★ | member — junhui x fem reader
★ | genre — smut, strangers to lovers (first date au)
★ | word count — 3k
★ | synopsis — your first date with jun has been good, but all you've been able to think about all night is how to get him alone.
★ | warnings — unprotected sex, creampie, big dick!jun, car sex, fingering, jun is a boobs guy, lowercase intended, title is a baekhyun song and you should listen to it
★ | notes — i'm still on hiatus, sorry i know it's been a while - my personal life has been really busy as i'm graduating college in a little over a month! anyway as a treat here's an old draft. remember to reblog if you like this :) ily huihuis
as far as first dates go, junhui would say this one has been pretty good. sometimes you really click with someone right away, and he can’t speak for you but he definitely felt it tonight. you’d spent so long talking together, that the waiter had had to ask you to leave so they could close the restaurant.
"can we park somewhere?" you ask suddenly, to his curiosity. he nods and pulls into the exit lane to get off the freeway, but the next words that come out of your mouth he wouldn’t have guessed in a million years.
"i've been really wet since dinner, and… i wanna ride you. if that's cool, i mean."
his cheeks have never turned that many shades of red so quickly before, but he's not one to complain when an opportunity presents itself. he can't lie and say he hasn't been stealing glances at your beautiful tits all night long and hoping that sooner or later he'll get to see them bouncing in his face.
it doesn't take long before he's found a secluded spot at the back of an empty parking lot; it's past midnight, after all, and most places are closed by now. as soon as the ignition's shut off you're scrambling to unbuckle your seatbelt and climbing over the center console to plant yourself in his lap, and god, you can already feel how hard he is beneath you.
his hands find your waist immediately, starting to slide up your sides as you fumble with your pants. you can't remember the last time you were this greedy, this impatient, and especially on a first date. but the way his hair falls in his face, the way he’d grinned mischievously at you every time you’d make a joke, and the way he's been staring at you all fucking night like he wants to devour you — you can't help but want him.
you can feel your panties sticking to you as you push them away and slide them down your legs. the crampedness of his car and the way your body is angled makes it awkward to pull off gracefully, but neither of you seem to care. his hands are still gripping your sides with his thumbs beneath your breasts, resting there almost like he's forgotten what he's doing. his eyes are fixed on your face, enamored with the little frustrated scrunch of your nose as you struggle to fling your clothes off.
he finally seems to snap back into action when you've successfully stripped your lower half and begin focusing your attention on his jeans. he squeezes your sides a little rougher, just enough to get you to stop, and your eyes flick back up to his.
"can— can i see these?" he asks, his voice a little more gruff as his fingers slide closer to your breasts.
the wicked grin you give him in return makes the both of you start to move a little faster. his dick is painfully hard by now, and all he wants to do is press his nose between your tits until he suffocates in them.
you take your hands off his zipper and move up to your tank top, pulling it down to sit beneath your breasts. you start to reach behind you to unclip your bra, but he's too quick; within seconds you feel the pressure in your back release, the straps slipping down your shoulders as his fingers expertly undo the clasp. he does it too easily, too practiced, and it only makes you want those fingers inside you all the more.
he doesn't hesitate to remove the loose fabric and toss it into the backseat, leaving your breasts bare on display in front of him. his hands resume their position at your chest, and he's so fixated on them that you don't even think he fully notices when you go back to working on his zipper.
but his attention refocuses when he feels the pressure from his pants loosen, and he lets out a groan when he looks down and sees your hand palming his bulge. he's no stranger to one night stands and he's had more than his fair share of hookups, but god, this might actually be the best night of his life. he manages to bring one hand away from your boobs long enough to swipe it between your legs, and he nearly hisses at the feeling. you weren't lying earlier—you're fucking soaked. so much so that when he pulls his hand away to look, three of his fingers glisten under the dim streetlight, connected by thin strings of your arousal.
he needs you on his cock, now, and judging by the slick on his hand you're probably wet enough to take him without any prep. but his last shred of sense is screaming at him to sink his fingers deep into your pussy first until you're shaking on his lap, and he's obliged to listen.
he's never been this desperate to fuck someone before, and if he had any coherent thoughts still running through his brain he might be embarrassed about that. but you're so equally enthusiastic that he honestly can't bring himself to care. it's not every day that a date goes this well, so you might as well enjoy it.
junhui traces your entrance with his fingertips, making wide circles around the area without touching where you really want him. he's teasing, he can't help it, but he's also waiting for you to let him continue. he glances up at your face again, and he smirks in satisfaction when he sees that cute little frustrated scrunch of your nose again, your mouth hanging slightly open and your shoulders braced in concentration.
"you want my fingers?" he asks. he's trying unbelievably hard not to push his hips upward to get the feeling of your wetness brushing against his bulge. it's probably even more restraint than it's taking you to not start grinding down on his leg and work yourself to completion that way. but the voice of reason in the back of your head is telling you that that won't be nearly as satisfying as cumming on his cock or his fingers will be, and so you resist.
"please," you choke out, your hips writhing in the air from the lack of stimulation.
he finally complies, teasingly tracing around your lips one last time before pushing into you. you can feel his fingers getting wetter and wetter each time he plunges them into you, curling them at just the right angle that makes your knees weak on either side of his hips. your whole body is alight from his touch, every nerve on fire, and you already know it's not going to take much more for you to fall apart.
his other arm is wrapped tightly around your waist, keeping you firmly planted against him despite how hard your body instinctively tries to buck away from the pleasure. your hands fall to his shoulders as you struggle to hold on, and you're sure he can feel your nails digging into his skin, but he doesn't say anything. he just continues to fuck you with his fingers, silently watching your face as the car fills with wet, messy noises. no one in your life has ever gotten you this close so quickly.
suddenly he pulls his fingers out, and you shudder in frustration as you feel your orgasm ebbing away. he holds his dripping fingers in front of your face, and without him even needing to ask, you open your mouth and welcome them. his fingers are hot against your lips, the bitter taste of your own arousal coating the inside of your mouth as you swirl your tongue around them. somehow he doesn't seem shocked at your immediate reaction; he seems pleased, even. yeah, this is the man you've been waiting for all your life.
your eyelashes flutter as you suck, unable to control the choked whimpers and whines that slip past your lips. your self control is waning, and without thinking your hips start to grind against him, desperate to keep the stimulation going.
you're quick to speak after he pulls his fingers from between your lips, satisfied with the way you've cleaned them for him. "wanna cum on your cock, junnie," you whimper. the nickname slips out without thinking, and you’re still unconsciously rubbing yourself against his clothed bulge. your eyes are blown wide when he looks at you, and while the rational part of his mind knows it's because it's dark outside, he can't help the surge of pride that rushes through him seeing you so fucked out already. if this is what you look like, just from riding his fingers? he can't wait to see what you look like taking more.
"you want my cock, baby?" he groans, testing out a nickname of his own and watching how you bloom from the praise.
you lift your hips enough for him to pull his dick out of his pants and finally get a good look at what's going to be rearranging your guts tonight.
"you're so— thick," you choke out, trying not to stumble over your words, but your mouth is watering at the sight of him and all the previously reasonable thoughts in your brain have instantly been replaced with pure want. he's so much bigger than you expected.
"can you take it?" he says, confidence faltering a little when he sees how enraptured you're staring. he's used to hearing the shock and excitement in people’s voices when they see him, but he knows from experience that having a big dick isn't always what it's cracked up to be.
you're silent for another second, blinking as you try to collect your thoughts, and then you lift your head and kiss him hard. but you pull away just as quickly, barely giving him time to register everything as you nod.
"yeah. i can. want you to make it fit," you breathe out, a whisper against his lips, and all he can do is groan and kiss you again. he pulls you tighter against him as your mouths crash together, the heat between you building more and more with each passing second. he's still not even inside you yet, but you're both moving your hips in tandem as if he was, chasing the friction that isn't there yet.
junhui finally pulls back again, creating barely enough room to slip his hand between your bodies and fist his cock. his free hand squeezes your hips roughly to get you to stop moving long enough to line himself up with your pussy.
you finally sink down onto his length, and both your loud groans fill the compact space. he hisses at the tight feeling around his cock as you whimper, eyes squeezed shut again in concentration. he can feel your walls throbbing against him as he struggles to keep himself still, knowing you're still adjusting. fuck, he wants nothing more than to pound into you like there's no tomorrow, but he has to wait. he's way too close to the edge already, so he starts counting the seconds in his head to try and distract himself until you're ready. you can feel every inch of him stretching you open, buried so deep in you that it makes your head spin.
your legs are already starting to burn from sitting in this position but after another minute once your muscles start to relax, you manage to lift yourself up and push your hips back down. it's an agonizingly slow rhythm as his cock forces itself into the tight space, but you still haven't quite caught your breath. you keep moving at this pace, up down, up down, in out, in out, until he grips your hips and pulls you down to stop your motion with him fully buried inside you.
"want me to take over?" he whines, and it catches you off guard to hear his voice a little higher and a little more broken than before.
the noise that leaves your mouth can only be described as inhuman, and he nods in acknowledgement as you give up control. there's a few seconds of pause, as if giving you a chance to change your mind, before he snaps his hips upward and you immediately let out a squeak, a heavy breath of pleasure mixed with relief. his arms settle around your lower back for leverage, which forces you to arch your spine and push your chest into his face. but that only seems to spur him on even more as he buries himself in your breasts, pressing against his cheeks.
when jun groans you can practically feel the reverberations in your ribcage, and you wrap your arms around his head to keep him in place. the new pace he's set isn't much faster than before, but it's a thousand times more intense as he fucks into you, filling every part of you to the brim with each thrust.
it only takes a few more rough snaps of his hips before the coil inside you breaks, and you have to hold back a scream as your body contorts in ways you didn't even know were possible. your voice is nearly hoarse as you cry out his name over and over again, begging him not to stop, not to change anything, to please just keep fucking you. and he listens, doing his best to keep you upright despite the way you writhe in his grip. with your breasts in his face he can feel your heartbeat in his ears as if it's his own, and it takes so much concentration to make sure he doesn't immediately follow you over the edge right after. when your shaking starts to subside a little and he's positive he can't hold back any longer, he tips his head back to speak.
"where can i—"
you interrupt before he can get all the words out. "inside. i'm on the pill. please."
he whines and buries his face in your breasts again, leaving sloppy kisses all over your skin between curses muttered under his breath. with a few more rough thrusts he's done, holding you even tighter against him as he spills into you and groaning louder when you clench your muscles around him.
"fuckin' milking my cock," he hisses into your chest with eyes shut, his voice rough from how hard he's focused.
your hip bones ache, both from the position and from the sheer size of him that you aren’t accustomed to, and you slump into the passenger seat with your legs still across his lap. his hand immediately slides between your thighs, his large palm cupping your pussy to collect his cum that's beginning to leak out of you. it takes him a second before he's able to form words, but he rubs your thigh soothingly as nods at you.
"napkins in the glove box," he manages, and you're jolted back to reality as you remember you're still laid out in his car and he probably doesn't want to get cum all over his seats.
with his free hand he reaches for your panties, which somehow ended up on the dashboard, and he passes them over to you as he starts to clean you up. you lean your head back against the window and let out a shaky breath, forcing yourself to come back down. the cold glass sends a chill through you as you feel the warmth beginning to drain out of you, bare skin prickling with goosebumps.
after a few minutes and a few crumpled napkins tossed on the floor, he clears his throat, and you manage to refocus your eyes enough to meet his gaze.
"your place, or mine?"
"huh?"
your ears are still ringing from the intensity of your orgasm, and you're not sure what he just said. it kinda sounded like he wants to sleep over with you, but there's no way a guy as hot as him wants more than just a quick fuck.
"would you rather go home or come back to my place?" he repeats. "i'm not leaving you alone after that. you need a shower, and probably some tylenol." he winces a little and looks down at his lap, and it's almost strange to see him so shy after he just fucked you into another dimension. "i probably should've given you more warning. car sex isn't that easy on a first date, but fuck, you took it so well, and—"
"you can come over to mine," you interrupt him, still laying halfway in the passenger seat and trying not to be completely useless even though you feel like a melted puddle. "best first date i've ever had."
you can tell the exact moment that your words register in his brain, because the relief that spreads across his face is plain as day. as soon as you can muster all the strength you have left, you sit up and pull your legs back over into your seat, pushing yourself into a comfortable position.
"next time i want to fuck your tits," he exhales shakily as he puts his seatbelt back on, though his voice comes out more like a squeak.
"next time?" you ask, making your best attempt to playfully raise an eyebrow at him. he may be bringing you home and taking care of you, but that doesn't guarantee there's going to be a next time. well, maybe it does. you're really looking forward to there being a next time.
he scoffs, only fumbling a little bit to shove his keys into the ignition. "don't play dumb. i know you enjoyed that. don't act like you don't wanna see yourself covered in my cum after i'm done with you."
the shiver that runs down your spine and the way you instinctively press your thighs together is all the confirmation he needs.
i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did please reblog with your thoughts, or leave a comment or send an ask! it shows me that people are interested in my writing, and knowing people liked this makes me want to write more! i put a lot of time, love, and effort into my writing, so feedback is really appreciated and motivates me to keep posting :) thanks for reading!!
Armin Arlert. The Armin that always sat in the front row of lectures, nerding out about coral reefs? Yeah. He’s hot now. And when Eren drags him along to a party, he’s the first thing that catches your attention.
pairing: nerd!armin x fem!reader
genre: college au, smut. ✩ wc: 2500. ✩ cw: strong language, kissing, making-out, alcohol usage, sexual content(18+) marine biology major!armin, frat boy!eren as his roomie
soundtrack: when did you get hot? - Sabrina Carpenter
✩ ⸻[catalogue]. ✩ ⸻[profiles].
“Dude, I’m being so serious I don’t want to hear a single word about the library,” Eren said with a deep chuckle as he poured Armin a drink.
The semester had just started at Shigashina State University. And to Armin's greatest luck? He just happened to be roommates and lifelong friends with Eren Jaeger himself.
Of course, they go way back. They’ve seen each other through every season of life. Naturally, Eren couldn’t just leave Armin behind.
Even if Eren didn’t live at the fraternity house, he was still a very, very active member.
And what better way to celebrate the start of the semester than with a party?
“Eren, seriously, I’m taking like 17 credits and—“
“Nope! Don’t wanna hear about class. Not tonight anyway.” Eren interrupted as he offered Armin a red solo cup of who-knows-what type of alcohol.
“But—“
“Dude. Come on, we’re going into junior year, you’ve got to live the college experience a little.” Eren said as the music of the party started to boom loudly around them.
People slowly started to trickle in. Starting to make a dent in the house's stash of alcohol.
Armin winced at the loud noise, gripping his plastic cup tighter as he leaned in, raising his voice over the growing noise.
“Live the experience? Isn’t the experience supposed to be about my Mediterranean sea life research project? Oh, and I have to update that paper about the effect of microplastics on—“
“Dude, you seriously need to get laid.” Eren interrupts bluntly.
Armin winced, choking air as he processed the words that just came out of his best friend's mouth.
“I—I do get laid.” Armin choked out, the pitch in his voice rising as he tried to hide the obvious blush across his pale skin.
His grip on his drink faltered as his palms went sweaty. Armin nervously laughed off the awkwardness as he shifted on his feet.
“I—I’m not a virgin. I’ve..seen pussy before.” Armin stammered out before frantically taking a big swig of his drink.
He grimaced as the alcohol burned his throat. Armin tried to focus on the uncomfortable burning. Somehow, it was better than tolerating Eren's laugh of absurdity.
“Yeah, through a screen!” Eren teased back as he put his arm around his friend. Armin chuckled weakly at the gesture as his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting.
“Seriously, when’s the last time you at least made out with a girl?” Eren asked with genuine curiosity as he took another big swig of his drink.
“Don’t hate me, but… high-school,” Armin confessed before drowning the rest of the burning liquid in his cup.
“That was what… at least three or four years ago?!” Eren shouted over the music as he tossed his cup to the side, turning to grab his friend by the arms.
“Dude, you're like my best friend, and I can’t just sit and watch you waste away in front of an aquarium,” Eren said frantically.
“Just let loose tonight, have a few more drinks, maybe talk it up with some of the people. Not saying you have to be like me, but maybe just talk to someone, alright?” Eren smiled softly before giving his friend an encouraging pat on the back.
“A-alright, I will. I’ll try not to think about my thesis until tomorrow morning.” Armin replied as he took another gulp of his drink. Tasting the last few drops before he tossed the cup aside.
“That’s the spirit. I’ll be around unless I hit it off with that blonde over there…” Eren said his eyes focused on a girl tucked into the crowd a few feet away from the kitchen.
“I’ll scream really loud if I need help,” Armin replied, earning a sharp chuckle from Eren.
Armin let his elbows rest against the counters as his friend disappeared into the crowd. The music was loud, way too loud. The lights are flashing without coordination.
His eye scanned the room to see if he could maybe find someone he knew. That only became harder as more and more people packed in.
It was too hot, too loud, too crowded.
This is exactly why he didn’t do parties.
“Sorry, Eren..” Armin muttered as he pushed through the crowd. Slipping past couples making out without a care in the world. People drinking, laughing, grinding on each other.
He made a straight escape for the side door.
The wind instantly cooled his skin as Armin stepped onto the balcony. The sounds and chatter of the party were left muffled behind the doors.
Armin let out a deep sigh of relief as the fresh air finally filled his lungs.
His eyes widened as he realized quickly he wasn’t alone.
A girl stood looking over the edge. Arms perfectly folded, ankles crossed as the breeze gently brushed against her skin.
Armin couldn’t help but drop his jaw as his eyes raked up and down her figure from head to toe.
You turned around as you heard the sound of the door closing behind you. It was probably another frat guy who you figured you didn’t want to see.
“Arlert?” You questioned as your eyes raked up and down his appearance.
Your jaw dropped as you scanned him from head to toe. His soft blond hair no longer swallowed his face like you remembered.
His hair was cut off his neck, leaving long bangs across the top that melted softly against the porcelain of his skin.
His ocean blue eyes went wide as they met yours. You couldn’t help but notice how he was perfectly shaven, his dress shirt now pressed to perfection.
He wore a casual blue button-up; the pale tone did wonders against his skin. The top few buttons were left undone, giving you a small glimpse of his sharp collarbone.
He wore a casual pair of slacks to match, tied together with a leather belt, and plain white sneakers.
Oh God.
When did he get hot?
You let out a soft chuckle of disbelief as you tore your gaze from his outfit to glance back into his eyes.
Armin nervously rubbed the back of his neck before he flashed you a soft smile.
God, you were flustered.
In front of him, of all people.
Armin. The nerd from your Environmental Ethics class last semester…
“Since when do you come to parties?” You asked playfully, your eyes raking him up and down.
“I don’t.” Armin shuddered at your gaze, not in a bad way. With a self-deprecating chuckle, he responded.
“I literally have a paper coming up about the effect of microplastics on coral reefs and the living organisms there…I—I really need to get a head start on it.” Armin stuttered.
Your heart warmed as you watched his eyes light up.
Damn, the nerd stuff really was his element.
The party? Not so much.
“Sounds interesting, actually.” You replied. Watching as he subconsciously took a few steps closer.
“Wait…Really? You’re not just saying that?” Armin huffed. His voice grew shaky as he leaned against the balcony right next to you.
The noise of the party seemed to fade away. The wind was soft against your hair as you glanced up into his eyes.
“I mean, I care about the environment too. The last thing I want is to see a coral reef destroyed. That would be pretty shitty.” You replied, nervously adjusting the straps of your top to give you something to focus on besides the fact that Armin definitely grew some muscle over the break.
His biceps flexed as he leaned against the balcony. His button-up shirt strained against his chest.
“Well, Eren told me no sea talk tonight.” He replied.
Wait Eren?
“Eren? You mean Eren Jaeger?” You replied, heart thumping in your chest.
You swear you’ve seen the two around campus together. It seemed to be quite the unusual pairing.
Eren was known for his charm…and other assets. While Armin seemed to hide in his shadow.
“Yeah, Erens is my roommate. I’ve known him forever.” Armin replied casually.
Your brows contorted as you thought. Brain scattering as you tried to put the pieces together.
“I mean, he’s got quite the reputation…” You mumbled nervously, tearing your gaze away from Armin to glance over your shoulder through the glass door.
“Yeah, I know all about that. I try to stay out of it.” Armin chuckled nervously. His soft eyes couldn’t help but fall on the way you looked in the dim lighting.
You were pretty, really pretty. And on top of that, you didn’t interrupt him. Even during his explanation of microplastics and-
His heart raced. His cheeks flushed, ears burning as he stared at you again.
He couldn’t help but notice the tight top you wore, the way it showed off the soft skin of your waist and stomach.
You didn’t even realize he was checking you out. Through the window, Eren was causing trouble already…the usual, as it seemed.
When you turned back around to face him, Armin was flushing.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t staring! I promise..well maybe I was just—“
You raised an eyebrow, heart fluttering at his nervous scrambling. Your arms both rested over the edge of the balcony as the metal supported your back.
“You’re just really pretty,” Armin whispered, his voice dropping a soft octave as his eyes flicked up to meet yours.
God, that blue. It would drive any girl crazy, but most couldn’t handle the sea facts that came along with it.
“Thank you…I mean, you’ve got brains and looks. What’s not to love?” you confessed softly. The tension was coiled thick. The breeze seemed to dissipate between you.
Your hands found his waist, hesitant before they gently wrapped around him. His warmth bled through the soft fabric of his shirt. Your fingertips trembled slightly as they brushed against the leather of his belt.
“I mean…I usually don’t talk to pretty girls often. Especially about coral reefs. I’m a little out of my element here.” He confessed, his eyes darkening as he felt your hands slide around his waist.
He didn’t protest, even though his heart was thumping loud enough to cloud his mind.
“Same here. I mean, my friend Sasha dragged me here. I’d rather talk about coral reefs with you than deal with the drunk mess inside.” You whispered, voice breathless as you felt him press up into you.
Warmth spread throughout your body. Heat flooded down your neck from the gesture. Damn, he was seriously starting to turn you on.
“Guess we have more in common than I realized,” Armin whispered softly, his cheeks still flushed as he gently reached down. His hand was moving with a mind of its own as he gently pushed some of your hair behind your ear.
“God, you’ve changed so much over the summer. I remember you being completely different last semester.” You replied as one of your hands slid from his waist to his shoulder. Gently, you pulled him in until his hips were pressed hard against your own.
Armin let a soft moan slip from his soft lips. His eyes went wide as he realized what he’d just done.
“Shit, sorry…I mean—I guess I hope it’s a good change?” Armin whispered as his teeth tugged hard at his bottom lip to stop another desperate moan from escaping.
“A really fucking good change.” You whispered, the tension was so incredibly tight—
Your hands glided from his shoulder to the back of his neck. The small whimper he let slip on you stirred you on more.
His lips were so close. His breath mingling with your own.
So you closed the distance.
Your lips were hesitant as you sought out his own. Gentle, light, just testing the waters.
Armin moaned shamelessly against your mouth as he desperately tried to move with yours. His hands slid to your waist, his soft fingertips trembling as they brushed against the hot skin.
He pulled you in. His body is all hot and desperate as he moved his mouth in synch with yours.
You kissed him harder, just enough to make your heart skip a beat, before pulling away.
The two of you panted for breath as your foreheads rested together. Armin smirked, his chest tight from the kiss.
“Sorry, I hope that was—“
“Kiss me again.” Armin gasped.
“Fuck…” you cursed, tangling your fingertips into his soft blonde hair as you captured his lips again. This time, harder, stronger with more intent.
Armin's mouth was a little clumsy against your own. You laughed softly against his lips, glad he was so adorable like this. The fresh scent of his cologne made your knees nearly buckle.
The kiss deepened as your tongue slid across his bottom lip. Armin’s grip tightened around your waist at the gesture.
His lips gently parted enough to let you slip in. Tongue dancing dangerously as it caressed his own.
Armin whimpered at your warmth. His body was hot as it rutted up into your own.
The metal railing of the balcony dug into your back. But you couldn’t even focus on the pain with Armin's hot mouth on your own.
“I like—never do this..” Armin pulled away to whisper. The corner of his lips tugged up into a smirk as he pressed another needy, wet kiss to your lips.
You smiled softly as he pulled away. Your fingertips mindlessly playing with his perfectly styled hair as heat pooled hotter in your stomach.
“Me either if we’re being completely honest.” You whispered as your fingertips gently brushed the soft blonde locks from blocking his gaze.
“You’re a good kisser.” Armin moaned, confidence bleeding through as he initiated another kiss.
With a gentle moan, you swallowed it, your core pulsing as his hands slid against the skin of your waist.
“Likewise,” you murmured into his mouth, catching a sharp breath before turning your head to kiss him even deeper.
“Fuck…” Armin moaned as the new angle sent a shiver of arousal through his body.
“Don’t curse…it makes me feel things.” You whispered hope against his mouth, voice shaky.
“What kind of things?” Armin muttered as he dragged his lips away from your mouth. He hesitated only for a moment before he started to kiss down your jawline.
You choked on another moan as you felt his soft lips against the sensitive skin of your neck.
With a tight chest, you leaned back, heart beating loud in your ears as Armin found his confidence.
“I don’t know if you can handle what I’m thinking about you right now.” You gasped, mind going to unholy places as his teeth lightly grazed the flesh of your neck.
With a sharp breath, Armin gently sucked on the self skin, eyes softly fluttered shut as he just felt you.
“Shit—“ he gasped as his hips gently pressed against your own.
“It’s okay…” You coaxed softly. Chest heavy as you fought against to grinding back into him.
“I haven’t kissed like this…in a while,” Armin confessed as he shuddered. Hips slowly rolling against your own with a breathless moan.
You moaned in synch at the contact. Armin was already hard beneath the fabric of his pants, pressed up perfectly against your thigh.
“Relax…It feels good.” You gasped as you gave in. His hands gripped the fabric of his shirt tight as you pulled him in by the waist.
“Does it?” He whispered as his lips grazed your neck again. This time, leaving delicate kisses across the marks starting to form.
“Mhm..” you moaned back. Breath heavy as the heat between you only grew.
Armin's soft lips were teasing your neck, his hard cock already pressed up against your body.
And with one more look into those innocent blue eyes…
pairing — joshua x afab!reader
summary — joshua is the kind of hot that’s technically HR-safe until the annual conference makes it impossible to ignore. the two of you have been orbiting each other through polite smiles and project deadlines, trading glances across spreadsheets like it’s harmless. but in a different city, under hotel bar lighting and too many cocktails, “harmless” stops meaning anything. he kisses like he’s been waiting all financial year. wc. 10.6k
⚠ +18. MINORS DNI.
warnings — mild alcohol consumption, smut, oral sex (r!receiving), fingering, protected piv. no solid d/s dynamic but josh is a chatty cathy. big dick joshua lowk? honestly just porn with minimal plot that i wrote at work.
📌 HYATT CENTRIC. CHICAGO, ILLINOIS. 9:32PM.
CHICAGO LOOKS DIFFERENT from thirty floors up—colder, quieter, like the city forgot to be loud for once. From the conference suite, the skyline bleeds silver against the lake, and the clink of glassware fills the silence between panels. Someone’s talking about quarterly growth; Joshua’s leaning on the railing beside you, tie loosened just enough to break the dress code. He smiles when you hand him a drink, the kind of smile that doesn’t mean anything in front of your coworkers—but it still feels like it does.
The evening’s thinning out. Clusters of colleagues linger near the buffet, laughing in that tired, wine-slow way that only happens after a full day of presentations. The HR team slips out in a cluster of perfume and goodbyes. The event coordinator dims the lights by a few degrees; the jazz playlist bleeding from the corner speakers sinks into something quieter. You and Joshua have drifted to the edge of things—the professional equivalent of slipping out for air without actually leaving.
“Did you learn anything today?” you ask, keeping your voice low, eyes on the reflection of the city instead of him.
“Only that people will still pay to hear the word authenticity in 2025.”
You laugh before you can stop yourself, and he grins at the sound like he was waiting for it. Someone from accounts waves on their way out; Joshua lifts his glass in acknowledgment, his shoulder brushing yours when he does. It’s nothing. Just proximity. Just the shared fatigue of too many hours in recycled air.
The silence that follows isn’t awkward. It’s soft. The kind that fills itself with unsaid things. Down below, headlights move through the streets in slow constellations. You watch your own reflection in the glass—tired, half-lit, standing too close to a man you shouldn’t think about this way.
“Bar downstairs should still be open,” he says after a beat, casual but measured, like he’s tossing the idea into neutral ground.
You tilt your head toward him. “What happened to calling it early?”
“I said eventually.” He finishes his drink, sets the empty glass on the high table between you. “One real one before we go back to pretending we like each other in fluorescent lighting.”
“Right,” you murmur. “For team morale.”
He laughs quietly, pushing off the railing. The movement pulls his jacket tighter across his shoulders, and you have to look away before it becomes obvious that you noticed. He waits for you to follow, standing at the doorway as the conference room empties behind you—still part of the group, but somehow already separate.
The elevator ride down is slow, filled with the faint hum of the cables and the clatter of the last few attendees’ laughter somewhere behind you. When the doors open onto the lobby, the city pours in through the glass—wet pavement, the neon flicker of the sign across the street, the muted sound of traffic.
Joshua gestures toward the hotel bar tucked beside the lounge, all warm light and dark wood. “After you,” he says, voice easy.
You pretend not to hear the edge of amusement in it, stepping past him into the amber glow.
The bar hums with the kind of low, late-evening quiet that only hotel lounges seem to perfect—polished wood, soft light, a piano left to rest. The last few conference stragglers have settled at tables near the windows, their laughter a distant hum behind the lull of jazz. You and Joshua take a corner booth, the leather warm under your palms, the city glimmering through rain-slick glass just beyond his shoulder.
He orders something you can’t pronounce—a bourbon with a name that sounds like an old book. The bartender nods and moves with unhurried grace, like there’s no rush, no expectation. When it’s your turn, you half-smile and ask for something easier. An amaretto sour, because you like how it looks in the glass and you know it’ll go down too smooth.
“Still sweet?” Joshua asks when the drinks arrive, the faint curl of a grin tugging at his mouth. He’s close enough that his voice barely rises above the music.
“Still strong,” you counter, lifting the glass and letting the foam settle against the rim before you take a sip.
He chuckles, low and warm. The bourbon smells like vanilla and smoke. He smells like it too—sweet wood, clean cologne, that faint trace of something softer you can never quite name. He leans back in the booth, arm stretched across the backrest, and the space between you shrinks without either of you meaning to. His jacket brushes your shoulder when he moves. You tell yourself it’s just the booth being small.
To anyone looking in, it’s nothing more than two colleagues winding down—post-conference gossip, maybe. Work talk filtered through exhaustion. You laugh over the keynote speaker’s overuse of buzzwords, how the catering staff somehow ran out of dessert before the second course, how next year’s location better have decent weather. But inside the booth, it feels different. The air hums. Every laugh lingers a little too long. Every glance stretches.
Joshua’s smile always reaches his eyes. He listens with the kind of focus that makes you feel like you’ve said something worth hearing. When you talk, he looks at you—not past you, not at the condensation on his glass, but at you—and it burns a little under your skin. He doesn’t do it on purpose, you think. Joshua’s not a flirt by nature; he just makes people feel seen. Maybe that’s why you can’t tell when the warmth in your chest starts belonging more to him than to the liquor.
You match his teasing easily. He says something about your reputation for being too organized, and you toss it back with a comment about his habit of turning every brief into a poem. The banter moves like a dance—unhurried, unguarded, the kind of rhythm built over years of knowing when to push and when to let silence do the work.
The bartender passes by once to clear glasses, and you realize you’ve both finished your drinks. Joshua gestures for another round without asking, and you let him. It’s easier than stopping, easier than thinking. The warmth in your throat spreads, sweet and slow, and the city outside blurs into streaks of gold and shadow.
At some point, you stop remembering who brought up what. The conversation drifts from work to travel to things that aren’t supposed to be personal but start to sound that way: old cities, favorite songs, small regrets. His voice drops when he asks if you’ve ever stayed out late just to see what a city looks like when it forgets its own name. You want to say yes. You want to tell him it looks exactly like this—quiet, suspended, one breath away from something you shouldn’t want.
It’s probably the Disaronno, you tell yourself. The sweetness always makes you soft around the edges. That slow buzz beneath your skin, the pull toward him that feels too real—it’s just the drink. It has to be. Because Joshua is lovely. Always has been. But tonight, in the amber glow, with the bourbon on his breath and that patient smile aimed squarely at you, lovely feels like something a lot more dangerous.
The second round arrives with a faint clink of glass, condensation trailing down the sides like a countdown neither of you is watching too closely. Joshua lifts his bourbon in an easy salute, that half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth again. The bar feels quieter now—music softer, laughter thinning to a distant hum. He’s loosened up, the edge of professionalism worn away by the hour and the warmth in his cheeks.
“So,” he says, turning his glass between his fingers, “how many times did you think about walking out during that last panel?”
“Only three,” you reply. “Four, if you count when they said ‘authentic connection’ for the twelfth time.”
He grins, teeth flashing white in the dim light. “You lasted longer than I did.”
“I didn’t want to make a scene.”
“You? Never.” He laughs into his drink, voice low, smooth. “I think you could cause one just by disagreeing too politely.”
You hum, pretending not to feel your pulse pick up. “That’s rich, coming from the man who charmed an entire client board into changing their brand colors because you said orange was ‘aspirational.’”
Joshua feigns offense, hand to his heart. “It is aspirational.”
“It’s hideous.”
His laugh rings out—soft, genuine, the kind that catches you in the ribs. He leans closer without meaning to, forearm resting on the table between you, and suddenly he’s too near. The light cuts across his face—clean lines, soft mouth, lashes that should be illegal. He smells expensive: sandalwood, cedar, and the faintest trace of bourbon’s sweetness. It’s devastating.
Something you must understand about Joshua Hong: he is gorgeous. Not in the distant, magazine-cover way, but in the kind that sneaks up on you. Earnest and unassuming, until you realize you’ve been staring for too long. Yes, he’s a good listener. Yes, he’s the kind of man who remembers details from conversations you forgot you’d had. But he’s also infuriatingly easy on the eyes, and he smells divine. God help you, it was the first thing you noticed the day he joined the company—fresh out of the intern program, sleeves rolled, name tag clipped crooked.
Even through years of late nights and client calls, even through the endless slide decks and caffeine and the droning voices of today’s panels on the future of digital identity and brand intimacy in the age of algorithms, one thing has remained constant: you want Joshua Hong.
He says your name then, just to pull you back from wherever your mind wandered. “You still with me?”
“Barely,” you admit.
He smiles, tilting his head. “That bad?”
“Worse,” you say. “You’re still here.”
He laughs again, softer this time, eyes flicking down to your mouth before darting back up. It’s nothing overt—no lingering look, no invitation—but it’s enough to tip the air between you into something electric.
“Dangerous thing to say to your coworker,” he murmurs, teasing, but there’s something beneath it—something that doesn’t sound entirely like a joke.
You stir your drink just to have something to do with your hands. “Good thing you’re a good listener.”
“I try,” he says, the corner of his mouth curving up, and you can’t tell whether the room feels warmer because of the bourbon or because Joshua’s still watching you like you’re the only person in the room worth listening to.
It’s just past eleven when you both finally give in to the pull of the elevator lobby. The bar has emptied around you—empty glasses lined neatly like punctuation marks on a night that went on longer than intended. The conference tab covers everything, so no one needs to fumble for cards or tips. Just a polite nod to the bartender, a quiet goodnight, and the soft click of your shoes on marble as you and Joshua cross the lobby toward the elevators.
The hush of the hour sits between you, gentle and heavy. The air smells like rain and wood polish, and the only sound is the hum of the elevator cables and the quiet shuffle of your coats. He presses the call button with one long finger, glancing sideways at you with that half-smile that means he’s fighting the urge to fill the silence with something light. The doors open, you both step in, and the soft gold light folds around you like the last drink of the evening.
Maybe it is the Disaronno. It sits low and warm in your stomach, fuzzy around the edges, dissolving that invisible boundary between restraint and indulgence. It makes you bold—or maybe just honest. Because right now, standing beside Joshua, your body feels like it’s aware of him in ways your mind pretends not to be: the heat of his arm near yours, the faint scent of bourbon and cedar, the easy way he occupies space like he was built to do it. He tucks his hands behind his neck and stretches—long, lazy, feline—as though shaking off the day. His shirt pulls slightly across his shoulders, the motion unselfconscious but lethal.
You glance away, or try to, but the mirrored walls are a traitor. He leans back against the glass, a faint smudge of his reflection beside your own, and flicks an errant curl off his forehead with a tired sigh. The gesture is nothing, ordinary, but the sight of it does something ridiculous to your chest. When his eyes lift and meet yours in the reflection, time lurches—the slow slide of breath between you suddenly the only sound. He catches you staring. You don’t even bother pretending you weren’t.
He lets out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and almost private, more exhale than laughter. “You’re looking at me like I’ve got spinach in my teeth,” he says, tone gentle, teasing—but his gaze lingers, and something about it feels deliberate. Not cocky, not smug. Just… aware.
“Do you?” you manage, the words catching somewhere between amusement and embarrassment.
“No,” he murmurs, his reflection smiling faintly. “I didn’t know I could hold your attention that long.”
You roll your eyes, but it doesn’t help the warmth in your throat. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s the lighting.”
He hums—a soft, knowing sound—and you both fall quiet again. The seconds stretch, the elevator humming as it climbs. He shifts slightly closer, not enough to touch, but enough that you feel it. He looks down, then at the mirror again, and when he catches your gaze this time, there’s no laughter in it. Just something open, testing, as though he’s putting out a hand to see if you’ll take it.
The elevator dings softly. The spell breaks, just barely. You step forward as the doors slide open to the muted corridor of your floor, its carpet muffling the world into stillness. He gestures for you to go first, and your shoulder brushes his as you pass. It’s enough to make you forget how to breathe for a second.
Your rooms are side by side, separated by nothing but a wall—an architectural choice that feels like a cosmic joke. Maybe the company thought it was practical, that you’d stay up late strategizing for tomorrow’s panel, reviewing slides, conspiring professionally. Maybe they trusted you not to let exhaustion and proximity turn into something else entirely.
You reach your door at the same time he does, keycards in hand, neither of you moving to swipe first. The air between you is thick with all the things that haven’t been said since the moment he caught you looking. His voice breaks the quiet, softer now, almost thoughtful.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” he says.
“Night,” you reply, though it comes out lower than you mean it to.
Joshua smiles again—gentle, unreadable—and turns toward his door. For a heartbeat, you think that’s it. Then he glances back, eyes finding yours one last time, that same subtle, lingering question flickering there.
The locks click in near-perfect unison. Two doors shutting on the same thought, on the same side of the same wall.
The hotel room settles around you in stillness too neat to be comfortable. You’ve kicked off your shoes, lined them side by side near the wall like it matters, set your phone to charge though you’ve scrolled through it twice already. The city hums outside—car horns, wind over the river—but it’s the noise closer at hand that keeps your thoughts from resting.
Through the wall, faint and muffled, you can hear movement: the slow drag of a zipper, a sigh, the low clink of glass. Joshua. Of course. The walls are thin enough to blur the small sounds into something almost domestic, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t want to name. You imagine him loosening the last button of his shirt, running a hand through his hair, standing in the same lamplight as you but a world away.
It’s ridiculous, you tell yourself. Adults can share a floor, a wall, a thousand hours of small talk without turning into clichés. You take a long breath, roll over, try to focus on the steady hum of the air conditioner. The sound through the wall fades for a while. You think that’s it—that he’s gone to bed, that you’ll forget the way his voice dropped when he said goodnight outside the elevator.
Then comes the knock.
Soft. Polite. Two short raps that don’t sound like housekeeping or an emergency. You sit up before you’ve even decided to.
When you open the door, Joshua’s there, leaning one shoulder against the frame. He’s still in his button-down, sleeves rolled, collar a little crooked. His hair is damp at the edges, like he’s just washed his face. He smiles—sheepish, careful, devastating.
“Sorry,” he says, lifting a small white cord between his fingers. “Do you have a charger that works for this? Mine just died.”
You stare at the cable, then back at him. “That’s your excuse?”
He blinks, a faint flush creeping up his neck. “Excuse?”
“Joshua,” you say, and his name comes out softer than you mean it to. “That’s a really poor one.”
His mouth curves—not quite a grin, not quite guilt. “Yeah,” he admits, voice low, a single syllable that somehow sounds like relief.
He doesn’t move to leave. You don’t move to close the door. The hallway is quiet except for the hum of the ice machine down the corridor. For a heartbeat, it feels like the world’s balanced on the edge of that sound.
“I just—” He stops, glances down at the charger, then up at you again. The act drops completely. “Couldn’t sleep.”
You lean against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely, pretending you’re still deciding. “And you thought I’d be awake?”
“I hoped,” he says, and that word does you in.
You open the door wider. “Come in before someone sees you standing here pretending to need tech support.”
He laughs quietly, stepping past you. He smells like warm wood and something faintly sweet, the ghost of the bourbon still clinging to his skin. The room feels smaller with him in it—not claustrophobic, just… compressed, like air before a storm. He sets the useless charger on the desk without looking at it, then turns back to you.
“You were right,” he murmurs.
“About what?”
“That was a terrible excuse.”
You shake your head, half smiling despite yourself. “It worked.”
He exhales, slow and shaky. The tension that’s been building since the bar settles between you, heavy but not uncomfortable. For a moment, you both just stand there—him close enough that you can see the faint bruise of fatigue under his eyes, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.
“You don’t have to do anything,” he says finally, quiet but steady. “If you’d rather I go back to my room—”
“Joshua.”
He stops.
“Don’t ruin it by pretending we don’t both know why you’re here.”
The words hang between you, raw and strangely gentle. His gaze searches yours for permission, or maybe just confirmation that he hasn’t imagined any of it. You give it to him in silence, in the way your shoulders loosen, the way your lips part as you exhale.
He steps closer. The distance collapses in one careful movement, and the next breath you take tastes faintly of him—bourbon, citrus, and the quiet surrender of two people who have finally stopped pretending.
Joshua’s laugh comes out in a rush—soft, breathy, almost disbelieving. “You knew?” he says, and there’s a nervous brightness behind it, like he can’t quite believe you’ve said it out loud. “This whole time? And you didn’t say anything?”
You blink, mouth parting. “Well, no.” The words trip over themselves, barely above a whisper. “I hoped.”
The confession hangs there, raw and open between you, and the world narrows until there’s only his face in the low hotel light. Your stomach drops at the weight of it, the final click of realization that maybe all those moments you told yourself you’d imagined—every brush of his hand, every look that lasted one beat too long—were real. God, of course he had feelings this entire time.
Joshua’s jaw flexes like he’s trying to keep a smile in check, a quiet flush creeping up from his collar. He looks almost boyish in that second—relieved, bashful, a little undone. You can feel the same heat crawling up your own neck, pulsing beneath your skin, the same nervous energy that’s always hummed between you finally finding air.
He searches your face, eyes tracing over the corners of your mouth, your throat, the tilt of your chin, like he’s looking for proof he didn’t just mishear you. You don’t move, don’t speak, just let him look. The silence thickens, stretching long enough for you to hear both of your breaths start to sync.
When he finally speaks again, his voice has dropped an octave, low and careful. “You really didn’t know?”
You shake your head, swallowing hard. “I didn’t let myself.”
He huffs a small laugh, this time without the nervousness, and takes a half-step closer. “Maybe I should’ve been braver.”
The distance between you feels negligible now—his body heat bleeding into yours, the faint smell of soap and bourbon hanging in the air. You can feel your pulse hammering, feel his gaze flick to your lips, then back to your eyes. You’re both waiting for the same thing, realizing, in perfect tandem, that waiting has officially outlived its purpose.
For a heartbeat, neither of you moves. The air between you feels fragile, like a held breath might shatter it. Joshua’s gaze dips to your mouth and lingers there, hesitation caught in the set of his jaw, the quiet in his throat. Then, finally, he leans in—slow enough that you could still pull away if you wanted to, close enough that you can taste his breath, warm and faintly sweet.
The first press of his lips is cautious, questioning. It’s the soft kind of kiss that feels more like is this okay? than I’ve wanted this forever. You exhale against him, a sound caught somewhere between surprise and relief, and that tiny noise seems to undo him completely.
The second kiss comes harder, the uncertainty burning away the moment his hand finds the side of your jaw. It’s no longer polite or tentative—it’s years of stolen glances and swallowed words finding their outlet all at once. You meet him halfway, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt before sliding up to the back of his neck.
He makes a quiet sound when you thread your hand through his hair, the soft drag of your fingertips against the nape pulling him in closer. The angle shifts, deepening, your mouths moving together like the rest of the world has dropped out of focus. His breath stumbles against yours; your pulse jumps under his thumb. The careful restraint he’s worn all evening slips, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left of the polite coworker in the bar—just Joshua, warm and solid and wanting.
When you finally break apart, it’s barely a pause—just enough space to breathe, to see the faint daze in his eyes before you close the distance again. This time, there’s no question in it. Only recognition.
Something white-hot shoots down your spine when Joshua’s hands shift—slow, deliberate—sliding from the dip of your waist to the curve of your hip. His fingers press in gently at first, testing, before he drags one hand lower to cup the swell of your ass in a grip that makes your breath catch entirely.
The contact is unexpected, firmer than before, and it pulls a sound from you—quiet but involuntary, caught somewhere between surprise and something far more desperate. It slips out against his mouth, and you feel him inhale sharply like he’s trying to keep himself grounded.
His other arm tightens around your waist, tugging you fully against him in one fluid motion. There’s nothing polite about it. Your bodies fit like a promise that’s been waiting too long, the heat of him hitting you all at once—his chest, his hips, the slow-burning want thrumming between you.
“Fuck,” you whisper, barely audible, and his hand flexes in response, grounding you even closer.
Joshua groans into the kiss, just the edge of it, like he’s losing the careful grip he’s kept all night. His mouth drags to the corner of yours, then your jaw, his lips hot and open as they press there. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he murmurs, voice wrecked and reverent.
Your hand fists tighter in his hair, pulling him back to your mouth like that confession alone is enough to undo you. And maybe it is. Maybe this whole thing is already undoing you—his hands, his mouth, the slow ache building under your skin.
Joshua groans softly into your mouth, the sound dark and low as his hands knead at your hips, sliding over the curve of your ass like he’s been dreaming about it for months. He tugs you closer with both hands full, guiding you against him in one fluid, unhurried pull. There’s nothing subtle about the way he holds you now—his restraint, which hung on so carefully all night, is well and truly gone.
You gasp against his jaw, a breathless, involuntary sound that betrays just how fast the heat is crawling under your skin. He responds with another kiss—deeper, dirtier—and you meet him without hesitation, a hand still tangled in the soft hair at the nape of his neck.
He mouths along your jaw, then your neck, the stubble on his upper lip catching just slightly against the edge of your throat. Your eyes flutter shut as you breathe him in—bourbon and sweet wood and something warm and distinctly him.
And then you feel it: the moment. That quiet snap in your spine where instinct wins out over caution, over timing, over fear. Maybe it’s the way he groans when you tug his hair, or the fact that you’re still standing in the middle of a too-expensive hotel room like it’s any other night—but suddenly, you want to move. You need to.
So you do.
You let your hand trail down his chest, fingers catching on the open edge of his shirt, then sliding lower—down, down, until they hook into the waistband of his pants. The motion is unhurried, almost contemplative, but the message is unmistakable. His breath stutters as you start to backpedal toward the bed, dragging him with you by the front of his slacks.
He follows like it’s instinct—no resistance, just tension and heat and his hands never leaving your body. One slides up your back, fingers spanning wide between your shoulder blades; the other keeps you anchored tight to him, his thigh brushing yours with every step.
Your knees hit the edge of the bed first. You stop, just for a second, both of you breathless, hovering. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, hair mussed from your grip. You wonder if you look just as undone—if he can see it written across your face, the raw want, the finally.
He opens his mouth like he might say something, but you don’t let him. You surge forward, kiss him again—harder, messier, less composed. And he moans this time, full and shameless into your mouth, as you fall back onto the bed and pull him down with you.
The last thread of patience unspools. You feel it in the way his hands roam now, greedy and reverent, in the way your body arches to meet him. You don’t care that it’s been building for years, that you’re coworkers, that there’s a wall behind you where you stood trying to stay composed.
You’ve waited long enough. You’re not waiting anymore. You’re getting fucked tonight.
“Didn’t expect you to be so greedy,” Joshua whispers, breath warm against your cheek as your fingers find the first button of his shirt. There’s a flicker of amusement in his voice, but it’s roughened now, stretched thin by the heat that’s settled between you. His hands are still on your waist, thumb brushing in slow, absent circles, but everything about the way he looks at you—lips parted, lashes heavy—feels like he’s holding his breath.
You huff a laugh, half-dazed and already drunk on the weight of him, on the thrill of unwrapping something you’ve spent too long imagining. The second button slips free, then the third, and his chest slowly comes into view—warm skin, golden from sunlight and time, every line and shadow a study in discipline. His torso is sculpted like he’s always been patient, like he’s built himself deliberately. You’d tease him for it if your mouth weren’t already dry.
“I’m not shy, Josh.” The fourth button gives under your thumb, the shirt beginning to part fully. Your voice is quiet but clear, threading through the air between you like a challenge. You push the fabric off his shoulders in one slow drag, watching it slide over the slope of his arms. “I just didn’t want to make things weird by being wrong.”
He stills for half a second, the shirt slipping to the floor. His breath catches—just barely—but his eyes never leave yours. And then his mouth curves, that perfect, quiet smile pulling at the corners like it means something more now.
“You weren’t,” he says, low and sure. One hand lifts to cradle your jaw, gentle, reverent, like he can’t believe you’re really here beneath him. “You’re never wrong.”
Then he kisses you again—deeper this time, slower, like he’s tasting the weight of what you’ve both just admitted. And you let him, because there’s nothing left to hold back.
Joshua’s hands slide up your sides with a reverence that makes your breath hitch, calloused fingertips dragging slowly over the soft cotton of the shirt you’d thrown on with every intention of sleep. He moves like he’s memorising you—palms skimming your waist, tracing the edge of your ribs—until they slip beneath the fabric and find bare skin. The contact is warm, grounding, a contrast to the cool air of the hotel room as he glides higher, mapping the curve of your sides, the line of your back.
When his fingers graze the underside of your breasts, you exhale shakily, and he pulls back just far enough to look at you properly. His eyes are dark, flushed with heat and something tenderer, more awed. Then, without a word, he sits back on his knees and nods once, gaze fixed on yours, giving you space and invitation in the same breath. You push yourself up slowly, the air catching in your lungs as you raise your arms for him.
Joshua peels the shirt over your head with careful hands, slow and deliberate like he’s unwrapping something fragile. The soft fabric brushes up your spine, your arms, your shoulders, and then it’s gone, tossed somewhere with his own. His eyes don’t leave you. He doesn’t speak. He just smiles—slow, warm, like someone just served him a five-star meal and didn’t charge.
Then his lips are on you again, chasing you back down to the bed in one unbroken, hungry motion. He kisses you like he can’t decide which part of you to worship first—your mouth, your jaw, the tender line of your throat. His mouth moves with purpose, leaving heat in its wake, until he reaches your collarbone and bites down just enough to draw a gasp from your lips.
His hand finds your breast again, this time bare, this time with no fabric to soften the touch. He cups you, fingers spreading like he wants to feel the shape of you completely, thumb brushing up the swell before his palm presses in and squeezes, slow and sure.
Then he shifts, kisses lower, and seals his mouth around your nipple with a low groan that vibrates against your skin.
The gasp that escapes you is sharp, stunned, ripped from somewhere deep. He looks up, lips still wrapped around you, and smiles—not smug, not teasing, just honest pleasure. Like he’s exactly where he wants to be. Like this is what he’s been aching for.
His eyes stay locked on yours as he sucks—slow, focused, like he wants to ruin you with just his mouth. His hand kneads you gently, thumb flicking once, then again.
“Fuck,” you breathe, and he smiles wider against your skin, like he likes hearing you unravel. Like he plans to hear a lot more of it before the night is over.
Joshua’s mouth moves from one breast to the other, his pace slow and deliberate, alternating between gentle kisses and firmer pulls that make your head spin. He keeps his eyes on you the entire time, watching the way you respond, the way your breath catches when he drags his tongue over sensitive skin. Every shift of his mouth draws another sound from your throat—soft, needy, completely unguarded. He doesn’t stop until your back arches off the mattress, until your hips are shifting restlessly against the sheets, searching for friction that isn’t there. Only then does he pull away, his lips glistening and curved into a satisfied smile.
“Move up the bed, baby.” The words come out rougher than he probably intends, low enough that they vibrate through you. His hands brace on either side of your shoulders as he speaks, voice breathless but steady. You obey, shuffling back until your head finds the pillow, your pulse still beating hard against your ribs.
Joshua’s cheeks are flushed a sweet, lingering shade of red, the kind that betrays how badly he wants you despite the calm in his tone. When your body settles beneath him, he dips back down, picking up the trail he left unfinished—kissing the curve between your breasts, the soft hollow of your sternum, the subtle rise of your stomach. Each kiss feels slower, heavier, more reverent than the last.
By the time his mouth reaches your navel, your breathing’s uneven again, anticipation curling tight in your gut. His palms slide down your sides, following the shape of your hips, until they find the hem of your pyjama pants. His thumbs hook under the waistband, and the gentle tug is all it takes for the air to thicken. You go still instantly—stiff, breath caught halfway out of your lungs.
