cheek.
“You wouldn’t dare! And don’t judge me, it’s a good picture. Plus, it’s lofi. And I can’t accidentally like a 6 month old photo on his instagram as I cu-”
Jeongin’s eyes widen and Jisung goes pale.
“Which has definitely never happened!”
Jeongin cackles, loud and dirty. It makes Jisung pout at him.
“You know, I could just introduce you to him? I see him at practice three days a week.”
Jisung huffs out a sad laugh. He turns, rummages around in his drawers for a lighter, cracks a window open and lights his joint before he responds.
“Sure, because the captain of the best college field hockey team in the state and college heartthrob Lee Minho is really desperate to be friends with, let alone date, a reclusive, anime nerd music student. I’ll spare myself the humiliation, thanks.”
Jeongin sighs, but Jisung has already passed him his joint and turned back around.
“He’s pretty weird, you know, I have a feeling you might be just his type,” Jeongin mumbles around the joint in his mouth. He inhales the sticky flavour deeply.
Jisung doesn’t even turn around, only scoffs.
“Maybe you’d charm him with your big brown eyes, your decently sized dick and your loser rizz,” Jeongin muses. That at least pulls a giggle out of Jisung, which is enough for Jeongin. He smiles at the back of Jisung’s head and gets up to place the joint in the ashtray next to Jisung’s laptop, before he falls back onto his own bed.
He lets Jisung’s clicks, the dim echo of his music that filters through his headphones, slip into the background and pulls out his phone, opens your group chat. He scoffs when he sees it’s still named after that stupid old meme you and Jeongin quoted every day last week, until Seungmin threatened to kick you out of his bed and apartment at 3am.
wait a minute, who ARE you? 🤔
from: me
guess who just secured us THE lee felix for our principles of business group project
you’re welcome
from: thing 1 🧍♀️
no way
that’s incredible
we’ll ace this
from: me
ikr 😎
from: thing 3 🧍🏻
boomer ass emoji choice but ok
from: me
shut up, you ungrateful child
we’re meeting him on thursday
I told him we could meet at yours, seung, hope that’s alright
but basically we have two days to sort out our shit
from: thing 3 🧍🏻
sure
but two days before your big game? Is that a good idea?
from: me
it was the only day he could do
it’ll be fine
At least that’s what Jeongin told himself.
from: thing 1 🧍♀️
maybe it’ll be a nice distraction
we got your back
from: thing 3 🧍🏻
what she said
from: me
anyone wanna get breakfast tomorrow?
from: thing 3 🧍🏻
have to meet my advisor at 9, but I can do after
from: thing 1 🧍♀️
👍
from: me
👍
Jeongin sleeps like shit that night. He could blame it on many things – the leftover weed fumes in the room, Jisung’s snoring, the guy yelling in the quad at 3am, or maybe it’s his tiny, uncomfortable dorm bed and the absence of two warm bodies next to his.
But whatever it is, it means that he takes much longer than usual to peel himself out of bed, and by the time he makes it to the good cafeteria in your dorm building it’s already 10.
So he expects you and Seungmin, already there, sitting at your table the one in the back corner, next to the window that looks out over the Main Street because the three of you love spending hours sitting there between lectures, chatting, eating protein bars, and people watching.
But something makes him slow his pace, makes him take a detour to grab himself a coffee before he makes his way over, even though he never does that.
At first glance, he can’t tell what’s so off about the picture. You and Seungmin are sitting in your usual seats, you in the corner, leaning against the windowsill, Seung in the seat next to you. Your legs are slung over Seungmin’s, a habit you’ve always had. You always say it’s more comfortable and Jeongin would never admit it, as loudly as he usually proclaims that he hates skinship, but the fact of the matter is that nothing in this world calms him down more than the weight of your arm around his lower back, or your leg slung over his, or your hand on his arm. And the same for Seungmin, if he’s being really honest. Like as long as one of you is somehow touching him, he feels calmer. Jeongin often feels like somewhere along the way you all fused together, and now it’s like you’re sharing a body; pulling collars and jewellery into place, fixing each other’s hair, wiping bits of mascara from your cheek, pulling your hair into a ponytail before bed.
So it’s not that Seungmin’s hand, the one that he’s not using to prop up his chin on the table, is under the table, resting on your inner thigh, but something about the way his whole body is turned to you as you talk …
Maybe that’s what it is – the fact that you’re so attuned to each other, when usually, one of you turns the moment he steps in the room, like you can somehow feel his presence; making Jeongin’s heart feel fuzzy with romantic ideas of red strings and soulmate-ism (that he would rather die than tell you or Seungmin about; though Jisung tickled them out of him one night when they couldn’t sleep and smoked so much weed Jeongin felt like he was floating. He’d thrown up right after his confession).
Or maybe it’s the soft, private little smile on Seungmin’s lips, the way his eyes are glued to your face. Or the way his hand is further up your thigh than usual, his thumb rubbing strong, insistent circles into your inner thigh. Or maybe it’s you, sitting up, arching your back a little, leaning more into Seungmin’s space, saying something that makes Seung’s smile turn into a smirk, makes him angle his head ever so slightly, as if he wants to lean in …
Jeongin slams his backpack onto the bench opposite you and both you and Seungmin jump, though as soon as you see him a big smile spreads over your face. Seungmin leans away from you, blinking his eyes as if he was just woken up from a trance.
“Ah, Innie, finally!” you squeal, “we texted you like five times, we thought you were still asleep or something.”
Jeongin makes a non-committal noise as he places his mug on the table. Your casual reaction makes him feel off-kilter.
“Oh, he’s rude this morning,” Seungmin deadpans, and Jeongin sends him a glare. Seungmin’s eyes sparkle up at him. Out of the corner of his eye, Jeongin watches the trajectory of Seungmin’s thumb over the inseam of your jeans. Up, down, up, down.
“Shut up, dog,” Jeongin grumbles, “Jisung worked on music until like 3, and then when he finally did go to sleep he started snoring like crazy. I barely slept.”
Seungmin hums, something between sympathetic and sarcastic.
“Why didn’t you call me? You could’ve come over.”
Jeongin freezes, stares at Seungmin, but the latter’s face, as usual, gives nothing away. His thumb still going up, down, up, down on your inner thigh.
Jeongin blinks, shrugs, avoids your eyes, gets up without another word to finally get himself some food because his mind is swirling and there’s a bitter taste in the back of his mouth. What is Seungmin doing? He knows Jeongin knows he had someone over, but did he want you to know? Why did Jeongin assume you didn’t know …
Well, he thinks as he scoops a big spoonful of scrambled eggs onto his plate, up until yesterday he thought there were no secrets between you. But then Jeongin had accidentally disturbed whatever that was last night, and now he wasn’t so sure. Did you have secrets like this? Was he the only one without secrets? He never thought to keep anything from you, the three of you, that was kind of his whole world …
The thought makes his head hurt and his stomach cramp painfully, and he decides to shove it to the back of his mind for the time being, as he loads more eggs and a general helping of sausages onto his plate. He has practice this afternoon, he’ll need all the protein he can get.
The thought of practice, of the big game on Saturday — it’s enough to dwarf all his other worries. Especially when he comes back to the table and your leg is no longer in Seungmin’s lap, and you reach a hand out to lace with his before he eats, smiling so warmly, that he thinks maybe he just made all the tension earlier up with his sleep-deprived brain.
Under the table, Seungmin’s foot comes to rest against his calf, rubs up and down comfortingly.
“Stop scowling,” Seungmin remarks, “you’ll look ugly with wrinkles.”
Jeongin flips him off half-heartedly.
“When’s your practice today?”
Jeongin swallows a big mouthful of eggs.
“Whole afternoon. From 2 to, like, 6.”
You nod, your brows knitting together in determination. He loves when you do that, it’s adorable.
“Okay, then Seungmin and I will make sure we’ve got everything prepped for our meeting with Felix tomorrow. For the group project.”
Jeongin makes a noise of protest, but Seungmin glares at him, and you wave him off.
“We don’t have any classes this afternoon. Plus, you have enough to worry about, what with your scholarship riding on the game on Saturday.”
The reminder makes a cold shiver run down Jeongin’s spine. He tries his best not to think that way, but he has a terrible feeling about it all. Seungmin reaches out, tugs an errant strand of hair out of his face. His fingertips brush Jeongin’s forehead on their retreat.
“And you’re sleeping at mine tonight,” he announces. There’s no room for argument in his tone, his big, brown eyes staring right into Jeongin’s. “You always smoke weed with Jisung when you’re at yours, and my brother will kill you if he finds out you smoked the week before the game.”
“And weed makes you antsy,” you add, taking a sip from your coffee, grimacing when you find it cold, “and you’re already anxious enough about the game.”
Jeongin’s heart does a little somersault in his chest, heat bleeding out until his whole body is tingling with it.
“How would Minho know,” he mumbles, shoves more food into his mouth, hoping it will get him out of having to say anything else. Seungmin shrugs, sighs dramatically.
“He always knows, he’s scary like that.”
“Promise you’ll come to Seung’s after?” you ask, studying Jeongin with your stupidly intelligent eyes.
Jeongin nods, but you keep watching him for a second, like you’re trying to figure out if he’ll try to get out of it, to retreat into himself. You know him so well, it makes him feel sick.
But by the time he has made it through his classes, through Minho giving them all a stern talk about Saturday that gives him so much anxiety he develops a headache and then puts them through the most gruelling practice Jeongin has ever had to endure, he feels like there’s nothing left of him any more. Like if he retreated into himself now, he would just disappear.
So he gives himself 10 minutes in the locker room showers, lets 5 hot tears sear their way down his cheeks, and allows himself to acknowledge that all he wants is to sink into your and Seungmin’s safe arms.
He all but sleepwalks his way all the way to Seungmin’s apartment, and he thinks he only comes back to himself when the door opens, and he’s greeted by the image of you, in Seungmin’s hoodie, face bare and feet tucked into fluffy socks, and your face softens into one of understanding before you softly drag him inside.
The smell of Seungmin’s apartment hits him like home, as does the sound of the TV, chattering and sound effects from some variety show, the smell of Minho’s seolleongtang, the one he makes sure Seungmin has at least five servings of in his freezer at all times, wafting from the kitchen where the microwave is buzzing quietly.
“Jesus, what did Minho do to you?” Seungmin exclaims from the sofa, his voice teasing, but his concern still shimmers through.
Jeongin just shrugs, waves him off, toes off his shoes and drops his backpack on the floor right by the entrance, something Seungmin usually tells him off for. He stays quiet today. Jeongin must really look like shit.
You’re by his side again immediately, gently leading him into Seungmin’s kitchen, sitting him down at the little table. He meets your eyes, soft, worried, looking him over like you’re scared he’s hurt, before you trail a soft hand down the side of his neck and squeeze his shoulder.
“Let me get you some food.”
The microwave dings, and you busy yourself scooping some noodles into a bowl, adding slices of meat and spring onions, pouring the reheated seolleongtang. Jeongin just watches how you move around Seungmin’s kitchen, quietly and confidently. Watches how you pull the sleeves of Seungmin’s sweater over your hands so you don’t burn your fingers on the bowl as you get it out of the microwave. How you pull them up before you start assembling his food. How your hair falls into your forehead, how your bottom lip juts out as you focus.
He’s still watching when you turn around, the finished bowl between your sweater paws and a smile on your face, and place it in front of him, before turning back to get him a spoon and some chopsticks.
“Here you go,” you mumble, smile at him again, “eat up. We can make more if you need it.”
Jeongin turns around, spots the empty bowl in front of Seungmin, perched precariously on the coffee table that’s littered with books and paper, then turns to you, and he realises.
“Was this supposed to be yours?”
You’re already back in the kitchen, rummaging around the freezer for another one of Minho’s ubiquitous Tupperwares.
“Don’t worry, we got more,” you smile, “plus, Minho will be pleased if he checks Seung’s freezer next time and sees that most of them are gone.”
Seungmin grumbles behind Jeongin, but Jeongin’s heart still feels like it’s rabbiting in his chest.
“You know it’s his love language,” you just remark, and Seungmin sighs. “Let him take care of you, you know he needs it, too.”
It’s an easy remark, and you never shy away from naming the emotions both him and Seungmin are often too scared to. And this one they all know is true. Without parents, with their grandmother gone, Minho and Seungmin are on their own now. And if you asked Jeongin, he’d say they’re doing well. They take care of each other. And by extension, Minho takes care of Jeongin and you. Because he knows you’re important to Seungmin. Even though he usually pretends to be upset, complains that he has to meal prep twice as much because you always eat it all. Luckily, Minho has a colossal sweet spot for you. You don’t need to do much but smile and bat your eyelashes, and he forgets why he was mad in the first place. Jeongin always jokes that Minho would have a massive crush on you if he wasn’t so incredibly gay, which never fails to make Seungmin gag and glare at him.
Seungmin just grumbles behind him and Jeongin goes back to eating, a comfortable silence falling over the room. The TV still running in the background, the microwave buzzing as it heats up your serving of broth, you quietly humming as you cut up more spring onions. This is exactly what he was yearning for when he was in the showers earlier, and he basks in it.
Until he remembers the night before, that Seungmin invited someone else in, hooked up with them maybe on the very couch he’s lounging on right now, back against the armrest infuriatingly nonchalant with his stupid new haircut and his oversized t-shirt riding up, revealing a sliver of his stomach over the waistband of his sweats. How did Seungmin even meet someone to hook up with?! Was it someone from his clubs? Someone he met in one of the few classes you didn’t have together? Did Jeongin know them? You and Jeongin were here all the time. This was your rightful place, who was some random person to butt in, to make the vibes all wrong.
You must’ve seen him scowl into his now empty bowl because you walk over to him gently, run a hand through his hair. Jeongin melts instantly.
“Wanna talk about it?” you ask, quietly, “did Minho say something? Is it about the game?”
Jeongin scoffs. How ironic. He just shakes his head.
“Just wanna … turn my brain off for the night.”
You smile at him again. Warm. Sweet. Like molten honey.
“Sounds good to me.”
You slap his hands away when he tries to clean up his bowl, shoo him towards the sofa where Seungmin is waiting, patting the spot next to him. Jeongin collapses into it, lets Seungmin tug him in between his legs, deposit his head against his solid chest, his hand in Jeongin’s hair. He’s still angry, probably, but then Seungmin hums, a deep rumbling that reverberates from his chest through Jeongin’s entire body, and Jeongin lets his eyes slip shut, just for a minute. Though by the time he hears the water in the kitchen shut off and seconds later feels the sofa dip with your weight and feels your hand trace over his spine, he’s already half asleep.
When he wakes up the next morning, he instantly feels better. Sure, his body aches with soreness from practice, but the sun shining in through a crack in the curtains is making the dust dance in the light, and he can feel Seungmin’s warm body pressed against his lower back, the quiet sound of your breathing on the other side of the bed. He lets it lull him back into a lazy doze, half awake, half asleep, until movement behind him jostles him awake again an hour later.
There’s shuffling, tugging at the duvet, Seungmin’s ass pressing into his back. Jeongin hears your voice, barely above a whisper, murmuring something, then he hears as much as he feels Seungmin’s answering chuckle, his body shaking, a hoarse morning thickness in his voice.
He’s about to turn around, to announce that he’s awake, when there’s a shifting and then a wet noise, a quiet hum, then another, almost like …
Arousal lances through Jeongin’s body so fast it makes him nauseous.
You’re kissing. You and Seungmin are kissing right behind him. Holy fuck. Holy fuck?! When did this happen?! When …
Jeongin feels Seungmin stretch, body shifting against Jeongin’s back, the knowledge that Seungmin’s body is touching his as he’s kissing you making his rapidly hardening cock twitch in his boxers, and then he hears it again. The wet slide of tongues, a maddening hitch of your breath, a whisper of a high-pitched moan that makes Jeongin physically shudder, Seungmin humming, deeply in his chest, just like he had last night when Jeongin was resting on his chest but now into your lips. Your lips.
Holy fuck. It had been you last night. It was you who Seungmin was hiding in his apartment, you who he was messing around with, your spit glistening on the love bite that you sucked into his skin …
“Seung, stop,” Jeongin hears you whisper. You sound out of breath. Jeongin has to squeeze his eyes shut. He’s so hard it hurts, and his heart is thudding in his chest.
Seungmin mutters something unintelligible, and you say his name again.
“Come on. Maybe … maybe he’ll wake up,” Seungmin rasps, and Jeongin can hear the aroused excitement lacing his voice.
There’s more shifting behind him.
“No, not like this,” you murmur, “not now. After the game.”
They’re talking about him. Jeongin tries to control his breathing, but his heart is hammering so loud he thinks Seungmin might be able to hear it. But thankfully, Seungmin seems to be busy enough trying to kiss you again, if his warmth disappearing and a noise of protest, and then the soft sound of another kiss is anything to judge by.
But you don’t seem happy with it. You throw the covers back and get up and Jeongin screw his eyes shut as fast as he can.
“Seung, I said no,” you hiss, and then you’re stalking towards the door.
Seungmin behind him sighs, then gets out of bed as well, padding after you. Jeongin hears him say your name and an apology before the door to the bedroom falls shut, and Jeongin sucks in a breath and shoves his hand between his legs, pressing the heel of his palm against his aching cock.
He would question why the fuck he’s as hard as he’s never been before, but right now, he’s pretty preoccupied with the thought that his two best friends are fucking. Oh my god, you and Seungmin are fucking. Or is it more …
The throb between his legs is replaced but a slowly settling sense of heartbreak.
He doesn’t know what’s worse, if it’s just casual or if it’s serious. Because even if it’s just fun, it’s risky, isn’t it?! He would never … He would never risk your friendship like that. But you … clearly that wasn’t a concern for you. God, how had he not seen it. Had there been signs? How long had this been going on?
His whole body feels heavy with it, the heartache, the disappointment. He hears your and Seungmin’s voices in the kitchen, the hum of the coffee machine coming to life, and suddenly, he feels like he wants to cry.
Seungmin had wanted Jeongin to wake up. The thought alone … it’s so cruel. Or did he just think it would be the easiest way to break it to him? Is that what you meant when you said ‘not like this’ and ‘not now’? Were you planning on telling him then, after the game? The fact that you’re together, that from now on, it was no longer Jeongin and Seungmin and Y/N but Seungmin and Y/N. And Jeongin. If he’s lucky.
Fuck, is he going to lose his best friends? Is he going to lose this? Because surely, if they’re together, they won’t want to share a bed with him every night. He’ll have to spend every night back at his dorm, with Jisung.
Oh my god. He’s losing his best friends.
Through the tears burning on his eyes, he hears his phone buzz on the nightstand, where someone, probably you or Seungmin, plugged it in to charge last night.
from: Lee Felix
hey
we still on for 1?
Then, another one pops up.
hockey LEGENDS in the making 🏑
from: Minho 👹
you may have a day off today but if any of you fuckers so much as look at a drink or a joint or I see you’re online after midnight I am benching you, understood?
Saturday is a big game, I need you all in tiptop condition
Jeongin curses, presses his heels into his eyes until he can see stars and the sting of tears disappears.
He can’t freak out about this right now. He has to focus on passing his class. And the game. The fucking game that not only will decide their national ranking but will also determine whether Jeongin can keep the scholarship that is the only reason he’s at college at all. They need to win that game. If they don’t, there’s a 80% chance Jeongin will not be able to come back in the fall.
He takes a few deep, steadying breaths, just how Chan taught them, back in his first year, before their first big game. Something about it regulating the nervous system and adrenaline or whatever. But thankfully, even if Jeongin doesn’t remember, Chan was onto something because it works. He gets his bearings, shoves his heartbreak into a neat little box and compartmentalises it into a far corner of his brain, and picks up his phone.
hockey LEGENDS in the making 🏑
from: me
aye aye captain
to: Lee Felix
yeah! I’ll send you the address right now
When he pads into the kitchen, there’s sunshine and fresh air streaming in through the open window, Seungmin is sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone, and you’re cutting up strawberries at the counter. You smile at him through the makings of a perfect day. He swallows down the nausea that threatens to overwhelm him.
“Hey, handsome,” you chirp, “there’s coffee in the machine.”
He forces a smile onto his lips, makes his way over next to you to pour himself a cup. There’s at least a foot of space between you, but it feels like he can feel the heat of your body in his soul. He’s trying so hard not to spiral, he doesn’t notice you’ve stepped closer to him until your hand settles on the small of his back.
When Jeongin turns, you’re hovering right in front of him, your eyes big and dark, your lips parted, glossy.
“Hey,” you murmur. You blink, smile at him again. Your one hand is still on his waist, the other is holding one of the strawberries you were cutting. Droplets of juice run down your finger.
“Want a piece?” you ask, your voice nothing more than a murmur, and Jeongin’s body reacts as if on autopilot.
His lips part and your heavy gaze falls down, glued to his mouth as you bring the piece of strawberry to his lips. And it’s like everything happens in slow motion, his tongue lolling out only the slightest bit, the taste of the fruit lacing his tongue, your finger dragging over his bottom lip, leaving a residue of juice his tongue darts out to chase on instinct. The brush of it against your fingers is barely there, but you watch it with a rapt attention, before your gaze flutters back up, your glassy eyes meeting his, your smile a nervous, shaky thing. You stumble back, return to your spot at the cutting board, and leave Jeongin reeling. He remembers he has to chew.
When he turns his head, Seungmin is staring straight at him.
“Well, that was easier than I thought!” Felix giggles, clapping his hands happily.
Three hours is all it took, one, for you to finish the entire group part of the project for your class and, two, to realise that Lee Felix is not only smart, but also incredibly good company.
To be honest, Jeongin has to credit you and Seungmin for just how easy today was. Because you did a lot of work yesterday while he was at practice; all the prep, most of the research, and even the bare bones of the powerpoint were ready by the time Lee Felix rang the doorbell and strolled into Seungmin’s apartment in his incredibly fashionable light wash jeans and a cropped band tee.
And really, the vibes were just right – the door to the balcony open, letting in the balmy late spring air. Bowls of salty and savoury snacks and the strawberries you were cutting earlier, as well as soda and water and coffee, at the ready, lofi music playing on the TV. Jeongin can’t help himself from being a little bit dramatic about how much all of it clashes with his mood.
Unfortunately, despite it all, you are his best friends. And you notice everything.
When you finish your work and Jeongin is still scowling, you heave a dramatic sigh before you turn and let yourself fall backwards, plopping your head right into Jeongin’s lap. Your legs kick out, and Jeongin distantly notices Seungmin wrap a hand around your ankle. He’s too distracted by you, staring up at him, with a gentle smile, before you reach up, running your fingers through his bangs. Your fingertips leave warm, tingling trails over his scalp.
“What’s going on? Worried about the game?”
Jeongin huffs out a humourless laugh, grimaces.
“The field hockey team? You’re on a team with Chan-hyung?” Felix asks, as he pops another piece of strawberry into his mouth.
Jeongin nods, your hand still trailing through his hair.
“Yup,” he lets the p pop in an effort to sound casual, as if he hasn’t been an anxious wreck for the last three weeks leading up to this game, but Felix doesn’t need to know that, “it’s important for the competition, as you know, but it’s also pretty much going to determine if I get my scholarship renewed for next year.”
Felix whistles through his teeth and Jeongin shrugs at him. Your warm palm wraps around the side of his neck, thumb swiping over his cheek, and he can feel himself blushing. The touch, the affection, is nothing out of the ordinary, and it always flusters him a little, but with a stranger right there, watching you and him so intently, it makes his stomach churn with a special kind of pride and something else he’s too afraid to name.
Felix just watches you and Jeongin, and smiles.
“I’m so glad you guys worked it out,” he hums, his eyes fond and friendly. When Jeongin just blinks at him, he laughs.
“You know, after the party … the jacuzzi …” he vaguely motions between Seungmin and you, wiggles his eyebrows, “which was really hot by the way.”
“Y-you saw?” Seungmin chokes out, and Felix giggles.
“Yeah, but just me and a couple of guys from the frat,” he reassures him, oblivious to the way your hand has frozen on Jeongin’s face, the way Seungmin has paled and Jeongin is just staring at him. “But you did kinda fuck in a jacuzzi at a frat party, so I’m assuming the exhibitionist part was intentional.”
You wince, scramble out of Jeongin’s lap in a pretence of laughter. It’s so fake it hurts.
In a fucked up way, Jeongin is suddenly very grateful you guys were making out in the same bed as him this morning, because if this had been the first time he heard of it? Being blindsided by the news in front of Lee Felix? He may have done something stupid.
“Anyways, I was kinda happy to see it. I always wondered if there was something going on between the three of you, since you’re always stuck together. I’m glad you finally worked it out, I think you’re all very cute together.”
Jeongin’s mouth tastes like blood.
He looks over at Seungmin, but Seungmin avoids his eyes and so do you. There’s a big fake smile plastered onto your face, aimed towards Felix, who is now packing up his stuff. It’s cracking at the edges, your hands shaking where they’re folded in your lap.
“Thanks for all your help, Felix,” you force out, your voice shakier than Jeongin has ever heard it. But Felix has the benefit of not knowing you, so he doesn’t notice, only sends you a blinding smile back.
“No worries, I’m sure we’ll get a good grade for this one! And if you ever wanna work together again, let me know. This was fun!”
And with that, he gracefully gets to his feet. Jeongin gives him a weak smile, waves his hand, but Seungmin barely manages to mumble out a goodbye. He seems to be frozen in panic on the other side of the table. You jump up, chatter with Felix all the way to the door, a slightly manic edge to your voice, until you chirp one last goodbye and the door falls shut.
The silence is deafening. Jeongin needs to get the fuck out of here.
He’s on his feet before you’ve even made your way back into the living room. He slams his laptop shut, basically rips the charger out of the wall.
He hears you say his name, but he ignores it. He doesn’t look at you when he pushes past where you’re hovering in the middle of the room to shove both into his backpack that’s still sitting in the hallway.
With a curse, he realises his phone is still in the living room. He makes to push past you again, but this time you take a hold of his arm, your usually soft fingers digging into his skin almost painfully. When he catches your gaze, you look terrified.
“Jeongin, Innie, please,” you plead, “please, can we talk about this? I swear, we were going to tell you, we just–“
“I heard you this morning.”
It breaks out of him before he can stop it. Your eyes widen.
“I heard you this morning. I heard you kiss, right behind me. I heard you talk about me.”
“Innie, baby,” you whisper, and Jeongin scoffs. The sound makes hurt flash across your face.
“It’s fine, congratulations, I guess,” he spits, venom dripping from every word. He rips his arm out of your grip, stalks over to grab his phone off the sofa. Seungmin is still sitting there, his eyes glued to the carpet in front of him, his face an unhealthy shade of white. It almost hurts more, the fact that he’s not saying anything. Fuck, Jeongin’s heart hurts.
You take two steps towards him, but stop when Jeongin looks at you. Jeongin feels crazed.
“It’s not like that, I swear,” you try, pleading with with him, “can we please … we just didn’t want to bring this up before the game, but …”
Jeongin shuts you up with a wave of his hand, a shake of his head.
“Yeah … I really can’t deal with this right now. So … ha … do me a favour? Just … leave me alone. Don’t contact me before the game. I really … I need to keep my scholarship. I can’t be distracted by this right now.”
“But …” you try one more time, and Jeongin snaps.
“Can you at least do that for me? Is that too much to fucking ask?” he yells, his whole body trembling. Seungmin flinches where he’s sitting, and even you take a few steps away from Jeongin, your eyes wide. You nod, jerkily. There are tears running down your cheeks. The sight of them makes Jeongin sick to his stomach.
Jeongin shoves his phone in his pocket, grabs his backpack from the floor, and he leaves. Slams the door shut behind him and takes the steps down two at a time, fuck the risk of tripping. He wishes he would, wishes he would break his ankle or something so he can’t play and lose his scholarship, so he can’t return, has to start over somewhere else, somewhere where he hasn’t lost the only two people who have ever meant anything to him …
He barges into his dorm room. Jisung jumps when he crashes through the door, but as soon as he sees the tears on Jeongin’s face, he’s on his feet, wrapping him into a hug.
Jisung drags him out of bed the next day. He forces him into his hockey uniform, presses a protein bar and a water bottle from their fridge into his hand and walks with him all the way to the hockey field, where he stops, places his hands on Jeongin’s shoulders.
“Okay, I know you don’t want to talk about what happened, but whatever it is, it’s going to be okay, okay? You’ll figure it out,” he says, with all the conviction he can muster in his tiny body, “and now you need to focus on the game. I don’t want to have to find a new roommate who will tolerate all my shit next year.”
Jisung’s attempt at a joke, the lopsided grin on his lips, it makes Jeongin huff out a weak laugh.
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Minho walk onto the field and spot them. When he makes his way over, Jisung starts shaking like a leaf, but to his credit, he doesn’t budge from Jeongin’s side.
“Hi?” Minho asks, his eyebrows raised, scanning over Jeongin’s body like he’s checking for injuries, before he lets his eyes fall on Jisung. Jisung gulps. “You are?”
Jisung blinks rapidly, sticks out his hand halfway, then seems to think better of it and drops it by his side again.
“I-I’m Jisung, I’m Jeongin’s roommate,” he mumbles out, his cheeks a bright shade of pink. Minho watches him for a second, then sighs, sticks out his hand. He’s smiling, barely noticeably, but Jeongin can tell. Incredible. Somehow, Jisung has managed to charm Minho.
“Hi Jisung, I’m Minho.”
“I know,” Jisung whispers, almost too quiet for even Jeongin to hear. He cautiously shakes Minho’s hand, but when he tries to pull it back, Minho doesn’t let him. Jisung’s big eyes shoot up, but Minho just smiles at him, waits until Jisung relaxes and smiles back, before he lets go of his hand.
If Jeongin wasn’t so heartbroken, he would laugh. He can’t believe this is really happening. He wishes he could tell you and Seungmin about it. His heart aches dully.
Jisung next to him seems to remember why he’s here.
“Uh, J-Jeongin’s not feeling well today,” he stammers out. He does his best to look determined, as he pushes Jeongin in front of him by his shoulders like Jisung’s his dad and Jeongin is his sick kid. “So, please go a little easy on him today, okay?”
Jeongin half expects Minho to freak out, to ask if he’s sick, if he can play tomorrow, to ask what the fuck is wrong with him for getting himself sick so close to the game, scream about what he’s meant to do without his best defender – but Minho just grimaces, sighs.
“Don’t worry, I got it from here,” he says, not unkindly, giving Jisung a smile that makes Jisung’s face flush even more, “thanks for bringing him, Jisungie.”
And with that, Minho takes Jeongin by the shoulder, leads him away from a violently blushing Jisung who barely manages to mumble out a “b-bye” and leads him into the field.
“So,” he starts, once they’re out of earshot of Jisung, “do you want to tell me why my brother texted me earlier, asking me to tell him if you showed up to practice?”
Jeongin scoffs out a humourless laugh.
“I really don’t.”
Minho just looks at him. It’s the same look Seungmin gives him when Jeongin refuses to talk about what’s bothering him, one that always feels like they’re x-raying his insides, and he finds himself wishing for your soothing presence to whisk you away from them, stroke his hair until whatever it is bubbles out of him. But you’re not here, and Seungmin isn’t here, only Seungmin’s older brother, staring him down with eyes that remind Jeongin so much of his he has to look away.
“Listen, it’s fine, I’m fine, there’s nothing keeping me from playing tomorrow, so there’s no reason for you to worry, okay?” Jeongin announces. He shakes Minho’s arm off his shoulder, though he regrets it as soon as he does. He seems to keep doing the wrong thing these days. Minho is still looking at him.
“Okay,” he finally says, “but just for the record, I care about you, okay, Jeongin-ah? So even if I don’t worry about the game, I will still worry about you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
Then he cuffs Jeongin in the shoulder, so hard it hurts, and turns on his heels.
“Jisung’s bisexual, by the way,” Jeongin half yells after him, “and very, very single. His major is music, and he loves watching anime and eating sweet things. He gets a little nervous sometimes, but he’s the sweetest guy I’ve ever met. I’ll text you his number.”
Minho doesn’t react, only lifts his hand to flip Jeongin off over his shoulder, but Jeongin can see the tips of his ears turn red. His world may be falling apart, but maybe he can at least do Jisung a favour.
And he doesn’t know what gets him through practice and back to the field the next morning, early, for warm-up. If it’s the burn of his muscles, Minho’s iron will that he transfers onto all of them, or the threat of him losing his scholarship so close to the end of his degree. Or it’s his desperate need to be distracted because whenever he lets himself think too much, his heart starts aching so badly he wants to reach into his ribcage and rip it out.
But he can’t do that, so instead, he puts one foot in front of the other. He stretches, so his muscles don’t tear. He warms up his body so he’s lithe and agile. He slips into his shoes and regrips his stick. He hears when they turn on the music on the field, hears the bleachers slowly fill, hears chattering and shouting and laughing. He watches his teammates, all engaged in some form of pre-game ritual – Minho on his back on a bench, meditating, Chan doing jumping jacks, muttering to himself. Coach comes in and announces that it’s 30 minutes before the games starts.
20 minutes. Jeongin forces down a protein shake, almost throws it back up.
10 minutes. Minho looks at him, asks him if he’s okay and Jeongin brushes him off.
2 minutes. They’re walking onto the field under an overcast sky that threatens rain any minute, and Jeongin doesn’t even bother looking at his opponents’ faces.
1 minute. He scans the bleachers and there you are. You and Seungmin. Dressed in the team colours, cheering, staring right back at him. Jeongin thinks he can’t breathe. He doesn’t look your way again.
10 seconds. He tries to breathe.
The referee blows the whistle.
And God, he does his best. He’s focused, he runs. He tries to stay out of his teammate’s way. He throws himself into his defence with his whole body, ignores the throbbing pain when a ball slams into his thigh. He fights for it, he does.
By the first quarter, it’s 1-1. By the second quarter, they’re behind by 1. By the third quarter, the rain has started, and they’re behind by two. Minho manages to score one last goal in the last quarter, 3 minutes before the end, but it’s not enough. The final whistle blows, and they lost.
He distantly notices his team, most of them dejectedly talking to each other, milling around by the benches or talking to their friends in the audience, but Jeongin can’t move.
And it’s like the safe, dull bubble of adrenaline and focus Jeongin has been submerged in for the last two days pops and reality slams into him with such overwhelming clarity it punches the air out of his chest.
He can hear the opposite team yelling, celebrating, can smell the thick, clean smell of the dirt and grass trampled under his feet, can feel the cold rain as it gets heavier, starts dripping down his forehead, his hair, soaks him to the bone.
They lost. They lost. What is he going to do?! There’s still a chance they will recognise his efforts and give him his scholarship, he only has a year left after all, but the advisor was honest. “There aren’t many scholarships to go around. We have several sports teams, all of which have players worthy of this scholarship. If you don’t win, there are no promises I can make you. I’m sorry.”
He swallows the bile in his throat, but he lets the tears run. Nobody can tell anyway, with the way the rain is now pouring out of the rapidly darkening sky.
He has nowhere to go. How did he lose everything so fast?
There’s no one close enough to hear him when a single sob fights its way out his body. He swallows the rest of his tears, shoves it all down as far as he can, but his chest convulses, nonetheless, the adrenaline wearing off quickly, leaving him fighting to breathe. His ears are ringing so loudly he barely notices when two hands find his face, two others anchor him by the waist.
“Innie,” your voice, cuts through the fog. When he looks up, your face is right in front of his. You’re soaked through, make-up running down your cheeks, hair sticking to your forehead when you let it fall against his.
Jeongin tries to fight it, tries to put distance between you, but he finds himself trapped by Seungmin’s strong hands on his waist, solid, but soothing.
“Baby, it’s going to be okay,” you murmur, and it makes another sob escape him.
Seungmin’s hands tighten on his waist, one arm slipping around his middle to press Jeongin against him, and Jeongin realises that he’s not crying because they lost. No, he’s crying because he’s been in love with his best friends for years and the thought of losing you is worse than any gap year he might have to take, any job he might have to get to keep himself afloat next year. Because deep down, he knows that as long as he had you and Seungmin to come home to, he thinks he would’ve been fine. But he can’t do this on his own.
He doesn’t break down there and then, something in him making him stay strong as long as he’s out here, with half the school watching, but he heaves another dry sob. His head falls to your shoulder, and you shush him quietly, run a hand through his soaking wet hair, before you step back and take his hand.
“Let’s get you home, okay? You need to warm up.”
He hadn’t even realised he was shivering, his uniform clinging to his body like a freezing cold second skin.
Jeongin peels himself off Seungmin, who makes a sound of protest, but Jeongin just waves him off and starts walking in the direction of the exit. From across the way, he catches Minho’s eye. Minho looks concerned, his brows furrowed, but Jeongin waves him off, tries to give him a smile that he knows doesn’t reach his eyes. But Minho nods, points at his phone, mouthes something about calling him tomorrow, before he disappears into the changing rooms with the rest of Jeongin’s team.
You didn’t talk about it, but they’re already halfway to Seungmin’s apartment when Jeongin realises where they’re going. The walk is silent, you and Seungmin trailing behind Jeongin, not daring to take his hand when he just pushed Seung away so roughly. Jeongin tries not to acknowledge how badly he wants to hold your hand, how desperately he aches for your reassuring touches, the warmth of your hands, the solid grip of Seungmin’s. But you just … walk.
When the door of Seungmin’s apartment finally falls shut behind them, when he has shoved off his shoes, dropped his stick, Jeongin doesn’t know what to do. He stops in the hallway, watches as a drop of water drips down from a strand of hair and onto the linoleum like he’s not in his body, just a third party, forced to look through his eyes at the mess he’s made of his life.
“Innie,” you murmur behind him. The sound comes through him as if his ears are stuffed with cotton wool. “C-can I touch you?”
He raises his head, meets your eyes; your big, warm, loving eyes that hold his entire world. He’s shivering again, he realises, his whole body trembling, with cold, with pain, with god knows what. You look so worries. He nods shakily.
You take his hand, lead him through the living room, into Seungmin’s bedroom and into the ensuite. Seungmin is right behind you, a hand hovering over Jeongin’s back, fingertips brushing against his when Jeongin stumbles on a shoe he can’t see because his damn eyes are still blurry with tears.
Once you’re in the bathroom, Seungmin steps around him, and into the shower, turns on the water.
“Let’s get you out of these clothes, okay? You’re freezing,” you hum, and Jeongin just nods. He dimly realises that, somewhere between the field and here, he has stopped resisting – has stopped pretending like this isn’t the only place he will ever find peace. He trusts you, he always has. He fears that that will never change, that he’ll let you do anything, even if it means falling in love with Seungmin and breaking his heart.
So he doesn’t resist when you tug first his jersey, then his undershirt over his head, leaving him bare. He doesn’t try to contain the shiver when you let a palm run over his chest. He feels a hand at his feet, realises it’s Seungmin, lifting his foot to peel his socks off before he gets up and pulls his own soaking wet shirt over his head. Jeongin’s breath catches in his throat, his eyes roaming over all the newly exposed skin, more than he has ever had the privilege of seeing. Miles and miles of silky white skin, dusty brown nipples, a smattering of thin hair over Seungmin’s pecs.
Seungmin steps closer. His deft fingers find the waistband of Jeongin’s gym shorts, hooking into them as he looks Jeongin right in the eyes, and Jeongin almost forgets to breathe.
“Don’t worry, you can keep your underwear on, but you need to get out of these clothes, or you’ll get sick,” Seungmin murmurs gently, and Jeongin just nods, blearily, lets Seungmin shove his shorts down, help him step out of them. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees you shove your jeans down your legs, and Jeongin thinks he might pass out. It’s too much, so much skin, so much of your bodies that he’s been trying not to think about for the last two years …
Seungmin shucks his own jeans and socks off and takes Jeongin’s hand, leads him into the shower, makes sure he doesn’t trip, steps under the hot stream and drags Jeongin against his chest. The sensation of the warm water on his ice cold shoulders makes Jeongin gasp and Seungmin hums, rubs his hand up and down his arm, turns him around until he can wrap his arms around Jeongin’s middle again.