He notices. Of course he does. Joshua pauses, head lifting, eyes soft and searching. “Hey,” he murmurs, voice dipping back into that steady, careful register you’ve heard a hundred times in less intimate settings. “Are you okay?” His hands leave the fabric immediately, palms open in the air like he’s surrendering.
Your lips part, a quick rush of air leaving you before you manage a quiet, embarrassed sigh. “Josh, I haven’t… it’s been, like, a week since I shaved.”
For a second, silence stretches between you. His expression flickers—concern melting into blank surprise—and then into something else entirely. The corner of his mouth twitches. His shoulders start to shake.
“Are you serious?” he says, and then he laughs—quiet, incredulous, eyes crinkling. “I’m thirty. You know that, right?”
You frown up at him, caught between mortification and confusion. “Okay? What does that have to do with anything?”
He sits back slightly, hands still resting on your thighs, grin spreading until it’s wide and impossible to fight. “It means I’m a grown man. I’ve eaten Starburst with bits of the wrapper still on.” He gives you a look that’s part teasing, part impossibly fond. “Lay back down.”
For a heartbeat, you just stare at him. He doesn’t move to close the distance again—just waits, calm and patient, his body still humming with the same heat but his eyes soft enough that you know he means it. He’ll stop if you want him to.
You exhale slowly, the tension easing from your shoulders, and fall back against the pillow. A sigh slips from you—half embarrassment, half relief—and when you glance down, his smile has gentled into something far quieter.
“Touché,” you murmur.
Joshua’s grin returns, smaller but warmer this time. “That’s what I thought.”
Then, finally, he moves again—fingers slipping once more into the waistband of your pyjama pants, thumbs pressing just enough to tease, to test. His eyes flick up to meet yours, unreadable but full of intent, and then he flicks his chin in the smallest of gestures.
You lift your hips wordlessly, breath catching, and he tugs the fabric down your thighs with maddening patience. His knuckles graze your skin as he drags them past your knees, down each calf, slipping them over your ankles one at a time. The sound they make hitting the floor is barely audible over the rush of blood in your ears.
Joshua doesn’t rush. He never does. He treats it like a ritual, like a reveal he’s earned—not something to tear into but something to uncover piece by piece. He takes your ankle in hand, thumb brushing over the curve of bone before lifting your leg by the handle of it, pressing a kiss just below your knee.
You exhale shakily.
Then he starts.
He kisses the inside of your calf first—soft, lingering. Then higher, a little to the left. Then again, just above the seam of your knee, where he presses his mouth a little firmer. His lips are warm, open, and your skin feels electric under his mouth. The further up he goes, the slower he gets.
By the time he’s at the tender skin of your inner thigh, your back is threatening to arch clear off the mattress. He hasn’t touched you where you need it, hasn’t even looked like he’s going to yet, and it’s killing you.
The gentleman act is lovely. Truly. The care, the attention, the reverence in his hands and mouth—it’s everything you didn’t know you wanted from him. But you’re not shy, and you’re certainly not patient. Not anymore.
Your left leg settles over his shoulder, knee bent, heel brushing at the slope of his back. He’s warm and steady beneath your touch, mouth ghosting maddeningly close to where you’re already aching. He kisses the softest part of your inner thigh, lets his teeth scrape gently over the flesh, and then glances up—eyes dark, lashes low, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
You can feel his breath against you, warm and slow and deliberate. Every muscle in your stomach pulls tight.
“Fuck,” he mutters softly. “So wet. I barely did anything.”
You’re trembling. Your fingers twist in the sheets, jaw slack, chest rising and falling like you’ve run a mile.
“Joshua Hong,” you hiss through clenched teeth, your voice tight with disbelief, desire, frustration—everything. “I swear to God—”
He grins, utterly shameless, and kisses a little higher. Right where it hurts.
“Hmm?” he hums against your skin, like he’s innocent, like he doesn’t already know exactly how wrecked you are. “You were saying?”
You could scream. You could sob. Instead, you groan—a noise pulled from the depths of your throat—and tug on his hair with the hand that’s suddenly threaded through it.
Joshua chuckles, low and pleased, and finally—finally—he gives in, and it’s like flipping a switch.
He leans in, tongue parting your folds with a patience that borders on cruel, dragging up through your slick with a low groan that vibrates straight through your core. It’s not clumsy or rushed—it’s exploratory, measured. He’s tasting you like he’s curious, like this is a sensory puzzle he’s determined to solve.
And he learns fast.
He clocks the way your breath stutters when his tongue presses just a little firmer, the way your thighs twitch when he circles instead of flicks. He marks each tell like a data point—arch of your spine, flutter of your lashes, the way your hips roll upward without thought—and builds a blueprint in his head of exactly how to unravel you.
You feel it in the way he focuses in, unrelenting. Every time your fingers tighten in his hair, he doubles down—deeper, slower, faster, whatever you ask for without words. He’s locked in, completely, and it’s devastating. His hands are firm where they spread your thighs, one arm looped beneath your leg, the other hand gripping your hip with just enough pressure to make you gasp. He uses his mouth like a man starved, but it’s when he adds his fingers—slipping two inside you with a smooth, careful press—that your mouth drops open in a soundless cry.
God, his hands. Long, thick fingers, calloused just enough to drag delicious friction against your walls. He curls them just right, watching you from beneath his lashes like he’s trying to memorise what makes you squirm.
And you do—squirm. You writhe and curse and grind down against his mouth, your free hand fisting the sheets while the other stays tangled in his hair, holding him to you like an anchor.
You catch it by accident—mid-moan, mid-breathless stammer of his name—the subtle shift of his hips against the mattress.
It nearly knocks the air out of your lungs.
He’s grinding. Subtle, barely-there movements, hips canting down into the mattress as he eats you out like he’s never tasted anything better. Like he can’t help it. The visual hits you hard—your devastatingly hot coworker, who spends half his life being professionally charming and unfailingly put-together, now reduced to rutting into hotel linen with your thighs over his shoulders.
It’s obscene. It’s perfect.
“Josh—” you gasp, high and fraying.
His eyes flick up at the sound of his name, lips glistening, chin slick, expression half-wrecked. He blinks slow, like he’s pulling himself back to earth.
“You okay?” he asks, voice rough, throat working.
“You’re grinding on the bed,” you manage to say, barely above a whisper, as if pointing it out will make it more real.
Joshua stills for a second, eyes wide—like he didn’t even realise he was doing it.
And then he grins.
“Can you blame me?” he says, voice dark with arousal, mouth returning to the crease of your thigh. “You taste like you were made for this.”
The groan that leaves your throat isn’t entirely human.
“Back up,” he murmurs, lips brushing your skin. “Let me finish what I started.”
He doesn’t stop—not when your hips buck into his face, not when your thighs begin to tremble, not even when they clamp tight around his head like you’re trying to lock him in place. If anything, it spurs him on.
Joshua groans, low and wrecked, the sound muffled against your cunt as he doubles down, tongue flattening and curling, relentless in his rhythm. His fingers keep working inside you—deliberate, unyielding—as your thighs begin to shake around his ears. You feel the coil inside you snap with a shuddering gasp, your spine arching off the mattress, fingers buried in his hair, holding him so close you’re half convinced he might just let you suffocate him right there.
And judging by the way he moans into you—he’d let you. Happily.
Your orgasm hits hard. White-hot and sweeping, stealing the air from your lungs as he works you through it, not easing up even as your body begins to writhe with overstimulation. You gasp, broken and breathless, hips jerking with each pass of his mouth. He only slows when your hands falter—when your legs begin to loosen around him, no longer straining to hold him in place but trembling, pliant, undone.
Only then does he ease off, mouth trailing one last soft kiss to your inner thigh before he finally pulls back, eyes heavy-lidded and flushed with heat.
Your breath catches as you watch him—watch the way he sits back on his knees, chest rising and falling, fingers glistening. He brings them to his mouth and licks them clean like a man savouring the final bite of something decadent, eyes locked on yours the entire time. There’s no teasing in it. No bravado. Just hunger. Reverence. Delight.
You blink at him, wrecked and speechless.
He pushes off the bed, standing tall at the foot of it as his fingers move to his waistband—slow at first, like he’s letting you have your fill of the view. His gaze doesn’t leave you, but there’s a flicker of something smug in the curl of his mouth as he unbuttons and unzips his slacks, peeling them down his hips. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes drop, the way your breath stutters at the sight of him standing there in nothing but soft grey Calvins, stretched taut over the hard line of his arousal, the fabric darker at the tip where he’s already leaking for you.
You take a moment to be selfish, to look.
Because how could you not? Joshua Hong is the kind of handsome that borders on unfair—abs carved like a sculpture, thighs thick and defined, chest broad enough to pin you and hold you there. He’s the kind of fine that has made you grip the edge of your desk at work more than once, biting your tongue during meetings when he leans too far back in his chair or stretches his arms overhead like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Or maybe he does. Maybe he’s always known.
He peels off his briefs with a bit more urgency, groaning softly as the cool air of the room meets the hot, flushed skin of his cock. He’s big—thick, long, the kind of full you’ve fantasized about more times than you’d admit, your thighs pressing together beneath conference tables, under hotel sheets, in the haze of a post-work bath. It should feel surreal, but it doesn’t. It feels inevitable.
He’s on the bed again before the thought can settle fully, climbing up the mattress on his hands and knees until he’s over you, braced on his elbows, mouth catching yours in a kiss that knocks the breath from your lungs. He tastes like you. Like your skin and sweat and slick, like the echo of your orgasm still thrumming under your ribs. You moan into his mouth and slide one hand up to cradle his jaw, the other trailing lower—past his chest, his stomach—until your fingers wrap around the heavy weight of his cock.
Joshua groans into your kiss like it guts him.
His hips stutter forward reflexively, his lats tightening beneath your touch as you begin to stroke him, slow and purposeful. He’s so warm, thick in your hand, and it’s obscene in the best possible way—feeling him like this after months of imagining, knowing now what he sounds like when he moans, what he looks like when he’s half-wrecked above you. You press your thighs together at the memory of his mouth on you, at the low, broken noises he made between them.
Your thumb swipes over the slick head, and Joshua’s breath catches.
“Jesus,” he murmurs, forehead dropping to your shoulder for a moment. “You’re gonna kill me.”
You smile, breathless and smug. “Not yet.”
He pulls away with a suddenness that startles you, and for a split second, your hand falls from his length, bristling with the kind of confusion that reads as rejection. But then he breathes out hard—like he’s just remembered how to—and mutters, “I—fuck. I have a condom. In my pocket.”
You blink at him. Once. Twice.
Then you let out a short laugh, half incredulous, half delighted, and wrap your hand back around him, stroking slow and deliberate as he groans low in his throat.
“You were really counting on that charger, huh?” you tease, watching the flush climb higher on his chest, the way his cock twitches in your palm.
Joshua drops his forehead to your shoulder with a pained little laugh, breath warm against your skin. “I had hope,” he mumbles, kissing the curve of your jaw before reaching for his pants at the foot of the bed. He rifles through one pocket, then the other, muttering something about Murphy’s law before fishing out the little black foil square like it’s divine intervention.
You sit up with him, feel the ache in your thighs already setting in as your body tries to keep up with how far gone your mind is. He sits back on his heels and tears open the packet with quick fingers, rolling the condom down over his length, his jaw tight with focus, eyes flicking up to meet yours once it’s on. It does something to you—how careful he is. How thorough. How he still checks in.
He leans forward and kisses your forehead, soft and lingering, before you lie back against the pillows, heart thudding in anticipation. He follows a moment later, weight warm and steady as he braces himself above you with a forearm near your head. You bend one knee up beside his hip, breath catching when he shifts lower and guides himself between your thighs, dragging the tip of his cock slowly through your folds.
The pressure is delicious—barely-there friction, teasing and filthy all at once. You exhale, hips tilting up in search of more.
Joshua watches your face like he’s memorizing it, voice quiet and tender when he asks, “This okay?”
You nod, a little too fast. “Please,” you whisper. “Yes. Please.”
He kisses you once—soft, reverent—and then finally presses forward, the blunt head of his cock nudging inside. The stretch burns in the best way, slow and deep as he eases into you inch by inch, his hand cupping your jaw, thumb stroking the apple of your cheek as you suck in a shaky breath. He groans something low, something nearly reverent as your walls flutter around him.
“Fuck, baby,” he mutters, forehead pressing to yours. “You feel—god, you feel so good.”
You cling to him, hands finding his back, his shoulders, nails digging in lightly as he bottoms out. And then, for a suspended second, everything goes still. The air between you vibrates with it. With the weight of want finally realized. With the ache of every look, every near miss, every night spent wondering if you’d ever get here.
He pulls back slowly, dragging his cock out to just the tip, and your breath stutters at the friction—slick and sweet and dizzying. His head drops to your shoulder, lips brushing your skin as you tighten instinctively around him, every nerve ending lit up with sensation. He groans, deep and throaty, the sound vibrating against your throat as he presses back in, just as slow, just as deep.
It’s obscene how thick he is—how impossibly full you feel. Like your body was made to fit him and only him, snug and pulsing around every deliberate inch he gives you. You gasp, fingers clutching at the muscle along his back, your thighs trying to close around his waist out of sheer desperation. But he shifts, one arm leaving the mattress to hook under your knee, gently guiding your leg up to the crook of his arm.
The stretch makes you gasp, the openness of it—how exposed, how vulnerable and perfect you feel beneath him. It changes everything: the angle, the depth, the pressure. His next thrust punches a whimper from your lungs, high and breathless, and your back keens off the bed.
“Fuck,” he groans, voice rough and strained. “That—shit, that’s it. That’s so fucking deep, baby.”
You nod blindly, mouth open and eyes fluttering as the new angle lets him grind right where you need him most, dragging every thrust against your sweet spot until you’re clutching at his arms, his waist, anything to anchor yourself.
He starts a rhythm then—measured, intentional, grinding deep into you with every stroke. The way you clench around him pulls another curse from his lips. He leans in closer, forehead pressed to yours, nose brushing your cheek as his breath fans warm across your skin.
“You feel unreal,” he whispers, like he can’t help it. “So fucking good… don’t think I’ll ever get enough of this.”
And the worst part? You believe him.
Joshua shudders as he bottoms out again, your leg still hooked over his arm, your bodies flush in every place that matters. He groans into your mouth when your walls flutter around him, a sharp, involuntary reaction to just how deep he reaches with each deliberate roll of his hips. You feel stretched, filled, claimed—and somehow, you’re still aching for more.
But instead of picking up the pace like your body is begging him to, he slows. Holds still, chest heaving against yours, forehead pressed to the pillow beside your head.
“Fuck,” he pants, a breathy laugh caught in the middle. “If I go any faster, this is gonna be over embarrassingly fast.”
You breathe out a sound that’s something between a moan and a laugh. “What, scared I’ll make fun of you?”
He lifts his head enough to look at you, flushed and beautiful and entirely wrecked already. “No,” he says, quieter now, his voice threaded with something more raw. “Just don’t wanna waste it.”
Your heart clenches. But before you can say anything, he kisses you—slow, lingering, all heat and intention. Then he draws his hips back again and thrusts in just as slowly, and it feels like being split open and rebuilt in the same breath.
He sets that pace: deep, unhurried, maddening. Like he’s savoring it. Like he’s memorizing the way you sound when his cock drags against every sensitive inch inside you, the way you gasp and grip at his shoulders, the way your leg tightens around his waist every time he grinds just right.
He mutters praise between kisses and curses, his voice cracked and reverent.
“God, you feel so good,” he breathes against your neck. “So tight, baby. Can’t believe I waited this long…”
Your nails dig into his back when he rolls his hips, when he whispers your name like it’s something precious, when he mouths at your jaw and moans low into your skin. It’s slow, but it’s anything but soft. Every thrust feels like a promise—measured, restrained, but so intense it borders on unbearable.
You’re dripping for him, body trembling, tension coiling tight and hot in your belly. He keeps you on that edge, letting the burn build between your legs while his cock strokes deep, his hands never straying far from your body.
“This okay?” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek.
“So fucking okay,” you gasp, rocking into him. “Don’t stop, Josh.”
“I won’t,” he says, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Not until you come all over me. Not until I know you feel every second of it.”
Joshua shifts, breath heavy and uneven against your neck, his body still moving in that slow, careful rhythm that keeps you trembling and clinging to him. But when he feels your hand slide down his back—when he feels your hips cant up into his—it sparks something deeper, something restless.
He kisses your shoulder, the shell of your ear, before pulling out slowly, the absence of him making your body clench around nothing. His hand runs down your spine, palm steady, coaxing rather than commanding.
“Turn over for me,” he murmurs, voice rough and coaxing all at once. “Please. Wanna see you like that.”
You shift onto your stomach, then your elbows, the sheets warm against your skin. He helps guide you without losing contact—his hand splayed between your shoulder blades, the other tracing the curve of your hip as you settle onto your knees. It’s not the kind of position that feels detached or mechanical; it’s close, almost tender, his chest pressed against your back before he moves again.
Joshua kisses the nape of your neck, down your shoulder, each one slower than the last, like he’s trying to remind you that even like this—especially like this—it’s still him, still soft around the edges. His hand finds yours where it’s fisted in the sheets, his fingers lacing through yours.
“Is this okay?” he asks again, lips brushing your skin.
You nod, breath catching. “Yeah. Please.”
He hums a quiet sound of approval and lines himself up again, the head of his cock gliding through your slick before he pushes in. The stretch feels new, different—deeper—and you can’t help the sharp gasp that breaks from your throat. He sinks in again inch by inch, groaning against your shoulder when you tighten around him, his fingers squeezing yours in time with the roll of his hips.
When he’s fully seated inside you, he stills again, breathing hard, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades.
“Fuck,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “You’re perfect like this.”
You squeeze his hand, the motion small but grounding, and when he starts to move again, it’s deliberate—deep and steady, hips rolling rather than snapping. His other hand finds your waist, guiding you back onto him, the sound of your bodies meeting soft and slick. Every thrust drags against that sweet spot inside you, every moan he breathes into your skin pulling you closer to unraveling again.
Joshua never strays far. He stays close enough that you can feel his chest against your back, his breath on your neck, his words spilling in low, broken whispers between every thrust—praise, curses, your name. His lips find the curve of your shoulder again, his nose brushing your hairline as he murmurs, “So fucking beautiful. So good for me. Look at you, baby—”
He adjusts, hand sliding from your waist up to your chest, cupping one breast as his thumb grazes over your nipple. The motion makes you arch, makes the rhythm falter for a moment as a sigh pulls from your throat.
He groans at the sound, hips stuttering before he buries himself deeper, almost shaking with the effort to keep his composure. “That’s it,” he breathes, kissing the side of your neck, his voice a raw whisper against your skin. “Just like that, sweetheart. Stay with me.”
And when you glance over your shoulder, just enough to catch his gaze from behind you, his expression nearly undoes you—flushed, reverent, eyes heavy but soft with something more than lust. He leans forward and kisses you, slow and unhurried even as his hips keep moving, and you realize this isn’t about rhythm or release anymore.
It’s about him and you, the quiet hum of connection beneath the heat. The kind of closeness that leaves you trembling even before you come apart.
Your orgasm hits hard—sharper than you expect, sudden and all-consuming. It crests like a wave and crashes into you, the force of it making your elbows buckle, your forehead dropping to the pillow with a breathless moan.
Joshua knows. He feels it. The way your cunt pulses around him, the way your breath stutters and breaks apart. He groans your name, hands tightening their grip on your hips, fingers digging into soft skin as he keeps driving into you, deep and sure.
“Fuck, baby—just like that—god, you feel so good,” he murmurs, voice rough with the edge of his own unraveling.
He leans over your back, pressing kisses along the slope of your spine—wet and reverent, grounding you even as your body trembles beneath him. His chest flush against your back, his mouth finds the curve of your jaw, then your lips. You reach for him, breath still ragged, kissing him back through the haze of your orgasm, still fluttering around him.
Joshua doesn’t last much longer. Your heat, your body, your sounds—you—drag him right to the edge. His rhythm falters, thrusts growing deeper and messier, every push punching the air from your lungs.
“Gonna come,” he gasps against your mouth, forehead pressed to yours. “Fuck—baby, I—”
And then he’s gone. He lets out a low, broken moan as he sinks all the way in, cock twitching deep inside you, hips jerking with the force of it. You feel every pulse of him through the rubber, feel the way his body trembles and strains above you as he fucks you through the aftershocks—his release drawn out and desperate with the way he’s been holding back for months.
His breath is ragged in your ear, his body heavy and shaking with effort as he slows to a stop. One final roll of his hips makes you whimper, overstimulated and still floating. He stills, then leans in to press a kiss to your cheek, your temple, your shoulder—anywhere his lips can reach.
“Jesus,” he whispers, voice hoarse with awe.
You smile into the pillow, too blissed-out to answer just yet. But your hand finds his, fingers threading lazily, and you give it a small squeeze. You don’t need to say anything. You both know.
He slips out with a soft groan, the movement careful, deliberate, his hand steadying you by the hip before the space between you fills with cool air. For a moment, there’s only the sound of your breathing—ragged, uneven, tangled together in the small, dimly lit room. Then you hear him hiss quietly, a sharp exhale through his teeth, followed by the faint rustle of something hitting the plastic liner inside the trash can on the other side of the nightstand.
The bed dips again a heartbeat later. The mattress shifts as he climbs back in, and then there’s the weight of him at your back—a solid, familiar presence that pulls you in without hesitation. A strong arm slides over your waist, finding its place beneath your breasts, and he gathers you up like it’s instinct. His chest is hot and damp against your spine, the slow drag of his breath cooling the sweat that still clings to your neck.
You don’t bother untangling your legs when he fits his between them. They’re slick, messy with the evidence of what you’ve just done, but he doesn’t seem to care. If anything, he presses closer, humming softly when your thigh brushes his. The sound is low and content, like a man who’s finally found a place to rest.
Joshua buries his face in your hair, his nose nuzzling at the side of your neck before his mouth finds the curve of your shoulder. He smiles against your skin when your fingers trace along his forearm, brushing through the fine hair there, your thumb grazing the inside of his wrist. The touch makes him squeeze you tighter, one long sigh leaving his chest and spilling warm against the shell of your ear.
“You okay?” he asks, voice rough and quiet—like he’s half afraid of breaking the calm that’s settled over both of you.
You nod, even though he can’t see it. “Never been better,” you murmur, a smile tugging faintly at your lips.
He hums in response, the sound almost a purr, and presses one more slow kiss to your shoulder. His breathing evens out first, steady and rhythmic, the kind of easy calm that only comes from being completely spent. You stay there in the dark, tangled up in him, every pulse of your heartbeat syncing to his until the room feels smaller, softer, like it belongs only to the two of you.
꩜ synopsis: a harmless campus interview turns your best friend into an overnight internet sensation—and suddenly, every thirsty TikTok comment feels like it’s whispering your secret.
☆ art cred: @/juvianism on instagram :3
You nearly spill your coffee all over your Political Theory textbook when you unlock your phone. Another two hundred comments on that TikTok. You know you shouldn't check—you probably watched it about a million times yesterday alone—but your fingers move before your brain can scream at you to stop.
@/bookslvt01: ok but the way he talks about virginia woolf??? NEED HIM CARNALLY
@/colossalthighs: i’d let him annotate my entire body fr
@/arlertmeout: he looks like he apologises before choking you
You bite your lip, half-entertained and half-horrified, scrolling through the endless comments under what was supposed to be an innocent campus interview. The video has 2.3 million views now, completely insane for something filmed outside the modest main library—the same one you find yourself in at the moment—on a random Tuesday.
"Ugh, don’t tell me. You're watching it again, aren't you?"
Your head snaps up comically quick, caught red-handed, to find Sasha sliding into the seat across from you at your usual table, eyeing your phone screen with knowing amusement.
"What? No."
"You are! You have that weird, glazed look in your eyes. The same one you get when Professor Ackerman extends the deadline for our research papers." Sasha unwraps what appears to be her third sandwich of the day. You don't mention how it’s only twelve in the afternoon. "You know you could just talk to him about it, right? He's literally one of your best friends."
"And say what exactly?" you finally close the godforsaken app, trying to ignore how your screen time report is definitely going to be embarrassing this week. "Hey Armin, I've watched your viral video more times than I can remember and I'm having very inappropriate thoughts about your tongue piercing that I absolutely shouldn't be having about my friend?"
Sasha snickers, a piece of lettuce tumbling to the table from her mouth. "Well, when you put it like that... actually, yes. One hundred percent that."
"Sasha, I can't just—" you frown in frustration, inhaling deeply. "It's complicated."
"How is it complicated? You've had a crush on him since freshman year."
"That was different. That was before we became friends. Before I knew him." You lean back in your chair, staring at the ceiling as fond memories overwhelm you. "Back then he was just this cute, nerdy guy in my intro psych class who got excited about statistical analysis and always smelled like that vanilla body wash I love. I used to sit behind him just to watch him get all animated during discussions about cognitive behavioural theory, you know?"
Sasha merely rolls her eyes. "Jesus, and you call me demented. Well, what about now?"
"Now? Now, he's Armin. He's my friend who stays up until 3 A.M. to help me with my assignments, who brings me soup when I'm sick, who texts me the dumbest memes about historical figures," you slump forward, close to pouting. "He's the guy who spent six hours teaching me how to play that MMO he's obsessed with just because I mentioned being bored over winter break. He's..."
"He's the guy you're infatuated with," Sasha supplies helpfully.
"I'm not," you start to protest, then wisely opt to give up instead. "Okay, maybe. But that's exactly the problem. I can't risk blowing up our friendship just because some stupid interview made me realise I want to climb him like a tree."
"A tree with a tongue piercing," Sasha adds with a cheeky grin.
"Fuck’s sake, don't remind me," you let your head rest against the table. "Do you know how many times I've replayed that two-second clip where he licks his lips? It's pathetic."
"It's not pathetic, it's kind of sweet. There's a difference." Sasha takes another bite of her sandwich, her eyes evidently lighting up. "Besides, you don't know that he doesn't feel the same way. Have you seen how he looks at you during our study sessions? Boy's got it bad."
"He looks at me like a friend, Sasha. Because that's what we are."
"Believe me, friends don't look at friends the way he looked at you last Friday when you were explaining your thesis argument. I thought he was going to combust from sexual tension."
Before you can blatantly disagree, you hear an all too familiar voice behind you.
"Sexual tension about what now?"
Your stomach drops directly through the floor. You turn around carefully, and there he is—Armin Arlert, campus's newest digital sensation, standing there with that signature bemused expression he gets when he catches you and Sasha gossiping. His blonde hair is mussed like he's been running his hands through it, and he's wearing that adorable blue sweater that brings out his eyes deliciously.
"Oh, um..." You scramble for an explanation, panicking on the inside. "We were just talking about... about..."
"About how Professor Ackerman's lectures are basically academic foreplay," Sasha jumps in smoothly. "All that tension and buildup with no satisfying conclusion. I mean, hello?"
Armin laughs, the sound warm and comforting. "That's fascinatingly accurate, I’ll admit." He shifts his weight, and you only then notice he's carrying his laptop bag and what seems to be a bag of takeout. "Mind if I join you? I brought Thai food and figured you might be hungry since you've been here since—," he checks his phone, "—9 A.M., according to the text you sent complaining about how it’s criminal that the library opens so early on weekends."
Your heart does a little flip at his consideration. "You didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to." He slides into the chair next to you, close enough that you can smell his cologne—a rich blend of velvety caramel and toasted cinnamon that positively makes you want to lick him all over.
Stop. None of that, you horny bastard.
"Besides, I figured you might want to hear about the latest developments in my accidental internet fame."
Sasha perks up at once. "Hell, yeah. Have you been recognised on campus yet?"
"Five times yesterday," Armin appears to lament, pulling containers out of the bag. "Including once in the bathroom, which was... awkward, to say the least." He hands you your usual order without asking what you want. "But the weirdest part is definitely the DMs."
"DMs?" you pipe up, failing to ignore how domestic this feels what with him knowing exactly what you like. Typical, precious Armin.
"You have no idea," he opens his laptop and turns it toward you two with a nervous twitch. "I've gotten marriage proposals, offers to 'show me a good time,' and at least a hundred messages asking about my tongue piercing specifically."
Your face burns as you push away the thought that you've been mentally composing similar messages. "That's... wow."
"The worst part is, most of them are asking if I'd be interested in demonstrating its uses." He fidgets with his glasses, coming across as embarrassed but also endearing. "I had no idea that thing would cause such a reaction."
"Well, it is pretty noticeable," Sasha remarks with a meaningful peek at you. "Very... attention-grabbing."
"I guess." Armin glances at you pointedly. "What do you think? You've seen the video, right?"
The question is innocent enough, but something in his tone makes you look at him more carefully. There's an out-of-the-ordinary implication that you can't quite put your finger on. "Uh... yeah, I've seen it," you manage to croak out. Terrific. Could you get any stiffer?
"And?"
"And what?"
"What did you think?"
You stare at him blankly, trying to figure out if this is a normal friend question or if you’re incorrectly perceiving the foreign edge of curiosity behind it. "I thought... I mean, your book recommendations were really good. Very passionate."
"Passionate," he repeats, the fleeting flash of understanding across his face confirming your earlier weariness. "That's interesting."
Sasha's phone cuts through the uneasiness with its incessant buzzing, and she scans it with obviously fake surprise. "Oh no, would you look at that. I have to go... meet... someone... about... a... very real thing... I have." She begins gathering her stuff with awfully suspicious speed. "You two have fun talking about books. And passion. And tongue piercings."
"Huh? Wait. Sasha—" you squeak out, but she's already dashing out of the private study room you had booked for the both of you until late afternoon (traitor). Which leaves you alone with Armin, who's scrutinising you with an expression you can't quite read.
"Alright," he speaks after a moment, closing his laptop and leaning back in his chair. "Want to tell me what you actually thought about the video?"
"I already told you."
"No, you gave me the safe answer." He tilts his head slightly, studying you with purpose. "Come on, we've been friends for two years. I know when you're holding back."
You hastily shove some noodles in your mouth, avoiding his gaze. "I'm not holding back."
"Really? Because Sasha seemed to think you had some important opinions about it."
You make a mental note to start drafting your plan for the girl’s well-deserved comeuppance. "Sasha talks too much."
"She does," Armin agrees. "But she's usually right about things. Especially when it comes to you."
The rarely there confidence in his tone makes you look up and, when you meet his gaze, the intensity catches you off guard. "What do you want me to say?"
"Did you know," he continues conversationally, "that TikTok shows you analytics about who's viewed your videos?"
Almost instantly, your heart stops. "What?"
"Mhm. Very detailed analytics. Including multiple views from the same account." His lips quirk up in a small smile. "Want to guess how many times your account shows up in my viewer list?"
You feel heat creeping up your neck. "I don't know what you're talking about." You briefly consider denying reality, blaming a technical issue, or claiming a glitch in the matrix—but none of it sticks.
"Seventy-seven times," he announces, the metaphorical checkmate hitting you straight in the chest. "As of this morning."
Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god. He knows. "I can explain—"
"Can you?" He angles himself forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Because I've been trying to figure out why my very good friend has watched a boring thirty-second video of me talking about books seventy-seven times."
You want to run away, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "I... the algorithm is weird sometimes?"
Armin chuckles, low and warm, absent of any malice. "Try again."
"I was checking to see if the view count was going up?"
"Nope."
You're quiet for a long moment, trying to figure out how to get out of this without completely humiliating yourself. You don't suppose it's too late to jump out of a window? Ultimately, you sigh in defeat. "Okay, fine. Maybe I watched it a few times."
"A few?"
You narrow your eyes, crossing your arms in defiance at the unsolicited endless interrogation. "More than a few."
"How many more?"
You want to strangle him, and not in the sexy way. "You’re being annoying."
"Come on." His voice has dropped slightly lower, and there's something almost akin to teasing in it. "I told you about the marriage proposals. Fair's fair."
You mutter a profanity under your breath, groaning. "Fine. I watched it a lot. Happy?"
"No. We’re getting there, though. Why?"
"Why what?"
Armin’s glee sharpens into something ravenous, a flicker of desperation lurking beneath his carefree demeanour—like he’s itching for you to say exactly what he needs. "Why did you watch it seventy-seven times?"
Your lungs feel too tight, too exposed. "Because..."
"Because?"
"Because you looked really good, okay?" The words come out in a rush. "Because watching you talk about literally anything is incredibly attractive, and because that frustrating part where your tongue piercing shows has been tormenting me ever since the video came out."
The silence that follows is eerily deafening. Armin simply stares at you, and you wish the ground would swallow you whole.
"Shit," you grumble, burying your face in your hands. "I'm sorry. That was completely out of line. I know we're friends and I shouldn't have—"
"Hey. Look at me."
The way he asks convinces you to peep through your fingers, reluctant but unable to look away. His expression is attentive and focused—definitely not one of disgust.
"You think I'm attractive?" he questions softly.
"I... yes?"
He blinks, his usual calm shattered by the raw vulnerability in your voice. His fingers tremble, revealing the fierce hope inside that there’s a potential chance that someone sees him as more than the sum of his quirks. "Even though I'm just a loser who gets excited about obscure paranormal documentaries and spends too much time playing video games?"
"Especially because of that," you admit, having never been more sure of yourself.
His answering smile is slow and devastating. "Good to know."
"Good to know?"
He hums, reaching across the table, and gently pulls your hands away from your face. "I've been wondering if you'd ever see me as more than just your friend who helps you with your homework."
Your brain, without a doubt, malfunctions. "What?"
"Did you really think I started bringing you food and staying up late just because I'm a good friend?"
The words disarm you. You’re trapped between incredulity and the dawning comprehension of what he might be suggesting. "I…"
"And did you think I learned how to play your favourite songs on guitar just because I had time to spare?"
"Y-you said you wanted to practice—"
"And I presume you thought I got this piercing because I was feeling rebellious?"
That stops you short, confusion apparent in the furrow of your brows. "You didn't?"
Armin's grin turns almost predatory. "I got it because I overheard you and Sasha talking about how cool you find them. This was back in October, after you'd been dating that guy with the lip ring."
You feel like a kettle left on the stove too long. "You... what?"
"You said, and I quote, 'There's something about tongue piercings that's beyond exciting.’ Something along the lines of how the person has to be bold enough to get it, but there's the simultaneous insinuation of what they can do with it."
"I’m going to kill myself," you gape at him in horror. "You heard all of that?"
"I was sitting right behind you in the campus coffee shop. You weren’t exactly shy about it." He shifts closer, and you can spot the hint of silver when he speaks, "I made an appointment that very afternoon."
"You got a tongue piercing because of something I said about another guy?"
"I got a tongue piercing because I wanted to be the guy you were talking about."
The confession hangs in the air between you, charged and electric. You stare at him, trying to process this complete change in everything you thought you knew about your friendship.
"I've been trying to get your attention for months. I was starting to think I'd have to do something drastic."
In spite of being made to face terrifying revelation after revelation, you manage to stutter out a breathless laugh. "More drastic than getting a tongue piercing for me?"
"I was considering learning to play your favourite video game."
You snort despite yourself. "You hate that game."
He shrugs casually, as if the lengths to which he would go for you knew no bounds. "I know. That's how desperate I was getting."
The atmosphere between you feels tense now, full of possibility and two years of unspoken tension. Armin traces your knuckles and the simple touch sends heat shooting up your arm.
"So," you say, trying to stay as composed as you possibly can. "What happens now?"
"Now," he starts, standing up, "you tell me what exactly you were thinking about during those seventy-seven views."
He's close enough that you have to tilt your head back to look at him, and the unwavering want in the blue of his eyes makes your breath catch. "I was thinking..." you trail off, feeling timid with his attention on you.
"You can do it. Use your words for me?" his voice has gotten rougher, huskier, and it sends delightful shivers down your spine.
"I was thinking about what it would feel like."
"What would feel like?"
"Your piercing. When you..." You gesture vaguely, cheeks burning. Armin's hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your bottom lip. "When I what?"
"When you kiss me," you whisper.
"Just kissing?" The question is loaded with underlying intentions, and you shake your head slowly.
"Tell me what else you were thinking about."
"Armin..."
"Please." The plea is hushed but insistent. "I want to know what's been going through your head."
You swallow, your throat suddenly dry as you let go of the entirety of your self-restraint. "I was thinking about what it would feel like on my body. What it would feel like when you use your mouth on me."
His pupils immediately dilate at your words. "Fuck."
"Is that... is that okay?"
Instead of verbally affirming, he leans down and kisses you. It's gentle at first, tentative, but when you react by fisting your hands in his sweater and pulling him closer, he deepens it. The first brush of his tongue against yours has you gasping, and when you feel the metal of his piercing, it sends intoxicating pleasure shooting through you.
You break apart, breathing heavily, and Armin rests his forehead against yours.
"How was that?" he asks earnestly, voice raspy.
"Good," you breathe. "Really good."
His smile is full of care but there's primal desire behind it. "And the piercing?"
"Want more of it."
He brushes his thumb across your lip again. Truth be told, it’s plain torture. "You know, we're in public right now."
Every wall you built is crumbling under the weight of him, and all you can do is let it. "I know."
"Anyone could walk by and see us."
"I know."
"And you don't care?"
You drag your hand up his thigh, stopping just shy of where he clearly wants it, "Not even a little bit."
He kisses you again, harder this time, and you can't help the soft moan that escapes when his tongue meets yours in another dance of display. The sound seems to flip a switch in him, because his hands are tangling in your hair and he's pressing you back against your chair.
"God, you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," he murmurs against your lips.
"Tell me ‘Min."
"Since freshman year. Since that first day in psych class when you argued with Professor Smith about the ethics of behavioural modification."
You draw away just barely, shaking under the intimacy of his declaration. "That long?"
"That long." He doesn’t think twice before trailing his teeth along your jaw, and when the metal of his piercing digs into your flushed skin, you whimper needily.
"You were so assertive, so brilliant. I was completely and utterly gone."
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"Because you were dating that business major asshole, and then when you broke up, we became friends,” he hesitantly halts his ministrations to flutter his eyelashes at you, “I-I didn't want to ruin it."
Good heavens, you didn’t stand a chance from the beginning.
"But then you kept looking at me like... like you wanted me too, and I started hoping..."
"I did want you. I do want you." The admission comes out whinier than intended, but you can’t bring yourself to be bothered at this point. "So much."
His hands tighten in your hair. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
You’re unaware of how many minutes pass as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours, and the way he tastes like mint and something uniquely him. You dig your nails lightly into his sides, claiming him in an act of fervent possession. His breaths mingle with yours and the world outside your tangled bodies fades until there’s nothing but lust burning between you. By the end of it, your chests rise and fall in tandem.
"We should probably get out of here," he mumbles, peeking around the library.
Craving Armin has left you dazed, vision glassy as you attempt to make sense of your surroundings. "Right. Um, your place or mine?"
He pecks your nose, full of affection, tenderly guiding you. "Mine. My roommate's gone for the weekend."
You start gathering your things with shaky hands, hyperaware of the way Armin is observing you. When you bend over to pick up your bag, you hear his sharp intake of breath.
"Something wrong?" you ask innocently.
"N-nothing," he mutters, skittishly pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
The walk to his dorm feels like it takes forever, full of stolen glances and the kind of anticipation that makes your skin feel too tight. When you reach his room, he fumbles with his keys for a moment—so fucking cute—before getting the door open.
You haven’t had a lot of time this semester to crash at his dorm—neat and organised, with anime posters on the walls and stacks of books and manga everywhere. But you barely have time to take it in before he's pressing you against the closed door, urgency lacing his actions.
This time, there's nothing apprehensive about it. His hands are everywhere—your waist, your back, squeezing your ass—and when you arch against him, he makes a low sound of approval.
"You taste so good," he shudders against you. "Everything I’ve imagined and so much more."
"You imagined this?"
"Every night for two years." His mouth moves to your neck, nibbling along your throat. "What you'd look like, what you'd sound like when I made you come."
The words send heat pooling low in your belly, prompting you to press your thighs together instinctively. "Fuck, don’t say shit like that.”
"Why not? I’ve been longing for you. All of you," he whispers, pulling back to look at you with dark, lidded eyes. "You’re not getting away until I’ve had my fill."
It would be an understatement to say that you hadn’t foreseen this when you woke up today. That you'd be spending hours with your legs over Armin's shoulders, forgetting your own name; the compassionate, stammering genius the internet drooled over. Too bad he’s not on the market. It would be a treat if his fans could see him like this—flushed and breathless, fingers gripping your hips like he’d die without you. Armin Arlert, golden boy of TikTok, practically begging to let him ruin you.
You grow dizzy at the promise in his voice. "Please."
He lets his hand trail lower, indecently tranquil, and just as you think he’ll do something reckless—he pauses, smirking wickedly.
"Want to find out what this piercing really feels like when I eat you out?"
synopsis: your dating history had been nothing but bad sex and even worse goodbyes. he showed you a patience and certainty that silenced every doubt, proving that you weren’t hard to love; you’d been loved by him all along.
wc: 10.5k
warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content | oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, dom!mingyu, sub!reader, soft power play, heavy praise kink, multiple orgasms | best friends to lovers, swearing, fluff, aftercare.
authors note: i’ve been wanting to post a mingyu fic for ages now, and as i was going through some of my older fics, this one gave me insane mingyu energy and i had no other choice but to rewrite it for him! this is a rewrite of my fic ‘tears’, and yes, the plot is based on the sabrina carpenter song! i hope that you all enjoy this as much as i do, and as always, please feel free to let me know what you think! ♡
you weren’t heartbroken; that would’ve implied there was something left to break.
you’d been on dates.
enough of them to know when there wouldn't be a second one before the drinks even hit the table.
enough to hear the same compliments repeated back to you like a script.
enough to recognize the tone men used when they were trying to impress you without actually learning anything real.
you’d slept with some of them, too.
sometimes because you wanted to. sometimes because you were desperate for relief. sometimes just to prove to yourself that you could still feel something, even if it didn’t last.
you weren’t bitter. you didn’t walk around openly hating men or rolling your eyes at every couple on the street.
you just didn’t have it in you anymore.
the hope. the performance. the energy it took to pretend someone’s bare minimum was enough.
so when you got home from yet another date that left you completely drained, you didn’t even bother with the lights.
you left your bag by the door, kicked your shoes aside, and sank onto the kitchen floor with a box of cookies at your side.
you weren’t heartbroken. you weren’t even sad. it was quieter than that; almost like resignation.
maybe it wasn’t that love never came; maybe it was that you were never the kind of person people stayed for.
being alone didn’t scare you.
what scared you was how much work it always seemed to take to avoid it.
every man felt like a mirror you kept wiping down, but no matter how clean you made it, the image was never your own.
it was smudged with their ego, clouded by their expectations, and warped by the way they looked at you like you were a puzzle they were entitled to solve.
you were tired of carving yourself down. of softening your edges. of apologizing for being too much or not enough.
tired of folding yourself smaller and smaller until there was nothing left of you at all, except whatever version might finally be enough to make someone stay.
your phone buzzed against the counter, a small sound that cut through the stillness and broke the spiral of your thoughts.
you kept your focus on the cookies in your lap, thumb working over the cardboard as though the solution to all of your problems might appear if you traced it long enough.
until it buzzed again. then again. and again.
you let out a weary sigh and reached for the phone, answering blindly, not bothering to see who it was before lifting it to your ear.
mostly because you already knew who was on the other end of the line.
“hi,” you said, voice low and a little scratchy from disuse.
“you sound like shit,” mingyu replied, warm and easy.
you smiled without meaning to. “thanks.”
fabric shifted on his end, a soft thud like he was throwing himself deeper into a couch.
“you didn’t text me today,” he spoke, not accusing, just noticing.
“mm,” you agreed quietly. “didn’t really feel like it.”
a quiet hum of understanding slipped out before his voice turned lighter. “hold on. didn’t you have that date tonight? with moustache guy?”
you shut your eyes. “unfortunately.”
“so…how bad was it?” he asked, already seeming to know the answer.
your head tipped back against the cupboard, the cool surface steadying you for a moment. “he called me dramatic,” you muttered, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“ouch.” he made the sound like a real wince. “what’d you do, insult his shirt?”
despite yourself, you let out a small laugh. “no. i just didn’t want to sleep with him.”
the quiet that followed was brief, but you felt it; he was biting back his first thought and thinking of something more appropriate to say.
“ah,” he said finally, voice dry. “god forbid you make a decision about your own body.”
you snorted, the sound sharp in your throat. “right? how dare i.”
“so you blocked him?” he asked, though it sounded more like certainty than a question.
“while he was walking me home,” you admitted, reaching into the box for another stale cookie.
his laugh rolled through the receiver, low and warm. “brutal and efficient…i respect it.”
the sound pulled a laugh out of you too, small and worn around the edges, before it faded back into quiet.
his voice softened in the pause. “you doing okay, though?”
you hesitated, not because you didn’t want to tell him, but because you couldn’t figure out how to shape the heaviness in your chest into words.
“i’m tired,” you said at last, the words too small for what you actually meant. “not just tonight, though. it’s the kind of tired that sleep doesn’t fix.”
“mm,” his agreement was soft, a sound that told you he knew exactly what that felt like, and that he’d been there more times than he could count.
his breathing stayed steady in your ear, present in a way that made the silence feel less empty.
“how did you even know it went badly?” the question slipped out before you could stop it.
“because you picked up,” he answered simply, as if that explained everything.
you frowned at the ceiling, not satisfied. “that doesn’t even make sense.”
there was movement on his end again, the soft rustle of fabric and a dull thud in the background, though his voice never faltered.
“you never pick up during good dates,” he reasoned. a pause stretched, just long enough for the smile in his voice to be obvious. “not that you’ve ever actually had one.”
your mouth fell open, half offended, half amused. “you are such an asshole.”
“tell me i’m wrong,” the grin in his voice was obvious, even without seeing his face.
you opened your mouth, ready to argue, but nothing came out. you knew he was right.
“yeah. that’s what i thought,” he said, his tone dripping with satisfaction.
“you’re insufferable,” you muttered.
“and correct,” he shot back without missing a beat, the faint shuffle of noise still bleeding through the line.
you squinted, suspicion tugging. “seriously, what are you doing? it sounds like you’re losing a fight with your furniture.”
“i’m coming over,” he said easily, the kind of casual certainty that came from years of getting away with it.
“gyu—” you started, fully ready to argue with him.
“don’t even start,” he cut in. “you’re not winning this one.”
“you don’t have to come,” you mumbled, curling tighter on the kitchen floor. “my apartment is a disaster, and i look like i’ve been hit by a bus.”
“cool,” he said, not missing a beat. “and?”
you blinked. “and i don’t want you to see me like this?”
his laugh slipped through, low and amused. “please. i’ve seen worse. like that night you got super wasted, missed the bathroom stall completely, and made me hold your hair while you cried into the toilet about how you were ‘too pretty to suffer like this.’”
you let out a dramatic groan, dragging your palm down your face. “you swore you’d never bring that up again.”
“i lied,” he said, sounding far too pleased with himself. “messy hair and a graveyard of takeout boxes don’t even crack your top ten. i’ve watched you full-body sob during tangled.”
“that was emotional,” you defended.
“it was,” he agreed easily. “your eyes were swollen for hours afterwards.”
“you’re actually unbearable,” you muttered.
“maybe,” he said lightly, “but i’m still coming over. you don’t get to argue with me about it, either. i’m already out of the house.”
you shook your head, pressing the phone tighter to your ear. “this feels like harassment.”
his laugh came easy, smug enough to make your chest tighten in spite of yourself. “yeah, yeah. file a complaint when i get there. i’ll see you in ten.”
he ended the call before you could get another word in.
you stayed on the floor a little longer, the kitchen tiles cool against your legs.
your bra strap had slipped down your arm, the dress from earlier felt too tight, and the lingering scent of ramen from your date was starting to make your stomach turn.
eventually, you peeled yourself off of the floor and padded toward your bedroom, tugging at zippers and straps as you walked.
you made it to your room without bothering to flick on the light.
the soft outline of mingyu’s hoodie was easy to spot in the dark, still draped over your desk chair like it had been waiting for you.
you slipped it on and tugged a pair of cotton shorts from the drawer without bothering to check which ones they were.
you were already turning back towards the kitchen before you’d fully registered the choice; like your body had already decided for you.
the only light came from the lamp in the living room and the soft glow above the stove, casting a dim warmth over the mess you said you’d clean hours ago.
piled up boxes. dirty dishes. the garbage you should have changed yesterday.
none of it was catastrophic; just enough to be annoying.
you lingered in the doorway, taking it all in. like maybe, if you stared hard enough, the mess would clean itself.
you thought about moving. picking up a box, rinsing a dish, doing the bare minimum to prove that you weren't completely useless.
you stood there long enough to accept it wasn't going to happen.
you couldn't help but laugh at how pathetic it all felt.
it was a five minute job at best, yet you still allowed yourself to sink back down to the floor, because avoidance had always came easier than effort.
the apartment was quiet for all of thirty seconds before his voice crashed through it, loud and certain, like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to make an entrance.
“yo,” mingyu called out. “sorry i’m late—traffic was actual hell, and your street is like a one-way to satan. also,” he paused, mostly for dramatic effect, “i brought some noodles and that weird mango drink you like. worship me accordingly.”
you leaned off the cupboards to glance toward the entrance. “you’re not late,” you said flatly. “i told you not to come.”
“and yet,” he replied, already kicking off his shoes. “here i am.”
he crouched down to fix them; heel to toe, perfectly aligned with yours like it was second nature.
it was just shoes. nothing more.
except most men you’d gone out with would’ve kicked them halfway across the floor, expecting you to deal with it later.
the care he gave to something so small shouldn’t have meant anything, but the heat that flickered low in your stomach said otherwise.
you dismissed it just as quickly as it came, telling yourself it was just the bad date making scraps of effort look bigger than they actually were.
with a groan, you tipped onto your back, landing against the tile with a quiet thud. one arm draped across your eyes, the other one splayed out like you’d officially given up. “god, you're annoying.”
“love you too,” he muttered, easing the bags onto the counter, careful not to knock over the leaning tower of unopened mail.
he turned and pulled the fridge open with one hand, already bracing himself. “wow. shredded cheese, expired oat milk, and…ranch? you’ve really outdone yourself.”
“oh my god,” you peeked out from under your arm to glare at him. “i literally had ramen earlier.”
he glanced at the takeout container still sitting on the counter; unopened and untouched.
“that from your date?” he asked, already tugging off the lid. “what, was the guy’s moustache so gross you lost your appetite?”
“can you not,” you sighed, laughter sneaking into your voice despite your best efforts.
he barely reacted. “you didn’t even eat this. the broth has a film.”
you rolled your eyes, not even bothering to argue. “stop inspecting my trash like a raccoon.”
“stop living like a raccoon,” he shot back. “and sit up. this is getting depressing.”
“no,” you said. “maybe i like the floor.”
“my bad,” he said, stepping over you without hesitation. “i’ll leave you two alone, then.”
he picked up your container of ramen you'd abandoned on the counter, emptied the broth into the sink, and scraped the noodles into the trash.
there was no hesitation. no second thought.
only quick, deliberate movements carried out with the kind of ease that came from knowing exactly what needed to be done.
if it were up to you, the container would have gone straight into the trash, broth and all.
yet for some reason, it stayed in his hands.
he held it under the stream of hot water, and watched it spill over the sides until the cloudy film began to dissolve. he made it look so natural, as if rinsing it had always been the obvious choice.
without breaking his rhythm, he crouched down and tugged open the cabinet beneath the sink. his hand slipped inside, bypassing the clutter you usually shoved in there, until his palm landed on the caddy tucked against the wall.
he didn’t fumble or search. his fingers closed around the sponge instantly as he pulled it free in one smooth motion.
you stayed frozen on the floor, eyes locked on the way he worked it over the container.
the water slid over his veins as if it had chosen that path on purpose, dragging your gaze there and daring you to keep staring.
every drop seemed designed to make you notice the strength in his hands and each flex of his fingers, until you couldn’t stop imagining what else they could do if they turned their attention towards you instead.
before you could spiral any further, he rinsed the last of the bubbles away and placed the container neatly into the drying rack, never once glancing in your direction.
he wasn’t doing it for praise. he wasn’t trying to make a point, either.
he simply noticed what needed to be done, and instead of judging you or making you feel guilty for letting it sit, he took care of it himself without needing a single thank you.
it shouldn’t have made your stomach drop. it shouldn’t have made your mouth go dry.
yet the heat was already there, rushing low until you felt the dampness pool against the cotton of your shorts.
you pressed your thighs together, trying to convince yourself it wasn’t as obvious as it felt, but there was no denying it.
your body didn’t care about the logic. it only cared about the way his hands moved, sure and unbothered, as if caring for the mess you’d left behind came easier to him than just leaving it.
your eyes followed him as he moved towards the garbage. he gathered the bag in his hands, twisting it into a knot with an easy strength that made his forearms flex, his muscles shifting with every pull.
it was quick and efficient; the kind of movement that never asked to be noticed.
he placed it by the door, not just to move it out of the way, but with the unspoken intention of taking it out later. the kind of small, thoughtless promise no one else had ever made you.
when he stepped back into the room, you told yourself he had to be finished by now, though every part of you already knew he wasn’t.
the fabric of his sweats pulled tightly across his thighs as he crouched again, reaching for the cabinet.
a new bag rustled open in his hands, his fingers working with quiet certainty as he slipped it into the bin. each edge was pressed down carefully, tucked into place until it held exactly the way you liked it.
a task that should’ve looked mundane somehow carried weight in his hands. your pulse climbed in uneven beats, chest tight, as if the air in the room had turned heavier just because he was in it.
there was nothing seductive in what he did, yet every precise movement drew the heat higher until your body responded as though he’d touched you directly.
too many bad dates had taught you to not expect this kind of care.
you were used to men who thought effort stopped at sending a text, and who never lifted a finger unless it benefited them.
the guy from tonight hadn't even bothered to hold the door open for you, so the thought of him replacing a garbage bag was almost laughable.
most men had always treated care as an obligation; something only performed because they felt they had to.
with mingyu, it was instinct; as natural as his next breath.
something in you gave way the longer you watched him.
it became too easy to let your mind wander, to twist the steady rhythm of his hands into something else; something meant just for you.
suddenly, his hands weren’t cleaning anymore. they were gripping your hips, sliding lower until his fingers pressed between your thighs, stroking through the damp heat he’d already put there without even trying.
you could almost feel them pushing inside, filling you with the same easy certainty he carried into every small thing he did.
the realization of what you’d just imagined made your eyes snap shut, mortified at your own mind and yet powerless against the pulse it left thrumming through you.
by the time you found the courage to open them again, he was drying his palms against his sweats, shoulders rolling back as if he’d just wrapped up a shift.