But when he turns, Jeongin comes face to face with you. You, water running down your face, down the column of your throat and then down your body that’s naked except for your underwear and Jeongin can’t help but look. You say his name again, delicately, softly, and he looks up. Meets your eyes. He’s helpless. He’s in love.
Seungmin’s fingers scrape over Jeongin’s abdomen, presses himself closer against Jeongin’s back. You take a step forward, until your chest is pressed against Jeongin’s, and Jeongin’s body sings, but doesn’t dare breathe. He doesn’t dare hope that this is what he thinks it is, that there is a chance …
Your fingers find his face, cradle it into your hands like it’s the most delicate thing in the world, whisper his name, again, like a prayer, and then you’re kissing him. Love shivers through his body like someone electrified his veins.
Your lips are soft. Cold but rapidly warming from the water. Your fingertips trace the shape of his face and Jeongin gasps into the kiss like he forgot how to breathe, his hands helplessly pawing at you, every new inch of skin he has never felt before making his stomach swirl with need. But then Seungmin starts pressing kisses over the span of his shoulders, warm lips dragging over wet skin, fingers still lingering over his stomach, and your tongue presses into his mouth and Jeongin’s mind empties. His eyes roll back into his head.
“Jeongin … Innie …” Seungmin rasps into his skin, voice shot. He presses a featherlight kiss behind his ear before he leans closer, breathes his next words right into Jeongin’s ear. “Baby … you were always meant to be a part of this.”
Jeongin keens into your lips, throws his head back against Seungmin’s shoulder, who wastes no time peppering kisses over Jeongin’s cheeks and jaw, before he gently, controlledly, spins Jeongin around in his arms, your arms replacing Seungmin’s around his middle, your lips Seungmin’s on his shoulders. Seungmin’s hands are more insistent when he grips Jeongin’s face, presses his forehead against his, but Jeongin couldn’t pick a favourite way if he tried. Seungmin dips forward, brushes his lips over Jeongin’s and Jeongin can’t do anything but hold his breath, wait patiently, helplessly, for whatever Seungmin is going to do with him.
“Baby, we love you,” Seungmin murmurs, hoarsely, before kissing Jeongin for real and Jeongin sobs out a moan. One of his hands surges forward, grabs Seungmin by the waist, pulling him flush against him, until he can feel his hard cock rubbing against his, sending sparks of bliss searing through his veins. He has no idea when he got hard, but of course, he has. How could he not. He licks into Seungmin’s hot mouth, reaches his other hand behind, blindly reaches for you, drags you closer, too, until Jeongin can feel nothing but you, you, you. This, right here, is everything he has ever wanted. He knows it now.
If this is a dream, he hopes he never wakes up.
But it’s too real to be a dream, even he knows that, and it only drives him more insane. The hot water cascades down his chest, Seungmin’s fingers dig into his jaw, prying his jaw open to lick into him deeper, to devour him from the inside out, his hips rutting grinding into his subtly, your fuck your now bare tits are pressing against his back, your hand travelling down, scratching your nails down the barely there bumps of his abs, until … until …
Jeongin moans pathetically into Seungmin’s lips when your hand slides between him and Seungmin, wraps around his cock over his boxers, palming him until his breathing is so heavy he can barely kiss Seungmin any more.
When you tug at his hips, pull him, so his back is resting against the tiles, he lets you, Seungmin following, reattaching his lips to Jeongin’s, kissing him like he can’t get enough, something that’s simultaneously so unlike and so much like him, it makes Jeongin smile madly into the kiss.
He’s so distracted he only barely registers his boxers being pulled down, soft fingers digging into his skin, lips pressed to his thighs, travelling up, lingering on the thick, dark blue bruise left by the hockey ball, until something mind-numbingly hot and wet wraps around his cock, and he has to dig his nails into Seungmin’s waist where he’s holding him close to stop himself from coming right then, his whole body shuddering violently with the pleasure that races through him.
Seungmin pulls back with a wicked grin on his slick, swollen lips, smoothes his palm over Jeongin’s shoulder, down his chest, follows Jeongin’s eyes as they travel down and–
Jeongin has to screw his eyes shut, his head thudding back against the shower wall, and take a steadying breath. Seungmin giggles, kisses his jaw, noses down his neck. When Jeongin chances another look down at you, he moans pathetically and nearly cries. You’re smiling at him, somehow, still, even though you’re on your knees – for him, he thinks breathlessly – your pretty, sweet lips wrapped around Jeongin’s cock, fingers holding him by the base, your other hand splayed over his thigh. His hand is shaking when he reaches down, cups your cheek, wipes away a stray tear that escapes the corner of your eye from the stretch.
You blink, and then you swallow him down further, and he can feel it not only in his cock but also the hand holding your face, and it drags moans out of him he never thought he was capable of. Blearily, he brings his free hand to his mouth, trying to quiet himself down, so Seungmin’s neighbours can’t hear, but Seungmin won’t have it. He tugs his hand away, replaces it with his lips.
“Shh,” Seungmin mumbles, “none of that. Let us hear you.”
The words, the domineering rasp in Seungmin’s voice – it’s so fucking hot, Jeongin nearly loses it, his cock throbbing in your mouth.
“I w-won’t last,” he stutters, sucks in a breath and moans again with an extra delicious bob of your head that makes your tongue drag along the underside of his cock just right.
“You don’t have to,” Seungmin murmurs, presses a wet kiss against the corner of Jeongin’s mouth, “we just want to make you feel good.”
He swipes the pad of his thumb over Jeongin’s nipple and Jeongin melts, collapses against Seung’s shoulder, holds onto him for dear life and just takes every ounce of pleasure, lets it burn through him until there’s nothing left except you and Seungmin, right here, in this moment.
It doesn’t take long for him to feel the familiar tug of his orgasm in the pit of his stomach, and it’s like you can tell, because you pull your sinful lips off his cock, climb to your feet with the help of Seungmin’s helping hand, and pull Jeongin into a dizzying kiss. He can taste himself when he licks into your mouth, salt and musk and something else, and he briefly wonders what it would be like to taste Seungmin there.
Seungmin’s hand wraps around his cock, all long fingers and tight grip and jerks him off, hard and fast, just how Jeongin likes it, like he somehow studied Jeongin’s brain and figured it out, and it doesn’t take a minute before Jeongin is coming, spilling hot and thick all over his hand, over the shower wall, legs nearly buckling, desperately gasping out loud moans that you swallow, leaving him heaving out desperate breaths in the aftershocks, his whole body alight with tiny fireworks of pleasure.
When he finds his ability to speak, he tries to speak, to mumble something about you not getting off, but Seungmin kisses his words off his lips, saying something about this being about Jeongin, not them. Seungmin chuckles when Jeongin promises you he’ll let you sit on his face, let Seungmin ride him as hard as he wants the next morning, a sweet rasp to his voice when he murmurs “I’ll hold you to it.”
He doesn’t put up a fight when Seungmin turns him around to shampoo his hair while you carefully wash his body, both of your hands so gentle, so soft on him that it makes tears prick at his eyes, but his exhaustion is too overwhelming, his orgasm having only made the heaviness of his muscles more prominent. You deposit him against the shower wall and he watches, with a lazy grin, as you and Seungmin wash each other, as the simple act of it devolves into hot kisses, then wandering hands, Seungmin’s hand between your legs, his cock in your hand. His own cock kicks valiantly because God, you look better together than he could’ve ever imagined, and the noises Seungmin pulls out of you make all the porn he’s ever watched pale in comparison. You pull Jeongin in for a kiss before you come, allow him to swallow your moans just like you swallowed his as you shake through your high, before Jeongin kisses Seungmin instead, batting his hand away and stroking him until his calm, collected Seungmin comes all over his hand with a choked moan, hips twitching, fucking his – long, beautiful – cock into Jeongin’s hand.
When you’ve both come down, Seungmin presses a soft kiss to Jeongin’s temple, you press one to his lips, and then Seungmin shuts off the shower. You wrap Jeongin in a towel, rub him dry, and everything else is as it always is, this part the same domestic bliss it has always been, except while you brush your teeth you tuck yourself under his free arm, your head resting against Jeongin’s shoulder, and Seung’s foot is hooked around his leg where he’s perched next to the sink.
When he crawls into bed, he lets out a deep guttural groan, one that makes you giggle and Seungmin nudge him with his foot.
“Move over,” he mumbles, and Jeongin throws him a look. Usually Seungmin sleeps in the middle, wedged in between you and Jeongin, feeding on your cuddles in a way he would kill you if you ever told anyone else. When Jeongin doesn’t move, Seungmin digs his fingers into Jeongin’s side, until Jeongin screeches and scoots into the middle of the bed, right into your waiting arms.
You wrap yourself around his back and nuzzle your nose into the hair at the back of his head and hum happily. Jeongin wraps his arm over yours, pulls you closer, relishes in the giggle you breathe into his skin, and watches Seungmin get into bed, turn to him and pull the covers up to his nose. He looks adorable. Jeongin has never been so in love.
He lets the big smile that wants to take over his face, do just that, and the flush that creeps up Seungmin’s ears, the rapid blinking of his big brown eyes – they only make him smile more, until Seungmin is so flustered he huffs and turns around and turns the light off. That makes Jeongin bark out a laugh.
They settle into silence, but Jeongin can’t sleep. His whole body is thrumming with everything, a quiet, gnawing worry in his heart, about what will happen with his scholarship, though the simple knowledge that this, this home he has built with his best friends, isn’t going anywhere, is making him feel like maybe he will be okay. But it’s still all so new, so confusing, yet it feels so right …
You say his name quietly into the darkness, and he turns around.
Seungmin immediately cuddles himself into his back, which makes Jeongin smile.
He can just about make out the contours of your face, the sparkle of your eyes in the dim light.
“I just wanted to … It doesn’t feel right not to acknowledge it,” you mumble, pat around the sheets until you find Jeongin’s hand, lace your fingers with his.
“We never meant to exclude you, I need you to know that. That thing at the party … it just … happened. One second we were giggling and messing around in the jacuzzi and the next we were kissing and it was so sudden and so intense … but then it kept happening and it felt so right, but …” you take a deep breath and Jeongin squeezes your hand. Seungmin’s hand slips under Jeongin’s shirt, fingers caressing the skin of his stomach, “we didn’t know how to bring it up and you were so stressed about the game and,” you chuckle sadly, “and we were scared you wouldn’t feel the same, or think we were weird and then what … we’d have to figure out how to do this without you. Maybe we’d lose you altogether.”
Jeongin sighs, lets his hand trail you up your wrist, your arm, until he traces it over the soft swell of your cheek, relishes in the way you lean into his touch.
“I thought I was losing you,” he mumbles, and you sigh, press closer, until your breath is on his lips and his heart is in his throat.
“Never, Innie, never.”
You press a kiss to his lips, and before you can go back in for more, he realises he never said it back. The thing that he has known all these years, but never allowed himself to acknowledge.
“I love you, too,” he rasps out, and you freeze in front of him, where you were just going to kiss him again, “b-both of you. I think I’ve been in love with you since the day we met. I thought you could never feel the same.”
You laugh, light as air, right into his lips, and suddenly Seungmin is hovering over him, staring down at him incredulously.
“Why didn’t you say anything?!” he asks, and to his credit, he sounds almost angry, “you dumb boy, why didn’t you say anything?!”
Jeongin stares up at him, only manages to shrug helplessly.
“We … were flirting with each other. With you. I felt it then, Y/Nie did, too. But you …” Seungmin takes a steadying breath, “you didn’t respond. You were all standoff-ish, recoiled when we touched you. So we didn’t … so we … fuck, Jeongin …”
Giddiness fizzes through Jeongin’s veins so fast it makes him lightheaded.
He pulls Seungmin down, slams his lips against his, before he flips him over kisses him into the pillows until he’s panting, before dragging you closer to kiss you, too.
He’s in love with his best friends. They love him back.
He gets the email about his scholarship two weeks later, at the dinner turned frat party Chan’s frat hosts for the hockey team and their friends.
He wasn’t even going to read it then, but he knows he won’t be able to relax if he doesn’t. He nudges your leg with his toe and you turn immediately. He turns his phone, you read the title of the email and your eyes widen. You nudge Seungmin and mumble it to him and he stares at Jeongin with big eyes, motions for him to read it. So Jeongin does.
“Dear Mr Yang, after having seen your dedication to the field hockey team of blablabla … oh my god,” his breath stutters. Both you and Seungmin and also Felix, who is sitting a few feet away, next to Chan turn their head to him.
“What?! What is it?”
Jeongin looks up and grins.
“We are pleased to count you as one of our scholarship recipients for the next academic year!”
You squeal, scramble up, fling yourself into Jeongin’s arms, nearly knocking him off his chair in your enthusiasm. Felix squeals, too, claps his hands happily and Chan hollers the news into the room until Jeongin is surrounded by his team, though his hand is solidly caught in yours.
Seungmin somehow finds his other side, his hand slithering up Jeongin’s spine and making itself at home at the back of his head, before he tugs Jeongin in to kiss his temple. He doesn’t kiss him in public. Something about it being too personal, just for them. It makes Jeongin’s heart skip a beat.
“I knew they would see just how much you do for the team,”
Seungmin mumbles, and Jeongin beams.
He has his scholarship. He’ll be able to graduate. Summer is about to start and he will spend it on a roadtrip to the coast with his two best friends, who he is also allowed to snuggle and kiss and who love him more than he knows. His whole body is fizzing with happiness.
“Where’s Minho?” he asks into the room and Chan looks around, then shrugs.
“Kitchen, probably.”
Jeongin extricates himself from the group, makes his way to the kitchen.
“Minho! Guess what! You won’t have to find a new defender next– oops“
Whatever Jeongin expected to see when he pushes the door to the kitchen open, it’s not this.
Minho is … kissing Jisung. Scratch that, he’s making out with Jisung, who is perched on the kitchen counter in tight jeans, his legs possessively wrapped around Minho’s waist, Minho’s hands somewhere under Jisung’s cute little cropped sweater. Jeongin swears there is eyeliner smudged around Jisung’s eyelids.
When Minho pulls away, he does so with a sigh. He wipes his mouth nonchalantly, but his ears are burning, and he blinks at Jeongin almost nervously.
Jeongin laughs. He can’t help it. He looks at Jisung and he looks so happy, sitting pretty with Minho between his legs.
“You don’t have to find a new defender. I got my scholarship extended for next year,” Jeongin announces with a grin. Minho’s mouth falls open, and then he takes two big steps towards him and pulls Jeongin into a bear hug. Jisung squeals, jumps off the counter and throws his arms around them both.
“Yay, congrats, Innie!” he yells.
Minho peels himself off Jeongin and Jeongin laughs, reaches out to ruffle Jisung’s hair.
“You’re just happy you don’t have to find a new roommate.”
Jisung scoffs, cuffs Jeongin in the arm.
“Not like you’re ever home anyways.”
And Jeongin can’t argue with that.
Jisung mutters something about celebrating, skips out of the kitchen in the search of a keg or something bubbly to drink, leaving Minho and Jeongin alone.
“Congrats, Jeonginnie,” Minho says, pats Jeongin’s shoulder again.
“Thanks, Dad,” Jeongin grins, and Minho rolls his eyes. There’s a brief moment of silence.
“So, …” Jeongin starts, “you and Jisung, huh.”
Minho huffs out a laugh, turns around, busies himself throwing away a stack of paper plates from dinner. His ears turn red again, and he avoids Jeongin’s eyes. Lee Minho is flustered. Jeongin never thought he’d see the day. Jeongin gives him a stern look, crosses his arms over his chest.
“I hope your intentions for him are good,” he intones in a fake, fatherly baritone.
Minho groans, throws a balled up paper towel in his direction. It doesn’t even reach Jeongin.
“No, but seriously, are you serious about him? Because I don’t know what he told you, but I can guarantee you, Han Jisung is not one for casual.”
Minho turns back to Jeongin, crosses his arms over his chest.
“Well, I don’t know if you know this, but neither am I. So, yes, I’m serious about him. I like him a lot,” he sighs, but he’s smirking, “him and his big brown eyes and his decently sized dick and his loser rizz.”
Jeongin breaks out into a full belly laugh.
“Oh my god, I can't believe told you about that.”
Minho grins.
“And just for the record, his dick is more than just decently sized,” he smirks, waggling his eyebrows at Jeongin and Jeongin fakes a gag.
“Gross, didn’t need to know that,” he shudders.
He hears Jisung yell something from the cellar, then Chan answering and his heavy footfall down the steps. Jisung must have found something worth lugging into the living room.
“Hey, aren’t you meant to be the one giving me the shovel talk? Since I’m dating your brother and all?” Jeongin suddenly asks, and Minho scoffs, but there’s no bite to it.
“I hate to break it to you, but you, Y/N and Seung have been dating in every sense except for the name since the day I met you. Plus, you’ve always been disgustingly gone for each other.”
Jeongin can’t help the blush that creeps up his neck.
“Also, which of you is going to break up, hm? I’m pretty sure none of you could live without each other at this point.”
Hearing Minho talk about them like that makes giddy love bubble up in Jeongin’s chest. And he’s probably grinning like a maniac, if Minho’s amused laugh is anything to judge by.
“See? Case in point,” he announces. Somewhere in the living room there’s a thud, then loud cheering. Minho grabs a stack of solo cups from a cupboard and makes for the door.
“Now let’s get back out there before they start celebrating without you.”
skzms masterlist // ko-fi
star dividers just for me by the lovely @lunarvue - thank you, my love!!
GENERAL TAGLIST OPEN 🔖
(please be 18+ and have your age in your bio, otherwise I won't add you)
｡𖦹°‧ better off as lovers, not the other way around
seo changbin x f!reader x hwang hyunjin
summary: Changbin is in love with his two best friends. When he introduces you and Hyunjin to each other and Hyunjin ends up asking you out, Changbin has to finally confront the feelings he's been ignoring for 7 years. it doesn't go so well.
word count: 24.9k words
author's note: ♫ racing through the city, windows down, in the back of yellow checkered caaars ♫ bonus points to whoever notices my song reference hehe anyways HI! I've been really liking writing longer form, more serious stuff, and this is my first foray into the question of "what if they didn't slip so easily into polyamory"? I like how it turned out. It's pretty sad, but I promise, there's a happy ending on the horizon
big thank you to @hyunjins-dimples for being my voice of reason and giving me feedback when I was losing my mind kjsadhjsh I adore you
warnings: angst with a happy ending!; unprotected sex; mxm action; friends to lovers; mentions of panic, could be categorised as panic attacks, but aren't written as such; no cheating but kissing someone even though they're casually seeing someone else; implied bottom/switch!changbin; a tiny bit of internalised homophobia
skzms masterlist // ko-fi
Changbin thinks he might be the stupidest motherfucker alive.
He doesn’t usually think that way about himself, no. If you asked him on a normal, he’d probably say he’s pretty smart. A good dancer, good singer, even better rapper. Well-adjusted. Always willing to go the extra mile. A good support system for his members. A decent person.
And in his defence, how should he have known.
How should he have known that the dumbest thing he could ever do is introduce his two best friends to one another?
Chan would tell him to cut it out, to not talk about himself like that, but Chan isn’t here. He isn’t here because this is so bad that he hasn’t even told Chan about it – and he tells Chan everything.
What would he even say? “Chan! You know Y/N, my best friend from when we were trainees? I invited her out to bowling and galbi with me and Hyunjin two weeks ago. Yeah, isn’t that nice? Why am I bringing it up, you ask, did something go wrong, did they hate each other? Ha! No, actually! The fucking opposite! They met and there were sparks fucking flying everywhere! There was blushing and lingering glances, they got along like a house on fire. They even exchanged numbers at the end! Holy fuck!”
No, he couldn’t say that, because then Chan would ask why that’s a problem and Changbin would have to tell him that he’s been in love with his best friend ever since the day you walked out of JYP Entertainment with your head held high to pursue your own, independent music career at a company that actually valued you – and how he never stopped being in stupid, pathetic puppy love with you. He would have to tell Chan that it was because of that stupid, pathetic puppy love that he sometimes dropped everything and abandoned Chan to his own devices. Because he couldn’t resist sinking into the couch in your warm, cozy apartment, far away from the rest of the world, your cute little socked feet pressing into his thighs, and sometimes when he's lucky, your bare, cold feet digging into his thighs seeking warmth, the TV on some random drama, sipping ciders and snacking on things and talking about everything and nothing until the early hours of the night.
If Changbin was lucky, that would be all that was needed to explain it to Chan, but Chan had always known him too well. He would be his usual, annoyingly perceptive self, and ask what else it was, force Changbin to spill his fucking guts until there was nothing left. And then, boy then he would have to look his leader in the face and admit that for all these years, every single time he flirted with Hyunjin ‘for the camera’, it wasn’t for the camera at all. It was actually a chance for him to be really selfish, to vent some of his very much not platonic, probably gay (bisexual?) feelings for his member, feelings that have been haunting him for the better part of two years.
And then, if Chan wasn’t distracted by the fact that Changbin just basically came out to him, would probably ask “both?” and Changbin would nod and Chan would ask something along the lines of “but what if one of them likes you back? Then what about your feelings for the others?” and Changbin would probably either run out or just start crying. Because he doesn’t know.
But ironically, it seems that neither will be an issue because he’s here, sitting across from you in your company’s cafeteria, willing his heart to start beating again.
“You … what?” he asks, dumbly.
“Hyunjin and I have been texting,” you repeat, seemingly nonchalant, but you’re not looking at him. He knows you well enough to know that this is you being nervous.
“Okay …” Changbin hears himself say, but even he can hear the trepidation in his voice.
“At first it was just about that portable watercolour set he talked about, and then we just kinda … kept talking. It’s nothing crazy, I just … thought I’d tell you, you know. Since he’s your friend.”
“Best friend,” Changbin mumbles, and you lift your head from the straw of your Americano that you’ve been jiggling around the ice in the cup with for the last five minutes. If it had been anyone else, Changbin would’ve told you to cut it out within 20 seconds. But you’re you.
You blink at him, laugh awkwardly.
“I thought that was me,” you joke. Changbin doesn’t laugh. You stare back at your coffee. Swirl the straw around the ice.
“He asked me to go to this art exhibit with him this weekend.”
Oh, good. You have common interests.
Changbin tries to will the bitterness away, but it only settles deeper into his chest with every one of your words.
“Apparently it’s this design exhibition, he said it would really match my vibe.”
Changbin cringes. The bitterness in his voice is really fucking obvious.
“Does it?” you ask, eyeing him across the table, something unreadable in your face. He feels like you’re staring right into his soul.
“Didn’t think that was your kinda thing.”
Anything would be my thing if I was with you. Or if he asked me to go. Goddammit.
He shrugs.
“Maybe not, but it sounds like something you two would enjoy.”
Why the fuck would you say that, Seo Changbin.
You eye him suspiciously before you pick up your iced coffee again.
“I think so, too. And to be honest, I’d love to spend some more time with him, we really hit it off the other day.”
Changbin forces a smile onto his face.
“You did.”
It’s not a question, just a … confirmation? Changbin has long lost any idea of what he’s trying to do.
You swirl the ice around in your cup in silence for so long, Changbin nearly reaches out and rips the cup out of your hand, but then you say something that pulls the floor right out from under his feet.
“And I mean he’s obviously stupidly attractive …”
Changbin swears his eye twitches.
“He’s alright.”
Your head snaps up, eyebrows shooting up to your hairline. There’s an obnoxiously smug grin on your face.
“Sorry? You’re literally always gushing about him. Flirting with him for the fans. You’re like his biggest fan. President of the Hwang Hyunjin fan club. Ready to drop to your knees to ask for his hand in–“
“Alright, I get it!” Changbin interrupts you, too fast, too loud. Some people in the cafeteria turn to look his way, disapproval written all over their faces.
You don’t care about them. You’re just sitting opposite him, giggling.
“So, do you think that’s what this is? That he’s asking you on a date?” Changbin asks, tries his best to keep his voice down.
You shrug, seemingly nonchalantly, but there is a dusting of a blush on your cheeks. It suits you so well. The fact that it’s for Hwang Hyunjin makes Changbin want to do something drastic.
“I don’t know. I’ll just see how it goes. Go in with no expectations. But if it ends up being one … I wouldn’t complain.”
Changbin swallows down a hysterical scream.
A few beats of awkward silence stretch between you before you get up, and nearly knock your coffee over in the process. Changbin’s hand shoots out on instinct, but you manage to catch it just in time, your hands meeting on the cold, wet plastic. You stay suspended, in that moment, for a second before you shake it off.
“I gotta go back to work, they’re probably waiting for me in the studio.”
Changbin rises. His body feels two sizes too large, his brain a foggy mess.
“We still on for tonight?” he asks. Movie night. At his dorm. He doesn’t know if he wants you to say yes, so he can see you again because, god, it’s the highlight of his fucking week, or no, because he doesn’t know how he can sit next two you for several hours while Hyunjin’s contact is in your phone, and you’re probably flirting with him and sending him winky faces and hearts and those witty little innuendos you’re so good at and–
“Yeah, for sure. I really wanna see that movie, and I really wanna see if it works, to point your projector at the ceiling. It sounds magical.”
Changbin smiles, somehow. Walks with you to the exit of the cafeteria. Folds you into a hug that makes his heart sing in his chest, breathing in your smell from your hair, feeling your fingers dig into the meat of his shoulders. The phantom of it accompanies him past the front desk, all the way out into the street and down the few blocks he has to walk back to JYPE.
When he walks into the studio, Jisung is asleep on the couch, wrapped in his big puffer jacket, snoring quietly. Chan swivels around to him, takes one look at him and furrows his brows.
“How’s Y/N? Is everything okay?”
I love her, Chan. I love her, and she’s going on a date with Hyunjin.
“She’s fine. Going to the museum with Hyunjin this weekend.”
Chan freezes, blinks at him once, twice.
“Uhh … she is?”
Changbin drops into the chair next to Chan, busies himself studying the waveforms of the song Chan has pulled up. He makes a casual sound.
“Like … like a date?”
Changbin wants to scream. He swallows it. Shrugs. Pretends he doesn’t care.
But Chan’s confused, concerned gaze keeps returning to him, boring into the side of Changbin’s head until Changbin can’t stand it any more.
“So, did you figure out the pre-chorus?” he asks, a little more forcefully than he has to, but Chan gets the memo. He only sighs before he turns to the computer and shows him what he worked on.
But his brain doesn’t allow him any such mercy. Every time he gets distracted for a few minutes, gets lost in figuring out how to make a line of his rap flow better, or finds the perfect little percussion to add to a track, it only takes a few minutes, like clockwork, before the thoughts come back.
Falling in love with you had been as easy as breathing.
He didn’t plan on it, god no, if anything, he didn’t want to fall in love with you. Or anyone for that matter. He just joined the company, too young, ripped from anything and anyone he’s ever known on a mad chase for some bigger dream that he didn’t know if he would ever achieve. He met you a week in, and you immediately clicked. Not in a way that made sparks fly or his heart race, no, quite the opposite. You just slotted yourself into his life like you were always meant to be there. Like there had always been a hole where you belonged until you filled it.
He didn’t know anyone, and you weren’t the most outgoing, so it was easy for you to seek each other out during breaks, during mixed dance practice, after gruelling days of evaluations to eat chicken in secret and cry about how fucking cruel everything was until you somehow managed to laugh again.
And even as the months went on and you both settled in, found your footing in this new world you were dropped into, and found more friends among the other trainees, nobody ever could come between you. Like you found each other and mutually decided to never let go again.
He didn’t fall in love with you right then, neither could he blame anything on the hormones because the two of you never went there. And it’s not like you were the only girl around, far from it. And trainees were hooking up left and right. Even he got roped into a one-night stand here and there and one very messy love triangle situation at some point, but you never went there with each other. When you hooked up with Chan at the company party one year, right after the latter joined, Changbin chalked up his discomfort to the fact that he and Chan and Jisung were starting to make music together, and he didn’t want any potential drama between you and Chan to get in the way of that.
As things for Changbin started going better and better, as him, Chan and Jisung really found their footing as 3Racha, making music and gaining so much respect from the other trainees and from all the managers and teachers, everything started falling apart for you. You were overlooked for several groups, dismissed for your talents. And Changbin tried to be there for you, but you must’ve felt it, too. The distance between where you were and where he was, where you wanted to be, grew too big. So before long, you stopped confiding in him. Stopped letting him see your tears, only the remnants of them in your bloodshot eyes the next morning. And he felt awful about it.
But then you did the unthinkable. Something he’d never seen anyone do. You walked out.
And it wasn’t just that you quit, no, you went out with a bang. A screaming match in a meeting room right down the hall from the dance practice room where everyone was gathered for evaluations, then a slam of the door and you, stalking down the hallway, with your head held high.
Changbin followed you, watched stupidly as you raged, emptied your locker, stuffed everything into a big plastic bag. He didn’t even say goodbye, frozen in place, suddenly hyper aware of two things.
One, his best friend was leaving, leaving him behind in the lion’s den, and he had no idea how he would manage it all on his own. The thought of not being with you made him sick to his stomach. He wanted to be with you, always, in every single way.
Because, and that was the second thing he realised as he watched you walk away from him, he was in love with you.
He didn’t hear from you for three weeks, three weeks he spent distracted and irritable and so, so sad and experiencing what Chan had to tell him was a broken heart. How should he have known?! He had never been in love before.
He was still reeling when he met Hyunjin. Gorgeous, tall, ethereal Hyunjin, who danced like his body was made for it, who had the cutest, dimpled smile that lit up Changbin’s whole body with fireworks when he aimed it at him.
And Changbin suddenly had to deal with the knowledge that he might be bisexual.
You texted him for the first time a month and a half after you walked out. You apologised for disappearing on him, citing your own bitterness, how you couldn’t face him while his life was so clearly headed for the stars and yours was so uncertain. But there was something else in your voice, too. You told him you were with a new company now, and if he wanted to hang out. Like old times. You phrased it like a question.
You met at your favourite sushi restaurant, not far from JYPE. You told him about your new company, about their plans for your solo career. And Changbin told you about Hyunjin. He didn’t say that he was in love with him in so many words, but in retrospect, he always knew that you knew. And, of course, you accepted him. And just like that, you were friends again.
Changbin figured he would grow out of his crush on Hyunjin, out of his unrequited love for his best friend, but that day never came. And slowly, Changbin accepted that this was just how things were going to be. At least until his worlds collided, and he introduced you to each other.
He carries his bitter thoughts around with him, hiding them, as best as he can, all day. Through work, dinner with Chan and Jisung in the studio. Through a quick gym session and into the shower, where he stays for way too long, letting the boiling water scorch his skin until it’s red.
Maybe it’s not a date! With the way you were stealing glances at Hyunjin? The way Hyunjin always served you first? Asked you so many questions about your career? Got excited when you said you liked art?? Two beautiful, single people with common interests don’t meet and stay friends. Not when they’re Y/N Y/L/N and Hwang Hyunjin.
Maybe it’s not so bad! But it is. What is he going to do? Will he have to go to your wedding? Organise your stag do? Can he be trusted not to turn into the worst kind of person and get horrendously drunk and try to kiss you before it’s too late? Will he even be friends with you still when your wedding day comes? Maybe he manages to fuck it all up way before then.
Maybe it won’t work out between them! That’s not any better. The thought of his two best friends heartbroken about each other, avoiding each other when they inevitably have to meet again … Having a lapful of either of them, upset about someone else? God, no. And it’s not like it changes anything about the fact that Changbin is hopelessly in love with you both. Though the status quo, him, pining secretly, quietly, seems likely to be the best thing he’s ever going to get.
No, it won’t do. He’s stuck. He’s stuck and doomed to sit here, with his hands tied, to watch whatever it is that’s happening between you and Hyunjin unfold, from the sidelines. It makes his skin itch.
By the time you text him that you’re outside, asking him to buzz you in, he actually considers making something up about not feeling well, about being held back at the company, anything … But he’s always been weak for you. So he lets you in.
The moment you turn the corner of the hall and see him, a wide smile lights up your face and Changbin can’t help it, his whole body relaxes a little, the warmth of your presence melting some of the pressure of his shoulders. And then you skip the last few steps to make it to him and fling yourself into his hug, and he holds you tight and thinks that maybe this is enough. Maybe he’ll be alright as long as he can have this.
It’s casual, familiar, the way he invites you in without a word, the way you know where to put your shoes, where to pull out the guest house slippers, and immediately pick the pink ones you always use. For a brief moment, Changbin wonders if a few months down the line you will be doing all of this when you visit Hyunjin. If it will be him, then, watching you go through these motions, before he gets to lead you to his room and kiss you and touch you however he wants to and know he can have you for the rest of his life.
“Where is everyone?” you ask as you walk into the kitchen, set down the convenience store bag Changbin hadn’t even noticed was dangling off your wrist.
Changbin shrugs.
“Chan and Jisung are still at the studio, and probably will be for a while. They looked like they were getting into one of their zones when I left.”
You give him an adorable, playful smile.
“Aw, you skipped out on one of your intense 3racha studio nights for me? Why do I actually feel flattered?”
Changbin forces a smile. Silly you, I would do anything for you. He shrugs.
“Wasn’t feeling it today. Plus, I wanted to hit the gym.”
You nod absentmindedly, stare at the convenience store bag for a second, before you speak again.
“… and Hyunjin?” you ask without looking at him. Daggers. A hundred daggers to his chest. He clears his throat, tries to sound as casual as he possibly can.
“Honestly, no idea where he is, I haven’t seen him since I got home, so I guess he’s out somewhere.”
You hum, nod, then busy yourself with rooting around the bag.
“So I got us a bunch of savoury snacks, since I know you like those better,” you say, your voice back to being upbeat. Changbin does his best to catch up with his heart still aching. “But I also got some sweet ones.”
You lift up some Chocosongi with a smile and Changbin forces a smile back.
It hurts, how simple it all is. How easily you slip into habit. How normal it feels for him to hand you a pair of his sweatpants to change into in the bathroom, to unpack the snacks while you’re changing, dig up the projector from the bottom of his backpack, pile up the pillows on his bed until they are at the perfect fluffiness. How sweet you look when you skip back into the room and collapse on his bed, on your dedicated side, curling up on your side, pretending to go to sleep, with a devastating little fake snore, because “your bed is way too cozy, Bin.”
It hurts, but he smiles, because how could he not. He plays along, exclaims a soft “Yah! you wanted to see this movie!” and turns off some of the lights until the whole room is bathed only in the soft warm glow of the lamp on his bedside table, ignores the ache and settles in next to you.
He remains on his back as he fiddles with the projector, and once he’s got it on and connected to his phone, he sets it on the sheets between you, and you squeal with pure delight. It looks great, even he has to admit, the size of the movie just right, the colours vivid but soft against the white of his ceiling, the warm glow of light in his room making it look nothing short of magical.
Changbin wishes he could turn and see it reflected in your face, your eyes probably sparkling with it, but he doesn’t trust himself not to break down crying or say something he might regret. So instead, he just clicks up the volume another notch, takes the opened bag of chips you offer him, and settles back.
He hadn’t realised just how exhausted he was, but lying here, the pillows, the duvet, so soft and inviting underneath him, your warm body next to him, calmly rising and falling with every breath, not really touching much, but still comfortingly there, your socked foot pressed against his calf, the back of your hand resting against his shoulder where it’s curled under your cheek, brushing against him every time you reach for one of the little chocolate mushrooms … the exhaustion sinks into his bones and makes him melt into it. The movie, its music and dialogue coming through the speaker of his phone between you, the taste of the salty snacks on his tongue, your soft voice when you give your commentary on something that’s happening. How the sheets rustle when you move to reach for another little chocolate mushroom. He can smell you, your perfume like a soothing balm on his nerves, and he wishes he could freeze time and just stay here, with you, like this, forever.
He’s almost dozing off when you mumble something and Changbin turns his head to you without thinking and suddenly, you’re face to face on his pillow, your nose only a bare few centimetres from his. Changbin is suddenly wide awake and he holds his breath.
And you … do, too. You suck in a breath, eyes wide, blinking rapidly, gaze dipping down to his lips. There’s so much softness in it, softness that Changbin never thought he would get to see directed at him. That and … fear?
“Bin,” you mumble, absentminded, like you’re just saying his name to see what it will taste like. Your warm breath, sweet and chocolatey, fans against his lips, and he watches, frozen, entirely helpless, as you carefully tip your face forwards and press your lips to his.
Any thought he could’ve had evaporates the moment you kiss him. His eyes flutter shut readily, and he gasps into your lips in a way he’s sure he would be embarrassed by, if he had his wits about him.
It’s a soft kiss, just a touch of your lips to his, then another even lighter one. Only when you hesitate, make as if to pull back, he realises he didn’t kiss you back. His hand shoots out, cradles around the soft expanse of your cheek, your jaw, and he pulls you back in because if this is all he’s ever allowed to have, he needs you to at least feel how much he wants you.
And he kisses you now. Properly. Presses his lips against yours firmly, but gently, tasting every ridge of them, greedily breathing in the dizzying scent of your skin where his nose is pressed into the soft skin of your cheek.
It’s like every single one of his daydreams, but better. Because when your lips open up for him, you taste real, the chocolate on yours mixing with the salt on his own tongue to create an intoxicating balance and underneath it all, he can taste something he knows, is undeniably the taste of you.
This time, neither of you pull back. It’s like the floodgates have opened and Changbin’s desire has finally been unleashed and there’s no stopping it now. Pandora’s box is open, and it’s all right there. Halfheartedly, he tries to keep his hope locked away, but his desire is free, trembles through him with every swipe of your tongue until you’re panting, gasping into each other’s lips with every wet slide of your mouths.
Changbin’s tongue is hungry, but his shaking hands hover helplessly, one still cradled around the side of your face, the other resting on his own stomach, itching to reach out but … he’s not sure how much he’s allowed. He doesn’t want to overstep, to make you uncomfortable, but then, as if you can read his mind, you scoot closer, so eagerly you knock over the projectors, fist your hand into the material of his t-shirt at his waist to pull him closer and Changbin’s entire brain short-circuits. He needs more.
Parting his lips from yours is a superhuman feat, but he does so, only enough to be able to blearily reach between you and get the damn projector and his phone out of the way, locking his phone, shutting off the movie in the process, and blindly shoving both it and the projector onto his nightstand. His phone thuds onto the carpet, but he doesn’t care, because you’re pouncing on him again as soon he turns back, pulling him against you with greedy hands until he can feel every inch of your warm body pressed against his, every arch of your back, slide of your foot against his calf.
In the silence of the room, without the movie playing in the background, Changbin can hear the slick slide of your tongues, every single hitch of your breath and all of it is so much, entirely too much almost in a way that is addicting.
And he doesn’t know if he’s crazy, but somehow, you’re still here, kissing him, trying to press even closer, as if it was possible, making the prettiest sound into Changbin’s mouth, until you throw your leg over his hips and grind forward and Changbin moans, pathetically.
He’s hard. Embarrassingly so. Pulsing and aching, probably leaking into his underwear, and you seem to like it, because you grind (what Changbin can hardly think about without losing his damn mind) your clothed pussy down harder and moan right back.
You want this.
The thought drowns him, and he finally stops resisting, flips himself until he’s almost on top of you, dragging his palm down until he can grab your ass and grind you over his cock and oh, fuck.
You whimper, your mouth momentarily going slack against his, allowing him to suck your bottom lip between his own, drawing another perfect little mewl from you. Your hips twitch, make an aborted little move, chasing the friction of Changbin’s body, and he doesn’t have to be told twice. He ruts forward, uses his strength to grind you to meet him over and over again, and it feels so good, makes pleasure pool in Changbin’s abdomen at an alarming rate, his mind going fuzzy with the chase of his orgasm.
But before he loses himself, in a moment of lucidity, that he has no idea where it came from, he pulls back.
Which he almost immediately regrets, because you’re staring up at him, chest heaving, face flushed and dewy, lips shiny and swollen, your gaze so glassy and filled with so much trust, it makes reality crash over him.
“Y/Nie … baby …” he mumbles, and you must’ve heard something in his voice because panic flashes over your face, and you shake your head.
“N-no, Binnie, please,” you whisper, shaky hands reaching out, trying to pull him in again, “I need you.”
Changbin doesn’t know how he resists the gentle demands of your fingertips, how he pulls away another few inches before you make a sound that is so heartbreaking it keeps him frozen in place.
“Y/Nie I can’t …” he starts, but words fail him. What was he going to say? Tell you not to go out with Hyunjin? Tell you he loved him? That he loved you? Tell you, right here, right now? You deserved better than that.
You blink, blink again, and suddenly water is gathering at your lash line.
“It’s okay, Binnie, it doesn’t have to mean anything,” you beg, and the words feel like a slap in the face. “Just … just please, kiss me, touch me, fuck me. I need you. Please. Just … just this once, we can never talk about it again.”
Changbin should walk away. He knows it. He should get up, put some distance between you, save himself a lot of heartache and you the embarrassment of having to break your best friend’s heart.
But …
But this might be your last chance a selfish, petty part of him pipes up.
He doesn’t know how he is going to live with just this one time. How he’ll go for the rest of his days knowing what your body tastes like without ever getting to have it again, but he’ll learn. It can’t be worse than the heartache of never knowing.
When he dips back down, presses his lips against yours, you sigh in relief.
Your hands are everywhere – buried in his hair, running down his arms, tugging at the waistband of his sweats, slipping under his hoodie, colder fingers against heated skin, eagerly trying to feel more and more of him until you seemingly have enough. Your fingers tighten in his hair, and you pull, and the sting of it sends a shiver down his spine.
With a surprising amount of strength (though not enough to move him, was he not so ridiculously down bad and pliant for you) you push at him until his back hits the mattress. You swing your leg over his hips and, with a single-minded determination in your eyes, sit yourself right on his cock, making him gasp out your name, before you shove your fingers back under his shirt, rucking it up until he half sits up and lets you pull it off him.
And yeah, he feels exposed like this. Shirtless, underneath you, at your mercy, pressed against the sheets, his belly probably a little softer than usual because he’s been bulking.
But the way you stare at him, rake your eyes over his torso, the way your fingertips trace his skin, the way you bite your lip when goosebumps follow in their wake – he forgets to be self-conscious. Because, yes, you want him, and you’re not holding back an ounce of your admiration, but also, it’s you. He’s never felt as safe with anyone as he has felt with you.
You lean down and kiss him, a lot sweeter now, though still demanding, your palms smoothing over his pecs, up to his shoulder, over his bare arms, like you’re trying to feel every inch of his exposed skin. It makes him feel dizzy.
You pull back and stare at him, breathing heavily, your sparkling eyes so close to his that the barely contained I love you nearly slips past his lips.
“C-can I suck you off?” you whisper, and Changbin briefly wonders if he’s going to survive this.
He lets a tentative hand travel up your arm until he can smooth your hair out of your face. You blink, lean into his touch, and your breath hitches. He burns.
You’re still staring at him, waiting for the answer to your question, and he breathes out a shaky laugh. Instead of answering, he, as carefully as he can, flips you back underneath him. But now the way you’re staring up at him is even worse for his heart.
“I’m going to bust so fast if you do that,” he confesses and watches you giggle, “maybe next time.”
Next time?
He wants to slap himself.
You blink at him, something unreadable in your eyes, and then you nod.
“Next time,” you whisper, sadly, wrap your hand around his neck and pull him down. It’s the sweetest kiss yet, something in it that Changbin can’t place, that makes his heart thud heavily in his chest.
One of your legs wraps around his waist and pulls him down, his cock grinding down right where you need it, and it makes a heavy moan rumble out from deep in your chest. The kiss turns heavier and wetter until Changbin has to come up for air. He keeps his eyes closed, presses wet kisses down your cheek, your jaw, until he hits the neckline of your shirt.
He pulls back, forces himself to breathe, to slow down, to look into your eyes even though it hurts.
“Do you want this? We can stop …” he mumbles. He’s ready — ready to accept this is all he gets, ready to ignore his heart burning a hole in his chest with the inhuman need to slip you out of these clothes and worship every inch of your body. But one word from you, a single shred of doubt in your eyes, and he would stop.
But you shake your head, your face so vulnerable it makes him want to wrap you up in his arms and keep you safe, here, for the rest of your life.
“I want this, I really do,” you whisper, and then, brokenly, you make Changbin’s world spin out of control. “I’ve wanted you for a long time.”
The words hurt like a knife, because he knows you don’t mean them the way he does.
He doesn’t respond, instead kisses you again, tries to drown everything he can’t say in the rapture that is your lips. He lets his hand wander over the legs he’s been dreaming about, legs wrapped in his sweatpants, wrapped around his hips. He slides his palms up, until he can slip it underneath your shirt and ruck it up and off and tries his best not to lose his head when you’re bared to him and then again when he unclips your bra, mercifully with little to no fumbling, and your nipples and soft skin of your tits and your belly are pressed against his own.
You sigh into him, fingernails digging into his bicep so hard he shudders. He hopes it will leave a mark.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” he whispers. He keeps his eyes closed, unable to face the effect his words may have.
“Touch me, Binnie,” you whisper back, and he shudders again. The way you say his name makes his body thrum with need.
“I will,” he finds himself mumbling, pressing a wet kiss to your jaw, “I will, angel, I’ll make you feel good.”
And with no further hesitation he sits up, places his shaking hands on your hips, thumbs smoothing over the skin right over your waistband.
He’s thought about this a lot, he’s ashamed to admit, but nothing comes close to you right in front of him because — you’re perfect. More perfect than he could have ever imagined, because now he can see all the little birthmarks, all the tiny scars and the light lines of stretch marks, and he tries to drink it all in, tries to catalogue every single thing so he can conjure them up in all his worst fantasies for the rest of his life.
But maybe he took a little bit too long because you’re saying his name again, in that small, vulnerable voice and every single inch of his body is consumed with the need to please you.
So he pulls at your waistband, slowly pulls it down, leaning in until he can press his lips against the skin of your tits, swirl his tongue over your gorgeous, hard nipples, before he goes down, down, over the softness of your belly, your hips, then down your thighs as he tries not to lose his goddamn mind.
Because he can smell you now. You, the smell of your skin, remnants of your shower gel and the lotion you rub in after, but also your arousal, the sweet tang of it coating his tastebuds already before he has even gotten the chance to get his mouth on you.
He slides one leg, then the other out of his sweats, and you let him, one arm slung over your face in overwhelm, making a pretty little noise when they’re all the way off, and you’re naked in front of him.
Changbin can’t resist it. He lets his eyes roam over you as he tentatively palms his rock-hard cock over his own sweats, and pleasure rolls heavy through his whole body.
“Oh, pretty,” he sighs. It just slips out. You whimper, breathe out his name. One of his palms slides up your calf.
“Can I, pretty? Can I touch you?”
You breathe out an airy chuckle that Changbin thinks for a moment feels almost a little sad, before you nod.
“Of course, Binnie, of course you can. Please touch me.”
It’s all he needs.
He lets his palm slide further up your leg, up to your thigh, you part your legs for him effortlessly, offer yourself to him. He lowers himself onto the mattress slowly, eyes glued to where you’re glistening and quivering and smelling so divine his mouth is watering, before he leans in and laves his tongue gently over your clit a couple times, easing you into it.
Your taste sears itself into his taste buds, sweet, tangy, intoxicating, and he wants more, wants to fucking drown in it, in you, and he leans in and attaches his lips to your core, darts his tongue out, laves at your pretty little hole, dips into the wet heat of it, before travelling back up, slick smearing all over his chin as he sucks your clit between his lips.
He’s being messy, and he knows it, his fingers digging into your skin probably a little too deep for comfort, but you’re not complaining, no, of course not, you’re perfect, one of your hands cards through his hair, the other arm thrown over your face as you make the sexiest breathless little noises that almost sound like sobs, and you take it all, every single thing Changbin has to give you.
Your thighs tremble in his hands, your hips stuttering upwards in aborted little movements, your little moans growing in volume, one of your ankles digging into his back and, nonetheless, when you come, whole body shivering, chanting his name, spurting the sweetest sweetness he has ever tasted right into his mouth, it takes him by surprise. He didn’t expect you to come for him so easily, so effortlessly, but you don’t seem to be holding back.
Changbin laps at your release, licks it up and swallows it down while he can before you gently push him away, trembling with the oversensitivity. Your eyes are lidded, your hair a mess and there’s a wet stain on his sheets right underneath your hips, and Changbin can’t believe he gets to see you like this, let alone the fact that he did this to you.
You sit up, gloriously naked and unbelievably beautiful, and reach for him, soft fingers curling around the back of his neck, pulling him forwards until your lips are on his again, and it feels like coming home, sends warm shivers down his spine. He sighs into your lips, and you sigh back, dragging him back down to the mattress with you, skin against skin again, his chest moulding against yours like they were made for each other. He could stay here forever just kissing you, but there’s a fire in his abdomen, a hard, insistent pressure against your body, and your fingers slip under his waistband.
You tuck his sweats and underwear down quickly, one hand still curled around his neck and slipping into his hair, the other shoving at the offending fabric until you can’t reach any more and use your feet to shuck them the rest of the way off — something Changbin shouldn’t find as hot as he does, though he is mightily distracted by the way your tongue is licking against his, the way you’re tugging at his hair, dragging him this way and that into the kiss, making his brain go fuzzy.
When your hand curls around his cock, he physically jolts, his body more sensitive than it’s ever been. He wants to say something, anything, self-consciousness curling in his belly, something about how he knows he isn’t too big, but you don’t give him the chance.
Your hand tightens on him, and he keens, and you whisper a breathless, appreciative fuck into the tight space between you.
Wordlessly, with your heels digging into his lower back, you pull him closer, until his lips are back on yours and his cock is pressed against your entrance, and it doesn’t take any convincing for him to follow where you’re leading him and press inside. His moan collides with yours when he bottoms out, your back arching into his arms, and he holds you closer, noses against your jaw, trying to ground himself.
It’s unreal, the feeling of you. Hot, tight, velvety, wet, you. He’s inside of you. His cock throbs and his breath stutters out of him, and somehow you’re right there with him, your fingers shaking as one of your hands anchors itself back into his hair and drags him close.
He doesn’t know how he manages to start moving but when he does, it’s unlike anything he’s ever felt. He grinds forward, buries himself as far as he will go, and you follow him, open your mouth into a gasp, and when he pulls back you chase him, smear your lips against his. Your bodies moving together, sweat slick skin sliding against sweat slick skin, hot breath mingling until he forgets where he ends and you begin. It’s so intimate it makes him feel insane, utterly out of his mind with how overwhelmingly good it is.
He fucks forward harder, and he is rewarded with a gorgeous moan, punched out of you at the same time as his headboard smacks against the wall, and he says a quiet thanks to whoever’s listening that they’re alone in the dorm, because he can do it again, draw another moan out of you.
“B-binnie,” you mewl, and his arms nearly give out. He vaguely registers himself making a shaky, helpless little noise in response. “So … fuck … good … harder.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice, his body responding as if it’s an entity entirely separate from his reason, only focused on giving you what you need. He plants his palm against the headboard for leverage and fucks you harder, lets himself go, his own moans colliding with yours between your heated lips, deafeningly loud in the previously quiet room, now resounding with the sound of his hips slamming into yours, the wet slide of your pussy as it swallows his cock, the headboard thunking against the wall – it’s filthy, but it’s like music to him. You’re the best he’s ever had.
You whimper into his lips, drag him in for another kiss, scrape your fingernails over his bicep and heat curls dangerously, deep in his guts, a kind of barbed wire pleasure, building and building. And no matter how much he wishes this could last forever, he knows he won’t last much longer.
He drags his hand from the headboard, down your body, shoves it between your bodies, unwilling to part more than he has to. When he reaches between your legs, where his cock is pumping in and out of you, it’s soaked, and he moans out pathetically. With the first touch of his fingers against your clit, you throw your head back, eyebrows knitted together, lips parted in a beautiful little o and Changbin dives down, peppers kisses all over your jaw and down your neck. He can taste your skin, salty from the sweat, bitter from your perfume, sweet in all the other ways.
Your legs wind around his waist, and it changes the angle, makes his cock drag against your walls just right to make him shudder, and you gush around him, and he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, trying to hold on.
“P-please,” you sob out, “d-don’t stop … ‘m so close …”
As if he would, Changbin thinks. His fingers are sliding over your clit, and he pumps his hips forward, lets himself chase his own pleasure, just a little bit, and you’re clenching tighter and tighter and then …
You come with a choked moan of his name, walls locking around him, pulsing and fluttering, and it’s almost too much, the knowledge of it, of you underneath him, letting him take you apart like this, trusting him with your body, your pleasure.
With the last, tattered remnant of his reason, he pulls out, wraps his hand around his slick cock and pumps furiously only for a second before pleasure explodes through his body, and he comes in ropes and ropes, all over your belly, the pleasure zinging through his veins so strong it almost knocks him out, if it weren’t for your grounding fingers carding through his hair.
He shudders through the last dregs of his orgasm, a bead of sweat rolling down the slope of his nose before it drops onto the pillow next to your head. If he breathes in, he knows he’ll smell the combined smell of you and him in your hair.
He pulls back quickly, but is stopped by the opposing force of your hand on his neck, and he realises a beat too late that you were trying to pull him closer. But the damage is done. Your face falls, your hands dropping to the mattress on either side of you. You turn your head as you wait for Changbin to pull out, to climb off you. And in his stupor, in the turmoil of heartache and confusion in his heart, he does.
You look fragile like that, head pillowed on his sheets, knees knocking together as you try to hide, his cum beaded all over your pretty belly.
“I’ll get you a towel, okay?” he mumbles, trying to be as gentle as he can, but it can’t contend with the awkwardness that’s hanging thickly in the air.
He somehow manages to pull on his boxers, stumbles from the room, into the bathroom; he catches a glance of himself in the mirror, his face pale, his eyes wide and scared, and nearly loses his head. In and out, he tells himself. You can’t lose it now, you’ve got to take care of her. No matter what, you’ve got to take care of her.
Eyes glued to his hands, to the sink, he fishes out one of the hand towels under the sink, wrenches the tap to the hottest setting it will go, willing it to heat up faster. He needs to get back to you. He needs to fix this.
As soon as the water is lukewarm, he drenches the towel, squeezes it out and just about resists the urge to run back to his room. But as soon as he steps in and meets your eyes and dread almost overwhelms him. Everything is so wrong.
He approaches the bed, and he can see his own hesitation mirrored in your face, mirrored in the cold hard hurt shivering across your face. He’s frozen with helplessness, unable to figure out what to do, how to fix this thing he’s broken.
You pull the towel out of his numb fingers where he’s standing next to you without moving and start cleaning yourself up, wiping at the sticky residue of his cum, until you’re clean, hurriedly dropping the towel onto the bed next to you and swinging your legs over the side.
“Uh … I should get going,” you mumble, as you awkwardly step around him where he’s still rooted to the spot next to the bed. Only when you’re dressed, does he dare to turn around.
When your eyes meet, it punches the rest of his confidence out of him. You blink and make to turn around, but Changbin takes a step forward, catches your wrist in his hands, holds you back with a desperation that he’s unable to mask.
“Y/N …” he mumbles, his voice hoarse with emotion. You stop easily, let yourself get pulled back to him, just like that. His heart throbs.
“We’re okay, right?”
There’s a beat of silence, then you soften, just a little. You nod, and he lets out the breath he didn’t know he was holding.
“Yeah,” you breathe, “of course we’re okay.”
What washes through him isn’t relief, but it’s something. Maybe hope that he hasn’t irrevocably fucked everything up. He needs you, needs you with him, in his life, however he is allowed to have you. He can’t do this without you. He never could.
He gives your wrist the smallest, gentlest tug – just a suggestion. You step forward and right into his waiting arms.
He folds you against his bare chest, breathes out a shaky breath. He can feel your breath against his collarbone, the softness of your cheek against his shoulders. The comforting weight of you against him. You’re okay. You’ll be okay. He doesn’t know if it’s true. He has to believe it.
It’s only a few moments before you pull back, barely looking at him.
“I still … I’m gonna go …” you mumble, and he nods.
He follows you to the door, uselessly. Watches as you pull on your shoes, carelessly leave the house slippers out, something you never do. You always put them back.
With one last shaky smile, you pull the door shut behind you and Changbin is left behind in the dead silence of the empty dorm to deal with the aftermath.
He manages to make it back to his room before the first sob racks through him, his chest constricting painfully until he can barely breathe. Through his blurry eyes, he rips the sheets off his bed, a button pinging off the pillow case, but he can’t care. He doesn’t bother putting new sheets on, only crawls into bed. And he cries.
And because he really does seem to be the punchline of some cosmic joke, the first person he sees when he stumbles into the kitchen the next morning, is Hyunjin.
He looks up when Changbin walks in, and he freezes, before he turns sharply.
Changbin didn’t even bother looking in the mirror before stumbling out of his room on a desperate hunt for a cup of coffee that would cure his pounding head. He knows he probably doesn’t look dewy fresh and his eyes are probably swollen, but Hyunjin’s reaction nonetheless makes him falter. He hesitates in the doorway.
Hyunjin doesn’t say anything, only keeps his back to him, hands aimlessly fiddling with the coffee machine, pulling out the drip tray, emptying it into the sink even though it’s barely half full, then shoving it back into the machine. It catches on something and there’s a sickening crunching sound that startles him. He pulls it back out and shoves it back in, a little softer this time, though Changbin can see it now. His hands are shaking.
Hyunjin turns abruptly, makes for the door, but then realises Changbin is right there, blocking it, and stops.
A beat passes where Changbin can finally see Hyunjin’s eyes, and he can’t read them at all. He looks … vaguely annoyed. Confused. Upset? Why?
Chan’s door opens and his voice travels down the hallway.
“Yo, is the coffee machine still on?”
Hyunjin opens his mouth, though his answering yes takes a long moment to come out. It only makes its way past his lips when Chan is already pushing past Changbin and into the kitchen.
When Chan’s eyes fall on Changbin, he hesitates, eyebrows knitting together in worry.
“Woah, Bin, you alright? You look rough.”
Changbin drags his eyes away from Hyunjin’s, forces a smile onto his face.
“Yeah, just didn’t sleep well,” he croaks out, and Chan nods understandingly, gives him a pat on the shoulder.
“Did you and Y/N watch something scary again even though neither of you like horror?” he chuckles, as he makes his way to the coffee machine, past Hyunjin who’s now fiddling with his phone, leaning against the counter next to the sink.
Changbin murmurs something to the negative, his heart aching somewhere deep in his chest at the mention of you. Ah, remember when things were normal, he thinks. How they could’ve remained normal, if he hadn’t been so fucking stupid and ruined everything …
“By the way, Jinnie,” Chan asks, slides his stupidly large to go cup under the spout, and presses the button, “did my package arrive last night?”
The coffee machine screams to life, and it makes Changbin’s ears ring.
“W-what? Package?” Hyunjin asks, when the noise stops, shifting his weight from one foot to the other uneasily.
Chan nods.
“It was meant to come yesterday and I figured, since you and Bin were both home, but he was watching a movie with Y/N, maybe you would hear the door? You were home last night, weren’t you?”
Changbin prays. He prays to whatever deity is out there that Hyunjin doesn’t say yes, tells Chan no, he was out, at the other dorm, hanging out with Jeongin or Seungmin or …
“I was,” Hyunjin says quietly, “but I didn’t … hear the door. I was painting.”
Chan nods and pulls out his phone.
Changbin is frozen in place, staring at Hyunjin, who avoids his eyes. If he was home, then he heard. He must have, right? There was no way …
“Ah, typical,” Chan exclaims, makes both Changbin and Hyunjin jump, “it got delayed. It’ll be delivered this afternoon when we have dance practice. Oh well, I’ll let the doorman know. Thanks though!”
He slides the lid onto his to go cup and makes for the door.
“You ready to go, Bin? We have a meeting with the mixing agent in 40.”
Changbin has never been more grateful for an excuse to get the fuck away from Hyunjin for a few hours.
“Y-yeah, just … need a quick shower,” he mumbles, and Chan nods, already walking down the hallway.
"Make it a quick one, I’ll wake Jisung."
Changbin flees from the kitchen without looking back. He thinks he doesn’t breathe until the bathroom lock clicks shut behind him.
Hyunjin heard. Hyunjin heard. It’s … bad. It’s confusing. Most of all, it’s humiliating.
He strips as quickly as he can, faster still when he drags his shirt over his head, and he catches a whiff of your perfume, and it nearly makes him nauseous. He steps in the shower and turns it all the way to cold.
What’s humiliating is not the sex, no, god, it couldn’t have been the sex. That, itself, was earth-shattering, life-changing, nothing short of magical. But the thought of him hearing you like that? Exposing you, exposing Changbin himself, when you trusted him that you were alone? It makes him feel sick.
Worse, what if he heard the awkwardness after. What if he heard Changbin crying. Fuck.
He scrubs shampoo into his hair, body wash down his body. When he rinses away the suds, they expose faint red lines along his shoulder, down his biceps. They ache with the memory of your nails. Changbin shudders.
There’s a knock on the door.
“We’ve got twenty minutes, Bin, we really need to go.”
“Coming,” Changbin shouts back and turns off the water.
He gets out, towels off and finally takes a glance in the mirror. He looks normal, except for the faint red lines … well, those and the giant bags under his eyes. As he stares himself down, he sees his phone light up, and he picks it up at lightning speed. But it’s just Jeongin. Asking if he was going to hit the gym today.
Changbin sighs, puts his phone back down.
It was going to be a long fucking day.
You don’t text him that day. Or the next.
Changbin’s a fucking mess.
He’s distracted. Takes 20 takes to get one part of his rap right. Snaps at Jisung so hard he actually makes him cry. Forgets a meeting. Steps on Felix’s foot during dance practice.
Not that anyone noticed. They all treat him the same, nobody looking at him twice. He doesn’t know what’s pissing him off more, their ignorance, or his own petty, way too emotional reaction to it.
Between that, and Hyunjin’s severe mood swings, Changbin feels like he’s at sea, being tossed back and forth by the whims of anyone but him. And that pisses him off, too.
Hyunjin … he doesn’t know how Hyunjin feels. Because one second, he’s meeting his eyes staring daggers at him through the mirror in the dance practice rooms, muttering something to Felix that Changbin can’t shake the feeling is about him. The next, he bumps Jisung aside when they get into the car to go home and forces himself into the seat next to Changbin, his thigh falling against his – all while stubbornly refusing to look at him. Changbin doesn’t even dare say his name. What was he going to say anyway? “Hey, Hyune, did you hear me and Y/N fuck? Is that why you’re insert-whatever-adjective-here” because it’s not like Changbin can figure it out.
Because Hyunjin drags his palm over his knee before he gets out, but the next morning he slams the bathroom door into his face so hard it nearly breaks Changbin’s nose. But then he fucking stares again, in the dressing room, big, dark eyes burning into Changbin’s back as he is shooed around by the make-up noonas.
But all of it, it doesn’t make any damn sense. Hyunjin’s upset, clearly, but Changbin can’t figure out what he’s upset about – or what he plans to do about it. Is he upset because Changbin fucked you the week before he was meant to take you out? Is that it? Does he think it was some petty move to keep his best friend to himself? Except that logic doesn’t hold up very well, now, does it, since Changbin’s pretty sure he fucked up your friendship entirely.
Sometime on Thursday afternoon, he has convinced himself that Hyunjin’s mad because you cancelled on him. It took a while to allow himself to think that way, because the delusions – well, he would love to tell himself you probably just cancelled because you hooked up with anyone, and it didn’t feel fair to Hyunjin, but then again he knows you’re not like that, and then his brain starts to feed him hope, hope that you cancelled because you can’t stop fucking thinking about him the way he can’t stop thinking about you, replaying every single moment, both the good and the bad, until he’s sure he will never forget a single one of your noises, a single one of your unbelievably sexy moans of his fucking name …
But Felix skips and jumps over and makes his whole world turn upside down again.
He bounds over to where Hyunjin is sitting on the floor next to where Changbin is lounging on the sofas, Hyunjin’s hand resting on Changbin’s shoes. He’s still refusing to look Changbin in the eye – but his pinky finger is tracing the line of Changbin’s ankle through his sock.
Changbin wonders if this is what the first symptoms of insanity feel like.
“Hyunjinniiiiieee,” Felix sing-songs, plops himself down on the floor next to Hyunjin and slings one arm over his shoulder. “Do you have plans on Saturday and do you want to go shopping with me?”
Hyunjin hums, leans into Felix’s touch, his hand leaving Changbin’s foot in favour of patting Felix’s hand.
“Sorry, Yongbok-ah, I’m busy,” he hums, his voice calm and honeyed, though Changbin doesn’t miss how he starts fidgeting with his ring.
“Ah, right, you’re going out with Y/nie right?” Felix exclaims and gives Changbin a wide smile, before his attention is back on Hyunjin.
From where he’s sitting, Changbin can’t see Hyunjin’s face, only sees him turn to Felix and nod slightly.
“Forgot about that, sorry, Jinnie,” Felix mumbles, brings his hand to Hyunjin’s back and starts kneading the muscles there. Hyunjin’s head falls forward with a little moan that, on any normal day, would send Changbin’s thoughts straight into the gutter. “What are you gonna do? Or where are you taking her? Wait … is this a … you know?”
Hyunjin bumps Felix with his leg, so hard, Felix lets out a little yelp. He blinks at Hyunjin, then Changbin, before he blushes.
“We’re going to see that exhibition I told you about. The one none of you wanted to go to with me,” Hyunjin states, bluntly, both of his hands now busy twirling his ring around his finger in his lap.
“What?! You didn’t ask me! I would’ve said yes!” Felix exclaims, indignant and wide-eyed.
Changbin doesn’t need to see Hyunjin to know he’s glaring at Felix. There’s nothing Hyunjin hates more than when someone forgets something he said to them.
“Yes, I did. Three weeks ago. When we got chicken. I asked everyone, even manager-hyung. And you said you didn’t care for modern art.”
Felix falters, freckled face falling into an expression of embarrassment.
“Oh,” he mumbles, “well, I would’ve gone with you if I’d known nobody else wanted to go.”
Hyunjin scoffs, tosses his hair out of his eyes. He brings his hands up to his face, as if he’s inspecting his cuticles.
“Well, she wanted to go. Really wanted to, actually. She asked me to take her.” He says it nonchalantly, his voice the picture of calm confidence, but Changbin can see the muscles tick in his neck.
‘He asked me to go to this art exhibit with him this weekend’ the memory of your voice says. Changbin tries not to let it get to him. He fails spectacularly.
Hyunjin tosses his head again and gets up, his arm brushing sparks against Changbin’s leg as he gets up.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go shower.”
He’s out the door before Changbin or Felix can say another word.
Then Felix looks at Changbin and Changbin is out of his seat at lightning speed.
“Hyung …” Felix sighs, his eyes big and round and full of pity. Changbin shakes his head.
“You don’t like that Hyunjin and Y/N are going on a date?”
Changbin doesn’t answer, focuses instead on shoving his towel, his bottle, his phone’s portable battery, all of it into his backpack.
“It’s okay if you don’t, you know?” Felix tries again, “but then I think you should tell them, instead of keeping it inside.”
“Yongbok-ah …” Changbin says, warningly, and it comes out a lot meaner than he intends to. He watches Felix flinch and sighs.
“Please, drop it.”
Felix deflates and Changbin feels even worse.
“Fine,” he mumbles, “but if you do end up wanting to talk about it, I’m here, okay?”
Changbin nods, pats Felix’s shoulder and gets up.
Changbin knows that he won’t. He can’t even begin to think of confessing all of this to Chan, how could he unload it onto Felix, his most precious dongsaeng. But he knows Felix will feel better if he agrees. So he lies.
“I will, thank you, Yongbok-ah.”
When Changbin’s phone buzzes on the mixing desk next to Chan at 1am on Friday night, 12 hours out from when he presumes your date with Hyunjin is, Changbin doesn’t even bother to check it.
But Chan glances over and picks it up.
“Y/N’s texting,” he says, casually, and hands Changbin his phone, like Changbin’s heart didn’t just fall into his ass.
If he was alone, Changbin doesn’t know if he would’ve checked it. But Chan is right there, and he doesn’t have the strength to make up an excuse for why he would be ignoring a text from his best friend. So he unlocks his phone.
from: Y/Nie
hey hey
Y/Nie is typing….
“Do you think we should keep Seungmin’s first or second take?” Chan asks. Changbin blinks at him and Chan presses play, brows furrowed, eyes glued to the screen.
They sound identical.
“I think the first one’s better, right?” Chan muses, and Changbin’s phone buzzes in his hands.
“Yeah, totally,” he mumbles, and whips his head back down. You texted again. His heartbeat picks up.
from: Y/Nie
sorry for the radio silence 😅
kinda had to convince myself you didn’t hate me
because you didn’t text me either
but then I realised that that is hypocritical of me
so here I am …
please don’t hate me
Butterflies. A swarm of them. Something warm, dripping down Changbin’s spine. Regret, still, too much of it to put into words, but mostly … relief.
As quickly as he can, he replies.
from: me
of course, I don’t hate you
I could never
He tries to calm down, tells himself not to be too honest. Not when the situation is so fragile. Not over text.
from: Y/Nie
THANK GOD
The message makes him huff out a laugh, and Chan looks over and gives him a little smile. Changbin blushes.
The dots, the little Y/Nie is typing…. text blinks in and out of existence for a solid minute before your next message pops up.
from: Y/Nie
because I kinda really missed you
Changbin takes a deep, steadying breath.
I missed you, too is what he wants to say. I missed you, too, I always do. I wish it hadn’t ended the way it did. I wish I could stop loving you, but I can’t. But I want you in my life in whatever form I can.
from: me
I missed you, too
I think chan is sick of me actually being at the studio instead of disappearing at some point and leaving him to do his work
Changbin looks up. Chan is humming under his breath, completely relaxed, editing a midi track, his knee bouncing under the table. Sorry, Chan
from: Y/Nie
well, we can’t have that!
chan needs to write the next big stray kids hit, we can’t have you distract him like that!
from: me
yah!
you say you missed me and the first thing you do is bully me
from: Y/Nie
gotta keep you humble ;)
Changbin sighs. He knows this probably isn’t a solution, pretending like it never happened, just going back to how things were before. But it feels so good. And everything … it’s too big, it’s too much. And if this is the only way your friendship will survive, then he’ll take it. He’ll take whatever you give him.
It’s silent for a few seconds and Changbin wonders if that’s it, but then you text one last time.
from: Y/Nie
I gotta sleep now but
let’s get lunch next week?
from: me
I’d love that
night, y/nie
from: Y/Nie
night, bin <3
It’s the heart that sustains him, makes him breathe easier for the next half hour and all the way home and into bed. He falls asleep easily for the first time in days, sleeps a dreamless, restful sleep until he wakes up to the sun peeking in through the blinds, the warm sheets – and Hyunjin yelling at Jisung to get out of the bathroom.
The realisation crashes over him without mercy.
Hyunjin is getting ready. To go out. With you.
Dread collects and settles thickly into his bones, makes him bury himself further under the sheets as he fishes for his phone and opens his chat with Chan.
from: me
yo what are you doing today?
wanna hit the gym and write some music?
He places his phone down on the mattress, and he waits. Listens to the sounds of the traffic outside, of the dorm slowly waking up; hears Jisung screech, then Hyunjin yell something, before a door slams.
His phone buzzes.
from: cb97
sorry, man, already at the gym now
having lunch with young-hyun later
probably won’t make it to the studio at all today
Changbin buries his face in his pillow and sighs. Hyunjin’s cackle sifts through the cracks in the door.
He can’t stay here. He can’t witness Hyunjin getting all dolled up, wearing some cute outfit, bouncing out of the front door on his merry way to a date that might as well seal Changbin’s fate. No, he needs to figure something out, he needs to go.
So he texts the only other person he knows would willingly spend a Saturday buried in a dark, lightless studio.
from: me
yah jisung-ah
what are you doing today
If he mentally says a prayer as he waits for his answer, that’s between him and his pillow.
Jisung, predictably, texts back almost immediately.
from: j.one
morning hyung~~
probably gonna to the company
work on some songs
why?
from: me
need any help?
or want some company?
I need to get out of the house today
There’s silence for a minute, and even Jisung’s and Hyunjin’s bickering has gone silent. Changbin tries not to let his paranoia get the best of him. Hyunjin’s getting ready. Jisung is probably just on his phone on his bed. Or texting Minho.
It takes a few minutes before Jisung finally responds.
from: j.one
sure!
I actually got this rap I would love to get your input on
from: me
cool
leave in an hour?
from: j.one
👍
And it’s so quiet that Changbin really, really thought he could get away with it. That he could leave the dorm, with Jisung, without bumping into Hyunjin but, of course, he couldn’t.
He opens his door, takes one step, and collides with Hyunjin’s shoulder.
The impact isn’t strong, only enough to send Changbin reeling back a few steps, his backpack dropping from his hand and onto the floor, but that’s not what slams the breath out of his chest.
It’s Hyunjin’s perfume, the one he only wears for special occasions, thick and floral and, at the same time, somehow manly, laced with the smell of his shampoo and his hair, curling into Changbin’s nose and making his mouth water. And it only gets worse when he looks up and meets Hyunjin’s eyes. He’s always been a master at dramatising himself. Unlike Changbin, who’s always just the same, just … Changbin, Hyunjin knows exactly how to dress himself to look the perfect level of casual, yet fuckable. His long black hair is a little wavy, casual and he’s wearing make-up. Not a lot, for their standards, but just a bit. Just enough. Foundation, a light shade of brown around his eyes that renders them big and soft, soft pink lip balm on his full lips that makes them look obscenely kissable. If Changbin wasn’t already terminally, irrevocably in love with him, he’s sure he would fall in love with him then. He swallows bitterly when he realises that that’s probably actually exactly what Hyunjin is going for. With you.
Hyunjin’s dressed simply, but clearly with intent. Blue jeans, a white t-shirt, that’s just tight enough to sit snugly over his shoulders and his biceps and his … Changbin swallows … his pecs, and …
“Are those Jisung’s shoes?”
The words tumble from his mouth before he can stop them. The first words he and Hyunjin have exchanged in three days, and he’s asking about Jisung’s shoes?!
Hyunjin falters for a second, clearly stupefied by Changbin’s question. He nods slowly.
Changbin just nods back, barely manages to look Hyunjin in the eyes.
They didn’t get dressed together. Jisung knows nothing. I’m being paranoid. I’m being paranoid. Changbin, you’re being paranoid!!!!!!
Changbin must really be losing it because Hyunjin’s brows pull together in a grimace of concern that somehow makes him look even more like an angel.
“Hyung, are you okay?”
He sounds like he cares so much. Changbin wants to laugh. Or cry. Or both at the same time.
“I’m fine, Hyunjin-ah,” he forces out, forces a smile as he bends down and picks up his backpack.
“Are you sure?” Hyunjin adds, almost too fast. He sucks his bottom lip, starts gnawing at it. He looks like wants to say something else, but Changbin doesn’t let him. He can’t. Who knows what this conversation could turn into. Hyunjin needs to go meet you and Changbin needs to go to the studio with Jisung. It’s better this way.
“Don’t worry about me,” he chirps, so fake it makes his teeth ache with it, and pushes past Hyunjin as fast as he possibly can. He ignores the new wave of Hyunjin’s perfume that slams into him as he makes his way to the kitchen, where, thankfully, he finds Jisung already waiting.
Jisung’s head whips up when Changbin barges in, and they only widen more when Changbin beams at him and waves him towards the door.
“Let’s go, Jisung-ah!” he exclaims, much too loudly, and turns around before he can see Jisung throw a glance towards the hallway he just came from or look at him with any more of the surprise or the concern that makes Changbin’s stomach turn.
Thankfully, Jisung follows him, doesn’t ask any questions. Only falls into step with Changbin and when Changbin asks, talks about the song he wanted help with. Jisung had always been his favourite dongsaeng.
Changbin manages not to think about you and Hyunjin for most of the day. But what he does think about, a lot, is the moment he would have to face Hyunjin. By the time he drifts off to sleep he’s sure he’s imagined all the worst possible outcomes, Hyunjin stumbling in late at night only half dressed, Hyunjin walking into the kitchen the next morning with hickeys on his neck, Hyunjin with literal hearts floating around his head for all Changbin knows – but none of that happens.
He meets Hyunjin the next day in the kitchen when he goes to get a snack. Hyunjin, dressed in his ratty old sweatpants and his hair tied up haphazardly, is filling the little transparent cup Changbin knows he uses for painting with water by the sink, looks just like he always does. He turns around, sees Changbin, and smiles. A little sheepish, a little awkward, maybe, but he smiles. And Changbin does what he does best. He takes the excuse to delude himself, and he runs with it.
On Monday, they have a schedule. Hyunjin picks the make-up chair next to him. They don’t talk much, but Hyunjin knocks his foot against his and shows him a meme of a little piglet and a bunny being friends about halfway through, a devastatingly pretty smile on his lips. Changbin smiles back.
On Tuesday, Changbin meets you for lunch at your company. You hug him hello, wrap your hand around his arm so you don’t lose him as you pull him through the packed cafeteria. You pick out his favourite melon soda from the refrigerator without him having to ask. You chatter about this album you’re working on, about your parents coming to visit in a couple weeks. You don’t talk about Hyunjin. When you smile at him and sneak half of your helping of chicken onto his plate in exchange for one of his mushrooms, he can’t bring himself to ask. He hugs you goodbye.
On Wednesday, he stays late at the studio with Chan and Jisung. They get into a flow, manage to finish the demos for two songs. Write another, late at night, delirious off sugar and lack of sleep, one that will probably never see the light of day. He loves them. He comes home smiling, waves them off down the hallway to their rooms before he gets himself a bottle of water from the fridge. He takes a little detour past Hyunjin’s room almost automatically. His door is ajar, the light on, but he can hear Hyunjin snore quietly. He creeps in, tiptoes over to the bedside table, where the light is still on, throwing a hazy warm glow over Hyunjin’s sleeping form. Glossy lips parted, eyebrows slightly drawn up, almost like he’s surprised, his hair messily fanned over the pillow half his face is smushed into, he’s the most beautiful thing Changbin has ever seen. He indulges himself, brushes a few of his strands out of his eyes, lets his fingertip drag over the curve of his cheek, before he switches off the lamp and leaves, closing the door behind him.
On Thursday, he catches Hyunjin giggling at his phone, but he’s already convinced himself that the date on Saturday was most likely a dud. Maybe not even bad, just … not as exciting as you’d hoped. Maybe you’d met and the spark you’d both felt wasn’t there. Maybe you said something about the art that gave Hyunjin the ick. Maybe his dreaminess was too much for your pragmatic nature.
Because if it had been any other way, Hyunjin wouldn’t have just gone back to normal, right? Back to leaning against Changbin in the elevator and giggling with him in the kitchen. And you, you would’ve brought it up, right? That first day at lunch, or the countless times you texted after that. Right?
If Hyunjin and you had had a good date, if you’d kissed (a notion Changbin can’t entertain for too long because the mere idea of it makes him dizzy with a lot of confusing feelings that he refuses to decode right now) or if you’d agreed on a second date, if you were still talking, he wouldn’t be here right now, two weeks later, sitting on your sofa at some ungodly hour, ripped from the studio, from Chan who watched him go with a knowing, unsurprised grin, the remnants of delivery tteokbokki and dumplings still on the table and some random drama on the TV.
Your body wouldn’t have been slowly drifting towards his over the last hour, you wouldn’t have slung your leg over his, you … you wouldn’t have fallen asleep snuggled into his shoulder the way you did. Breathing softly, fingers twitching where they were still holding on to him.
And when he carried your half awake form to your bedroom later, tucked you into bed, you wouldn’t have leaned up, murmured his name, wouldn’t have pulled him into the softest, gentlest, kiss, just the pressure of your soft lips against his …
Right?