“alright,” he said, stretching with a groan, joints popping as his hoodie slid higher. “time to get up, princess.”
you didn’t budge. your cheek stayed pressed to the tile, knees pulled in close, hair half-in your face.
he tipped his head at you. “hello? earth to y/n.”
you blinked. “what?”
“i said it’s time to get up,” he repeated, flat like it was obvious. “we’re not eating dinner with you laid out like a crime scene.”
“i’m fine here,” you muttered into your arm.
he gave your hip a light kick with his socked foot. “i know i look sexy doing dishes,” he smirked, already catching the eye roll you tried to hide. “but come on. pull it together.”
your head tipped just enough to glare at him. “you’re delusional.”
“and you’re dramatic,” he shot back without missing a beat, crouching just enough to extend his hand toward you. “now get up before i drag you to the couch myself.”
your lips twitched, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a smile. “i’d like to see you try,” you mumbled, even as your hand slipped into his.
he tugged you up in one smooth pull, steadying you with a hand at your back until your feet found the floor again.
the touch was brief, casual, but your skin still burned under it.
you shook him off a little too quickly, ducking your head like maybe he wouldn’t notice. his brows lifted anyway, but he let it slide.
“come on,” he said, already reaching for the takeout bags on the counter. “i didn’t bring all of this food over just so you could mope on the floor.”
you trailed him into the living room, trying not to stare at the way his shoulders shifted under his hoodie as he carried the takeout.
he collapsed onto the couch, bags spread across the table like he owned the place.
you hovered for a beat before sitting beside him, close but not too close, hoping he wouldn’t feel the heat radiating off of your body.
“so,” he started, tearing open the first container, “soonyoung threw a tantrum when i told him you weren’t coming to rehearsal today.”
your lips tugged at one corner. “define tantrum.”
“like…fully rolling on the floor,” he said, chopsticks already clicking into place. “claimed he couldn’t get through practice without his number one fan watching.”
“sounds about right.” you said, easily picturing his dramatics in your head.
“seungkwan even backed him up,” he went on. “got all serious about how you’re ‘the glue that holds us together.’” he mimed quotes in the air, rolling his eyes.
your laugh slipped out before you could stop it.
he turned his head upon hearing the sound, like he’d been waiting for it, then reached for another container. the lid snapped open, steam spilling up between you.
“they’re ridiculous.” you said, shaking your head.
“it gets worse,” he assured, “seokmin told everyone in the studio that you were cheating on him.” he said casually, as if it wasn’t the wildest thing to say.
your brows shot up. “cheating? he and i aren’t even—” you cut yourself off with a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head again. “my god, he’s actually insane.”
mingyu’s smirk tilted, like he wanted to say more, but he just went back to portioning noodles.
you watched him work. how his hands moved quick and precise without thought. the crease in his brow when the chopsticks slipped.
the way his shoulder brushed yours when he reached for another box, like he didn’t even register the contact.
even if he didn’t, it still left you warm and restless, your shorts clinging tighter as your pulse tripping over itself.
you forced yourself still, arms wrapped tightly around your stomach, hoping he couldn’t read what was written all over your body.
without any warning, he slid the plate onto your lap, already reaching for another.
you glanced down ready to thank him, only to freeze.
every bite was exactly what you liked; no stray toppings, no sides bleeding into each other. even the noodles sat neat, twisted in their own space like he’d portioned them with care.
your brows furrowed. “wait…this is for me?”
“yeah?” his tone was flat, chopsticks already busy over his own plate.
“no, but—you separated everything.” you gestured vaguely at the plate, thrown. “none of the food’s even touching.”
he shrugged like it wasn’t worth noticing. “yeah. you hate it when it does.”
your mouth opened, stalled. “since when do you—”
“since always.” his smirk tugged faint, eyes still on the food. “i just pay attention. relax, it’s not that deep.”
you sat there, pulse loud in your ears, trying to pretend it wasn’t.
your shorts clung even tighter when you shifted, and the heat crawling up your neck made the plate almost too warm to balance on your lap.
by the time he leaned back with his own food, your eyes still hadn’t left him once.
his brows drew together, catching it instantly. “what?”
you blinked, caught off guard. “what?”
“you’re staring,” he said, chopsticks frozen midair like he’d caught you red-handed.
“am not,” you muttered, keeping your eyes locked on the plate in your lap.
“are too,” he shot back, smirk tugging as his chopsticks hovered. “seriously, what’s your deal?”
you shifted slightly, tugging your knees in closer as the words spilled out before you could catch them. “you’re just…way too thoughtful.”
he blinked, deadpan. “that’s a crime now?”
“no, it’s—” you waved a hand at the table, trying to find the words. “you cleaned, you set everything up, you made my plate exactly right without even asking—”
he glanced up mid-bite, chopsticks pausing. “uh-huh.”
“and you didn’t even hesitate, you just—” your voice pitched higher, flustered. “you just did it, like it was nothing—”
he reached for his bottle of water, lifting it toward his mouth, eyes narrowing with a half-smile. “because it is nothing.”
“it’s not nothing, gyu!” you shot back, heat crawling up your neck. “it’s—it’s hot, okay?”
he choked mid-sip, coughing and laughing all at once, nearly spraying water across the table as his shoulders shook.
at the same time, you slapped your hand over your mouth, instantly mortified. “oh my god.”
he was still coughing through a laugh, sleeve dragging across his mouth as his grin broke wide. “hot?” his voice cracked, half-raspy. “you think me scrubbing your dishes is hot?”
“nope,” you blurted through your hand. “you’re hearing things.”
his eyes lit like he’d just been handed blackmail material for life. “unbelievable. years of friendship, and this is how i find out your kink is…choreplay?”
“shut up,” you groaned, dragging your hands down your face.
“no fucking way,” his hand patted at his sweats like he was checking his pockets. “where’s my phone? the boys have to hear this—”
your stomach dropped, panic snapping through you. “don’t you dare.”
his grin only widened, his hands now patting down the front pocket of his hoodie like he was already halfway to victory. “oh, i definitely dare.”
you scrambled to shove your plate onto the coffee table, causing the chopsticks to clatter against porcelain in your rush. “nope. no. absolutely not—”
he’d barely gotten his fingers inside of his pocket before you launched yourself across the couch, tackling him sideways into the cushions.
he landed flat on his back with a thud, and you climbed over him, straddling his hips while reaching desperately for his hoodie pocket.
“this is an invasion of privacy!” he gasped, twisting under you, but his laugh broke through every word.
“you don’t need privacy!” you shot back, breathless, hair falling in your face. “you need to shut up!”
his free hand darted to your side, fingers digging right into the spot he knew would make you squeal.
you squirmed against him, shrieking through your laughter. “stop, you asshole!”
he was laughing so hard his voice cracked, words tumbling out between breaths. “you picked the fight—i’m just defending myself!”
you finally slipped your hand into his pocket and yanked his phone free.
“mine!” you yelled triumphantly as you tossed it gently onto the carpet, way out of reach.
he burst out laughing, head sinking back into the cushion, chest shaking under you. “unreal,” he wheezed, grin splitting wide. “you just committed straight-up theft.”
“it was self-defense,” you corrected, still straddling his hips as you tried to hold him down. “you were about to ruin my life.”
his hands came up half-heartedly, bracing against your thighs as his laugh cracked again.
“you literally said i was hot when all i did was rinse a bowl—” he bucked his hips just enough to throw you off balance, making you squeal. “imagine if i started mopping the floors.”
“stop talking.” you slapped your hand over his mouth, desperate to stop the teasing.
he looked at you with mock innocence, then dragged his tongue across your palm.
you yanked it back with a yelp. “gross!”
he laughed so hard it broke into hiccups, chest still shaking.
your forehead pressed into his hoodie, both of you still caught in the aftershock of laughter.
the sound trailed off in little bursts, until it faded completely. silence settled around you, thicker than it had any right to be.
you lifted your head without meaning to, hair falling forward, your fists still bunched in the fabric of his hoodie.
he was right there; flat on his back, smile softening into something slower that tugged at your ribs.
the awareness of it all seeped in slowly, until every place your body touched his became impossible to ignore.
your thighs hugged his sides. your hips were pressed flush against his. his palms rested warm and steady on your bare legs, fingers splayed like he didn’t trust himself to move.
your faces hovered only inches apart from one another, the remnants of his grin fading as the air thickened between you.
the echo of laughter still hummed in your chest, but it was drowned beneath the heavy thud of your heartbeat.
the ache you’d been pushing down all night came rushing back, hot and relentless, flooding every nerve until there was no disguising it.
every slight shift of your hips made it worse. your slick heat pressed directly against him; betraying just how badly you wanted more.
his eyes held yours, steady and certain, as if he could read every thought you were trying to bury.
a quick flicker down to your lips slipped past his control; small enough to deny, but impossible for you to miss.
the second his gaze lifted to yours again, the tension snapped.
you closed the gap in a rush, kissing him with all the want you’d been choking down.
he answered immediately, almost as if he’d been holding back just as much. the kiss was deep from the start, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of certainty that stole your breath.
his palm skimmed up your bare thigh until it fit at your waist, while his other hand curled behind your neck, coaxing you closer, unable to bear an inch of distance.
the pressure of his hands anchored you as he shifted beneath you, pushing up from the cushions until he was sitting.
the movement never broke the kiss; it only dragged you closer, chest to chest, your legs tightening instinctively around his hips.
his mouth worked over yours hungrily, lips parting like he couldn’t get enough. you clutched at his hoodie, fingers knotted tightly in the fabric, pulling harder to erase whatever little space remained.
every brush of his mouth made your pulse spike harder. every drag of his lips left your lungs aching, but neither of you were willing to stop long enough to breathe.
his lips moved against yours like he already knew every secret you’d been hiding. each shift was deliberate, practiced without practice, pulling raw sounds out of you before you even realized you were making them.
his hand left the back of your neck first, dragging slowly over your skin before slipping down to join the other at your waist.
his hands slipped lower in a slow drag, following the natural curve of your body until both palms curved around your ass, pressing you down against the growing buldge in his sweatpants.
the press of him right against your center dragged a moan from your throat before you could stop it, hips rolling down on instinct, desperate to feel more of the friction you’d been aching for all night.
“breathe,” he murmured against your mouth, voice steady even through his own ragged breath. “i’ve got you.”
your hips rolled again before you could stop them, chasing more of the thick heat beneath his sweats. the noise he made vibrated through your chest, deep and broken, sending sparks racing down your spine.
you clenched around nothing, thighs tightening at his sides, every nerve screaming for more.
“gyu,” you whispered, voice trembling. “please.”
his thumb brushed slowly over your side through your hoodie, grounding you even as his mouth swallowed your plea.
“i hear you,” he said, rough and certain. “but we’re not doing this here. not on a couch.”
the protest tangled with want on your tongue, but you gave a shaky nod. “okay,” you breathed.
his grip tightened, both hands already firm at your ass, and in one motion, you were lifted off the couch.
your legs wrapped around his waist before you even thought about it, a startled laugh breaking from your chest as his mouth chased yours again.
he carried you like he’d done it a thousand times, steady even with your legs locked tight around him.
your back met the mattress before you even realized you had made it to your bedroom, the mattress dipping under your shared weight as he laid you down without once breaking the kiss.
he hovered above you, his weight balanced on one arm, while his other hand found your jaw. his thumb traced lightly along your skin as his eyes searched yours. “still with me?”
“still with you,” you whispered.
he brushed a strand of hair away from your lips, fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary before adjusting the pillow under your head.
he caught the details no one else ever did; every small adjustment only served as proof that he knew exactly what you needed before you said a word.
his hand drifted lower again, pausing at the hem of your hoodie. “can i?” he asked, eyes locked on yours.
“please,” you breathed, the word spilling out before you could catch it.
he pulled the hoodie over your head in one smooth motion, leaving you in nothing but your bra and shorts.
the air hit cool against your skin, though it was nothing compared to his stare, heavy with years of memorizing every detail; knowing you in ways no one else ever had.
“fuck,” he murmured as his hand lifted to your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear. “you’re so beautiful.”
your breath hitched, chest pressing up into his. heat rushed over your skin, your body giving you away as your hips shifted closer, chasing him without thought.
his lips moved with purpose, each kiss a quiet claim as he trailed them along your jaw, across your cheek, down the line of your throat, and back up to your lips.
his mouth traced you in reverence, each touch tugging another tremor loose, stoking the ache already clawing at you.
his hands followed the same rhythm, palms sliding over your sides, dragging heat everywhere they lingered.
he touched you like he already knew what your body was asking for; steady where you needed grounding, firmer where you were aching for pressure.
he moved with purpose, mapping you in ways that left no part of you untouched, and no ache unanswered.
your fingers slipped to the hem of his hoodie, tugging at it clumsily, more desperate than precise. you weren’t subtle about it, trying to work it up his torso without breaking the kiss.
his mouth curved against yours in a half-laugh, half-groan. “you know you can just ask, right?” he murmured, amused even through the rasp of his breath.
you rolled your eyes, breath catching anyway. “just take it off,” you whispered, impatience clear in your voice.
he rocked back onto on his heels, and tugged the hoodie off in one smooth pull. the shirt beneath stretched across his shoulders, while his sweats slouched low on his hips like an invitation.
your gaze slipped down, dragging his with it, until you were both staring at the obvious wet mark stamped across his lap.
your stomach flipped, eyes flying wide before you could stop them. his laugh cracked out, caught somewhere between disbelief and delight.
“wow,” he said, brows shooting up. “i rinse one bowl and you baptize my pants?”
you slapped a hand over your mouth, laughter already breaking through. “oh my god—no! that is not from me!”
his grin only widened, mischief written all over it. “no? so what, i pissed myself?”
you let out a choked laugh, shoulders shaking. “maybe you did!”
he leaned closer, laughter still shaking out of him, his hands warm and steady at your hips. “mm. want me to check your shorts, just to be sure?”
you shifted in his grip, laughing helplessly even as your face burned. “absolutely not!”
his grin turned smug, laughter still ghosting in his voice. “that’s what i thought.” his thumbs pressed deeper into your hips, steady and sure. “guess initiative really does go a long way, huh?”
you rolled your eyes, though the smile tugging at your lips gave you away. “apparently.”
he hummed, pleased, leaning in closer until his nose brushed yours. “good answer,” he mumbled.
his mouth found yours again, the trace of a smile still there, though it melted quickly into something hungrier.
his knee slid between your thighs, nudging them a little further apart, while his hands tightened at your hips, keeping you close.
you gasped into him, the sound breaking into a whimper when he angled himself lower, kissing along your jaw.
“there she is,” he murmured, voice brushing warm against your pulse before his lips dragged down your neck.
your breath caught as your hands slipped to his chest, sliding lower, reaching for the hem of his shirt. he caught your wrists easily, pressing a soft kiss into your open palm.
“not yet,” he whispered, steady and certain. “this is about you.”
his mouth trailed down slowly, lingering against your collarbone before sinking down the curve between your breasts.
his lips lingered like he had all the time in the world, and every deliberate pause only made your need claw harder, trembling for the next touch.
he knew exactly what you needed without you ever having to say it.
he caught it in the way your legs tightened, in the way your hips tipped towards him, in the twitch of your hands gripping the sheets.
he noticed everything, always had, and now he was using it to unravel you piece by piece.
“i’ve been dreaming about this for so long,” he breathed against the lace of your bra, voice low like he almost couldn’t believe you were real.
his hand slid beneath you, guiding your back into a soft arch. the clasp of your bra gave way under his fingers like it had been waiting for him, undone without him ever breaking from your skin.
the straps slipped down your shoulders, one after the other, and his mouth followed their path in slow devotion.
every new inch of bare skin was met with his lips, each kiss a quiet vow that nothing about you would be left unseen. he traced you with patience, as though to prove that you were worth memorizing in full.
his lips found the swell of your breast, his hands steadying you against the tremor of your own breath.
his lips lingered wherever they touched, tracing the faint lines that marked your skin as though they were meant to be cherished, never concealed.
“so beautiful,” he said, voice quiet but unshakably sure, like the words had been waiting years to fall out of him. “every inch of you.”
his tongue flicked over your nipple and the moan that tore from you was answered instantly by his own; muffled against your breast, like the taste of you undid him as much as his touch wrecked you.
your thighs shifted restlessly, helpless in their search for relief.
“you’re already trembling,” he breathed, kissing down over your ribs, following the soft curve beneath your breast. “and i’ve hardly even touched you.”
your voice broke apart on his name. “gyu—”
he didn’t look up, lips still moving like prayer, heat spilling across your skin. “no one’s ever touched you like this, have they?”
the truth of it broke you open, unraveling you from the inside out. your breath faltered, stuttered, until it was nothing but gasps and moans, your hips tilting into his hands without thought.
“i—” the attempt at words dissolved into moans, “fuck—oh my god—”
his palms slid down, fingers tracing the edge of your shorts, stopping just above where you needed him most.
“yeah,” he said, already knowing the proof had been in your body all along. “i figured.”
instead of giving in right away, he bent to your waist, his lips dragging heat over the skin just above your shorts.
“they never earned this,” he said, voice quiet but edged with conviction. “never learned you like this.”
“oh god,” the sound tore out of you, thin and desperate, your fingers curling around his wrist with no strength behind them.
he took your weak hold as encouragement, not resistance.
“they didn’t take their time,” he whispered, lips tracing slowly over the softness of your stomach. “didn’t listen.”
your fingers found his hair, tugging softly, guiding him closer without words.
“p-please,” you pleaded, the word breaking before it even left your throat.
his head lifted just enough to meet your eyes, steadying you in an instant.
“oh, baby,” his voice softened as one hand left your waist, reaching for the pillow beside you.
he slid it close, eyes never leaving yours. “lift up for me, princess,” he coaxed gently. “just a little.”
you obeyed, lifting just enough for him to slide the pillow breath you. his hands adjusted it with care, easing your hips down until he was sure you were comfortable.
“there we go,” he muttered, brushing his thumb over your skin. “that’s better.”
his thumb traced idle circles at your hip, grounding you while the other hand slid lower. when his fingers brushed the band of your shorts, he lifted his gaze, catching yours with a question he didn’t need to voice.
the quiet in his eyes made your chest ache; knowing he would wait if you asked him to. your body answered before your words could, hips tilting up in silent permission.
his lips tugged into a soft smile, eyes fixed on you as he drew the fabric down.
he shifted your shorts and underwear down slowly, guiding the fabric over your hips with deliberate care; every motion unhurried, every detail handled with care.
he gently lifted your leg, his hand steady at your calf. his lips pressed to your ankle first, soft and lingering, before traveling upward in slow succession.
each kiss trailed higher — the curve of your calf, the dip at your knee, the inside of your thigh — like he was intent on worshipping every step closer to where you ached for him most.
your nails dug into the sheets as his palms splayed over your thighs, easing them apart.
“breathe for me, sweetheart,” his voice was strained, as if he was holding himself back just to guide you. “just breathe.”
your body obeyed his words before your mind could, chest lifting with a shaky breath.
he didn’t let you finish it.
his mouth found you the next second; no hesitation, no warning. just him, warm and certain, like he’d been holding back only for as long as you could bear.
the pillow lifted you right into his mouth, every inch of you exposed to the slow drag of his tongue. his mouth worked with a patience that burned, each movement a vow to remember every detail of you.
your fingers threaded into his hair, desperate for something to hold on to.
“oh my—fuck—” the words tore out half-formed before collapsing into a moan you couldn’t contain.
he groaned in response, the sound reverberating against you as his grip tightened on your thighs, steadying you when your body tried to jolt away.
the way he moved against you was unhurried, and devastating in its precision. every swipe of his tongue felt like he already knew what would break you apart.
your chest heaved, breath shattering into pieces. you tightened your grip in his hair, dragging him closer without thinking.
he let you guide him, humming low like the taste of you was everything he’d ever wanted.
heat rushed through your stomach, twisting tighter with every pass of his mouth.
you were soaked. aching. unraveling with every second he stayed between your thighs.
“feels so good—” you choked out, hand fisting in the sheets now. “i can’t—it’s—gyu.”
he paused just long enough to glance up at you, eyes dark and blown wide with need. “you’re doing so fucking good for me, baby.” he praised, voice filled with honesty.
he found you again without pause, urgency written in every motion. his lips tightened over you, his tongue pushing deeper than before.
your head tipped back, voice spilling out like prayer. “don’t—please don’t—don’t stop—please.”
another groan broke free from his mouth, vibrating through your every nerve.
pleasure ripped through you so fast it stole the air from your lungs, leaving you clinging to him as though he was the only thing keeping you tethered.
“that’s it,” he whispered against you, voice low, almost reverent. “let it happen, baby.”
your thighs quivered around his shoulders, hips twisting helplessly.
his hold only tightened, dragging you deeper into every surge of pleasure until you had no other choice but to give in.
“gyu—fuck,” you gasped, tears stinging from the intensity of it all.
he slowed his pace, pressing soothing kisses as his thumbs circled your skin.
“that’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured. “you did so good for me.”
your chest heaved, lungs struggling to catch up with the aftershock.
when his gaze lifted, the change was immediate; eyes softening on sight, like tasting you had only deepened the reverence already written into him.
your lungs were still searching for air when he started climbing back up your body, mouth brushing every inch along the way.
your thigh. your stomach. the underside of your breast. your collarbone.
each kiss softer than the last, like he was pulling you back into yourself piece by piece.
by the time he found your mouth, you were already leaning into him, reaching before you realized it.
his lips lingered, smiling faintly against yours. “felt good, huh, beautiful girl?”
a broken laugh slipped out, shaky as you tried to catch your breath. “good?” you asked, head shaking in disbelief. “gyu, no one’s ever—” you paused, voice breaking, “not like that.”
his grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, soft but smug, like he couldn’t help himself.
“yeah?” he teased gently, eyes searching yours. “that’s because they were all idiots.”
he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours before kissing the corner of your mouth. “you deserve more than they’ll ever know how to give.”
his words sank deep, leaving you trembling all over again. you tried to laugh, but it broke halfway when his lips caught yours, sealing the truth of his words right into you.
what began tender turned restless in seconds.
his mouth moved against yours, only you couldn’t help but deepen it, chasing him like you couldn’t get close enough.
his chest pinned you down as his hips dragged slowly between your thighs. you felt him, hard and thick through his sweats, sending another wave of heat to rip through you.
it didn’t matter that you’d already fallen apart once; your body lit up for him all over again.
a whimper caught in your throat, swallowed by his kiss as your hands scrambled higher, clawing at his shirt.
you tugged like you were frantic; like the thin barrier of fabric was the only thing keeping you from breathing.
“off,” you rasped against his lips, desperate, the word breaking. “please—take it off.”
“yes, ma’am.” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips, but it vanished the second your fingers brushed his waistband like you couldn’t wait a second longer.
you shoved his sweats down with shaking hands, boxers going along, nearly knocking him off balance in your urgency.
he huffed a laugh, his eyes catching the hunger in yours. “greedy, are we?” he chuckled, sounding more undone than smug.
“shut up,” you shot back, no patience for his teasing.
your eyes had already landed on him; thick and already slick at the tip.
heat rushed hot up your chest, a grin tugging weakly at your lips despite yourself. “so that’s what i do to you?”
he groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “you know what you do to me.”
“still,” you whispered, tugging him closer, “it’s nice to have the evidence.”
a rough laugh slipped from him, cut short as his mouth slammed back onto yours, heavy with need.
your legs wrapped around his waist without thought, but he held himself back; grinding his hard length through your slick folds with a patience that felt merciless, his lips still on yours like he needed to drink down every sound before giving you more.
“turn over for me, baby.” his voice was rough at the edges, but his touch stayed soft, guiding you onto your stomach like he was handling something precious.
as you shifted, the pillow resting underneath your hips slipped slightly.
before you could react, his hand was already there, sliding it back beneath your stomach with quiet care; making sure the angle favoured your comfort more than his own.
“there we go,” he muttered, like he was admiring a work of art. “just like that, angel. fuck—look at you.”
you could feel the heat of him behind you, hovering close, and the way his hands coasted up and down your sides; thumbs pressing in like he was trying to memorize every inch.
“you’re unreal,” he whispered, mostly to himself. “my fucking dream girl.”
his palms settled at your waist, urging your hips higher before gliding up your spine, pressing lightly between your shoulders until your chest sank into the mattress.
“fuck, baby,” he groaned as he lined himself up. “you’re gonna kill me.”
the blunt press of him at your entrance had you gasping, nails twisting in the sheets.
“gyu—” your voice cracked, the sound nothing but a plea.
“i know, i know.” his hand smoothed down your side, soothing you. “just breathe, beautiful. i’ve got you.”
he slid in with agonizing slowness, every inch a stretch that stole the air directly from your lungs.
a broken sound escaped you, and his groan followed fast, spilling into the space between your bodies.
“f-fuck—” your cried helplessly, “it’s—oh my—fuck—”
he bottomed out with a shudder, his hips pressed flush against you, both of you shaking with the effort it took not to fall apart right there.
his forehead dropped between your shoulders, breath hot against your skin.
“jesus christ—” he groaned, the sound rough and reverent all at once. “you feel—fuck, baby, you feel insane.”
your back arched, body clenching around him, another helpless moan tearing through you. “too much—no, it’s—god, gyu—it’s so good.” the words spilled broken, tumbling past your lips before you could catch them.
his hand slid to your stomach, pulling you up into him, grounding you through the dizzy stretch. “that’s it,” he murmured, kissing along your shoulder blade. “you’re doing—f-fuck—you’re perfect—fucking made for me.”
your thighs quivered, but the need to feel him move was stronger than the ache. you shifted back against him, desperate. “please…move—i need—”
he groaned again, like your words undid him. “fuck—yeah, baby, i know.”
he slowly eased his hips back, dragging himself out until you thought you’d break, then pushed in again, steady and deep.
the rhythm was unhurried but merciless; every stroke deliberate, every thrust angled like he knew exactly how to pull you apart.
after a few slow strokes, his pace quickened; each thrust sinking deeper, chasing every sound that spilled from you.
“there it is—fuck, yeah. that’s it,” he breathed, forehead tipping down for a beat before he straightened again, eyes locked on the way your body yielded to him.
your moans spilled raw into the mattress, high pitched and broken, your hips rocking back into him without thought. “oh my god—don’t stop—please, gyu, don’t—”
he answered with another thrust, sharp enough to punch a cry straight out of you.
“never,” he panted, jaw tight, reverence spilling through every word. “you feel too fucking good—i could stay here forever.”
your walls clenched tight around him, the build snapping faster than you could process.
“gyu—i’m gonna—fuck—” the cry tore out of you as your whole body bowed into the mattress, release ripping straight through you.
he groaned at the feel of you breaking around him, hips stuttering once before he forced himself to steady, dragging it out for you instead of chasing his own end.
“fuck—yeah—” his voice cracked. “that’s it, angel…let go for me—just like that.”
your thighs shook uncontrollably, but his hands steadied you; one gripping your waist, the other pressing into your stomach, keeping you grounded as you unraveled.
the sob that followed buried itself in the sheets, your release hitting so hard it fractured every breath into ragged pieces.
he bent over you, lips trailing soft kisses along your spine, his hips still moving but gentler now, easing you down instead of pulling you higher.
“i’ve got you,” he whispered into your skin, kissing your shoulder like a vow. “just breathe for me, angel…that’s all you need to do.”
he eased out of you slowly, the sudden emptiness pulling a broken whimper from your throat before you could stop it. “gyu—w-why…what are you—”
“shh, i know, sweetheart,” he soothed, palms steady as they skimmed your sides, guiding you gently. “just needed to see you. fuck—look at you. you think i could stop now?”
desire threaded through his voice, yet his hands remained careful, guiding you as if you were fragile in his hold. he eased you onto your back, settling your hips back onto the pillow with a care that made it clear he wouldn’t let you feel anything but comfort.
you let him move you, pliant in his hold, your body trembling as you blinked up at him. his hand cradled the back of your neck, thumb tracing lightly like he needed to feel you breathe.
he kissed your temple first, lingering there, before trailing down to your cheek.
his mouth wandered unhurriedly across your skin; tracing over your brow, brushing the bridge of your nose, grazing the corner of your lips.
“hi, beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, words cracked but full of awe.
your smile barely surfaced, dazed and weak, but it was there. “hi,” you breathed back.
his forehead tipped to yours, lips brushing in a fleeting kiss. “you okay?” he asked, though the look in his eyes said he already knew the answer.
your breath caught, a soft laugh tumbling out with your words. “more than okay.”
the corner of his mouth curved into a soft smile before he slid his hand down to steady your hip.
he lined himself up and pushed back in with one long, steady stroke. the stretch tore a gasp from your throat, your body clenching around him so hard it forced a groan straight out of him.
“jesus—” his voice cracked, forehead pressing to yours again. “baby, you feel—fuck—you’re so tight.”
your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging him closer, mouth falling open on a sound you couldn’t swallow down.
“gyu—” his name slipped from your lips, almost a sob. “it’s—s-so deep—oh my god.”
his palm pressed firm to your stomach, making sure you felt every inch of him. “there we go,” he rasped, kissing your jaw through ragged breaths. “you’re taking me so well, beautiful. you’re—fuck, you’re perfect.”
his hips pulled back, just enough to make you feel the loss, before he drove in sharper. the force knocked the air from your chest as your nails clawed down his shoulder blades.
“eyes on me,” he mumbled, catching your gaze. “don’t look away, baby—want to see you fall apart.”
your gaze clung to his until the next thrust stole it away, lids fluttering shut as another cry tore loose from your throat.
“no, no—look at me,” he urged, groaning when you blinked back up at him, glassy-eyed and trembling. “that’s it. good girl.”
your moans came fractured, tumbling past your lips with every push. “please—gyu, please, just like that—f-fuck—feels so good, so good—”
“fuck—” his voice cracked, hips driving harder, the sound of you begging ripping the control straight out of him.
“oh my god—i’m gonna—” the words broke into a sob, your voice splintering. “mingyu, i—fuck—i can’t—”
his thrusts faltered, a groan tearing from his chest as he forced himself deeper. “yes, you can, angel. just a little more—fuck—i can feel you. you’re right there.”
you broke apart around him, crying out his name like it was the only word left in you. “gyu—”
“that’s it—oh, fuck—that’s it, baby,” he gasped, forehead dropping to yours as his own rhythm fell apart. “come with me—yeah, just like that—fuck—”
your third release tore through you, carrying his first with it. your body squeezed around him, causing him to let out a wrecked moan as he came inside of you.
he stilled for a moment, chest pressed to yours as both of you trembled through the last shreds of release.
there was no detachment. no instinct to turn away. he hadn’t looked anywhere but at you.
when his breathing finally slowed, he pressed a soft kiss to your jaw. “are you okay?” he asked.
you nodded, unable to trust your voice.
he gave you a moment longer before easing out, slow and careful, drawing a broken whimper from your throat.
his mouth followed the loss; kissing the inside of your thigh, the curve of your hip, and the hollow below your ribs; each one gentle and deliberate in their own way.
“stay here,” he said softly. “just rest, baby.”
your head fell back against the pillow in the faintest nod, eyes glassy with exhaustion.
he lingered a second longer, his thumb brushing your cheek in a touch that felt reluctant, before finally pushing himself to stand.
he bent down to grab his boxers from where they’d been tossed, sliding them on around his hips.
the quiet between you stretched thin, filled only by the sound of his breathing and the faint creak of the floor.
by the time he reached the door, your chest was already tight. you stayed where you were, staring up at the ceiling, the fan turning in lazy circles above you.
the longer you watched, the more the quiet shifted.
at first it was just silence, but eventually, that silence turned into space, which slowly turned into panic.
you weren’t naïve. you knew the script.
sex that good, that messy, that consuming, usually ended the same way.
a roll to the side. maybe a muttered ‘that was fun’. the scrape of denim. the excuse about an early morning.
sometimes the door would shut before you’d even pulled the sheets over yourself.
your heart sank.
what if this was that moment?
what if you’d just traded years of friendship for a few hours of wreckless, selfish pleasure?
what if you’d just ruined everything?
before the thoughts could spiral any further, the door creaked open again.
“hey,” he spoke softly, not wanting to startle you.
you blinked towards him, body still draped exactly where he’d left you.
his boxers hung low on his hips, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, chest still flushed from the heat of you. a towel was slung over his shoulder, two water bottles gripped in one hand, and a warm cloth in the other.
your throat went tight. “you came back,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could catch them.
his face softened immediately, something tender breaking through. “of course i did,” he said, stepping closer. “what—did you think i’d just disappear after that?”
you tried to smile, but it wavered.
“hey,” he said again, lowering onto the edge of the bed. “don’t go quiet on me now, pretty girl. not after you already woke all of the neighbors up.”
a soft, broken laugh escaped your lips.
he bent to press a soft kiss to your knee. “scoot up a little, sweetheart. let me take care of you.”
his hands moved with quiet certainty, every touch measured and unhurried. patience lingered in everything he did; a tenderness you weren’t used to.
you felt the difference in your chest before you even felt it between your thighs.
no one had ever done this for you before.
the most you’d ever been given was a half-hearted towel tossed your way, like it was your job to deal with the aftermath alone.
but here he was, treating you like you were something worth handling with delicacy.
“i kept the pillow there,” he said quietly, “’cause i figured you’d be sore. didn’t want you shifting too much.”
he finished with quiet care, dropping the cloth and towel into your hamper before reaching for your hoodie on the floor.
he eased it over your head, guiding your arms through the sleeves, tugging it down until you were completely covered.
as he climbed back into the bed, you reached for him without thinking twice.
he was already leaning into you, arms sliding around your waist, pulling you against him like it was the only place you belonged.
“you still with me?” he asked, lips brushing your hair.
you nodded, eyes still shut until his voice pulled you back.
you blinked up at him as he dipped his head, catching your gaze. “you scared me for a second.”
your voice was small. “i just…wasn’t expecting you to come back.”
his brow furrowed, a little hurt, though his tone stayed soft. “come on. you really thought i’d leave you like that?”
you huffed out a laugh. “it wouldn’t be the first time someone did.”
his chest rose on a sigh as he shifted to really look at you. “baby…what kind of assholes are you fucking?”
the bluntness startled a laugh out of you. “you’ve heard all the stories,” you reminded him.
“unfortunately.” his hand stayed warm at your spine, steadying you. “and i hated every single one of them.”
you froze, but he continued nonetheless.
“you don’t understand,” he said, shaking his head. “listening to you try to laugh off how some guy left before you could even breathe again—” he paused, exhaling hard through his nose. “i swear, prison stripes nearly sounded worth it.”
“you never said anything,” you said, genuinely surprised at his words.
his lips lifted into a small smile, but the weight in his eyes gave him away. “never felt like my place.”
“gyu…” you whispered.
he shook his head gently, already seeing where your thoughts were headed.
“you really don’t get it, do you?” his voice softened, a little rough at the edges.
“get what?” you murmured as your eyes searched his face for any clues on what he could be referring to.
his hand came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, so tender it made your chest ache.
“how easy you are to love.”
you froze, lungs stuttering like they’d completely forgotten how to work.
“i’ve wanted to do this right for so long,” he whispered, leaning his forehead to yours. “not just the sex. all of it. making you laugh. holding you when you cry. being the one who never leaves. giving you the kind of love you should’ve had all along.”
your lips parted, but no sound followed. the weight of his words pressed down until all you could do was hold his gaze, completely undone by the gentleness in his voice.
“and if i ever have to hear about one more guy who made you feel like you were too much, or too emotional, or not worth sticking around for…” he shook his head again, softer this time. “i’ll lose my fucking mind. because you—”
he swallowed hard, trying to find the courage to continue. “you deserve someone who worships the ground you walk on. someone who thanks god every night that you chose them.”
you blinked hard, tears threatening to fall as a soft laugh escaped you. “you’re not supposed to make me cry after sex, idiot.”
“i meant what i said, you know,” he told you, his lips curving into that same boyish grin you’ve adored for years. “and i know my feelings aren’t one sided, either, ms. choreplay.”
tears slipped down your cheeks as you let out a shaky laugh, swatting weakly at his chest. “you are such an asshole, kim mingyu.”
“am i wrong?” he smirked. “because you—” he paused, tapping your thigh, “—basically had tears running down your thighs from me washing, like, two dishes.”
you groaned, burying your face in his chest. “please never phrase it like that again.”
he laughed, the sound warm against your cheek. “don’t act like you didn’t whimper when i changed the garbage bag.”
you pulled back just enough to glare at him. “my god, you’re always so full of yourself.”
his grin only widened, cocky and unbothered. “wait till you find out i sort my laundry by whites and darks.”
★ | member — fwb!vernon x f reader
★ | genre — smut, angst, non-idol au, happy ending, fwb to lovers
★ | word count — 10.2k
★ | synopsis — you keep coming back for more, but every night ends the same. maybe this time things will be different.
★ | warnings — guitarist!vernon, rock band!hhu, mentions of alcohol, vernon has commitment issues (but he gets over it)
★ | smut warnings — descriptions of female anatomy, consensual drunk sex, car sex, oral (reader receiving), fingering, piv, making out, multiple orgasms, pussy drunk vernon (he's down baddd), some aftercare
★ | notes — thanks to @onlymingyus for always being the best and to @wonustars for proofreading !! i did not intend for this fic to be this long but i'm actually really proud of how it turned out so i hope you like it!! also i often make playlists for my fics but i never share them, but i've been listening to this one for months while i've been writing this fic so i'll link it so you can listen too. if you enjoy this fic, please reblog and let me know in the tags!! reblogs are super important to tumblr and they help motivate me to keep writing more like this :)
check out the playlist! featuring — goodnight n go - ariana grande ; black eye - vernon ; uh oh - tate mcrae ; sunset - caroline polachek ; romanticise this - james marriott ; entertainer - zayn ; & more
“hey, you wanna get drinks tonight?”
as usual, that’s how it starts.
you probably should have said no. you’d played this game before. you knew exactly what hansol meant when he offered to hang out after band practice, because it was never just “hanging out”.
you don’t even know why you still go to practices anymore. for a long time you’d avoided them; it wasn’t really your style, and you were never interested in being a groupie for their local gigs. your roommate seungcheol always invited you to every practice and every time you declined with the excuse of homework or other plans, but cheol finally convinced you to come just one time.
at first, it had been because he wanted you to hear a new song they were working on and he’d wanted to know how you liked it before they played it at an upcoming show. but then he’d introduced you to the rest of his bandmates, and after that there was no going back.
you couldn’t help the way your eyes always gravitated towards hansol, who insisted that you call him his real name instead of his stage name that everyone else called him. from the very first practice, you were captivated by him: the way his long fingers seem to dance along the neck of his guitar so effortlessly, the way his voice rasps when he sings, the way your breath catches in your throat when he grips the microphone stand and rolls his head back, lips parted in ecstasy.
he’s addictive, and it’s exactly the reason why you find yourself in the backseat of his car over and over again.
every time, it was easy to pretend that things would be different. you’d walk into the bar together and sit at the table in the back, order a few drinks, chat for a while about nothing. did you like the new stuff we played tonight? yeah, i know cheol is really excited to perform it saturday. you been doing any writing lately? mmm, a little. i’ve been feeling inspired. we could go back to my place and i could show you. except he never does.
hansol wasn’t a bad guy. he always paid for your drinks no matter how many times you offered to pick up the tab, he was polite, he listened to what you had to say. he just didn’t want more than that, and that’s where it all fell apart. you’d screw around for a while, then you’d part ways and wouldn’t speak to each other until next week. you never went to see them play shows, he never texted, you never called, never went on a real date besides meeting in the same bar down the street every thursday night after practice.
he seemed fine with that. you weren’t. and yet every time, you ended up back in his arms.
he groans into your mouth, pushing his hips into you and pinning you harder against the faded leather seats of his old honda. his lips are sloppy but eager, messily pressing his mouth into yours as his fingers tangle in the hair at the base of your neck. you can taste the beer and smoke on his breath, but for some reason it doesn’t bother you. maybe you’re used to it, or maybe it’s just because it’s him. you don’t want to know which reason is the truth.
he kisses you until you’re dizzy, and you can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol or from the thrill of kissing him once again. it’s a high you’re convinced you’ll never get tired of, although you’re not quite sure yet if it’s one that he will.
hansol always lets you set the pace, but tonight he can’t seem to keep his hands to himself. both of your shirts met the floor of his car what seems like hours ago, leaving you in just your bra and pants as he makes out with you as if it’s the first and last time he’ll get that chance. his fingers breeze over your waist the same way they breeze over his guitar strings when he plays: careful yet greedy, each touch intentional yet impulsive as he grips your waist.
he drags his fingers higher and it sends a shiver down your spine, arching your hips up against him and rolling your head back against the seat’s headrest. if there’s only one upside to this relationship, it’s that he’s good at this. really good. if he weren’t, then you wouldn’t have spent so many nights letting him fuck you in the parking lot of your shitty local bar. it does something for your confidence knowing that he must feel the same about you, or else he wouldn’t keep inviting you out. at the very least, this arrangement is mutual, even if you wish it wasn’t.
his hips rock against your crotch again, and even through both of your clothes you can feel how hard he is. your mind is clouded, everything’s a haze, and all you can think about is how badly you want him. the warmth of his skin, the gentle scratch of his nails on the back of your neck, his long eyelashes that flutter against your cheek as he kisses you.
you feel your hands slide haphazardly down his bare chest, fumbling over his hips as you tug on the waistband of his jeans. none of it feels graceful, not like the way he handles his music. it’s sloppy, desperate, clumsy, and it’s everything you need right now.
he manages to lean back from you enough to undo his pants and push them down to his knees, but his mouth is back on yours in an instant. somehow you end up on your back across the seats, gazing up at him with slack lips as his thin silver chain dangles over your face. you might not remember a lot of what happens on these nights when you’re with him, but you’ll always remember this moment. him hovering above you with heavily lidded eyes, biting his lip and cursing as he pushes into you, is etched into your mind in a way you simultaneously love and hate. love because it feels so good, hate because it never lasts.
the last half of those nights never stands out in your memory. you remember feeling good, you remember trembling in his arms and gasping and moaning and crying in pleasure, but the images are too fuzzy to make out. you don’t really need to reflect on them anyway; you know he’ll just bring you out next week and do it all over again.
hansol kisses you once more after you’re both finally spent, but the kisses afterwards are always different. more… hesitant, more uncertain. none of the passion and desperation that you’ve come to crave from him. not what you really want.
“i can drive you home,” he offers once he’s finished cleaning you up. for once you think he might genuinely mean it, but you can never be sure enough to take that chance. you want him to drive you home. god, you want him to so bad. to have him come over with you and stay the night, stay another night and another until your apartment isn’t just yours anymore, that’s what you’ve wanted all this time. and it’s what you’ll never have.
“i’ll call an uber,” you answer.
“i’ll wait with you, then.”
the silence that settles over his car is heavy as you climb back into the front passenger seat. you want to tell him to get in the uber with you, stay more than just a couple hours with you in the furthest back corner of the bar parking lot that’s too far to be illuminated by streetlights. you want to argue that he’s too drunk even to drive himself, that he needs to come home with you and sleep it off together in the comfort of your bed, but you know it’s not true and it won’t work. this is a conversation you’ve had many times before. every night you’ve spent with him blurs into the next, always the same.
sometimes you want to laugh at how naive you are, for thinking he’d eventually come to his senses and realize there’s more to you than a good lay before a gig. sometimes you want to grab him and shake him by the shoulders and tell him to grow the fuck up, give him an ultimatum and make him tell you what he wants from you or else put an end to it all. sometimes you just want to cry, to mourn your wasted time when you’re fully aware it’s never going to lead to something more, no matter how badly you want it and how hard you try.
no matter how many times you get your hopes up, no matter how many times you pray and beg and plead with god and the universe and every other higher power to get him to realize this can’t keep going on the way it is forever, nothing ever changes. you’re never going to stop running to him when he calls, and he’s never going to stop calling.
finally another car pulls into the lot, and you manage to pull yourself out of his car. you hear your name behind you and you stumble, swaying on your feet as he rolls down his window.
maybe this time will be different.
he says his usual goodbyes and goodnights, flashing you a loose grin and a wave as his engine sputters to life, and he asks if you’re planning on coming to practice next week.
and you find yourself nodding.
you’re left standing there, your head and your heart pounding, watching his headlights fade as he drives away, until you’ve stood there for so long that your ride starts honking and calling for you to get in the car so you can leave.
maybe next time will be different.
this is going to be the last time, you swear.
you exhale as you stand inside the lobby of the venue, repeating the words to yourself. there’s a chill in the air tonight. the wind blows smoke in your direction from the couple standing by the door, abandoned cigarettes clutched between their fingers as they make out sloppily.
you grimace and turn away, studying the faded graffiti and half-ripped posters and advertisements that litter the walls around you. you mean it this time, seriously. the only reason you came tonight was because it’s the last time. a goodbye, of sorts.
you have to admit, you were a little shocked when hansol texted you after your weekly meet-up after practice. not only did he want to make sure you got home safe after you left, but he’d asked if you’d come to their next performance.
you stare down at your phone in your hand, rereading the texts for what feels like the thousandth time in the past few days just to make sure you haven’t imagined them. but no, there they are, bright pixels staring right back up at you from the screen.
hansol: hey just wanted to make sure you made it back home
hansol: btw we’re playing at the phoenix on saturday and i was wondering if you had plans? i wanna see you
hansol: maybe we could get dinner after or somethin if youre down idk
hansol: hoping youll be there
you’d been tempted to refuse him, out of bitterness or resentment or something else, but you can’t say you weren’t shocked by his offer. he’d suggested every once in a while that you should come see them play sometime, but it was always clear to both of you that it was out of small talk rather than genuine interest in you being there. but this time he’d said he wanted you there.
it was nice to feel wanted, for once. maybe you hadn’t been going crazy. maybe things really were different this time.
you glance at your phone once more to check the time before you slip it into your pocket, taking a deep breath as you walk through the second set of doors into the main room. you can hear the deep sound of wonwoo’s drums warming up, but the stage is obscured behind a ratty set of faded red curtains.
there’s still a few minutes before their set, but the room is already crowded with people so you push your way to the side wall near the back. you don’t really want anyone to see you here, anyway. you don’t want anyone to see that your resolve is paper-thin when it comes to hansol.
you hadn’t told him that you were coming tonight, just sending him a vague response and telling him you’d have to see if your schedule is free. even that felt too generous, after the anguish he’s put you through the past few weeks. he doesn’t need to know that you’re here, just like he doesn’t need to know the real reason you’ve been avoiding ever coming to see him play. and it’s not because you always have other plans.
you’re hoping to just watch the performance quietly from the back, then sneak out without ever having to talk to him, and text him later that you’d enjoyed it. you already knew you were going to enjoy it. you’d heard every original song, cover, and riff they’d ever played together, and at this point you could probably recite their setlist by heart. anyone could see that they were talented together, so it isn’t surprising that the venue is packed tonight. honestly, it’d be for the better if you got lost in the crowd and never saw him face to face.
the house lights suddenly fade into darkness and the crowd starts to quiet, the curtains finally pulling back to reveal the band. seungcheol stands in front of a microphone in the center of the stage, with wonwoo in the back at his drum set and mingyu to his left holding a bass guitar. and then, of course, there’s hansol.
you hate the way your gaze immediately lands on him, standing in the same position he always does, with his guitar slung around his neck by a thick red strap. the crowd starts cheering, and distantly you recognize seungcheol’s voice introducing the group, but you can’t make out any of his words.
your mind flashes back to all the nights you’ve spent sitting on a folding chair in mingyu’s garage, watching them laugh and bicker and fool around. it’s different seeing them actually on a stage for once, the metal of their instruments glinting under the harsh, colorful stage lights.
it’s not a large stage by any means, just a few feet higher than the ground and barely wide enough for all four of them to fit. but their presence is captivating, and it makes the dingy local theater seem more special than it really is. but then again, hansol makes everything seem more special than it really is.
seungcheol finishes speaking and the crowd around you lets out whoops and cheers, but you stay silent. your eyes are still stuck on hansol, watching him scan the crowd as he twists the tuning pegs on his guitar.
even from the back of the room, you can tell he’s nervous. his fingers shake just a little, in a way you know they never do because you’ve watched him tune his guitar a thousand times under the dim interior lights in his car. you watch his eyes dart around the room, squinting to see into the crowd before turning his attention back to the fretboard in his hands.
he’s not the most outgoing guy in the world, but at the same time you know he’s not the kind of person to get stage fright. something is different this time. or, maybe it’s not. you’ve never actually seen him play in front of an audience. you don’t know him as well as you think you do, you have to constantly remind yourself every time your mind starts to wander and you let yourself daydream. after all, he doesn’t know anything about you, and he doesn’t seem to care enough to learn. neither should you.
the band opens with a song you’ve heard a thousand times, then another and another, pausing after every few songs to talk to the crowd. time seems to fly by around you, but everything moves in slow motion when you're looking at hansol. you study the way his hair falls in soft brown waves around his face, his head bobbing to the rhythm as he strums his guitar. it's one thing you've always enjoyed about watching him play; he always gets so lost in the music, and it's fascinating to watch. it's clearly on the list of things he's passionate about, and even if you aren't one of those things, at least you get to see him doing something he loves.
you shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. you can't let yourself think like that. you're here to end things, not to reminisce. you shouldn't care if he likes music or not, that's not your problem anymore. he's not your problem anymore.
you zone out for a while, trying hard not to think about him but he's the only thing you can focus on. your eyes wander every once in a while, when you hear cheol's raspy voice in the mic or a particularly cool guitar riff from mingyu, but they always end up back at hansol.
they finish playing what you know is their last song, but the crowd is still bursting with electricity. it’s not long before everyone starts to chant, begging for one more song.
“encore?” seungcheol laughs into the mic, and flashes one of his signature dazzling smiles that sends the group of girls standing in front of you into hysterics. he glances over at hansol and nods. “mmm, yeah. i think we can do one more.”
you fold your arms over your chest. now is probably your best chance to leave. it’s not a very big venue, but from the amount of people here it’s obvious that there’ll be chaos once things are over as people start to file out. though most of them will probably be trying to fight their way to the front instead, giving wonwoo their phone numbers written on stained cocktail napkins and asking mingyu to sign their tits. but just as you’re about to start pushing your way back towards the exit, cheol’s deep voice makes you pause.
“we’re gonna play something real special tonight,” he says, making eye contact with hansol again. “something brand new, that we’ve never performed before. you guys wanna be the first to hear it?”
the room erupts into cheers again, and cheol grins. “yeah, i figured. so, i’m gonna let vernon explain this one. take it away, man.”
you stand still, arms crossed and curiosity piqued. maybe you can wait until after the last song. if this is going to be your last hurrah, then you might as well see it through til the end. just this once, and never again.
hansol clears his throat and looks out into the darkened theater. “this song is about a girl i’m in love with,” he starts. that gets a light laugh out of the crowd, a couple whistles and cheers, and he chuckles into the microphone before continuing. the words that have been brewing in your head for weeks seem to instantly melt on your tongue as his voice rings in your ears, echoing through your mind. that’s not you. that’s definitely not you.
“i hope she’s here tonight, but i wouldn’t blame her if she wasn’t. because i think i kind of fucked everything up.” he swallows, his eyes darting back and forth as he scans across the crowd, searching for something. searching for you? “so if she’s out there, i’m sorry. and i know this won’t make up for it, but i hope you like it anyway.”
the crowd cheers again, louder than they have all night, but the noise quickly dies down once hansol begins to play. the lights go dim, and the room fills with a soft melody from his guitar. the sound is unfamiliar, a song you haven’t heard before, and you realize he must’ve been working on it outside of the band’s usual practices.
even if he isn’t talking about you, the song is beautiful. his guitar seems to sing every note that plays, and you can practically see the air around him shimmering with energy. the rest of the room seems to fade away, the audience that separates you suddenly disappearing. it’s like you’re the only two people around, sitting beside him as he plays just for you.
he’s done that a few times, played you little snippets on his guitar. you can almost picture it now: it’s always right after he parks outside the bar, before you head inside together. he’ll unzip the case and pull his guitar from the backseat, positioning it on his lap. he comes up with a different reason every time; sometimes he’ll ask if the chords he’s been working on sound good together, sometimes he’ll tell you to listen to see if it needs tuning, sometimes he’ll say he just needs to practice this section a couple more times before giving up for the night and getting shitfaced with you off too many shots.
but you always see right through his flimsy excuses; obviously he’s doing it to show off, to impress you or something. but for the life of you, you’ve never been able to figure out why. why should he care about impressing you, if he doesn’t want to go any further with you?
and suddenly, as you stand in the back of the theater, watching his eyes sparkle under the lights and his fingers breeze over his guitar, looking more focused and frustrated and angry and sad and sorry than you’ve ever seen him look, now you finally have your answer.
you don’t want him to be talking about you. he shouldn’t be talking about you. you almost wish he would just be an asshole to you, give you a good reason to yell at him and cuss him out and tell him to fuck off, but he never does. sure, he’s a little dense to the not-so-subtle hints you’ve been trying to drop, but he’s always been good to you, even if it’s breaking your heart in the process. maybe you’ve been the dense one all along.
the show ends in a blur, and the lights come back on as people start to file out. there's cheers and more shouts for another encore, but it's clear the night is over. this is the part you've been dreading; even after days of convincing yourself, you're still not sure what you're going to do.
when the crowd finally clears out enough for you to move towards the stage, you can already see the group that’s formed around the members. cheol is off to one side, giving out autographs to whoever waves their napkins closest to him. mingyu’s helping wonwoo pack up his drum kit, smiling shyly at the girls calling his name and promising he’ll come back out to the lobby to meet them once he’s finished.
and then there’s hansol, looking flustered as people crowd around him, a deep blush in his cheeks as he waves his hands to try and get them to leave. you’re just far enough from his line of sight that you almost hesitate. it’s not too late to turn around. it’s not too late to leave before he can see you, to disappear from his life forever, but your heart won’t let you.
you walk a little closer to the stage, hanging back behind the crowd of people, but he sees. his face lights up with relief, and even from a few feet away you can still see his eyes soften. he tells the people to move, more firmly with his words this time, and he hops down off the stage as they part to make room for him. when it’s clear his attention is no longer on them, they grumble and walk away, talking to their friends about the show and how hot all the members are and how they’re definitely planning on coming back the next time they perform.
hansol reaches you in a couple of strides, stopping just in front of you. he stays silent for a second, his eyes roaming over you almost gratefully.