Except you would, apparently.
Changbin wasn’t meant to go to the company the next day. He was meant to have a day off, and he didn’t mean to work, he just wanted to get his laptop because he forgot it the night before because he was so eager to get out of there to get to yours–
Changbin wasn’t meant to be here.
He wasn’t meant to round a corner and see Hyunjin, standing between your legs where you’re sitting on the shoe storage outside the dance practice room, one hand caressing the skin of your back under your shirt, the other pulling your hips closer against his, as if your legs aren’t wrapped around him. He’s not meant to see you, tonguing into Hyunjin’s open mouth, the lips that were pressed against his not even 12 hours before pulled into a delirious smile as you devour each other.
Nausea rises in Changbin’s throat when Hyunjin giggles, when you bring your hand to gently cup his face. It’s so intimate. It doesn’t take a genius to see that this isn’t the first time you’re kissing either.
Changbin’s stomach turns.
He turns on his heels, makes sure not to make a sound until he rounds the corner again, and then he runs.
He makes it into one of the studios before the first tears fall.
Fuck, this hurts worse than he thought it would.
Oh, he’s so fucking stupid.
Fuck, it hurts.
Now that he’s thinking about it, really thinking about it, there had never been any indication that you stopped talking after your date. Hyunjin had gone back to normal, and so did you because … he slams his fist against the side of his head so hard that it aches. He’s so fucking stupid. Of course, you went back to normal – because that’s all you were. Friends. You and him. Hyunjin and him. Friends.
But now that he’s seen it, he can’t stop thinking about it. Your date went well. You met Hyunjin at the museum, probably looked at his stupid casual outfit that showed off his stupidly attractive body, and you had probably worn something equally casual but flattering because you, too, were good at that. And then the two of you had probably walked through the museum and talked about art and life and the human condition, with sparkling eyes, maybe your hands had brushed, maybe Hyunjin had booked the museum for after-hours so you could have it to yourself, and maybe he kissed you in front of some painting and …
His stomach feels like it’s filled with lead.
He wonders if Yongbok knows. If Hyunjin came back from his date and told Jisung and Chan.
Why hadn’t he told him?! A part of him knows, it’s because he heard you and Changbin and … maybe he felt it even before then, Changbin’s resistance to the idea of them dating. Of course, he would. Hyunjin probably knew how fucking pathetically in love Changbin was with you and probably knew that you weren’t and …
But then why did he even date you? What happened to bros before hoes? I mean he saw the sparks, he saw the glint in Hyunjin’s eyes, the smile on your face but … was it worth it to Hyunjin? Was the connection that strong?
Also … why did you kiss him last night? He knows you were sleepy, but not that sleepy, right? And you weren’t aiming for his cheek, there was no way …
Changbin’s head hurts. And so does his heart. He still doesn’t have his laptop, because he would have to walk back and past where he saw you to get it, but it’s not like it matters anyway. And he wonders how on earth he’s going to navigate this new reality.
The reality where you and Hyunjin are … well, whatever you are.
His heart cracks a little in his chest when he thinks the words.
In love.
“Right,” the staff member who’s always in charge of their SKZ Code episodes says and claps her hands. She looks oddly excited. “For today, you are going to pretend to be doctors. Surgeons, nurses, whatever, get funny with it!”
She grins, takes a look at the eight boys all lined up in front of her in fake scrubs and white jeans and lab coats.
Changbin feels stupid.
He’s also in a bad mood, which doesn’t help, but the outfit makes him feel stupid. Where there was sadness, there is a slowly simmering, building rage now. Changbin’s been watching it build slowly, watching his resentment thicken, his mood sour, and he hasn’t even bothered to try to cool himself off, because what’s his other option? Going back to heartbreak? No, he’d rather be angry. At himself sometimes, but also at Hyunjin, at you, pretending everything is fine — at being forced to watch Hyunjin giggle, bite his lip at his phone at least once a day. Sometimes he even nudges Yongbok, tilts his screen, points at something and whispers and Yongbok wiggles his eyebrow. And it’s not like Changbin would’ve talked to Yongbok, even though he offered, but the idea that that option was taken from him? It also pisses him off. So Hyunjin doesn’t just get you, he also gets Felix, huh? What does Changbin get? He gets fucking nothing.
He’s still brooding as the staff sorts them into groups, chatters to them, about the games they’ll play.
“The first group is Changbin, Chan, Hyunjin and Jeongin, the other Jisung, Minho, Seungmin and Yongbok,” she announces, pointing to the two tables set-up between them, “go to your team and pick what kind of doctors you want to be. That’ll be your team name.”
Chan shimmies over to him with a blinding smile, throws an arm around him and coos his name, his usual affection, just a little bit ramped up for the cameras – and trying to lift Changbin’s mood, because of course Chan knows.
“Binniiiiie,” Chan coos with a giggle, “we’ll be in a team. What kind of doctors should we be? Brain surgeons?”
Jeongin scoffs as he makes his way to Changbin’s other side. “We’re so not smart enough for that.”
Hyunjin is the last to find his way to them and Changbin tries not to look, but of course, he does. Hyunjin looks between Changbin and Chan and Jeongin, and Changbin does his best to tell himself that what he sees in his eyes isn’t disappointment.
Hyunjin makes his way over to them, a too bright smile plastered on his face.
“We could be doctors for like muscles and stuff, because we dance so much,” Jeongin muses, half distracted by Seungmin making faces at him across the room.
Hyunjin chuckles, tips how head to the side, makes eye contact with Changbin.
“Or we could be heart doctors?” he singsongs, making Chan chuckle into Changbin’s ear.
Changbin blinks. He can’t be serious …
“Ooh, Hyunjinnie, you want to be a love doctor?” Chan coos.
Hyunjin just giggles, his eyes crinkling at the edges.
Changbin stays quiet. Usually, he would’ve taken the opportunity. Would have walked right over there with a dramatic sigh of Hyunjin’s name, mumbling something about him not needing a love doctor when Changbin was right there, to take care of his heart, or some bullshit. But he doesn’t. He stubbornly crosses his arms and stares at the wall.
Jeongin next to them is oblivious.
“I like it, very macho,” he chuckles, and so it’s decided.
Chan announces the team name once the staff asks, Seungmin does his usual MC duties and they play. Rock paper scissors to decide the order. A spelling game.
Changbin knows he’s quiet, but he hopes it’s not too noticeable. Or at least Stay can forgive him just this once when the episode comes out. Because he’s trying his best to stay as far away from Hyunjin as possible, and it’s equally difficult as it is heartbreaking. Because Changbin misses his best friend.
Hyunjin cackles about something Jeongin said, and throws his arm around him. And Changbin aches. He feels like he’ll never stop aching.
“Next,” Seungmin monotones, “we’re going to be diagnosing each other as — each other!”
Everyone dutifully makes confused noises. Seungmin continues.
“One member will put on a blindfold and sit in front of the cameras, and another member will be chosen to use this microphone, which distorts your voice, to give the member in front of the camera a compliment – but not as themselves, but a compliment that someone else would make.”
Oohs and aahs.
“So if it was my turn to sit there, and Jisung’s to do the compliment, and his task was to pretend to be Minho complimenting me, he would probably just go ‘good dog’.”
Jisung and everyone else laughs, and Seungmin smiles at Minho’s offended noise. And Changbin thinks this is a safe game.
Except it’s not. Of course, it isn’t.
It’s all fun and games. They have a good time, make some jokes that will surely have to be cut out, especially when it’s Jisung’s turn and Jeongin makes an obscene sound instead of a compliment Minho would make, but there’s also lots of squabbling that he knows Stay will love. But then it’s Hyunjin’s turn.
Changbin watches him sit, slide the blindfold over his silky hair, a motion that would make Changbin dizzy on a normal day. But then Felix gets shown which member he’s meant to imitate, and it’s Changbin.
“Yaaah, Hyunjin-aaah,” Yongbok scream-whispers into the microphone, to the great amusement of everyone else. “When will you finally stop playing hard to get and be my boyfriend, Hyunjin-ah? You’re so beautiful! You’re an angel! You’re the most exquisite being God has ever created …”
Jisung slaps Yongbok’s arm and Yongbok breaks out into a slew of giggles.
Everyone’s laughing. Hyunjin’s ears are bright red. Changbin feels like he’s about to cry.
He’s always been pathetic, huh, he realises. He never cared if he looked a little silly, especially because Hyunjin loved it. But now, hearing Yongbok make a joke of it, seeing everyone else cackle and throw him looks, Changbin realises he’s been making a fucking fool out of himself. His eyes burn hotter than his cheeks do. He wants to fucking die.
“Ah,” Hyunjin chuckles awkwardly. Oddly enough, he doesn’t sound like he finds it funny either. “Changbin-hyung.”
Not a question, no surprise when everyone cheers and tells him he’s right.
Hyunjin removes the blindfold with a crooked smile, and when he turns, his eyes immediately fall on Changbin. His smile falls slightly. He gets up and walks back over to them and this time, Changbin’s side is exposed, so he slots himself right in. He slings an arm around his shoulders and Changbin gets a whiff of his shampoo and Changbin …
Changbin shrugs Hyunjin’s arm off his shoulders and steps away from him in one quick motion, and everyone falls silent. Changbin can’t bear to look at Hyunjin, but based on Yongbok’s expression, Hyunjin must be upset. Changbin swallows the guilt, lets it get swallowed up by the pool of resentment bubbling inside of him. Serves him right.
Minho puts them back on track quickly, steps forward to take his place, and everyone starts babbling, recovering quickly, practised, bouncing back to their camera personas, but Changbin tunes out. Yongbok’s distorted voice keeps repeating the words over and over again in his head until Changbin feels like nothing but a cheap distortion of himself.
The last game, or rather, the last thing they film, because the segment where they have lunch mercifully was filmed when they were actually having lunch today instead of at 4pm, is a dance challenge, but with a twist. They have to spontaneously dance to whatever songs come on, their own choreographies from over the years, but with another member and a balloon lodged between the two of them. And Changbin prays, tries to catch Chan’s eyes, or Jeongin’s, but the way they’re standing, they already paired up, and the only other person left on their team is …
“Hyung, we’ll kill it,” Hyunjin chirps as he walks over to him, balloon in hand. “Remember when we did this last time, and you turned to me. Our height difference was actually helpful. I think we’ve got this one in the bag.”
Hyunjin is avoiding his eyes, chattering on, an anxious smile on his lips, and Changbin just hums. Any energy he might have had to fight the tightness in his chest is slowly draining out of him.
Hyunjin places the balloon against his own chest, steps forward and, once it’s securely held up between their bodies, drapes his arms over Changbin’s shoulders. From this position, Changbin doesn’t have a choice but look at Hyunjin.
His heart fucking aches when he does. He’s pretty, as always. No, gorgeous. Subtle make-up, hair purposely fluffy and messy, of course, but what really gets Changbin every time are his eyes. They’re big, warm, they feel like home. Especially when they’re pulling into little crescents when he smiles. Like he is right now. Smiling at him with more warmth than Changbin has felt in such a long time.
“Hi hyung,” he hums, a teasing lilt to his voice. Changbin swallows down the urge to glare at him. “Fancy seeing you here. Come here often?”
Changbin swears his eye nearly starts twitching. Hyunjin’s breath puffs against his face.
“Ha,” he huffs out, but it lacks all humour. “Very funny, Hyunjin-ah.”
Hyunjin doesn’t seem to get the memo. But then S-Class blasts through the shitty little speakers the staff brought and Changbin’s body automatically responds with the dance, and so does Hyunjin’s.
But he’s grateful that, as he goes through the motions, he has an excuse to stare at the stupid blue balloon between them. Though the song ends before long, Jisung and Seungmin unsurprisingly already eliminated.
“Hyung,” Hyunjin mumbles, and Changbin makes the mistake of looking up. Hyunjin’s face is so close, Changbin can make out each individual eyelash framing his eyes.
The notes of Silent Cry slice through the room and Changbin momentarily forgets to be mad as he tries to remember the choreography – and promptly all thoughts leave his mind when Hyunjin swivels his hips and brushes his thigh against Changbin’s and Changbin swears he did it on purpose. When he looks up and meets Hyunjin’s eyes, Hyunjin is already staring at him.
Their balloon nearly drops with how fast Changbin tries to put distance between them. He tries to think of something unsexy, grandmas and dogshit, you and Hyunjin making out and probably doing a lot more than just grinding on each other, but that does shockingly little. Quite the opposite.
Thankfully, the song ends, but because nobody was eliminated, staff plays the next one right after. Maniac, now, and if Changbin’s heart didn’t feel like it was about to shatter and his dick didn’t feel like it was about to chub up embarrassingly fast, he would’ve laughed at how stupid it looked, everyone trying to do a half-assed twirl with the balloon between them. Somehow, he and Hyunjin make it, though, a little twirl, then hand to forehead. Hyunjin’s intense stare catches on Changbin’s, and he winks, lets his tongue slide over his bottom lip. Changbin almost moans.
The song ends, the game is over, everyone else is slowly peeling apart, but Hyunjin isn’t going anywhere. His arms fall back over Changbin’s shoulders, he tips his head to the side and stares at Changbin, eyes dipping down to his lips so quickly, Changbin thinks he might have made it up. And then Changbin feels his fingers at the nape of his neck, scratching up his scalp, and something in Changbin’s stomach turns.
He steps back so abruptly, Hyunjin’s arms and the balloon fall to the ground. The balloon pops, making everyone jump and stare over at them, but Changbin is beyond caring.
“We’re done, right?” he asks the staff, and stares them down until they nod apprehensively. He doesn’t know how manic he looks, he needs to get the fuck out of here.
He makes it out of the main room, back into the hallway that leads to their haphazardly thrown together dressing room, but he doesn’t get far before he hears steps behind him.
“Changbin,” Hyunjin’s voice echoes through the room and Changbin stops as if rooted to the spot, for one second, before he turns around and stalks towards Hyunjin, who stares at him.
“What the fuck?!”
It’s the only thing Changbin manages to say, his mind a mess, the resentment threatening to bubble up and over.
“Why the fuck would you … what the fuck was that?!”
It’s barely more coherent, so it’s no wonder Hyunjin just stares at him, mouth agape, eyes wide. Not understanding.
“Why were you … I wasn’t flirting with you?!” Changbin yells, “why were you … that’s not … why the fuck would you do this now?!”
Hyunjin shakes his head, takes another few steps toward Changbin, his arms stretched in front of him in an expression of utter disbelief.
“What?! I … I don’t get! I thought you wanted everything to go back to the way it was!? I was just trying to do what seemed to make you most comfortable!” Hyunjin yells, and Changbin shudders with frustration.
“Now you’re just being fucking cruel, Hyunjin,” he hisses, and Hyunjin’s big eyes turn narrow.
In two steps, Hyunjin is right in front of him, staring at him from where he’s towering over Changbin.
“Cruel? I’m being cruel? You’ve been flirting with me for years, off camera, on camera, and you waved it off every single time, and now I’m asking you to stop with the games and put your money where your mouth is before it’s too late, and I’m being cruel?”
Before it’s too late?
Hyunjin takes a step forward, invades Changbin’s space and Changbin stumbles backwards into the wall with a thud.
“Fuck you, Hyunjin. I don’t know what you’re doing, but it’s not cool,” he manages to hiss out, but Hyunjin just shakes his head. His eyes are glued to Changbin’s lips.
“If you would just let me explain …,” he mumbles, and then Hyunjin is kissing him.
Kissing Hwang Hyunjin is everything Changbin ever thought it would be and so much more. He’s overwhelming, crowding him against the wall, his hand strong where it’s resting against the nape of his neck. He also smells incredible, his pomegranate chapstick smearing against Changbin’s lips in a kiss that is equal parts elegance and raw, desperate want.
Hyunjin presses Changbin into the wall harder, towering over him, and Changbin moans, his hands back on Hyunjin’s waist, trying to pull him closer, kiss him deeper, get more, and Hyunjin sighs into the kiss, links his fingers with Changbin’s and presses it over his chest and …
Reality catches up to Changbin all at once and his eyes shoot open and he pushes Hyunjin away so hard, Hyunjin nearly slams into the wall opposite.
“Don’t … What?!” he gasps out, wipes his mouth with the back of his mind, staring at Hyunjin. He’s so fucking gorgeous like this, all flushed and wide-eyed and–
Oh fuck.
“What the fuck, Hyunjin?!” Changbin yells, before he can think better of it. Hyunjin stumbles further back, but he opens his mouth. “Do you think I’m fucking stupid?! That I don’t know you and Y/N are seeing each other?!”
“No, Binnie, …” Hyunjin tries to say but Changbin can’t … He can’t believe Hyunjin would do this.
Hyunjin raises his hands, eyes big and entreating, and tries to take a step towards him, but Changbin stumbles backwards. It’s no longer resentment he feels, now it’s just … anger. Disgust.
“So what, are you cheating on her?! Are you trying to prove something? What the fuck?!”
“Changbin,” Hyunjin says again, but Changbin just shakes his head. Slowly, he starts walking backwards, away from Hyunjin, because he doesn’t trust himself right now.
“She deserves better than that, Hyunjin. And I deserve better, too, than to be used like this. You can find someone else to fuck with.”
“I swear, Binnie, please …”
“Don’t get fucking near me, Hyunjin. I don’t want to see your face any more,” Changbin spits, and the venom of his words feel like daggers in his own chest.
He turns, walks down the hallway as fast as he can. This time, there are no footsteps following him.
Somehow, he manages to make it through the process of undressing, of filing into the cars, without crying.
Changbin barely looks at Hyunjin, the handful of glances nearly enough to make him break down, right there, in the middle of some random shoot location. Hyunjin looks about three seconds away from crying, but he won’t stop staring at Changbin. Changbin can feel his eyes, boring into the back of his head, like he’s taunting him. He can’t get the taste of him, the feeling of him so close, out of his goddamn head.
He gets in the car first and when the others don’t join, he watches through the tinted windows as Chan mumbles something to Hyunjin and Jisung, who nod, throw weary glances at the car, before walking over to the other car.
Chan turns and makes for the car Changbin’s in, climbs in, and closes the door behind him.
“Just us today,” he says to the driver, who nods and pulls away.
Changbin doesn’t look at Chan during the drive. For an hour, he sits next to him, his chest burning with unshed tears, his fists balled at his side, his brain running amok, white noise and pain.
Somehow they make it to the dorm.
Chan says goodbye to the driver, follows Changbin into the elevator, up to their floor, down the hall. He waits patiently until Changbin has punched in the code, until the door has fallen shut behind them, and they’ve toed off their shoes. He drops his backpack by the door, follows Changbin into his room, where Changbin drops his own, shrugs his jacket off.
When he turns around, Chan folds him into a hug and Changbin breaks down.
White noise. Static. His chest like a balled fist.
“H-he kissed m-me,” he hiccups, a string of drool dripping onto Chan’s shirt. Chan hums, rubs his hands over Changbin’s back soothingly. “H-he f-fucking k-kissed me, after a-all this f-fucking time, Channie.”
Chan’s arms tighten around him, and more sobs tear out of Changbin.
“I’m sorry, hyung. I’m sorry. I love him.”
He sobs again, so hard his legs nearly give out.
Chan shushes him quietly. “I know, Binnie, I know.”
Changbin can’t even pull back, he only clings onto Chan tighter.
“H-how the fuck do y-you know,” he wails, “why are you s-so fine with th-this.”
It’s overwhelming. And it’s getting worse, the idea of Chan knowing makes Changbin wonder who else knows. Who else has been witnessing this whole train wreck knowing more than Changbin does.
His chest tightens until his sobs turn into gasps for air and Chan somehow drags him over to his bed, guides him to sit, all without ever taking his arms from where they’re protectively, soothingly wrapped around Changbin’s body.
“It’s okay, Binnie, it’s okay to love him,” he murmurs, trying to be calm, but Changbin only cries harder. He sobs, spit and tears and snot staining Chan’s shirt.
“It’s not o-okay,” Changbin somehow manages to whimper out, “b-because I l-love her, too. I love him and I love her. I love them both.”
Chan’s hands freeze momentarily, before they resume their calm movements over Changbin’s shoulders and his back.
It’s like a dam has broken and Changbin can’t stop spilling his fucking guts.
“And neither of them love me,” he wails, forces the words out between sobs and hiccups. “They love each other. And they’re beautiful together, Channie, they’re so beautiful. And I thought I would be f-fine w-watching because how can I be with either of them when I love the o-other, too, b-but it’s s-so hard, hyung, it’s so f-fucking hard.”
Somewhere along the way he has started hyperventilating again, Changbin realises, because Chan is now rocking him back and forth.
“A-and n-now … he k-kissed me?! A-and sh-she kissed me the o-other … day and … we hooked up, too, Channie, right before her d-date with H-hyunjin and I don’t even know h-how that happened but afterwards it was a-awful and then I s-saw them and now Hyunjin k-kissed me?!”
Chan rocks him hard, tries to shush him, but Changbin is on a roll now.
“Like, how could he ch-cheat on her, right?! Hyunjin, of all … of all f-fucking people. And on h-her?! H-how?! How could he th-throw a chance with her away like that, when it’s a-all I’ve e-ever wanted. How f-fucking d-dare he?! And wh-why the fuck would he use m-me to do it?! There are other p-people, so many people, h-hotter people, probably lining up to kiss Hwang fucking Hyunjin. Why d-did he have to drag m-me into this?! It’s s-so c-cruel.”
“Binnie,” Chan mumbles, but Changbin shakes his head. “Binnie, don’t talk like that.”
Changbin scoffs. A wave of self-hatred washes over him, so strong it nearly blinds him.
“W-why?! Isn’t that what the problem is?! That I’m s-so f-fucking unlovable that w-who I thought were my b-best friends are just … u-using me to play some s-stupid games with each other?! Like I’m just some t-toy. B-because Changbin won’t complain.”
Chan pulls Changbin from his chest so fast Changbin can’t even cover his face, his stupid sweaty, red, face, but Chan doesn’t seem to care. He shakes him. Gently, but Chan shakes him.
“Not another word, Bin,” Chan warns, gives Changbin one of his dad looks, and it’s so intimidating that Changbin actually doesn’t dare say anything else. “I don’t know why they would do what they did, but I’m sure it wasn’t because of that.”
Changbin sniffles.
“Th-then, w-why?”
Chan sighs.
“I don’t know, but it’s not because you don’t mean anything to them. If anything, I think it might be the opposite.”
The thought of that hurts more than all the anger that came before it. Changbin starts sobbing again, and Chan pulls him back into his chest.
“It’s okay, Bin. We’ll figure it out, okay? You’ll figure it out.”
Changbin doesn’t believe him then.
But Chan stays, holds him until the worst of Changbin’s sobs have subsided, waves away his hoarse apology for crying and snotting all over his shirt. Chan brings him water and painkillers and tucks him into bed so gently it would’ve made Changbin start crying all over again, if his body hadn’t utterly exhausted itself. Chan leaves and exhaustion drags Changbin into a deep, dreamless sleep, even though it’s only 8pm.
He sleeps for 14 hours and when he stumbles out of his room the next day, Chan tells him that Hyunjin and Jeongin will be switching rooms for a while.
When Changbin asks what he told them, Chan shrugs, says he just told them Changbin and Hyunjin had a fight. Most of them knew, apparently, about you and Hyunjin dating, about Changbin and his unresolved feelings about the matter, but nobody had dared push the question. On account of “Changbin acting like a ticking time bomb”, according to Chan, which makes Changbin crumple in on himself with more self-loathing.
Nonetheless, Changbin is more grateful than he can even describe. He mumbles as much to Chan, gives Jeongin a half-mumbled thank you as well, but Chan just pats him on the back.
“Told you we’d figure it out, yeah?”
And Changbin nods; realises he should’ve talked to Chan a long, long time ago.
Chan arranges for Changbin to take a couple days off, days which Changbin spends … heartbroken. Wallowing. Crying and eating ice cream, the whole nine yards. Except it’s even worse, because he didn’t just get his heart broken by one person, but two. And along the way he also lost not one of his best friends, but both.
There’s a you-shaped hole in his soul. Every now and again, he picks up his phone, and he sees your chat pinned to the top of his KakaoTalk and the last sticker you sent, and he wishes he could message you. He wishes he could open your chat and go ‘today sucked, wyd?’ like he used to and see your little message bubble pop up immediately, always ready with some words that somehow always made him feel better, even if it was just the stupidest little joke.
And he wishes that in the mornings, he didn’t hear Jeongin’s laugh echoing through the dorm from Jisung and Hyunjin’s bathroom. He wishes Hyunjin were here and everything was normal. He wishes he could knock on Hyunjin’s door like he always did when he had a hard day. Hyunjin always knew, somehow, only had to take one look at Changbin to know. Because on those days, there was only softness, no edge to his pretend words of resistance when Changbin asked if he could come in. He would let Changbin come into the sanctuary that is Hyunjin’s room, like a parallel world, a calm refuge, always smelling slightly of the dried roses hanging from his bedpost, the paint that’s always drying on some canvas or another.
But he has nothing now. He’s in his room, alone, in the empty dorm, while everyone else goes on with their life. And he keeps wondering if somewhere along the way he went wrong.
He didn’t think he did. His love for you and Hyunjin? There was never a question of it ever stopping. And the existence of two loves, his two loves, because they were always going to be a part of him, stitched into the fabric of his heart by fate itself, meant he could never have either. Because both of you deserved more than that. It’s what he always came back to. That part he was sure of. This was always the way it was meant to play out. Right?
A few days, he has lost count in his desolation, Changbin wakes up from a nap to laughter and chatter in the kitchen. One glance at his phone tells him it’s 8pm. He must’ve slept for an hour and a half somehow, though he doesn’t remember even falling asleep.
Groggily, he peels himself out of bed, throws a look in the mirror and runs a hand through his hair before he makes his way out of his room.
Though what he sees when he rounds the corner to the kitchen, makes him freeze in his tracks.
Everyone’s here. Jeongin, Seungmin and Yongbok are unloading containers and containers of takeaway food from countless white bags, Minho and Jisung are bickering and giggling while setting the table, and Chan is talking to …
You and Hyunjin, next to each other, laughing at something Chan said, fiddling with something in a big plastic container, trying to get it out of a brown paper bag …
When your eyes meet Changbin’s, you freeze. Chan whirls around, and Hyunjin sees him last, his face immediately falling as his eyes race up and down Changbin’s sleep-mussed form with badly contained worry.
“Binnie!” Chan exclaims and everyone else turns around. Changbin wants to disappear.
“Wh-what are you all doing here?” he somehow manages to rasp out, and Chan walks up to him.
“What do you mean? It’s your birthday, Bin, do you think we would let you wallow alone on your birthday?”
Oh.
He didn’t realise … Was it really … Wait, did he forget his own birthday?!
Chan seems to see the turmoil in his eyes, because he throws an arm around Changbin’s shoulder and leads him back down the hallway, back to his room.
“Why don’t you take a quick shower, and we’ll be right here, with food on the table, when you’re done, yeah? When’s the last time you had a proper–”
“Why are they here?”
It breaks out of him, interrupts Chan mid-sentence, but Chan doesn’t let it phase him.
“It’s your birthday, they wanted to celebrate it with you. Plus, they wanted to talk to you …”
Changbin panics, opens his mouth to say something, anything, to tell Chan that he isn’t ready, that he can’t face them, especially not together, but Chan shushes him.
“I think you should hear them out. Promise me you’ll hear them out?”
Changbin stares at Chan. He doesn’t know what they could possibly say that wouldn’t end with Changbin’s heart shattered on the floor of his room all over again, but Chan looks so convinced, so optimistic, so determined, that Changbin nods.
“Okay, now off to the shower with you. I’ll tidy up in here a bit, okay? Change your sheets, let some air in.”
Changbin nods again, lets Chan steer him to his drawers to get him a change of clothes, and then into the bathroom. And when he stumbles out of the steam ten minutes later, Chan is sitting on his clean, freshly made bed, scrolling through his phone.
“There you go, much better!” Chan exclaims with one of his patented smiles, and jumps up. “Now let’s get some food before it gets cold, and they kill us because they have to wait any longer.”
Everyone’s already crowded around the big dinner table, cheers erupting when Changbin and Chan come back. Jeongin mumbles a “finally!” and Changbin has no time to think before he’s steered into one of the empty seats, Seungmin to his left, Chan sitting down to his right.
When he looks up, he meets Jisung’s eyes, who smiles brightly at him, playing with Minho’s hand in his lap.
“Happy birthday, hyung! We missed you in the studio today,” he chirps, easily, dripping with sincerity, and Changbin’s heart convulses almost painfully. He had barely thought of the group these last few days, too focused was he on his broken heart. He feels almost bad.
“None of that,” Minho chides, as if he read Changbin’s mind. Though Changbin assumes it was written all over his face anyway. Clearly, his pokerface is lacking these days. “You needed the rest.”
Jisung next to him nods, and Changbin gives them both what he hopes is a genuine smile. But it’s hard. As Chan loads up his plate, he finally dares to let his eyes stray down the table where you and Hyunjin are, sat next to each other.
To his relief, neither of you are looking at him. You’re talking to Jeongin about something, Hyunjin is busy trying to get a drink from the kitchen island without having to get up, before he gives up and does, grabbing two diet cokes, placing one in front of you automatically. The gesture is so domestic it makes Changbin feel sick with jealousy. He can’t do this. He can’t watch this. What the fuck was he thinking?!
But then Hyunjin’s eyes meet his and Hyunjin smiles. It’s small, sheepish, and impossibly soft, big eyes round, mouthing a quiet “hi” and Changbin’s chest erupts into barbed wire butterflies. He wonders how long it will take for him to get over this. He wonders if he ever will.
“Come on, Bin, eat up,” Chan exclaims, rips Changbin’s attention away from Hyunjin and to his plate, filled to the brim with all his favourite foods and when he looks up, Seungmin is smiling at him.
“Eat, hyung, we had to go to like five different places to get all of this, so you better enjoy it,” he teases, and Changbin huffs out a laugh, but digs in.
And really, he didn’t eat very well the last few days, his appetite having all but disappeared, swallowed up by the heartbreak until there was nothing left. So he lived on leftovers left by the others, off cup ramen and convenience store kimbap. And he didn’t care, but now, with all of this in front of him, he realises he’s starving.
So he eats. Lets himself be dragged into different conversations, lets Jisung whine about how fast his rap is in the song they were recording, listens to him and Seungmin discuss singing techniques, to Chan talk about this new machine his personal trainer made him use the other day.
Every now and again, he steals glances at you and Hyunjin, and he doesn’t know if you’re doing it to be kind to him, but there’s no lovey-dovey-ness between you; no whispering, no touching, no stolen glances. Changbin is grateful, but he’s also confused.
But before long, everyone’s done eating and you and Hyunjin disappear into the kitchen only to reappear side by side, holding a giant cake. Everyone starts singing the most disjointed rendition of happy birthday which should be criminal considered they’re all singers, but Changbin doesn’t care. Tears prick in his eyes before the song is even over.
The cake is pink. Impeccably frosted. And it’s dwaekki-themed. Ears, little pigtail and face and all. On the bottom it says, “Happy birthday, Changbin!” and there are at least 10 candles, burning, flickering precariously with every step you take.
You and Hyunjin carry it in together, smiling at him, placing the cake in front of him on the table just when the song ends and Changbin tries his best not to cry. Before you pull away, he can feel your hand on brush against his neck, rubbing your thumb over his skin, then Hyunjin’s stronger one, squeezing his shoulder. They’re small touches, barely anything, but his whole body erupts into goosebumps.
But he doesn’t have time to dwell. Someone hands him the knife, tells him to blow out the candles and make a wish, and he does, wishes that one day he will be able to have his friends back.
They wanted to talk to you.
Changbin tries not to freak out about the prospect of it, but when everyone’s had cake, when Minho and Jisung and Chan are done tidying up the kitchen, and everyone slowly starts to make to leave except for you and Hyunjin, it all becomes a little too real.
“Bin?”
You say his name so sweetly, so quietly.
He turns and is met with you and Hyunjin, who’s hovering behind you, gnawing at his lips nervously.
“C-can we talk?” you ask.
Changbin doesn’t respond. He has the urge to say yes, because you clearly want to. He can see the worry and the stress in your tired eyes, wants to do anything he can to alleviate it, but … he doesn’t know if he can do this. He feels like he’s made of glass and one wrong move will shatter him all over the floor.
“Please, hyung,” Hyunjin mumbles, opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but Jisung screeching in the hallway, makes him falter. “Just, please?”
So Changbin nods. He tries to regulate his breathing as everyone files out with little waves and hugs and more “happy birthdays”, and even manages to hold it together when Chan hugs him and mumbles “you can call me if anything happens, okay?”, only when the door falls shut behind them, and he’s left alone with you, he starts panicking.
He turns around and finds you exactly where you were before, aimlessly fiddling with one of the containers of leftovers, Hyunjin leaning against the kitchen island, running his hand through his hair for the nth time, his foot tapping the floor nervously.
Changbin can’t stand it any longer.
“I … I can’t be your friend. I’m sorry. I really tried, but I-I can’t,” he forces out, “or maybe I can, one day, but not right now. It hurts too much. You hurt me a lot. I need time.”
You straighten up, a look on your face like you’ve been slapped.
Hyunjin winces, takes a step towards him.
“Hyung, I’m sorry,” he starts, and Changbin’s brows furrow, but Hyunjin just takes another step towards him, “I know, I fucked up, I shouldn’t have just kissed you.”
Changbin freezes, whips his head over to you, but you don’t seem surprised. Quite the opposite. Hyunjin is right in front of him now, his breath puffing against his face, just like it did a few days ago, right before …
“I shouldn’t have done it,” he says, his determined gaze racing all over Changbin’s face, “and I should’ve explained, but it was all so … I was so confused and so unsure because I couldn’t believe you’d really want me …”
“What?!”
His disbelief is genuine.
Hyunjin blushes, and nods.
“Y/Nie kept telling me, but I just couldn’t believe it? I thought you were just teasing me all these years. Ironic, because the one person I wanted, didn’t want me back. Because it was always so obvious to me that you wanted her …”
Changbin’s head spins and for a second, he thinks he might pass out. You seem to be able to sense it. You mumble, Hyunjin’s name, who blinks, then takes a quick step back. Changbin feels like he can breathe again.
“Hey, why don’t we take this to your room, Bin?” you say gently, give Hyunjin a look. Hyunjin nods, steps back another few steps, and lets you take Changbin’s hand and drag him back to his room.
You lead him to his bed, make him sit down, Hyunjin immediately taking the spot next to him, just close enough, so his knee rests against the side of Changbin’s thigh when he crosses his long graceful legs underneath him. There’s more space between them now, which Changbin is grateful for, because even just that touch when it’s just the three of you here in his room, makes him a little dizzy.
You don’t sit down, instead you come to stand in front of him. Changbin blinks up at you. He feels like he’s staring straight at the sun.
“We’re sorry, Binnie,” you announce with a deep sigh, giving Changbin a look that melts his heart, “we’re sorry we didn’t talk to you sooner. Everything was so messy, and it took us ages to figure it out between ourselves and … and we didn’t know how much you were hurting, how much we were hurting you. We’re sorry.”
Hyunjin makes a soft sound of agreement next to him.
“The thing is …” you take a deep breath, ”both Hyune and I … we both went into our date with each other trying to get over you.”
Changbin’s whole world tilts on its axis.
“I kinda … I loved you for so long, and I figured you’d never want me back, I honestly always thought you were in love with Hyunjin, ever since you told me about him, but … I don’t know, it’s been like, what 7 years, and you never made a move and when Hyune and I met, there was so much chemistry and I thought maybe, just maybe, I should try, you know? And I didn’t know if it would last or anything, but I was kinda desperate because I really needed to get over you.”
You flush, fidget awkwardly where you stand.
“But then … I don’t know, I fucked up, I kissed you, and we had sex and afterwards it was so obvious how much you regretted it, and it hurt so fucking bad to see, so when Hyunjin kissed me in the museum and my heart nearly beat out of my chest, I, uh, I was so relieved. Like, maybe there was a chance, maybe I could get over you. But I couldn’t … of course not.”
Hyunjin’s hand splays over Changbin’s thigh, and Changbin shivers.
“And neither could I …” he murmurs, voice thick like honey in Changbin’s ears. “I really tried … and I was so confused that on Y/N and my second date, I just kind of … freaked out. Told her I heard you. Told her that I was sorry but also that I wasn’t, because it … it turned me on so bad.”
He breathes out the last words, and Changbin nearly chokes on his spit.
“But also that I was really jealous and that I was pretty sure I was in love with you but also liked her and … well, long story short, we realised in a, uhh, very explicit way, that we were both in the same boat, but also really liked each other … But it almost felt like … something was missing. You were missing.”
Hyunjin moves a little closer, lets his hand trace over Changbin’s arm, down to his wrist, before linking his hands in his.
“And we wanted to talk to you, but then you were so cold to me when we were filming that last SKZ code episode, and I kinda just … lost my head. I got so scared. And I followed you because I wanted to tell you all of this, but you were so angry, and it was so hot, and you kissed me back so hard it knocked any coherent thought out of me and I messed it all up. Chan told me as much, when he came to the other dorm. Yelled at me so loud in front of the others …”
Hyunjin shivers, and you take the break in his rant to sit down on Changbin’s other side.
“When Hyunjin told Chan we wanted to talk to you, he had this big, long dad talk with us, about our feelings and our intentions,” you mumble, and shiver. “He basically gave us the shovel talk, it was scary.”
Hyunjin giggles quietly.
“But the long and short of it is,” you take a deep breath, but it’s shaky. Hyunjin’s hand leaves Changbin’s only for long enough to reach over his lap and squeeze yours, before returning to lace into Changbin’s again. “We wanted to ask you … if there was any possible way you might have feelings for us. Because we do … have, like, a lot of feelings … for you.”
Changbin’s heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest. He wants to pinch himself, to make sure he isn’t dreaming, but Hyunjin’s warm presence, his thumb rubbing circles into the back of his hand, your leg jumping nervously, it all feels too real to be a dream.
“It’s okay if you don’t,” you breathe out with an awkward chuckle, “just … you just need to tell us. We didn’t really think that far because we’re both romantics and also both kinda delusional,” you laugh again, though Changbin can hear the sadness, “That’s something we learned about each other in the last weeks. But we’ll figure something out. If you just love Hyune, it’s okay, I … I’m not mad, I promise. At least I’ll know. I just can’t pine over you any longer.”
Changbin’s head whips up so fast he nearly pulls something.
“Is that what you think?”
You shrug, avoid his eyes.
“It seemed pretty obvious,” you mumble, “with how you talked about him from day one. How much you regretted sleeping with me, how you kissed him back …”
You look so devastated, it makes Changbin’s chest ache.
He shakes his head. He reaches for you, his hand as shaky as the day you kissed him, cupping your face. His whole body is thrumming with something he can’t name.
“I … wow, is this real?!” he huffs out, with a disbelieving laugh, “Angel, I’ve been in love with you for years …”
Hyunjin hums approvingly, and Changbin’s face snaps over. Hyunjin is right there, staring at him with wide eyes.
“You …” Changbin mumbles, and Hyunjin’s eyes suddenly widen, almost in fear, “Do you think I would flirt with you for so many years without meaning any of it?! Are you crazy?”
Hyunjin pouts, and Changbin wants to kiss it off him. The thought that he might have wanted him to all along, makes him feel insane.
“Well, you never shut up about her! It was always ‘Y/N this, Y/N that’ and ‘Ah, no, Changbin isn’t coming home until later, he’s at Y/N’s’. At some point, I figured the two of you were together and just didn’t tell anyone.”
Changbin blushes hard, but before he can overthink it, he decides to be brave. He frees his hand from Hyunjin’s reaches up, and pulls Hyunjin into a kiss. Hyunjin squeals into his lips, before he relaxes, presses himself closer, until half his leg is in Changbin’s lap and his hand is ghosting up his back. And then he pulls back, blinks his eyes open and looks past Changbin, and Changbin turns and meets your eyes. Your pupils are blown, and despite all of his words, there’s something so uncertain in your face.