“hi,” he says finally, offering you a lopsided smile. he wipes his palms on his jeans nervously. “you came.”
you bite your lip for a second before you nod. “i did.”
“so you’re— did you— were you here for the end of the show?” he asks, trying to hide the stutter in his words. it’s cute how shy he is all of a sudden. it’s not like him to be shy like this. but then again, the only times you’ve seen him are when he’s playing with the guys or fucking your brains out while he's drunk, so it’s not like you’ve really gotten to know him. maybe he’s always been this shy and you were just too caught up in him to notice.
you know what he’s trying to say without outright saying it. obviously you were there the whole time, a fact you aren’t the proudest of, but you aren’t about to let him know that. “i heard your song,” you finally settle on, cutting straight to the point.
his face goes through about a hundred emotions in the span of a second, from surprised to happy then right back to shy again. “yeah?”
even though most of the room has cleared out by now, he starts walking as he talks, pulling you through the side door into the quieter backstage area. you follow him around the corner until you reach a private room, a wrinkled sheet of paper taped to the door with his name written in sharpie. his guitar case that you've seen so many times lies open on the floor, his backpack slumped against one wall.
“i liked it.”
he exhales in relief as he turns back around to face you, and you can almost see his whole body relax. “i'm so fucking sorry,” he says, nearly stumbling over his words with how fast he tries to get them out. “i've been really, really stupid. the way i left you the other night… i shouldn't have let you go like that. i regretted it the second you left.”
you purse your lips as you listen. you can tell he really means it, and it's getting harder and harder to stay mad at him. but you can't let him off that easy, not after how long you've been going through this.
“i just don't understand what it is you want, hansol. you treat me like— i don't know, like nothing.” you pause and chew on the inside of your cheek for a second, letting your words sink in. “and then out of the blue you beg me to come to your show, and you play this really sweet, heartfelt song, so how the hell am i supposed to take that?”
he winces, but the wounded look on his face doesn't feel as satisfying as you'd hoped it would. “i know. i'm just… i'm bad with words. i'm better at music.” he sighs. “but that's not an excuse. i didn't ever wanna make you feel like that, not on purpose. i just got scared. but i shouldn't have.”
you stand silently, waiting. clearly, there's more on his mind. he stuffs his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, shifting from one foot to the other.
“i love the way you laugh. i love the way you watch me when i'm playing and it makes me feel like the only person in the whole world. i love the way you smile when you're drunk and the way you kiss me. and it was stupid of me to ever think i didn't want that all the time.” he lifts his gaze to meet your eyes, the fear in his expression more obvious than anything you've ever seen before.
you let out a breath, your voice dropping almost to a whisper. “you should've just said that.”
“i should've,” he agrees.
you offer him a tight-lipped smile, trying to keep yourself together. this is not how you thought tonight would go. you didn't even think you'd talk to him, and if you did, you thought it would be a shouting match, screaming and cursing before angrily storming out of the venue, finally feeling vindicated after all this time. yet here you are, standing quietly in front of him and trying not to cry.
he waits for a second, trying to gauge your reaction before he continues. “you're, like, my best friend,” he says, adding a nervous little chuckle to lighten the mood. “i think about you every time i play or whenever i try to write something. it's always about you. you don't know how much i look forward to thursday practices and getting to see you.”
now it's your turn to laugh. “you literally could've just texted me and i probably would've dropped everything to be there, anytime.”
he grins, his smile a little wider this time. “yeah, i know. i tried, the other day when i invited you. that was scary as shit.”
he looks up at you again, his soft brown eyes and long eyelashes shining even under the dim flickering bulb overhead. “i'm really glad you came tonight, though. i wasn't expecting you to, but i really hoped you would.” he offers you another nervous smile. “will you let me try again?”
you don't answer right away, and the look of nervousness starts to seep back into his features. “i promise i—”
but you cut him off, pulling him in by his shoulders and pressing your lips against his. he falters for just a second but his arms immediately wrap around your waist, tilting his head to lean into the kiss, and somehow that one little action feels more natural than anything you've ever done together.
you slide your tongue against his lips, and he lets out a groan into your mouth before he pulls back to breathe. “is that a yes?”
you have to fight the urge to roll your eyes and laugh, but instead you just nod. “yes.”
you definitely didn't come here tonight expecting to get laid. in fact, the last thing you ever thought you'd do is sleep with hansol again. but all of that feels like a distant memory as you head out of the community theater together, his guitar case over his shoulder, walking hand in hand towards his car.
the routine is familiar, but nothing is the same. you're not drunk, you're not in the parking lot of a cheap bar, and you don't feel lonely anymore.
he unlocks the doors and you start to climb into the backseat, but he lets out a little noise and shakes his head, and you look up at him in confusion.
“we're going back to my place. or yours, if you want.” he reaches down to offer his hand and help you out of the car. “i said i was gonna do it right this time, didn't i?”
by the time you get back to your apartment, your stomach is in knots in the very best way. your hands shake as you fumble with your keys, and if you weren’t so on edge it would have almost made you laugh, the way hansol looks away and pretends not to notice. you're more alike than you thought, and suddenly you're overcome with a feeling of excitement. now you get to discover all these little things about him: things you didn't allow yourself to see before, things he wants to show you and tell you and share with you.
you try not to let the awkwardness seep back in, but you pause outside your bedroom door, almost as if you're waiting for hansol to tell you what to do. in just one night he's turned your life on its head, and now you're at a loss.
so he takes it as a sign and kisses you, his hands finding your waist and slowly trailing up your body until he's cupping your chin. it's different from all the other times he's kissed you. it's not just the fiery passion you're used to when you can tell he's worked up, but there's a hint of uncertainty in it, more similar to the kisses he gives you afterwards when you're trying to figure out whether to ask for a ride home or not. and then, the pieces finally settle into place and you realize he wasn't kissing you like that because he didn't want you; he was kissing you like that because he did.
you pull away and he freezes a little, and you can tell from the worried look in his eyes that he thinks he's gone too far. “relax,” you laugh softly, your forearms still resting on his shoulders.
he complies, but his eyes still dart across your face in nervousness. despite how badly he wants you, how badly he needs to prove himself to you, there's clearly still so much that needs to be discussed before you can move forward, things that've been left unsaid for far too long.
you inhale and look up into his eyes, trying to find what emotion is hidden there. “what do you want, hansol?”
“want you to be my girlfriend,” he breathes out without hesitating. if it were any other time and place you might've thought he was joking, but you can tell he's dead serious.
“i—” whatever words you had ready instantly die in your throat, not expecting such a genuine answer. “yes. but i meant, like, right now. what do you want, right now.”
his expression shifts in understanding and he grins, though it's still shy. “oh. well…” he pauses again to think. “what do you want me to do?”
you watch his eyes carefully for a moment before you reply. you've wanted him to do a lot of things. you wanted him to be better, you wanted him to be worse. you wanted him to do anything besides being stuck in this weird limbo of friend-zoned friends with benefits. but now that the choice is up to you… you don't want any of that.
“i want you to be honest,” you start softly, almost shy to say it, but you know it needs to be said. “i want you to tell me how you feel. because i can't lie, you really fucked up. i shouldn't have given you so many chances.” he winces at that, but you brush your thumb along his cheek and pull his attention back to you. “but i did. so you need to earn my trust again. and i just want you to not be so afraid anymore.”
he stays silent for a long moment before he nods, as if he's seriously considering your words. “i know,” he says finally. his voice is quieter now, barely above a whisper. “i'm sorry. you're gonna get so fucking sick of hearing me say how sorry i am, but i'm not gonna stop saying it.”
you want to laugh, but his tone is so serious that you know you shouldn't, so you keep a straight face and ask him again. “so… what do you want?”
he lets out a sigh, still holding you face in his hands. “shit, everything. but, first— i really wanna taste you. can… can i?”
you take a step backwards into the bedroom and he follows, tearing off clothes one by one in a hurry until you're both left with just underwear. with the limited space in his car you've never actually been fully naked together before, and the thought of him seeing you is both terrifying and exhilarating.
he leans you down onto the bed and you pull him down with you. he falls beside you, pausing to kiss you once more before rolling off the bed and onto his knees, holding your legs in front of him as he stares up at you.
it's the kind of image that could drive a woman mad. you didn't think he was capable of being this patient, but it seems he's full of surprises tonight. “yes,” you breathe out and finally give him an answer. your eyes are locked onto his, a silent conversation happening between you in the span of a second.
he clears his throat and slowly pries your legs apart, pulling his gaze away from your face to stare between your thighs instead.
“god, this pussy…” he groans in delight as he settles your legs over his shoulders, his gaze transfixed on the wet spot at the seat of your panties.
he slides his palms up your thighs, and for his sake you pretend not to notice the way his fingers are shaking just a little. you lift your hips to encourage him, and he slips his long fingers beneath the hem of your panties before pulling them down, taking his time to slide them off and toss them on the floor behind him.
his hands immediately come back up to your thighs, using his thumbs to press your legs apart to give him a better view.
“so fucking gorgeous,” he mumbles to no one but himself. it's like he's in a trance, admiring the dripping mess between your legs like it's about to be his last meal. if he hadn't been so enthusiastic, you might've been embarrassed at the electric shiver that runs through you from his praise. but when there's a man this hot in front of you, kneeling and staring up at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen in his life, it's hard to feel embarrassed for long.
he leans in and presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your clit, and you nearly jump out of your skin at the feeling. he's never been incredibly rough with you before, but he’s never been this gentle, either. he's touching you so delicately, like a statue at a museum that he's not sure yet if he's allowed to touch or not.
your reaction spurs him on, and he leans in further to flatten his tongue against your entrance and gives a long, slow lick. your hips lift automatically, trying to push him closer and add more pressure.
he curls his tongue through your folds before pulling away, his hands coming up to rest on your hip bones and hold you down. “even better than i imagined,” he groans, looking up at you from his spot on the floor, and the image of him down there makes you so dizzy that you have to lay back down against the bed again.
“more,” you whimper desperately. in the back of your mind there's a distant feeling of shyness at how demanding you're being, but you don't think twice about it. after everything he put you through, he still needs to prove himself to you, that he's not going to break your heart again. but he's doing a damn good job so far. “vernon— ah, fuck!”
“mm, anything.” he presses a kiss against the soft skin on inside of your thigh. “anything you want, baby.”
you don't even have time to process the nickname before he's diving back in, his lips wrapped around your clit as he sucks at you. you let out a strangled noise of surprise, your hand instantly flying down to hold his head.
your fingers tangle in his hair, his tongue so deep in your pussy that you're already gasping and writhing under his touch. you can't tell which one of you has been more stupid for not letting this happen sooner, because it almost seems like he's enjoying this more than you are.
the coil in your stomach already feels like it's about to burst, pent up with white-hot energy that feels hotter than the sun. it hardly takes a few more pointed laps of his tongue before you fall apart into his mouth, whimpering and groaning and begging shamelessly for him.
“you called me vernon,” he says when you finally manage to push his head away, shivering with overwhelming sensitivity. he lifts one hand to wipe at his chin, way too nonchalant after everything he just did.
you're still fighting through the haze of your orgasm but his words bring you back down to earth, and your face fills with heat. “huh? sorry, i—”
“everybody calls me vernon,” he says as he shakes his head, quickly cutting you off. he stands up and moves onto the bed, flopping down beside you. “i liked that you always called me hansol. made it feel special.”
your eyes follow his movements, still laying on your back as you catch your breath. “but…?”
he grins, and you swear there's a hint of blush in his cheeks. “but that was really sexy when you called me vernon. it sounds way cooler when it's coming from you.”
all you can do is laugh, letting your eyes close as you rest your hands on your stomach. “noted,” you giggle. “so should i do it more, then?”
he hums in thought, rolling over onto his side so that he's closer to you. “you can do whatever you want, baby.”
that nickname again. he's already started leaning in to kiss you again, but you grab his shoulders and pull him down to meet him halfway. there's a bitterness on his tongue that you'd almost forgotten about, but you're quickly reminded once you feel his hand sliding across your stomach and down back between your legs. you let out a surprised but happy moan into his mouth, one of your hands moving to the back of his head to kiss him harder.
your legs part, accepting the warmth of his palm as he gently presses it against your sensitive clit. he holds his hand there for just a moment, pausing his movements as he kisses you, eagerly swallowing the whimpers and sounds you give him in return.
after a minute he shifts his hand, carefully pressing his index and middle finger into you. you're right up at the edge again already, clenching down hard around his fingers as he sets a slow pace, pulling them out halfway before thrusting them in deeper than before. you're seeing stars, releasing a constant stream of muffled moans into his lips as he curls his fingers inside you. he follows the rhythm of your hips as you rut against his palm, letting the movement force his fingers even deeper.
his fingers are dripping with your juices, down his knuckles and pooling in his palm, but it only makes him want to fuck you even more. it's not like this is the first time he's fingered you. the guys at the auto shop down the street know him all too well, from the amount of times he's had to take his car in to get the seats cleaned. he always claims that it's because he's a messy eater, and while that's true in some ways, he knows those guys don't buy it for a fucking second.
his fingers are completely buried inside you but he never stops kissing you, breathing almost as heavily as you are. he stops thrusting his fingers and adjusts his hand once more, pressing his thumb against your clit to rub lazy circles over it.
“ver—vern— fuck, hansol!” you finally manage to pull away from his lips, nearly gasping for air as another orgasm rips through you. his other hand slides down your body and it feels like the first time you've ever been touched, his palm so warm and tender against your skin that it somehow makes your high even better. you're shaking in his arms, lips parted in a soundless moan as you clench wildly around his fingers, but he just holds you tighter against his body and keeps pressing kisses along your jaw.
his lips are wet with both spit and slick as he watches you, his eyes filled with stars. usually when you're together, in the dark backseat of his car illuminated only by the moonlight and nearby streetlamps, it's hard to make out the details. it's dark, and everything is fuzzy from both the alcohol and the late hour. but now, he's realizing how stupid he was for never letting this happen sooner. he could've ended up going his whole life without ever seeing you like this, laying completely fucked out under the soft light in your bedroom, your pupils wide and eyes watery and so, so beautiful.
he waits until you've calmed down again, leaning away to give you a little space, but your hand shoots out to grab his wrist and keep him close to you and he can't help but smile. when you open your eyes you're expecting to find a cocky smirk, to see how proud of himself he is for having you in the palm of his hand so easily, but it's not there. just that soft smile.
“now. what do you want?” he says. “i should be asking you that way more often.”
“want you inside,” you pant out. “now. please? i— i missed you.” you shouldn't have said the last part out loud, but at this point you don't care anymore. all your cards are out on the table.
his eyes widen a little at your boldness, but he bites his lip and nods. he can't lie and say he wasn't secretly hoping you'd say that, but he'd be just as happy to sit here on the floor and eat you out over and over and over again. he'd do anything you want at this point, and not just because he feels like he owes you. he does, but it's deeper than that. it's a different kind of feeling, one that makes him want to do cheesy shit like lay his jacket over puddles for you and buy an airplane to write your name in the sky.
as he starts to position himself between your legs on the bed, you watch his face. his expression is outwardly neutral, but little by little you've started to recognize the signs of his happiness. it looks good on him.
but your brain isn't content with that, not just yet. you swallow as a thought crosses your mind, and you can't push it down any longer.
“wait,” you say quietly, forcing the word out before you can reconsider. he stops immediately, his eyes searching your face for anything he can find, any sign that you've changed your mind about this.
“yeah?” he replies, his voice just as quiet, as if he's afraid to speak too loudly and break the tension of this moment.
you clear your throat as best you can manage, though it's kind of starting to get sore from how much and how loudly you've been moaning all night. “just curious,” you start, nervousness suddenly starting to creep in. but tonight is for being honest, and you can handle the truth. probably.
“before, while we were together— well, it doesn't really count as being ‘together’ but you know what i mean.” you pause again, chewing your lip. “did you ever… y'know. was there ever anybody else?”
hansol exhales, still hovering over you. “no. unless you count lotion and my hand, ‘cause there was a lot of that.” your eyes soften and you visibly relax at his words, and he mentally kicks himself for ever making you even think that was the case. that there would ever be anyone else for him but you. “i know i was stupid, but i'm not that stupid.”
“okay.” you pause again, trying to figure out how to get back on track. “sorry, i just wanted to know. i don't care.”
he scoffs, but his tone is more melancholy than angry. he shifts on top of you so he can rest on his elbows, getting closer and brushing his hand over your hair. “you should care. if i had, i would've given you full permission to lay into me, cuss me out, whatever. i would've deserved it. you don't deserve that.”
“i wanted to, trust me.” you sigh. “but you're too nice to me. i thought…” you chew on your lip, eyes searching his as you try to figure out what to say. “…i don't know what i was thinking.”
“i don't think i'm anywhere near ‘too nice’,” hansol laughs. the sincerity in his expression almost makes you feel better. “i'm the luckiest dude on the planet that you didn't decide to, like, slash the tires on my car and egg my house or something instead. i really wouldn't have blamed you if you did.”
“maybe i should then, next time,” you say, a smile creeping onto your face.
he shakes his head. “there won't be a next time.”
the room goes quiet and you stare at each other for a second, letting his words sink in. you can tell he's being lighthearted, but he's not even trying to hide the sincerity behind his words.
“you can… continue now,” you say after a tense moment, breaking the silence. the tension in the room is thick but it's not uncomfortable, slowly but surely melting into a lust that's deeper than any of the times you've been drunk and horny in his car.
he nods, and he reaches down to brush your hair back behind your ear before his hands slide down your body. he seems so hesitant to let go of you, but finally he lifts one hand to grip his cock and position himself at your entrance. he braces his other hand against your hip, shivering as he brushes the tip of his cock up through your folds. fuck, he's not gonna last.
after steeling his nerves as best he can and trying to convince himself not to bust the second he's inside you, he angles himself between your legs and starts to push in.
by some miracle he manages not to cum immediately, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to think about literally anything else but how fucking beautiful you are lying beneath him, but what actually happens instead might be worse.
hansol groans once he's fully inside, slowly splitting you open bit by bit until he bottoms out with his hips flush against yours. there are so many words on his tongue begging to spill out, but he can't think straight. holy shit, he can't even think about anything right now. why did he never say anything sooner? why did he waste so much time content with putting in the least amount of effort when he could've been having you like this all along?
“i love you,” he blurts out, and for a split second you think maybe this is all a dream and somehow you passed out at the show and hit your head so hard you started hallucinating this. but then his eyes widen and he winces in that way you've started to recognize, and you almost laugh because now you know it's real.
“shit, i don't know why i said that. i'm sorry. fuck, i'm sorry,” he groans and hangs his head, but despite his embarrassment you can still feel every inch of his dick twitching inside you and it feels way too good to ignore. “you don't have to say it back. i know it's way too soon—”
“did you mean it?”
“what?”
“did you mean it?” you repeat. his attention pulls back to you, a confused yet hopeful look in his eyes that makes your heart warm.
he clears his throat, obviously trying to hide the pink spreading across his cheeks. “yeah. i think i did. and not just because you have the best pussy ever.”
“are you sure? because that's what it sounds like to me,” you tease and try to roll your eyes, but his words make you clench involuntarily around him and he curses under his breath.
“fuck— yes, i’m very sure, i meant it and i'll keep saying it forever if you'll let me.” he lets out a groan, both hands now firmly planted on your waist. “but, god, please let me fuck you now. i'm trying so goddamn hard to hold back and i'll gladly go for another round later but i'm trying to make it up to you right now and it's gonna completely ruin it if i cum in, like, five seconds.”
you can't help your laughter in that moment so all you can do is nod, lifting your hips a little to try and get him going. and he takes the hint, pulling halfway out of you before slamming back in, a loud, deep string of groans leaving his lips.
his pace starts out frantic but he quickly calms himself down, stabilizing himself through his grip on your waist and pulling you to meet his thrusts. he snaps his hips into you at a smooth pace, his cock dragging against your walls with each stroke in a way that has you clawing at his wrists for support as he holds onto you.
hansol may be bad at relationships, but he's never been bad at sex. even on a good day it really doesn't take much to have you seeing stars, but this is different. this is desperate, determined, thankful, and hopeful all wrapped into one movement, sliding in and out of you with a passion you've only ever seen when he's playing guitar.
“ha— ngh— hansol!” despite your efforts to keep it steady, your voice still comes out broken, his name escaping your lips as easily as breathing. you roll your head back against the pillow, and you're suddenly even more grateful that you're at home in your bed instead of alone in a parking lot. this is so much better, better than you could've dreamed.
“fuck, you always take my cock so good,” hansol groans as he leans forward and buries his face in your chest. “i should’ve been telling you that every single time, how good you are. so fucking good.”
the way he fucks you is strangely tender, in a way you're not sure you've ever felt before. it's rough, but somehow in a gentle way. he's taking you apart piece by piece and putting you back together with his hands, his kisses, his touch. none of the times before have ever come close to this.
maybe it's the feeling of a mattress beneath your back instead of a hard plastic seat, or maybe it's the promises hanging in the air between you that makes this time feel brand new. maybe you're just too caught up in the moment to think straight, but for the first time it finally feels like a fresh start. this time is different.
“baby, please, one more for me,” he moans into your skin as his hips begin to grow weary, his breath hot against your chest. “‘m not gonna last much longer— fuck, cum for me one more time, baby. god, you're so perfect. please, let me make you cum.”
at this point he's rambling, almost as far gone as you are, but it's like he doesn't even need to ask. as soon as the words leave his mouth you feel the familiar sensation starting to build again, burning hotter and quicker than before. you almost start to panic because you can't even tell if you have another one left in you, but you look up and meet his eyes one last time and suddenly a wave of calm washes over you at the sight of his soft brown eyes filled with way more love than you're expecting to find there.
you don't even have time to tell him when it hits you one more time, you just grab him and hang on tight as your high tears through you. you struggle to lift your legs and wrap them around his back, pulling him in even closer to you as your walls flutter uncontrollably around him. he invades your senses and you can feel him everywhere, and you can only hope he feels the way you do.
but it's obvious that he does, because “ah, shit—” is the last thing you hear before he pulls out, barely managing to get back in time before he spills all over your stomach, your thighs, your pussy, the sheets. it's everywhere, and neither of you care. his hands are still on you gripping your waist tightly like he can't bear to let go, his cock pulsing limply as it rests against your stomach. rope after rope of thick white floods over your skin, and yet it's like he barely even notices because he's so busy repeating your name, praising you again and again in between swears and shaky moans.
you're panting, your hands shaking as you reach for him, but he's already right there. he's breathing heavily himself as he drops down on the bed beside you, wrapping his arms around you and burying his head in the crook of your neck.
his weight half leaning against you is grounding, and eventually you feel your heart starting to return to normal as you become aware of the sticky puddle of sweat and cum that you're both laying in. but you just close your eyes and rest, focusing on his body warmth and his palm holding your side and the tickle of air coming from his nose as he breathes against you, and you realize nothing, no feeling in the world, has ever felt better than this.
when he reluctantly pulls himself away from your body to go look for a towel, you already know there's no question about whether or not he's staying over tonight.
once he's done cleaning you off he lifts you up into his arms, laughing and nuzzling his nose into your neck as he sets you down at your desk chair to start stripping the mess of sheets off your bed, and in that moment you can't help but think how lucky you are. he keeps saying that he's the lucky one for letting him have a second chance, but you're lucky in a lot of ways, too. lucky that it turned out he wasn't as much of an idiot as you’d thought. lucky that your heart wouldn't let you give up on him, no matter how hard you tried. lucky that after everything, hope still works sometimes.
after stumbling around your room, tossing blankets and sheets around and looking the happiest you've ever seen him, you're finally settled down together and you're back where you've always belonged, laying in his arms. it's so late that the sun is probably coming up soon and you're exhausted from the emotional rollercoaster of a night, but you couldn't care less about what happens next because everything finally feels right.
hansol sighs, his arm curled a little awkwardly around your shoulders as he twirls a lock of your hair between his fingers. “can… we not do this anymore?” he asks finally.
his voice is quiet; not shy or uncertain, just quiet. it's different than what you're used to with him. usually when you're around him everything is loud, it's fast and messy and jumbled, a whirlwind of a night followed by heartache and a pounding headache in the morning. but now he's just… quiet. all the thoughts that normally rush through your head are gone, leaving nothing but silence.
you swallow, confused. although you've already talked out all your worries, you can't help the uncertain feeling that starts to return. “what do you mean? like, right now?”
he exhales like he's thinking, and his fingers pause in your hair. “like… i don't know. i want things to be good between us. whatever we were doing before— anything but that. no more not talking about stuff. no more tension. y'know? i promise.”
“mmm.” you hum, letting his words sink in for a while. you drum your fingers absently against his chest, almost trying to make sure he's still there. “yeah. i think… i think things are good between us now.” you giggle, leaning your head against his chest. “as long as you don't pull that shit again.”
he laughs, reaching up to grab your hand off his chest and hold it there. “oh, yeah, i know. you're way too good to me for even giving me another chance. i'm so sorry i almost fucked it all up.”
“you don't have to say that anymore.”
“well like i said, babe, i'm going to—”
“you can just keep saying ‘i love you’ instead.” you interrupt, squeezing his hand in yours.
he stops short in the middle of his sentence, caught in surprise, but as soon as your words register a grin slowly begins to make its way across his face. “cool. then… i love you.”
i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, please reblog or leave a comment or an ask! it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! i put a lot of time, love, and effort into writing this, so feedback is really appreciated :) thanks for reading!!
pairing: greek god!chan x reincarnated sea nymph!f!reader
genre: angst, romance, smut | reincarnation, fantasy, greek gods!au
rating: explicit, minors DNI
word count: ~15.8k
warnings: mentions of past unhealthy relationships, (possibly inaccurate) greek mythology, lots of POV switches (but i don't think it's confusing) mentions of eating, explicit smut, multiple sex positions, unprotected sex (just don't), slight edging, overstimulation, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving), chan is strong and very in control, i think that's all but let me know if it's not
summary: Chan remembers everything. Every little thing that's happened to him since his days as one of the twelve Olympians. Poseidon to be exact. Even though he tries not to think about it now that he's living in modern times running a sad little aquarium, some memories are more vivid than others. Then, you stumble into his life and he can't explain the draw. You can't seem to figure out how this man is keeping an aquarium like this running when it seems like it's not that busy. Something about him really seems to put you off, despite the fact that he seems drawn to you. None of it makes any sense...until it does.
a/n: this is for the 13 Gods of Olympus collab that @beomcoups & @wooahaeproductions have been tirelessly working on. thank you so much for hosting this! i know this isn't the end for this couple, but i really needed to get this out into the world. if you want to know what happens next with them, let me know.
a/n 2: this is semi-unedited and i'm just throwing it out into the world but i'll come back. if you see anything glaring, no you didn't!
Wasn’t that what the humans said about another day spent working at some mindless job? Despite all the years he’s spent blending into their world, Chan still doesn’t really understand the humans. Doesn’t really understand why they put up with so many things they seemingly hate. Doesn’t really understand why they waste their short lives on something that makes them miserable. But, in fairness to the humans, Chan has also never had to worry about the trivial things that come along with working like money, possessions, or a home. When you’re one of the original gods of Olympus and life is seemingly infinite, money isn’t really an issue.
That’s who Chan was in another lifetime: Poseidon. The God of the Sea, among other things. At least, until Olympus fell. A painful thought that he usually tries to push from his mind.
In the early days after Olympus fell, Chan still went through life acknowledging who he was. He leveraged his powers for favors or for payment. He used his control of the water and everything in it to get him what he needed. But, the years went by and the Olympians became the stuff of myth. Of stories. The kind of characters that you read about in books. Only the most eccentric members of society continue to worship the Olympians as if they’re real. Which they are, Chan reminds himself. Or, they were. As the faith faded, so did the Olympians’ belief in restoring themselves to full power. One by one, they gave up the task of finding a way back until it was only Chan and Zeus left. Two of the brightest minds of Olympus. Even they had to admit their own defeat.
Which leads to the present day. Chan has taken on a new persona, for the…well, he’s lost track of what number this one is. He’s just thankful for his ability to shapeshift into someone new whenever he needs to. Takes a new name every time, too. At first, he tried to keep in touch with his siblings and the other Olympians. That, too, fades over time. It’s been at least a century since he’s spoken to any of them. Though, occasionally, he’ll catch wind of something through the chattering of local sea creatures. Something that says at least some of them are still out there.
Chan sighs. There’s really no reason for him to be wandering down memory lane in this way. He thinks, not for the first time, that maybe he needs to pick a different cover job. One that will keep his mind a little more occupied. The reality is, though, he’s tried nearly everything he could think of over the centuries. Changing professions is a frequent occurrence when he doesn’t want to let his body show too many signs of age. Not that he minds, it’s just that people start to ask too many questions about how he’s handling things someone “his age” shouldn’t be able to handle. In the end, working with sea life has always been the best. And this set up, where he’s running a smaller aquarium off of some long forgotten boardwalk in an area that doesn’t get much traffic, is also great. It isn’t even that Chan doesn’t like being around people. He finds humans entertaining in most senses. It’s just that nothing in this life is permanent for him. He’s not going to fall in love and grow old with someone. Best to just keep things at arm’s length.
Most days are more or less the same and Chan works the majority of them. On the rare days off, he’s not far away since his little house is within walking distance of both the aquarium, the boardwalk it’s on, and the water. He trusts the limited staff that he has because he pays them well. Better than any other similar business, but he values loyalty. And they don’t seem to question how he’s able to make things work. That is largely due to the anonymous donors that make monthly contributions to the aquarium. Really, it’s just Chan funneling money that he’s earned over his many years on Earth so that he can keep a business afloat. Nobody seems to have anything to say. Beyond the staff not asking questions, they are all very good at their jobs. It makes life easier for Chan that way because he doesn’t have to micromanage them. Everyone knows what they’re supposed to do and will only ask questions if they hit an actual block. No, the aquarium runs very smoothly. It just doesn’t get a lot of business.
Since every day kind of blends together, Chan almost never realizes as days or weeks or even months pass by. He’s in a sort of autopilot where he also knows what he has to do and just does it without question. It’s just rinse and repeat day in and day out.
Until it’s not. Until the first day that he notices you in his small, out of the way little aquarium. Until the day that everything starts to change.
You’re not really sure what pulls you in for the first time. You’ve probably passed this sad little aquarium dozens of times without giving it a second thought. Then, one day, you decide that you might as well go in. The cost of admission is incredibly reasonable, but you think that’s probably why you haven’t gone sooner. It might seem counterintuitive. You just wonder how well the animals can be taken care of with such a low cost of admission. You’re not sure if you can handle seeing animals mistreated. Still, there’s no going back now. Even with the outside seemingly a little poorly cared for, you still find your feet pulling you forward.
You’ve never been more wrong about anything in your life.
The dingy outside gives way to a vibrant inside that’s teeming with love and light. The art on the walls is carefully curated to match the different areas of the aquarium. There are workers with genuine smiles going about their days. Even the animals seem to be happy. It’s also deceptively large on the inside. It makes you wonder why it looks so run down from the outside. Surely, someone that cares this much about the animals could care a little more for the outside as well. Maybe that’s the point. Why waste money on an outside nobody really cares about when it can go to the best care possible?
Almost immediately, you feel a sense of peace wash over you. Just this morning, you were ready to explode from all the stress in your life. Now, stress feels like the furthest thing from your mind. In fact, you can’t even remember what you were stressed about. Strange. This is the first time you remember a single place erasing any sort of worry. Just as you’re about to consider that the place holds some kind of magic, you realize that not everyone seems to be as at ease. A mother scolds her child and an elderly couple bicker. It breaks a little bit of the illusion, though you still feel calm.
Subconsciously, your feet carry you to the area with the sea otters. They have always been some of your favorites, even if they’re not the typical sea resident that people think about. As you watch on, two chase each other around the enclosure. They seem like they must be young with the way they can’t seem to stop playing. It’s incredibly endearing to watch. Another, slightly larger, otter emerges from around a bend and the original two quickly dip under the water to shoot off. It almost seems like a mother scolding her children, but maybe you’re creating too many stories within your own mind. Your imagination, especially around sea life, can be a bit active.
A few minutes later, a worker comes out and starts feeding all the otters. They’re quick to come and get the food, showing just how many there are. You weren’t expecting to see such a large population in this off-the-beaten-path aquarium. The man feeding them looks young, but that’s true of nearly everyone that you’ve seen here. They all look young and entirely too pretty. This man is no different. He’s sporting a very blond, shaggy semi-mullet that doesn’t look like it could possibly be his natural hair color. Yet, it looks remarkably believable on him. When you frown at the amount of food he’s giving to the otters, he walks over to the side of the enclosure and leans on the railing close to you. He tosses a bucket of crab legs out into the water and the otters go crazy for that. It seems an odd choice for animals living in captivity, but what do you know?
“Did you know,” the man begins, “that sea otters eat 25% of their weight in food every day?”
Well. That certainly explains it. “I didn’t.”
“I like to give them the crab legs too because it’s a fun little activity for them,” he carries on with a smile. “It’s also something they’d eat in the wild.”
“That seems…expensive,” you say carefully.
The man only smiles bigger. “Oh it is! But our boss has really great donors for the aquarium and we can afford to feed them well.”
“Well, then the otters are definitely lucky,” you note and turn back to the otters.
“We all are. Chan takes care of us just as well as all the animals that live here,” he says.
“Chan?” you ask.
“Oh, our boss,” the man carries on happily. “I’m Soonyoung, by the way.”
You take his extended hand and give your own name in response. Soonyoung happily carries on with telling you all about the otters they have, including the name of each one. Then he offers to take you on a tour of the aquarium because of your interest. It’s too nice of an offer to turn down. It also further proves that you should not judge a book by its cover. Every inch of the aquarium is so masterfully cared for and every living being seems happy. That is, if a fish can also seem happy. The tanks aren’t overcrowded or dirty. And, you can’t explain it, but you can just tell they’re happy. Each person that they encounter seems to genuinely love their job. You’re not even sure why you’re paying such close attention. Or why you care so much.
Truthfully, there’s always been something of a call to the ocean. A peace that comes over you when you’re near the water. It was enough to get you to move cities, figuring that would satisfy that need. The pull only got stronger. Plenty of people feel at peace surrounded by water, you reason, and don’t think further on it. You don’t consider that worrying about the conditions in an aquarium may not be normal. Don’t consider that most people don’t start getting moody when they’ve been separated from the ocean too long. Don’t consider that it really is only the ocean. Although sometimes a freshwater lake, when it’s big enough with plenty of fish in it, will fill up your cup, it never lasts as long. It also never works to alleviate your mood when you do something as simple as going into the pool.
The trip around the aquarium with Soonyoung seems like exactly what you need. Until suddenly, it doesn’t. As he’s taking you through an exhibit area, a young man appears from behind a closed door marked as Staff Only. He’s got a dress shirt on with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His short dark hair highlights striking features. And, you think, he would be beautiful if it weren’t for the frown on his face. He looks entirely too serious for someone so young. He’s also much more dressed up than anyone else at the aquarium.
“Oh, there he is!” Soonyoung exclaims, causing the man to turn towards the two of you. His face softens a bit at seeing Soonyoung before studying you somewhat quizzically.
“Soon,” he says with the air of someone exasperated at Soonyoung’s antics.
“This is Chan, our boss,” Soonyoung carries on and your eyebrows fly into your hairline as he introduces you to his boss.
Truthfully, Chan looks younger than Soonyoung in some ways. But, there’s a wisdom in his face that your new friend lacks. Like he’s lived a hundred lifetimes already. It catches you off guard. But, Chan extends his hand to shake yours and that’s when you feel it. A sudden surge of annoyance that lasts only as long as your hands are connected. If he feels anything, he doesn’t show it. His smile is friendly and it only confuses you further.
A moment later, Chan excuses himself from the pair of you and Soonyoung leads you away to continue the tour. You can’t really shake the odd feeling you got from the handshake, though. When Soonyoung concludes his tour, you ask about opportunities to volunteer. There’s something about this place that feels like home and you’re not really sure what it is. Soonyoung’s face brightens.
“Chan doesn’t believe in volunteers. Even if you only come in once a month, he pays you for your time and obviously waives the entrance fee so you can come visit even when you’re not working,” he says with a bright smile.
“Oh, I don’t need a job…” you start before he waves you off.
“Leave me your contact information and I’ll pass it on. He coordinates everything himself and he can go over it all with you. I’m sure he’d be happy to have another animal lover around here,” Soonyoung says with a smile that you can’t ignore. You just met this man, why are you already incapable of saying no to him?
“Do you have some paper?” you ask.
Chan spends the rest of the day thinking about you after a simple handshake. Then, when Soonyoung tells him that you’re interested in helping out, his pulse races in a way that’s entirely foreign to him. He can’t remember the last time a human turned his world upside down with something so seemingly trivial. In fact, he was so focused on keeping his face neutral, he didn’t notice the look on your face in response to him. He’s too concerned with seeing you again to consider anything else. Too consumed by the need to unravel whatever mystery there is to you that he can’t seem to place. Honestly, Chan can’t remember the last time he felt anything even approaching this. Nothing makes him really feel in this way. Not anymore, at least. He finds himself counting down until your first shift.
Until it actually gets here, that is.
You report to Chan’s office, just as he asks. He holds his breath as you cast your eyes around his office area. Wonders what you’re thinking when your gaze lingers on certain things within the office. For a second, Chan considers whether it seems human enough. It’s been nearly a year since anyone new joined the staff and he wonders if he’s gotten sloppy. Nothing in your face seems to give any sort of feeling away. It surprises Chan a bit that he can’t seem to read anything about you. When your eyes rest on him, he sees a flicker of something he can’t place. Something that looks an awful lot like annoyance.
He confirms it when his hand accidentally grazes yours to hand over your new ID. It says volunteer since you insist on only being there when you have the time, but it’s a full ID anyway. That’s just how Chan does things. When his hand meets yours briefly, he gets the sharpest flash of irritation he’s ever felt. It’s confusing because it is definitely not his own emotion that he’s feeling. And that’s not something that Chan can remember happening before either. Not like this at least.
Chan has powers, he knows that. He can, sometimes, tune into the emotions of others. It’s easiest when he’s trying to tune into a sea animal or someone at home in water. Back before Olympus fell, he was able to tune into the emotions or even the minds of all the creatures in the sea, like the sirens, sea nymphs, merpeople, and everything else you could imagine. Even then, he usually has to actively try to tap into those emotions. It’s not something that just…happens. Not when all he’s done is let his hand graze someone else’s. Not when he’s not actively trying to feel something. It shouldn’t be something that happens with a mere human, either.
You, for your part, don’t seem to realize there’s anything out of the ordinary. Your face looks the same. The same annoyance that you’re trying your hardest to mask under a poor attempt at indifference. Trying to shake it off, Chan calls for Soonyoung to come into the office. But, that doesn’t make it any better. It’s worse, really, because your face immediately changes into one of genuine happiness. Soonyoung seems just as happy to see you and happy at the prospect of showing you around. To be fair, Soonyoung always seems happy when there’s someone new around for him to chat with. Still, your face lighting up for him frustrates Chan in a way he can’t explain.
Your first few times volunteering at the aquarium go really smoothly. Well, once you’re handed off to Soonyoung, it’s smooth. There’s just something about your new boss that you can’t really put your finger on. Seeing him causes annoyance to flare within you. It’s something deep that you can’t really explain and can’t recall feeling before. There’s no reason for you to dislike this man. He’s really just a man, which shouldn’t be enough on its own. Whenever he’s around, he’s perfectly friendly. It’s obvious that he cares deeply for every living thing within the aquarium. This is something he’s incredibly passionate about, which should endear him to you. Yet, it doesn’t. You can’t recall ever disliking a fellow animal lover until now.
Thankfully, you don’t really have to deal with Chan very often. Soonyoung handles your training when you’re working, but everyone that works there seems kind. And everyone seems young. The place is full of bright-eyed 20-somethings who all genuinely seem to want to be there. It contributes to that little nagging feeling in that back of your mind that something is just…off. Not with anyone that works there apart from Chan, though.
Soonyoung seems delighted to see how quickly the otters warm up to you. Apparently, they can be a bit picky with new people. But, the first time you meet them, they all flock to you instead of their normal handler. Anyone else might be frustrated. Instead, he only thinks it’s cute that they seem to love you. Tells you that he thinks he means you're a good person. Apparently, he often judges people based on how the animals react. You both have that in common. It only seems to reinforce the point when this happens with each new enclosure you go to. None of the animals seem to treat you like a stranger. It’s more like they’re greeting an old friend. You can’t really explain that you feel the same way. Your brain periodically supplies a story for some of your new animal friends, too. It’s not the first time it’s happened and you figure it only makes sense in this setting. Your imagination is active and you love the sea creatures.
Each new visit to the aquarium seems somehow better than the last. Well, in most ways. You often feel Chan’s gaze on you before you even look over at him to check. And each time he is actually looking at you. There’s something that just sets your nerves on edge about it. Even the animals around you seem to react to the sudden surge of anger that courses through you. It’s a strong physical reaction without any clear reason that you can figure out. Yet, it’s the way you feel every time you sense his attention on you.
“You good?” Soonyoung asks, eyes cast down at your hands balled into fists.
“Yeah, sorry,” you apologize, turning back to him. “What were you saying?”
“What’s going on with you and Chan?” he asks skeptically.
“Between Chan and me?” you ask with clear surprise.
“Yeah,” he says. “He spends half the time you’re here watching you and…”
“He does, doesn’t he?” you ask, a little too loud. “What’s up with that?”
“What’s up with your hatred for him?” he asks instead.
“I don’t know, I just get a bad feeling,” you say after a moment. “Do you like him?”
“Do I like the boss that overpays me to hang out with animals all day?” he asks with a laugh. Then, he looks at your face and carries on. “Oh, you’re serious. Yeah, I love Chan. None of us really know him that well because he keeps his distance from the staff outside of work, mostly. But, he’s the best boss I can imagine having. I don’t ever get bad vibes off him.”
“Huh,” is all you say before turning back to whatever Soonyoung is teaching you.
Your eyes catch on the mysterious aquarium owner once again and that anger flares. But, you realize that it’s something more complicated than anger. It’s far too complex an emotion to put a name too and definitely too complex for someone you barely know.
It’s just odd you think, not for the first time, that someone seemingly so young is running an aquarium that doesn’t seem to be that busy. How is he affording to take care of the animals and pay his staff so well? How is someone that seems so unlikeable able to convince so many donors to give money when it could be better spent elsewhere?
The nagging voice in the back of your mind reminds you that you seem to be the only person that doesn’t love Chan. Everyone on the staff seems to love him. The few donors his staff have met also seem to only have good things to say. You have to consider the possibility that your feelings about him could be personal or that you’re seeing something that doesn’t impact anyone else. It’s still weird, though. Nothing about this business model should work. Is that a reason to hate someone you don’t actually know? You’re not sure.
Chan speaks with a dolphin that he’s grown to trust. No, not Chan. Poseidon. He’s Poseidon again, in all his glory. And he’s asking the dolphin to find someone for him. He’s explaining where she might be and what to say to her when the dolphin finds her. Stressing how important it is that the dolphin is the one to find her because they’re not the only ones looking. There are others looking as well and Poseidon doesn’t want them to find her. It would be bad, he knows, if anyone but himself or someone working on his behalf were to discover the truth. He’s protecting her as much as he’s protecting himself. At least, that’s what his brain insists. Whether it’s true or not, well…
The scene blurs and shifts. Poseidon is once again by the sea and this time speaking to a giant squid instead of the dolphin. The squid tells him that the woman has been found. That the dolphin succeeded and is currently speaking to her. That brings Poseidon a small sense of relief. Surely, when she understands the situation, she’ll be not only willing to come home but happy to do so. Nothing can keep them separated any longer. They are truly meant to be.
Again, the scene blurs and shifts. This time, Poseidon sits on his throne, trident in hand, while one of his brother’s messengers kneels before him. When she rises, she delivers the message that Zeus has requested for Poseidon and his bride-to-be to join himself and Hera for an upcoming event. That’s not good, Poseidon thinks, not good at all. Surely his brother isn’t fully aware of the situation and yet he sends his messengers with invitations like this. Just as Poseidon prepares himself to make an excuse, the door to the room opens. Usually, he doesn’t allow interruptions, as his guards well know. But, the sight of his love walking through with her head held high keeps him from scolding the guards. He cannot believe that she’s back and walking in as if nothing happened. As if it hasn’t been weeks since they last saw each other. He got word she was coming back, but had not dared to hope for this.
“I’m so sorry to interrupt, my love, but I heard your brother had sent an invitation,” she begins. The messenger won’t notice the hesitation or the emotions that pour off of her because she doesn’t have that gift. Poseidon feels it, though. It doesn’t put him at ease
“It’s fine. You are always welcome to hear anything shared here with me,” he says quickly.
She turns to the messenger with her signature soft smile. “I would still apologize for interrupting your message. However, I heard that you were here with an invitation. I fear that my darling may have declined as I was recently suffering an illness.”
“Yes, that is what I was about to do,” Poseidon agrees.
“There is no need for that as I have told you that I am feeling much better now,” she says with a brief, but calculated, smile at Poseidon. She returns to the messenger. “Please inform Zeus that we would be delighted to join him.”
“I am thankful to hear you’re feeling better and to…see you with my own eyes,” the messenger says slightly suspiciously.
“I am also thankful that I will get to see Hera. After all, we have so much to discuss with the upcoming wedding,” his bride-to-be says.
With pleasant goodbyes, the messenger takes her leave and Poseidon excuses the guards remaining in the chamber. He indicates that his bride should follow him to a much smaller room off to the side so that they can speak. After all, there is so much to discuss after her running away and only to finally return. Yes, she had indicated to the messenger that she intended to go through with the wedding, but Poseidon needs answers. He needs to know why she left and to impress upon her that she could not do something like that again.
Chan wakes up in the early hours of the morning in a cold sweat from the most vivid dream he’s had in centuries. The fact that a dream lingers at all is strange on its own. He doesn’t dream. Not anymore, at least. When he does, the subject is usually something inane and the remnants of it are gone by the time he’s fully awake. This dream is both vivid and lingering, seared into the back of his eyelids like it may never leave him. Perhaps it is because it’s not just a dream.
There’s a lot to Chan’s past that he wants to forget and for good reason. When he was one of the gods of Olympus, he made a lot of decisions that he wouldn’t make now. Or, he likes to think he wouldn’t make the same decisions now. It’s hard to remember the feeling of the weight of the world so many years later. But, he knows he did a lot of things in the interest of finding the greater good. Something that ruined some of his closest relationships and clearly still haunts him today.
Which leads him to this dream. A dream of Amphitrite. The legends about the gods of Olympus over the years have gotten a lot of information both right and wrong. Unfortunately, the legend of Poseidon and Amphitrite seems mostly right, at least to Chan. She was the one true love of his life. The only being in the entire universe that he actually wanted to spend an eternity with. And he had not treated her the way he should have. Hadn’t appreciated her and respected her autonomy the way he should have. That’s something he thinks about now, as he continues to mature and evolve to understand all the mistakes he made once upon a time. He knows that the way he tried to hold onto her was wrong and that he worried entirely too much about what the other Olympians would think if he lost her.
There’s also a part of him that lingers on the way she looked in the dream. He remembers that conversation because it actually happened. But, he’s not sure if he’s actually remembering the way she looked or the way he felt a tightness to his chest. That could just as easily be him looking back on the interaction through a different lens. There are so many things he wishes he could go back and change with her. So many things he wishes he could say. Mostly, even though he loved her more than he even loved himself, he wishes he could go back and give her the chance to walk away. To leave him without any sort of reprisal from the other Olympians.
After all these years, he regrets how their relationship went. It wasn’t love when someone didn’t have options. He knows that he can’t change the past. He knows that he can’t even ask for forgiveness. It’s part of why he keeps himself from getting too close to anyone now, he thinks. As a sort of penance for forcing the only one he ever loved into a marriage that he can’t say that she wanted. Of course, she told him when she came back it was because she wanted to. Insisted that she was just nervous to be thrust into such a spotlight by his side. Says that she was worried because he had other relationships with other people and she saw how it affected other Olympians, like Hera with Zeus. That wasn’t who she ever wanted to turn into. Chan took her at what she said. It was only after he lost her that he realized it may not have been the truth. Their love may not have been the great story that he created in his head.
He knows that he won’t be able to fall back to sleep, so he resigns himself to starting his day. After he gets ready, he sits down with a cup of coffee and his schedule for the aquarium. Today is the once per month visit from the local marine veterinarians. Although miraculously, it seems the animals never need much care, the vets still come in every month. They collect samples and run their tests to ensure that everything is going well as a general health study. They have staff that come over more frequently for some of the animals that need more consistent care. It’s also an excellent place to study since Chan allows them such complete access.
That monthly visit isn’t what really catches his eye. Your name is on the schedule and Soonyoung has you listed as the person who will be working with the vets to make sure they have the help they need. It’s standard, really, and Chan knows Soonyoung will be around as well. That man can never ignore a chance to chat with anyone that comes through regularly. Chan also knows that Soonyoung trusts you. There’s just something about your name that sends his stomach lurching without an explanation. Sure, you haven’t exactly been the warmest in the interactions with Chan, but you’re good at the jobs assigned. It’s like there’s something just on the edge of his consciousness about you. Something just out of reach. A connection that he should be able to make and can’t. At least, not yet.
Even though he’s going to be very early, he sets off for the aquarium and tries to shake the feeling that there’s something about you he should see. He’s never been very good when he can’t solve a problem. You may present his most complex puzzle yet.
It’s one of the best days since you first started volunteering at the aquarium. Somehow this is the first time you’ve gotten to see the vets there for a full day and it even makes you extend your own shift. Well, it’s partially influenced by Soonyoung’s offer to buy dinner if you’re still there when he gets finished. Mostly, though, you’re just fascinated watching the vets do their work. It’s interesting to see how willing the animals are to be still for tests and how it seems like they know what to expect. You know that animals are smart and they can learn. There’s something a little different about this, though. Not only do they seem to actually see the veterinarians, but they also actively wait their turns to be seen.
At the end of the day, you’re a little tired and feeling very accomplished at the same time. Maybe all of Soonyoung’s energy is actually infectious because you find that you’re ready to go get dinner with your friend after work. His presence is somehow calming to you even in all of the chaos. Once you make sure everything is done, you change into the spare clothes you have with you. The last thing you want is to smell like fish and whatever else got on you over the course of the day. Then, you go to find your friend.
“Hey, are you ready for dinner?” you ask without realizing that he’s standing with Chan.
“You guys have plans?” Chan asks with curiosity, looking from you back to Soonyoung.
Soonyoung looks incredibly apologetic. “I’m so sorry, but I completely forgot that it’s roomies night in and I can’t skip it because I missed the last one.”
“Oh, that’s fine,” you say quickly and wave it off.
“You should come! We always have a bunch of appetizers and stuff. I can’t remember what movie it is tonight, but it’ll be fun!” he says, as enthusiastic as ever. “I know I offered to buy dinner tonight…”
“I appreciate it, Soonie, but I think I’m just going to get dinner and go home,” you say. “I’m going to hold you to your dinner offer, though.”
“I was actually just about to go get something to eat myself,” Chan interrupts and you narrow your eyes. “I would be happy to get dinner for you as well as a thanks for everything you’ve been doing here.”
“I don’t want to make…” you start, only to have Soonyoung cut across you.
“That’s so nice of you, Chan,” he says and turns to you. “You should go! He’s got the best taste in restaurants. I still think about the last time he took all the staff out.”
“It’s really fine, I can just get something on my way home,” you say.
“I insist,” Chan says with something unreadable on his face. “Please. Let me say thank you for jumping in so completely.”
“Yeah, what reason could you have to say no?” Soonyoung asks with a smirk. That’s the other thing about your new friend. He can be such a shithead when he wants to be. Of course he’s using this to needle you about your dislike of the boss. It comes up at least once every time you’re at the aquarium (and plenty of times when you’re texting outside of work).
You sigh, knowing that there’s no easy way to get out of this. “Okay, let me just get my things and I’ll meet you at the entrance.”
The walk from the aquarium to Chan’s favorite restaurant is outwardly quiet. It’s not entirely uncomfortable to walk in silence with you. Or, it wouldn’t be if your emotions weren’t screaming into the silence. The general annoyance that seems to be present any time Chan is in the same space as you comes through loudest. There’s more now that it’s just the two of you outside of work now, too. He feels a kind of anger and distrust coming off of you along with confusion about why you feel any of these emotions. It takes time to separate that as your own confusion because Chan’s also confused. The two of you barely interact at work and yet your distaste for him rolls off of you in violent waves, like an angry ocean. It’s the only time he’s felt something like this from someone at work. Everyone else seems to like him at the very least. Something about you is very different.
Thankfully, it’s harder for Chan to sense you once you get into the restaurant. It’s a little busier since it’s a weekend, but you still get seated right away. If you’re impressed with how Chan greets the staff like old friends, you don’t show it. Just sit down in the chair and accept the menu with a smile before disappearing behind it. Suddenly, this doesn’t really seem like the best idea. What does it matter if you don’t like him?
“You don’t like me,” Chan announces a second later. He never has been able to let a mystery go unsolved. He’s also always prided himself on being able to work out a puzzle. He tries not to ever be as arrogant as his brother, though.
That makes you peer across the table at him. When he thinks you’re not going to answer, you blurt out: “No, I don’t,” and seem genuinely surprised.
Chan chuckles and looks back at the menu. “At least you admitted it.”
“I really don’t know why I just said that,” you carry on, setting your menu down.
“Is it not true?” Chan asks.
“No,” you say and that makes Chan raise his eyebrows. “I mean, it is true. I don’t really like you. I’m just not sure why…”
“Why you said it? Or why you don’t like me?” he presses.
“Both,” you say with a shrug.
“Can I ask you something?” he wonders.
“You can,” you say. “I’m not gonna promise to answer if I don’t want to.”
“That’s fair,” Chan says with a smile. “Why do you volunteer at the aquarium if you don’t like me?”
“I like to be around the animals,” you say immediately. “I feel at peace.”
“You misunderstood part of what I was asking,” he says. Your eyes are wide. “Why not let me pay you if you don’t like me? You could be making money instead of offering your time for free.”
That actually makes you laugh. Not a fake polite laugh, one of the real laughs he hears when Soonyoung gets you going. It’s a beautiful sound and it instantly reminds Chan of something. Or someone. He’s not really sure beyond wanting to hear it again.
“You’re kind of funny. I’ll give you that,” you concede.
“I’m glad you think so,” he says, eyes still glued to you.
“I don’t know why it doesn’t feel right to take money for working at the aquarium. It just doesn’t,” you shrug. “It’s the first time in my life that I’ve ever really felt like I was where I’m supposed to be and I probably sound crazy saying it. But, I get to the aquarium and my brain gets quiet and it’s like a weight lifts off my chest.”
“You don’t sound crazy,” is all Chan can say for a second.
He’s looking at you differently now and he’s not even concerned if you realize it. It’s like something clicks for him. Like he finally pinpoints what it is about you. Of course he didn’t realize at first. It’s so unbelievably uncommon that he never thought to look. But, there’s no denying it. The way you are around the aquarium, the way you seem to slot in like you’ve been there all along, the way he can read your emotions without trying.
This isn’t your first life. He’s only seen it a handful of times since Olympus fell. The main gods of Olympus, like himself, were able to seek refuge on Earth. Other beings were not so lucky. Many managed one or two reincarnations, but more still just…ceased to exist. It’s something he and some of the others spent a lot of time working through in the beginning. It’s been over two hundred years since Chan came across a reincarnated soul. Yet, here you are. Sitting before him. There’s no mistaking it. Once upon a time, you had been a sea nymph in Olympus. Everything clicks into place when he acknowledges that. He knows the sea nymphs as well as he knows himself. It seems impossible that he wouldn’t recognize all the signs and mannerisms. Then again, he hasn’t come across a reincarnated sea nymph in a very long time. Centuries.
“Are you okay?” you ask after a few moments.
“Yeah, sorry,” he says and shakes his head. This isn’t the place to try to process this. “I just haven’t met anyone that could relate to the way I feel in a long time.”
“You don’t think I’m crazy?” you ask, voice thick with hope. It’s the first time he’s been around you without feeling any negative emotions.
“Not at all,” he assures you. “I should have known that you understood as well. I felt like you were a kindred spirit, but…”
“I’ve been cold?” you offer with a light laugh.
“Cautious, I would say,” he disagrees.
“Maybe we should just start over,” you suggest and that makes Chan smile.
Dinner actually gets much livelier from there on out. Realizing your past allows Chan to entirely change his approach. Without saying anything before you’re ready, he lets his guard down. In doing so, he hopes that some part of you will realize the connection runs deep. It seems to work, even if it’s only a little. Curiosity becomes the most prominent emotion and he capitalizes on it.
Chan is able to suggest some of the dishes that he really likes before you ask if you can just get a few things and share them. You’re asking questions about the aquarium and his life that he tries to answer in a way that sounds honest without inviting follow up questions. Instead, he finds himself wanting to know more about you. Despite your initial reluctance to talk too much about yourself, he gets you to open up to his questions. Each answer you give draws him in further. Gives more of a glimpse into you as a person. Nothing feels too small to learn. He wants to map each of your reactions to things you actually love to things that seem difficult to speak about.
Before either of you realizes it, it’s been over two hours and the restaurant is starting to wind down. Of course, nobody rushes you since Chan knows everyone there by name. But, you still insist it’s probably best to head out. Surprisingly, he’s still only picking up on warmer emotions from you now and maybe that makes him a little bolder.
“There’s this really great ice cream shop just a little walk that way,” he says as you’re exiting the restaurant.
The sideways look you give him leaves him wondering if he’s misread the situation. Then, you’re smiling like you know a secret. “I’m shocked you eat dessert.”
“Are you…are you checking me out?” he splutters. Very little manages to catch him off guard and you have him stumbling over a simple question.
Without answering, you just laugh and start walking in the direction he indicated. When he doesn’t immediately follow, you look over your shoulder and call out to him. “Well? I thought we were getting ice cream.”
“You can’t just say shit like that and expect…” he starts as he hurries to catch up with you.
“Expect what?” you ask, actually poking out at his side. “I would bet my entire life savings that I’m not the first person to check you out.”
“Oh, so you were checking me out,” he says like he’s just won.
“I think that’s only fair with how many times I’ve already caught you checking me out,” you fire back, effectively wiping the smug look of Chan’s face.
It’s been a long time since someone challenged him the way you seem to. Now that you’re talking openly, it feels like he’s known you for years. There’s a comfort that he can’t remember feeling in centuries. It feels like you just implicitly understand a piece of them that he tries to hide in any other situation.
Something whispers from the back of his mind, like a tickle of familiarity. He ignores it, though, in favor of getting to know the incredibly interesting person before him that doesn’t seem to hate him anymore.
After having dinner with Chan, you start to look forward to your shifts for an entirely different reason. Yes, you still get the peace that comes along with being around so many beautiful animals and so much water. You also get to feel the pleasant shift of feelings when Chan is around. Instead of feeling like something gnaws at your consciousness, now you feel a warmth coursing through your body. It’s a little strange, too, because it’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before.
Soonyoung notices the way you and Chan gravitate towards each other now and says nothing despite the knowing smile. You don’t have to ask him to know that he thinks it’s down to him insisting you get dinner together. He doesn’t comment, though, and you’re not going to give him the satisfaction. It’s hard to stop yourself from smiling, even when that makes Soonyoung smile even harder. It’s like he wants all the details of something that you don’t have many details on. At least, not at first.
Hanging out with Chan outside of the aquarium becomes a regular thing, even on the days that you don’t go in. Each of you shows the other your favorite places in the area and you find yourself looking forward to that time more than anything else. Once or twice, you even consider asking Chan if he’s got a more full time position for you at the aquarium. You don’t quite realize you’re not living fully until something like this happens and so much more of life opens up before you. For now, though, you’ll settle for dragging him to a couple of food trucks that you love. He looks entirely out of place in his slacks and dress shirt, though at least he’s rolled up his sleeves.
“So when are you going to come work with us full time,” he asks after sitting down with his food in front of him. He doesn’t ask you to work for him. Even his phrasing is considerate.
“Oh, well, I…” you stutter out.
“You don’t have to, of course,” he assures you. “I’ve just never met anyone that’s better at it than you and you’re not even there that often”
“I have been considering it,” you admit.
“What’s holding you back?” he asks.
You take a bite to give yourself a minute to think about the answer to that. What is holding you back? Admittedly, you’ve never felt more at ease anywhere else. It’s increasingly harder to leave every time your shift is over. You look forward to when the next one will be. Have even added extra shifts when you can fit them in. There’s a part of you that also looks forward to seeing Chan. Although, you know that you could see him whenever you wanted. He always seems to make time for you.
“I don’t know,” you finally say.
“Well, there’s a position waiting for you if you ever want it,” he says with a look on his face that you can’t quite read.
“Why are you so patient with me?” you ask.
“Because we understand each other,” he answers a little too quickly.
“It’s more than that,” you press, feeling, for the first time, like he’s keeping something from you.
Chan sighs and sets his food down. “It is, but this isn’t the place to discuss it.”
That catches you a little off guard. Thinking that there was more to the story and having him admit it so easily were two different things. “You’re not secretly in love with me or something, are you?”
He laughs at the look on your face and it eases a little of the tension. “I don’t think it’s a secret that I love being around you.”
“No, I guess that’s true,” you say with your own laugh.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy, but I’ll tell you when we finish eating and we can leave. This kind of thing…well, it’s best to say to you somewhere that’s not so out in the open.”
That announcement surprises you, but it also excites you a little. It’s difficult not to rush through dinner, a fact that Chan picks up on and laughs about. Makes a joke about wanting to get him alone that has color rising on your cheeks. There’s an air of confidence about him despite whatever he’s going to share with you. It makes it a little easier for you to also be calm because it can’t be that bad. If it were bad, he would not seem so confident.
After dinner, and a short back and forth, he takes you back to his apartment, which includes walking by the aquarium. Somehow, you’re still much more nervous than he seems to be. It seems like the most natural thing in the world for him to invite you back to see where he lives. He also seems quick to assure you that it’s not that he’s trying to get you alone. It just needs to be a space that is actually private.
Despite any better judgment you may have, your curiosity is piqued. What is it that he has to say to you that others can’t overhear? Is he about to admit some crazy belief? Or tell you that somehow you were destined to meet? You’re not really sure what sort of comment might come once the two of you are alone, but you’re distracted the second you step into his apartment. It’s amazingly decorated. It feels both cozy and modern at the same time. It also feels so impossibly like him and the ocean combined into one. Maybe that’s saying the same thing. He does give you the impression of the water sometimes.
Being inside of Chan’s personal space also feels surprisingly natural. He disappears off into the kitchen without a second thought and allows you to look around the space. When he returns, it’s with a drink for you as he encourages you to take a seat on his couch. It’s the most comfortable couch you’ve ever sat down on.
“How much do you know about the Gods of Olympus?” he asks without any preamble. Thankfully, you haven’t taken a drink yet. Otherwise, you might have spit it out.
“Like the stuff from mythology?” you ask. It’s so unexpected.
A little voice whispers in the back of your head asking if it’s really that unexpected. The truth is: you’ve always been incredibly fascinated by the myths. There’s a draw to them almost to the point of getting lost in them. But, are you going to admit that you’ve read all the books you could find and watched all the shows or movies? It’s only fantasy, really, when you think about it. You’ve bared a lot of your soul to Chan without meaning to. You’re not sure you want him to laugh at you about this. That same little voice comes back to ask if he would laugh. You’re not so sure.
“Not exactly,” he says with a knowing laugh. “You consume it though, don’t you? I can see it on your face.”
“I - well, lots of people do, don’t they?” you ask noncommittally.
“Not like you, I’d bet,” he answers, unbothered.
“I guess it’s a bit of a guilty pleasure,” you finally admit.
“I think it’s more than that,” Chan presses.
“How can it be? They’re just myths after all,” you say.
“Do you believe that?” he asks and it’s like he’s challenging every one of your long held notions.
“Chan, what did you want to tell me?” you ask.
“Let me tell you about Olympus as I remember it,” he says.
“As you…remember it,” you say slowly. “Chan, what…”
“Just hear me out and let me tell you a story. You can decide afterwards if I’m crazy or if it makes everything fall into place,” he says.
And he does tell you a story. It’s a story about the Gods of Olympus with more information thrown in than you’ve ever read in any story or seen in any movie. It’s at once more fantastical and somehow more believable than anything. There are parts that you recognize. Parts that seem to line up with the stories. And there are parts that feel entirely new. Parts that are deeply emotional and clearly difficult for Chan to say. You delight in the way his face lights up when he talks about the parties or living amongst the sea animals. Completely accept it at face value when he tells you about how his scouts used to be dolphins and how much he misses that. Your heart breaks when he talks about the fights with his siblings and the other Olympians. It all feels like you’re walking along beside him in his stories.
It’s insane to think that any of this could be real. You keep telling yourself as you listen to the stories. But, it’s hard to remember that when you see the look on Chan’s face. There’s fondness when he talks about some of the sillier memories. Like he can’t believe that anyone was ever that ridiculous. There’s genuine pain as he tries to get through the more complicated parts. When it comes time to tell you about how Olympus fell, he chokes up.
You believe him. It’s like something shifts and you can tell that he’s not crazy. He’s not delusional. He’s not on some crazy conspiracy theory. He was Poseidon once upon a time. The feelings of calm that you feel every time you walk into the aquarium wash over you. Like this is the only thing that’s ever made sense. That should be a little disorienting to take in all that information. Instead it feels like the most natural thing in the world.
Chan isn’t even done talking when you lean over and press your lips against his. You’re not even sure why you do it or if it’s the right thing to do. When you go to pull away, he puts his hand behind your head and holds you against him. Kisses you breathless like nobody has ever kissed you before. It feels instantly familiar and new all at the same time. Like something you may have done before. But, it also sends sparks flying through your entire body.
“So, should I carry on with telling you how you fit into all of this?” he asks when the two of you break apart from the kiss.
“Me?” you ask, still recovering from the impulsive act of kissing him.
“Yes, you,” he says with a soft smile.
“I’m just a person lucky enough to meet an actual god, what could I…” you start.
“You’re not just a person,” he contradicts with a frown.
“I’m not trying to diminish myself or anything,” you assure him, but he still shakes his head.
“Can I talk?” he asks without any exasperation, though you may deserve it. You just nod. “You’re not just a person. You’re…well, I’m not sure how it works, really. I’ve come across it so infrequently. You have the reincarnated soul of a sea nymph within you. Possibly even one I encountered in another life.”
“How can that be?” you ask with wide eyes. “No, I’m just a normal person, I…”
“If you think about it, it actually makes perfect sense,” he says and carries on.
It sounds so simple when he outlines it for you. He asks you about your connection with the ocean, talks about your instant familiarity with the aquarium and how at peace you feel. Points out that you never feel at peace in a swimming pool, though you’re sure you’ve never said that to him. He talks about your mood shifting when you’re away from the water for too long or the way that everything about the water just seems easier. He even laughs when you admit that once when you were on vacation, a dolphin came right up to you in the ocean and seemed like it wanted your attention. It’s also not the only time something like that happened.
Everything starts to fall into place. It’s like decoding the last little cypher of your life up until that point and showing you memories in a different light. You wonder if you’ll be able to remember anything from being a sea nymph and Chan looks apologetic when he says he doesn’t think it’ll work like that. But, he admits he’s never gotten close enough to another reincarnated soul like this to fully be able to answer it. The excitement drowns out a small voice in the back of your head that’s urging you to move cautiously. Urging you to consider if all of this really sounds right.
You can’t really help the way your bodies seem to be drawn to each other. Many more kisses follow now that the invisible barrier seems broken. When he’s not kissing you, Chan runs his hands along whatever part of you that he can reach.
Eventually, you don’t really want to talk. It seems absentminded, the way that Chan runs his fingers along your arm or squeezes your thigh. It’s driving you insane, though, and you need to know if he’s feeling as bothered as you are.
“How much are you paying attention to this conversation?” you ask.
“Uh…” he says, eyes widening a bit at the question. It’s the first time he’s looked remotely out of control.
“You’re driving me crazy,” you whine and look at his hand gripping your thigh.
That causes his look to change entirely. He’s not out of control anymore. Now he looks a bit smug. “Oh, I’m driving you crazy?”
“Yes,” you admit without a second thought.
“I thought you weren’t even sure if you liked me?” he presses and you huff out a breath.
“I already kissed you, Chan. I think it’s clear I’m not on the fence anymore,” you say.
“Maybe I should show you my bedroom,” he says and stands.
You take his outstretched hand without hesitation. “Finally.”
The two of you get through the doorway into his bedroom and he doesn’t even bother pretending to give you a tour. He only turns around to face you, crowding your space and forcing you back into the doorframe. He takes your face in his hands and kisses you hard. It’s not desperate, it’s perfectly controlled. Nobody has ever kissed you like this before. At least nobody that you can remember. His body presses tight against yours until you’re gasping for breath. Still, he doesn’t let you relax. He’s proving a point. If you thought he was driving you crazy earlier, it’s nothing to this.
You gasp into his mouth when he moves a hand to hitch one of your legs around his hip. Gasp again when he does the same to your other leg and he’s balancing you against the doorframe. It seems impossible that he’s this strong. Maybe that’s part of being a god because he also barely seems to lose his breath as he keeps kissing you. You’re not usually so content to let someone else lead, but it’s so easy with him. It helps that nothing is frantic. Even though he’s driving you crazy, you love that it doesn’t feel rushed. Love that he’s really taking his time with you.
It could be minutes that Chan kisses you or it could be hours and you’re not really sure if you would know the difference. When he sets you down, it feels like an immediate loss. At least until he pulls you towards the bed. Only his eyes give away how badly he wants you. They’re dark with lust that you’re sure your own eyes reflect back at him.
“Is this still okay?” he asks, voice thick with desire. You nod. “I need to hear you say it.”
“Yes, Chan. I want this,” you assure him.
Thankfully it’s the only reassurance that he needs. He gently pushes you back onto his bed and immediately gets to work pulling your clothing off you. His eyes drink in every mark on your body and for the first time, you’re not self conscious. You don’t feel like there’s something wrong with you and it has nothing to do with the way he looks at you. Though, it doesn’t hurt that his desire only grows as he peels your clothing off. No, there’s just this inexplicable comfort with him. That voice in the back of your head quiets. You’re not sure if it’s because you’re so in the moment or because this is actually right. You’re not really sure it matters.
When Chan steps back from you, you have the briefest moment of insecurity. It’s gone the next moment when he starts to undo the buttons on his shirt. Actually, your entire mind goes blank. If Chan was beautiful with clothes on, it’s nothing to seeing him removing his shirt. You know that he can change his appearance at will and know that it’s how he’s fit into places this long. So, you know that it might not be entirely him, but you’re not sure you care. Your eyes travel over the scars he still has. Probably remnants of real scars over the years. Somehow the imperfections make him more perfect in your eyes. You’re so caught up in looking at the scars that you miss him removing the rest of his clothing until he’s approaching you.
“Sit back,” he instructs.
You do as he asks without even thinking twice about it. That, at least, makes a voice stir in the back of your mind. Makes you wonder why you’re so content to do as he asks. When he climbs onto the bed and settles between your legs, the voice goes quiet again. He peppers up your leg and down the other with feather light kisses. He doesn’t draw out the build up, though.
Chan runs a finger carefully through your folds and it makes you shudder. He watches your body carefully as he does it again, like he’s trying to map your reactions to everything. Like he wants to know exactly how to make you come undone. It’s such a simple action that works you up. When he licks into your pussy, you think it’s your new favorite feeling. It makes your entire brain go fuzzy. You don’t even realize that you’re arching your back until one of his hands snakes up your stomach to press you back into place.
It’s almost too much, the way he works you over. He’s constantly changing the pace and his movements. His mouth moves up to suck on your clit and his finger moves down to pump into your pussy in lazy motions. The contrast of the movements makes you squirm. When you feel like you’re getting close to an orgasm, he switches it up again and pulls you back from the edge. Over and over again. He keeps switching up his attention every time you feel yourself getting close.
“Chan, oh my fucking god,” you groan. “I’m going to die if you don’t let me come.”
“Well, you got one thing right,” he says, pulling away from your pussy. “I am a god.”
“I hate you,” you say without any heat.
He pulls himself up your body so that he’s hovering over you, entirely too close. You can see the way your juices cover his lips. He eyes you greedily and it’s the hottest thing in the world. It’s even hotter when he lets you pull him down on top of you and kiss him. You moan into his mouth when he ruts his hard length against your thigh.
When he pulls back, you know that you lost whatever game you’re playing. “Doesn’t seem like you hate me.”
“Just please fuck me,” you say, completely breathless.
“Anything you want,” he says.
You gasp when he leans forward again to capture your lips in a bruising kiss. Everything about him seems so in control. Yet, you can feel how much he wants you, too. It’s obvious that you’re not alone in wanting this and that he’s just better at controlling the situation.
Somehow, as he’s kissing you, he manages to spread your legs apart underneath him. It’s embarrassing the way you chase his lips when he pulls back. Or it would be if you didn’t meet his eyes to see all the desire reflecting back at you. He repositions so that he’s between your legs again and lines himself up at your entrance. Chan runs his tip through your folds while he watches for your reaction. It’s all you can do to stop yourself from wiggling to urge him to work faster. Nothing he does is fast, though, and why would this be any different. Slowly, he presses himself into you. Even as you’re begging him for more, he inches into you instead of snapping his hips forward.
Finally, after what seems like minutes (and is probably only seconds), he’s fully buried and it’s the best feeling in the world. Your fingertips dig into his shoulders as he adjusts his position. Then, he pulls almost all the way about before snapping back in and your mind goes blank again. Like nothing else exists apart from the two of you, the sound of his skin on yours, and the words shared between you. Praise spills from Chan’s lips as you’re just asking for more and more of him.
This time, he doesn’t bring you right to the edge only to pull you back. He picks up his pace and has you coming so hard that you see stars without warning. You’re so thankful that you don’t immediately realize that he doesn’t pull out of you. He stills himself inside you and peppers gentle kisses all over your face as you work through the orgasm.
He’s definitely not so gentle once the aftershocks work through your body.
In one motion, he has you in his arms and in a completely different position. It’s a level of strength and speed you’re not expecting. You’re sitting up now and about to protest that you don’t have the energy to fuck him like this, when he does the work for you. Even though you’re straddling his lap, he plants his feet and thrusts into you. It’s a slightly slower pace than you’re expecting. Just enough that you feel the tension building, but not enough for it to do anything. At least for you. You’re not sure about Chan.
You can’t help it. All you want to do is kiss him so that he knows how good this feels. Not that he really needs more of an indication. You think he can probably read your body pretty well. The first time with someone new is usually awkward. This has been anything but. He knows exactly what you need and just how far he can push you before it’s too much.
And that really does seem true. You’re just about to go into overstimulated territory when he changes the position again. You get the briefest of breaks for him to settle behind you. It could be as innocent as cuddling until he hikes your leg up and presses his length into you without warning.
“Chan, jesus fuck,” you cry out.
“You’re being so good for me, baby,” he coos into your ear. “Can you be good for just a little longer?”
“Yes,” you pant.
“Even if I fuck you hard?” he asks, experimentally picking up his pace.
“Yes, please, just…fuck,” you yell out as he snaps into you harder.
“So perfect,” he murmurs into your skin.
His thrusts immediately get faster and you can tell he’s ready to stop dragging it out. He’s still doing more than his share of the work and it’s insane to realize how much stamina he seems to have. The new angle allows him to hit you deeper than before. You’re already so worked up that it’s not long before he’s pushing you into your second orgasm. This time, he follows right behind you, erratically thrusting as his breath stutters by your ear.
He collapses behind you, but still holds you close against his chest. Your breathing matches his without even thinking about it. Neither one of you really needs to say anything to know that it was something completely unexpected. You can’t remember ever having better sex than with him. Leave it to Chan to ruin you for anyone else that could possibly try to come after him.
Eventually, Chan pulls himself out and off the bed. He holds out his hand to help you into the bathroom with him. You make a joke about how you don’t have another round in you and his smile is instant. His features go soft when he says he just wants to help you clean up.
(That doesn’t hold true for the next morning since he insists you should sleep over. You may be incredibly sore afterwards. You also know that you don’t care. In that moment, you think you would let Chan fuck you senseless for the rest of your life without complaining. Who cares if you’re a little sore? You’ve never felt so connected to someone in your entire life. And he just happens to be one of the gods of Olympus.)
Things seem to fall into place quickly for you and Chan after he shares his past with you. It’s like the last two puzzle pieces in an absurdly complicated puzzle. One of those ones where the pieces aren’t in the standard square shapes. Yet, now that you’re perfectly slotted together, it’s like you’ve been that way your whole lives. The two of you are together more often than you’re not. Late nights exploring or staying up until the early hours of the morning talking. Lazy mornings wrapped up in the covers of the bed (where you actually get Chan to spend more time away from the aquarium than he ever has before). Chan doesn’t even really have time to overthink anything.
His biggest win comes when you finally admit that you’re ready to leave your boring job and come to work at the aquarium full time. That only takes a few weeks after he tells you that you were a sea nymph in a former life. He’s still even a little at the complete lack of pushback on it. You accept it just as easily as you accept that he was Poseidon once upon a time. And you’re not accepting it in the way someone does to pacify a crazy person. That much is clear with how much more time you spend anywhere that Chan is. Somehow, the rest of Chan’s staff doesn’t even seem to comment on how quickly you become inseparable. Soonyoung seems to be smiling even more than usual (a feat Chan didn’t think possible). But, otherwise everyone just accepts the new normal. Everyone seems thrilled to have you around more permanently and that makes Chan’s heart constrict.
He doesn’t have time to think about any of it. Until he does, very suddenly, think about all the feelings you bring up in him.
Chan is careful with relationships. He’s friendly with his staff, but they’re not really friends (despite Soonyoung’s best efforts). He doesn’t get to know anyone at any of the places he shops or have any hobbies where he interacts with people. It can get lonely if Chan thinks too closely about it, but what is the alternative? People’s lives are finite, measurable. Chan’s is not. At least, it hasn’t been yet. There are no signs he’s slowing down over the many centuries he’s been through. Then there’s you. You who are very much human. Though, it’s been a long time since he’s come across another reincarnated Olympian. There isn’t a rule book for how those lives go and there’s never been one that Chan stuck by long enough to find out.
The real question, though, is whether he’s willing to stick around this time to see how it works. Is he willing to risk everything only to figure out that you’re merely a mortal? That you’re going to fall victim, if you’re lucky, to the curse all humans succumb to? That’s if you’re lucky enough to live to old age and something else doesn’t happen before then. Human life is so fragile. It’s a lot to process. More so since he’s not really talking to you about how he’s feeling.
You notice. Of course you notice. Chan starts to get a little more distant as weeks turn into months. He’s still physically present with you and he still tries to act like everything is fine. But, he can feel it in the shift of your moods. Doubt creeps in and he gets snippets of your feelings or even your thoughts. It isn’t fair and he knows that it’s not. He knows he has to talk to you instead of just acting like everything is normal.
“Are you ready to talk to me yet?” you ask one evening when you’re sitting on his couch with your feet in his lap.
He stops scrolling through something on his phone and looks over at you. Somehow, you always seem to know when it’s best to apply just a little pressure. Knows his moods and senses when he’s ready to talk about something. There’s no use in acting like he doesn’t know what you mean.
“It’s nothing you’ve done,” he starts and you smile.
“Oh, I know that,” you assure him. That makes him laugh. It’s you all over.
“It’s just…I don’t usually let myself get close to anyone,” he starts and your eyebrows knit in confusion.
“Bit late for that, isn’t it?” you say with an attempt at a joke, though it doesn’t quite land.
“I think we both know you’re special,” he says quickly to reassure you. “It’s just…well, there’s a reason for that. Human life is so fleeting.”
“Ah, yes,” you say with a wry smile, “because you’re ancient.”
“Enough,” he chastises without any real heat.
“Sorry,” you say and throw up your arms.
“I am kind of ancient, though. Not in this body since I’m always changing forms, but in mind. I’ve been around a long time and you…” he says and trails off.
“You’re so sure I have an expiration date?” you ask.
“You’re human,” he says simply.
“And also have the soul of a reincarnated sea nymph,” you remind him. As if he could ever forget.
“I know,” he concedes. “But I don’t know what that means for your…”
“Life expectancy?” you offer. There’s something almost detached and also calming about the way you say it. “You can’t say for sure that I won’t live beyond a normal human life, either.”
“No, I can’t,” he says. “I’ve never wanted to stick around another reincarnated soul the way I can’t seem to let you out of my sight.”
“Doesn’t that mean it’s worth at least considering?” you ask.
There’s nothing desperate or emotional about the way you approach the conversation. It’s all based in fact and the information in front of you. As much as you and Chan like to go out on dates, you also like to sit with him while he tries to do research. Both of you want to understand what your soul means for the rest of your body. You want to understand why sometimes he can feel your mood or even hear some of your louder thoughts. It’s fun when you can control it and send something disruptive towards Chan. Fun for you, at least. He doesn’t always appreciate the image of what you want to do to him while he’s trying to do something at work.
So, you go through all the knowns with him again. Go over everything that you’ve learned. Go through the questions you have unanswered and where there might be more information. You talk things through logically in a way that feels familiar to him. Chan finds himself getting lost in his amazement at your brain and the way you process information. It’s also incredible to him to watch you work through a problem. It lulls him into a place that he hasn’t been in since…
And that’s when it clicks. That’s when he realizes. You’re not just a reincarnated sea nymph. No, it’s much deeper than that. He knows your soul more intimately than he knows his own. He can’t believe that he didn’t see it right away. Can’t believe he’s had you in his bed for months now without realizing.
“You’re not listening anymore,” you comment. You don’t seem upset, only curious. It’s like you want to know where his mind goes.
“No, I’m sorry,” he says and you wave it off. “It’s just, well, I figured out who you used to be.”
“Uh,” you say, clearly missing a piece. “Yeah? A reincarnated sea nymph? We’ve already covered this.”
“No,” he disagrees. That makes you raise your eyebrows. “Well, you are, but you’re also more than that. Your soul, it’s…”
“What is it, Chan?” you ask, full attention focusing on him.
“I should have known. You feel so familiar, like I’ve known you for years,” he says and it’s like he’s talking to himself. “It’s not just some ordinary sea nymph’s soul…”
“Yes, because sea nymphs are so ordinary,” you say with a scoff. “Like people every day are just coming across sea n-”
“It’s Amphitrite’s soul,” he finishes and that stops you mid sentence. Your eyes lock onto his, wide and wondering.
“Amphitrite? As in Goddess of the sea, most prominent of the sea nymphs and wife of…” she says and can’t seem to finish the sentence.
“Poseidon. The one true love of my life, yes,” he says.
If you think anything of him referring to Amphitrite as the one true love of his life, you don’t say anything. You go into a contemplative silence. Like if you think hard enough, you may be able to remember her or the relationship with Poseidon. Who knows? Maybe you can. Try as he might, Chan can’t seem to think of a single instance where something like this has happened before. Doesn’t remember someone like Hera returning in this way. He also can’t think of any reason why you would return now, after all this time. Unless this is just the first time he’s found you. There are far more questions than answers.
“This…changes things,” you say.
“Does it?” he asks.
“Doesn’t it?” you immediately return.
“I don’t know,” he admits. “It’s like it suddenly makes sense in a way I wasn’t expecting. But, it also feels…more complicated.”
“Complicated, how? I mean, you were in love with Amphitrite and I assume she, or I, was also in love with you,” you say. “Doesn’t that explain this pull we have to each other?”
“Our relationship was incredibly complicated,” he says softly. “I have…many regrets about how I handled things when it came to her. And I also can’t wrap my brain around her reappearing after so many years or what that means for you.”
“Why don’t we just start at the beginning? Tell me about your relationship,” you prompt.
“There are parts that were ugly,” he says without meeting your eye.
The couch shifts and dips as you get closer to him. You lift his chin up gently so he’s looking at you. “The fact that you can admit parts were ugly or that you have regrets shows you’ve learned. So, tell me the whole story and then we’ll go from there.”
So, he starts talking.
It starts at the beginning. He was at a celebration when he saw Amphitrite dancing among the other Nereids, the daughters of Nereus, who was also known as the Old Man of the Sea. There had been other consorts before her, but he was instantly smitten. She symbolized everything beautiful and kind about the sea. Everything that he could ever want. So, he approached her father before ever approaching her and asked for her hand. Her father was, understandably, thrilled. It seemed like there was no better match than to allow Poseidon himself to marry one of his daughters. In hindsight, that was absolutely the wrong way to go about it. She should have been given a say in her own life rather than treated like property by her father and the man who claimed to love her.
Chan talks about what he can remember of their courtship as honestly as he can. From his perspective, everything went wonderfully. After all, why shouldn’t she have been thrilled that he wanted to marry her. Once he had nothing but time to think back on what he had done, he realized that she had not seemed all that interested. It was more like she was going through the motions because she had to. He tried to include her in everything that he could so she would see what her life could be like. Maybe that had been the wrong choice. But, she was a natural when it came to hosting or offering opinions in meetings. At the time, it made him happy to see how well she settled in. Now, it just felt like she had been forced into a life she never wanted.
As the wedding itself got closer, she fled to the far reaches of the ocean. It was a dolphin scout of his that finally managed to find her. He never knew what his scout said to her that made her return. He only knew what he told the scout. They never spoke about it once she came back. She simply returned, assured him she had only been nervous about how important he was, and said she wanted to get married still. So, he also acted like nothing happened, which he knows was as wrong as he could have been. He does think that he tried to be a better partner to her after that, though he’s not sure he succeeded. When he had to make decisions between what might be best for her and what might be best for his position, he chose himself. He also chose the sea over her when he had to make those choices. It was never fair to her.
Somehow, through all of that, he did really grow to love her. He valued her beyond what he showed. He appreciated her for her unfailing kindness and her insistence when she knew she was right. He appreciated her wit and her mind. He appreciated the way that she was never afraid to tell him what she thought or to let him know when he was making the wrong decision. He appreciated that she didn’t just bend over backwards for him or fawn over him. He only realized after she was gone that he never appreciated her the way that she deserved to be appreciated. Once he lost her, he realized that he should have done anything in the world to protect her. He realized he should have given her the entire sea and made her the ruler because she was far smarter than he had realized.
You only listen intently without interrupting. In the few moments where Chan looks at you, he struggles to figure out what you’re thinking. Not that you won’t tell him. He knows you will. It’s just very daunting to speak that long without you interjecting. When he stops speaking, you’re still quiet for a moment.
“I think…Chan, I think I’m starting to remember,” you say with wide eyes.
And that’s the last thing he expects to hear. He figures you may tell him that he’s horrible for putting someone he claims to have loved through that. Or you could say that it sounds far-fetched to think she’s not just a sea nymph, but a specific nymph that he was deeply in love with. He doesn’t expect for you to look at him in wonder and say you’re remembering. That’s another unknown in this entire mess of a situation.
Before he can consider if this is something that should even be possible, your lips crash into his. There are so many emotions behind that kiss that he can’t begin to process. There’s longing and a long-forgotten love. There’s excitement about returned memories. There’s the sparks that always fly between you two. The mix of the established feelings with ones Chan never expected to feel again is startling. So, he just lets his mind wander. He lets the feeling of kissing you consume him so thoroughly that it pushes any other conversation out the window. All that exists in that moment is the two of you, however you want to define that.
The excitement of finding out a long forgotten identity wears off far quicker than you expect it to. Not that you have any frame of reference for this sort of thing. But, surely it should last longer than this. Longer than it takes for you to fall into bed with Chan again. Longer than it takes for him to worship your body as he’s done before and for him to bring you to an orgasm so good it has you screaming. Somehow, in the post-sex haze, he doesn’t realize that you’re quieter than usual. Perhaps that’s a blessing. He kisses you so softly, so sweet and tells you that he’s going to do some research. That’s fine, you insist, because you want to get back home to really get a good night’s sleep. It seems unspoken that he wants to let you process.
But…well, you’re not really sure if you’re still okay with the information. It’s like having sex this time triggered a new flood of memories. Some come across as clearly as if it was something you directly experienced. Others come through more as feelings than anything else. And it’s a lot. Overwhelming in a way that nothing else has been. It’s how you expected to react to finding out that all those myths you were so drawn to were actually real. That feels easy to accept, especially now. Remembering is something else entirely. Because remembering Amphitrite’s experiences as your own just feels complicated.
Maybe it’s wrong to think of her as a separate person if her soul lives within you. That part isn’t hard to accept, not when you can feel it. The hard part is accepting the feelings about Chan. The memory pushes back on you calling him that. Accepting is also the wrong word. The hard part is reconciling the person you’ve gotten to know with the memories that come flooding back.
Then, almost as if on cue, that whispering voice returns. It reminds you of how you felt when you first met Chan. Of the distaste you had without being able to place it. Which is true, isn’t it? You didn’t like him without any reason beyond just a feeling. The voice presses memories onto you. Things you actually experienced with Chan mixed in with scenes between Poseidon and Amphitrite. The more you see, the more it feels like your own memories. Like something that you took part in directly.
It’s putting it mildly to say that things are complicated. There is clear affection there for the person that Amphitrite got to know. Although it’s clear she did not love Poseidon from the beginning, she grew into much stronger feelings. Yet, she can’t separate those fully. She can’t say for sure that the feelings would develop on their own. Did she just love him? Or was it because she, at times, had little contact with anyone outside their palace? Though, that was largely her own choice as things went on. There were too many things to do at home to leave. And there was too much unrest.
Yes, it feels complicated. Now your own memories or the past few months mingle with decades of memories from someone else. You can’t decide if you want to push your own memories aside to make room for the returning ones or keep them side by side. Your new memories don’t really seem to fit, though. Which isn’t surprising. The person you know isn’t the same one that Amphitrite knew. He’s grown in ways that she can scarcely understand or imagine. He’s thoughtful and considerate and much more mature. That doesn’t sit perfectly with the memories. Although, you can tell that there’s a part of the lingering voice that appreciates the growth. Maybe even feels a little responsible for it. Wants to believe that she’s part of the reason he made the changes.
By the time you make it back to your apartment, your head feels like it’s going to split open. You’re no closer to any answers about what you want to do. No closer to reconciling incredibly complex feelings. No closer to the next step. That’s fine, though. All you can really do now is let yourself drift off to sleep and revisit
The morning, unfortunately, doesn’t bring answers. You’re not sure how to approach Chan other than to ask for time to process your feelings. That seems like as good a place to start as any because it’s a lot to take in. He must know that. Surely he’ll understand. Even though you seemingly accepted the news yesterday, it’s a new day today. And your brain is fighting to catch up.
You’re trying to figure out how to approach the conversation with Chan when you make your way through the apartment. A piece of paper by your front door catches your eye and you approach it. You pick up the envelope and recognize the writing on the front of it as Chan’s. There’s something so impossibly him about the gesture. Of course he would write a letter instead of…wait. A moment too late, your brain catches up. Why would Chan be writing you a letter? What changed?
Opening the letter feels close to the last thing you want to do. But, you know that you need to just open it to see what’s going on. See if anything changes.
A lot can change overnight, it seems. Chan fills the letter with apologies for things you can’t even begin to understand. He’s apologizing to you and also to Amphitrite. It seems he got to the conclusion much faster than you, which shouldn’t be surprising. He’s had centuries, apparently, to learn and to spot things others may never notice. That’s especially clear as you read through his letter, now.
Getting past the general apologies, you find more specific apologies. He’s incredibly sorry, but he’s going to be leaving for a while. He knows that it’s not fair to you, but it’s something that he’s got to do. At least he acknowledges that it should ultimately be your decision on how to proceed with the relationship. He can’t let you do that without more answers to his questions. He needs to know how it’s possible for Amphitrite’s soul to have found its way into your body. He needs to understand what that means for your own mortality. It’s selfish, he admits, so incredibly selfish, but he can’t move forward with you, even if that’s what you want, without knowing more. He can’t watch as you age and he doesn’t. Can’t grow to love you more and more only to know you have an expiration date. It’s cold, he knows, to say it that way. It’s also the way he’s going to approach it. The whole letter is filled with apologies and acknowledgements followed by buts.
Chan goes on to say that he’s going looking for his brother, Zeus. He’s the only one that might be able to help them understand what’s happening. The problem is that he hasn’t seen his brother in centuries and doesn’t entirely know how to find him, or if he’s even still surviving. He just has to trust that he’s out there somewhere, going through the same motions as Chan and chugging forward in the only way either of them know how. Somehow this tidbit is a lot to process. Accepting the existence of Poseidon was easy. Maybe that’s because of your own past. Accepting Zeus is something else entirely. Some of that stems from your own disbelief. Most seems to come from Amphitrite’s complicated feelings about her brother-in-law.
Just as you’re about to put the letter down in frustration, you see the postscript. Chan asks you to help his staff look after the aquarium until he returns. He knows that it’s not fair to ask. He knows you may even say no. Your heart tightens at the thought of the animals without Chan. Now that you know who he is, you know that they’ll miss him when he’s not around. You don’t have powers the way he does, though. And it’s his choice to just leave on a whim to chase answers for a relationship that may not even be there when he returns.
Well, two can play this game, you think. It may not be a fully rational thought. It may not even be fair. Before you can overthink it, you send a text to Soonyoung saying that you’ll be out of town for the next few weeks, at least. You just tell him that you have some things to work through and leave it at that. In the meantime, you throw things haphazardly into a suitcase and you’re out the door before even getting a response.
Your letter from Chan stays sitting on your table as you rush out of the apartment without a second thought. All you know is that you’re going to let Amphitrite guide you on a journey of your own to find missing memories before you make any more decisions.
It seems like both of you have a lot to figure out before you see each other next.
on its own, reading buzzfeed thirst tweets was enough of an ego boost… he genuinely would’ve fucked you no matter what. that is, until you tested him, and suddenly he had to fuck you harder than he initially planned.
🐦 GENRE :: idol-au, contemporary au and erotic romance
🐦 PAIRING/WC :: joshua hong × fem!reader ⋅ 7,076 words
🐦 CONTAINS :: established relationship. dokyeom is yn’s bias, dokyeom and dino cameos, mutual teasing, aftercare, slight (?) brat dynamics, teasing/resisting, nicknames (baby, princess, pretty girl, sweetheart, darling), mostly a pwp… also legs divorcing and ovaries exploding mentioned!1 not beta’d, all mistakes, and brainfarts are 100% mine. proceed at your own risk lol.
⚠️ WARNINGS :: explicit sexual content MDNI. big snickers bar!joshua (ty for the list ro), multiple orgasms (female-focused, 5+ explicit releases), oral (f. receiving + giving), dom/sub, unprotected penetrative sex (let’s not be stupid), fingering, grinding, overstimulation, dirty talk, pillow talk, aftercare, cuddling, holding through orgasm, prolonged arousal, breast play, clit stimulation, slight (?) brat dynamics, breeding kink, orgasm denial/edge play hints, prioritizing pleasure of one another, post-sex exhaustion. pls lmk if i missed something!
🐦 A/N :: hi!! just to clarify a few things before anyone jumps in, i haven’t watched the full video yet! one day, just not today] the buzzfeed scene here is literally just me piecing together clips and those tweets, so it’s like… my imagination filling in the blanks lol. also, the smut? superrrr heightened fantasy shit. like, not even close to realistic, full on porn, high octane, my brain on 11. rereading it the last couple days made me question my sanity multiple times. i literally lost count. yn hit seven orgasms at one point… and i think i even blacked out while writing some of it, which now makes sense why it got that out of control. i edited some parts and it’s now hovering around 5-6 [i tried to cut some, but there are phrases i’m way too proud of and couldn’t delete… shoutout to ro @shinysobi for yelling, LETS GO PORNOGRAPHY mid edit—bless]. it’s officially porn now lol. okay fun fact time! i og wanted to call this ‘say my name, baby’ in reference to my thread and the tweet, but then realized… i’d end up writing his name anyway, so ’say my name. joshua hung’ just hit way cleaner. adding the “baby’ in the middle kinda broke the rhythm, ig? the current title also reads more direct to the tweet since the og didn’t include ‘’baby,’ so i went with that instead. small detail, but it made me feel giddy. also am noticing a trend here… every time this man is involved, my smut hits peak endurance fantasy mode. like, same energy as salt in my mouth and the still heat. it’s insane, it’s messy, it’s ridiculous—and it’z okay. so yeah… that’s the tea. buckle up, it’s wild, it’s fast, and it’s very much porn. <: we die horny and afraid.
joshua hong more like joshua is hung
help—
He’s holding his assigned phone and staring down at it, trying not to make eye contact with the camera right now. His expression is somewhere between amused embarrassment and disbelief with a wide smile looking slightly strained as if he’s laughing silently and flabbergasted at the same time. But then he glances over at the producers in front of him for a second, hoping maybe the producers will notice that they accidentally gave him the wrong tweet and panic and cut the scene because of what he just read, but no one does. He realizes he’s going to have to go through with it and read it out loud.
He reads it: “joshua hong more like joshua is hung.” A subtle closed-lip smirk appears on his face and little crinkles form at the corners of his eyes as he tries to suppress his amusement. In his mind, he’s definitely caught off guard by something so personal, but flattered too—why wouldn’t he be? Where’s the lie in that?
He sits relatively still, thinking and trying to think of ways to explain it to his members here with him. “Hung is when…” no sound comes out anymore as he contemplates it in his head.
Dino and Dokyeom are holding their respective assigned phones too, smiling innocently at it while waiting for Joshua’s explanation.
Joshua’s mouth’s still slightly open, but then he looks at the camera as if it's the viewer’s fault for putting him in this position (which kinda is if we think about it…). He looks back at Dokyeom, then back again at the camera as his left hand comes up to echo his internal stutter. Dino’s looking at the older men with his knowing smile as Joshua’s hesitation now shows it’s definitely something.
Finally, he manages to say, “It means you have a big—” but before he can finish, Dokyeom hunches over laughing and Dino reacts dramatically with his mouth wide open pretending to be shocked but clearly loving every second.
Dino really isn’t shocked that it’s about big dick after all. Joshua’s hesitation gave it away to him, but anyway he still blurts out, “wait, really?”
Joshua laughs but the smirk is still on his lips, and says, “Yeah.”
Dokyeom’s still laughing with his voice full of sunshine and honey. “That’s amazing. The tweets Buzzfeed picked are awesome.”
He nods at the camera and grins, “Call me Joshua Hung from now on,” adding a little tease with his eyes and that smug confirming confidence.
Dokyeom giggles, repeating, “Joshua Hung.”
Joshua chuckles through his clenched teeth, and says it again, “Joshua Hung.”
Dokyeom repeats it, “Joshua Hung.”
And he mimics him again in this silly back-and-forth, “Joshua Hung.”
Dokyeom exaggerates it even more by finally just saying just, “Hung.”
He leans toward the front laughing but pointing at Dokyeom while facing the opposite direction, “Dude.” It probably hasn’t fully clicked for Dokyeom yet what he’s basically saying over and over.
Joshua keeps reading tweet after tweet, and every one of them hits him in the chest. It keeps flabbergasting him, pushing his expression into that strained smile/smirk he gets when he’s shocked and amused at the same time. He looks at the publicist after every other filthy tweet, waiting for them to realize how unhinged the selections are, but no one stops anything at any point. The camera keeps rolling. Dokyeom keeps giggling. Dino keeps nodding. And Joshua keeps getting more overwhelmed and smug.
He wants to do his best to soften the translations, but every time he considers it, he gives up immediately and gives everything raw. If these tweets are insane, then they can all suffer together. He makes sure both Dokyeom and Dino understand exactly what those tweets mean, all the innuendos included and he watches their expressions closely to confirm they got it.
“I'd commit crimes for Dino's slutty hands to be wrapped around my throat.” Dino reads it out loud while staring at his phone while Joshua’s already grinning because he read ahead. He waits for Dino’s reaction, but Dino stays silent, staring straight at the screen after finishing reading. The total lack of response throws Joshua off, so he looks up to see him but when realizes Dino’s flabbergasted too, he bursts into laughter.
Dokyeom points at Dino. “This could potentially make you a criminal.”
Dino looks down at his hand while the older two watch him. “Yeah, you’re right. The neck… well, alright.” He lifts his hand and makes a finger gesture toward the camera, inviting, come on, come on, tilting his head and giving a teasing seductive look.
Dokyeom mutters, “I’m feeling the second hand embarrassment.”
But the shoot still keeps going, and every tweet gets filthier. It sparks something in Joshua that he can’t hide even if he tries. It doesn’t help that at some point he directly/indirectly admits he’s a Dom switch, and then pretends he has no idea what mpreg is, even though the fans keep sending things that clearly prove they want to either breed him or get bred by him.
Joshua tries to stay composed, but he can feel his body reacting the longer this continues. He hopes that when you see this video after it’s released, he’ll get hit hard again even though he knows he’ll get it later today too. He just knows he can’t go any longer without being in your arms, but for now, he has to suffer through his desires. He feels himself growing, and internally prays that no one notices, but the thought of what might happen if they do makes his chest tighten.
He crosses his legs for the rest of the shoot and stays like that until the camera finally cuts.
-
“So now you know how thirsty they’re for you.” You fold your arms as he finishes telling you about the tweets. A smirk curls on your lips that you know gets under his skin every time.
Joshua steps closer smug as hell, his shoulders loose and relaxed from confidence. “I already knew they were thirsty,” he says. “But reading it out loud on camera was something else.” His voice drops a little when he says it, though, and his eyes stay locked on yours as he moves toward you.
You put your hand on his chest and shove him back with a laugh. “Dokyeom and Dino must’ve had fun.” You back up a step while chuckling, and he follows the sound of your voice.
His eyes stay on your mouth. “Dokyeom saying the filthiest things in that innocent voice without having a clue what it meant was insane to be honest.”
“I wonder how they even knew you were big.”
His eyebrows lift. “Why not?” His implication sharpens with smugness he doesn’t bother to even hide. “Dokyeom kept calling me Joshua Hung again and again, anyway.”
“If you entertain it, obviously Dokyeom will have fun with it.” You state the obvious. “That’s why he’s my bias.”
His whole expression darkens before he even realizes he has moved closer. He steps into your space, grabs your waist, and slightly pushes you backward. Your back hits the wall lightly and your breath catches. “When are you going to stop calling him your bias?” Joshua asks with warning.
“Never,” you stare straight at him.
His jaw tightens as his hand comes up and closes around your hip, pulling you forward. The curl of his fingers sends a clear message that he’s done joking. “You think you’re funny?” His voice drops. “You think I won’t handle you for running your pretty little mouth?”
You swallow but you don’t fold. “You’re smug because of some thirst tweets. Relax.”
His jaw flexes. “Relax? You keep talking and you expect me to relax?” He steps closer and his chest brushes yours. “Say it again. I dare you.”
You tilt your chin up and refuse to give in. “I will, who knows.”
He stares you down while his hand slides higher on your waist with enough pressure to remind you he could pick you up easily if he wanted to. “You’re going to make me lose it,” he says. “Keep pushing me and I’ll fuck your attitude so bad you won’t stand straight tomorrow.”
You gasp at the sound of his voice but refuse to give him the satisfaction. “You talk big for someone who got flustered reading some tweets.”
“You really want to test me tonight?” His breath warms your cheek when he leans in. His hand pins your hip harder. “I’ll wreck you so fucking bad you won’t even remember Dokyeom’s name.”
“Yeah sure. I’ll just say it louder,” you shoot back and meet his eyes without fear.
He steps even closer, close enough that you can feel every breath he takes. “Say it and see what happens.”
“Dokyeom,” you whisper just to provoke him.
“Princess, you’re trying me.”
“Nice. Dokyeom.”
“You’re not walking out of this room after this,” he warns.
“We’ll see—” but before you can say anything more, his hand tightens on your waist and his mouth crushes yours.
Chest pressing against yours, making you feel his grin against your cheek as he tilts his head down. You try to pull back but he nudges you, forcing you to stay.
“You think you can be a brat and call him your bias?” the smugness twisting your stomach. His hands slide down slightly to grip you with more insistence. “Again. You’re testing me, princess, and I don’t like being tested.”
You can’t help the laugh that escapes but try to hide the way your body reacts to the way he holds you. “I’m just stating facts,” you tease, shoving him lightly but ineffectively. He doesn’t budge and only presses you further against the wall which makes you feel the hardness of him on your thigh through his jeans. The warmth of him is getting impossible to ignore now.
Before you know it, you find yourself grinding against him almost instinctively, the friction of your bodies against each other making your core tingle. Joshua lips leans closer to brush your jaw, then the side of your neck. “Such a little brat,” his words dripped with mockery, “so eager and stubborn. Are you sure you’ll enjoy this?”
You can’t even answer before he tilts his hips to press his cock against your clothed pussy, letting the friction make your knees weak. A literal pathetic moan slips past your lips, making him smirk against your neck, hands roaming the curves of your sides and pulling you close so your bodies move together.
“You think you’re so ready for me?” he slides his hands beneath your shirt to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples over the lace of your bra. “But I’m not done with you yet. I want to make sure you feel every bit of this.” He rocks his hips slowly, letting the head of his cock brush against your wetness, and you realize how much you are completely at his mercy.
Your back arches into him with uneven breaths, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt. “Joshua… I…” your voice trembles, but it comes out as a breathless whine instead of a full protest.
“I could make you beg right here, princess,” he brushes his lips with yours in a teasing fleeting kiss just simply to make your heart skip. His hand slides down to grab your ass through your skirt, guiding your hips so every movement drives the friction harder against your soaked panties.