“Come here,” Changbin whispers, and you do. Effortlessly, easily, shimmy forward until he can wrap his arm around your waist and press his lips to yours, and he wonders once more if he’s dreaming, but when Hyunjin’s lips find his neck, your fingers travel over his legs until they find Hyunjin’s …
When Changbin pulls back, he’s dizzy. Hyunjin is all but folded around him, nuzzling his face into Changbin’s neck, and you’re staring at him so intently and Changbin has a hard time figuring out what’s right and wrong.
Hyunjin shifts and Changbin feels him half hard in his pants, and he panics a little bit.
“C-can we … can we just … can we just hang out tonight? Watch something or cuddle, or I don’t know,” he asks, shakily, squeezes his eyes closed, “this is … this is a lot, I think I need a minute.”
Hyunjin pulls back, soothes his hand over Changbin’s back and you nod.
It’s only when the light is off later, the three of you tangled into each other in Changbin’s double bed, that’s just about big enough to hold you all, with you curled up against his chest and Hyunjin’s body plastered against his back, that Hyunjin dares bring it up again.
“This feels right, doesn’t it?” he whispers into the darkness, and Changbin’s heart skips a beat. You giggle and hum out a sleepy yes against his chest, and Changbin can’t even find the words. It does.
It’s scary, so, so scary and new, but it feels right in a way that only his soul can understand.
And his soul? Well, it seems that overnight, it found its way, back to where it belongs – in the spot right next to his beating, aching heart, beating and, maybe, just maybe, if last night wasn’t a dream, no longer aching for you.
And it wasn’t a dream, Changbin notes, with a relief that makes his toes curl. Because before he even opens his eyes he can feel Hyunjin’s hair tickling his nose, your soft arm thrown over his waist, your feet tangled with his, and the sun shining in through the crack in the curtains, and he feels like he’s finally come home.
You stir against his back, arch into him as you stretch, your fingers absentmindedly slipping under his shirt, brushing against the skin of his lower stomach. You nuzzle back against him, press a soft kiss to his back, and he sighs. Gently, he covers your hand and with his, gives it a squeeze that makes you hum softly.
Hyunjin wakes then, too, huffing out a breath, the little pout on his angelic face pulling into a yawn, before he detaches himself from Changbin’s side enough to roll onto his back. Changbin watches as he stretches his arms above his head, cursing Hyunjin because he clearly knows how good he looks like this, the lean muscles in his biceps bulging, his shirt riding up enough to expose his toned stomach, the little trail of dark hair leading into his pants where …
Jesus christ. Changbin had seen Hyunjin naked before, plenty of times, and distantly, he knew Hyunjin wasn’t exactly on the small side, but right here, right now, morning wood impressively hard in just his thin cotton boxers? His cock is fucking massive. The mere thought of getting his hands on him makes Changbin’s own half-hard cock twitch in interest.
And you seem to have felt it, because you chuckle deviously and the hand that was trailing over his stomach dips lower.
Hyunjin blinks his eyes open at the sound of your giggle, a pretty little smile on his face as he faces Changbin, his eyes falling down to where your fingers are tracing the waistband of Changbin’s briefs and he hums.
“Good morning,” he rasps, scoots closer, lets one of his hands trail up Changbin’s arm, up over his shoulder, until he can trace Changbin’s cheek. He’s gentle with it, his eyes constantly on Changbin, watching every single one of his reactions with a loving diligence. But below his gentleness, simmering somewhere deep in his eyes, is a hunger than Changbin has never seen before. His cock is rock hard now, your teasing fingertips keeping him teetering on the brink of insanity.
“Please tell me you haven’t changed your mind …” Hyunjin breathes out, and Changbin huffs out in disbelief. He shakes his head and that’s all Hyunjin needs before he leans in to kiss him, morning breath and all. But Changbin doesn’t care. He’s in his bed, with the sun on his face, your body pressed against him and Hyunjin kissing him. He has never been better.
Your fingers dip underneath his waistband like a question.
“Is this okay?” you ask, your voice a breathless thing against the nape of his neck.
Changbin nods, whines a yes into Hyunjin’s lips, and then your hand wraps around his cock and he moans. Hyunjin sighs happily, pulls back only enough to murmur a pleased little “so loud” against his lips, before he presses closer and kisses him even harder.
It’s mind-blowing how good your simple touches feel, nothing grand, only your bodies pressed together, your hand sliding up and down his cock, Hyunjin’s tongue licking against his.
When Changbin’s hips stutter, Hyunjin makes a noise into his mouth and pulls back. Changbin nearly comes just from the vision of him, eyes darker than he’s ever seen them, his sinfully plump lips bitten, chest rising and falling harshly. He looks like some kind of greek god of sex, even more so when he looks past him, over his shoulder, and then pushes Changbin until he’s all the way on his back.
When Hyunjin grabs you by the chin and pulls you in for a kiss right in front of Changbin, Changbin thinks he might actually still be dreaming because holy shit. You’re greedy, pull Hyunjin in with a hand in his hair and Hyunjin matches you effortlessly, parts his lips, lets you lick into his mouth before he returns the favour, kisses you so filthily, Changbin’s belly does a swoop and his cock twitches pathetically in your hand, that’s still pumping, albeit erratically, too distracted by Hyunjin’s assault on your mouth.
But before long, Hyunjin pulls back and turns his hungry eyes back on Changbin, keeps him pinned to the mattress with them as he shoves the covers aside and slithers down his body.
“Fuck, Hyune-aahhh.”
Changbin’s words are cut off when Hyunjin nudges his nose and open mouth against his clothed cock with a hum that travels all the way up Changbin’s spine. There’s an embarrassing wet spot where the head of his cock is leaking, and it’s only getting wetter by the minute.
"Let me make it up to you, hyungie," Hyunjin purrs.
“I’m not gonna … fuck me sideways,” he moans out when Hyunjin rips his briefs down and off his legs in one fell swoop.
“Some other time, gladly,” Hyunjin teases, and Changbin would’ve made a pathetic sound in the back of his throat if Hyunjin didn’t choose that exact moment to swallow his cock into his hot mouth.
He hollows his cheeks, hums, does a little flick with his tongue against the underside of Changbin’s cock and makes a whole show of rolling his eyes before he pulls off and grins up at Changbin.
“Your cock is so perfect, hyungie,” he teases, and Changbin tries to hide his burning, probably embarrassingly pink, face with a whine, only to awkwardly bump his nose into the side of your face. You giggle.
“What? Don’t like the dirty talk?” you hum, and Changbin gives you a mock glare, one that is horribly interrupted by his eyes rolling into the back of his head when Hyunjin sinks his cock back into his mouth.
“If I’d known … fuck, Hyunjin,” Changbin moans, his hand reaching down, tangling in Hyunjin’s hair, though feeling the bob of his head only makes him hurtle towards his orgasm faster, “if I’d known you had such a mouth on you …”
Hyunjin pulls off again, his eyes watery from the effort, and lets the head of Changbin’s cock rest against his plump bottom lip and smiles up at him. It’s an image that not even Changbin’s filthiest desires could’ve cooked up.
“Then what? You would’ve let me hit sooner?”
His tongue darts out and digs into Changbin’s slit, and Changbin curses. He’s going to come, and soon.
Your fingertips trail under his shirt, up the side of his chest, until they reach his nipple. Your touch makes electricity prickle through his veins, and then you turn his head towards you and your lips find his and Changbin loses any shred of sanity.
He comes with an arch of his back and a strangled moan that’s muffled by your lips, one hand buried in Hyunjin’s hair, the other holding on to your arm for dear life. Pleasure rushes through him so fast he thinks he might black out, his whole body shivering again and again, toes curling, until he has nothing left to give, and he collapses into the pillows, breathing heavily, one arm slung over his face.
Distantly, he feels Hyunjin pull off his cock, and he tries to slur out an apology, one Hyunjin promptly ignores.
“Did he just …” Hyunjin asks, fondness laced through every word.
“Did you just come from kissing me?” you ask with a giggle, but it’s so gentle, so fond, that the embarrassment burning Changbin’s ears can’t even harshen his post-orgasm glow.
Hyunjin giggles, then there’s shuffling. Hyunjin murmurs a quiet “come here, baby” and your warmth disappears from Changbin’s side with one more kiss to his forehead, and then the bed dips on his other. When Changbin lifts his arm and cracks one of his eyes open, he is greeted with the view of you and Hyunjin kissing again, though this time it’s different. A lot softer, more coordinated.
You’re straddling Hyunjin’s waist, one knee on each side of him, draped over his chest, one hand supporting yourself in the pillows next to Hyunjin’s head, the other cupping Hyunjin’s face like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever touched. Hyunjin’s hands on the other hand, are all over you – one smoothing under your shirt and over your belly and, if your gasp is anything to judge by, grabbing your tits, the other on the back of your legs, travelling up and under the boxer shorts you borrowed from Changbin. Changbin can’t see, but when you moan and arch into his hand, he assumes Hyunjin started playing with your pussy.
Changbin’s mouth waters just watching, but then you sit back enough to pull your shirt over your head and do the same to Hyunjin and suddenly, Changbin’s mouth is very, very dry. His cock twitches valiantly.
Skin. So much skin. Your plushness against Hyunjin’s lean, wiry muscles, his strong hands digging divots into your skin, one of them wrapped around your breast, playing with your nipples. Hyunjin is still hard, straining against his boxers, and when you grind forward, dragging your core against the base of his cock, Hyunjin moans, low and melodic and needy.
Changbin’s hard again. It must be some sort of record, but how could he not, with the two most perfect people he has ever seen, making out half naked after sucking soul of out him.
When you scramble off the bed to shuck off your (his, Changbin’s brain supplies unhelpfully) boxers and see him watching you, a smile so gorgeous yet so devious it gives him whiplash, pulls at your lips.
Hyunjin scrambles out of his boxers, too, and Changbin can’t help but stare when Hyunjin’s cock springs free and slaps heavily against his abdomen because fuck, that might be the most beautiful dick he’s ever seen in his life, long and straight, beading precum at the tip. And lord knows he has imagined having Hyunjin every which way, but the thought of him putting that inside him makes Changbin a little more than just dizzy.
Changbin gets distracted by Hyunjin reaching out, wrapping his fingers around his wrist and pulling him closer.
“Get over here,” Hyunjin rasps out, his eyes hooded, and Changbin doesn’t have to be told twice.
He leans in, captures Hyunjin’s lips in his, kisses him with everything he has because, oh god, he can just do this now. He can just kiss Hwang Hyunjin whenever he wants. And Hyunjin seems to like it, because he turns into putty underneath his hands, pliable and pretty, chasing Changbin’s touch until Changbin gives in, runs his palms over his stomach, down, wrapping his hand around his beautiful, heavy cock, and stroking him, swallowing his moans, until Changbin feels the bed dip and your leg against his again. Then he trails his hands up again, over his abs, until he can run his fingers over his pecs. When he brushes over his nipple, Hyunjin gasps, throws his head back.
“Binnie,” you murmur softly, and when he looks over, you sink down on Hyunjin’s cock, taking it all the way to the hilt with a choked moan, your fingernails digging into Hyunjin’s thighs and Changbin nearly comes on the spot. Hyunjin moans prettily, one of his hands finding your waist, eyebrows knitting together in an expression of pleasure-pain that is more gorgeous than anything Changbin has ever seen.
But when he looks over at you, you, with your hair wild, your back arched, goosebumps on your glistening skin as you throw your head back, circle your hips in a slow grind – Changbin is at a loss where to look because surely this cannot be real.
Hyunjin makes the decision for him, whines, demands his attention back by sinking his fingers into Changbin’s hair and yanking him down into his lips so hard pain zaps through Changbin’s scalp, only to be replaced by molten arousal when Hyunjin licks into his mouth like a man starved. And his moans only get louder when you start bouncing on him in earnest, getting up on your knees and letting yourself fall down on Hyunjin’s cock until your legs start shaking.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Hyunjin curses out, his hips bucking up to meet yours with every one of your bounces, and you mewl, falling forward and into Hyunjin’s chest weakly.
“C-can’t, legs h-hurt, p-please,” you whimper, voice so brittle and desperate it sends Changbin into a tailspin. He mashes his lips against yours and Hyunjin moans, plants his feet and starts fucking up into you, and the sound you make is outright obscene. Changbin’s patience snaps, and he reaches down, wraps one hand around himself. The relief of his touch makes him almost delirious.
You’re still kissing him, though it’s more teeth and spit than anything, and then you turn your head and Hyunjin catches you, cradles you against him and fucks up into you harder, until Changbin’s headboard is thudding against the wall in an erratic rhythm that Changbin knows all the neighbours can hear.
“C-close,” you mumble and Hyunjin whimpers into your mouth, turns, drags Changbin closer until his mouth is in the mix, too, and it’s filthy and messy and so entirely uncoordinated that it shouldn’t be hot, but, it is, because Changbin is swapping spit with the two loves of his life.
Somehow, he comes first, spills weakly over his fist as another desperate orgasm racks through him, renders him entirely boneless, watching as Hyunjin ruts into you until you come with a choked moan, muttering Hyunjin’s then Changbin’s name, and Hyunjin’s whole body arches when he follows you over the edge, burying himself in you to the hilt with a weak moan.
Then he collapses, and you along with him, cheek squished against his chest, fucked out and gorgeous, before you slowly let yourself slide off his chest, and into the space between them. You mewl weakly when Hyunjin’s cock slides out of you and his cum starts dripping out of you, a sight that makes stars dance in Changbin’s vision and his spent cock throb.
It’s a little gross. Sweat and cum and spit drying on skin, but neither you nor Hyunjin make any effort to move. And neither does Changbin. So the three of you just lie there, basking in the glory of it all, Hyunjin and your hands linked on his chest, Changbin wrapped around your back, drawing shapes onto Hyunjin’s abs.
“Are we … are we dating now?” you ask into the silence, sheepish, and Hyunjin cracks an eye open, before he turns on his side, presses a kiss to your nose that makes Changbin’s heart flutter.
“I’d be honoured to be your boyfriend,” he murmurs, and Changbin can see your smile mirrored in the one that takes over Hyunjin’s as he looks at you.
Then you turn around, enough to be able to stare up at Changbin.
“What about you? Wanna be my boyfriend, Binnie?”
“And mine!” Hyunjin chirps. You giggle.
“And Hyunjin’s?”
Changbin doesn’t even try to play coy. He smiles, big and uninhibited, so wide he knows his dimples are probably showing, but he doesn’t care.
“I’d love to be your boyfriend,” he says. He means it more than he has ever meant anything in his life. His heart threatens to leap out of his chest.
“And mine?” Hyunjin asks, fluttering his lashes at Changbin with a pretty little pout on his lips.
“And yours, silly,” Changbin laughs out and Hyunjin smiles, leans up to kiss Changbin, then you, watches as Changbin kisses you with a smile on his lips, before he settles back down, cuddles back up to you. Changbin yawns.
“We should shower …” he says, half-heartedly, but you huff, pull his arm closer around you.
“Just … a few more minutes,” you mumble, and Changbin can hear the sleep already tugging at your consciousness.
“Yeah, this is nice,” Hyunjin adds, scoots closer until his forehead is resting against yours on the pillow. His eyes are already closed.
And Changbin? Well, what is he going to do. He ignores the stickiness between his legs in favour of the soft body of his love in his arms, and when sleep tugs at his consciousness, beckoned by Hyunjin’s soft snores, he lets it overtake him. They can always shower later. They have all the time in the world now.
A year later, on his birthday, they’re all out together at a Korean BBQ place, one that Jisung and Minho go to so often that they’ve become friends with the owners, and always get a private room in the back where they can truly have privacy.
You and Hyunjin disappear after the meat is all eaten, and then you walk back in, moments later, side by side, holding a giant cake. Everyone sings happy birthday.
The cake has a picture of the three of you on it, because his birthday is now also partly your anniversary. You usually celebrate twice, though. Not like any of you need an excuse to be sappy and romantic on any given day. You may be the sappiest couple, or throuple, Changbin knows. He loves every second of it.
In the picture on the cake, Changbin is standing in between you two, Hyunjin’s arm slung around his shoulders, you folded into his side. You took it at Namsan Tower a couple of months ago, asked a stranger to take it in front of the famous hearts, giggling when you pulled down your masks and the stranger looked confused, like he was trying to figure out where he knew you from. It was a beautiful night. You ate ice cream and stole sticky sweet kisses in alleyways and behind trees and then went home and fucked each other’s brains out until Jisung was pounding on the wall separating his room from Hyunjin’s begging you to stop.
You place the cake down on the table in front of him as the song ends. Someone tells him to blow out the candles and make a wish.
He blows them out and wishes this – you, Changbin and Hyunjin – will last forever.
Everyone cheers, you squeal, wrap your arms around his shoulders from behind. Hyunjin sits back down at his place to Changbin’s right and laces his fingers with his. He gives Changbin the biggest, fondest, smile, and leans in until he's cuddled into his side. Changbin’s heart melts.
You pepper sweet little kisses all over his cheek and over his neck.
“Happy birthday, Binnie,” you whisper, happiness evident in your voice. “I love you so much.”
skzms masterlist // ko-fi
star dividers just for me by the lovely @lunarvue - thank you, my love!!
GENERAL TAGLIST OPEN 🔖
(please be 18+ and have your age in your bio, otherwise I won't add you)
that thing u said abt dry humping w mimo…………………. mmmmgh
I just typed out three whole paragraphs and then looked at them and was like ... I need to write this, don't I ... so
🔞 1.3k words, dry humping in grey sweats, big cock minho
"Ah, fuuuck."
Minho's voice is shot. He's breathing another curse against the side of your face, both his hands on your ass, rutting you down just as he grinds upwards, dragging his cock over your clit at an angle that makes you groan into his neck.
"M-Min," you mumble, smush your palm against the side of his face, dragging him back and into a filthy kiss. It's really nothing much like a kiss, open mouths sliding together, tangles tangling, spit pooling, but he doesn't seem to mind. He groans louder, digs his fingers into your ass, grinds up harder.
You know you could cum like this, have plenty of times before, just like this, making out on the sofa after a long day, humping your pussy against his cock until you both fall apart.
But Minho has a mad glint in his eyes today, one that is just on the right side of horny and unhinged and makes you even wetter. You love when you don't know what's going on in his weird brain. You love being surprised by it.
You hear Minho growl before you're suddenly being dragged upright and then your world flips and you're underneath him.
Minho sits back on his haunches, towers over you like this. His eyes are dark, a mad glint and unbridled, horny need pinning you to the cushions with such intensity that it makes your whole body shudder. His eyelids flutter when you do. He licks his lips, then his eyes dip down, along your body, until they're fixed between your legs.
Slowly, he reaches out, drags his fingertips over your clothed cunt, relishes in the gasp you let out. Then he uses his other hand to fist the material, pull it up, taut, the thin-ish material of your sweats riding in between your folds and you're sure he can see the outline of absolutely everything like this.
But somehow, it still doesn't seem enough, when he grunts and grabs first your own ankle, then the other, and throws them up and over his shoulders, before spreading your thighs for him.
Then he goes back in, pulls your sweats taut over your pussy and groans.
"Fuck, your little pussy looks so good like this, baby," he mumbles, his free hand coming down to stroke you again. It's not enough to get you off, but the barely there, consistent pressure of two of his fingers dragging up and down your slit are just enough to make your pussy throb. You can feel the wetness pool, ready to take his cock and then some, but he doesn't seem to plan on doing that anytime soon.
When he stops, you have to swallow down a pathetic moan. Your whole body is thrumming with need. But then he suddenly digs his thumb right where your hole is and your back arches off the sofa.
"'re you wet, baby?" he murmurs, barely audibly, almost like he's talking to himself. His eyes are glued to his finger, where it's rubbing and rubbing and rubbing against your hole, ignoring where you're writhing and mewling underneath him.
"M-Min, p-please," you wail out, but he doesn't react, only grabs your ankle tighter to hold you in place.
Then he suddenly stops, sucks his bottom lip between his teeth and groans.
"Ah, fuck yeah," he groans out, "knew you were."
It dawns on you then. He wanted your slick wetness to seep through your panties, all the way through your thin, grey sweatpants.
"Dirty boy," you manage to gasp out, but he just grins without tearing his eyes away from between your legs, and starts palming his own cock through his sweats.
"Wish you could see yourself like this, baby," he purrs, his breathing getting heavier, "look so fuckin' good."
Before you can say anything else, he shuffles closer, until he's kneeling right between your legs, and he takes a hold of your right leg again. With one, strong movement, he pulls you up until your lower back is no longer resting on the sofa, your pussy lined up right in front of his cock.
He's still palming himself, but then he lets go, surveys the scene. His eyebrows knit together, and he for a second he looks so cute, so disgruntled, that you could coo at him. But that moment passes when he shoves his hand in his pants, takes ahold of his boxers and pulls them down below his balls.
When he pulls his hand back and lets go of his cock you see why.
It's standing out in front of him, proud, and thick and rock fucking solid, tenting his sweats in a way that is frankly fucking obscene.
And then he fists the material of your sweats in one hand, grabs a hold of his cock in the other, just his thumb, pressing against the base of himself, and rubs his cock right over your clit.
Stars explode in your vision, your walls flutter around nothing, your whole body pulled taut because holy fuck why does that feel so good.
Minho is always a little quieter, but even he can't control the wet little groan that rolls from his tongue when he ruts forward, when he can see the outline of the head of his cock every time he thrusts.
Minho uses the grip on your ankle to pull you back up from where you collapsed in on yourself with the onslaught of pressure, and it just makes Minho's cock nestle more perfectly in between the lips of your pussy, something that is apparently very much visible because Minho moans and his hips stutter.
"God, fuck," he pants, presses his cock down harder, ruts into you a little faster, "fuck, I can feel you."
You can't respond, but you know you don't have to. Minho knows. He knows your body inside and out, can probably tell from the erratic twitching of your hips that you're hurtling towards an orgasm so intense it will probably leave you so boneless after that he will have to carry you to bed.
Minho throws his head back with a moan and fucks his hips forward faster, the head of his cock dragging all over you perfectly, rubbing over your whole, then bumping into your clit, and that combined with the friction from all the cotton and jersey drives you over the edge.
You come with a strangled, broken moan, your back arching, vision whiting out, so overwhelmed that your thighs shake, try to close, even though they're still in Minho's iron grip, and Minho ... loses it.
In one single movement, he leans forward, catches himself with a hand on the back of the sofa, presses his cock into your folds with his entire palm and fucks into you so hard and fast it ruts you up the sofa with every thrust, until he throws his head back, his whole body shudders and he comes.
You watch in fascination as he does, watch his cock twitch, then, little white droplets of his cum pushing through the fabric and pearling up before they get smeared against your own, soiled, slick darkened sweats.
When he's done, he sways and collapses into your chest, his sweaty face smushing against your jaw.
You briefly think about making some joke-y comment about how he ruined both of your clothes, but your floaty, completely empty mind simply can't conjure up the energy to pretend you care.
"Holy fuck," Minho slurs, his breath still puffing heavily against your skin.
"That was the filthiest fucking thing we've ever done, somehow, and we're entirely clothed," you muse and Minho snorts, then giggles happily. He shifts in your arms and hisses.
"I think I chafed my dick," he groans, and this time it's you who giggles. He pulls back and stares you down, his mouth open in disbelief.
"Sorry, baby," you coo, lean forward to press a kiss into his lips. You mean for it to just be a peck, but Minho forces his tongue into your mouth immediately, kissing you quick and dirty and so dizzyingly that by the time you pull back, you almost forgot what you were about to say.
His eyes are glued to your lips when you speak, but they snap up and darken with mischief when you do.
"Want me to kiss it better?"
skzms masterlist // ko-fi
GENERAL TAGLIST OPEN 🔖
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It’s been two weeks since Chan 'mutually agreed' to leave the only career he's ever known or wanted. Five since the only girl he's ever loved bore her teeth and shredded his heart. What’s left of his life isn’t his. Doesn’t look or feel like his. It can’t be.
Over-starched bed sheets and a pay-per-hour television. Air conditioning that fizzles out every twenty-two minutes and smells like eggs. Mosquito nets over the windows that only open with a solid elbow to the frame. Dubiously stained brown carpet. Paisley print wallpaper and one mug. Just the one. It’s all the motel supply. All he needs, so that works out.
Jisung and Changbin tell him they’re ‘on call’. Ready at the drop of a hat to be there for him, however he needs them. He doesn’t really understand why. Doesn’t know what they get out of this friendship. And on some level he knows it’s wrong to think of it like that. Friendships aren’t built on gain or worth. They simply are. He just doesn’t quite think the same way anymore. Like the shape of his brain has changed. It used to be normal. Squishy and pink. Now he thinks it's probably black and hard. You know. Nonetheless, he’s grateful for those two. More than grateful. Terrifyingly grateful. Without them to distract him— he dreads to think.
The air-con's whirring dampens Jisung’s flow. He corks his rap, stops the phone recording, pinches the bridge of his nose. “Hyung.”
Chan quirks a brow, hunched over his laptop.
“Are you sure we can’t do this at my dorm?”
“I can’t.”
“What if we, like, use a disguise? Nobody will recognise you!”
Chan swallows. His throat aches. “I’m sorry, Jisung.”
“Man. Don’t apologise. Shit.” Jisung sits on the bed, puts a hand on Chan’s knee. “I’m not trying to make you feel any type of way. I just wish...”
“Yeah. Me too.”
Jisung deflates. Squeezes Chan’s knee softly. Chan watches it there— the hand on him, nursing a little patch of warmth. How it flexes. His fingers are slim and dainty, nails neatly trimmed and polished black. He smiles.
“Tiny hand.”
“Hm?” Jisung looks down.
Chan lifts Jisung’s hand from his knee, turns their palms together. His fingers fall short of his own. Chan’s are thicker. Longer. He scoffs gently. “How can a hand be so tiny?”
The younger grins. “What are you hating on my hand for?”
“No hate. It’s cute.” He slots their fingers. “We fit well.”
“H— Hyung.”
Chan looks at his friend. Suddenly, it’s quiet, and they’re close. Closer than Chan had really realised. But he looks at Jisung, because looking at him makes his eyes stop stinging. He looks at his soft cheeks dusted a sweet rose. At the curve of his cupid’s bow. At his skin the colour of rich honey in the dim light. At his star-speckled eyes and thick lashes. Slender throat that bobs with a swallow.
Huh.
“S— Sorry.” Chan withdraws. Is suddenly short of breath.
Jisung blinks.
“It’s okay. I don’t— I don’t mind. You can hold my hand.”
He holds it upturned, held still. Inviting. Chan stares at it, mouth drying out. His palms itch, his heart fucking hurts. It’s just a hand, but it feels like so much more. Like a promise.
“You don't have to—”
“No. I—” Chan swallows. “Thank you.”
When he tentatively relinks their fingers, something shifts. It catches and stings like he’s caught a hangnail. Pieces of him so shattered by cold abandonment and betrayal are warmed by human contact. By intimacy. By his best friend.
Fuck. When did he start crying?
Jisung closes Chan’s laptop and slides it away. He knee-crawls to Chan’s side, and thinks nothing of drawing the man to his side. Wordlessly, they lay together, hands tightly held and chest to chest. Feels easier to breathe, with the pillow beneath his head. Breathing in from Jisung’s shirt; his smell, his heat. There are fingers in his hair, gentle across his scalp. It’s soothing the ache in his head that’s been there for weeks.
IN BLOOM | jisung
first date series. second chance lovers.
pairing: jisung x fem!reader
word count: 13.2k
genre: childhood friends au, angst, fluff, songwriter!jisung, florist!reader
warnings: swearing, minor character death, grief/loss (nothing to do with any of the members!)
summary: it's february. the tulips are in bloom. jisung is back.
a/n: *taps mic* hello?? is this thing on?? oh good. yes. hi. hello! it's been a while, as most of you can tell. thank you all SO MUCH for sticking around. if you've been reading my asks you'll know that march and april were rough months for me personally. shout out to my anons and mutuals who kept my spirits high and made my days brighter. uhhh, this was originally supposed to be a stand alone fic but i figured hey, what the hell, and made it into jisung's first date chapter. it's pretty heavy stuff. lots of feelings, lots of love. i hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it! again, thank you so much for waiting for me. i'll be back soon with more updates! all the love <3
also thank you kenzie for being such a light during all of this. i hope all my screaming in your messages was worth it!
“All of these had to be pulled.” Hyunjin huffs, dropping a few crates just past the doorway.
“Again?” you ask, hands on your hips as you stare at yet another wasted supply. “I don’t understand, they sold so well last year.”
Hyunjin gives you a sad smile. “It’ll pick up eventually, don’t worry. I mean the holidays just finished and business usually slows down in the months after anyways.”
He’s being sincere, you know that. But there’s a part of you that also knows it’s a lot more than just the usual ebb and flow of sales. He’s being nice for your sake.
“Maybe we could try coming up with other ideas?” he suggests, because Hyunjin is nothing if not kind. Always willing, always finding a way.
He moves past you to grab a fresh pair of gloves. The ones he’s wearing are dirty, pollen-stained and ripped at the edges.
“You’ve always been really good at basket arrangements. We could try to make some for Valentine's Day. Different sizes, maybe? The big ones will probably do well for online orders since they’re more optimal for things like office deliveries and stuff like that.”
You hum in approval. “True. I mean, I was kind of worried we would have to skip out on deliveries this year since we don’t have the manpower to handle all of that, but I think Jeongin’s been looking to pick up hours around here again. He said something about his program giving them a month of independent study, so he’ll be home for a bit.” you say, scribbling down a reminder in your notebook. “I could ask him to help with driving the truck in his free time?”
Hyunjin lights up– he always does when Jeongin is mentioned.
It’s been a lot quieter ever since he left for college. There were so many tears and so many hugs that were met with countless 'you guys are dramatic's in return. But it’s hard to not feel sad when people leave town; when they decide the borders lined with apple trees and rice fields aren’t enough to stop their dreams from blooming into more than what’s capable of being pursued here.
That, unsurprisingly, is something you know all too well.
“Can’t believe he’s driving.” Hyunjin laments as he wipes his floral scissors with a rag. “I used to spend my days changing his diapers and spoon feeding him redbulls– but now? Driving? My baby is all grown up.” he fake sniffles. “By the way, I’m gonna take my fifteen after I’m done snipping these tulips.”
You snort, bending down to take the crates of wilted flowers to the back for disposal. Hyunjin moves to help but you shake him off.
“Sounds good. Also, don’t let Innie hear you say that. I’m about a thousand percent sure he has the strength needed to throw you into the dumpster with one arm now.”
“My baby would never do that to me!” Hyunjin calls out as you round the corner, bumping open the back door with your hip.
February brings a lot of rain in Jeju. Today is no different; fat drops landing on your head as soon as you stumble out into the alley behind the shop. Footsteps heavy on wet brick, you curse under your breath as you run as fast as you can to the dumpster.
There’s still a few supply boxes from yesterday’s shipment laying around. You meant to bring them in, but you were so exhausted that it slipped your mind while you struggled to make sure everything inside the shop was figured out.
Scrambling, you haul them in one by one, shoes squeaking against the floor as you alternate in and out, soggy cardboard pressed against the front of your apron.
Hyunjin’s on break. A necessary one at that. You can’t bother him, especially not when he’s done enough by taking on more responsibility both as a physical worker and a newly actualized business partner recently. A few stacks of boxes and wet hair seem like a fair trade off for what he’s had to sacrifice in the past year now.
“Idiot,” you mumble, cursing yourself for carelessness. Your slip ups have been more frequent lately, evident in the way you constantly forget things and can’t seem to push away the haziness clouding your mind.
If it weren’t for the timing of it all, you’d blame it on the weather. The gloominess. The overcast skies probably have some sort of hand in your lack of clarity. Shrouded.
But it’s February. And in Jeju— it rains.
By the time you make it back inside, you’re drenched.
“You look like you just got dunked in a pool.”
You frown, ringing your hair out into the trash bin by the door. It’ll definitely take time to dry off, both your hair and your clothes are soaked through.
Hyunjin watches with an amused look, arms crossed as he leans his back against the counter.
“Might as well have. It’s insane out there.” you sigh. “How was your break?”
You look up to find that his face has gone unreadable.
“Yeah, about that…” Hyunjin trails off, voice suddenly smaller than before.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, yeah it’s just–” Hyunjin chews at his bottom lip.
You push past him into the supply room to switch out your apron just as he says, “Do you mind if I leave a little early today?”
You scoff, turning to face him. “Hwang Hyunjin,” you scold, lips twitching when he visibly startles at your tone, “You don’t have to ask me that. We’re partners now, remember? We run this place.”
He shifts on his feet, still unsure.
“Besides,” you huff, tying a knot behind your back, “We were friends way before that, too. You don’t have to be all proper with me. Of course you can leave early. It’s slow today, I can take care of it.”
Hyunjin sighs after contemplating for a second. “Are you sure you’ll be okay, though?”
When he stares at you for a moment too long, you know the real reason for his hesitation. It makes something twist deep in your gut.
Guilt, maybe, amongst other things.
“Of course.” you shrug, doing your best to seem nonchalant.
Hyunjin’s ability to read people is kind of intense, a little scary at times. You happen to be one of his favorite subjects in that regard.
“Have fun. Tell Minah I said hi.”
He pales, sputtering around words as he struggles to say something. It’s cute, his plump lips opening and closing, eyes wild.
“I’m not going to see her! I’m–it’s just a movie! How did you—God, you’re so annoying. I should’ve made you trim the tulips. Hah!”
You giggle. “It’s funny that you think I wouldn’t know, especially with the way you love to actually make yourself look busy whenever she stops by to say hi.”
“I am busy.” he mumbles, looking away. “I just emphasize it a lot more when she’s here.”
“Sure,” you roll your eyes, “Let’s go with that.”
He whines a couple more times, trails after you around the shop and laughs when you swat him away with a rolled up newspaper that’s used for wrapping vases.
It’s loud. Easy. Hyunjin is a gentle reminder that normalcy still exists in your day to day, even if it’s hard to find.
When he finally decides to leave, he lingers for a moment, triple checks that you’ll be okay. You roll your eyes for what feels like the millionth time today, but deep down you’re grateful.
“Love you,” he says, one foot out the door. “Call me if you need anything.”
You shake your head, ignoring him. “Love you too.”
And then he’s gone, a skip in his step as he heads down the sidewalk, leaving you with nothing but freshly-trimmed tulips and the sound of rain.
“Herb snips, shears, tape…” you mumble, scanning the supply shelf.
There’s not much to do in-shop right now. Almost all the arrangements have been tended to by Hyunjin already, his specialty being his keen eye. That’s why he handles the appeal of the shop, leaving you to figure out all the logistics. Learning it all was easier said than done.
In reality, it was never your intention to take over the shop at all.
“When I die,” your grandma would always say, ignoring the way you groaned and begged her to stop bringing it up, “Sell this place. Use the money for something worthwhile. A trip to Greece, maybe?”
“Nana,” you would scold, glaring at her where she stood next to you, trimming a batch of roses.
Wrinkled hands that still held all the skill of youth. Fingers moving at a speed others could only ever dream of having– you included.
Your grandma handled flowers with the same amount of care she did everything else. It’s no wonder that when they grew they would lean in her direction, drawn to her like they would be the sun.
“I’m not selling this place. It’s too special, too important. A vacation only lasts so long, Nana. This is forever.”
She would smile, turn petals over in her hand. Sometimes the marigolds would match the glow in her eyes, a testament to the belief you harbored as a child that she had the ability to sprout blossoms from her fingertips.
“The one thing you shouldn’t do, my dear, is rely on forever. Because that, too, is uncertain.”
You wish you hadn’t been so hard headed. Wish that you would’ve believed her, taken the time to listen, cherished the moment a little bit longer instead of relying on the promise of tomorrow.
I’m sorry for your loss.
Your grandmother was a wonderful woman.
She’ll be with you in your heart, forever.
Oh, what a lie forever is.
The shop stays empty for the rest of the day. There were a few passersby, all of whom simply stopped to scan the arrangements along the windows before giving a polite nod and carrying on their way.
Realistically, the shop has no problem with attracting customers. It’s a sight to behold: mid-floor to ceiling windows with various displays, hanging baskets of winding greenery, countless arrangements that fill the shelves and add a pop of color, and a wide assortment of flowers for each season.
The real issue lies in your inability to sell. Most people regard the place as being good for nothing more than window shopping and the usual photo-op.
Business has slowed since your Grandma passed; since you took over as the sole owner and were suddenly face to face with the task of making decisions in the shop’s best interest– both integrity wise and from a business standpoint.
“I know, I know,” you say around the pen cap between your teeth, “You used to be the brains around here, not me. I’m not creative enough for all of this, you know? No matter how much I try to be.”
You look up from where your notebook lays open, dozens of scribbles for arrangement ideas and planning. The picture on the wall stares at you, unmoving, eyes as bright as marigolds.
“Don’t give me that look.”
She stares. A gaze that holds all the answers while also saying nothing at all.
“Ugh.” you groan, leaning your palms on the desk.
You allow your head to hang forward, defeated, exhaustion flooding your bones.
Just as you’re about to speak again, to complain about yet another thing that probably has her rolling around in her grave, the bell at the front counter dings.
The clock on the desk reads 6:55pm, five minutes until close. You hadn’t even heard anyone come in.
“Be right there!” you call out, rushing to grab your apron from where you’d thrown it on one of the chairs.
In your haste, the box of seed packets you’d been inventorying goes tumbling to the floor.
“Fuck,” you mutter, bending down to pick everything up. One more thing to add to the list today.
Off-kilter. Disoriented. Exhausted.
You sniffle a few times, blinking against the sting behind your eyes as you stand up to put the box back in its place.
One deep breath, a shake of your shoulders. Just enough to chase it all away until later.
“Sorry about that,” you say cheerily, pushing past the hanging beads that separate the front of the shop from the back. “How can I help you?”
There’s a stranger, his back turned, attention focused on a batch of tulips. Freshly cut. White, blue, purple.
You realize, belatedly, that you’d forgotten to grab your apron in your haste to clean up the seed packets. Another slip up. Nana always prided herself in her apron, wore it like a badge of honor, raised you to do the same.
Just as you spin around to grab it, the stranger says, “It’s okay. I just, um, I wanted to say hi.”
You freeze. There’s a long moment where his voice rings loud in your ears, reverberates against the walls of your brain until it travels through your blood, the feeling like wildfire in your veins until it settles deep in the pit of your stomach.
Slowly, you turn, heart clamoring in your chest, threatening to stop altogether as soon as you come face to face with the one person you never thought you’d see again.
Because there, at the front of the store, is Jisung.
Jisung, with wide eyes and parted lips. Jisung, with hair that still curls at the ends and falls in shags around his face. Jisung, broader, more actualized, now grown into his features but still undeniably soft around the edges. Jisung, with thick framed glasses pushed up his nose and silver hoops dangling from his ears.
A stranger. But undoubtedly Jisung.
“You look…nice.” he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly with his free hand.
Three words is all it takes. Ice turns to fire. The blood that had drained from your face returns with the blaze of a thousand suns, anger burning your throat.
You reach forward, grab the remote for the neon Open sign and click the power button. Jisung watches in confusion.
“The shop is closed.” you manage on a shaky breath.
Jisung sighs, something heavy. “Listen, I’m—”
“The shop–” you try again, louder, “–is closed.”
Jisung stares. His eyes are still the same velvety brown; big and round and just as you remember.
There was once a time where the sight of Jisung in your Grandma’s shop made your heart sing. A soft tune, the thrum of a thousand harps, a song only for him.
His heart-shaped smile as he helped her hammer some of the shelves onto the wall. The sound of his laughter whenever you’d enter a sneezing fit from accidentally rubbing your face with a gloved hand. His rosy cheeks, burnt from the wind whipping past his face as he ran on foot to make sure you were okay the one time an angry customer smashed a vase on the floor and you called him crying.
But now, seeing him here, a stranger in a body you once knew like the back of your hand— it feels wrong.
“I…” he trails off, registering the way your fists are clenched at your sides.
“Okay,” he resigns, licking his lips. “I, uh– have a good night.”
He gives you one last look, bottom lip pulled tight between his teeth, and then slips out the door. You watch his retreating figure through the glass panel, dark gray skies muting the sound of your rattling heart.
It’s February. The tulips are in bloom. Jisung is back.
And in Jeju– it rains.
There’s an apple tree in the middle of town where Jisung told you he loved you for the first and last time.
Off the corner, a few minutes down the road from where your houses stand a mere five hundred feet away from one another.
Your grandparents were farmers. Your grandma started her floral business a few years before you were born, a dream she always had that your grandpa urged her to pursue once he decided to sell the animals to a younger, more capable couple that could take care of them.
Jisung’s parents, new residents on the island, looking to settle down and start a family.
That’s how it happens. Yours and Jisung’s story, two authors of the same book, destined since the start.
Jisung was born on the same night your mother left you at your grandparents’ doorstep. One note, an apology, is all you’ve ever known about her. Your grandma never cared to indulge you. You’re glad in a way. She provided more than enough love to make sure you never felt an absence in her wake.
The townspeople used to say you and Jisung were soulmates. Something about the heavens knowing he would need a friend, hence why you were delivered that night. From that moment on, the two of you were inseparable.
Attached at the hip, you and Jisung grew up together. First steps, first birthdays, firsts for everything under the sun.
Jisung was there in the morning to walk with you to school and he was there at night when the two of you tucked into bed, sleepovers a regular occurrence, both of you counting the pale green stick-on stars dotting his ceiling until you fell asleep.
Jisung was always around. He held your hand and walked with you to the nurse’s office the first time you got stung by a bee. He wiped your eyes when the boy you liked told you he only ever saw you as a friend, your first rejection. He sat with you under the stars the night your grandpa died, your face tucked into his neck as you stained the collar of his shirt with tears until you were too tired to cry. In the years that followed, he took care of you and your grandma like the two of you were his own.
Jisung, for lack of a better word, was your first forever.
“You could come with me, you know.”
Under the stars, real ones that time, Jisung had turned to you and offered the world.
The air was cold. The apple tree was bare.
“It’ll be fun. We’ll be together, we’ll experience new things. I can do music and you can study all that history stuff you like to learn about. You know, nerdy things.”
“They’re not nerdy things, Ji. Don’t you know everything we have now is because of what’s happened before us?” you’d asked. “Doesn’t it make you wonder? Learning about the past helps us better understand the present, and ultimately the future.”
Jisung had hummed softly, an agreement. “I don’t care about the future, though.” he’d said. “I care about right now. You, me, this.”
When you turned to look at him, he propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at you from above as the moon casted a halo around his head.
“I love you,” he whispered, “And I want you to come with me.”
Jisung, with all the stars in his eyes and a heart full of dreams. Jisung, with the world at his fingertips and the ambition to make it his own.
You, with all your hopes stuffed tight into a suitcase and chained to a boulder, thrown into the ocean. Sinking and sinking until it hit the bottom.
“I love you too,” you whispered back.
Images of marigolds flashed behind your eyes when you closed them, a tear rolling down your cheek. Jisung’s mouth was soft when he kissed it away, salt on his lips. Burning.
“But I can’t.” you choked.
Under the apple tree, Jisung told you he loved you for the first and last time. He promised that the distance would be no match for him, that he would traverse oceans to find his way back. He promised forever.
It was February. The tulips were in bloom. Jisung left to pursue his dreams with a guitar on his back and your heart in his hands. Your understanding of forever was shot at point blank. The bullet passed clean through you.
And in Jeju– it rained.
“I think you should talk to him.”
The sun is out today. Perfect weather for another field harvest. The distributor had called you early in the morning to ask if you’d be willing to accept a drop off even though it’s the weekend. You’d agreed, calling in your most reliable help for the job.
“And I think you’re not helping.” you huff, snipping the head off another hyacinth.
“Agreed,” Hyunjin parrots from beside you, currently in the middle of putting together an arrangement, “This guy sounds like a total dick.”
Chan sighs from behind the two of you, his knees knocking against the legs of the desk when he swivels back and forth in the chair.
Besides Hyunjin and Jeongin, both of whom moved into town after you’d already graduated, and of course, Jisung– Chan is your oldest friend.
Chan was also a neighbor of yours. Three years older than you and Jisung, he was the one who acted as a role model for the two of you when growing up. Nowadays he helps his parents run the largest orange grove on the island during the day and DJs one of the clubs in the tourism hub at night.
“Jisung’s not a dick, he’s just–”
“An asshole.” you finish, smirking when Hyunjin cackles.
Chan sighs. Again. “Yeah okay, I’ll give you that one.”
“Listen, I know I’ve never met him, but isn’t it weird that he just, like, showed up?” Hyunjin asks, setting down his scissors. You continue trimming the hyacinths, listening halfheartedly.
“I mean, think about it. Dude disappears to pursue music, right? He’s gone for what– three years?”
“Four.” you correct.
“God, even worse.” he grimaces.
“But yeah, okay, four years. And then boom! He just strolls in through the front door without so much as a word during the time he was gone? No letters, no phone calls, not even a damn visit. Nothing! All so he can pop up and go ‘oh, you look nice’? Come on.” he scoffs, crossing his arms.
You wince, caught off guard because you’ve never really heard it phrased as bluntly as Hyunjin put it just then. It’s no surprise that he’s annoyed, having only just heard the full story thirty minutes ago. He’d been shocked, partly because you never told him and also because he just couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“Okay, yes, he was wrong for that. But isn’t part of you even just the least bit curious as to why?”
You pause mid-snip, mulling Chan’s words over in your head.
The most frustrating part about it all is that you are curious. You wish you weren’t, though. Not when you’ve spent the past four years trying to convince yourself that you don’t need to know what Jisung’s been up to, don’t need to know if he’s been okay since he clearly held no concern for you in that regard anyways.
“What?” you ask when you realize that both boys are staring at you.
“Well?” Hyunjin pushes. “Are you?”
You shrug. “No, not really.”
There’s a total of five seconds that pass before Hyunjin is stomping over and hauling Chan up out of his chair, pushing him towards the front door as he protests.
“Out! Out, out, out, we have important business matters to discuss.”
“But we were supposed to get lunch—!”
“We’re taking a rain check!” Hyunjin fights back, shoving him out of the shop before he has a chance to answer. He drops the shade to cover the glass, Chan’s sad figure left alone on the other side.
He hops up on to the counter and gestures for you to do the same. When you do, he pulls you closer, grabs your hand in his, and pushes your head down until it’s resting on his shoulder.
“Tell me the truth now,” he says, soft. “I know there’s more to it.”
Hyunjin’s warm to the touch. The heat seeps through the fabric of his shirt, igniting the skin of your cheek until you feel like you’re standing too close to the sun. A star. Hyunjin is a light in your tunnel.
“I am curious,” you start, “About him, I mean. I’ve– I don’t know. It’s been so long. I tried to pretend I didn’t care when I saw him, but the minute I looked into his eyes it was like I was eighteen again. Eighteen and happy and looking at someone that I always thought would be there, you know?”
Hyunjin hums but doesn’t say anything. He squeezes your hand once, a signal to keep going.
“I’m scared, though. Part of me doesn’t want to know.”
Hyunjin takes a deep breath. “What are you scared of?”
Through the gaps in the beads you can see into your office, the picture of your Grandma hanging on the wall. She stares at you, unblinking.
“What if he tells me that it’s true?” you ask, lifting your head to look up at him. “What if he says that I was right, that he didn’t care? That he left and didn’t want to call because it no longer mattered to him? That he loves his life there and only came back to clear his own conscience?”
“Oh honey,” Hyunjin soothes, pulling you into his chest. You hadn’t realized you were crying, that the anger and fear had bubbled over until there were tears falling down your cheeks, wetting the fabric of Hyunjin’s sweater.
He lets you cry for a while. It’s nothing new; Hyunjin has seen you break down countless times. He’s been there through the worst of it, held your hand even in the aftermath. He’s picked you up off the floor more times than you can count, has grounded you when you felt like the world was gonna open up beneath you and swallow you whole. Salt of the earth, returning you to its core.
Once you’ve quieted into nothing more than shallow breaths and a few scattered hiccups, Hyunjin speaks again.
“Can you be honest with me?”
You nod, the hair stuck to your cheek with tears rubbing against his shoulder.
“Do you love him?”
It nearly knocks the wind out of you. This concept, so foreign to you now, shoved to the back of your mind to make room for the things that matter most. Hospital visits, labor cuts, wage increases— none of it left any room for love, let alone the thought of someone else. Especially someone as all-consuming as Jisung.
Slowly, you inhale, breath shaking on the exhale. Hyunjin squeezes your hand to remind you that he’s there.
“I don’t think I ever stopped, Hyune.”
The silence stretches thin. The realization is dizzying. Years of suppressed emotions, of telling yourself and everyone around you that it wasn’t a big deal. The sad eyes of the townspeople whenever they’d see you sitting beneath the apple tree. The gentle touch of your grandma’s hand when she’d find you on the front steps alone, staring at the stars. The soft hum of the radio in the shop, set to a playlist of all the songs he’s written, the only reminder that somewhere out there he was doing well.
The final crack in the dam, its water pushing until it gives way.
“Then you owe it to yourself,” Hyunjin says. “You owe it to your heart to get an answer. Free yourself from this pain, love. Don’t let yourself suffer forever.”
Forever. That word again. No matter how many times you’ve tried to escape it, it always comes back.
“It’s gonna hurt.” he sighs, tightening his grip when you sniffle. “It’s gonna hurt so fucking bad, babe. But you can take it. You’ve got people who love you enough to stand in front of you and soften the blow from time to time. But you’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”
He hops down from the counter and moves to stand in front of you, right between your legs. Placing both hands on your shoulders, he pushes until you’re sitting with your back straight and lifts your chin.
“You deserve an answer.” he says, with conviction this time. “Okay?”
He lets his thumb swipe beneath your eyes, smiles softly. Unconditional— that’s what he is. Hyunjin burns brighter than any star in your sky, the heat wrapping its arms around you like it’s too scared to let go, to watch you freeze and die out like so many others.
“I don’t deserve you, though.” you say, laughing wetly when he rolls his eyes.
“Shut up,” he chuckles, pulling you in for a hug, “You deserve everything and more.”
When Jisung comes into the shop two days later, you’re ready for it.
Chan had talked to him. No surprise, really, not when he’s been letting him crash in his spare room ever since he figured out that he was holed up in one of the hotels out in the tourism hub.
If there’s one thing about Chan, it’s that he’d rip the shirt off his back to clothe anyone in need. Housing a friend is nothing, especially when that friend is Jisung.
“I don’t know how much of a consolation this is,” he’d said nervously, watching as you regarded him with an expectant look, “But he’s pretty cut up about you not wanting to see him. Which, I know, is stupid. He is the one who fucked up. But I just– I don’t know. I’ve never seen him like this, I guess.”
It’s not a consolation, not really. Knowing that Jisung is struggling is far from anything you want to hear.
Sure, there’s anger present. Anyone would be stupid to not feel the least bit frustrated with what’s happened. Years lost, time stripped away. But you’ve long since come to terms with it, the anger turning to sadness in the meantime.
“Also, he leaves tomorrow.” Chan smiled sadly. “He really wants to talk to you before then.”
Hyunjin left early again today to give the two of you space. Not before making a show of his own though, threatening to incite violence with his arms that are supposedly ‘shredded’ from years of lifting boxes filled with petunias.
The shop is slow again, not many sales nor a lot of foot traffic. Usually when the sun is out there’s more to do; people to see, smiles to give. But there’s nothing, just the chirping of birds and the sound of cars rolling by.
Maybe the world knows that this is what you need. The calm before the storm.
Five minutes until close. You’ve spent most of the day pacing back and forth. Waiting. Anticipating.
Chan had said Jisung planned on stopping by, trying again. You’d told him that was okay, and his eyes lit up. Too much hope, maybe, that something might come of this.
You’re seated in the back office, staring at marigold colored irises when the front door opens. You hear it this time, ears fine tuned, waiting.
Slowly, you stand, make your way to the front. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you pull back the beaded curtain and Jisung’s figure comes into view.
He looks the same as he did the other day: curled hair, thick glasses, parted lips. His sweater, fluffy and striped, hangs off of his shoulders in a way that boxes off his tapered waist, one that you know is hidden beneath all the layers. The sleeves are way too long judging by the way it curls over his fingers.
“Hi.” he breathes out, watching as you step into full view.
You blink. “Hi, Jisung.”
His name feels weird on your tongue. Bitter. It’s been years since you uttered it, forbidding yourself from the luxury out of fear that it would make his absence more real. Talking about him in the past tense always scared you off before you could even get the chance.
“How– How’ve you been?” he chews on the inside of his lip.
You want to scold him, tell him to stop the habit just like you always would in the past. He’d make a joke then, tell you to kiss him so that he had something else to do instead. You would laugh, feign disgust, but in the back of your mind you’d wanted it more than anything.
You’d waited for it, the day you could kiss him without warning and melt into his touch as he kissed you back. Another stupid bet on forever; the belief that you had all the time in the world for things to get to that point.
“I’ve been better.” you say, taking a deep breath. “What about you?”
Good, you think. He’s been good. He looks good. He doesn’t need this place.
“Me too.” he says instead. “I’ve been better.”
You don’t know what to say to that. Silence fills the room, heavy on both your chests. The anticipation feels like it might kill you before anything else does.
“I’m sorry that–”
“Is that all you came here to say?” you cut him off.
“What?” he asks, confused. “No, I– no.”
“What, then? What is it you want to say, Jisung?” your voice is firm. He winces when his name leaves your mouth. “Because, honestly, I’ve waited all this time to hear literally anything from you, and if all that comes out of this is that you’ve ‘been better’ I might actually lose my fucking mind.”
The words tumble out faster than you intend. You can’t help it, not with the way anxiety has been bubbling over in your chest since the moment you woke up this morning. You could barely sleep last night, not when you were playing out every possible scenario in your head, the anticipation of it all making your sheets feel scratchy against your skin and the lumps in your pillow more discernible.
“No, no, of course I wouldn’t do that.” he says quickly. “It's just that I didn’t know where to start. I don’t know how much you’ll allow me to say, what the boundary is here. I didn’t want to just barge in and demand you listen to me. You don’t owe me that. You don’t owe me anything. Not after what I did.”
What I did, his voice rings loud in your ears. He’s aware of it, of the pain he caused.
He takes a step forward, and then another, again and again until he’s right up against the front counter, an arm’s length away.
Your breath catches then, when you see him up close for the first time in four years, see the way he’s grown and changed with your own eyes.
Stubble dotting his chin, laugh lines around his mouth, the dip and curve of the bow above his lips that you always loved. Brown eyes, soil and stardust.
“Tell me what your conditions are,” he says quietly, “And I’ll give you every explanation I have.”
The sincerity on his face is blinding. Your stomach twists at the thought of hearing what he has to say, that same fear brewing in the pit of it. You take a deep breath, feel the phantom ghost of a hand squeezing yours and a crescent moon eye smile.
“I waited four years for you.” you say.
“I know.”
“I trusted that you’d be back. That you would keep in touch during the time you were gone.”
“I–” his voice cracks. “I know.”
“You lied to me.”
Jisung tips his head back then. Swallows down a lump in his throat. Blinks rapidly at the ceiling, veins of ivy crawling along the expanse of it.
“I know.”
“So you owe me everything. I deserve that. I deserve answers.”
When he brings his head down to look at you, it’s unreadable. A mix of emotions that you aren’t familiar enough with anymore to decipher. Fear, guilt, sorrow. Hope, too. Maybe.
You stare at him head on, fully letting your eyes meet for the first time in what feels like an eternity. He holds your gaze, unwavering. Determined. The sight makes your heart clench.
“Okay,” he says after a beat of silence. “Okay. I can do that.”
Despite the ever-growing mountain of things to address, you decide that the first thing you want to hear from Jisung is about his time in Seoul.
You’re only human, after all.
Best friends from the start– you can’t stop yourself from wondering what life has been like for him. Jisung’s always been good at storytelling, animated in his features and gestures to the point that you’d be rolling around and clutching your stomach from laughter. It’s one of the things you missed the most, just talking and being present in one another’s lives.
The two of you end up at one of the diners down the road. The owners, an elderly couple, coo as soon as they catch sight of you.
“My flower girl,” the old lady, Mrs. Kim, greets.
“Mrs. Kim,” you beam, moving in for a hug. When you pull away, Jisung is behind you, hands clasped behind his back and feet together like he has his tail between his legs.
“Halmeoni,” you say, gesturing at him, “Do you remember Jisungie?”
His eyes go wide at the nickname, and you try to ignore the heat creeping up your neck, avoiding his gaze and instead watching as Mrs. Kim blinks in surprise.
“Oh! Oh my goodness, our Jisungie? Honey! Honey, look, Jisung is here! Oh you crazy boy,” she scolds, rushing forward to hit his shoulder and pull him in for a hug. “Where have you been? It’s been ages!”
Jisung lets out an oof! as her body slams into him, all of his anxiousness dissolving into laughter as he hugs her back.
“Hi Mrs. Kim, how have you been?”
“Me?” she asks, pulling him away to hold at arm’s length, “Nevermind about me! I’m old! How have you been?”
Good, you think again, a mimic of earlier. Jisungs eyes flit over to yours for the smallest of moments before he answers.
“Better,” he says. “I’m doing better.”
Once both Mr. and Mrs. Kim are done doting over the both of you, they seat you by the window.
The island is always beautiful on sunny days: trees swaying, golden rays painting the rooftops in hues of pink and orange, the indigo shimmer of the ocean off in the distance.
“So,” you say, catching Jisung’s attention, “Tell me about Seoul.”
He hums. “It’s busy. Stinks. Lots of people.”
“Dream come true, yeah?” you joke, taking a sip of your water.
Jisung chuckles. “You could say that, I guess.”
“I mean, it was yours.”
“It was.” he sighs, looking down at the table. “I don’t know. It’s nice. I met good people, made even better connections. I live in this one bedroom studio apartment just outside of Itaewon, so I’m close to where all the foreigners hang out. I’ve learned a lot, gained a lot of inspiration for my music.”
You follow along, staring at him intently. His mouth, still heart-shaped, twitches when he catches you in the act.
You clear your throat, glancing away. “Yeah, I’ve– uh, I’ve heard some of your songs.”
He raises his eyebrows, almost like he hadn’t expected you to say that. “Really?”
“Yeah. I mean, I hear them on the radio sometimes.” A lie. “It usually takes me a second to realize that it’s you.” Another lie. “But they’re good, you’re doing well.”
Pink dusts the tops of Jisung’s cheeks as he turns back to the window, clearing his throat.
He looks younger like this, like he’s still the same boy who would sit across from you all those years ago. Cherry-stained lips and a smile so bright it put the sun to shame.
He talks a bit more about his music, about how he’s with a good company that gives him creative freedom and enough support to pursue more if he desires.
His eyes light up when he tells you about his studio, a small room on the fifth floor of a building in the middle of the city where he does all of his writing. It’s equipped with an entire soundboard, full of instruments that he says he’s been able to get signed by artists that come in and out. Most notably, his guitar, the same one he left with.
Slowly, like a flower blossoming, petals opening one by one, you feel yourself falling back into step with him.
Everything is so familiar: the curve of his smile, the tilt in his voice when he gets excited, the rumble of laughter when he recounts an embarrassing run-in with an A-list celebrity in the company’s cafeteria. He shares stories that fill your heart as the two of you fill your stomachs.
But with the ease comes something more, something you recognize as longing. You hadn’t realized how much you longed to be there through this part of his life, how you wished you’d been the one to answer a video call as he showed off his apartment the first day he moved in, his company badge when it was newly issued, every moment of happiness that you’d been absent for just as much as he was absent for yours.
He seems to share the same sentiment then, when he sets down his fork and stares at his empty plate.
“You run the shop now,” he says, “How’s that been?”
You purse your lips, nodding your head slowly. You knew this conversation would happen, that it was coming.
“It’s good, I guess. Been almost a year now since, uh, it was left to me.” you shrug. “I’m not alone though, Hyunjin is a big help. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
Jisung noticeably bristles. Eyebrows pulled together, staring more intently at a crumb on his plate. It looks like there’s a lot he wants to say, like he can’t find the words to say them.
So, naturally, you do it for him.
“I assume Chan told you so I wouldn’t have to, by the way.”
He looks up then, as if he wasn’t expecting you to address the very obvious elephant in the room.
“He did, yes.” Jisung says after a while. His voice is quiet, gentle, like he’s walking on eggshells. “I– I didn’t know how to bring it up. I assume you’ve heard it all already but– I really, really am sorry to hear about Nana.”
The way her name sounds coming out of his mouth turns your mind to static.
Suddenly you’re in the hospital again, monitors beeping, hands as soft as petals cradled in your own and wishing that you could bury your face in a familiar neck as you cried and watched the marigolds wilt.
“I don’t need an apology for that.” you croak, blinking back tears. Jisung is somewhere in your periphery, your vision blurry around the edges.
“It wasn’t sad. Her life, I mean. It was full. Of love. Of light. She left this place happy. That’s what she told me, at least.”
You take a deep breath. “So don’t be sorry about it.”
Jisung sniffles, and the sound shoots straight through your chest.
“I know. I just– I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I should’ve been. I had no idea that–”
“Nobody did, Jisung. Don’t punish yourself for that.”
He sees it then, when you finally meet his eyes, the acceptance. You’ve come to terms with things a long time ago, have fought tooth and nail to come out on the other side of all the guilt and resentment and grief alive. Scathed, but alive nonetheless.
“You’re right.” he sighs, wiping at his eyes quickly. “She’d probably yell at me for saying that.”
You laugh, suddenly, the noise startling him. Jisung looks at you like you’re crazy.
“I think she has a lot more to yell at you for than being sorry that she died.”
The bluntness punches a chuckle out of him, and you giggle at the thought.
Your grandmother was always such an outspoken person. She always said what was on her mind, speaking it loud. There’s no doubt that if she was here she’d be berating Jisung, smacking him upside the head before pulling him into a hug and cooking his favorite meal. Tough love, but still, love.
“She would’ve loved to be able to see you.” you say once your laughter dies out, the air a bit lighter between the two of you. “She always wondered if you’d grow your hair out without her around to nag you about keeping it short.”
He reaches up to run a hand through his curls, the strands falling around his face in a way that has your heart stammering in your chest.
“Well, clearly I don’t know how to listen.”
“No, you don’t.”
Jisung smiles softly. “Maybe I’ll cut it now. You know, since I’m here. And because I know she’d want me to.”
You watch him carefully, searching his eyes. For what, you don’t know. All that’s in them are stars.
“Yeah,” you say quietly. “You’re here.”
By the time the two of you leave the diner, stomachs full and enough bags of extra side dishes hanging off of your arms to last you at least two weeks, courtesy of Mrs. Kim, the sun is almost fully set.
The ocean is calm, the evening breeze just barely brushing the surface of the tide. Jisung walks in step with you down the street, one side of his face cast in a glow from the sun’s fading rays.
“Do you think you’d maybe want to stop by the arcade that Old Man Park runs? Just for a little?”
You snort. “Why? So I can embarrass you?”
“Hey!” he puts a hand on his chest, offended. “I’ll have you know that I let you win all those times.”
“How do you let someone win after spending hours practicing while I worked at the shop?”
“I was being nice!”
“Uh huh.”
“Don’t believe me?” he grins. You try not to look, afraid of how bad your blood pressure might spike from the sight.
“I’ll have you know that I’m one of the best Kart Rider players in the PC Bang scene back in Seoul.”
“Jisung,” you scold, “That’s a computer game. These are coin-ops. There’s way more skill needed.”
“No there isn’t!”
He knocks his shoulder against yours, tucking his chin to his chest to hide his smile when you try to fight back.
It’s easy. Nice. There’s a soft melody echoing in the dust-covered chambers of your heart. You still know all the chords.
Old Man Park’s arcade is a few doors down from the shop. You stop there to drop off the food, spare a glance in the mirror hanging in your office to fix your hair.
Your grandma’s picture stares at you from the other wall, eyes bright.
“Love you,” you say, kissing the skin of your fingertips and pressing it gently against the frame.
Jisung is toeing at a few rocks on the sidewalk when you walk back out. He doesn’t see you, too busy with his eyes casted down at the concrete, hands shoved into his pockets.
It’s still hard to believe that he’s here. Flesh and bone. For a long time it felt like he was nothing but a distant dream, someone who only existed in the memories that you kept locked deep within your heart, the key somewhere on the streets of Seoul.
“Ready?” you ask.
He looks up, his glasses moving when his cheeks round into a smile.
Something passes across his face– a myriad of emotions in just a fraction of a second. Hesitantly, he holds out his hand. Long, delicate fingers.
You stare at it, swallowing roughly around the butterfly wings flapping inside your throat.
The one thing you shouldn’t do, my dear, is rely on forever. Because that, too, is uncertain.
Forever isn’t promised. But even then, there are things you know for sure:
It’s February. The tulips are in bloom. Jisung is here. Living, breathing, in the flesh.
So you take his hand, watch as relief floods his features, and let yourself feel.
The wind in your hair, the calluses on Jisung’s palms, and the warmth radiating out of the smile that threatens to split his face into two.
And with that certainty, the two of you start walking. A silent agreement to focus on the now.
You. Him. This.
“God, I can’t believe everything is only one coin.”
You laugh, watching as the multi-colored lights cast a glow on Jisung’s face.
“Stop acting like you don’t remember this place.”
“I don’t!” he argues, smiling. “We stopped coming here, what, in middle school? Once Chan hyung started driving? We would always ask him to take us to the other one out in the big town!”
Chan’s first car was an old Camry with leather seats and enough room for the three of you to pile into after school. Used, but still with enough juice to satisfy three young kids who felt like they were on top of the world.
You used to sit in the back, the wind whipping your hair every which way while yours and Jisung’s hands lay side by side in the middle seat, pinkies brushing but neither of you willing to take it further.
“Oh, shit!” Jisung gasps, letting go of your hand as he runs up to the space invaders machine.
“Here we go,” you sigh, following after him. He’s like a kid in a candy store, face filled with innocent wonder and joy.
“Aren’t there, like, I don’t know– things better than this in Seoul?” you ask as he shoves a coin into the game.
Jisung turns to look at you with a devilish grin. “Obviously,” he says, “But I can’t beat anyone’s high score over there. Here though? Ha! This place is ancient. I can finally be at the top of the leaderboard in something.”
“We’ll see about that.” you mumble, the noise of the game booting up drowning you out.
Jisung sticks his tongue out when he focuses really hard on things. It’s cute, the way the end of it sits between his lips, spit-slick and parted just a little bit.
He’s glowing, probably because of the lights, hues of red and green and blue flashing across his face. But then again, Jisung has always shined brighter than anything.
The game beeps to signal that he has one life left. He grunts a few times, his fingers tapping the buttons madly as his other hand handles the joystick in a frenzy of movements.
When it ends, he groans, throws his hands up in defeat..
You shake your own head knowingly, watching his eyes bug out of their sockets as soon as the leaderboard appears on the screen, the 8-bit letters blinking at him.
“You’re joking.” he laughs in disbelief, turning to stare at you. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
There, on the screen, is your name. The highest score. Jeongin and Hyunjin’s names sit just below you, respectively.
“What was that again about finally being able to be at the top?” you mock him, smirking.
“Since when did you get good at this?”
You shrug. “Had to find something to do in my free time.”
“No,” he says, rolling up his sleeves. “Nuh-uh. No way. This is not happening. I will beat you.” he holds out his hand for another coin, to which you roll your eyes and place one in his palm.
“You might as well give up now. We’ll be here all night.”
“In your dreams.” he scoffs, assuming his position as another round loads onto the screen.
Jisung has always been competitive. It’s one of his more hidden characteristics.
It persists still, you realize, as you watch him burn through the styrofoam cup of coins that Old Man Park had given the two of you. Free of charge for old time’s sake.
Fort-five minutes. All he’s managed to do is bump Hyunjin down to fourth.
“Ugh!” he groans, kicking the machine lightly with his foot.
“Look at you throwing a tantrum.”
“I’m not throwing a tantrum.” he pouts. You raise an eyebrow.
“Okay fine. I’m throwing a tantrum.”
“Thought so.”
“Can you blame me?” he asks. “This is, like, our first date. And I’m sucking. Hard.”
“Our–” you stop, eyes wide. Jisung mimics you, almost like he didn’t mean to say what he did.
Heat rushes to your cheeks. Your mind goes blank. But the world doesn’t end. Time keeps moving. Jisung is still here.
“I didn’t–”
“I like the sound of that.” you say quickly. “Of this being our first date, I mean.’
He smiles. Slow and sweet like molasses. Blinding.
“And the fact that you suck.”
The moment is shattered, his resulting whine echoing throughout the arcade.
“Come on you big baby,” you laugh, grabbing his hand. “I know a game you can beat me at.”
He lets himself be pulled, pretending that he’s upset, but you can see the smile tugging at his lips when you lace your fingers together.
The feeling is still new, this ease you have with him. The wounds you sported all those years are still healing, some more fresh than others. But with each laugh that comes out of Jisung’s mouth and shared glance, every note that your heart sings, you can feel them beginning to fade. A balm to soothe the burn.
The Pac-Man game is situated in the back corner of the arcade, right next to the jukebox. It used to be your favorite, because Jisung would always use his own coins to play songs for you while you tried to score higher than twenty-five thousand points.
When you get there, he frowns. “The only game you think I can beat you at is Pac-Man?”
“I don’t think,” you say, grabbing a coin before shoving the cup into his chest. “I know.”
The game boots up instantly, and you smile softly to yourself when Jisung moves wordlessly behind you, slips a coin into the jukebox.
“Play something good, Jisungie.”
He freezes. Out of the corner of your eye you watch him stare at you for a long moment. And then he smiles. Stardust.
“You got it.”
In a matter of seconds, Lovers In A Dangerous Time by Bruce Cockburn rings throughout the arcade, the speakers on the ceiling fighting past the static.
An old song. The same one your grandparents would dance to in the mornings, eggs on the stove and love in the air.
Your grandma used to say it was written for them, because when they fell in love the war was at its peak and she didn’t know if he’d ever come home.
After he passed, she still played it, except those times it was Jisung who twirled her around and painted a smile on her face as you watched from the same spot you grew up in. Always there.
Jisung, Jisung, Jisung.
When the game starts, you try your best. It’s hard. You’ve always been terrible at anything involving quick decisions. Focusing on everything at once isn’t easy for you, that much is still true.
“Shit.” you mumble, the top right corner of the screen reading ten thousand points as the ghosts run into you.
Jisung lets out a low whistle. “Harsh.”
“You wanna go back to space invaders and waste the last of our money?” you raise an eyebrow.
He holds his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. Go ahead.” he says, holding the cup out for you to take another coin.
You try a couple more times, failing each and every one. You can tell that Jisung is growing more and more amused with every attempt, and the smugness radiating off of him is starting to rub you the wrong way.
“If you’re so good,” you say after a particularly sad attempt, turning to glare at him. Jisung has his lips pulled tight to stop himself from laughing. “Then why don’t you try?”
He chuckles then. “I’d rather help you, if you’ll let me.”
“How are you supposed to do that? We only have one coin left.”
Jisung doesn’t say anything. He puts the cup down, the last coin held between his fingers. You watch as he slips it into the machine, move to get out of his way once he’s done, but he stops you by grabbing your hand and spinning you back around, his fingers placed over yours on the joystick.
With your back flush against his front, caged in by his arms on either side, Jisung takes a deep breath.
“This okay?” he asks right next to your ear, the curls on the side of his head brushing your cheek when he leans down to get a better look at the screen.
Warm. He’s so warm. The material of his sweater only worsens the heat, and the faint scent of vanilla makes your head swim.
It’s more than okay. Great, even. It’s Jisung. Everything and more.
“Yeah,” you say, letting him control your hands as he flicks the joystick. “It’s okay.”
The hair against your cheek moves when he smiles. “Good.” he says, and then hits the start button.
The game begins but you’re barely processing what’s happening, too aware of the feeling of his body pressed against yours.
A firm chest, different from what’s observable on the outside, what with the fluffiness of his sweater and soft features. His arms too, encasing you, the bulge and flex of his biceps every time he moves.
It’s all so intoxicating, so much so that you don’t even realize you’ve beaten the highest score in the system by the time he loses his last life.
“What?” you blink. “What the hell?!”
You laugh, spinning to face Jisung who’s grinning from ear to ear. In your excitement, you jump, flinging your arms around his neck. He’s surprised, but catches you nonetheless, circling his arms around your waist.
“Holy shit how’d you do that!” you squeal while he swings you around, feet off the ground.
“Magic, I guess.” he chuckles.
The closeness of his voice brings you crashing back down, suddenly aware of what position you’re both in. You pull back quickly, clear your throat, and watch as his face falls from the loss of contact.
It’s been a long time since you hugged Jisung. The thought transports you to that day four years ago, standing under the apple tree, the future uncertain. Forever promised.
Things are different now.
“Sorry,” he backtracks. “I didn’t– um, I wasn’t trying to–”
You cut him off by throwing yourself at him for a second time. Intentional. Breathless. Tired of running and acting like it’s not the thing you want most in the entire world.
Jisung doesn’t react until he feels your face against the skin of his neck. On instinct, he hugs tight, hands around your waist, breathing in the smell of your hair.
“Hi.” you whisper against him.
One word. Simple. However the weight of it sends a chill down his spine. It feels like home.
He tightens his hold. A silent understanding. The two of you never had much of a need for words anyways.
“Hi.” he whispers back.
The apple tree is much bigger now.
Long, thick branches, a wide trunk, a slight tilt in its shape.
It’s bare. The season is long gone. But it’s okay, because it means that the view of the stars isn’t blocked when you and Jisung lay beneath it.
It’s the same but it isn’t. There’s gaps– periods of time where the two of you grew separately. There are moments and memories tucked away that neither of you know about, whole lives to discover.
But even so, it feels right. His arm wrapped around you, your head on his chest. The stars and the moon. You and Jisung.
It’s nice. Perfect, even. But there’s a conversation that needs to be had. One that can’t be put off any longer.
“Ji.”
“Hm?”
“Can I ask you something?”
Jisung shifts beneath you, tightening his hold. The grass is damp. Neither of you care, too caught up in each other to stress about whether or not it’ll stain.
“Of course.”
“Am I ever gonna see you again?”
He takes a deep breath. “Yes.”
“You said that last time.”
“I know.”
“So what makes this different?” you ask, sitting up. He watches you carefully, eyes trained on every movement like he’s scared you’ll get up and run away.
When he realizes you’re waiting for an answer, he sits up too, pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs.
He doesn’t say anything, just wordlessly reaches into his pocket. Silently, he hands whatever he grabbed to you. A guitar pick.
It’s white, a marbled design. Golden flecks infused into the lines. There, on the front, is a singular marigold. When you flip it over, you’re met with a tulip.
“Do you remember that one time, when you called me crying at midnight because Nana told you that she didn’t know if she’d be able to afford school in the city?”
You nod silently, still turning the guitar pick over in your hand.
It was one of those nights where the rain was relentless. Monsoon season always tagged on to the tail end of the school year, bringing with it a more intense gloominess than usual.
You’d been angry. Stressed. Irritated that other kids at school were making plans to go to the mainland for college and you were stuck helping your grandmother trim foliage and wrap vases in newspaper.
“You told me that you couldn’t do it anymore.” Jisung whispered, staring up at the sky. “That you were tired of being here. That you needed to get out.”
You remember. Jisung had walked through the rain to show up at your window. Had climbed in with muddy shoes and sat on the floor of your room with you until the downpour stopped and your tears dried.
“And I said that I would make it happen, that I would invent a way to live amongst the stars so you could be as far from here as possible.”
“So what?” you ask, looking at him. “Did you finally do it, then? Is that why you came back?”
“Don’t be like that.”
“No, Jisung, I’m gonna fucking be like that.” you scoff, rising to your feet.
There’s a fire in your veins, stoked until the embers are burning hot against your throat. Too good to be true. You should’ve known that there was no explanation left for him to give.
Jisung scrambles to his feet. “It wasn’t like I wanted to–”
“Oh like hell you did.” you say, turning to face him. “Four years, Jisung. I waited four years and you just– you come back and decide to tell me about some make-believe bullshit to save yourself and feel less guilty about the fact that you left.”
“It wasn’t make-believe to me,” he argues. “It was real. Everything I said was real. I left and I tried for years to make something of myself so I could come back here and get you.”
“Oh so it’s my fault? I made you leave, is that it?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“So then say something else!” you yell. The stars rumble, threatening to fall out of the sky. “Say something else, then, Jisung. Why didn’t you call? Huh?”
“Because I–” he stops, licks his lips. “God. Fuck. I couldn’t face you if I had nothing to show for myself, okay? It wasn’t fair to you for me to leave you behind just so I could fail.”
“Ha!” you laugh, running a hand through your hair in disbelief. “So you decided to go radio silent instead? Decided to not only leave me alone but let me suffer and wonder about where you were because that’s so much better than telling me that you were struggling, right? Great choice, Jisung. Really.”
He blinks a few times, watching as you pace back and forth in the grass.
Anger bubbles deep in your gut. This whole time, he knew. It was a conscious decision. Jisung deliberately didn’t contact you because he chose not to.
“Did you ever even love me?”
The words tumble out before you can stop them. Jisung’s entire body goes rigid, his face falling and eyes hardening within a fraction of a second.
“Watch what you say.” he says, his voice low in his chest.
“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just be honest.”
“I’m trying.” he pleads. His eyes are glossy. Big and round behind his glasses. Illuminated by the moon.
“I fucked up, okay? I prioritized myself and the way I felt over you and fucked everything up. But I tried. I tried so fucking hard. And I’m sorry it took me so long but I wanted– no– I needed to make sure that I had everything figured out before I came back. I promised I would.”
“No, Jisung, you promised me that–”
“I’m not talking about you.” he says then, taking a deep breath. “You weren’t the only one I made promises to back then.”
Before you have a chance to speak, Jisung says, “I promised her. I told her I’d get you out of here. That I’d give you a life that you deserved, because she knew she couldn’t.”
You drop to your knees when the first sob hits, the force of it racking your body so hard you feel like you’re drowning. Jisung catches you on the fall, holds you up, lets you bury your face into his neck like he had so many times before.
“She told me you believed in forever. She wanted me to give that to you. I’m sorry it took me so long.”
Jisung lets you cry. He holds you through the storm, your wails as loud as thunder and tears as heavy as rain. Four years in the making; the sky and the earth colliding until the dirt and layers of sediment give way to the molten core that’s been hiding beneath the surface all along.
Pain. Grief. All of it pent up and leading to this moment.
“You should’ve told me.” you cry, beating a fist into Jisung’s chest. “You idiot. You fucking idiot. You should’ve told me.”
Jisung pulls you in closer, takes each hit as long as it means that it’ll soften the blow on your heart. He whispers apologies in your ear, runs a hand through your hair.
When it quiets again, the worst of the storm gone, he shifts so that your head is in his lap, his legs crossed and tucked beneath him. A few stray tears wet the fabric of his jeans, your eyes focused on the field of flowers across the street.
“I won’t ask you to come with me.” he says after a long while, when your breathing has evened out. “I know that things are different. You have a life here that you’ve made for yourself, responsibilities to bear as well.”
He pauses to push a few strands of hair out of your face. His fingers are gentle against the skin of your cheek.
“But I promise it’ll be different. I spent too long away from you, was too selfish for my own good. I won’t disappear again. I’ll call every day. I’ll visit. You’ll get every part of me that I kept away from you all this time, and I’ll get every part of you in return.”
Your heart thrums. The thought of having what you’ve wanted for so long. Of having Jisung.
“And when you’re ready, when you feel like you can’t do it anymore, there’ll be a place for you.”