“I… I’m not… begging!” you gasp even as your body betrays your words with shudders and little moans.
“Mm, such a liar,” he teases, tilting his head down to capture your lips in a longer, possessive kiss. Tongue slides along yours, teasing, tasting, pulling out a gasp from your throat. His hand slips under the waistband of your panties, very slightly touching your clit. “You like being held like this, don’t you? So desperate… and still acting stubborn.”
You bite your lip, still trying your best to sound smug. “I… I can— obviously handle more,” you manage to gasp but your hips buckle automatically against his. Your own body betrays your teasing words and that’s when it hits you with a shiver that he could push you to your limits and beyond without ever speaking a word.
Joshua chuckles against your mouth and slides lower to grip your bare thigh, pressing you harder into him. “Darling, are you sure you can handle what’s coming?” He grinds harshly, cock pressing right against your dripping pussy to tease you through the thin fabric, and it scares you just how right he is.
“I… no… yeah— yes…” you falter, words trailing into breathless whimpers.
He moves slightly to let your panties bunch under his fingers and brush against the wetness between your folds, teasing your entrance. “Baby, I’ll ruin you. You’re not ready for me and it’s not worth the risk to make you hate me.” You damn well know he’s just taking advantage of your desperation.
Your knees trembling but manage to arch into him. “I… I’m ready!” you gasp with a voice shaky but defiant.
“Then stop shaking and fucking open your legs more for me.”
You spread your legs a little more for him without another word.
“Good girl… but your body’s telling me you’re nervous,” he drags his fingers across your panties again.
“I’m not nervous,” you lie and clutch his shoulders even tighter.
“Sure you aren’t,” he leans in to kiss your lips real quick.
“Joshua… j-just— just shut up and touch me properly,” you try to regain even a sliver of control.
“Do you really want me to touch you properly? What’s coming for you is already enough to make you skip work. You want to make it worse?”
“Yeah— maybe I do,” you fire back even though your voice shows how scared you actually are for tomorrow. You have a fucking meeting to attend.
“I see, I see, you’re already intimidated. Why are you acting? I can go easy if you admit your defeat and call me your bias” he says.
“You wish,” you say with a shaky smirk. “You’re barely even warming me up.”
“Oh, really? You’re talking big for someone who can’t stop shaking,” he replies with a laugh as he presses you harder into the wall, grinding his cock along your pussy, slick and hot through your soaked panties.
Your thighs tremble around him, hips rolling. “P… please… Joshua…” you gasp.
His hands slide over your body. You press back to grind against him again as friction pressed your wet pussy against the hard length of his cock through his pants. A shaky laugh escapes you, more of a whimper, “J-Joshua… I can’t… I—” The words tumble out nonsensically, lost to the overstimulation already building in your core by now.
“Uh, it’s you who thinks you’re so ready for this,” he mocks, “but I’m not done with you yet, pretty. I want to see you begging… I want to feel you completely undone before I let you have it all.”
In a second, he moves his hands to cup your breasts over your bra as another hand slid between your legs to tease at your slick folds. He scissors two long fingers inside you pumping and spreading, making your hips jerk uncontrollably. You feel yourself losing the ability to think with the tension he’s knotting. “Feel that, baby? I’m just getting started,” his smirk is dark against your neck. “Can’t take it?”
“Yes… oh… Joshua… I can’t… mmm…” you gasp, pussy clenching around his fingers, ovaries exploding already from every stroke and glide. “I… I need… I’m going to—ohhhh…”
Joshua presses closer, grinding his clothed big cock along your soaked pussy, every movement of his was intentionally designed to overstimulate you. “Want to prove me wrong, pretty? Take it completely when I’ll give it to you. You’re mine to push.”
Your knees suddenly buckle and your body tilts forward in a helpless collapse— but Joshua catches you instantly, an arm locking around your waist before you hit the floor. He holds you upright with ease in a way that it’s telling he’s not letting you fall no matter how undone you get.
Your hands clutch at him, pulling and gripping to try to keep your balance, and survive the overstimulation. But Joshua’s hands are everywhere and your body desperate for release you can’t ask for yet.
Every inch of contact was a teasing controlling dance that left you undone and completely at his mercy. “J-Joshua… please— I can’t handle it, but I need it— just…”
“Ojay,” he whispers against your lips, “but I’m going to make sure you can… before I let you have the rest.”
“Shit. Jo—shua… I don’t think I—.”
Your hands claws at his back. His fingers pumped your clit through the wetness pooling around them. “Just one more finger, baby, come on… you got this,” he whispers, but then repeated it teasingly two more times before letting you tremble free for the moment, legs ready to divorce.
You let out a ragged whine. “I… I’m… going to—oh Joshua, don’t stop… don’t stop, please…”
He smirks seeing your reaction, and guides your wrists toward the nearb table now still holding you. You can feel every pulse in your pussy as he leans back slightly to let you take the lead for just a moment. “Go on… show me what you can do.”
You let your hands roam over his chest, feeling the hard length of his cock against your lower belly. This time, you roll your hips yourself just to make him groan.
“You’re driving me crazy… god, sweetheart,” His hands remained on your hips. “Keep going… don’t stop. Make me yours, baby.”
The heat and friction became overwhelming for you now. Your body trembles violently and you moan helplessly as the first wave of orgasm hits. Pussy clenched—Joshua held you close, hands keeping you pressed against him as your body rides out the intense release and legs divorcing level of pleasure took over.
No sooner had you caught a breath than he pressed closer again, but this time letting you tease him back in return, grinding against his cock as he leaned back with groans with his own arousal evident. “You like having me under you, don’t you?” He smiles as his fingers guide your hips, helping you control the movement just perfect to drive him crazy.
You rolled against him, grinding, fingering, pressing, teasing until a wave hit him, groans escaping and surrendering fully under your touch. He’s literally shaking from the pleasure of your hands and hips. When it finally settled, he held you close again and forehead pressed to yours, smirk soft but still cocky. “Okay… and we’re still just getting started,” he murmurs.
Joshua lifts you and then puts you down onto the soft sheets of the bed with hands still firm on your hips to keep you pinned so you can’t escape him. Your body trembles from the overstimulation, pussy dripping and clit already swollen and sensitive. He leans down over your ear, “you’re such a good girl… but on a serious note, you’ve got to let me make you ready for me.”
Before you can respond, his mouth is on your pussy hot and wet, tongue gliding over your clit flicking and circling, and most of all teasing. You gasped arching into him despite yourself. “Oh… Joshua… I…!” Your words came out as breathless whimpers and incoherent. He chuckles against your folds while his teeth lightly graze your sensitive nub, making your toe curl automatically.
His thick, long fingers slide inside you alongside his tongue, scissoring slowly plus pumping in and out, stretching and making sure every inch of your wet pussy was alive and dripping. “Just one more finger, baby… come on, you got this,” he says, and you whimper, hips bucking.
You come, body convulsing around his fingers and mouth, your sensitive pussy clenching hard. Cum slicks over his lips and fingers as he teases you relentlessly. “Mmm, that’s it, sweet, pretty girl… good girl…” he pulls back only slightly to let you catch a breath.
But he’s not done. He scissors three fingers deep into you again, curling them inside you and putting pressure just on the right spots. “One more time, baby… I want you so wet for me. I don’t want it to hurt when I go in,” his tongue flicks your clit in tandem with the pumping of his fingers.
Heat pools inside you. “Joshua… I— I can’t… ohhhh… baby…!”
When he coaxes a second softer orgasm out of you, he presses his thumb over your clit and licks with his mouth and fingers, “that’s it, princess. Can’t get enough, can I?” Your body shakes, soaking the bed and completely undone.
He lets you breathe for only a moment again before diving back in with his thick long fingers pumping, tongue teasing and his hand holding your hips to keep you still. “One more, baby… last one before I take what’s mine,” he whispers, and you whine helplessly (but still in a good way!), eyes fluttering. You come a third time shivering, hips jerking against his mouth and fingers.
Joshua finally pulls back before overstimulation becomes pain, smirking cocky and lips glistening with your release. “Good girl… so ready for me now, pretty,” he grabs your wrists gently to guide your hands to help you move as he slowly begins undressing himself and you. Jeans slide down to reveal the hard, thick cock you’ve been grinding against all night. His hand brushed your panties aside as he slid slowly inside your soaking folds, coating himself with your cream.
You gasp at the feeling of his size and thickness, fingers clutching the sheets. “Joshua… oh my God… it’s so—” you whisper, overwhelmed. There has been times that this same one eyed monster fucked you several times a day, but you’re still not used to it.
He smirks hovering over you, one hand brushing your cheek while his thumb grazes your lower lip. “Say my name, baby,” he murmurs and presses fully into you while still teasing your lips and clit.
You grin, “Seventeen,” and bite your lip and watch his smirky smile form. “S-say— say the name, Seventeen.”
Joshua groans, rolling his hips as he lets the head of his cock slide deeper with each thrust in your dripping entrance. “You brat, huh… you’re going to regret that,” he grips your hips but still empathetically, he still goes slowly and carefully and stretches you fully. Your breath hitches when your thighs tremble around him as your body adjusts to the heat and girth. “God… you feel so good, pretty girl,” smirk still cocky as he lets you ride him slowly at first, adjusting your angles.
Joshua slowly withdrew out of you to let you adjust. Then, with a smirk, he presses back inside, stretching you fully buried deep and making you scream a little. Your back arches all while your fingers tangle in his hair to hold him close. “God… yes, you feel so perfect,” this time you groan as a cocky smirk forms on his lips as he begins to thrust slowly, letting you feel every inch.
His hands roam your body, squeezing your breasts over the bra before sliding his hand inside to cup them bare. His thumbs brushing your nipples. You moan and tighten your hold in his hair. “You like that, baby? My hands on your tits while I fuck you like this?”
He slides one hand up your spine, and feel him pause for a heartbeat before his thumb hooks beneath the strap and his other fingers find the clasp of your bra. A quick tug and twist, and the metal slips free like it’s obeying him. Your breath stutters. The straps slacken instantly, the cups loosening against your chest. His mouth curves in the corner of his lips, but it’s not smug like before.
“Okayyy,” you say before he takes the chance to flaunt it. You can see it coming.
“Not bad,” his voice barely breath as the bra falls open between you. His eyes fall down to your chest, then back to your face. “Guess it’s easier than I expected.”
He lets the fabric slip away completely, tossing it aside without looking and his hands returning to your breasts. His thumbs flicking your nipples that still makes your body jump. “Perfect,” he pulls you closer by your hips as he sinks deeper into you.
“Oh God, J-Joshua…,” you whimper, nails dragging down his scalp. Every push makes your stomach tighten. Pressing against the bulge of his cock fills you perfectly, slick with your cream. Your thighs shake and legs spread wider around him, pussy aching and already very sensitive from all of it.
He leans down in a teasing kiss, tongue slipping in while one hand still cupped your breast, fingers circling the hard nipple. “Mmm… such a good girl… taking all of me,” his thrusts pick up pace, cock hitting just the right spots inside your wet pussy. “Mine… all mine, pretty girl. Can’t get enough of you.”
You gasp, pulling on his hair with one hand and the other clutching his shoulder. “Joshua… so good… don’t stop… please… harder…” you moaned.
He smirks cockily, “can’t take it? Too much for you, princess? You’re such a little brat… but I like it. I love how you’re mine, how wet and ready you’re for me.” He thrusts deeper, driving you closer to the edge.
“Ah… Joshua… oh my God… I… I’m close…!” you gasp, pussy clenching tightly around his thick cock. His hands grip your hips to hold you in place while he rubs your nipples with his thumbs in tandem with his hard thrusts.
“Come on, baby… come for me… show me how good you are,” and you shatter around him, body convulsing, cream slicking over his cock. Your hands clutch his hair tighter and pull him down to you, breathless moans filling the air.
He holds you through it but still moves inside you slowly. “That’s it, princess… such a good girl…,” he groans.
He twitches at the sight of his cock stretching you tight and stomach flexing with every thrust. His own arousal spiking as you cling to him.
“You feel that? That’s me deep inside you…”
You shiver as he starts picking up pace again, one hand still tangled in his hair. “Joshua… oh God… please…!” you moan, clenching down on his cock.
“What’s wrong, pretty girl? Can’t handle? You’re mine to push… mine to breed… You’re so wet… so ready… and I’m not stopping until I breed you.”
“Then do it— breed me—”
“You want it that badly? Say… say it again— Tell me you’re ready to take everything.”
“I’m ready— I said I’M READY— give it to me, Joshua— just don’t stop.”
“I’ll give you all of it, but promise you won’t cry when you can’t handle it.”
“I won’t— I can take you more— I promise— just keep going—”
Your body convulse again, nipples hard under his hands. He grin, thrusting deep and fast and pulling you closer, stomach pressing perfectly against yours. “That’s it… come for me again, baby,” he whispered.
You scream and tremble through the next orgasm as he drives you completely undone. His groans filled the room all while his cock was twitching inside you, stomach bulging against yours with every thrust.
“J-Joshua— I can’t— I can’t— but don’t stop— don’t stop— please—”
He slows for a moment to let you catch your breath but doesn’t stop teasing. “Good girl… my pretty princess… can’t get enough of you,” his hands roaming your body, cock still deep inside you.
His palm slid down your stomach again, fingers spreading wide as he pressed lightly to make the bulge of his cock rise under your skin. His breath catches as a shaky sound in your ear. “Look at that,” he whispers with hunger. “You’re taking me so deep I can feel myself from the outside… fuck, baby, you’re perfect.” He touches the skin of your stomach to feel it under his fingertips.
Your breath hitches with your eyes fluttering half-open, half-close when your mind’s trying to hold onto consciousness but your body is drowning in pleasure. Your lashes tremble like they are being blown by the heat of his breath. “Joshua… please… don’t stop… I– I need more…” your voice breaking into tiny whimpers.
“Yeah? You want more? Beg me.”
“I want you— please, give it to me—”
His hips snap forward to force a choked moan from your throat. “That’s my girl,” he starts to pace rougher for your pleasure. “So fucking needy for me.”
Your nails dug into his shoulders. “Yes— yes— please don’t slow down—”
“Oh, I’m not slowing down,” he laughs softly. “Especially when you’re still clenching like that.”
“Joshua— fuck— I can’t—”
“Yes, yes, you can, babe...” your thighs tremble and clench around him as your walls tighten. “You’re mine to fill,” he whispers into your mouth. “Mine to breed.”
Your breath hitch. “I told you… Then do it— do it, baby— make me yours—”
He groaned like your words punched air out of him. “Fuck, sweetheart… No, don’t say things like that unless you want me to lose it.”
“I want you to lose it,” your hands suddenly slide up his chest and push lightly. It was’nt to stop him, but to flip the moment. While he’s dazed by the heat, you move your hips and roll him onto his back with a breathless grunt. His eyes widen as you climb on top of him, sinking down on his cock again.
“Baby— what—” his head tips back as his hands fly to your hips.
You press a palm to his chest and ride him with a desperate rhythm that makes his breath break in shards. “Lose it,” you lean over him. “I can take it. Let go for me.”
His fingers tighten helplessly. “Fuck— I… you’re— sweetheart, I can’t— I’m gonna—”
“You will,” you tell him. “I want you like this.”
He looks wrecked beneath you with half-lidded eyes, flushed cheeks. Every part of his control unravels in your hands as you bounce on him and squeeze around him with every roll of your hips. You lean down to kiss his jaw, “Let me ruin you, Shua.”
His groan was ragged but that’s the exact moment he lost the last thread of control for a second but then regained it after breathing pauses for both of you. He snaps his hips again, making your breath shudder. “God… you’re gonna kill me.”
He tries to roll you onto your back, but instead, you push him back and straddle him. But after a few thrusts he grips your waist, sits up, and gently turns you beneath him and adjusts himself inside you again, which makes your legs shake so hard from the adjustment that you could barely push your words out. You understand that he’s at it again so you don’t mention fighting him. “Please— Joshua— don’t stop— don’t pull out—”
He grips your waist. “Baby… if I come inside you right now— I won’t stop.”
“I don’t want you to stop,” you cry out.
“Fuck—” he groans, forehead presses to your cheek. “You’re driving me insane.”
Your body convulse again with another orgasm tearing through you without warning and your pussy fluttering uncontrollably around his cock. You gasp, “Joshua— I’m— I’m coming—”
“Good girl,” he whispers against your throat all while he stays deep inside you while your body clenches around him, letting you ride the wave before he moves again. “Give it to me… fuck— squeeze me just like that—”
You cling to him, shaking. “Joshua— baby—”
“Baby… I’m close too… too close—”
“Then let go,” you say as you cup his cheeks. He freezes just for a single ½ second and is overwhelmed. Then he pulls himself out of you at the last possible second with a strangled groan. Before he can even think, your trembling hands guide him between your thighs when you see what he did. You spread your legs wider for him, voice soft but needy, “Joshua… finish on me… baby— I want...”
His hips jerk violently at your words, and he came with hot ropes spilling thick across your inner thighs, your folds, and your trembling skin. His eyes stays glued to the mess spreading over you, “fuck— look at you,” he’s daze looking at the art. “So messy… so perfect… all mine.”
Your body shake as you try to catch your breath but he’s already dragging his fingers lightly through the white streaks on your skin. Then he lifts his gaze.
“Lie back, sweetheart,” he said. “Let me clean you up.”
You didn’t need telling twice. The moment you settle against the pillows properly, Joshua smoothly slides down your body and spreads your thighs and presses a kiss to your knee. Then kiss your inner thigh, and then lower.
When his tongue touches you warm, you gasp and grab at the sheets. “J— are you? You’re gonna— I’m too sensitive—”
“I know,” he whispers into your skin. “I’ll be gentle.” And he was… at first.
He licked the mess off your thighs, each touch sending electric tingles through your overstimulated nerves. His hands held your hips firmly in place while his thumbs stroked your skin. He then slid his tongue between your folds to taste both of you mixed together.
You nearly jerk off the bed. “Baby— Joshua— oh my God—”
“Mmm,” he hums, lips sealed around your clit as he sucks smoothly. “Sweetest thing I’ve ever had.”
Your entire body trembles. You came again unexpectedly with just the almost painful electric sensation that you’re getting down there with a soft desperate cry that breaks from your lips. He stays with you through it, kissing you as you shake.
When it finally eases, he kisses your stomach, your chest, your throat, and pulls you into his arms, you throw your leg over his waist and press your forehead to his collarbone. His hand stroked your spine in lazy lines. “You okay?” he asks into your hair.
“Mhm… just… ruined.”
He chuckles, kissing the top of your head. “Good. Come here.” His arms wrap around you to hold you tight against his chest. Your breathing finally slows and syncs with his. He tucks your hair behind your ear and whispers, “stay right here. I’ve got you.”
You both close your eyes and stay like that in silence between you. It was intense and slightly painful, but in a way that made you ache with pleasure. Your legs feel weak, and with your eyes closed, you can only sense his even breaths against you. Minutes pass quietly like that until you feel a slight nudge. You open your eyes to find him lifting you with his arms sliding under your thighs and back. Your body reacts before your brain can catch up, and a surprised yelp escapes your lips.
“Does it hurt?” worry threading his voice.
“No… I’m fine,” you whisper even though your legs are trembling still.
He carries you carefully to the bathroom and helps you sit on the stool. His hands are firm but gentle as he helps you clean up. You notice the soft brush of his fingertips while making sure you’re comfortable the entire time. Once finished, you both go through your night routine together and take your time with it because every muscle in your body and his too, is sore and spent. By the time you crawl back into bed, exhaustion has taken over. You collapse into his arms, face pressed to his chest, and he brushes your hair back.
“I pushed you too far, didn’t I?” he asks with a chuckle but laced full of concern.
You lift your head slightly to look at him, still catching your breath. “I liked it,” you admit. “It was… a lot, but I liked it.”
He smiles faintly, letting out a soft laugh. “I’m glad. I needed to make sure you could handle it, but I didn’t mean to hurt you too much.”
You tilt your head back against his chest. “You didn’t. I want it… I liked it.”
“I know,” he runs a hand over your spine again. “But I also need to make sure you’re okay. That’s important to me.”
“I’m okay,” you murmur. “Really. I trust you.”
He sighs, relief washing his features. “Does it hurt anywhere?” he scans your face for any sign of discomfort.
“No,” you shake your head. “I’m sore… but not in a bad way. Just… tired and happy, I guess.”
He hums, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “Good. I just… I don’t want to overdo it.”
“You didn’t,” you say. “I couldv'e handled more… but I’m okay now.”
He smiles down at you, voice teasing but still nice all the way. “No you couldn’t and, well, I would’ve fucked you today anyway, but the bias thing really pushed me over the edge.”
You giggle, and lean against him. “You’re ridiculous. But I like it.”
He presses a kiss to your temple. “I know. You always like it when I push you, don’t you?”
“I do,” you poke your tongue at him, looking up. “I like it when you’re… in control.”
“I could have done a lot more if I’d been thinking clearly,” he smirks slightly. “Would’ve tied you up… maybe taken even more time to wreck you properly.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” he counters, brushing your cheek.
“I love you,” you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close.
He sighs, eyes looking like it’ll melt. “I love you too,” he says.
Both of you eventually fall asleep, granted you had both had an intense night. You have a meeting tomorrow that you really need to cancel as there’s just no way you can attend without making a fool of yourself.
-
You wake up feeling a weight on your chest, rising and falling with your every breath. Joshua. His hair brushes your arm, and you can feel his breathing. For a second, you just lie there savoring the heat of his body, and a smile creeps onto your lips.
Your fingers trail lightly along his shoulder, and press your palm against the curve of his side, letting him feel your touch without moving too fast. His eyes flutter open, still heavy with sleep, and a small groan escapes him when he realizes where your hand rests.
“Morning,” you whisper over his ear.
“Morning,” he whispers back, but his voice is already softening under your touch. His hands automatically move to your hips, but you slide them just slightly away, letting him hover there, unsure and wanting.
You move closer and press your body into his, letting your chest brush against his as your hands explore him. His lips part as a moan slips out, and you feel him melting under your teasing. “Y—you’re… so soft… like this,” he breathes.
You lean down, ghosting your lips over the curve of his neck, your hands tracing down his arms, over his chest, and then resting on his stomach. He shivers at every touch, and when you slide your fingers just lightly beneath the waistband of his sleep shorts, his hips press up just tehn. “Baby… wait,” his voice trembling with need, but he doesn’t push you away.
Instead, he melts. You grind your hips against him lightly, feeling his hardness under you, his hands reluctantly guiding but mostly surrendering. His breath caught between groans and whimpers. “God—”
A smile spreads on your lips as you tease him further. “I can feel you, Joshua… so ready for me,” your lips brush against his skin in little nips. He arches into you, pressing his chest down, arms wrapping around you desperately.
His hand trails down to your hip. “You’ve got work today… Are you really going to cancel it for me?”
You brush your nose against his collarbone. “I can’t even stand up properly, Shua… but,” you look at him with a smirk, “at least, I can do this for you. Don’t wanna get up.”
“Do you… really want this?” his gaze darkens.
“Yes,” your fingers trail down his torso again. “I want to make you feel good… I want to do something for you too. I’m not that tired anymore.”
“Whatever you want, baby,” he breathes.
You press a kiss to his lips and let your tongue brush his, lips parting slightly. The kiss deepens just a little before you pull back to whisper against his mouth, “you ready?” and he nods as you down with your lips tracing down his chest, stomach, until your mouth hovers over the waistband of his shorts.
Sliding them down just enough, you reveal his hard dick fully. Your fingers lightly stroke the base before your lips wrap around him. You take him in slowly, your tongue tease the underside as your hands glide up to cup his thighs for support.
His head tips back as his fists tangle in your hair as his hips press into your mouth. “Fuck, baby…” he maons. “Oh… fu—”
You move and tease with your mouth and tongue, swirling, licking, taking him in as much as you possibly can. You watch his expression, see the way his eyes flutter and lips part. His hands clutch your hair tighter to guide your head just slightly as you continue.
“You feel so good, baby… oh God… just like that…” he groans as you continue with your lips and tongue working together. The tension in his body builds until a guttural moan escapes him, hips jerking. “I’m—fuck—oh God, baby—” His warm and thick release spills over your tongue and lips, and you hold him still with your hands, swallowing while letting him ride the sensation.
Afterward, you slowly sit back with your lips glistening, looking up at him. He pulls you close and wraps an arm around you as you press your face into his chest. His hand brushes your hair back, thumb stroking your temple.
“You okay?” he whispers.
“Mhm…,” you murmur.
He chuckles and presses a kiss to your forehead. “I love you,” he whispers. You both drift back into the cozy morning, wrapped in each other, the world outside temporarily forgotten. For now.
genre: smut (MDNI), face fucking, big dick joshua, dry humping, bulge kink, breeding kink, oral f! receiving, slight degradation (??), fingering, dirty talk
description: in the light of joshua, dino and dk reading the thirst tweets and basically confirming that joshua is, indeed, HUNG-bon appetite yall❤️
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
•big dick! joshua who wasn’t even aware that he was THAT big-sure, he was aware that he wasn’t the smallest, but he always thought that he was average, if not a tiny bit above that. at least not until he met you and realised that he was, in fact, big
•big dick! joshua who unknowingly gave you a preview of his size while you were still just dating, not sleeping together, by making out with you and unconsciously dry humping you. his bulge fit perfectly between your thighs, so big you couldn’t stop grinding against it. you did this before-and you could safely say no men before him was this big. he was so big you got off in record time just by grinding on his clothed dick
•big dick! joshua who didn’t know how into this whole thing he would be until he saw your stomach bulge a bit as he fucked you for the first time. something in his head went “oh. oh. oh fuck.” when he saw how deep and far he was reaching inside you. how you were struggling to stay sane while he was pushing inside you. how you were literally shaking from his size only
•big dick! joshua who talks so dirty, so nastily while fucking you slowly, sensually, letting you feel each and every inch of him. who will have you wrapped all around his body, limbs secured around his back as he’s slowly rolling his hips-all while his lips are right next to your ear, slowly and deeply asking you “what was that, love? hm? “too much”? no, you can take it baby-i know my girl can take it all. you want to be a good girl for me, dont you? then take it-take it all. cum on this cock, baby-“ like 💦 chill papi
•big dick! joshua who never thought he would be so into face fucking until he heard the pretty sounds you make. your body trapped between his big thighs, your lips wrapped around his thick, and his hand buried in your hair as he bobs your head on his dick, (almost) no regard for you or the fact that you seem to be choking on his big cock. who throws his head back as he speeds up his (and also your) movements as he’s basically using your lips to get himself off. joshua who will let moans and groans and little “fuck yes’” slip out of his mouth as he fuck your own
•big dick! joshua who didn’t even think him being big could ever correlate with a breeding kink. but then he fucked you without a condom for the first time-and oh god. the way your walls were squeezing him, struggling around his thickness and length, the way you were so so wet for him, the way he could feel himself reaching so deep inside you-it’s no wonder he eventually started talking about “breeding you.” not even necessarily in the context of having kids, but more so like “want me to cum, pretty? hm? want me to cum inside you? want me to paint your pretty pussy white? want me here? hm? then cum for me first, pretty girl-“
•big dick! joshua who has to eat you out and finger you for at least an hour to prep you for his big dick. at least, that’s what he claims-saying “can’t stop yet, pretty, gotta make sure you are ready for me. gotta make you cum first so you can take this dick, love. don’t wanna hurt you- not my pretty, never.” who uses his thick and long fingers to scissor you and pump them repeatedly inside of your pussy to make sure you are completely and utterly wet before he slides it in. who encouragingly asks you “just one more finger, baby, you got this.” at least three times before he lets you off the hook
•big dick! joshua who is mesmerised with how your wetness seems to struggle in enveloping around his cock. who will lean all the way back and just watch as he slowly slides his dick in and back out. who will moan as he watches this, clawing at your thighs as he tries to control his own release so early on. who literally can’t believe you can actually take in all of his length-so he has to make sure that he isn’t dreaming and watch as he fucks you
•big dick! joshua who, in the beginning, was a bit weirded out by your enthusiasm about his big dick, but who eventually turned so cocky about the whole thing-who will, on some nights where he wants to be mean to you (only a little though❤️) will mockingly ask you “what’s the matter, pretty? can’t take it all? awww, is this cock too big for your tiny pussy? want to prove me wrong, pretty? then take it.”
•big dick! joshua who will ruin you for anybody else-including on those nights where he’s away and your own fingers can’t satisfy you the way he does. who will actually prove to you that the size does matter-only a little though
SYNOPSIS. Chan has had a massive crush on you since the day he first saw you. He never thought he’d have a chance with you, since you were so obviously out of his league. But it turns out life has a way of writing the right things with crooked lines.
PARING. Lee Chan x F!Reader
GENRE | TAGS. Oneshot, non idol!au, comedy, fluff, pinning, down bad!chan, acquaintances to lovers, smut.
WC. 20k (sorry)
RATING. Explicit adult content (MINORS DNI).
WARNINGS. Explicit language, alcohol consumption, allusion to use of weed, mentions of cheating, Chan is down bad to the point he is doubting himself, reader has an unspoken noona kink, switch!chan, switch!reader, dry humping, oral (f. receiving), fingering, face sitting, pussy eating, cum eating, teasing, unprotected sex, creampie.
AN. Officially my first Chan fic and I’m SO happy I finally get to post it... hope you love it as much as I loved writing it! Also, since I forgot to say it earlier: this whole fic is based on End Up Here by 5SOS.
🎧 SOUNDTRACK. end up here – 5 seconds of summer; i would – one direction; obviously – mcfly; loverboy – a-wall; best friend – rex orange county; espresso – sabrina carpenter; out of my limit – 5 seconds of summer; shup and dance – walk the moon; heart out – the 1975; intoxicated – the cab; wait – dino.
He knew the exact moment you walked into the apartment. At this point, it was as if he had a sixth sense for your presence, a Y/N sense, if he had to name it.
Not that it was hard to tell when you did, since every face in the room turned the moment you walked in. Most people already knew who you were, and those who didn’t? Well, their expressions made it very clear: they were dying to find out.
There was this energy about you that demanded attention, even when you weren’t trying. It wasn’t just the way you carried yourself—though that certainly played a part—it was the way people gravitated toward you, their eyes lingering, their conversations subtly shifting as if they were waiting for you to say something, to do something.
And he, well, he had always been attuned to it. To you. Even before he truly understood why.
Tonight, when you walked through the doors of his apartment looking absolutely breathtaking, Chan felt his head spin. It could have been the ten shots of tequila he’d been forced to drink after losing some random game against Yeonjun a couple of minutes ago, but he knew it wasn’t.
That was simply the effect you’d had on him since the day he first laid eyes on you during orientation day, two years ago. You had been in charge of welcoming the freshmen to their dorm building, and when you smiled at him like he was the most important guy there, he was a goner.
Of course, he knew you were probably just doing your job as a sophomore, but still, your smile had been stuck in his mind ever since.
“Pathetic,” he heard Seungkwan’s voice, followed by a slap on the back of his head.
Chan barely flinched, too busy pressed against the wall watching you every move as you wave through the crowded room like you owned the place. For him, in a way, you did. You weren’t loud about it, didn’t strut around making a scene, but there was an undeniable pull to you, one that made people shift to make space, one that had them leaning in, hoping for even a sliver of your attention.
And him? He was no better than the rest of them.
He tore his gaze away just long enough to shoot Seungkwan — who was looking at him like he was the saddest excuse for a man to ever exist — a glare. Vernon was right beside him, looking high enough to be in another dimension, and yet, was still wearing the same expression as the eldest of the three.
“What?”
Seungkwan sighed dramatically, crossing his arms. “You look like a lovesick puppy. Again.”
It was no secret to anyone that Lee Chan had a huge, enormous and gigantic crush on you. If he was being honest, by this point, it was a surprise you didn’t know—which he had some doubts—, since he wasn’t exactly very skilled at hiding it.
Not that he was openly hitting on you whenever he had the chance, because that was far from his reality. Very far, really. He had never done so and whenever he had a chance to be near you or participate in the same conversation as you, he would turn just as red as the lipstick you were wearing tonight, not to mention the stuttering he didn’t even know he had.
It was a mess. He was a mess.
Not that he would admit that to Seungkwan, anyway.
Chan scoffed, forcing himself to straighten up. “I do not look like a lovesick puppy.”
Seungkwan snorted. “Yeah, and I’m a backing vocal for Beyoncé.”
“You do,” Vernon stated, deadpanned. “Mingi just asked me if you were okay because, and I quote, ‘Chan looks like he just got hit by a truck.’”
Yeah, he was that obvious.
He watched as Seungkwan tilted his head to the side, nudging him with his elbow. “Chan-ah, are you seriously gonna spend the rest of your college years pining after this girl?”
His face flushed, a mixture of embarrassment and frustration tugging at him. Chan opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Because what was he supposed to say? That he wasn’t pining? That he wasn’t completely, utterly, hopelessly gone for you? Even he wasn’t delusional enough to deny it.
Seungkwan, apparently sensing his internal struggle, let out a long-suffering sigh. “That’s what I thought.”
Chan scowled, lifting his drink to his lips only to hide his face and Vernon chuckled, clearly enjoying the way his younger friend was unraveling under the pressure of their teasing.
“Just go talk to her,” he said, voice slow and lazy. “She doesn’t bite, dude.”
“Easy for you to say,” Chan muttered, his eyes flickering back to you, who were now chatting with your friends in the corner. “She’s your friend.”
Oh yeah, there was also this little detail: you were Vernon’s classmate.
Not only were you both seniors, you were also majoring in the same program, meaning you shared the vast majority of your classes. Chan knew you were in the same study group and that you were paired up for most of the projects, which had led to a friendship that he very much envied.
You might think that having a mutual friend would make things easier for him, but you’d be completely wrong. Soon he discovered that Vernon wasn’t willing to help. Not because he didn’t believe Chan had a chance with you, but because he insisted that Chan should grow a pair and talk to you himself.
Which of course, he had already shown incapability of doing so thousands of times.
Seungkwan clicked his tongue. “You really are pathetic.”
“Hyung—” Chan groaned.
“I mean, come on,” his eldest friend cut him off, trying to finish his point. “You can deadlift three plates but you can’t say one sentence to a girl you like?”
Chan glared at him again. “That is not the same thing.”
“Yeah, one requires actual effort,” Vernon added, scoffing.
By now, he was used to all the teasing from his friends. It didn’t keep him from wanting to strangle them any less though.
Either way, there wasn’t much he could do. It wasn’t just about the amount of courage he had or how much effort he put into it; crushing on you for the last two years had felt like playing a game he was destined to lose. Even though in the deepest desires of his mind he was your boyfriend, that role was already filled by someone much older than him.
A Marine dude, apparently. His name? Chan didn’t care.
Not only was he the luckiest dude on the planet by having you as his girl, he was also tall, strong and a walking definition of everything Chan wasn’t: confident, assertive, and the complete opposite of the shy mess he’d been around you since day one. He would probably kill Chan if he could peek into his brain and see all the dreams he had about you over the years.
The guy also irritated the fuck out of him. Something about his attitude, his hundred tattoos, the fact that he was probably three times his height and the way he marked his territory by walking you to every class, every day. Like, damn, dude, we get it, she’s yours. At least let the rest of us appreciate the divine gift the universe sent us by looking at her.
Every time Chan saw him, he felt like he was suffocating under the weight of the competition. The worst part? You didn’t seem happy with him and everyone knew it. And even though it was clear from every word and every look that you were completely unaware of Chan’s feelings, the thought of you with someone else — someone like him — made his insides twist in ways he didn’t know he could feel.
“She has a boyfriend,” Chan finally said, feeling the bitter taste on the tip of his tongue as he did.
“So?” Seungkwan arched an eyebrow. “I don’t see him here. Do you?”
He directed his last question to Vernon, who just shrugged and shook his head. “Nope.”
Chan swallowed hard, eyes darting toward you again. Sure enough, there was no sign of your boyfriend. Not that he was about to get his hopes up. He had enough self-awareness to know he was probably just grasping at straws, because even if he never existed at all, Chan still wasn’t sure he’d have the guts to walk up to you.
“Look, man,” Seungkwan stared again, breaking through his dark thoughts. “You’ve gotta stop comparing yourself to him. You’re Lee Chan. You have a million things going for you, and besides…” He paused for effect. “You’re way better looking.”
“Thanks for the support,” Chan replied dryly, rolling his eyes.
“Seriously, dude,” Vernon chimed in. “You’re smart, funny, and way more likable than that guy. You just need to show her that.”
Chan sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “It's not that simple, guys.”
“It is that simple,” Seungkwan shot back. “You’re making it complicated.”
Before Chan could argue, the music shifted, the bass thrumming through the floorboards, and a new wave of partygoers stumbled in, laughing and chattering loudly. His attention snapped back to you, just in time to see you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, your lips curling into a soft smile at something one of your friends said. The sight alone made his pulse quicken.
Then, as if you could feel his eyes on you, your gaze flickered up and locked onto his.
He froze.
It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t just a glance that skimmed over the room, landing on him by chance. No, this was intentional. You looked at him like you had known he was there all along, like you’d expected to find him in that exact spot, leaning against the wall with a drink in hand and his friends at his side.
And then, as if to send him straight into cardiac arrest, your lips — marked by the most beautiful shade of red he had ever seen — curved into a smile.
For a split second, it felt like the entire world blurred, muffled voices fading into static. Your eyes lingered, holding his in a way that sent a rush of heat down his spine. Then—just as quickly as it happened—, you turned back to your friends, your fingers wrapping around the red cup in your hand and leaving him to wonder if he’d imagined the whole thing.
He was sure he had just checked off a box on the list of clichés where the lovestruck fool forgets how to breathe. His fingers tightened around the cup in his hand, his heartbeat hammering so loudly he was certain Seungkwan and Vernon could hear it.
Chan looked away just a second before he heard, “She’s coming over,” announced Vernon, and for once, his voice didn’t sound amused. It sounded almost surprised.
He blinked, breaking free from whatever trance he had fallen into. “What?”
Seungkwan’s hand landed on his shoulder, shaking him once. “She. Is. Coming. Over.”
He barely had a second to react before you started making your way through the crowd, weaving between bodies with practiced ease, heading straight toward them. The air in the room seemed to thicken with every step you took in his direction, and though he told himself to stay cool, to not let it show, he knew the battle was already lost. His grip tightened, his pulse a frantic rhythm beneath his skin.
Seungkwan shifted beside him. “Oh, this is gonna be good,” he muttered, half under his breath.
“Act normal,” he whispered to himself. Or at least he thought so.
“Yeah, good luck with that,” Vernon mumbled.
Chan shot him a glare, but before he could tell his friend to shut the hell up, you were there, standing right in front of him, close enough that he caught the faint scent of your perfume, something so sweet and heady that made his head spin.
“Hello, boys,” you greeted them, your voice light but with a touch of something so soft and delicate that made his breath catch.
Trying to play it cool, Chan swallowed hard as he forced himself to meet your gaze. Up close, you were even more mesmerizing, your eyes alight with something he couldn’t quite place, the corners of your lips curving into the kind of smile that made his stomach flip.
“Hey,” he managed to say collectively with the other two, his voice steadier than he felt.
Beside him, Seungkwan looked like he was barely restraining himself from narrating the entire interaction like he was watching some kind of reality TV show on Netflix: Lee Chan’s Inferno, the live show.
Your eyes flickered between the three of them briefly before settling back on Chan.
“Nice party,” you said, flashing them a smile as you nodded towards the crowd of people scattered around their apartment. “Full house, I’ve been told.”
It was the first party the three of them had thrown since Vernon and Seungkwan became seniors and he a junior. They hadn’t expected it to be a great success, but judging by the number of people in their apartment right at that moment, it seemed they had been wrong.
“Thanks,” they chorused in perfect unison. You let out a small laugh, raising your eyebrows in curiosity.
“Are you guys okay? What are you drinking?” He knew you weren’t just talking to him, but Chan was pretty sure his soul was leaving his body slowly but surely. “I know for a fact Hansol is just as high as Namsan Tower.”
It wasn’t just that you were standing in front of him, looking every bit like you walked straight out of his dream, it was the way you were looking at him. Like you were actually interested in what he had to say, like he wasn’t just another person in this house, and like you weren’t effortlessly stealing the air from his lungs.
Meanwhile, his brain? Completely fried.
Your laugh—soft, amused and way too pretty—sent something dangerously warm through his chest. You tilted your head to the side, as if you were analyzing his face.
“What’s your name?”
His world seemed to stop for a second.
Even though the two of you weren’t close, or even friends, he was sure you knew his name. I mean, Vernon was one of his best friends. You were Vernon’s friend. You knew his name… right?
This was the worst possible scenario. The girl he had a crush on bigger than the entire Asian continent didn’t know his name? Yeah. The ground could open up and swallow him whole right now, and he wouldn’t even fight it.
This couldn’t be happening.
“You don’t know my name?” He didn’t even know he could finish a whole sentence around you, let alone a question, his voice somehow steady despite the absolute horror pooling in his chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Seungkwan and Vernon exchanging a surprised and amused look, definitely holding back laughter.
“Oh, I know your name, Channie.” Your lips twitched, like you were trying not to laugh. “Just making sure you're still sober enough to remember it.”
Chan felt his face heat up instantly, a mix of relief and embarrassment washing over him all at once, brain barely registering the sweet way you said his name. Seungkwan outright cackled, slapping his knee, while Vernon just shook his head with a knowing smirk.
“Oh.” Was all Chan managed to say at first, his brain short-circuiting at the way you looked at him, teasing, confident, completely in control of the situation. “Chan. Lee Chan.”
You tilted your head, clearly enjoying his reaction. “Good.”
Suddenly, Chan was painfully aware of how close you were. Close enough that he could count the faint shimmer of highlight on your cheekbone, see the way your lashes fluttered when your gaze briefly flickered down to his mouth? No. He had to be imagining that. Maybe he had had a little too much tequila. Maybe it was time to put his cup down, go to his bedroom and sleep.
He blinked. Then, realized he had been silent for far too long.
“I—uh—” he started, then immediately hated himself for it. He could already feel the tips of his ears getting hot from how red they possibly were.
“He’s fine,” Seungkwan answered for him. “We’re all fine.”
You just smiled again, that knowing, unreadable smile that sent Chan’s pulse into overdrive. “If you say so.”
Vernon cleared his throat. “So, uh…” he was clearly trying to fill the awkward silence that Chan had created. “Are you having fun?”
“I just got here, actually,” you said, taking a slow sip from your cup. They already knew that, yet they nodded anyway. “But everyone else seems to be having a lot of fun.”
The four of you glanced around the packed apartment, noting also the constant flow of guests coming and going through the front door. Some faces were familiar to Chan, ones he had seen somewhere on campus, while others were completely new. The living room was almost unrecognizable with the couch pushed aside to make room for a dance floor. A mini bar had been set up in one corner with beer and even more booze filled the kitchen for those who wanted specific things.
Everywhere he looked, people were jumping, grinding, kissing, chatting animatedly, smoking and drinking, while plastic cups littered the floor alongside crushed cigarette butts, joints, and scattered snacks trampled underfoot. Chan was so absorbed in your presence that he didn’t even think about the mess he’d eventually have to clean up after the party was over.
The air was thick with the scent of alcohol, sweat and perfume, and honestly, Chan was surprised none of the neighbors had called the police yet. Sure, the homecoming parties that were happening around campus this time of year were always packed, but this one was on another level, and he felt very proud of it.
The music thumped steadily, neon lights casting shifting colors over the crowd. Then Seungkwan threw out another question for you, so casually that Chan almost missed his intention. “Did you come alone?”
“Well, I came with Nayoung and Dahyun,” you replied, shrugging. “But I lost them somewhere by coming here to talk to you guys.”
Seungkwan shot Chan a look—one that screamed don’t mess this up—before turning back to you with a knowing smile. “Ah, so you chose to be here with us instead of running off to find them?”
You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I guess I did.”
Chan, who had been determinedly sipping his drink to avoid making a fool of himself, nearly choked. His mind latched onto your words like they meant something far deeper than casual conversation.
Seungkwan smirked. “Makes sense. We’re a great company.”
You grinned. “Exactly.”
“So your boyfriend’s…” Vernon trailed off.
“Not here.”
The words slipped out of your mouth like a subtle declaration, and just like that, Chan felt the weight of it. Your boyfriend wasn’t here. For some reason, the confirmation made him feel a little lighter, though he knew that was dangerous territory.
He had no right to feel relieved. You weren’t his, after all.
Seungkwan raised his eyebrows, clearly intrigued. “Really? No boyfriend? That’s new.”
You shrugged nonchalantly, unfazed by his teasing tone. “He’s busy with something, I guess.”
You glanced down briefly, scratching behind your ear before your eyes flicked over to Chan again, catching his gaze for a fraction of a second before he quickly looked away, embarrassed by the sudden spike in his heartbeat.
“Ohhh,” Seungkwan dragged out, exchanging another look with Vernon. “So you’re free to enjoy the night however you want.”
You let out a hum, tilting your head slightly as if considering his words. “I suppose so.”
Chan took another sip of his drink, trying to play it cool once again, but his grip was a little too tight around the cup. His mind was running a mile per minute, filled with thoughts he probably shouldn’t be having.
“You seem awfully interested in that drink.” You pointed to his cup, raising a curious eyebrow and shifting your weight to one leg, one hand resting on your hip. “What are you drinking?”
Chan glanced down at the red cup in his hand like he’d never seen it before. In truth, he had no idea what was in it, he’d grabbed it off the counter earlier when someone shoved it at him, too distracted by your presence to care.
“Uh…” He swirled the liquid inside, like that would magically tell him what it was. “Something… alcoholic?”
Seungkwan groaned beside him. “Wow. Smooth.”
You chuckled, the corner of your lips quirking up. “That’s very specific, Channie.”
Chan nearly choked. The way you said his name so casually, so effortlessly, made his brain short-circuit again.
Everything he wished for — right after you, of course — was that he had scientific explanations for the way his body and brain reacted to your actions and words. And even then, maybe it wouldn’t be enough for him.
I mean, Chan was a popular guy. A lot of people knew him around the campus. Hell, he was the current best dancer on the program since Xu Minghao had graduated, packing the school theater every time he performed, and he also wasn’t exactly unknown among girls; he wasn’t particularly proud of it, but he had a reputation.
So why was it that, whenever he was around you, he acted like a complete loser?
It was a case to be studied closely and for days, perhaps years.
Seungkwan, probably sensing that Chan was never going to get a full sentence out at this rate, answered for him. “Tequila. Too much tequila. Yeonjun was bullying him a little.”
At the mention of Yeonjun, you hummed in amusement, your lips pressing together like you were holding back a laugh. Then, without warning, you reached forward and plucked the cup from his hands, bringing it to your lips for a sip. You pulled a slight face at the taste, but to Chan’s absolute horror (and delight), you took another small sip before handing the cup back to him.
“Sounds about right,” you mused, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb. “And how’s that going for you?”
Chan blinked.
“Oh, you know…” he forced out, voice slightly rougher than intended, “just trying to stay upright.”
It was a miracle. He had managed to form a coherent sentence.
You laughed, and Chan felt like he had just been hit with a wave of relief. The sound was like music to his ears. “Well, that’s an important skill to have.”
Seungkwan muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like pathetic, but Chan was too busy trying to figure out if you were just being nice or if there was something more behind your words.
“So…” you mused, drawing out the word as if weighing it in your mind. “You having fun?”
Fun. Right. That was why he was here. “Uh. Yeah. It’s a party, so… yeah.”
You raised an eyebrow. “That convincing, huh?”
Chan cleared his throat, trying to wrest away the heat creeping up his neck. “I mean, yeah. I’m having fun.” He nodded a little too enthusiastically as if trying to convince both of you.
You just hummed, unconvinced, tilting your head just slightly. The way your eyes scanned his face sent his brain into overdrive. Was he being obvious? Did you know?
But before he could embarrass himself further, the speakers erupted with the unmistakable intro of Livin’ On A Prayer by Bon Jovi, and the entire room burst into excited screams. Just like you, who threw your head back and let out a moan of happiness.
Chan was certain he felt his entire body shiver at the sound, his mind drifting to places it definitely shouldn’t. He was pretty sure he was already halfway to living on a prayer.
“I love this song,” you said, eyes lighting up and a smile so radiant it nearly knocked him off his feet.
Two seconds later, and before any of them could say anything, Dahyun called your name from across the room. “Come dance with us.”
You turned your head slightly, offering her a small nod of acknowledgment before looking back at them.
“I have to go.” You pointed with your thumb over your shoulder at your friend like they haven’t seen her there, shattering Chan’s dream of spending more than ten minutes near you. “See you guys around.”
His heart sank a little at your departure, the moment slipping away faster than he could grasp it. He opened his mouth, almost as if to protest, but the words never made it past his lips. He was still fumbling, unsure of what to say or do in this kind of situation.
But then you gave him one last smile—quick, but enough to leave him breathless—and started to turn away. You took a few steps forward, then stopped, turning around and staring directly at him; not at him, Vernon and Seungkwan, just him.
“I love your shirt, by the way.”
And just like that, you were gone, moving through the crowd again, leaving him standing there with his heart pounding and his mind reeling, staring in astonishment at the Kurt Cobain shirt he was wearing.
Seungkwan snorted beside him, pulling him out of his daze. “You’re hopeless.”
Chan, still staring after you, muttered, “I know.”
You had disappeared from the party half an hour ago, using the excuse of heading to the bathroom, only to end up on the balcony of one of the bedrooms with an unlocked door.
To be honest, you weren’t really in the mood for partying tonight, but after Nayoung and Dahyun insisted so much on getting you out of your room, despite your repeated insistence that you weren’t affected at all by the recent events in your life, you eventually agreed to join them.
So far, it had been a lot of fun; you’d danced with your friends, played beer pong and pool with people you didn’t even know and a couple of people you did know. But when everyone decided it was time to start a game of seven minutes in heaven, you knew it was time to get away, especially since the only person you wanted to kiss wasn’t in the circle and was clearly avoiding you, as he always did.
That person was currently somewhere in the living room, probably laughing at something his friends said, or even kissing someone in the coat closet, completely unaware of how much space he took up in your thoughts.
With a sigh, you sat down at the railing, the cool night air a relief against your flushed skin. The music from the party thumped through the walls, muffled but still loud enough to remind you of the chaos inside. You were fine with missing the game, better than sitting there, pretending you wouldn’t feel a pang of jealousy if someone else pulled his name.
That last one, of course, was a scenario you created in your own head where he decided to show up and play just because the universe hated you that much.
You weren’t even sure when it had started, this thing. The way your eyes always searched for him in a crowd, the way your heart did that stupid little skip whenever he smiled at you, especially at times when he didn't seem to realize he was smiling. Maybe it had always been there, waiting for the right moment to make itself known and now was the perfect opportunity for it, considering all circumstances.
Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed the door creak open behind you until the warmth of another presence filled the space.
“I was wondering where you disappeared to.”
It was nearly two in the morning when Chan finally decided he’d had enough of the party. You had disappeared a while ago to God-knows-where, and even though your friends were still in the living room playing seven minutes in heaven, he was pretty sure you’d gone home without them. Your boyfriend had probably swung by to pick you up at some point—like he always did—and Chan miraculously hadn't noticed.
All night long, he had watched you from afar, dancing and playing games with his friends. You were laughing with Vernon, teasing Seungkwan, and even giving Yeonjun a hard time. You looked completely at ease, like you belonged there somehow. But every time his gaze lingered on you, he felt that familiar twist in his stomach. It wasn’t jealousy, exactly, but the kind of longing that made his chest tighten in a way that hurt.
You were surrounded by his friends, sure, but in his mind, you were still just very much out of reach.
Now, Chan was exhausted, tired of feeling like a failure for not having the courage to approach you, even just to start a conversation. He hadn’t taken Vernon’s advice, hadn’t shown you how much better he could be than your boyfriend. So, instead of dwelling on it any longer, he simply said goodbye to everyone and headed to his bedroom.
After cursing himself for forgetting to lock the door, Chan headed inside, silently thanking the universe that no one was there. Everything was in place, neat and undisturbed, clearly showing it hadn’t been used as a place for a couple to make out, or worse. After finally locking the door behind him, he sat on the edge of the bed, calmly taking off his shoes as he recapped the night in his head.
He sighed, lying back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Seungkwan was right: this was getting pathetic, really. He had talked to people all night, joked around, even had a decent time despite the chaos around the apartment. But when it came to you, his heart always raced in a way that made him second-guess every single move.
He was such a big fool.
A fool for you, apparently.
For a brief moment, Chan watched as the long curtains that divided the room from the balcony swayed in the wind, revealing a figure sitting on the railing.
When the fabric shifted again, his breath caught in his throat. It was unmistakably you perched on the balcony railing with your legs dangling over the edge, one hand resting casually against your knee. Even under the dim glow from the city lights below, he knew that silhouette by heart. He didn’t know how long you had been out there, but seeing you, calm and distant and seemingly lost in thought, entirely unaware of him, rooted him to the spot.
He hesitated. Again.
The cool night air slipped into the room, sweeping the curtains aside and making them billow like they were inviting him forward. For a brief moment, Chan considered staying put, convincing himself that you probably just needed some space, some quiet time away from the party. But the thought of you sitting out there by yourself pulled at him, tightening something deep in his chest. It felt like the universe was placing a second chance right in front of him, daring him not to waste it this time.
Before he could overthink, before doubt could drag him back down, Chan pushed himself to his feet and crossed the room toward the balcony.
He reached the balcony door quietly, not wanting to startle you. The breeze hit his face as he stepped outside, the sound of music and laughter from the party still faintly echoing in the distance. Chan took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, but it was hard when you were so close, when all it took was one glance to unravel him completely.
You looked like an angel sitting there, and his brain nearly short-circuited when he noticed you were wearing the hoodie he had left on the chair earlier that day.
Chan never really liked people invading his space — especially his room — and even less so when they were uninvited. If it had been anyone else, he probably would have kicked them out on the spot. But this was you. Not only did it not bother him, but he found himself loving the sight of you in his clothes.
“I was wondering where you disappeared to.”
You turned your head at the sound of his voice, blinking in surprise at his appearance. “Chan?”
The way your voice sounded when you said his name — disbelieving — made it seem like you were the one wondering if he was real, not the other way around. And he couldn’t help but smile at that.
“Hey,” Chan managed to say, words just loud enough to be heard over the distant music. “Are you alright?”
You nodded, offering a small smile. “Yeah. Just needed a break. Parties aren’t really my thing.”
Chan hesitated for a beat before leaning against the railing beside you. His posture was a little stiff, like even though it was his bedroom, he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to be there, intruding on your moment alone. Yet, somehow, your presence made him and the space feel calmer.
“I get it,” he said quietly, his gaze shifting down to the street below. “I kind of feel the same way sometimes. All the noise, all the people, it’s a lot.”
You chuckled softly, turning slightly toward him. “You? A dance major?”
He really wanted to use this opportunity with you to make a good impression and follow his friends’ advice. But when he looked at you again, his brain went into a tailspin trying to process the way his hoodie looked on you, as if they’d been made for you just as much as for him.
Still, Chan forced himself to get the words out.
“Yeah. Well, dancing is… different,” he admitted, glancing at you with a small, almost sheepish smile. “It’s loud, sure, but it makes sense, you know? It’s the kind of noise I can control.”
You hummed in understanding, swinging your legs slightly. “And parties?”
“Not so much.”
A comfortable silence settled between you, the distant music from the party below blending with the rustling trees. The longer Chan stood beside you, the more his nerves settled, though that didn’t stop his heart from hammering in his chest. He had spent so long watching you from a distance, convinced that any moment spent too close would give him away. And yet here you were, wrapped in his hoodie, on his bedroom balcony, as if you belonged there.
Chan opened his mouth, but nothing came out, as usual. He was already surprised that he had managed to form other sentences before, since his brain was still trying to catch up with everything that’s happening.
God, you were standing in his bedroom—his bedroom—at two in the morning.
He couldn’t help but wonder if you had any idea what you did to him with just a small action.
You shifted a bit, looking at him out of the corner of your eye, the breeze tugging at your hair while you analyzed his well-defined profile.
You’d known Chan and his friends long enough to recognize their signature chaos. They moved like a unit, very loud, unfiltered, and unapologetically themselves. Each one matching and amplifying the other’s quirks without a single trace of embarrassment. It was refreshing. Maybe that was why you liked being around them so much; they weren’t like the typical guys you met on this campus.
Every now and then, you’d end up hanging out with one of them. Sometimes it was Vernon, your friend, your classmate, basically unavoidable. Other times it was Seungkwan, who somehow knew everyone and always drifted into whatever group you were in.
Lee Chan, however, was the one you barely ever heard speak. You could never tell if he was always that quiet… or if he just became that way around you. You suspected it was the last one.
“You don’t talk much, do you?” The question left you in a light tone, trying to keep the mood casual, though there was an underlying curiosity in your voice.
Chan laughed under his breath, running a hand through his hair, a little embarrassed but still amused by it. He scrambled for words, anything to not look like a complete idiot. “I—uh. No, I mean, I do. Sometimes. I talk.”
Brilliant! Just brilliant.
For someone who was usually a yapper, he had become an expert at being at a loss for words around you. Before this moment, Chan hoped you wouldn’t notice, but your question showed him that was clearly not the case.
Your lips twitched, like you were trying not to laugh. But it wasn’t in a cruel way, not like you were laughing at him. “That’s good to know,” you replied, nodding like you were filing the information away for later.
He couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at his lips, even with the awkwardness hanging in the air. Only this time, it wasn’t heavy. You didn’t make him feel self-conscious. If anything, you made him feel noticed, and something about that sent a slow warmth spreading through him.
“I promise I can carry a conversation most of the time,” he defended himself, shoulders lifting in a small shrug, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Just… not always the best at small talk.”
You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow at him, teasing. “Small talk is overrated anyway.”
Silence settled between you, strangely comfortable. From where you stood, the cheers of the crowd faded into the background with each new pair being chosen, distant enough to feel like the two of you were sealed off from the rest of the world. Right here, it was just you and him, standing at the edge of something Chan couldn’t quite name.
He shifted slightly, his fingers grazing the concrete railing as he debated whether he should say more, whether he should push this moment just a little further or not, since you seemed to be enjoying your own company until a few minutes ago, even if it was in his room.
The only thing he didn’t want to do was let it slip away.
So instead, he asked the question that had been circling in his mind the moment he spotted you through the curtains. “So, uh… how did you find my room?”
Chan watched as you suddenly froze, eyes widening as his question sank in. Your gaze followed his, tracing down to the hoodie hanging loosely on your frame, and the realization hit you. A soft laugh slipped past your lips and it sent his pulse straight into overdrive.
“Oh shit.” You blinked rapidly, the disbelief written all over your face. You seemed to realize the absurdity of the situation at the exact same moment the words slipped past your lips, your gaze flickering between him and the hoodie. “Wait, no—” you rushed out, clearly flustered. “I wasn’t snooping or anything, I swear. I didn’t even realize this was your room. I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t come in here to—”
“You just… what?” he asked, the words slipping out before he could catch them.
He was still trying to process all of it. you, standing in front of him, frustration and embarrassment coloring your face, and wearing his hoodie of all things — did he stress that enough?
Chan had spent the entire night convinced he’d already ruined every chance he might’ve had with you, and now here you were, undoing every conclusion he’d drawn.
You sighed, rubbing the back of your neck. There was no way this could be less embarrassing. “I was looking for a quiet place to hide from the whole seven minutes in heaven thing. I found an unlocked door, thought it was an empty guest room, and uh… turns out, it wasn’t.”
He stared at you, his heartbeat loud in his ears. “And the hoodie?”
A sheepish smile tugged at your lips. “It was on the chair. It was cold. Thought it looked comfy.”
It was comfy. But that wasn’t the point.
He swallowed, trying not to let the warmth spreading through his chest take over his whole body. This—you—was the last thing he expected tonight. And yet, here you were, standing in his room at two in the morning, looking impossibly good in his clothes. Maybe the universe was on his side after all.
You stayed seated there, looking at him like you weren’t sure if you should stay or go. And maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the way you were looking at him, but for the first time all night, Chan didn’t feel like running away.
Instead, he exhaled, leaning back as he met your gaze. “Well,” he murmured, forcing a small smirk. “It looks better on you anyway.”
He had no idea where this sudden courage was coming from. Maybe it was the alcohol still lingering in his system, even though hours had passed since his last drink. Maybe it was the cool night air. Whatever it was, he was just glad he had found the nerve to flirt with you. Even if just a little bit.
Your lips twitched, and for a second, he thought you might say something. But then you just shook your head, voice quieter now, almost shy. “I’m sorry for invading your space. Do you want me to leave?”
Chan swallowed hard. He knew what the right answer was. Knew what Vernon and Seungkwan would tell him to do. Knew that you still had a boyfriend. But with you standing there, wearing his clothes, looking at him like that. Yeah. He was completely screwed.
“No, stay,” he blurted out, a little too eagerly. Then, realizing how desperate he must’ve sounded, he cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “I mean… if you want to.”
You tilted your head, watching him in that way that made his stomach flip. “You sure?”
Chan let out a breathless laugh, running a hand through his hair. Still, he wanted to make sure. “Yeah. Unless you want to go back?”
You glanced toward the door, as if weighing your options, before exhaling a small laugh. “Not really.”
He tried not to read too much into it. He tried not to let the fact that you were still standing there, apparently in no rush to leave, get to his head. “Then stay,” he said again, softer this time.
You held his gaze for a moment, something unreadable flickering in your eyes.
“Okay,” you said at last. Then your lips curved into a teasing smile. “But only if I get to keep the hoodie.”
Chan huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he rubbed the back of his neck. Like he could ever say no to you. “Fine. You can keep it.”
You grinned. “Thanks, Chan.”
“I mean… I might have to fight you for it later.”
“Oh, I’d win,” you shot back without hesitation, a smug little smirk playing at your lips.
And god, Chan believed you. Because you would only need to say the words and that hoodie would be yours forever.
There was a comfortable silence between you after that again, just the weight of the night settling in. The distant cheers from downstairs had died down a little, and the music had shifted to something slower, more subdued. It felt like the whole world had softened around the edges just for you and him.
You tilted your head slightly, studying him, studying him like you were trying to figure out a puzzle, and Chan felt his pulse jump all over again. He didn’t know what it was about you that made him so nervous. Maybe it was the way you carried yourself or the way your eyes were holding an amused curiosity whenever you looked at him.
Or maybe — just maybe — it was simpler than that. Maybe it was because he wanted to be on the receiving end of the softness you reserved for your boyfriend.
At the thought of him, Chan’s expression faltered slightly, and he turned away, gripping the railing a little tighter than necessary. He had no right to feel the way he did, no right to want things he couldn’t have. But he was here now, alone with you in the quiet of the night, and for just a moment, he allowed himself to imagine that things were different.
Chan turned to you again, watching as you stared out at the horizon now. He didn’t know what he was expecting when he spoke next, but the words left his mouth before he could stop them. “So where’s your boyfriend?”
If you were surprised by the question, you didn’t let it show. He saw you lowering your head and letting out a not very happy laugh through your nose.
The truth was, you were surprised by his question, but at the same time, you weren’t. Jongin wasn’t exactly known for being non-territorial; he was always where you were, and when he couldn’t be, he made sure to show up at some point. But the way Chan’s question slipped out so easily, so curious, paralyzed all your instincts—the ones that told you to take it slow, to breathe between the end of your relationship with Jongin and the leap you were considering to take when you agreed to come here tonight.
And then, the confession slipped out of your lips before your brain could stop it. “He’s...not my boyfriend anymore.”
Chan’s eyes widened slightly at your words. His stomach churned with an uncomfortable mix of relief and confusion, and he blinked a few times, processing your words.
Would he go to hell for feeling immensely happy with that confession you had just made? Probably. And he would slow dance with the devil, grinning from ear to ear nonetheless.
“Not your boyfriend anymore?” he repeated after you. “Why not?”
You shrugged, a casual motion that didn’t match the weight of your words, finally looking up to meet his gaze again. “Didn’t want to be, I guess.”
That was only half true, and you knew it. It wasn’t like you wanted to be his girlfriend either. But still, you weren’t the one who ended things by cheating on him with his step sister. You’d probably still be with him if he hadn’t decided to put an end to it in the worst way possible, even if your heart was beating for someone completely different already.
Was it weird that you felt relieved to be cheated on, because it finally gave you a reason to leave?
“Then he’s an idiot,” Chan muttered with no hesitation. Like it was a fact, not a judgment.
When you looked at him, his eyes were filled with genuine empathy. You smiled gratefully, appreciating his compassion. Not wanting to weigh the moment, you let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, well, that makes two of us.”
Chan frowned slightly. “I doubt it,” he said, before adding, “But why?”
You shrugged again. “It wasn’t like I was dying to stay in that relationship, you know.”
The way you said it, almost too calmly, threw him off. I mean, he knew you weren’t very happy in your relationship; it was evident in your body language around Jongin. But he didn’t expect it to go as far as you wishing you weren’t actually in it.
He wanted to ask more, to understand what had happened, but a part of him feared that prying would make him sound even more pathetic. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from pressing on, his voice low and a little uncertain. “Wait, so you didn’t want to be with him either?”
You didn’t hesitate, your expression not betraying any emotion, but your voice was a little more sharper when you replied. “Not really. I didn’t even like him in the end. I guess I just stayed longer than I should have because it was… comfortable.”
“That doesn’t sound like a great reason to stay.”
Chan bit his lip, trying to digest your words. Part of him wanted to reach out, to comfort you somehow, but he didn’t know where to start. The realization that you were no longer with him, the guy who seemed to have always been in the picture, stirred something in him, like a sense of hope he wasn’t prepared to feel tonight. But he kept it buried, not wanting to come off too eager, too quick to assume.
“It wasn’t,” you admitted. “But it’s hard to walk away from something when you don’t have a reason big enough to leave.”
“And what finally made you leave? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“You’re funny.” You smiled, head tilted to the side as you locked gazes with him. “I’ve never really got to actually talk to you before. Yet, here we are,” you gestured to the space between you with your hands. “I like this side of you. Curious and talkative Chan.”
“Yeah?”
He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, even though a smile tugged at his lips. He was happy that being alone with you had finally awakened that side of him: more talkative, made him braver, lighter, more him.
You nodded, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, I do.” Then you sighed, before saying, “To answer your question: he cheated on me with my step sister.”
His eyes widened and suddenly he was back to not knowing what to say, so he stayed quiet for a moment.
Chan’s brain raced, his heart pounding. Was it bad that the idea of you being available—of there being a chance for something, whatever it might be—be the only thing that appeared in flashing neon signs in his head?
Either way, he was glad you had gotten out of a relationship that clearly wasn’t good for you. He was happy that you had gotten rid of the asshole who was known for only dating girls ten years younger than him, the asshole who never let you breathe.
“Why did you date him anyway? Guy’s a jerk.” The words escaped his mouth before he could even control them.
“He gave me just the right amount of attention, at the right time,” you answered without hesitation, shrugging again. “Have you ever heard ‘We accept the love we think we deserve’?”
Chan frowned, processing your words. Well, that was sad. The way you spoke about it, almost like you were talking about a lesson learned the hard way, made him feel a pang of sympathy for you.
“I’ve heard of it,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” you continued, eyes searching his face. “I didn't realize I deserved more until the moment I woke up from the trance I’d been stuck in for two years.”
Listening to you confess to him all of this without thinking twice and sounding so sincere, made his stomach twisted with something like a mixture of frustration and admiration. He could see how hard it must’ve been for you, but at the same time, something in him wanted to protect you, to offer the kind of attention and care that wasn’t half-hearted, something real and full of understanding.
Something you truly deserved.
“You do deserve more,” he finally said, voice quiet but firm. “Everyone does. And if you want it, you can have it. No one should make you feel like you don’t.”
Chan hoped you understood the undertone of his words. Though he was genuine in what he said, he wanted to be everything you deserved—the more you could and should have. God knew how much he wanted it, and how far he would go to show you that. But in that moment, he also wanted to offer words of comfort, to be the shoulder you might need.
You didn’t say anything for a while, just standing there, letting the noise of the party hum around you both. Finally, you exhaled.
“It’s hard to let go of what you’ve known, even when it’s not good for you,” you admitted, almost like you were talking to yourself more than him. “But sometimes, I guess you need to make space for something better, even if it’s scary.”
His heart beat faster at your words. He wasn’t sure what it meant, but he knew one thing: this conversation, this moment between you, felt different than anything he had experienced with you before.
“Do you think…” he started, and then stopped, unsure of what to ask. He was afraid that anything he said might ruin the moment.
“Maybe,” you murmured quietly, though your voice didn’t waver, eyes locked on his. “Maybe I need to stop accepting what I think I deserve and start going after what I actually deserve.”
Chan swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest. The air between you felt charged now, heavier than it should have been. He felt as if he were teetering on the brink of something, something he was not afraid to jump into and also couldn’t stop himself from wanting, hoping you wished the same, even if he was too crazy or delusional to consider that possibility.
Just as he was about to say something, he suddenly felt light raindrops hitting the spot where the two of you were standing on the balcony. The first few drops were light, barely noticeable, but within seconds, the drizzle grew heavier, the scent of rain taking over the air.
Chan watched you look up, your eyes tracing the sky as it darkened, the city below shimmering through the mist. When you turned back to him, he was staring at you, not at the rain, not at the sky, but at you. You met his gaze, and for a split second, everything else faded; the sound of the rain, the distant hum of the city below, even the pounding of his own heart.
He blinked, breaking the spell, his gaze flickering toward the curtain of rain before inevitably returning to you. “Maybe we should go inside,” he suggested, the hesitance in his voice sounding less like uncertainty and more like an offering. Chan was trying to give you an escape, if you wanted it.
You nodded slowly, and without saying a word, you jumped off the balcony railing, following him inside. You looked around the dark room for a second, before saying, “Maybe I should go. I don't want to hold the party host down with me.”
Chan turned to face you, his eyes softening as he took in your words. There was something about the way you spoke, in the tiny pause, the quiet wobble of your voice, that made him want to step closer, to reassure you that you weren’t an inconvenience. If anything, you were the one person he wanted there, more than anything, more than anyone.
“You’re not holding anyone down,” he said, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. “If anything, it’s me who should be worried about keeping you from having fun.”
“Never,” you replied, sounding casual, though something in your voice slipped past his understanding. Particularly when you added, “Besides, the person I wanted to kiss isn't even downstairs.”
He stopped dead in his tracks, his heart giving a sharp, startled kick. At this point, a heart attack felt like a valid possibility. He blinked, not quite sure if he had heard you correctly, but the way your gaze held his, steady and unflinching, told him that he hadn’t misheard.
Chan cleared his throat, his voice coming out a little too thick for his liking. “Oh? And, uh… who exactly were you hoping to kiss, if not...?” He trailed off, not sure how to finish the sentence, not sure if he even wanted to know the answer.
As the curtain moved in the wind, bringing the streetlight into the room, he saw a mischievous smile grow on your lips.
What the hell was happening? Was his brain betraying him? Was he imagining this moment? Had he passed out on the bed when he went to his bedroom and was now in a dream, after spending ninety percent of his energy thinking about you at the party he should have been enjoying with his friends?
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you answered, and turned your back to him, eyes immediately darting to the shelf of his trophies from dance competitions and photographs.
Yes, I do! I want to know! Chan wanted to shout, but contained himself.
Instead, he stood there for a moment, unsure whether to follow up with another question, or to let the silence stretch on. The way you spoke, so casually and yet with that playful glint in your eye, made everything feel… electric.
So he simply watched you there, in his room, moving without hesitation, slowly walking over to his shelf, running your finger along the wood and observing each one of his trophies, medals and pictures with meticulous care.
He couldn’t help but think—and wish too—that he could get used to this scene.
The golden plaques gleamed under the dim light, each one marking a victory of his. Some were polished to perfection, while others bore the faintest scratches, proof of the years Chan had spent chasing dreams in the dance field. Your gaze drifted to the framed photographs beside them, each snapshot telling a different story of his life.
There were several photos of him as a little kid, beaming as ever, dressed in performance clothes, on stage, with a medal around his neck. In another, he stood beside his previous performance group, whom you recognized as Kwon Soonyoung, Wen Junhui, and Xu Minghao, their grins wide and carefree. There were also photos with his parents and grandmother, and some with what looked like his younger brother.
Chan was probably the cutest kid you had ever seen, and that realization made you smile genuinely.
“Lee Jung Chan?” you read aloud, curiosity threading through your voice as your eyes went back to his children’s dance trophies. Your fingers brushed over the small golden plaque, the engraving slightly worn from time.
Behind you, he let out a soft chuckle. “It’s my name on my family tree. The government name is just Lee Chan.”
“You went by your full name back then?”
He shrugged, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Only because my mom insisted. She said it sounded more professional, like I was already a star or something.”
“It’s cute,” you remarked, throwing him a look over your shoulder. “You were so cute.”
“Yes, well, the kids used to call me Jimmy Neutron.”
You laughed, turning fully to face him. Neither of you had noticed how close you were until you did. If you reached out your arms, you’d only be able to touch each other slightly. But even though both of you thought about it, neither of you made any move to change your positions, continuing your conversation.
“What? Jimmy Neutron?”
He groaned, running a hand through his hair as if reliving the embarrassment. “Yeah. They said my head was too big for my body. And, you know, the spiky hair didn’t help.”
You bit your lip, trying to suppress another laugh. Chan holded his breath at your movement, forcing himself to look elsewhere, forcing himself not to think about your lips or else his blood would rush south.
“I can totally see it now,” you teased, releasing your lip from your teeth and looking between him and the photo on the shelf.
He narrowed his eyes at you playfully. “Wow, okay. I thought you were supposed to be on my side.”
“I am!” You held up your hands in defense. “I just think it’s adorable. And look at you now. You certainly grew into it beautifully.”
Chan smirked, tilting his head and crossing his arms. “So you're saying I look beautiful now?”
You rolled your eyes, turning back to the trophies. “Don't get ahead of yourself, Jimmy Neutron.”
He laughed, stepping up beside you as his eyes skimmed over the shelf briefly, before turning back to you. “Yeah, but I kinda see it. My head was huge.”
You tilted your head, studying one of the photos of him mid-dance, his tiny frame caught in motion. He’s wearing dark sunglasses and black fingerless gloves, hair is slightly messy and spiky, adding to the fun and carefree to his edgy look. His bright smile revealed a gap between his teeth, and you thought to yourself that you’ve probably never seen anything so lovely before.
“Well, I think you were adorable,” you said under your breath, your finger tracing the edge of the frame. “And talented, obviously. All these trophies…”
He shrugged, a little bashful. “My grandmother was really proud of them. She used to polish them every weekend.”
Your smile softened. “She sounds sweet.”
“She is,” he replied, voice tinged with fondness. “She used to call me ‘our little star.’”
Something about the way Chan said it made warmth bloom in your chest. You turned toward him, and he was looking at you again, his expression unreadable but undeniably intense. The streetlights made his features look even more defined, shadows deepening along his strong jawline.
If there was one thing you knew about Lee Chan, it was that he was a star. Every performance he was part of filled the university theater, without failure. Not to mention the countless admirers he had on campus, and with good reason.
Watching him do what he loved was a pleasure simply because he was that good. Confident and unwavering, he dominated the stage effortlessly, as if wrapped in a bubble no one could pierce. It was mesmerizing to witness.
“You still are, you know,” you said gently. “A star.”
His lips parted slightly, but he didn’t say anything. Just studied you like he was trying to figure something out. Finally, a small, shy smile tugged at his lips. “I think I prefer when you call me cute.”
“Duly noted.”
Chan exhaled a soft chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the desk beside the shelf. “You know, I don’t usually let people snoop around my room like this.”
You glanced at him over your shoulder again, your fingers still lightly tracing over the edge of a picture framed. “Oh? Am I special, Channie?”
You didn’t need to say his name that way, or shape the word with your lips like that. His eyes dipped to your mouth, and a flicker crossed his expression. His eyes met yours.
“Yes,” he murmured. “Yes, you are.”
To mask the fact that your breath hitched slightly, you offered him a playful smirk. “Good to know.”
As Chan moved to sit on the edge of his bed, you continued the exploration of his shelf, eyes stopping at a picture frame in the middle where he was standing between what seemed to be his parents, both of them kissing his cheek sweetly.
“Is your father a dancer too?” you asked, running your fingers over his face on the picture.
“Yeah. My dad and my mom,” he explained. “They kind of stopped after I was born.”
“Wow. It’s in your blood, then.”
Chan nodded, a smile playing on his lips. “Yeah. My dad always says I got his footwork, but my mom says I got her rhythm.”
You leaned against the table by the shelf, watching him as he spoke. “So they gave it up for you?”
He paused, considering, then nodded. “Yeah. My dad started teaching instead, and my mom focused on raising me. They never made me feel like I took anything away from them, though.”
“That’s love.”
“Yeah, it is.”
Another comfortable silence settled between you as you turned back to the photos, your fingers absently tracing the edges of the other frames. One photo in particular caught your eye. It was from the exact same day you first noticed him, during the university’s annual arts week in your sophomore year.
He was dressed in a white button-down shirt with the top two buttons undone, black dress pants, and his hair dyed a faded dark blue. You knew he had worn a tie too because he had taken it off during the performance.
Out of the four members in the unit, he immediately stood out to you. You couldn’t quite put your finger on why, but it was as if no one else existed on that stage besides him. Your eyes were locked on him and no one else, watching in awe as he moved across the stage, completely captivated.
“I was there that day, you know?” you pointed out, showing him over the shoulder the photo you were referring to.
Chan’s eyes widened as he stared at it. It was one of the images from his first big performance at the university’s annual arts week back in his freshman year, a moment that had felt like a turning point for him, when everything had clicked. He hadn’t realized anyone had been paying attention back then, least of all you.
“You were?” His voice held a note of surprise. There was something so disarming about the way you were looking at the photo, and then at him.
You turned your head slightly, meeting his gaze before turning back. “Yeah. I was in the back, by the side stage,” you admitted, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You were… mesmerizing.”
He felt a warmth spread through him at your words. Chan hadn’t expected to hear something like that, especially not from you.
“Really?” He couldn’t hide the shock in his voice. His brows lifted slightly, as if he was trying to picture it. “How come I didn’t see you?”
“I don’t think you noticed anyone that night,” you teased. “You were in your own world up there.”
He hummed, eyes flickering back to the photo. “Maybe,” he mused, then glanced at you again, a slow smile crept onto his lips. “So, you’ve been watching me all this time, noona?”
There was a teasing edge to his voice and you exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “I wouldn’t put it like that.”
“No?” He titled his head. “Then how would you put it?”
He saw you hesitate for a second, fingers still resting on the shelf. Then, meeting his eyes, you admitted, “I noticed you. That night, and every time after that.”
Chan felt his breath catch in his throat.
There was something about the way you said it—so simple, so honest—that made his heart stutter.
You noticed him.
Not just that night, but every time after.
He had spent years analyzing every interaction you two had ever had. Every glance, every small word, every time you did so much as acknowledged his existence. And now? Now you were standing here, saying things that made his heart race like it was the easiest thing to do.
How did he end up here?
Chan felt lightheaded.
He wasn’t sure what to say. It wasn’t rare for him to be speechless around you, so there he was again, standing in front of you, feeling like the floor beneath him wasn’t quite solid anymore.
“You noticed me,” he echoed, more to himself than to you.
You nodded, your fingers lightly tracing the edge of the photo before you finally pulled your hand away. “Yeah,” you confirmed, laughing softly. “I did, Channie.”
Chan swallowed. Hard. He wanted to ask why. What was it about him that had caught your attention? Was it his performance? His presence? Something else entirely different?
But instead, he found himself saying, “I wish I’d noticed you in the crowd.”
Your lips parted slightly, but instead of speaking, you simply smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.
His fingers twitched at his sides. God, he wished he could go back in time to that night so he could scan every face in the crowd to find you standing by the side stage, maybe watching him with that same look you had now. You weren’t even dating Jongin at the time, and if your words were any indication of what he was imagining, maybe he had missed an opportunity by acting as though you were unattainable. Maybe he had lost precious time.
Chan watched as moved away from the shelf, turning to him entirely. His breath hitched slightly as you stepped closer, each movement deliberate, unhurried. You didn’t hesitate as you sank down beside him on the bed, the space between you shrinking just enough to make his pulse quicken.
The room suddenly felt smaller, quieter, like the world outside had dulled, leaving only the two of you in this charged silence.
He forced himself to breathe, to act natural, even as every fiber of his being buzzed with awareness of your presence beside him. You were close enough that he could catch the faintest trace of the sweetness of your perfume again, making his head spin in the best way.
His eyes stayed fixed on you as you pressed your hands into the mattress and stared at the wall ahead, as if you were deliberately avoiding his gaze for reasons he couldn’t name.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Mhmm.”
You wet your lips, a brief hesitation before finally voicing the thought that had lingered in your mind all night. “Were you avoiding me tonight?”
Chan felt his heart slam against his ribs. “I wasn’t—” he started, then stopped himself because, well… yeah, he had been avoiding you. But only because every time he looked at you, he felt like his brain melted, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to not make a fool of himself.
You smirked, clearly amused by his silence. The question seemed to be answered to you. “That’s what I thought.”
He sighed, shaking his head. “I wasn’t avoiding you, I just—” He paused, eyes lifting to the ceiling and then settling on you again. Halfway through, Chan decided that it was no longer the time to second guess things, so he simply admitted, “You make me very nervous, noona.”
You wished you had an explanation for the way you shivered slightly when he called you noona. But instead, you chose to ignore the feeling, letting the sensation fade into something softer, something more curious.
“I make you nervous?” you repeated, tilting your head slightly as your eyes widened. “That’s a first.”
Chan huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You say that like it’s impossible. I bet–I know I’m not the only one.”
You shrugged. “I don’t know… you’ve always seemed so confident. Especially on stage.”
“That is just an act,” he confessed. “On stage, I could pretend to be someone else for a little while. But you?” He turned to you. “You’re real. You’re right here.”
And he still couldn’t believe it, the words leaving his lips as if he were pinching himself to prove that this was really happening and not just a fever dream.
Hearing him, you wondered what Chan would think if he knew how your stomach was doing backflips because of the way he was looking at you like you were something impossible and unreal all at once.
You hadn’t expected this and most certainly didn't expect him to say something so… vulnerable. Something that made your heart race so fast with all the implications of his words.
“I didn’t mean to make you nervous, Channie,” you whispered, your voice softer now, sounding like you were trying to defend yourself. You had never looked so cute as you did now.
“I don’t think you can help it,” Chan tried to explain, letting out a breathless chuckle. “You know, you probably didn’t know this, but I had a, um… a crush on you.”
Okay, he knew he was straying from the truth. But there was a limit to his courage, and even though he had sensed a bit of flirting between you, he wasn’t about to risk rejection after the nice conversation you’d had tonight, because maybe he was just imagining things.
And he wanted you to walk away from here at least as friends rather than leave an awkward situation for the two of you. He’d rather have you like this than not have you at all. That was why he decided to test the waters with that small lie.
Your lips parted slightly at his confession, your mind racing to process what he had just admitted. “You… had a crush on me?” you repeated, almost like you were trying to make sure you’d heard him right.
Chan nodded, his expression somewhere between amused and nervous. “Yeah. A major one,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant.
Something inside you fluttered at the thought. It seemed like every word that came out of Chan’s mouth was meant to surprise you, even if you didn’t believe he was doing it on purpose. You hadn’t expected this at all, not from him, least of all, not tonight.
“You’re bullshiting me, aren’t you?” you accused, narrowing your eyes playfully.
He let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “Nope. Dead serious.”
“But you never said anything!”
“Didn’t think you’d be interested.” He shrugged. Then he nudged you with his elbow, playfully. “Plus you had a boyfriend.”
You blinked at him, momentarily stunned into silence.
Didn’t think you’d be interested?
It was absurd to hear those words coming from him, the same person who had commanded every room he walked into without even trying, the same person who had owned the stage so effortlessly that you couldn’t take your eyes off him.
What would he say if you opened your mouth to confess that you’d realized you weren’t happy in your old relationship the moment you started noticing him everywhere? Noticing his smile, the way he blushed when you talked to him, the way he seemed so unreachable, like he wasn’t the least bit interested in getting to know you, always running away when you were around.
Maybe that should’ve been your first clue that he had a crush on you too. But perhaps you were too caught up in your own melancholia to notice.
So, instead of spilling out, you decided to test something. “Is it just in the past?”
Chan’s brows lifted slightly, caught off guard by your question. “What?”
“Your crush.”
“Uhh..”
“Because it would be so sad if it was” you said before you could stop yourself, eyes searching for his.
“Really?”
You let out a quiet breath, shaking your head with a small smile. “Mhmm.”
He swallowed hard, his brain short-circuiting at your response. Of all the ways this conversation could have gone, this was not what Chan had expected. Maybe he was in a dream. A very lived one, but still, a dream.
“You—” He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling like he had forgotten how to speak. “You think it would be sad?”
You hummed. “Yeah. I think it would be a shame if something like that just… faded away.”
Chan's heart was doing something ridiculous in his chest, and he wasn't sure if it was panic or hope or a chaotic mix of both. He should say something. He should joke about it, keep it light, make sure this moment didn’t carry more weight than it should. But he couldn’t because the way you were looking at him right now felt dangerous.
“Would it?” he managed, clearing his throat in the process.
Your smile again, nodding.
He let out a breathless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really know how to mess with a guy’s head, huh?”
“Maybe,” You grinned, leaning in just a little. “But only when it’s fun. Besides who says you’re not messing with mine too?”
“I am?”
“Yes.”
You didn’t say anything else and Chan stared at you for a long moment, his mind racing with a million things he wanted to say, a million things he wanted to do. But instead, he smiled, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were real. That this moment was real.
He was messing with your head? That’s a first.
“Noted,” he simply murmured.
“What about now?” You looked at him expectantly, not letting silence settle between you.
Chan inhaled sharply, his fingers twitching slightly at his sides. “Now?” he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper. You nodded once more. Chan’s smirk faltered for just a fraction of a second before he recovered. “Are you asking if I still have a crush on you, noona?”
You rolled your eyes, trying to mask the way your heart had started hammering. “Forget it,” you muttered, getting up from the bed.
He reached out, closing his hand around your wrist, and gently pulled you back to sit on the bed again. For a second, it felt like the world had stopped moving. It all faded into nothing. It was just you and him, standing there in this uncertain space that he used to call his bedroom.
Chan’s throat went dry, and he swallowed hard. His first instinct was to joke, to brush it off, to act nonchalant, as he always did. But the look in your eyes—quiet, expectant, tinged with something dangerously close to hope—left him no room to lie.
And before you could escape the moment, Chan leaned in ever so slightly, just enough that you felt the warmth of him beside you. “For the record,” he started, voice lower now, just for you. “Some things don’t change that easily.”
You turned to look at him, and for the first time that night, you weren’t sure who was more nervous: you or him.
You held his gaze for a long moment, your expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a small smile curled at the corners of your lips. “Good.”
Chan blinked. You were going to give him a whiplash.
“Good?”
You nodded, shifting just a little closer, the space between you growing small. “Like I said: it would be really sad if it had faded away.”
A few seconds passed, he just stared at you, his heart pounding, his pulse roaring in his ears. He could barely think, could barely breathe. “Are you messing with me?” he asked, a nervous chuckle slipping out.
“What do you think?” you asked, biting your lip, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“I think,” he said slowly, “you’re trouble.”
You grinned. “Only when it's fun, remember?”
“Noted.”
Chan huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. This time, there was something different in his voice, something lighter, something hopeful.
You kept your lip under your teeth for a second, analyzing him carefully. For the first time, Chan didn’t feel intimidated by your gaze. He didn’t feel exposed. Quite the opposite, his skin felt like it was on fire, but for a very good reason.
Your eyes flickered down to his lips for a fraction of a second. If he hadn’t been watching you so closely, he would’ve missed it.
You were too close. Or maybe not close enough.
“Chan.”
“Yes, noona?”
“Do you wanna kiss me?”
He felt every neuron in his brain misfire at once, completely abandoning him at the worst possible moment.
Did he hear you right?
Did you—did you really just ask him that?
But the way you were looking at him—head bent to the side, eyes locked onto his with quiet amusement—made it clear that he hadn’t.
His fingers twitched against his knee, his pulse hammering in his ears so hard he was sure you could hear it. He opened his mouth, then shut it again. Suddenly, every single response he could think of felt either too much or not enough.
He could feel the warmth radiating off of you, the way your gaze never left his, searching, waiting.
“Uh…” He cleared his throat again, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “I—um—”
“Because you keep looking at me like you do,” you continued, “and if you don’t want to, that’s fine. But I just thought I’d ask.”
He was absolutely, utterly doomed.
He groaned, rubbing his hands over his face. “Noona, you can’t just ask me that.”
“Why not?”
“You’re gonna be the death of me.” Chan let out a nervous laugh, shaking his head.
You grinned. “Is that a yes or a no?”
You were still watching him, waiting, and damn it if he didn’t want to kiss you more than anything. He always had. But now? With you looking at him like that, teasing, testing, daring him? It was like he was malfunctioning.
Yeah, he was probably overthinking this. Hell, scratch that, he was definitely overthinking this. But the truth was, this wasn’t just some random moment to him, with a random person. It was you. And you weren’t just anybody to him.
He didn’t want to screw this up.
But at the same time…
God, he wanted to kiss you. More than he would like to see the sun rise again.
So, he took a breath, gathering every ounce of courage he had left, and finally, finally, he answered.
“Yes,” he admitted, voice quiet but steady. “I really, really want to kiss you.”
Your smile turned softer, less teasing now. “Then what are you waiting for?”
That’s all it took.
Chan closed the space between you, his hesitation melting away the second his lips brushed against yours. It was slow, tentative at first. He wanted to memorize the feeling of your lips, engrave it into his memory in case he never got the chance to do it again. But when you responded to him, when your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him in just a little closer, something inside him snapped completely.
He exhaled sharply against your lips before deepening the kiss, his hand moving to the back of your neck as he tilted his head, molding himself to you like he’d been waiting for this moment his whole life, and not just two years of it.
If the party outside still carried on, now it felt absolutely muted. The only thing that existed was your lips against his, the way they fit together, your fingers threading through his hair, the soft sound you let out when he nipped your bottom lip.
Chan was dizzy. Overwhelmed.
And completely, absolutely ruined for anyone else.
Your fingers dung into his tight, searching for support, and you felt him groan against your lips. The sound sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a reaction deep within you. His hand slipped from the back of your neck into your hair, fingers threading through the strands as he tilted your head to the side, and that was it. You were lost too.
When a soft gasp left your lips at the feeling of him pulling your hair slightly, Chan saw the perfect opportunity to slip his tongue past your parted lips, teasingly, deliberately, claiming the space with an intoxicating slowness. They way kissed you left you breathless, lightheaded, as if he’d stolen the very air from your lungs.
Your knees bumped against his as you tried to move closer, and instead of pulling away, Chan only tightened his grip on you, his arm slipping from your hair to your waist. In one smooth motion, he guided you into his lap, pulling you over his legs until you were straddling him.
A surprised giggle bubbled from your lips at the sudden shift, but he didn’t falter, if anything, the sound only seemed to spur him on. His hands settled firmly on your hips, fingers pressing into your skin as if committing your shape to his memory.
One kiss bled into the next, and then another, and another, until the only force pulling you apart was the desperate need for air. Your forehead rested against his for a fleeting moment, both of you panting, neither willing to let go.
Then, with a boldness that sent heat surging through you, you leaned in, taking his bottom lip between yours, sucking gently as your hips rolled forward in an instinctive motion. A groan tore from both of you at the same time at the feeling of you core meeting his half hardened cock for the first time.
Chan’s head tipped back, his throat exposed to you, a silent invitation too tempting to ignore. You pressed an open-mouthed kiss just below his perfect jaw, feeling the way his pulse leapt beneath your lips. His hands traveled slowly and torturously from your hips to your thighs, hovering just above the hem of your skirt, while you traced your tongue over the skin of his neck, giving it a playful nip with your teeth.
His breath hitched at the feeling, gripping on your tights for dear life as his heart raced like crazy. The fire in his veins was undeniable, every inch of him consumed by you. Your touch, the way your lips moved, was driving him to the edge of something he wasn’t sure he could come back from.
As Chan looked at you, his eyes begging to close in pleasure, he was sure his pupils were dilated at the scene before him and the fact that you looked like a goddess on top of him.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he whispered, a rasp of desire that sent a thrill racing through you.
Your response to his words was to rock your hips against his, feeling his full hardness now pressing your folds through his pants and listening to him whine, breathy and desperate. At the sound of it, you couldn’t help but sink your teeth into his neck, sucking to ensure you left a mark, to ensure everyone saw what you had done to him.
Chan’s breath came in uneven, his body shuddering beneath you as your lips lingered over the mark you’d left on his skin. His hands tightened around your tights, fingers twitching like he was resisting the urge to take things further, to let his restraint unravel completely.
“Fuck,” Chan rasped, his head tilting forward until his forehead rested against yours, his eyes squeezed shut. “You have no idea what you do to me.”
You hummed against him, dragging your lips up toward his ear, reveling in the way he shivered beneath you. “What do you want, Channie?” you teased, nipping at his earlobe.
Your hands slid beneath his shirt, fingertips tracing along the defined ridges of his stomach. His muscles tensed under your touch, his hands now gripping your thighs like they were the only things keeping him grounded, like he was afraid you’d slip away.
His eyes fluttered open, dark and desperate as they locked onto yours.
“You,” he admitted, breathless, “I just want you.”
The raw honesty in his words sent another shiver down your spine. “Then take me, baby,” you murmured, your lips brushing against his jaw, the ghost of a challenge in your voice.
Chan groaned, his hands sliding up from your thighs, gripping your waist with a reverence that made your pulse stutter. His thumbs traced slow, teasing circles against your skin, his restraint evident in the way his fingers flexed but didn’t pull you closer.
“You really are on a mission to kill me, aren’t you?” he whispered, his breath deliciously warm against your lips.
You smirked, tilting your head just slightly, an exhalation away from his mouth. “What gave it away?”
He exhaled sharply, his patience snapping like a thread. One moment, you were teasing him, savoring the slow burn, and the next, he was kissing you like he’d been starving for you his entire life. His lips crashed against yours, desperate, all-consuming, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you flush against him.
The heat between you flared, intoxicating and undeniable. Your fingers slid up his chest, tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, breathy moan from his lips. The sound sent a thrill through you, your body pressing closer, chasing the feeling of him, the warmth of him, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that existed.
His hands roamed your body, slipping beneath your shirt, his touch searing against the bare skin of your inner thighs. He wasn’t rushing—no, he was savoring, mapping out every inch of you like he had all the time in the world. Like he wanted to memorize it, in case this was the last time he’d ever get to.
Your hips rolled instinctively again, pressing down against him, and Chan groaned into your mouth, his fingers digging into your skin. “Fuck,” he breathed, his head falling back as he sucked in a sharp breath.
You leaned in, pressing another set of kisses to the column of his throat. “Too much?” you teased, your voice sultry, full of mischief.
Chan’s jaw clenched as he let out a breathless chuckle. “Not even close.”
His hands traveled higher up your thighs, and the moment his index finger traced a slow line over the fabric of your already-soaked panties, a moan slipped from your lips into his. He grunted something unintelligible as he tugged your panties to the side, his fingers finally feeling how wet you were beneath them. Then, he dragged his touch torturously up to your stomach before slipping inside the lace, and you instinctively lifted your hips, giving him better access to where you needed him most.
“Are you this wet for me, noona?” he asked, pulling back to meet your gaze. Two of his fingers pushed inside you, while his thumb circled your most sensitive spot and you cried out. “Is this all because of me?”
You nodded desperately, almost missing the disbelief in his eyes that only fueled the intensity between you. It heighted every touch, made you move in sync with him, your teeth sinking into your lip as he worked you over with deliberate precision, taking his time to drive you absolutely crazy with his fingers moving into and out of you.
“I want you to sit on my face.” His voice didn’t waver; it was an order wrapped in certainty, his eyes darkened with something you’d never seen in him before, something you instantly craved. The sheer weight of it dragged a whimper from your lips.
Still, you can’t help but think about his safety.
“Are you sure?” The words slipped out on a shaky exhale, your breathing already unsteady.
Both of his hands returned to your thighs, slowly trailing up to your ass beneath your skirt.
“Never been more sure in my entire life. Please”
“Fuck. Okay.”
You got off him for a moment, quickly slipping off your boots as you stepped out of the bed. You pulled off your skirt and panties, while Chan got up to remove his shirt, tossing it somewhere in the room. Then he returned to the bed, sitting comfortably and leaning back on his elbows, his gaze never leaving you. His eyes burned with desire as he watched you slowly take off his hoodie before taking your sweet time freeing your breasts from the tight black corset, clearly on purpose.
When your breasts finally spilled free, his mouth parted slightly, eyes locked onto your hardened nipples as if it were one of the seven wonders of the world.
“Come here, baby.”
You slowly crawled across the bed toward where he was lying close to the headboard, and Chan helped you position yourself on top of him. Each of your thighs settled on either side of his head as you both adjusted, ensuring the position was comfortable for both of you.
“You have the prettiest pussy,” he whispered against you, followed by a groan, and you felt his breath hit your entrance, making you tremble slightly.
You knew that you were so fucking wet that even in the dim light of the room, you were sure he could see your folds glistening. But instead of feeling embarrassed, a thrill ran through your body when you glanced down and saw Chan licking his lips, his eyes locked onto your core just inches from his face. He stared at you like you were the most delicious meal he was ever going to have in his life.
“You smell delicious, noona.” The way he spoke made you moan softly, your hands instinctively moving to squeeze your breasts. “Bet you taste even better.”
Chan gripped the back of your thighs, pulling you closer until your heat was right in front of his face, his eyes drinking in the sight. His lips found your inner thigh first, sucking a mark into your soft skin, slow and deliberate.
When he finally placed his lips exactly where you needed him, your hands flew straight to grip his hair, holding tightly between your fingers as your legs trembled from the indescribable sensation of his mouth on you. Still, Chan sensed that you were trying to hold back, worried about hurting him, so as soon as you shifted just an inch away from his face, he pushed you back down, holding you tight against him.
The gasp that left your lips was a sound you’d never made before, completely immersed in the pleasure he was giving you. His nose nudged against your clit, his tongue gathering your arousal before his mouth moved over you with deliberate hunger, like a man who had been starving for far too long.
“So good, Channie,” you cried out, body almost falling forward. “Holy fuck!”
The way Chan’s mouth moved on you was pure, unrestrained hunger, and it felt so good that, only for a moment, you entertained your brain with the idea that his mouth was made to do exactly what he was doing: eating your pussy. His lips cupped your clit, his tongue circling the sensitive bud with slow strokes, alternating with long, deep sucks that made you shiver around him.
His tongue circled your entrance, sliding in as more of your slick spilled into his mouth, all for him to savor. The taste of you—god, he never wanted this to end. All day, every day, Chan was sure he could do this for the rest of his fucking life. All he wanted was to drown himself in this, inside the wet dream that was you with your pussy right in his face.
Your hands pulled his hair tightly after one particularly harsh suck on your clit, back arching deliciously. Your moans were the only sound filling the room and Chan was pretty sure this was the soundtrack of paradise and he couldn’t wait to get there.
When his hands moved to your ass, squeezing tightly, it was as if the last shred of self-control in his body had evaporated. You started to rock your hips instinctively, grinding against his face desperately to chase your release while his nose offered you the most earth-shattering sensations.
“Oh my god, Chan,” you choked out, closing your eyes shut.
“Hmm.” His hum sent vibrations through your core and suddenly you had to use his shoulders for balance or you would have fallen forward on the bed.
Chan was certain he had died and gone to heaven the moment you started grinding against his face. He could feel your legs tense around his head, and when he opened his eyes to take in the scene above him—hands traveling up your body until they reached your breasts, squeezing them tightly—the way your face crumpled and the sounds escaping your parted lips, Chan knew he was in love.
He was done. Gone.
There was no one else for him in this world.
Only you.
You.
You.
You.
You bucked your hips against his face with more urgency as his thumbs rolled over your nipples in the most delicious way. His other hand found your neck, wrapping around it and squeezing lightly, and your head fell back, granting him free access to do whatever he wanted with you. At that moment, the familiar, intoxicating tingling built in the pit of your stomach, moans and sighs spilling from your lips more desperately and loud as you tightened your legs around his head.
“Hmm, suffocate me, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick and low.
That was all it took for your orgasm to crash over you in the most intense way, your mind bubbling with euphoria, completely lost in a haze of pleasure.
Chan licked and sucked up every last drop, swallowing your release in loud gulps as if it were the only thing capable of keeping him hydrated. As you let go of his shoulders and collapsed onto the bed beside him, your legs, weak as jelly, trembled uncontrollably, matching the shivers that ran through the rest of your body.
When you looked at him, you saw the dazed, blissed-out expression on his face mirroring your fucked-out one, like he were the one who had just come. His red lips were parted, his chin glistening, and you couldn’t resist the dopey smile on his face. Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his, tasting yourself on him. With a strength you didn’t even know you had, especially right now, you pulled him on top of you, parting your legs so he could fit there.
Chan barely had time to register the movement before letting out a small chuckle. He broke the kiss for a second, brushing your hair from your face to meet your eyes, your pupils blown wide with a desire that was reflecting his own.
He could only be dreaming.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your lips.
Normally, words like that spoken so close would have made you shy. But right now, you could feel his hard length—aching, neglected, and probably leaking—pressing against your inner thigh through the fabric of his pants.
Your hands traveled from his chest to his pants and you fumbled with his belt, struggling for a moment until your fingers remembered how to work. You unfastened his zipper, hands moving with growing urgency each passing second. As you pushed his pants down, your fingers traced the firm and defined lines of his abdomen, the sharp cut of his hips, and the soft hair on the back of his thighs.
The moment you managed to free him from his underwear, Chan’s cock rested on your hip, hard and thick. He groaned at the feeling of your skin against him and you arched into him, desperate to feel more, to press him even more against you, to take him in.
“Wanna ride you, Channie,” you told him, leaning forward to kiss him again. You reached between you, wrapping your fingers around his cock, feeling him thick and burning hot against your palm.
Chan let out a shaky breath at your words, his grip on your waist tightening instinctively. His forehead pressed against yours, eyes flickering between yours and your parted lips, as if trying to ground himself, trying to believe that this was actually his reality and not just another figment of his imagination.
“You don’t have to feel obligated, baby.”
“I want it.” You batted your pretty eyelashes at him, and he was lost. “Please.”
“Okay, noona.”
Your fingers brushed over his jaw, tilting his face up to meet your lips in another deep, searing kiss. Every part of you was incredibly drawn to him, turned on by him, the heat between you almost unbearable now. Slowly, deliberately, you rocked your hips forward, savoring the way his breath stuttered against your lips.
“You were driving me insane,” he groaned, his hands tightening their hold on you.
You smiled, feeling the way his pulse raced beneath your lips. “Good. Now lay back for me, baby.”
Chan didn’t argue. He shifted slightly, scooting back and patting his thighs in invitation for you to hover over his cock. The dim light cast long shadows across the room, highlighting the curve of your back and the way your hair fell around your shoulders. He watched you, his breath catching in his throat as you met his gaze. He lay back and propped himself up on his elbows again, anticipation thrumming through his veins.
You moved with a slow, deliberate grace, straddling him once again, your bare pussy covering his length. The feeling of his cock against your lips sent a shiver down your spine, and you also felt him trembling a little beneath you.
You paused, savoring his gaze locked on you. His eyes were filled with a mixture of desire and adoration. Smiling down at him, you slid your pussy against his cock, feeling his head rub on your clit. A simultaneous moan escaped from both of you. The next second, his lips were on your breasts, sucking and squeezing the flesh with both hands, clearly impressed by how responsive and sensitive you were to his touch.
After a particularly harsh suck, he released your nipple with an audible pop, the sound echoing in the still-charged air. A smile spread across his face as he watched the flush recede from your skin, leaving a rosy imprint in its wake.
“Beautiful.” He licked your nipple one more time, gaze locked on yours, as he said, “There’s a condom on the nightstand.”
He didn’t move, didn’t break eye contact, the intensity in his gaze holding you captive.
“Didn’t you wanna take me raw, Channie?” You pouted, sliding forward again. “I’m on birth control, and I’m clean.”
He swallowed hard, the muscles in his throat working as he fought for control. Your words, so casually spoken, were a potent aphrodisiac, fueling the fire that already burned within him. The feel of you against him, the heat radiating from your core, was intoxicating, clouding his judgment, making it hard to think straight.
The thought of skin on skin, of being completely, utterly connected to you, was a temptation he wasn’t sure he could resist. His gaze drifted up to your lips, then lower, tracing the curve of your neck, the swell of your breasts, the way your hips moved against his. He could feel himself hardening even more, his body betraying his attempts at restraint.
“Fuck, noona,” He breathed. “Don’t say shit like that.”
“So?” you purred, meeting his gaze.
“I’m clean too. Put it in. Please.” The words were a raw plea, a confession of his surrender.
Another soft moan escaped you as you took his cock in your hand, lining him up with your entrance. You lowered yourself onto him inch by inch. The way he fit inside you felt achingly right, as if your bodies had been carved for each other.
Chan groaned as you took his full length in, his hands instinctively reaching for your waist, holding you tight against him. He looked up at you, his eyes darkening with passion, while you pushed him just a little to lay down so you could use his chest for support.
“Fuck,” he cursed out, griping your sides. “You feel so good.”
You began to move, slowly at first, teasing him with each gentle sway of your hips. The rhythm between you built, a slow, sensual dance that sent waves of pleasure crashing through your bodies. Chan’s hands tightened on your waist, guiding you, encouraging you, as he moaned softly, his head falling back against the pillows.
“Yeah, baby,” he groaned, voice rough. “Fuck, yes. Just like that.” He arched his back, pushing himself further into you. His hands moved from your waist to your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he urged you on. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.”
Another slow smile spread across your face. The power you held over him was intoxicating to you, maybe even a little dangerous to your ego. You leaned down, brushing your lips against his. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
You increased the tempo, your hips moving with a newfound urgency of driving him to the edge. The rhythm between you grew harder, more intense, driven by pure need.
You knew you were already close, that the precipice of orgasm was just within reach. The feeling was overwhelming, a tidal wave of sensation that threatened to consume you entirely. Chan’s eyes fluttered closed, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He could feel the tension building within him too, the pressure mounting with each thrust.
You continued to move, faster now, your bodies locked together in a frenzy of desire. The world seemed to fade away, the only thing that mattered was the feeling of him inside you, the heat, the overwhelming pleasure. You were lost in the moment, consumed by the fire that burned between you.
A low moan escaped your lips as he pressed against you, his fingers tracing tight circles around your most sensitive spot.
“Fuck, Chan,” you screamed, your head falling back, eyes closing as the pressure began to feel exquisite.
He peppered kisses across your chest and neck, his touch alternating between quick pinches and slow, tantalizing rolls of his thumb against your clit. Without warning, his hips surged upwards, driving him deeper inside you. You cried out his name again, your nails digging into his shoulders.