His voice is firm. Confident. More sure than he’s ever sounded before in his life.
When you turn to face him, he’s already staring back. Jisung, with all the stars in his eyes and a heart full of dreams. Jisung, with the world at his fingertips and the offer to make it yours.
Under the apple tree, Jisung leans down and kisses you for the first time. Twenty four years in the making, soft and slow, his lips a perfect fit against yours. A starboy and his flower girl. His glow is so bright it makes blossoms sprout from her fingertips.
Soft curls tickle your eyelids when he pulls away to rest his forehead against yours. You reach up to run a hand through them, smiling softly when he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose.
“I love you.” you say first this time.
He reaches out a hand, closes it over your fist that’s still clutching the guitar pick. A marigold and a tulip, both working together to make a perfect harmony.
“I love you, too.” Jisung whispers back. “Forever.”
Jisung stops by the shop early to say goodbye.
There’s less tears this time, less of a reason to be sad. But still, when he wraps his arms around you, vanilla filling your nose and curls against your face, you feel your composure crumble.
“Every day.” he says, repeating the same thing he did all night. “I promise. Morning and night. Also at lunch. Oh, and on your days off. Matter of fact, you can call when you’re on the toilet too.”
The last part earns him an elbow to the ribs, his laughter bubbling up and out of his throat as he tries to dodge any and all subsequent attacks.
He kisses you stupid before he goes, Chan rolling his eyes from his car out front. You flip him off blindly, Jisung’s lips still attached to yours, earning a loud honk in response.
When he leaves, the shop is quiet, the only sound being the buzzing of your phone as Jisung blows it up with text messages the second the car pulls away.
You’re too busy replying, giggling to yourself when a slew of cute emoticons start appearing one by one, that you nearly fall over out of your chair when Hyunjin bursts through the door.
“Jesus Christ Hyune, did you have to–”
“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, breathless.
“Uh,” you blink, glancing round. “Working?”
“Is Jisung not on a damn plane right now?”
“I mean he’s on his way to the airport. Chan is–”
“Chan hyung told me that Jisung wanted you to go with him.” Hyunjin says, brow furrowed.
You sigh. “He didn’t want me to go with him. Well, okay, he did. But I told him I can’t just pick up and leave. He knows that. Nana left this place to me and–”
“You are so stupid.” Hyunjin sighs.
“Excuse me?” you ask. You stand up, crossing your arms as you walk closer to the counter.
“Come on. We have to go.”
“Go where, Hyunjin? I’m not leaving to–”
He cuts you off, places an envelope on the wooden surface. “And I am not letting you stay here and pretend that this is what you want.”
“What is that?”
“A plane ticket.” he says, pushing it towards you. “To Seoul.”
Your mouth opens and closes, lost for words. Hyunjin is already moving around the counter, pushing past you with an expression the most serious you’ve ever seen on him.
“Hyunjin I– I can’t– where did you even…?”
“Chan hyung has a friend.” he mumbles as he begins pulling stuff out of the office. Your planning notebook, your apron, the picture of your grandma off the wall. All of it thrown into a small box he managed to snag from somewhere off to the side.
“His name is Seungmin or something. Met him out in the tourist hub. Dude’s super rich with tons of miles and apparently owed Chan for a drunken night where he needed to be escorted to his hotel. So thanks to him, you’re leaving.” he explains as he grabs the box with both hands and starts walking towards the door.
“Wait.” you stop him, watching as he turns to regard you with a look that says his patience is running thin.
“I told you I can’t leave, Hyunjin. This place is where I need to be.”
He huffs, places the box on the ground in front of him. His hair falls in waves around his face, a shimmery dark brown beneath the rays of the sun poking into the room.
“Can you be honest with me?” he asks.
You nod, slowly.
“Do you love him?”
Hyunjin watches you with careful eyes. Reads you like a book, something he’s always been good at. You don’t doubt that it’s written on your face. Star-kissed cheeks and eyes as bright as marigolds.
“So much that it hurts, Hyune.”
Hyunjin smiles, eyes watery. “Then you deserve to go. You deserve your chance to be free. Don’t worry about this place, I’ll take care of it.”
The familiar sting of tears sits behind your eyes. Your heart swells full of love for this friend, this light, this beacon of unconditional love in the shape of your best friend.
“I don’t have clothes.” you manage to say around the lump in your throat.
Hyunjin shakes his head, tears spilling down the bridge of his nose.
“I’ll send them to you.”
“There’s a lot to do around here for just one person. What if you need me?”
“I’ll manage.”
You round the corner quickly, throwing yourself into his chest. He catches you with ease, wraps his arms around your body as the both of you cry into each other.
“I’ll miss you.” you say weakly.
Hyunjin’s throat bobs against the top of your head. “I’ll always be here in our little corner of the world.”
The two of you stay like that for a while. Hyunjin’s warmth seeps into your skin, lights you ablaze. By the time he pulls away, his hands on your shoulders, you feel like you’re floating. Unreal.
“I don’t have a way to get there.” you say quickly, glancing at the clock.
Jisung’s plane leaves soon. The airport, the only one on the island, is a thirty minute drive. You’re at a disadvantage the more time you spend not moving.
“Don’t worry,” Hyunjin chuckles. “I’ve got that taken care of.”
You open your mouth to ask him what he means when you’re cut off by the sound of honking from outside. Confused, you run to the door, your jaw dropping as soon as you realize who’s waiting for you.
“Hurry up people we don’t have all day!” Jeongin calls, his upper body hanging out of the window. He’s parked outside in a beat-up truck, arms waving wildly when he spots you.
“Innie!” you scream, pushing through the door to run at him. He jumps out of the truck just in time for you to barrel into his chest, laughter loud in your ears as he spins you around.
“You’re here! Oh my god I thought you weren’t coming for another two weeks.” you say in disbelief once he puts you down.
He looks older, more sophisticated. His hair is rusted and falls past his ears, the ends just barely touching his shoulders.
“Yeah, well,” he shrugs. “I figured I’d show up earlier. You know, see you before you leave, catch up with my parents, help Hyunjin break into your house. The usual.”
“Help Hyunjin break into my what–” you say, but you stop when your eyes fall on the small suitcase in the backseat. Your own bag, the one that’s been sitting in your closet untouched for years now.
“For the last time,” Hyunjin says from behind you, carrying the box in his arms. “It’s not breaking and entering if I have a key. Which, by the way, I told you would come in handy one day.”
He sets the box down next to the luggage and dusts his hands on his pants. When he turns to face you, he’s smiling, eyes disappearing into crescent moons.
With tears threatening to spill once again, you stare at the both of them, your heart bursting at the seams. “I love you guys.”
Jeongin grimaces, opts for getting back in the driver’s seat as you laugh. Hyunjin rolls his eyes and ushers you inside of the truck.
“Yeah, yeah. Save it.” he says. “Right now, you have a plane to catch.”
The airport is crowded.
There are tons of people everywhere, some saying hello and some saying goodbye. Hyunjin explained the gate system to you before you left him and Jeongin on the curb, and you keep glancing down at your ticket to make sure none of the information has changed in the past thirty seconds since you last looked.
Thankfully, your gate isn’t far. With twenty minutes to go until boarding, you can feel the sweat building up beneath the hand that’s curled around your suitcase handle.
It’s scary thinking about the fact that this is it. That you’re finally leaving.
It’s bittersweet, too. There’s an excitement in the pit of your stomach as well as a feeling of dread in your chest, both of them meeting in the middle somewhere.
You let your eyes scan the crowd, searching for wavy hair and thick-rimmed glasses. However, the first thing you see is the familiar neck of a guitar, strapped right on to a back that you would know and recognize anywhere without warning.
Jisung is seated near the gate, his eyebrows furrowed and lips set in a pout as he glares down at his phone. You realize that he’s probably wondering why you won’t answer, why all of his emoticons are going ignored.
Quietly, you come up behind him, reach into your pocket, and say, “Excuse me? I think you dropped this.”
Jisung startles, his eyes falling on to the guitar pick being held out in your hand. Slowly, he lets his gaze follow upwards, wide-eyed and shocked.
“What– what are you doing here?” he asks.
You place the pick in his hand. “I'm on my way to Seoul. There’s a guy there that I’ve been trying to find for a while.” you say.
Jisung catches on quickly. “Oh, really?” he asks, moving over so you can sit beside him. “This guy must be pretty great if you’re leaving for the mainland.”
The rain starts hitting the tarmac outside right as you sit down. “Hm, yeah. He is. He really likes the stars. He says that he found a way for me to live in them, too.”
He laughs, the sound making your stomach flip. “Sounds like you’re excited.”
You nod. “I am. He promised me that we’d do a lot together, experience new things. Apparently he’s gonna write songs and I’m gonna be a nerd.”
Jisung snorts and reaches across to link his hand with yours.
“He’s really lucky.” he says, leaning over to plant a kiss on your lips.
You smile into it. “So am I.” you whisper into his mouth, your heart stuffed to the brim with flower petals.
And when Jisung smiles back, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek and give you another kiss with the force of a thousand suns, you feel the key you’d been searching for finally click into place.
Salt of the earth. Soil and stardust. A boy who glows so bright that his girl sprouts blossoms from her fingertips.
Forever isn’t promised. But then again, with Jisung by your side, there are things you know for certain:
It’s February. The tulips are in bloom. In Jeju– it rains.
And no matter what, despite all odds, you and Jisung will always find your way back to each other in the place where marigolds grow.
Amongst a sea of twinkling lights and body heat, Chan drowns.
Nobody sees him. Not the overexcited boys with light-sticks in the front row, not the busy press in the back. Not even Jisung and Changbin, who clap with measured appreciation. His heart is in his fucking throat. It was an awesome performance; credit where it’s due. They’ll make an excellent group. If only he could shift this rock in his gut. He tells himself it’s a good that nobody saw him— that Jia didn’t. He’s not here to be seen.
In one thing, Fei was right. At this moment in time, he’s just another fan.
The cries for an encore make his teeth ache. He’s glad when Changbin takes his hand and says, “We should move, hyung.”
He autonomously follows Changbin through the row, down the shallow steps to the well below the stage where bright lights dazzle and cameramen fuss. Several others have also risen to leave, apparently none bothered by the possibility of an encore; the rappers fall into step with them, diverging quietly and anonymously from the group when passing a curtained, sectioned off area— backstage access.
The corridor they step into is cold and dark. Almost too quiet. They rush down it softly, until Changbin nears the first corner and peers around it.
“Down here,” he instructs with a whisper. “Dressing room signs.”
“They’ll all be in there, hyung,” Jisung hisses.
“Then he’s just going to have to do this with an audience.”
“No chance, he can’t do that. There has to be another way. Can’t we wait until they—”
“Fine.” Chan shakes out of Jisung’s hold, much as he doesn’t want to. “I’ll go.”
“Hyung, but they’re all—”
“This is my last chance, right? If they’re really about to debut, this is it. I have to do this.”
Jisung’s eyes betray concern, but he nods solemnly.
“Thank you,” Chan says. “Both of you. I, uh... would probably be neck deep in a bottle of soju right now if not for you.”
Changbin elbows him gently. “Hey, you might still be. Never say never.”
“Right.” Chan huffs a morose laugh. “Well, then.”
He doesn’t let himself think about it. Just walks. Feels the floor beneath his feet and the harsh fluorescence against his eyes and just walks. He tries to breathe. Hurts a little. Nonsense tumbles around his head, and he dreads what’ll come out of his mouth.
The dressing room door is ajar; light chatter and giggles carry from it. He can’t think about all the ways this may go wrong. With a deep breath he pushes inside, slams the door behind him. Doesn’t know why he flicks the lock. Four sets of eyes turn to him, liner and glitter and feathery lashes.
“Chan?”
Jia. She sees him. Her dark hair is waved, her stage outfit so pink and garish it makes Chan want to puke. She hates pink.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I needed to see you.”
Minyoung and Suji watch with quiet delight. Fei hangs her head. Jia launches from the dressing table and rushes him, panic becoming her.
“You can’t be here.” She shoves his chest. “Leave, now.”
“Jia, please.” He grabs her wrists. Just wants her to listen. Just for a minute. Just one. “I’ve missed you so much. I don’t know why you’re being like this. Things don’t have to change. They don’t. They shouldn’t.”
Suji scoffs. “Thought you two were just friends, Jia?”
Jia’s face flames. “Get the fuck out of here. I won’t tell you again.”
“Why are you doing this? What did I do wrong?”
“Hey,” Minyoung stands. “We can’t have a dude in here, Jia. Take it outside.”
“She takes it outside and she gets seen with him,” Fei sighs. “Goddamn it, Chan.”
Jia shoves him again, towards the door. “You just can’t take a hint, can you? I am about to debut. Do you get that? My life is about to change. Millions of people are going to love me. I have to make room for them.”
“Them?” Chan can hardly breathe. “And what about me? Do I not matter?”
“I can’t be with you.”
“That’s not what I asked—”
“I’ll be on the three-year ban.”
“What? Since when did that matter? Jia—”
“It wasn’t real, Chan! We both knew that. We were always kidding ourselves. You might be content to be a trainee forever, but I'm not. This is my future.”
He tastes the bile again. Everything tilts.
“You were my future, Jia.”
“I didn’t ask to be.”
It tilts and tilts until it’s upside down.
“You love me,” he says. “I know you do.”
Suji bites back a laugh. Fei glares.
“These two years can’t have been for nothing. They can’t.”
Jia shoves him again. Almost knocks him off balance.
“Get out before I start screaming.”
Screaming?
Fucking screaming?
The way she did when he made her come? The way she did when he told her he loved her?
“Fuck you.”
Jia’s jaw drops. Her eyes burn resentment. She starts towards him.
“Jia!”
A slap clean across his cheek breaks Fei’s warning; Chan drops like a sack of stones, heat bleeds over his skin, his head rattles.
“Get out.”
“You love me.”
“Get out!”
“Lie to yourself all you want. You’ll always love me, Jia.”
“Get out! Get out, get out, get out!” she screams, so hysterical as to force the other girls to intervene.
Fei offers her sympathy. “I tried to tell you.”
Violent banging on the dressing room door breaks it down. Chan knows how this will present; doesn’t fight it when security see the screaming girl and the guilty man with signs of struggle on his skin.
He collects Jia’s screams and carves them into his skin, raw and bloody, one by one.
verb past tense: interlinked; past participle: interlinked
·join or connect (two or more things) together.
☆SMAU by CyBer97luts
*all pictures used from Pinterest or official Stray Kids or Ateez social media accounts.
✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*
*⑅୨ background info ୧*
:;JYP and KQ are overall talent management companies; signing idols, models, dancers, etc.
:;Stray Kids is not a group, they are all under JYP and are all friends. However, they've been separated into 3RACHA, Seungmin and I.N are solo artist, whilst Danceracha pursues separate careers.
:;A few Stray Kids and Ateez members are already familiar with each other. San, Chan, and Changbin for example, they enjoy going to the gym together. There are many other friendships but that will become apparent through the story.
:;This is my first SMAU so it is very self indulgent. Personalities of people mentioned in the story and of Y/N are not fully intended to be accurate. Please keep this in mind while reading and remember that this is not a reflection of any real people.
When one girl in your class makes fun of you for being a virgin at a party, you are left distraught. It's only natural that you decide to whine about it to your best friend, Bang Chan; but he does more than lending a shoulder to cry on, he comes up with a solution. He and his 7 friends will help you and teach you all about the pleasure of the flesh. What could go wrong?
Genre: College AU, SMUT 18+ ONLY
TW: smut, fraternity SKZ, inexperienced reader, experienced stray kids, more detailed warnings will be in each chapter
Chapter 1 : Caress ° Bang Chan
Chapter 2: Venus ° Lee Know
Chapter 3: Mars ° Changbin
Chapter 4: Charm ° Hyunjin
Chapter 5: Urgency ° Han
Chapter 6: Authority ° Felix
Chapter 7: Docility ° Seungmin
Chapter 8: Company° IN
Coming soon...
Taglist
Unfortunately my taglist is temporarily closed because I'm having some technical issues
A/N: I am happy to announce my first long term fic project,just an FYI the updates for this will be SLOW because I am in the midst of getting my university degree and I?m also writing my thesis. I hope you will enjoy this series <3
📹ᡣ𐭩₊˚⊹ free, when you’re here with me
lee minho x f!reader x han jisung
summary: one time you and jisung tease minho while he's live. another time you and minho return the favour. and the third time ... well, let's just say they're both live that time.
word count: 9.6k words
author's note: first fic back from sea may rise is my brand - minsung and exhibitionism. I have had this idea in my drafts for half a year now and I finally got around to writing it. straight filth. enjoy!
warnings: sexting and getting hard on live; porn without plot; established relationship; canon compliant; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it & pee after sex, guys); daddy kink; big on the exhibitionism; sexting and images and videos of sexual acts; sex toys; size queen behaviour from our reader; masturbation; oral; pubic hair bc it's sexy and I said so; they keep talking about tanghulu because it's canon and they need to be freed from these repetitive questions
skzms' masterlist
ᡣ𐭩 ONE
“‘Hi Lee Know, how are you today?’ Hiii, I’m good, how are you?” Minho singsongs, dutifully, throws a look at the camera propped up on the table in front of him, then back down at his phone where Bubble is open.
At least he’s alone in the room today. It’s always much less awkward when there are three staff members watching him provide fan service and make faces at a phone.
“’How was your day?’ My day was alright. Had a schedule this morning really early, but we finished around noon. I got galbitang for lunch, ate it with Kim Seungmin.”
He watches the chat predictably explode into messages about him and Seungmin, about Seungmin’s new show, whether he’d seen it. He gives it a second.
On the top of his screen, a message pops up.
In miny/nsung🍡
from: jisungie 🐹🍑
who allowed you to look so damn good when you’re not here
Minho doesn’t bother to hide the smirk that takes over his face as he reads the message.
“Ah, Kim Seungmin’s Song By, yes, I watched it. Who knew dogs could sing like that, huh.”
He knows this simple sentiment will buy him enough time to respond to Jisung.
from: minho
got nothing better to do than watch my live?
The reply is instant. It’s a picture of Jisung and you, cuddled up together in what Minho can clearly tell is Jisung’s bed, based on the dark grey, checkered sheets and the orange and purple glow of Jisung’s LED lights.
from: y/n 😻
we just miss you :(
Minho resists the urge to roll his eyes, fondness dangerously squeezing at his chest. He swipes back to Bubble, takes a quick look at the chat, but everyone’s still talking about Seungmin’s show.
“Ah, yes, the song. I know it. He talked about it for a week before filming. He was very worried about his choice, but he chose it well.”
Quickly, he swipes back and is greeted by the picture again.
It’s adorable. Your head, pillowed on Jisung’s arm, eyes scrunched up in a smile as you lean up and into his neck. Jisung’s smile is soft, his cheek squished against your forehead. You’re both still dressed exactly like how he left you, Jisung in his oversized sweatshirt, you in one of Minho’s t-shirts. God, he wishes he could be there instead of here.
from: minho
I left like an hour ago
Then he goes back to Bubble.
For a few minutes, there’s no new notification. Minho even finds himself swiping back to your group chat to check, but you and Jisung are suspiciously quiet. He answers a question about Soondoongdori, but secretly he wonders if your words, the fact that you missed him, weren’t true at all.
But then, four messages come in in quick succession.
from: jisungie 🐹🍑
sorry, hyung, we got a little distracted
wanna see?
turn your volume off
The thumbnail of the video is blurry, but Minho can make out the colours of your clothes. He doesn’t know if he hopes it is what he thinks it is or if he should hope it’s something much more innocuous.
And Minho shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t open a video while he’s live on Youtube with thousands of people watching. But if there’s one thing that he loves more than he loves his job, it’s you and Jisung, and especially videos of you and Jisung. The photo gallery of his secret private phone is proof of that.
So he puts his phone on mute. Clicks the volume down until it shows it’s silent, and then clicks the lower volume button 30 more times for good measure. Angles his phone, so nobody can see, though he knows they can’t. And he clicks play.
It plays silently, Minho notes with an internal sigh of relief, but that fact is soon forgotten when he takes in the view. The framing is as gorgeous as it is simple. The camera hovers over you and Jisung’s upper bodies, cutting off right above your noses and right below your chests. You must be holding it because Jisung’s hand is cupping your cheek, your chin, black painted nails digging into the meat of your cheek as he absolutely devours you.
Or really, you devour each other, swapping filthy, wet open-mouthed kisses, tongues meeting somewhere in the middle, laving against each other. Then Jisung wraps his plump lips around your bottom lip and sucks, making your body arch into him, your hand scrambling to wrap around the back of his neck to get better access and arousal hits Minho like a tidal wave. You kiss Jisung harder, drag your nails over his scalp as you lick into his mouth, so deep Minho thinks he can hear the phantom of Jisung’s moan in his ears and Jisung kisses back, a dribble of spit running down the soft skin of your chin and the video ends.
And Minho realises he’s live.
It takes all of his idol training to swallow down his panic, to seemingly calmly swipe back to Bubble and check the messages when his brain feels hazy, and he can feel his cock pulsing in his sweats.
But nobody seems to have noticed. All the messages are just the usual ‘notice me’s or ‘make a heart!’s.
His phone vibrates in his sweaty hand.
from: jisungie 🐹🍑
I can’t believe you watched the video
on live
I’m so fucking hard that’s so hot
from: y/n 😻
don’t worry, it wasn’t obvious
our pro idol <3
Minho bites back a scoff.
from: minho
you two are fucking crazy
He shoots the message back and swipes back to Bubble.
“’Lino-yah, do you prefer kimchijigae or doenjangjigae?’ Kimchijigae, always!”
from: y/n 😻
does that mean you don’t want another video?
Minho could not give less of a fuck about Kimchijigae right now. The seconds he waits for another video to come in are agonising. He tries to respond to as many comments that fly past as he can, while he still can, before the message finally pops up.
from: y/n 😻
<kjs3js9asu8.mp4>
He swipes across and nearly lets out a groan at the thumbnail. Jisung’s bare, broad shoulders and brown, curly mop of hair, between your thick soft thighs, bathed in purple and orange lights. It looks like art.
Minho punches the volume down button another few times for good measure and hits play.
In the top of the frame, the ends of your, no his t-shirt, rucked up enough to expose the soft curves of your waist, your belly. Jisung is settled between your soft thighs, one of them slung over his broad, honey skinned shoulder, his hands wrapped around your thighs, holding you in place, ringed fingers digging into your skin. Minho wants them in his fucking mouth.
Jisung’s face is buried in your pussy. Nose-deep, hair bobbing with every lave of his stupidly talented tongue, his eyes fluttered closed in what Minho knows is ecstasy. His legs are spread, hips grinding into the mattress, his pert little ass in his sweats just about visible from how you’re holding the camera.
And then Jisung takes your clit into his mouth, flutters his glassy eyes open and sucks, and Minho watches the muscles in your belly ripple and your back arch. Jisung’s eyes are still on you, but then he flattens his tongue and licks at you obscenely and makes eye contact with the camera, and Minho’s cock throbs.
Your fingers thread into Jisung’s hair, pulls his head back so hard his eyes roll, and his mouth falls open, purple lights making the juices on his chin glisten. You shove him back down, and he goes willingly, dives lower, head bobbing harder, pink tongue peeking out from his rosebud lips. Then the video ends.
Minho is rock hard in his sweats. He forces himself to swipe back to Bubble. Half crazed, half out of his fucking mind, he looks for something to reply to.
“If Lee Know sees this comment he’ll wink,” he reads, looks at the camera with a deadpan expression and does a silly wink.
He wants to end this live right now and run home, but he promised their manager he’d stay on for longer today.
He swipes back to your chat.
from: minho
did jisungie make you cum?
The answer is immediate.
from: y/n 😻
mhm yeah he did
so good
<IMG_363762.jpeg>
A picture. Of your face. Flushed and fucked out, hair messy against the pillow, a pretty little smile on your bitten lips. Minho is about to fucking lose his mind.
Subtly, he shifts in his chair, bites back a hiss when his cock drags against his boxers in a way that feels a little too good. Then he forces himself back to Bubble.
But the top of his screen lights up with another notification.
from: jisungie 🐹🍑
when are you coming home, jagi?
we want you so bad
you and your stupidly big cock
I bet it’s so hard right now
“My favourite song off the last album is Blind Spot,” he half growls out. His leg is jumping, his heart thundering in his chest. The chat goes wild. Hannie’s song! Minsung is real, guys.
Possessiveness always comes easier when his cock is hard, and he’s thinking about them.
“Exactly,” he just says. No indication what he responded to. It’s all he’s allowed to. But hopefully enough of them will know.
From: y/n 😻
<97jdn2yns.mp4>
He swipes over immediately.
Jisung. Filmed from your vantage point, clearly, if your bare thighs on either side of his beautiful waist are anything to judge by. Then your hand, manicured nails reaching up to Jisung’s mouth, tapping your middle and ring finger against his lips. Jisung blinks slowly, then opens his mouth, dutifully. He swallows your fingers down greedily.
inho has to actually bite back a moan. His cock twitches pathetically in his sweats. He hums a random melody, trying to distract the people on his stupid live from the fact that he hasn’t said anything in a couple of seconds.
But his brain, his cock, his entire nervous system – it’s all attuned to you. Jisung, flushed and fucked out, sucking on your fingers, his eyes rolling into the back of his head like he’s in some fucking hentai. Minho adores it.
The angle changes. With your fingers still in Jisung’s mouth, you lean over, prop up the phone against something on the other side of the bed, brows furrowed in a concentration so adorable it makes him want to ruin you, before you return to straddling Jisung’s waist, Jisung’s pretty hands splayed over your thighs.
Jisung sucks on your fingers harder, his eyes threatening to flutter shut as you lean forward, closer until you finally remove your soaking wet fingers from his lips. Jisung sucks in a breath and Minho knows that if he had his sound on, he would’ve heard the most delicious whimper.
With bated breath, Minho watches as you and Jisung stare at each other, before you dip down and replace your fingers with your lips.
Jisung surges up, his hands wrapping around your waist like a man starved, and Minho swears he gets dizzy for a moment.
He doesn’t think he blinks once for the last few seconds of the video, watching you kiss Jisung into the mattress, watching Jisung’s hands grab at you wherever he can reach, kneading your ass, your hips, your waist, rucking up your shirt until he can pull it over your head, your naked tits pressing against Jisung’s chest.
The video ends and Minho swears his ears are ringing. His whole body is burning with a desire that makes his teeth ache. His cock is so hard it fucking hurts, pulsing where it lies against his thigh, hard and leaking and neglected.
He forces himself to swipe back to Bubble again.
“‘If Lee Know oppa doesn’t see this, it means we’re married’,” Minho reads with a shaky voice, and it shocks a laugh out of him.
The only people he’s married to, mind, soul, body, entirely, stupidly, are you and Jisung. He wishes he could scream it from the fucking rooftops.
“Ha,” he answers out loud, smirks at the camera, “well, it can’t be helped. Guess we’re not married.”
He feels crazy. Insane. He wonders how much longer he has to be live when another message comes in.
from: jisungie 🐹🍑
fuck, hyung, I can hear it in your voice
please
come home
please
<093knahi2.mp4>
Minho holds out long enough to answer one more question, something about a trendy new street food snack, before he scrolls back to their chat and clicks on the video like a man possessed.
It’s Jisung’s perspective this time. Jisung’s point of view of your naked, beautiful body, glowing shades of orange and purple, sheen of sweat making you shimmer like a thousand diamonds, twirling your hips up and down on Jisung’s cock.
Minho’s spit catches in his throat, and he nearly drops his phone, so harshly does it make him cough. His face is burning, probably bright red, but at least now he has an excuse.
“Ah, sorry, everyone,” he groans out, gives the camera a sheepish look.
Then he looks down again. He missed a few seconds of the video, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t scroll back.
There it is again. Your body, the body he knows so well, your tits, your belly, the dip of your waist, the plush of your skin, the little patch of hair right over your cunt, which is, oh fuck, perfectly, snugly, wetly wrapped around Jisung’s cock. Your juices are shimmering in the light where they’re wetting the coarse, short curls around the base of Jisung’s cock. Your head is thrown back, eyes screwed shut, bottom lip trapped between your teeth.
Jisung’s hand is resting on your waist, then trailing up, guiding you up and down in a slow, deliberate grind, before it snakes up, and he grabs a fistful of your tits in his big hands, rubbing his thumb over the hard bud of your nipple.
Minho has to pause the video.
His underwear is wet. He hasn’t said anything in at least a minute. He … fuck, he’s actually out of breath.
Bubble he reminds himself. He swipes over clumsily, answers the first thing he sees.
“’Have you ever had Tanghulu?’ Aaaah, yes, of course. Everyone’s had it, right?” he actually sounds out of breath, fuck. He wonders if they’re still watching. If they’re seeing him, flustered, out of breath, or if they’re too busy fucking each other’s brains out. “I don’t typically like sweets. The texture is nice, though. The crunch is good. And the fruit is sweet.”
He knows what’s sweet, and it’s the sounds you make when you get fucked just right. It’s the skin behind Jisung’s ear that he could suck on for hours. It’s the pre-cum that drools out of Jisung’s cock, the taste of your chapstick in the morning when Minho licks it off your lips.
He’s had enough.
“Ah, would you look at the time, Stay. I’m gonna go and devour some tanghulu right now. Bye!”
He reaches over with shaky fingers, pushes the end button.
Everything happens in slow motion. He double-checks that the live ended, locks the phone, places it facedown on the table for good measure.
Then he swipes back to your chat. He finds the last video.
He clicks play cranks up the volume, and shoves his hand into his sweats.
Moans, so much sweeter than candied fruit. Jisung’s, high and needy, yours, a little further away, breathless, desperate.
“Fuuuuck, baby,” Jisung moans into the microphone and Minho throws his head back with a moan of his own. His cock drools.
Minho starts working his hand over his cock faster, the slide slick and loud in the empty room. You whimper, lean forward, your hands coming to rest on Jisung’s chest, digging your nails into his skin if Jisung’s gasp is anything to go by.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Jisung groans, and Minho nearly cums. His eyes roll back and his cock throbs.
“J-Jisungie,” you whimper and Minho has to dig his nails into the skin of his thigh to keep his composure, “need m-more, pl-please.”
“Ah, fuck, baby, fuck,” Jisung keens, “yeah? You want it? Don’t want to wait for Min?”
Minho twists his wrist and pleasure zaps up his spine.
“C-can’t,” you whimper, and then there’s the sound of rustling. When Minho looks back at the video, it’s no longer pointing at you, but instead at the ceiling. But he can still hear you.
Punched out little ahs, falling from your lips in a never-ending stream, perfectly timed with the wet smack of skin against skin. Jisung fucking up into you, no doubt. Jisung swearing, a litany of curses and baby’s and so fucking good’s.
Minho whimpers into the empty room. The moans, the sound of skin against skin, the desperate pleas, your voice teary and broken, Jisung’s tone shifting higher and higher, cooing and praising you, it’s all too much.
Minho’s orgasm careens through him with the weight of freight truck. His hips buck up into nothing, trying to shove himself harder into the tight ring of his fist, his whole body locking up in pleasure. His vision whites out, and he vaguely registers himself moaning, hears you and Jisung fall apart, Jisung’s telltale hiccuping moan, your choked sob.
Then the video ends and Minho slowly comes down and there’s a gigantic wet mess in his boxers and utter silence in the room, except for the blood thumping in his ears.
ᡣ𐭩 TWO
“Hi Stay,” Jisung mumbles. Deep breath in, deep breath out. It’s just a stupid live. “How are you all today?”
He tugs at his shirt, then his over-shirt. Checks his expression in the little window that shows what he looks like. A strand of hair is sticking up a little, and he tugs it back into place.
People keep trickling in, the chat on Bubble picking up slowly but surely.
It’s not like he’s horribly nervous. Just a little. Being live, being expected to entertain, with no way to rest or edit, it always sets him on edge a little bit.
“I’m sorry it’s been so long. How have you been? Have you been well?”
His voice wobbles a bit, but then it settles. He takes a shaky breath in.
In miny/nsung🍡
from: y/nie 🌸💦
deep breaths, jagi
you’re doing great
The smile that steals onto his face is real, his heart doing a little flip in his chest.
“I’ve been well, thank you,” he says, looks up at the camera, “you’ve been giving me lots of strength.”
He’s saying it to the audience, yes, but he hopes you know it’s also for you.
from: y/nie 🌸💦
ah I love you so much
you’re so cute
Okay, he’s blushing now. Jisung leans back, watches his own glowing cheeks.
“I-I just got these earrings,” he hurries out, tugs at the little silver rings in his ears, “do you like them? I’ve been liking wearing earrings lately.”
The chat flies past. They do seem to like them. It makes him feel a little calmer.
from: hyung 😼🍆
the cutest
Jisung blushes harder, kicks his feet a little bit under the table. It doesn’t go unnoticed by the chat.
Ah, you’re so cute, Han-ah
Why are you shy?
“Ah, I’m shy because you’re all very nice to me,” he says, blinks up at the camera, then back down, when his heart starts to race. But the spell of the first nerves is finally broken.
He chats here and there. Answers some questions, takes a few sips of his Iced Americano. Then a familiar comment pops up. It makes his smile dim.
“You can see my beard marks?” he asks, laughing awkwardly, “I shaved this morning and I even put on make-up, and you can still see them?”
Almost immediately, a message pops up on the top.
from: hyung 😼🍆
did they say something bad about your beard
Jisung can feel the protectiveness from here. It makes his cheeks warmer.
from: hyung 😼🍆
don’t listen to them, jagi
your stubble is so fucking sexy
you’re gorgeous
Jisung takes a deep breath, swipes back to Bubble. Similar messages greet him there, people defending him, calling it cute. Some people still question it, but he no longer cares.
from: hyung 😼🍆
our pretty boy
our perfect boy
y/nie thinks so, too
Jisung breathes out a flustered little chuckle, his cheeks burning hotter. Quickly, he opens the group chat.
From: jisung
hyunggggggg
stop ittttt I’m liveeeee
Jisung can hear Minho’s little chuckle in his head. You’re probably lying on his chest, reading their conversation. Absentmindedly, he brings the back of his hand to his cheek, trying to cool down.
He swipes back to Bubble and is about to answer a question someone sent about his most recent song when another message pops up
from: hyung 😼🍆
such a nice voice, too
getting someone all riled up and needy in my lap
Jisung’s mouth runs dry. He mumbles something about having slept at 3am before he swipes back to the group chat.
from: jisung
hyung…
from: hyung 😼🍆
what, baby?
you don’t want to see?
Jisung fidgets nervously. Oh, this is so payback for last time when you and him did this to Minho. And he’s already half hard about it, heat pooling in his abdomen, cock filling out even faster because he knows how many people are watching.
from: jisung
you know I do …
from: hyung 😼🍆
yeah?
ask nicely, then
From: jisung
😑
hyungie pleasseeee~~~~
let me see her
let me see you
The response is instant. Like the video was already filmed and Minho only had to click send. Damn him. He knew Jisung would fold.
from: hyung 😼🍆
<j29shl1998k.mp4>
It takes everything in Jisung to be patient, to swipe back to Bubble and find a message he can answer to buy himself some time. He mumbles something about tteokbokki being too spicy while he’s already swiping back again.
He clicks his volume down a million times, double, then triple checks it, and then finally holds his breath and presses play.
The video is only 10 seconds long. You’re lying on Minho’s chest, between his spread legs, but he can’t see you or Minho’s face. All he can see is your hips, your ass in your favourite sweats, subtly, slowly grinding, forwards. Jisung wishes he could turn up the volume because he knows you’re probably making the sweetest little sounds, and Minho is probably murmuring filthy nothings into the camera that would make a shudder run down Jisung’s spine.
Without the sound, it’s easy for Jisung to focus on all the details he can see, though. On the way your toes are curled in your socks. The way Minho’s legs spread wider, the muscles in his thigh jumping with a particularly good roll of your hips.
It ends all too soon.
He wants more. So much more. But he knows he can’t let that show or Minho will break this whole thing off. So he swipes back to Bubble, raises his head, his glowing cheeks stupidly obvious in the camera. He can play it off with Stay, can say it’s warm in the room. But you and Minho will know better.
He watches the comments run through, lets himself get distracted as he waits to see if Minho will do anything else.
“13 reached 3 million views on Youtube? Really? I didn’t know that,” he exclaims with a smile at the camera, and he’s actually impressed how normal his voice sounds. And three million! For a SKZ Record, one that is so dear to him, too.
A message pops up at the top of his screen.
from: hyung 😼🍆
did you watch it?
Jisung grins to himself. Maybe he wasn’t being as obvious as he thought.
He picks his next words carefully.
From: jisung
I did
Then he swipes back to Bubble.
“Ah, yes, I still watch EXchange, though not as much as I did when I wrote that song. Life has been busy lately.”
Who has time to watch EXchange when there are almost always one or two people in your bed, indulging your need for naps and cuddles and blowjobs and unimaginably filthy marathon sex.
“Yes, we’re working on music. Of course. We always are!”
That, too. But the filthy marathon sex …
As if on cue, another message from Minho pops up.
from: hyung 😼🍆
jisungie, are you playing coy with me?
do you think I don’t know you want more
Leisurely, Jisung swipes back to his messages.
from: jisung
of course I want more, hyungie
but I was trying to be patient
be good for hyung
from: hyung 😼🍆
are you hard?
from: jisung
a little … :3
from: hyung 😼🍆
I am
someone got so needy she needed something in her mouth
and you know how good her mouth is
Jisung’s body responds almost instantly. His cock twitches. Of course, he knows how your mouth is.
Jisung knows he could play coy again. He could wait it out, bait Minho into asking him again. But the knowledge of thousands of eyes on him and the thought of you, back at the dorm, in his bed …
From: jisung
ok, hyung, I’ll bite
pleaseee? can I see???
He swipes back to Bubble as fast as he can.
“‘Is it raining in Seoul?’ Ah, it’s not. It’s sunny,” he mumbles before he looks at the camera through his lashes. “The weather is really nice today.”
from: hyung 😼🍆
😺
<j39sh2kl478.mp4>
Jisung swipes back to his chat and nearly chokes from the thumbnail alone. Your head between Minho’s thick thighs, Minho’s hand in your hair.
But before he can click play, another message comes in.
from: hyung 😼🍆
fuck, baby
the weather’s nice, huh
fuck, I love you
It’s like Jisung can hear how turned on Minho is, and it sends him reeling. He punches the volume down button on his phone another few times and finally clicks on the video.
Minho is still in the same place he was on the bed, but his sweatpants are rucked down, pushed down enough to expose his cock. You’re lying in between his legs, back arched prettily, one of your hands wrapped around Minho’s thigh, your head bobbing up and down.
Not much is visible from how Minho is holding the camera, your face, and mouth obscured, but you’ve got him deep, your nose bumping into the trimmed hair above Minho’s cock, and it makes Jisung dizzy with want.
Minho’s hand is laced into your hair, leaving you to do as you please, until he suddenly pushes you down. You go willingly, let Minho wiggle your head back and forth before he pulls you back and up, pulling your mouth off his cock slowly, inch by inch, your unfocused eyes staring into the camera. It’s fucking obscene how much of his cock was inside your mouth, and Jisung thinks he might pass out. When the head of Minho’s cock pops free, and it slaps against his abdomen, Jisung nearly moans out loud.
Minho lets go of your hair and Jisung assumes he said something to you because the prettiest little smile tugs at your lips before you give Minho the filthiest bedroom eyes, right past the camera, and lean back to suck his cock back into your mouth.
When the video ends, Jisung wants to scream.
Still dizzy, he clears his throat and swipes back to Bubble. His mind is anywhere but here, but he dutifully scans the questions and babbles something about American cheesecake at some restaurant they went to.
Directly in his eye line, just below where he’s holding his phone, his cock is now rock solid, tenting the front of his sweats. There’s a little wet patch darkening the fabric, and Jisung has what he thinks is his best idea yet.
He looks up at the camera with an innocent smile, acting like he’s staring at Stay, but really he’s gauging just how far down the camera can see. He figures it’s high enough. He leans back, slouches a little, pretends to be engrossed in Stay’s comments, even lets out a little laugh like someone just said something funny.
Carefully, he swipes over to his camera app. Then, with his heart beating in his throat, he carefully grabs his waistband and tugs it up enough so his hard, leaking cock is visible. He snaps the picture, swipes back to Bubble.
“‘Is Alien still your favourite song?’ I think so! Though I have written a lot of songs that haven’t come out yet,” he comments casually, though he thinks he can hear his arousal in his own voice. It’s just a little more gravelly. A little lower.
from: hyung 😼🍆
you really watched it, huh
I can hear it in your voice
fuck, you’re so fucking hot when you’re turned on
Minho doesn’t usually say things like this, not on their main phones, not so candid, not with so many swear words – not unless he’s really turned on. And Jisung is about to put the final nail in the coffin.
From: jisung
hyung :(
look what you did
<IMG_83792871.jpeg>
Jisung blinks up at the camera, his cheeks still flushed, his pupils blown to shit. 50 thousand people are watching. His cock twitches. He smiles.
from: hyung 😼🍆
jisung
you didn’t
oh my fucking god
tell me you didn’t take that just now
while you were live
Hook, line, and sinker.
Jisung takes his time. Talks about tanghulu, how he tried it with Felix, how he liked strawberry the most. How he heard that tomatoes aren’t really considered a sweet fruit.
from: hyung 😼🍆
jiji it’s y/nie
had to confiscate min’s phone
he was blowing my back out and just nearly came when you sent that picture
Jisung nearly laughs out loud.
you’re so fucking gorgeous
our gorgeous gorgeous boy
your live is still playing
I can’t stop looking at you
Heat. All the way up to his ears. And pooling in his abdomen.
Gingerly, he reaches down, wraps a hand around his cock loosely, through the thick material of his sweats. He just squeezes once and pleasure cascades down his spine. He lets out a shaky sigh.
from: hyung 😼🍆
it’s hyung again
come home
right now
<j39sln8jmn2.mp4>
Jisung doesn’t even look at the video yet. He takes a deep breath, every one of his nerve endings on fire, his body screaming out for some relief, for him to touch himself, for them to touch him.
“Stay, I will have to leave now,” he purrs at the camera, gives them his biggest doe eyes, a sweet, innocent smile. He lets his voice drop even lower. “Thank you for keeping me company today. Thank you for talking to me. Thank you for everything you do for me. I love you. Have a good day. Bye.”
And he smiles again, winks when he gets close to the camera, right before he turns the live off.
When it’s off and silent in the room, he blinks, double checks that it’s off. Closes the app and turns off the company phone for good measure. Then he rips his hoodie from the back of his chair and shoves it between his legs.
The first grind of his hips is heavenly. He slides down the chair, his head thudding against the back of his chair with a dull thud. He’s so sensitive it almost hurts.
Gingerly, carefully, he sets a slow rhythm. On a particularly good thrust, a tiny moan falls from his lips.
Dimly, he remembers the video, but he’s got other plans. He unlocks his phone with shaky fingers, opens the camera and sets it to selfie mode, hits record. Then he props it against the tripod that was holding the company phone for the live.
It’s better than the live because he knows who will watch this one.
He smiles at the camera, turns sideways so he’s perfectly in frame, and grinds his hips up. He doesn’t hold back his moan, lets his eyes flutter shut, his head loll back against the seat again.
He builds up a rhythm again. It’s erratic, choppy, his hips jittering up inconsistently because he’s been so hard for so long that every brush against his cock nearly sends him over the edge. If it wasn’t for them, he would be embarrassed. But he knows they will love it. Eat it up, the fact that he’s humping his sweater, about to cum after three minutes just from Minho’s filthy words, some lewd videos, one of which he hasn’t even watched.
The thought of it makes him chase his high harder, grind his hips deeper into the soft material, his fingers fisting into the hoodie until the rings on his fingers bite into his skin.
“A-ah,” he breathes out, “c-can’t … w-won’t last.”
His voice is breathy, whiny, scarily loud in the empty room. But it only adds to the thrill. That someone could walk by and hear him. Minho would call him desperate. You would call him a filthy pervert, would probably wrap your hand around his throat and slap his cock.
His back arches, his whole body locks up, and he’s cumming. He fucks up into the soft warmth of his sweats, his hoodie, unloads ropes and ropes of his sticky cum, making a show of it for the camera, bucking his hips, milking himself dry.
He reaches for his phone before he’s even come down, a particularly delicious aftershock making him visibly shiver as he grabs for the camera.
Looking at himself, he preens. He looks deliciously fucked out.
“Thanks f-for keeping me company today,” he rasps into the camera.
He shuts off the recording, swipes over to the chat and sends it unseen.
It doesn’t even take ten seconds before Minho replies.
from: hyung 😼🍆
get the fuck home
right
now
ᡣ𐭩 THREE
“… we are Stray Kids,” Chan announces into the quiet of the hotel room. Jisung bows and says it with him on autopilot, at this point.
They’re all piled into Changbin and Hyunjin’s hotel room, scattered over one of the beds, Jisung and Minho leaning against the headboard, Chan sitting right in front of Minho with Felix nearly splayed over his lap, Hyunjin and Changbin leaning against the foot of the bed. Jeongin is in a seat off to Jisung’s right, and Seungmin lounges on the bed in front of him.
It’s not late by any means, but jet lag has Jisung in a vice grip. He was already half asleep, snuggled into your arms in your hotel room down the hall, when Chan called them all together to go live. Minho had to bribe him with snacks, you had to promise him unlimited kisses, before he finally hauled himself out of bed, shoved a beanie onto his head and let Minho drag him down the hall.
But now the soft, padded headboard against his back, the pillow on his lap, Minho’s soft breathing next to him … he can feel himself getting drowsy again. As carefully as he can, he stretches his leg out until his knee rests against Minho’s thigh.
Minho looks over at him immediately, cocks an eyebrow, but he doesn’t move away. It makes Jisung feel all warm and fuzzy inside. A yawn tugs at him, and he pulls the collar of his sweater up over his mouth, but when he does, he is hit with a whiff of your perfume. It makes him yawn even harder. What he would give to be able to sneak out, back down the hallway, and slip under the warm blankets with you, soft skin all sleep warm and ready for him to glue himself to.
“Yah,” Changbin yells, and Jisung startles. He makes a small, unhappy sound in the back of his throat and out of the corner of his eyes he sees Minho throw him a sweet little smile, eyes brimming with love. His pinky stretches until he can gently graze Jisung’s knee. The small touch sends shivers all over Jisung’s body, and Minho sees that, too. He rewards him with another raised eyebrow.
But Jisung is already far gone again. Felix is saying something about a fashion show he went to recently. His phone buzzes where it’s lying between his thighs and Jisung picks it up without a second thought.
When he unlocks it, he’s greeted with a picture of your bare legs on the white hotel sheets next to your laptop with the live open, Jisung’s boxers stretched over your thighs, little white ankle socks hugging your feet. Pretty.
In miny/nsung🍡
from: y/nie 🌸💦
<IMG_2763379.jpg>
supporting you from 4 doors down
also tell chan I want my cuddle partner back :(
Jisung bites back his smile, lets his eyes linger on the skin of your thighs for a second longer, before he swipes back to Bubble. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Minho open the message. He doesn’t really react, but he looks at the picture for a long time, before he clicks on the message bar. Jisung watches as he types.
from: hyung 😼🍆
your cuddle partner is about to fall asleep live on youtube
from: y/nie 🌸💦
free him 🗣️🗣️
let him come back to me
I promise I’ll treat him so well
It’s just a throwaway comment, most likely innocent, but in his hazy state Jisung’s brain immediately goes down a very different path. Maybe if he asked really nicely, you would wrap your soft hands around his cock. Or even suck him off. He’s always out like a light after a good blowjob.
Minho looks over at him and huffs out a laugh.
from: hyung 😼🍆
your cuddle partner is getting horny
from: y/nie 🌸💦
😼😼😼
I think I know how to keep him awake
from: hyung 😼🍆
y/nie
be good
from: y/nie 🌸💦
of course, daddy
when am I not 😇
Minho fidgets next to Jisung and Jisung giggles quietly.
Drowsily, he tunes back into the conversation around them. Chan is talking about a moment at a recent fan meet, where the pyrotechnics didn’t go off as planned. Jisung speaks up a little, mimics Chan’s hand movement, laughs with Felix when he mimics Chan’s confused, disappointed face.
When his phone buzzes, he doesn’t even notice. But Minho next to him does. He freezes for a solid three seconds, before he scrambles to turn down the brightness.
As inconspicuously as possible, Jisung lets his eyes trail over and oh.
You sent another picture.
You’re no longer in bed, no, you’re kneeling in front of the full-length mirror that’s attached to one of the walls next to the bed. Your little socks are still on, and so are Jisung’s boxers, but you have one thumb hooked into the front of them. That and you have Minho’s shirt rucked up all the way to your chin, your tits bare. Jisung salivates.
Minho is still typing out a response when another message comes in. A video this time.
Minho’s thumb finds the volume buttons immediately, clicks them down so aggressively his phone almost flies out of his hand. Jisung will definitely tease him for his eagerness later – when he’s not equally desperate to see.
It’s not a long video, and it takes Jisung a minute to figure out how it’s different from the picture you sent, but then he sees it. Your hand. Down the front of your … his … boxers. The subtle movement, your legs slipping further and further apart, your hips grinding in small motions.
Jisung scrambles for his own phone so fast he bumps into Seungmin, who turns around and eyes him suspiciously. But Jisung just mumbles out an apology before he unlocks his phone, already punching down the volume and sliding down the brightness to the minimum.
On his own phone, one he can hold so close to his face, the video is even better. The motion of your fingers, your chest heaving a little when you touch yourself just right. His fucking boxers. He’ll steal them and wear them tomorrow, and then Minho can suck your scent off his cock when he blows him and …
Jisung’s wide a-fucking-wake now.
from: y/nie 🌸💦
aw looks like that worked
looks like jisungie liked it
did you like it too, daddy?
It’s brazen, calling Minho daddy twice like that …
Jisung shudders at the thought of the potential punishment Minho might dole out later. But really, Minho mostly looks flustered. His face is unreadable, but his breath is coming quicker and his ears are a dangerous shade of red.
from: hyung 😼🍆
careful, kitten
don’t want our jisungie to get hard here where everyone can see
from: y/nie 🌸💦
what about you, daddy? not scared you’ll get hard?
from: hyung 😼🍆
I have a little more self-control than that, sweetheart
from: y/nie 🌸💦
hmm
sounds like I need to try harder
thankfully, I have just the thing
Silence for a second, then a picture. Jisung nearly chokes on his spit.
Two silicone dildos. One bright pink, veiny, big. Another almost translucent purple, a little smaller, also veiny, with a bulbous head. They’re almost like …
from: y/nie 🌸💦
it was really hard to find ones to match your sizes :(
it’s the best I could do
I brought them all this way just for you
do you like them?
Minho takes a shaky breath next to Jisung, and Jisung’s fingers move before Minho can even finish his thought.
from: jisung
fuck 🤤
I do, baby
from: y/nie 🌸💦
I knew you would, Jiji
I also got a double ended one
it’s at home
maybe we can try it soon
Next to Jisung, Minho swallows thickly, grabs his hoodie from next to him and drapes it over his lap.
from: y/nie 🌸💦
does daddy not like them? :(
from: hyung 😼🍆
kitten, I’m warning you
from: y/nie 🌸💦
but daddy
it feels so good inside of me
Without warning, another picture pops up, and this time Minho actually does drop his phone. Thankfully, it lands screen down on his lap because Chan in front of him turns around instantly. He takes one look at Minho’s burning cheeks, looks from him to Jisung, who’s equally flushed, pressing the pillow on his lap harder against his crotch, and furrows his brows.
“Behave,” he mouths at them, and Jisung nods quickly.
from: y/nie 🌸💦
aw, did I fluster daddy?
He unlocks his phone, holds it as close to himself as possible to make sure Jeongin doesn’t accidentally see … you, still in front of the mirror with your shirt rucked up over your tits, but with your lower half bare now, sitting on the massive pink dildo, your wet folds wrapped around the thing snugly.
Jisung’s cock fills out so fast it makes his toes tingle.
Jeongin narrows his eyes at him and Jisung blushes deeper, making Jeongin give him a look that says You’re doing something weird. I’m onto you. Jisung doesn’t even pretend to be offended. He’s never had a poker face.
Mercifully for them (and tragically, for Jisung’s raging boner), you don’t send any more pictures or messages for a few minutes. Seungmin ropes Minho into a joke, Jisung has to say something about his instagram posts.
And just as his hard-on is starting to go down, finally, with all the talk about work, all the eye contact with his members, his phone buzzes. Minho’s holding his, Bubble open, reading through the live chat and Jisung watches as he freezes again, but this time, he pales. Then he swipes over to the chat.
His fist tightens in the material of his hoodie so hard his knuckle cracks, and Jisung has never unlocked his phone so fast in his life.
The sight that greets him makes him briefly squeeze his eyes shut. When he opens them, Jeongin is staring at him again, but Jisung ignores him. Instead, he makes double, triple, quadruple sure his phone is on silent, before he clicks on the video.
Mirror. Floor. You, perched in front of it. Naked now, except for those stupid little socks that make Jisung light-headed. Sitting on the pink dildo, still, but also … Jisung swallows hard … also the purple one.
Your pretty lips are parted, your face flushed with the effort. Your eyes are hazy as you blink at the camera with so much desperation, Jisung gets even dizzier. You’re supporting yourself on the side of the bed, your free hand digging into your thigh as you languidly bounce on the dildos, both of them, squeezed together, disappearing into you again and again. With a pretty toss of your head, you roll your hips a little more, and it makes your back arch beautifully, head falling back in what Jisung knows must be a beautiful moan – one he can’t hear.
He thinks the video is about to end but then you lift yourself up, up, until first the smaller, then the bigger one slips out of you, before you make a beautiful, dizzying, absolutely obscene show of sinking down on them again, your fingers sliding down to your clit. Then the video ends for good.
Jisung’s mouth is as dry as sandpaper when he tries to swallow.
He thinks he might go insane. You’re down the hall, only a few rooms away, fucking yourself on a piece of silicone when he’s– when they’re right here, stretching yourself out on two dildos that you bought with the intention of them feeling like them, and they’re talking to a camera about Felix’s fucking tanghulu.
Chan claps his hands so suddenly both Minho and Jisung nearly jump out of their skins.
“Well, let’s wrap it up,” he exclaims and makes to get off the bed. Oh no.
Jisung … panics. He throws a glance over at Minho, who is frozen, the tips of his ears still bright red, eyes glassy and panicked as he watches Chan walk over to the phone.
As subtly as he can, Jisung experimentally presses the pillow on his lap down, and he almost shudders. Yep. He’s rock fucking hard and there’s a rapidly cooling wet spot in his boxers that, if he’s unlucky, has soaked through his sweats.
“Goodbye, Stay, say goodbye everyone!” Chan singsongs, and Jisung mimics him, forces a smile and a big wave. Chan shuts off the live and everyone starts chattering.
Jisung meets Minho’s eyes, who just blinks at him, then nods to the door.
Jisung turns and comes face to face with Jeongin, who’s staring straight at him, his eyes narrowed dangerously.
“What were you two doing?” he asks, and Jisung pales. Seungmin in front of him turns around and eyes Jisung.
“What happened?” he asks and Jisung blinks at him, too, his brain scrambling to come up with something, anything to say.
“Minho-hyung and Jisung-hyung were being weird,” Jeongin explains to Seungmin before he turns back to Jisung. “Were you sexting Y/N or something …?
”He clearly means it as a joke, but when Jisung doesn’t respond and only blinks at him dumbly, his eyes widen.
“Oh … my fucking god. You were, weren’t you. You were sexting during the live,” he screeches, his voice getting progressively louder until Jisung realises everyone is staring at him. And he just … breaks.
He squeals, throws the pillow off his lap and runs out of the room, scrambling down the dull, carpeted hallway, all the way to your hotel room. In front of the door, he pauses, tries to catch his breath, but his heart is pounding in his ears and his cock is still so fucking hard, and you’re right on the other side of the door and Minho … oh God, he really abandoned Minho.
Should he go back? How could he have just left him there?! Minho’s probably hard, too. He was so pale. And now … with Jeongin announcing it to everyone.
He’s just about to walk back when Minho appears in the hallway.
He looks murderous as he stalks towards him, a pretty blush on his cheeks and an even prettier bulge in the front of his sweats. His gaze pins Jisung in place, his heart thumping louder the closer he gets. Jisung takes a few steps backwards, until his back hits the wall.
Minho comes to a halt dangerously close to him, so close, Jisung’s panicked breaths puff against his full lips.
Minho’s gaze falls down to his lips, and Jisung’s tongue instinctively darts out to wet them.
“Unlock the door,” Minho growls.
When Jisung doesn’t immediately move, he gets closer, all but pinning Jisung against the wall.
“Unlock. The fucking. Door, Jisung,” Minho warns, and this time Jisung moves. He shoves his hands into the pocket of his sweats and pulls out the keycard, scrambles over to shove it into the slot.
The lock clicks open and Jisung doesn’t even have time to react before Minho pushes the door open and shoves Jisung inside.
Jisung stumbles into the room and the first thing he sees is you. You’re still perched in front of the mirror, a shit-eating grin on your fucked out face.
“Took you long enough,” you hum, and Minho pushes past Jisung, who watches breathlessly as Minho hauls you off the floor and up into his arms before he crashes his lips into yours.
It’s a greedy kiss, tongue, teeth, punishment and desire, and it makes more heat pool in Jisung’s abdomen. Absentmindedly, he palms the front of his sweats, one hand travelling under his hoodie, touching his skin.
Minho spins you around and pushes you onto the bed so hard you yelp and bounce on the mattress, before he turns around to Jisung.
“Clothes, off. On the bed,” he orders and Jisung complies so fast he gets all tangled up in his sweatshirt and his t-shirt, then nearly falls over when he tries to step out of his sweats.
Jisung feels Minho’s eyes glued to him as he approaches the bed, strokes his cock twice as he looks at you, spread out and smiling up at him as if you hadn’t been the world’s biggest temptress for the last hour.
Jisung crawls over you, and at the first touch of heated skin on heated skin, he mewls out. It’s what his body has been craving ever since Minho dragged him out of bed earlier.
You meet him happily, soft lips finding his in a kiss that’s sweet for only a second before it turns hungry, dragging him closer until his chest is flush with yours, his cock trapped between you, rubbing against your belly with every one lick into his mouth and Jisung swears he’s in heaven.
But then Minho’s hands find his hips and when he turns around, Minho is shirtless, squeezing at his cock through his sweats as he watches you and Jisung on the bed, and Jisung thinks that this, this is all he needs for the rest of his life.
“Fuck me,” you pant out below Jisung and Minho squeezes his cock harder. “‘M all ready. Stretched myself out for you. For you both. I want you.”
Jisung’s cock twitches helplessly between you, and he grinds his hips forward. His head falls into the crook of your neck, nipping at the soft, slightly salty skin there.
“Jisung, on your back and you, kitten, sit on his cock,” Minho orders and Jisung happily complies, flips the two of you over and shimmies you up until his back is against the sheets, his head in the pillows. You kiss him one more time, slow and deep, before you sit up and line yourself up with Jisung’s cock.
The slide is so easy it punches a guttural moan deep out of Jisung’s chest. You bottom out immediately, making the prettiest sounds, your pussy so hot and wet and tight around his stupidly sensitive cock that he has to bite his lips hard so he doesn’t come immediately.
Minho winds his fingers into your hair and yanks your head back, making you clench hard around Jisung’s cock, tearing another pitiful moan from him.
“Let’s see if you need those stupid little toys, hm,” he rasps, his voice betraying just how gone he really is, before he drags you into an open-mouthed kiss, prying your jaw open with his tongue, until he can lick inside. It’s so possessive it makes Jisung shiver underneath you, his hips stuttering up, desperately seeking friction.
When Minho pulls back, a string of spit connects your lips to his and Jisung is about to surge up to lick it off their lips when Minho places his hand between your shoulder blades and pushes you down until you’re flush against Jisung’s chest.
You blink up at him blearily, and you’re so fucking beautiful like this that Jisung can’t resist. He dips down to kiss you, tenderly, dipping his tongue into your mouth to taste Minho on your tongue, as his arms wind around your waist, pulling you ever closer.
When he pulls back, he meets Minho’s eyes. He’s fully naked now, hovering over the two of you, and he stares Jisung right in the eyes as he pushes the head of his cock against your hole, against the sensitive underside of Jisung’s cock.
You moan headily into Jisung’s neck.
“Gimme … give it to me. I’m ready,” you whine, and Minho responds by pressing his hips closer, until the head of his cock pops in.
You and Jisung moan out at the same time, the added pressure of Minho’s hot, pulsing cock, sliding against his, it’s almost too much. And yet Jisung craves more.
Minho rocks his hips forward carefully, fucks in deeper and deeper with every thrust, moulding his way into your body until you’re shivering, panting in Jisung’s arms. He winds them tighter, soothes fingertips up your naked spine, presses kisses and soft words into your forehead and your cheeks.
When Minho finally bottoms out, the head of his cock pushing against Jisung’s, he’s a flushed, sweaty mess. Jisung watches a droplet of sweat run down the side of his neck and down the valley between his pecs, and he wishes he could lean up to kiss it. But you’re still on top of him, your cunt pulsing around them, slicker and slicker with every passing second.
When Minho shallowly pulls out and fucks back in, he rubs against Jisung just right. His head falling back against the pillows as pleasure shivers up his spine. He doesn’t realise Minho has folded himself over them until he feels Minho cradle his face and pull him in for a kiss that is way too soft for the position they find themselves in.
As if to highlight just that, he pulls back and fucks into you hard, making you mewl against Jisung’s shoulder and Jisung himself moan into Minho’s mouth, Minho’s lips sliding down to his chin, leaving a hot trail of spit behind.
“Fuck,” Minho groans, and fucks in again. “Fucking perfect.”
You shudder with the praise.
As your body adjusts, the slide gets easier, wetter, until Minho’s cock is ramming into you at an unforgiving pace, jostling you up into Jisung’s arms, and Jisung further and further up the bed, until he has to press a palm against the headboard to keep himself in place.
When he cautiously starts rolling his own hips in time with Minho’s thrusts, pleasure hits him so hard he nearly blacks out. His mouth slides open, and he feels drool slip down his cheek, but there’s nothing he can do but take it, shallowly fucking upwards as Minho fucks you both into the mattress.
Jisung’s orgasm creeps up on him slowly, but it overwhelms him so suddenly that it sends him reeling, Minho’s cock, your fluttering pussy, milking him, prolonging the pleasure until his whole body feels numb.
“Do you … fuck, do you want to pull out, Jisungie?” Minho asks, slowing his thrusts down enough for Jisung to catch his breath, but your walls fluttering, Jisung’s cum slowly running down his cock, coating your walls and making the slide impossibly slicker, it makes it hard. Jisung shakes his head.
“N-no, keep going,” he mumbles, “I like the way it hurts.”
When Minho picks up the pace, fucks in impossibly deeper alongside Jisung’s spent cock, the oversensitivity makes Jisung’s entire body spasm. Against his chest, you’ve turned into a babbling, drooling mess.
“See, baby,” Minho growls, noses at your shoulder as his hips stutter, “you don’t need those stupid toys when we can fuck you so much better.”
You don’t even open your eyes, just nod, another weak moan, tumbling from your slick lips.
And cum you do, nails digging into Jisung’s shoulder, your moans muffled in his sweaty shoulder, clenching so hard around Jisung that the overstimulation makes tears prick in Jisung’s eyes.
Minho fucks you through your high before he leans forward, buries his teeth in your shoulder, shoves himself as deep as he can go, and lets go. The feeling of his cock, pulsing, shooting ropes of cum into you, enveloping Jisung’s spent cock in more heat.
One of Minho’s arms gives out, and he almost collapses on top of you, only lets himself fall onto Jisung’s free side at the last second. He crashes against Jisung so hard it punches the air out of his lungs.
But he forgets any complaint he wanted to make when he feels Minho’s hot breath, his nose nuzzling into his neck.
After a few moments of silence, Jisung tries to move underneath you but finds himself entirely trapped under two hot, sweaty bodies.
“You’re very heavy,” he presses out, and you giggle, press a soft little kiss against his shoulder. Minho just hums against his neck.
“Just one more minute.”
Jisung sighs, wraps his left arm around you, and his right arm around Minho, and closes his eyes.
“One more minute.”
skzms' masterlist // ko-fi
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That’s it? No of corse not. (Realizing I only send you minsung x reader asks. I hope you don’t mind)
It’s not like Minho doesn’t like toys, he loves them. I mean one drawer would never be enough. He just uses them on the other two. Vibrators, plugs, gags etc in various different sizes, lengths, intensities, everything. So when Ji and princess have the glorious idea that they should all wear wearable vibs while making out Minho crumbles. He can’t even close his mouth with how much he has to moan. Ji and princess just glued to each others lips, seemingly unfazed my the stimulation (they’re not). Ji just ruthlessly teasing Minho with the controller to his vibrator in his hands and Minho cumming first for the first time in their whole sex life.
(For them I’m talking about those that have a cock ring and then go to the prostate and for princess clit and g-Spot)
I can’t believe I am sending you this, I’m shy
~🎀
kahsjsjsjshsjs thank you for finding the courage to send me this because 😳😳😳 also 'is it fine' this is literally my brand, minsung thoughts are always welcome
🔞 i mean see above // 850 words
Jisung’s tongue is in your mouth, his soft hand cradled around your neck, pulling you into him. His breath is hot against your face, coming out in short bursts, hips canting forwards into nothing, an involuntary reaction to the toy softly vibrating against his cock.
You’re doing no better. Kissing him back turns into just licking into his mouth as the vibrator hums inside of you. A rivulet of your slick runs down your inner thigh and you cant your hips. When the vibrator bumps against your clit, it sends shockwaves through your system.
And it's not like you don't notice Minho between you – your usually composed Minho, staring at you with pupils so blown his eyes appear black, his breath coming out erratically – but it's fun to pretend to. Fun to lick the spit off Jisung's pliant lips, to run your fingertips over the soft, muscled expanse of his chest.
"F-fuck," Minho breathes, and Jisung parts his lips from yours. You waste no time, start kissing down his jaw, past the stubble and his little mole, until you're mouthing at the skin of his neck.
"What's up, hyung? Something wrong?" Jisung purrs sweetly, his voice betraying just how turned on he is. You hear the click of the remote in his hand, and Minho chokes out a loud moan.
"F-fuck, Jisung, s-stop," he pants out, and you watch as Jisung's cock between you jumps, pearls out a few drops of precum. You reach out to touch, brushing your fingertips over his sensitive head, and Jisung hisses, but cants his hips into your touch, silently asking for more.
"A-ah," Minho moans, "t-touch me instead, princess."
It's meant to sound like an order but with the way his face is screwed up, the way his voice breaks, it sounds a lot more like he's begging.
You hum, wrap your hand loosely around Jisung's cock, whose eyes get even glassier, lips parting in a silent moan.
"Should we touch him, Jiji?" you ask with a smirk and Jisung chuckles breathlessly, surges forward to kiss you one more time. But before you can get lost in it, Minho curses out between you again.
"Stop f-fucking ignoring m-me," he growls out, and you blink at him. His hands are balled into tight fists next to his hips, his face screwed up so hard it almost looks like he's in pain.
"Colour, Min?" you ask. It feels strange, to be the one asking that question, but you need to be sure.
Minho blinks his eyes open, stares at you for a few seconds, like he doesn't know what to say. He tries to sit up, but it seems to press the vibrator right against his prostate because he collapses backwards with a broken moan, his drooling cock jumping erratically.
"Green, green, green," he presses out, digs his nails into his thigh. "Just ... touch me. Fucking ... fuck, please touch me."
He doesn't need to ask twice, as if Jisung and you would ever deny him anything – especially when he asks so nicely, when he puts himself at your mercy when he's the one usually holding the reins.
You sidle up next to Minho, and he wraps his arm around you immediately, pulling you flush against his body, searching for your lips until you finally indulge him.
The kiss is dirty, all teeth and tongue, and it only gets filthier when Jisung slides up to Minho's other side, makes a home against his skin, and starts kissing from his shoulder, up his neck, over his collarbone.
"Hm, I think you can handle a bit more," he hums into Minho's skin and Minho tries to shake his head, but Jisung has already clicked up the vibrations and Minho's back arches.
Jisung chuckles, soothes his hand down Minho's stomach, scratches over the little happy trail under his belly button. Minho pants in your mouth, his cock leaking even more.
You surge forward to kiss him again, sucking his tongue into your mouth at the same time as Jisung's lips wrap around Minho's nipple, and that does it–
Without warning, Minho's whole body locks up, his jaw goes slack and his eyes roll back, and he comes, cock spurting obscene amounts of his release all over his stomach, over Jisung's hand, frozen where it was resting against his skin.
When he's spent, Minho whines Jisung's name and Jisung scrambles for the remote, reducing the vibrations down until the device turns off. Minho slumps against the pillows with a tortured sigh.
"Did ... did you just cum untouched?" you ask, breathless.
"What was untouched about that hellish thing buzzing against my prostate," Minho grumbles, and you and Jisung can't help but chuckle.
"Aw, so it wasn't good? It looked like a pretty good orgasm to me," Jisung teases and Minho glares at him, drags him in by his waist until he can pull Jisung in for a filthy kiss, his other arm still wrapped around you.
"Give me that remote right now."
skzms' masterlist // ko-fi
GENERAL TAGLIST OPEN 🔖
(please be 18+ and have your age in your bio, otherwise I won't add you)
Your pfp exudes whiny Jisung; specifically whiny Jisung being super vocal for you to make him cum in the bathroom during a party or in the back of a car while your friends are waiting for you and I love that for him
Love your page sm ❤️🔥❤️🔥
you GET IT BESTIE
🔞 1.5k words
whiny jisung who is so, so obvious when he wants something because you know him so well. he’ll let his hands linger on your waist, drag his fingers over the back of your hand, or down the side of your neck after he brushed some hair away that wasn’t even in your face that much, his voice a little breathier, his blinks a little slower …
Until you finally get up and announce that you’re going to the bathroom and disappear, knowing full well that it'll take about two minutes before he makes a very clumsy excuse to follow you, one that his friends will probably laugh at because he’s already half hard in his jeans because … well, you do this sometimes. Or a lot.
This being disappearing together into a dark corner, the back of a car, or like now, an empty toilet cubicle, because you can’t resist how glassy Jisung’s eyes get when he gets needy for your touch, for your dominance. Because you both get off on dragging that personal part of your relationship into semi public, though so far it seems that everybody thinks that you’re the needy one, that Jisung pushes you to your knees or has his way with you.
Oh, if only they knew how nicely your pretty little boy begs when he wants it.
How it’s almost like a switch is flipped when the door locks behind you because you’re trained him that well. How he’ll go in for a messy, open-mouthed kiss immediately, panting in your mouth as if he’s already about to cum (and that wouldn’t even be the first time either - he just gets so riled up from your taunting voice alone, poor boy).
He’s already moaning as he surges forward, grinds his hips into yours, his bulge rubbing against you before he pulls back only enough to grab your hand and place it right on his cock over the fabric.
“Come on, pl-please baby, I know you want to,” he grumbles, his voice the kind of low and gravelly that vibrates through your entire body. When you just raise an eyebrow, he keens, gets in your space again.
“Here, look, I’ll help you, too,” he mumbles, and undoes the button, slides down the zipper of your jeans so he can shove his hand right into your panties and between your folds, dragging his fingers through your slick with a moan and a twitch of his cock under your fingers.
“Yeahhh, baby,” he moans as he finds your clit, rubs it gently, “see, you want me, too.”
His spare hand grabs for yours again, drags it upwards until your fingers catch on his waistband.
But you can’t give in that easily - that would set a terrible precedent, undo weeks of taming your brat until you’ve got him here.
“Hmm,” you hum, hooking only one finger into his waistband. His fingers are still circling your clit, and your hips kick forward against your will when pleasure tingles up your spine. “That’s not how I taught you to behave, did I?”
Jisung freezes, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly.
And then he pouts - his lips pulling into a little pucker, eyebrows raising in the middle, a little noise escaping his throat.
“Oh, please, baby,” he whines, dips in to press a messy kiss to your neck. He shoves his hand deeper into your panties until he can sink two fingers into you. You can’t help the small moan it punches out of you, and he mirrors it with one of his own, his hips grinding forward and against you again.
“See, you’re so wet, I know you need it, too ... pussy's sucking me in,” he whines, kisses further up your neck as he works his fingers inside of you. It’s a weird angle, and it’s cramped, but somehow it’s good enough because your resolve is swiftly dissolving. You’ll have to disciple this out of him later. You’d feel bad, but you know he’ll love every second of it.
“Maybe I should just make you get me off,” you scoff, but your voice betrays you. There’s no bark any more.
But Jisung seems to want to please you today, anyways. He presses closer, drags his lips until they’re hovering over the shell of your ear.
“But … but, baby … you wouldn’t,” he breathes and every rasp of his voice shivers down your spine. You hook more of your fingers into his waistband, and his breath hitches.
“Yessss,” Jisung hisses, keening his hips into your touch, “wan- wanna get off like we did last time …”
Last time being last week, when you were in the back of one of the company cars in the underground garage of the dorms, too pent-up to wait until you were upstairs, instead waiting for the staff to leave before pouncing on each other. It was messy and rushed, clothes not even off, only haphazardly shoved aside to make way for greedy hands – but the thrill of it, combined with Jisung's filthy mouth and the crackle of chemistry you had only ever experienced with Jisung, made you cum on each other's hands in mere minutes. Though it was enough to make you look wrecked, if Changbin’s cackle when the elevator opened was anything to judge by.
Jisung’s mouth finds yours again and that’s it - all semblance of the carefully constructed dynamic gone as you fumble open his pants and, just like him earlier, shove right past his underwear until his cock is in your hand.
When your fingers squeeze around his velvety, hot length, he moans obscenely loudly, your tongue swiping over his lips instead of his tongue. But it doesn’t matter because the kiss only gets messier, spit pooling in your mouth as he pins you against the wall, shoves his fingers deeper inside of you with a moan, pumping them in and out as best he can, the angle making his palm drag over your clit perfectly.
And you don’t waste time either, drag him closer by his ass, by his waist, his hair, whatever you can reach, as you jerk him off, your fingers slick with the precum oozing from his head.
“S-so close, b-baby,” Jisung pants into your lips, more spit smearing around your mouth. You shudder against him. “I can feel it, y-you’re close, t-too. Let go for me, come onnnn.”
He grinds his palm down harder, crooks his fingers against your g-spot, and you feel it building and building, your body arching into his, Jisung reciprocating the motion and pressing even closer until your bodies are as close as possible. Your hand gets sloppier on his cock the closer you get, but he doesn’t seem to care, only fucks his hips forward and into your hand with a lewd moan.
“C-cumming, Ji, don’t stop …” you whimper out, and he nods frantically, pulling back enough to rest his sweaty forehead against yours. His eyes are glued to your face as you cum, seize around his fingers, a noiseless scream making your head tip back against the wall.
And it feels like it never ends, pleasure still rippling through you when he whimpers your name, and you just about manage to wrap your hand around the head of his cock before he cums into it with a wet moan, his head falling to the crook of your neck.
For a minute, there’s silence, except for your joint heavy breathing, the little hiccups Jisung breathes into your shoulder. But before long, it gets uncomfortable - his cum drying in your hand, his fingers still inside of you, making you shudder with overstimulation every time they twitch.
When he pulls back, Jisung looks like the cat that got the cream. His eyes are at half-mast, a lazy smile on his lips. He presses a sloppy kiss into your lips as he wiggles his fingers out of you and out of your pants.
“God, baby, I love you,” he mumbles, blinking his sincere, dark eyes at you until your fondness threatens to burst out of your chest.
“I love you, too, baby, I love … I love us,” you conclude, unhelpfully, but Jisung doesn’t seem to think so. His lips pull into a wide, blinding smile.
“Awww,” he coos, pecks your lips again, his clean hand coming up to cup your face. “I love us, too. Especially when we do this.”
He giggles brightly, before he reaches down and uses his clean hand to pull your jeans back into place, pull the zipper up.
You finally pull your hand out of his pants, cringing at the sheer amount of cum all over your hand, but he just giggles again.
“Thanks for that, that would’ve been very uncomfortable,” he just says, and you roll your eyes and unlock the door to wash your hands in the sink. He laughs behind you as he buttons himself up.
You do your best to clean each other up, Jisung even tries to smooth out the foundation he clean licked off your face, but there’s no point. When you get back, Jeongin takes one look at you before he groans and cringes away from Jisung, who tries to tackle him.
“Aish, get your cum fingers away from me!!”
skzms' masterlist // ko-fi
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“No. That shit is so out of order. After two years she can't even break up with you properly? Who does this chick think she is?”
Colourful things, Changbin’s tirades.
Meanwhile, a brass band marches through Chan’s head. He doesn’t really hear what’s being said. Just knows that he’s glad of Jisung’s arm around his shoulders. It stops him from floating away. Changbin paces the pokey studio, sleeves rolled to his shoulders, skinny arms on display as he gesticulates like a hysterical ferret.
“How do they know their debut is a sure thing? That’s not how this works.”
“Maybe they got an inside tip,” Jisung says.
“Nah, no way. She had to be lying. That’s not how this works.”
“Hyung, with respect, you keep saying that’s not how this works, but you don’t actually know. You’ve never done a showcase.”
“That’s not how this is supposed to work,” Changbin huffs. “If debuts are decided on before the showcases even happen, what’s the fucking point of them? Why do we practice our asses off? What are all the monthly tests for? You’re telling me it’s all just for appearances? It’s all rigged? No way I can believe that.”
“It doesn’t even matter right now, hyung. That’s not what’s important,” Jisung says, with a pointed glance at Chan that’s not half as subtle as he probably thinks it is.
Changbin turns to them, his shoulders sagging with a sigh on what Chan knows is a miserable fucking sight. They must think he’s pathetic. A regular loser destined for fuck all and worth even less.
“Right. Sorry.” He sits at Chan’s other side, puts a comforting hand on his knee. “Last thing you need is me ranting right now.”
Chan shakes his head. “It’s actually kind of nice.”
“Yeah? I have, like, three other things I could bitch about right now in that case.”
“Spare us, please,” Jisung whines. “I still think you should talk to Jia, hyung. You can’t just take Fei at her word. She might not have a clue what she’s talking about. This might be one huge misunderstanding.”
“I tried. She doesn’t want to talk to me.”
“You don’t know that—”
“I know what my gut tells me.”
“No. I can’t accept that. You shouldn’t accept that. You love her, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Then fight for her, hyung,” Jisung urges. “Get your girlfriend back, pull her out from under all this company bullshit and remind her where she really belongs.”
Changbin is notably silent, his jaw firmly set.
“I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I tried everything to get to her. What else is left?” Chan mumbles.
Jisung purses his lips. “When did you say the showcase was?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
“You’re going, right?”
He’d rather set fire to his happy trail, honestly.
“I don’t know if I—”
“You have to.” Jisung nudges him. “We’re coming with you.”
“What?”
“You thought we were going to let you go alone?” He smiles. “Assuming what Fei says is true, the showcase might be your best chance to see Jia in person before she debuts. She’ll be untouchable afterwards.”
“I don't like it, but he’s right,” Changbin says. “For better or worse, you need closure.”
“We’ll be your moral support. Or your physical! Whatever you need. I’m sure I have my pom-poms somewhere at the dorm.”
Chan huffs a laugh. Jisung grins.
“Just... catch her while you can and tell her everything that’s on your mind,” he adds quietly.
Sounds like a recipe for a total fucking train wreck. But what has he left to lose?
“Okay.”
Jisung squeezes his shoulders. “It’ll all work out, hyung. You’ll see.”