“That's it, baby,” he commanded, “scream my name.”
One arm snaked around your waist, bringing you against him, while the other braced him against the mattress. He began to thrust into you, a relentless rhythm that belied the fact that you were supposed to be the one in control. But neither of you cared. His cock felt so incredibly good inside you, your pussy clenching around him in a tight embrace.
“Chan!”
The head of his cock found that sweet spot deep within you, and he immediately noticed your reaction, repeating the movement, again and again, until stars began to burst behind your closed eyelids.
The more Chan rhythmically rubbed your clit, the more you felt yourself tightening around him, your release imminent. His breath hitched as you reached your peak, your body shuddering with release. He cried out your name, his own release following close behind as spilled himself inside you. You collapsed against him, your bodies still trembling, your hearts pounding in unison.
The world dissolved around you, the only thing that existed was the two of you, connected in the most intimate way possible, lost in a sea of pure, unadulterated pleasure. His arms wrapped around you comfortingly, as if he were afraid you’d run away, and you buried your face in his neck, trying to regulate your breathing and savoring the aftershocks, the incredible feeling of your skin melded together.
Still buried inside you, Chan could hardly believe any of this was real. The reality of you, of this, was almost too much to comprehend. He felt the warmth of you surrounding him, the gentle pulse of your muscles contracting around him, a constant reminder of the incredible intimacy you shared. He looked down at you, your face flushed and relaxed, your eyes closed in contentment.
He traced the curve of your cheek with his thumb, marveling at the softness of your skin. It was real. You were real. And you were here, with him, wrapped in the aftermath of a moment that had left both of you breathless.
Chan wanted to stay like this forever, locked in this perfect intimacy, lost in the wonder of you. And he knew, with a certainty that settled deep in his bones, that he would do anything to keep it.
He brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead, before confessing, “I wanted this for so long.”
Your eyelids fluttered open, and you met his eyes, a soft smile gracing your lips. “Mmm,” you hummed, snuggling closer to him. “Me too.”
A flicker of surprise crossed his face, and Chan blinked. “Really?”
Certainly, he hadn’t expected that. He thought he was the only one clinging to this moment, the only one so deeply affected by it, that he was certain he was thoroughly gone for anyone else. The fact that you felt the same way, that you’d wanted this just as much as he had, sent a fresh wave of warmth through him.
You nodded, your smile widening. “Really, really,” you confirmed, fingers tracing the line of his beautiful jaw. “I’ve been wanting this… for longer than I care to admit.”
He felt a blush creeping up his neck, a mixture of pleasure and disbelief swirling within him.
“Wow,” he breathed. “I...I didn’t think…”
“Didn’t think what?” you teased, your eyes sparkling with amusement.
He hesitated, suddenly feeling shy again. “Didn’t think you felt the same way. I thought… I thought you were just a little bit out of my limit, I guess.”
Looking away for a moment, Chan suddenly felt fascinated by a stray thread on the sheet. Saying that out loud sounded ridiculous, he knew. Seungkwan and Vernon would probably laugh at him if they could hear him now. He was a grown ass man; a successful dancer, yet he felt like a nervous teenager confessing his feelings for the first time to the girl he had a silly little crush on.
Except it was no longer silly for him anymore, and he was sure the feeling burning in his chest was much bigger than a crush. Love? He preferred to think about it after the effects of the afterglow had worn off.
His mind was filled with something else. For instance, the fact that, once, he’d been so sure you were out of his reach, so convinced that he was lucky just to be in your orbit. To know that you felt the same way, that you saw him as an equal, was both exhilarating and terrifying.
You gently cupped his face in your hands, turning his gaze back to yours. “Out of your limit?” you echoed. “Channie, I’m so in your limit that is actually embarrassing. I’ve always been in your limit.”
He raised an eyebrow, another flicker of disbelief in his eyes. “Always?”
“From the moment I saw you on that stage, two years ago,” you confessed. “I saw something in you, something special. Something… that made me want to get to know you better.”
Chan chuckled, a self-deprecating sound. “And you weren’t scared off by my… awkwardness around you?”
You laughed, a warm, genuine sound that filled the room. “Your awkwardness is part of your charm,” you teased. “Besides,” you added, leaning in to whisper against his lips, “I can be pretty awkward myself sometimes.”
He grinned, his earlier shyness melting away. “Is that so?”
You nodded, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “Absolutely. But you’ll have to stick around to find out just how awkward I can be.”
He chuckled, his arms tightening around you. “I think,” he said, his voice laced with affection. “I’m willing to take that risk.” Then he paused, a shadow crossing his face briefly. “Can I ask you something, tough?”
“Mhmm.”
“Jongin. Why… why did you date him?”
You sighed a hint of weariness in your eyes. You should have seen it coming.
“Honestly?” you began, “Because at the time, I didn’t think you were interested too.” You met his gaze, your eyes filled with honesty. “Like I said earlier, he showed me the kind of attention I thought I needed. He was… persistent. And you,” you paused, choosing your words carefully, “you seemed… distant. You ran away whenever I tried to talk to you. At least now I know why.”
He winced slightly, recognizing the truth in your words. He’d been so afraid of rejection that he’d inadvertently pushed you away. “I… I was an idiot.”
You smiled sadly. “We both were,” you shrugged. “But,” you added, a brighter note entering your voice, “we’re not idiots anymore.” You leaned in, kissing him softly. “And now,” you gave him another peck, “I have exactly what I want.”
Chan cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. “Me too.” He pulled you closer, burying his face in your hair. “Thank you.”
“For what?” you asked, your voice muffled against his chest.
“For giving me a second chance.”
You pulled back slightly, searching for his eyes. “You don’t have to thank me, baby,” you said softly, with a teasing smile playing on your lips. “You just came inside me, I think you earned it.”
A slow grin spread across his face, a mixture of amusement and pure adoration. His eyebrows raised suggestively.
“Oh, is that how it works?” he teased, his eyes sparkling. “So, every time I…you know…”
You laughed, playfully shoving him in the chest.
“Don’t get any ideas, Jimmy Neutron,” you said, though the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed your words. “I’m a tough negotiator. You’ll have to work a lot harder than that to earn my gratitude.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about that. I’m a very hard worker. And, I’m more than happy to put in the overtime for you.”
“We’ll see about that,” you whispered against his lips, though the smile playing on your face suggested you were more than willing to let him try. “You’re incredible, Lee Chan. Don’t ever forget that.”
He smiled, his heart overflowing with love. “I won’t,” he promised. “Not anymore.”
Not even seconds before he fully opened his eyes, Chan already had a smile on his face.
His arm instinctively reached for you, only to find you already curled against him, leg thrown over his, your cheek pressed against his shoulder, your hand sprawled across his bare chest like it had always belonged there. His shirt — the one you’d stolen off the floor around 3 a.m — was hanging loosely on your body, oversized, and entirely too intimate. Your soft breath tickled his chest, and he couldn’t help but smile wilder, fingers lazily tracing circles on your bare shoulder.
He loved that sight. Your sight. It felt like a livid dream.
Except he knew this wasn’t a dream because last night replayed in his mind on repeat. Every whispered word, every touch, every breathless plea. He had thought about it for so long, imagined it in so many ways and scenarios. Yet, nothing compared to the reality of holding you now.
Morning light slipped through the gap in the curtains, bathing the room—and you—in a soft golden glow. Chan swore he’d never seen anything more beautiful than you in that moment: peaceful, warm, and completely wrapped up in him. His heart swelled as he took in the way your lashes fluttered slightly, the way your fingers still clutched at his arm like you never wanted to let him go.
God, only if you knew.
He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, tightening his arm around your for a bit. You only stirred slightly, nuzzling closer to him with a soft sigh. Chan chuckled under his breath, his hand running down your back soothingly. He wanted to stay like this forever, stay with you here forever. But he also wanted you to feel welcomed in his house, to make you never want to leave.
So carefully, Chan slid out from under you, heart pounding as he sat at the edge of the bed. You curled into the warm spot he left behind, sighing softly like his scent comforted you. He had to bury his face in his hand to keep from screaming into them.
With a quick look around his room — the clothes on the floor, shoes scattered as if they had been thrown off their feet, the hoodie you’d worn discarded on his desk chair — and exhaled a shaky, lovesick breath.
Yeah, he was a total lovesick puppy, and honestly? He didn’t mind admitting it one bit.
Taking just one more look at you sleeping in his bed, dressed in his clothes, looking very much like an angel sent from up above, Chan smiled. He took a mental picture of the sight, hoping it would be the first of many, then slipped out of the bedroom, closing the door without a sound.
The first thing he saw when he entered the kitchen was Vernon pouring cereal like a man who hadn’t slept in three days and was on the verge of starvation. Seungkwan was slumped over the counter, half-dead, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Both looked up when Chan walked in wearing nothing but sweats and a very evident bruised neck.
Seungkwan squinted. “Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?” Chan asked, voice definitely not and octave higher. The look on their faces said it all; they already knew he had something to say. He was terrible at pretending to be nonchalant.
“Like you’re thrilled to be alive,” Vernon added, spoon frozen halfway to his mouth. “Did you see god or something?”
Very close.
Chan opened the fridge just to have something to hide behind. “I didn’t see God. I just… had a very good night.”
Seungkwan snorted loudly. “You? A good night? With who? Your pillow?”
“Actually…” Chan closed the fridge door, trying his absolute hardest to be casual. “Y/N and I—”
They both rolled their eyes as if to say, ‘here we go again with this subject,’ and Chan did his best to hide the smile threatening to appear on his lips, along with the urge to shout to the four corners of the apartment about what had happened last night. Of course, he held back, because you were sleeping like an angel in his sheets, and he would never risk disturbing you.
“Chan, seriously,” Seungkwan said, exhausted. “It’s time to let it go. You couldn’t even speak in front of her last night.”
Vernon nodded. “Pretty sure her boyfriend came to pick her up anyway.”
“Could you let me finish?” Chan huffed, arms crossing over his bare chest. “As I was saying, Y/N and I… we kinda talked. A lot. And then we… uhm… we—”
“Are you high right now?” Seungkwan cut in.
He blinked. “What?”
“Why are you referring to you and Y/N as ‘we’?”
“Because… last night we finally…”
Vernon stared at him, monotone as always. “You didn’t.”
“I DID!” Chan whisper-yelled, pointing vaguely toward his bedroom. “She was wearing my hoodie and then we talked and the she kissed me and—”
Seungkwan burst into laughter so loud it echoed. “Okay, sweetheart. I love you, but you dreamed that. No way Y/N was in your room last night.”
“I didn’t dream it!”
“You definitely did,” Vernon said, crunching cereal like this was a court trial. “You were drunk. Did you use that thing I bought Wednesday? Seungyoun said the trip was insane—”
Chan groaned. “Guys, I’m serious.”
Seungkawn patted his shoulder sympathetically, shooting his voice like he was speaking to a child. “It’s okay, buddy. One day you’ll kiss her for real. Just maybe not in your dreams next time. Okay?
He opened his mouth to argue, but footsteps echoed down the hallway, making Vernon and Seungkwan look over and watch intently. It didn’t take long for Chan to notice their eyes growing wide in their socket, almost popping out. Vernon dropped the cereal bowl, while Seungkwan looked like his soul had been yanked straight out of his body and shoved back in, choking violently on his iced coffee.
And there you were.
Smiling shyly. Sleepy-messy hair. Bare legs. Chan’s oversized t-shirt slipping off one shoulder like it was made for you. Blinking in the sunlight and looking way too soft and way too pretty for this hour, and for anyone else’s eyes; he should be the only one allowed to see you like this from now on.
You walked over to Chan like it was the most normal thing in the world, wrapped your arms around his neck, and stood on your toes to peck his lips.
“Morning,” you murmured against his lips.
He smiled into the kiss. Vernon and Seungkwan were nothing but white noise now. “Good morning, beautiful. Sleep okay?”
“Like a baby.” Then you finally noticed the two frozen men staring at you. “Oh—hi. Good morning. Do you guys have coffee?”
Seungkwan made a noise so high-pitched only dogs could hear it.
Vernon blinked slowly. “Bro.”
Chan shrugged at them with a smug little smile, arm slipping around your waist. From now on, it was the one place it belonged.
“Told you.”
# NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | TAGLIST
Every ask & comment gives me life 💗 If you’re enjoying it, don’t forget to reblog, helps so much and gets the fic out there!!
There’s a guy on campus who girls go to for stress relief. Sleazy bastard, but he obviously knows what he’s doing. When everything becomes too stressful for you, you decide you wanna do the same. Just a one time thing. Meaningless sex.
You never banked on him getting attached to you.
wc: 7.6k
warnings: college au, physiotherapy student!jeonghan, medical student!reader, reader is an overthinker and tends to spiral, fuck boy!jeonghan, pussy drunk!jeonghan, smut, nsfw, multiple orgasms, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, semi (?) public sex, both of them are horny as fuck
masterlist
Some part of you wishes you had stayed illiterate all your life. It’s the same part that loathes the thought of early morning classes, endless labs, assignments and presentations. Clinic hours. Procedure logbooks. Fuck, it’s just neverending. At any given point in time, you have at least six different things going on, all of them top most priority. Which isn’t possible. The top most priority can only ever be one thing. That’s what the word ‘priority’ means. You can’t have six priorities, it isn’t possible-
“Do you have a copy of tomorrow’s case for discussion?” Jihyo sounds like she’s about ready to cry. Not surprising to you at all, because you’re the same right now. You blink at your laptop screen a few times, trying to get out of your own head. Long, rambling thoughts have always been your biggest vice. And you do it even more when you’re stressed.
You grab a sheet of paper on your bed next to you and lean over the side of it, meeting Jihyo halfway from her own bed.
“Thanks.” She mumbles, looking down at the sheet. She reads it over once, twice, then one more time, before her distraught eyes meet yours.
“What’s the diagnosis?”
You shrug.
Jihyo nearly wails, scratching at her head. “I can’t do this shit. God, I’m going to kill someone.”
You can’t even laugh. You’re too stuck on the presentation open on your own laptop, trying to make the font small enough to fit everything on it, but not so small that it can’t be seen. It’s proving to be way more difficult than you thought.
“Come on. We’re going to grab dinner.” She swings her legs over the bed, ignoring the many papers scattered around her as they wrinkle under the movement. You don’t even question it, clicking ‘Save’ on the presentation a comical number of times to make sure you won’t lose it, then following Jihyo’s footsteps.
It’s colder outside than you anticipated, but it still feels nice. The goosebumps on your skin wake you up a bit, which you desperately need after the fog you’ve been under for the last few hours. Realistically, you know that neither you nor Jihyo can afford to take time off. But enough is enough. You need a break, even if it means you will crash and burn tomorrow.
The campus dorms are separate from the actual university, located across the road from it and scattered over a large area. Every building is more wide than it is tall, only three stories but sprawling over a large area. Medicine, Dentistry, Nursing and Physiotherapy. The backbone of the future healthcare system. When you walk past the park, there’s a small bonfire going on, surrounded by many cheering students egging on three guys holding kegs.
Yup, backbone of the future healthcare system.
Right outside the gated walls of the dorms are many places to eat, catered especially for the thousands of students beside them. You and Jihyo are standing on the sidewalk, wondering what you are in the mood for eating, when a familiar face catches your eye.
“Can’t work either?” Mina smiles, giving you both hugs. Jihyo pouts and shakes her head.
“Do you know the diagnosis for tomorrow’s case?”
Their voices fade as they continue to talk, and you stare off into space. One half of your brain is wondering if you want pizza or something Chinese. The other part is contemplating cutting some info from your presentation so you can fit it on the slide. Someone nudges you, and when you blink back to the present, both Jihyo and Mina are looking at you.
“What’s up with you?” Mina asks.
“Nothing.” You reply almost automatically.
Jihyo huffs and rolls her eyes. “She’s been like this for days, just checking out.”
Mina frowns. “That’s not like you at all.”
“Sorry.” You sigh. “I’m just stressed.”
“You need to take more breaks.”
“Doesn’t help.” Jihyo has her arms crossed and she’s shaking her head. “She’s still thinking of work. I guarantee you she’s thinking about that presentation she has due tomorrow. Aren’t you?”
Caught red handed. You feel your face grow warm and you pout. “…… No.”
Jihyo snorts and Mina laughs a little. You sigh defeatedly.
“Can we just eat?”
The three of you end up at the first place you can see, a small diner where you order burgers, fries and milkshakes. Any food that’s greasy enough to take your mind off the mountains of stuff you have left unfinished. Mina watches you closely as you stare out the window.
“You need to relieve stress.” She says. You hum noncommittally.
“Thanks for the suggestion. I never would’ve known I had to do that.”
Jihyo snorts and elbows you. Mina doesn’t seem fazed.
“I have a solution, but I don’t think our goody little princess will take it.”
That gets your attention. You’ve always hated being perceived as that. Sure, you’re mostly a homebody. You don’t like attending parties too much unless you know a lot of people there, which is almost never. You like spending most of your time in front of a screen, and you’re not very athletic either. You haven’t had anything remotely romantic since university started, even though all your friends have indulged in hookups. And because of all this, since the start of university, you’ve been branded as the kind of risk averse girl who doesn’t really enjoy anything fun. You know it’s all in jest. Your friends love you very much. But it still irritates you.
“What is it?” You ask. You know she’s baiting you, but you want to know anyway.
“There’s this guy in DPT,” she begins, “Totally flaky. Kind of full of himself. But he’s amazing in bed.”
Jihyo’s already in a fit of giggles. She obviously knows who Mina is talking about. You frown.
“Okay. So?”
Mina leans forward, her elbows on the table. “He jokingly put an ad up on the university Facebook group a while ago. Offering….. services…… to any girl that’s interested. It got taken down almost immediately but apparently it actually became a thing, because I’ve heard a lot of girls say he’s always down to hook up as stress relief if you ask.”
By this point, your mouth has dropped open in shock and a small amount of disgust. Both Jihyo and Mina have stupid grins on their faces.
“So he’s a glorified prostitute.”
Mina gasps “He is not! He’s a good guy, actually. A little sleazy but, aren’t all college guys like that? Also, it’s not like he’s asking for payment.”
You gawk at her. “Oh my god, you too?”
She holds her hands up in defense. “Anatomy was really difficult last year, okay?”
You groan and lean down, forehead hitting the table with a dull thunk. Jihyo laughs.
“Thank you for the suggestion.” You give Mina a withering look. “But I’m fine.”
Mina shrugs. “I’m just saying, he's really good. And he’d probably blow your virgin mind.”
Your face flames. “I’m not a virgin.”
“Eight second sex doesn’t count.”
Jihyo is nearly doubled over, face red with laughter. You thank every god in the universe when your food finally arrives.
Mina is wrong, objectively. You aren’t a virgin. In fact, you had a boyfriend in high school. You took each other’s virginities. Of course he came in eight seconds, it was his first time. The fact that you never had sex again and he broke up with you a month afterwards didn’t change anything. You are not a virgin.
No one says anything to you after that day, but the thought annoyingly lingers. You cannot believe a guy would just do that. And even more shocking that girls would agree to hook up with someone who has a reputation like that. Another notion plagues you: how good is he in bed to even have all these girls keep coming to him?
Fuck. These are dangerous thoughts. Especially for someone like you, who can spiral in your mind so easily. And almost like sugar on top, with every passing day, work keeps ramping up. You retreat farther and farther in your mind, thoughts racing and contorting from one shape to another, taking up lives of their own, and before you know it, you’re wondering. What if you were to hook up with this guy too?
In every sense of the word, you are stressed. You don’t know what he does, but it clearly works. Maybe you can take just one night and instead of stuffing your face with greasy food as an outlet, you can have sex. It sounds like an intriguing option.
Maybe it will shut your friends up about you being a prude.
Tracking DPT people isn’t easy as someone in Medicine, and especially as someone in Medicine who doesn’t know more than four people and would rather set herself on fire than talk to new faces. Luckily, those four friends of yours are insanely well connected. There’s no way in hell you’re asking Mina. You won’t give her that satisfaction. So when you call Mingyu about what Mina told you, he has a name for you immediately.
“Yoon Jeonghan.” He says over the phone. Behind him, you can hear a lot of talking and laughing. He’s likely at a party. On a weekday. Figures. “Really cool guy. I’ll send you his number.”
“That would be great.” You reply.
“Y/N, are you sure about this?”
You immediately go rigid. “Why? Is he suspicious?”
There’s a small silence before Mingyu snorts. “You know what, this is good. You need this. Desperately.”
You don’t like his implication, so you just hang up. He sends you Jeonghan’s number mere minutes later, and you reply with a middle finger emoji. He only sends you kissy faces back.
Once you click on Jeonghan’s number and stare at the blank text box, you’re at a loss. What do you even say to him? How do these things go? You really don’t want to ask Mingyu again. He already thinks you’re a loser (affectionately).
You end up sending a small text introducing yourself and telling him which department you are from. He replies around ten minutes later.
[yoon jeonghan]: what can I do for you?
Now you’re at a true loss. What do you say? You type and erase, type and erase for many agonising minutes. Then, another text comes up.
[yoon jeonghan]: im in B wing. DPT. last door on the second floor.
You blink a few times, staring at his text. Fuck, he knows. You feel a little embarrassed, but you think this is more of a reflection of him than it is of you, so you just shut your phone and scramble to get dressed.
Half an hour later, you’re climbing the steps of an unfamiliar building across campus, feeling nervous and jumpy. Your eyes dart around your new surroundings rapidly, but no one is really wandering around. It’s a weekday, so there’s not much activity. The corridors are easy enough to navigate, and you find the room at the end of the hallway very quickly. You shake your hands out, breaths coming irregularly. This is so out of left field for you, and half your mind can’t even process that you would do something so impulsive. You’re not this person at all. But what can you say? Medical school hath changed you.
You knock on the door so quietly that you immediately wonder if you should knock again. He probably didn’t hear it. You’re just thinking of doing it again when the door swings open, catching you off guard. You freeze.
He’s tall, and kind of skinny looking in his oversized t-shirt. But he has this gorgeous, jet black hair that falls down the sides of his face in effortless waves. Hell, it looks even better than your hair freshly out of the salon. He has pretty, almond eyes, a thin nose bridge, and lips so plump that you immediately wonder what they would feel like.
Okay. You get the appeal now.
“You must be Y/N.”
Your head jerks with a nod. “Jeonghan?”
He smiles, and it nearly takes your breath away. God, he’s painfully attractive. He looks you up and down in a way that makes you want to turn around and book it immediately.
“In the flesh. Come in, sweetheart.”
You can feel the back of your neck burn hot at the petname. No one has ever called you that. You step in hesitantly, looking around. It’s a cubicle, with a single bed, a desk, and a wardrobe. Lucky him, he doesn’t have to share with a roommate. You don’t know anyone in the Medicine building who has a single room. Damn physiotherapy people and their many perks.
It’s surprisingly neat. There’s a gaming setup on the desk, a lot of wires, but they’re all stacked neatly. There’s a few books on the side tables and on the floor next to the desk. The bed is made. There’s some posters on the walls. The room has a lot of character. It catches you a little off guard. You don’t know what you were expecting. Maybe a shady dungeon with chains and a mattress as hard as stone.
Jeonghan watches you expectantly. You fidget.
“I- I heard… I mean, someone told me. About- about you.”
He hums, and you can see the amusement on his face, the corner of his lip ticked up just a little bit. You wish the ground could swallow you whole. He huffs out a laugh.
“Should’ve known you’d be shy. You couldn’t even say it over text.”
Your face burns more. You avoid his eyes. When he walks closer, your heart races. You nearly jump away in shock when he leans down, nosing at your hair, brushing over your neck.
“Should we loosen you up a bit?”
Your heart is beating so fast it makes you a little dizzy. He smells really good up close. Fragrant aftershave and something like pine. Your mouth drops open when his lips press to the skin below your ear.
“Yes?” He whispers.
“Yes.” You breathe.
Your consent is all he needs, large hands brushing over your hips before moving up to grip your sides. He presses more kisses over your neck, then up your jaw. Something twinges in your lower stomach, making your insides clench. Your heart is pounding so loud you are scared he will feel it through your rib cage. He keeps traveling up, until his lips brush the corner of your mouth. You turn your head with an instinct that surprises even you, and he hums in approval.
That first kiss makes your knees buckle. Luckily, his hands are giving you enough support to keep you from collapsing. It’s languid, like he’s taking his time with you, and yes, his lips are just as soft as you imagined. His nose nudges yours, making you tilt your head and deepen the kiss. You can’t help your moan, hands fisting his shirt. You can feel his smile on your lips.
When he pulls away, you have to blink furiously to compose yourself. He watches you closely, like he’s trying to figure you out. But you should be the one doing that, if your brain wasn’t completely scrambled right now. You need him to kiss you again, so you lean up on your tiptoes towards him. He chuckles.
The second kiss is even more charged, though you didn’t think that was possible. His tongue comes out to play this time, and you arch into him at the feeling. His hands have become more daring too, exploring your body. He squeezes your ass a little, digs into the plush of your hips. He fiddles with your shirt until he’s coaxing you to put your arms up, pulling it off you. You feel shy suddenly, but he doesn’t seem to notice, going back to kissing you, and his lips wipe away any hesitation that you might have.
He plays with the clasp of your bra a bit, running his fingers over the straps. It sends shivers up your spine. He finally undoes it and pulls it off. He disconnects your lips enough to look down at your chest, whistling low.
“Pretty.” He says. You flush hard, tugging at his own shirt.
When Jeonghan pulls it off, you’re a little surprised. He’s not nearly as skinny as he looks when he’s swimming in his loose clothes. He’s lean, nicely carved muscle, just enough meat on him to feel good when your hands begin exploring. He lets you, doesn’t even flinch when you run your fingers over his abs. Your eyes dart further down, and you can see his erection over his sweatpants. You bite your lip.
“How do you want me, pretty?” He asks, lips running lazily over your shoulder. You flush.
“I- I don’t know.”
He pulls away at that a little, looking at you curiously. “You have done this before, right?”
You scowl. “Of course I have!”
“Okay.” He placates you, hands running up and down your bare sides. “So how do you want it? I can eat you out. Or do you just wanna fuck?”
Well, shit. You didn’t expect him to say all that. You’re caught off guard by how vulgar his words are, by how hot he sounds talking like this. Like it’s nothing. Fuck, you’ve never been eaten out before. Are you even ready for something like that? But then again, from what you can see as you look nervously down at his bulge, he’s not exactly small. Mina was right. Eight second sex really doesn’t count. There’s no way you can take all of this.
Jeonghan laughs lightly as he follows your gaze before humming and nodding. He goes back to kissing your shoulder and neck.
“I’ve got you. Just relax.”
That’s exactly what you’re struggling to do, but you don’t tell him that. He walks you both backward until you’re pushing yourself up the mattress to the head of the bed, him on top of you. His fingers curl into the waistband of your jeans and panties before pulling both of them down in one go. You flush at the thought of being completely naked now, his eyes running over you. There’s a heat in them that you didn’t expect, but welcome it regardless. It really does look like he wants you. You don’t know how much of it is an act, or if he really thinks you’re worth looking at like this.
He kisses over your ankle before traveling up slowly, laying his lips on your skin every few beats until he reaches the apex of your thighs. This is entirely new territory for you. Even the thought of a guy down there is mortifying, so yes, maybe your friends aren’t too far off in their assumptions of you. It’s so hot in theory, but here, now, in practice, you’re so nervous it makes every muscle in your body stiffen. Maybe this it too-
You yelp when you feel it, his lips brushing over your slit. Jeonghan is taken aback, pulling away and blinking up at you from between your legs. It’s a strange sight, strange enough to knock you out of your thoughts. He breathes out a laugh.
“Either you’re very distracted, or you really haven’t done this before.”
You peer down at him, held up by your elbows so you can look properly. You hesitate before sighing.
“I haven’t.” You mumble, but you’re quick to clarify. “I didn’t lie. I’ve- I’ve had sex. But no one’s ever….. I’ve never had-”
“Well that’s a shame.” Jeonghan mumbles. He runs his hands over your inner thighs, slow strokes that loosen your muscles a little bit. He thumbs at your outer lips and you flush deeply, but it’s nothing compared to what he says next.
“Anyone who got close enough to have sex with you but didn’t eat out your pretty pussy must’ve been a real asshole.”
He kisses your folds, sucking on them a little. Your mouth drops and your elbows give out, back hitting the mattress. God, this is way hotter than it needs to be. He’s probably just saying all this to make you relax a little and get it over with. You feel something hot, wet and alive run over your lips again before dipping inside, lazily licking over where you’re most sensitive. He tongues at your clit until you let out your first moan. His grip on your thighs, holding you open, tightens.
“That’s it.” He whispers. “Just relax.”
Never in a million years did you think head would feel this good, but Jeonghan shatters all your illusions. He’s so meticulous, discovering parts of you that you didn’t even know could feel good when stimulated. He has no shame about it either. He moans into you when you try to close your legs around his head, or when your fingers thread through his hair. His tongue dips inside you too, swirling, before pulling out and licking upward so he can suck on your clit some more. You get close to your high embarrassingly quickly, and you’re nearly crying when you warn him about it. He only keeps going, consistent in his pace, until you’re jerking and shuddering, cumming hard in his mouth. He doesn’t slow until you’re desperately pushing him away, overstimulated.
“Fuck.” His voice is raspy, ragged. His face is drenched. You can see, even through your teary vision, that his pupils are dilated. “That was so hot, the way you came on my tongue.”
You flush, not knowing what to say. You’re still trying to catch your breath. You jerk back when Jeonghan’s thumb runs over your abused clit. He smirks.
“You gotta do that again for me, pretty. I need to feel that again. On my fingers this time.”
He’s leaning over you before you can even process his words. He presses his forehead to yours, and you feel something prod at your entrance.
“Oh, fuck.” You arch when a solitary finger slips inside you. You’re definitely wet enough, between your orgasm and his spit, so there’s next to no resistance. Jeonghan watches you closely, too closely. You try to turn your head, feeling shy, and he only chuckles, curling his finger inside you. You shriek when something zips through your core.
“Found it.” He grins. It’s so sleazy but so hot. God, is this why your girls are lining up for him?
He sinks another finger inside you before curling it up to the same spot, and this time, you see stars. You writhe and tremble under him, feeling so full with just this. He fucks the soul out of you with his fingers, moving rapidly while his thumb rubs over your clit. The noises turn wetter, sloppier, and Jeonghan bites his bottom lip as he watches you fall apart under him.
Your second orgasm is quicker but even more intense, leaving you near speechless. You can’t even make a sound, mouth open in a silent cry as you feel blood rush roar in your ears. You seize and shudder so much it feels almost animalistic. He doesn’t seem to mind at all.
“Jeonghan.” You weep, grabbing his wrist when it’s too much. Well, it was too much from the minute he put his mouth on you, but two orgasms in, you genuinely feel like you’re about to faint.
“My name sounds so sweet from your lips, pretty.” He says. He keeps calling you that, and it makes your heart race a little. You just turn your head to the side. You’re too bashful to even look at him. He lays a soft kiss on your cheek.
“You want more?”
The thought of more makes your heartbeat pick up again. You turn back to him a little, nose nudging against his. He knows he has your attention. He smirks.
“Come on, tell me. You want my cock?”
Your pussy clenches. You bite your lower lip. Jeonghan thumbs at it, releasing it from your teeth. You nod timidly. He chuckles again.
“Gotta do better than that, pretty. Ask for it like a good girl.”
The thought of saying it out loud lights your face on fire. Your hands fist the sheets, and you feel so nervous. Jeonghan watches you closely in that unnerving way of his. Then, he pushes down, and you feel his hard on press into your cunt, right between your spread legs. Your jaw goes slack.
He wastes no time in slipping his tongue into your mouth. It’s messy and filthy, all tongues and teeth, and he grinds slowly into you, over and over. He’s hard as a rock, throbbing even through the thin material of his pants. You clench pathetically around nothing. You can’t take it anymore.
“Want your cock.” You whine into his mouth. “Please fuck me.”
Jeonghan giggles, honest to god giggles, into the kiss. “So polite. How can I say no?”
When he finally shucks off his pants, your head spins a bit. He’s way bigger than your ex, longer, and he curves just at the tip in a way that you know will feel so good when he slides into you. There’s a large, pulsing vein running up the underside that makes your mouth water a little bit. Never before have you felt the urge to suck a dick until now.
A lot of firsts happening today.
Jeonghan’s eyes are locked on yours as he pumps himself, long fingers wrapped gracefully around his shaft. You watch him with a look of fascination that amuses him, you can see it on his face. He dips his fingers inside you again and you jerk a little. When he pulls out, they’re wet and sticky. He runs them over his cock. You’re shell shocked at his brazen action, and he smirks. Is he just doing all this to see how far he can push you?
When he finally sinks into you, every single thought in your head goes blank. All that incessant thinking and worrying for so many months becomes muted until there’s nothing but static, and the beat of your own heart. You can’t process it, can barely breathe through it. He stretches you like he’s carving a path for himself, dragging over your walls. By the time he sinks all the way to the base, you feel like you can feel him in your throat.
“Holy shit.” He curses, and you see his face crumple in real time, the first sign of his composure breaking. You can’t even moan. You have no air in your lungs.
“You sure you’re not a virgin, pretty? So tight, squeezing the life out of me.” His voice cracks at the end, and he bites his bottom lip hard.
“Move.” You manage to gasp out, hips jerking. He chuckles.
“Hold on. I don’t wanna cum too quick.”
Now that gives you PTSD. Jeonghan takes a few deep breaths, his chest rising and falling. He toys with your clit, like he’s trying to get you to relax around him a bit. Finally, he pulls out and thrusts back in, hard. Any air you may have finally breathed, he knocks right back out.
He sets a fast pace from the start, thrusts hard and deep inside you. You barely have the chance to miss him before the head of is dick is pressing into your sweet spot again, stroking it with even more force than his fingers previously had. You feel so full, like you’re ready to explode just from the force of the pounding you’re taking. You claw at the sheets, and when that isn’t enough, you claw at his arms that frame both sides of your head. His eyes move between your face and your pussy, watching you swallow him greedily, over and over again.
“Jesus, where have you been hiding?” He chokes out. “Can’t believe I missed out on this cunt for so long.”
“God.” You whine, eyes teary. “Don’t stop.”
He shakes his head and grins. “Wouldn’t dream of it, baby. Not until I milk all that stress out of you.”
Frankly, you can’t even remember what you were stressed about. You can barely string two words together except a mantra of Jeonghan’s name over and over. Your orgasm is no surprise, body locking and cumming hard around him, walls fluttering desperately as you cry and gasp through it. Jeonghan groans long and low, eyes squeezing shut before his thrusts turn sloppy. It takes a few more hard slams of his pelvis into yours before he’s pulling out and shooting ropes of his cum all over your stomach. He pumps himself through it, breathing hard, and you can see his shoulders shake, glistening with sweat.
What a sight.
The come down is dizzying. Jeonghan pulls his clothes on quickly before he grabs a towel and leaves the room, coming back with it wet enough for you to wipe yourself with it. You feel awkward as you dress yourself again. Jeonghan flops down on the bed with a tired sigh. You shift on your feet when you’re done.
“I’ll- I’ll go.”
A slow smile spreads on his face. “Don’t get all shy on me now.”
You shake your head and frown. “I’m not. I just don’t know what to say.”
He laughs, nodding. Just before you turn to leave, he gives you a wink.
“Text me any time.”
…………………………………….
Jeonghan’s stress relief programme works wonders for you.
You spend the next week practically buzzing. Your body is a little sore, not enough to actually notice, but enough to keep you alert. The night you come back from his room, you manage to crank out every assignment due in the week because you’re so desperate to not let your mind wander to what you just did. The next day, you get started on work from the coming week. Jihyo is so surprised when she asks you for help and you send her notes that are neat and well compiled.
“Are you taking something?” She narrows her eyes at you. “Ritalin?”
You roll your eyes. “Just say thank you.”
She grumbles out a ‘thanks’. You can’t tell her about Jeonghan. You just don’t have it in you to share that. Your night with him was beyond anything you had experienced before. You know it was casual. You’re sure you would never see him again. So you dont want to make it a big deal by talking about it.
Except, you run into him organically soon after this.
A week and a half later, on a Friday night, you are lounging in bed with a textbook. You’re almost caught up with work, enough that you can take a breather and do some light reading instead. Unfortunately, this gives Jihyo the perfect opportunity to drag you out of the room, claiming you have no excuse to stay home because you don’t have anything due. Dammit.
The party you end up at is outside the dorms at a house a few blocks away. You can’t tell who threw it, but there are a lot of Med and DPT people there. When you see Mingyu standing in the center of the room chugging a bottle, you roll your eyes.
“When does he even get time to study?” You mumble when Jihyo shoves a red cup in your hands. You sniff it and make a face. Disgusting.
“Dunno. But he manages just fine, so don’t worry about him. In fact, you need to shut your brain off for once.”
Before you can reply, she’s throwing her drink back and grabbing another, leading you farther into the room. Mingyu spots you two quickly, and it’s all chaos from there. He knows almost everyone, and he introduces you to people at lightning speed. You won’t remember any of them, but you just nod and smile along. When he reaches the couches in the living room, your heart skips.
“You know Jeonghan.” Mingyu grins, arm around your shoulder shaking you teasingly.
The man in question is sprawled over one corner of the long couch, and his eyes find yours almost immediately. He looks stunning even in the dim light. His hair is half up and half down, some of it falling over his eyes. He’s dressed in all black, and his leather jacket makes him look dangerously inviting. His eyes run over you in a way that makes you shiver. You should’ve worn something warmer. A crop top and skirt were not the way to go.
“What do you mean she knows him?” Jihyo frowns. You stiffen.
“He means I know of him. From what Mina told me.” You lie smoothly. Mingyu squeezes you a little in apology. Obviously he didn’t know you were keeping it a secret.
Jihyo really isn’t in the mood to slow down, because she throws back any alcohol she can get her hands on. This forces you to remain sober so you can take her back when the time is right. You’re so busy with her that you manage to steer clear of Jeonghan. The whole place is too loud, too overstimulating, that you have no time to think about him. Hours later, you’re tired and more than a little cranky when you finally manage to drag Jihyo out of the house. She’s stumbling a little, giggling at something completely normal that she finds exceedingly funny. You huff. How the hell are you going to do this?
“I have a car.” You hear a familiar voice. You don’t expect to see Jeonghan. You hadn’t seen him all night except at the very beginning, so you assumed he left, probably with someone else. But he’s here now, hands buried in the pockets of his dark jeans. You are half inclined to say no, but just the thought of taking Jihyo back like this is enough to make you cry, so you simply nod.
Jeonghan brings the car around and helps you put Jihyo in the backseat, where she promptly falls asleep. You sit in the front with him, and you feel awkward all over again.
“You didn’t text me, pretty.” He says. You forgot how the nickname makes your face flush.
“I didn’t think you were serious.” You mumble. Jeonghan looks confused.
“About what?”
You sigh, hesitating a little. “I’m not really….. a casual hookup person. So I think it’s best if we stay away from each other.”
Jeonghan chuckles. “Damn, I’m getting broken up with.”
You try to shake your head but Jeonghan just brushes it off. He’s clearly joking. And it’s not like this means anything. So you don’t say anything more, hoping the uncomfortable air dissipates a bit. Thankfully, you aren’t far from the dorms at all. Jeonghan parks in front of Med and offers to help you take Jihyo up. You can’t say no even if you want to, since she’s fully dead weight now.
He’s great support in dragging her to the room. In fact, he does most of the heavy lifting, which you are grateful for. You dump Jihyo on her bed, pulling her shoes off and covering her with a blanket. She doesn’t as much as flinch. You straighten a little, sighing.
“Thank you.” You smile at him. He shrugs it off. You walk him to the door. When he puts his hand on the knob, he pauses.
“So, we’re really over?”
You blink, surprised. “We were never really a thing.”
“I know.” He hums, watching you with heated eyes. “But it was fun. Shame that it’s ending before it even properly began.”
You fidget a little, staring at your hands. Jeonghan steps closer, his fingers find your chin, tilting your head up.
“Can I get a goodnight kiss?”
You consider it a little before nodding. “Okay.”
One kiss won’t hurt. Except it’s not one kiss. Jeonghan deepens it the second your lips meet his. His hands run over your hips, over the sliver of skin between your skirt and your tiny top. You shiver, hands squeezing his biceps. His tongue slides into your mouth and you moan. The same heady feeling from that night comes back, the one that leaves you dumb and brainless with him. His tongue runs hungrily over yours. You clench around nothing.
“W-we should stop.” You manage to whimper into his mouth. He moans.
“Neither of us want that.”
He crowds you into the wall until you’re pressed between it and his chest. He kisses you harder, deeper, and you feel like you’re high on him, all consumed by him. He smells so fucking good it makes your head spin. Your fingers bury themselves in his hair and you tug harshly, and he seems to like that, because he groans into your mouth.
“You had to wear the tiniest little skirt, didn’t you?” He bites your bottom lip. “Wanted to bend you over right in the middle of that house.”
“You-” Your breath stutters. “You can’t say stuff like that.”
“Why?” Jeonghan pulls back enough to lick down your jaw and nibble at your neck. You arch into him. “Does it turn you on?”
You don’t want to tell him that yes, it does turn you on. The raw need he says he has for you is so foreign, but so welcome. Before you can say anything, Jeonghan pulls off your neck and sinks to his knees.
You gape at him, shocked. His hands are urgent, pushing your skirt up and hooking a hand under your knee so he can hook it over his shoulder.
“Jeonghan!” You hiss, but you can’t say a thing further. Your hand flies up to clamp over your mouth when he runs his tongue over your clothed core. He wastes no time in pulling your panties aside and tonguing right at your slit, finding your clit immediately to suck on it.
It’s so much all at once, an assault on the senses. You tremble, nearly losing your balance if it weren’t for Jeonghan’s hands holding you tight to him. He chases after you with his mouth when you try to jerk away. He laps at you like he’s starved for your taste. It feels so good that you can’t decide if you want to pull away (Jihyo is right there) or if him eating you out like this is a thrill you want to lean into. It feels so dirty, so all consuming. You buck into his mouth and his resulting moan is depraved. Your orgasm is fast approaching. You can’t stop it even if you try.
“Fuck, Jeong- Jeonghan-…. Hannie.”
You have to bite your hand to keep from crying out, your high tearing through you with the force of a car crash. You shake and shudder over him, his hands holding you up with a strength that surprises you. He doesn’t stop until you’re whining and pushing his head away, cleaning you up until you can feel his spit cooling on your skin.
He lets your leg down gently, soothing a hand over it and laying a kiss on your thigh before standing up. His hair is no longer tied up, messy around his head. He is soaked down his chin and to the column of his throat. Your cheeks flame, breaths still coming heavy. He lays a kiss on the heated skin.
“Thanks for the meal.”
You can’t even say anything before he’s kissing you one last time and quickly leaving. You blink harshly, wondering what the fuck just happened.
You find his hair tie on the floor the next morning.
………………………………..
You can’t stay away from Yoon Jeonghan. You tried once, and it ended with him on his knees in front of you, making you cum on his face. Since then, you’ve forgotten the amount of times he’s made you cum. On his tongue, on his fingers, and most gloriously, on his cock. He’s made you feel things you genuinely didn’t think were possible. He whispers into your ear such filthy words that you have a hard time even processing them. Says he’s ‘pussy drunk’. That he can’t live without his fill of you. So he finds you, once or twice a week, and he drags you back to his room because it guarantees privacy. Or he fucks you on your own bed when you know Jihyo is out for the night. Either way, he’s around you a lot more than you ever expected him to be.
Jeonghan is whip smart. You deduced that he was witty a long time ago, but he is a rare combination of book smart and street smart that you didn’t know even existed. You both have the same anatomy course, so you study together sometimes. Of course, he’s horny all throughout it, but if you make it interesting, he is more than willing to participate. His favourite is when you strip off one piece of clothing with every question he gets right. It always ends with sex, because everything with Jeonghan ends with sex, but it feels more charged like this, when he’s talking and laughing with you, that sweet little twinkle in his eyes that makes your heart race.
Jeonghan has an unhealthy obsession with fast food, which works out great for you since stress makes you crave greasy food too. You will often find yourselves in some fast food place outside campus, usually spicy fried chicken, late at night between studying and making assignments. He isn’t a big drinker, and neither are you, but you like sharing a beer with him sometimes. Jeonghan is just so comfortable in his own skin. He has no guilt or shame about anything he does, or any choice he has made. It contrasts with you, who always has ten different things playing in your head at one time, doubting, analysing, restructuring. He’s perceptive. He can tell when you’re about to spiral, letting out a disapproving little tut before tapping your forehead.
“Don’t fly away and leave me here alone.”
He says weird stuff like that.
It means nothing. It can’t. Jeonghan is notoriously a fuck boy. Everyone knows it. Hell, he advertised it in the university Facebook group once. What more is there to say? He likes sex, you like sex. You give it to each other. That’s it. Getting closer to him like this is the natural consequence of spending time together. There’s no deeper meaning here. But then you hear something, a floating rumor, and you almost can’t believe it.
“Didn’t know he was being picky.” Some girl who was having lunch on the same table as you said. You’re sure Mina told you her name when she introduced you guys, but you were, once again, lost deep in thought. You didn’t catch it. “He’s never rejected me before.”
Mina rolls her eyes. “He’s never rejected anyone before.”
“Miyoung says he hasn’t hooked up with any of her friends either. He’s been ignoring everyone’s calls or messages.”
You’re rock still as you stare at your plate. This can’t be true. You and Jeonghan are just…… messing around. Relieving stress. It’s not anything more. Before you can think, you’re pulling your phone out to text him.
[me]: where are you
The reply is instant.
[hannie]: dorm. u coming?
You reply with an affirmative, and half an hour later, you’re knocking on his door. He opens it with a lazy smile, hair tousled and shirt wrinkled. It seems he was still in bed. You’re mad at yourself that he looks even more attractive to you like this.
“Hi, pretty.” He hums, pulling you in and shutting the door, planting a kiss on your neck. He wraps his arms around you, hands already wandering under your shirt. You huff.
“I heard a rumor.”
“Hm?” He seems distracted, fingers dipping just a little in the waistband of your jeans. You plough forward.
“Some girls complaining that you have been dodging their calls.”
He snorts into your neck. His teeth dig teasingly into your skin. You push at his stomach a little, trying to put distance between you two.
“Jeonghan, are you only sleeping with me?”
He pulls off your neck briefly, but lays a kiss on your jaw instead. “Yeah.”
Now you really push him away. He takes the hint and detaches, but he looks confused.
“Why? Why aren’t you sleeping with other girls?”
His face twists into something more amused. “You know, it’s usually the other way around. Girls are mad when their boyfriends are sleeping with other girls.”
Your heart stutters at the statement. “You’re not my boyfriend.”
He pouts. “Hurtful. Are you sleeping with other guys?”
You balk at him. “No!”
“So you’re only sleeping with me, and I’m only sleeping with you.” He hums, looking thoughtful. He’s clearly being unserious. You don’t appreciate it. “Some people might say that we’re…… exclusive?”
“We’re not dating.” You say, dryly.
“We spend time together. We study together. We have sex. We talk to each other all the time either in person or over texts.” He’s listing things off on his fingers. You are growing more irritated with every point. He seems to notice, because he gives you one of those sweet smiles of his that make you melt. You try to hold strong.
“Okay, pretty. We’re not dating. But I would like to.” He grows more serious, stepping forward again to caress your sides.
“You like me?”
Jeonghan huffs, leaning forward so his forehead touches yours. “Darling, I’m obsessed with you.”
So many pet names. It’s always endless pet names with him. You love it. Your heart beats fast. You fiddle with his shirt.
“You really haven’t been with anyone since then?” You mumble.
Jeonghan’s lips brush on the corner of your mouth, an action laced with affection. “Only you. Can’t get enough of you. You drive me crazy.”
You giggle a bit. “Okay.”
“Hm?”
“Fine. I’ll date you.”
His smile is blinding. This time, his lips taste even sweeter against yours.
Well pussy drunk jeonghan who just enjoy your weak vulnerable overstimulated self 😩
WAP
Warnings: mdni 18+, cunninglingus, Jeonghan is evil, Jeonghan has a wicked mouth, teasing, dirty-talk, descriptions of manhandling, descriptions of a mating press, squirting, Jeonghan p*ssy drunk, makes you cry, suggestive ending - pwp
WC: 1248
Jeonghan believes he's a nice man.
But when you're looking up at him with adorable teary eyes, your lips wobbling as he kneels over you? It makes his heart skip in excitement, his cock jerking in his sweats just the same.
He caresses your leg, kneeling between your thighs, catching the way your pussy clenches around nothing. You were completely bare to him, and the sight has his lips curve into a dark grin. "You’re so pretty like this." His words were soft, just like his fingers that spread your plush thighs open even more. "Look at her, dripping f'me."
Jeonghan's eyes hood, half-lidded, as his tongue drags across his bottom lip. "Ha-hannie." Your whine is pathetic. Words already slurring - he'd been teasing you for so long, you felt like you were losing your sanity.
He had started innocently, pulling you onto his lap, warm hands sliding under your shirt and up your back as he pulled you into a kiss. He kissed you like you had all the time in the world, swallowing your cute little noises, keeping you from grinding down in his lap when he eventually deepened the kiss. His tongue languidly stroked over yours, coaxing you until you were desperate and needy in his hands. Just how he liked you. Your fingers tugging his hair into a disheveled mess. "Pl-please, need you, Hannie."
Your pussy dripped heavily with your slick, your cheeks flushed, and your eyes glossy with want. You were so cute, letting him push you onto your back, stripping you naked while he stayed clothed. It always turned him on how easily you obeyed. The power stroked his ego like his hand did his cock, making his breath labored, pupils blown with lust.
“Spread those legs some more, pretty.”
How perfect you were for him - quivering and leaking so sinfully onto the sheets below. So debauched and wet for him - and if Jeonghan was any less of a patient man, he’d just fuck your pretty pussy right then and there. Feel you stretch around his hard cock, squeezing him deeper into your sopping, needy pussy.
But, no. Oh no, instead, he keeps eye contact with you as he lowers himself between your legs. His face is hovering over your drooling cunt, his hands moving your thighs over his shoulders so he can get a better look at you. "Hannie- don't tease," your whines come with a cute pout that makes Jeonghan huff a soft laugh. He turns his head to bite your inner thigh playfully and laughs more when you jolt from the sting.
“Be careful for what you ask for, Pretty.”
-
Jeonghan - oh, he’s just in heaven - letting out a deep, guttural groan, lapping so greedily at your sweet juices. His fingers are digging into the meaty parts of your thighs as they shake.
You’re crying, big fat tears rolling down your cheeks as he buries his face deeper into your weeping cunt. It’s been hours, or what felt like hours, trapped under his strength as he made you cum on his tongue over and over again.
His jaw aches, the lower half of his face drenched in your sweet honey. But it’s not enough. His tongue licks broad strokes, sucking your glistening folds with a wet ‘fwop.’ He makes out with your pretty pussy messily, the wet noises echoing in the room and adding to the warmth that grows in your stomach again.
You felt delirious. Crying wantonly, twisting your fingers in his hair, disheveling it more as you fought between pulling him closer or pushing him away. He’s lavishing you with the swirling edge of his tongue. “Oh fuck-“ your moan twists into a high-pitched whine, his head shaking to swipe his nose over your hypersensitive clit.
All five of his coarse fingertips are digging into the cheeks of your ass, holding you firmly to his open mouth. His glistening tongue slobbering all over your pussylips, soaking his taste buds with your sweet honey like it was his lifeline. And when his tongue stuffs inside your sopping cunt, curling just right, you’re seeing stars.
Your toes curl, your hips buck, and your mouth drops as you gasp. Your orgasm flashes through you hard, your juices flooding into his waiting mouth with a splash. You miss the way his hips grind into the bed below for friction; your whole body shudders in pleasure.
Trying to run from Jeonghan’s sinful mouth, your blurry vision catches him smiling at you like a predator does to a prey they‘ve trapped.
Jeonghan’s lips are puffy, slicked with your cum and his spit. He sneers at you with a dangerous smirk, his hand on your ankle as he speaks down at you. “Where d’ya think you’re going, Pretty?” His hand becomes a vice grip, dragging your plaint and humming body back to him. His hands hold both of your ankles, pushing your legs up into a filthy mating press that takes your breath away. “You said no teasing,” his eyes swirl with a dark chaos as he leans down to your puffy cunt, it’s still quivering, weeping for him. “Now, take it like a good girl.”
You watch as he moves one hand down to your drooling cunt, fingers spreading your glittering wet folds apart and then making eye contact with you.
Oh fuck.
Oh fuck.
Jeonghan purses his slicked lips and spits on your quivering pussy. His warm wad of saliva drips messily through your folds and mixes with your sweet juices. It’s filthy, dirty, and obscene. But it’s oh so hot when he wastes no time, leaning down, his tongue chases after it, twisting, filling your cunt and curling deep inside you - you scream.
Your eyes cross, your mind blanks as he keeps going. He eats your pussy like a man starved, slurping and sucking for his pleasure. His arm pressed down the back of your knees to keep you trapped, spread wide shamelessly, and under his mercy.
All you could do was take it. Tears stain your cheeks and the pillow under your head, your thighs burning, lungs aching for breath as he wraps his wicked lips around your clit, sucking the nub harshly as his tongue flicks over it faster.
Your fingers claw the drenched sheets under you - the knot in your tummy twisting so hot, like never before. You can only gurgle Jeonghan’s name halfway before a warmth spreads through your whole body. Your tongue lolls out of your mouth, completely made dumb by his tongue when you squirt. You don’t make a sound, jaw slacked open in a lewd expression as your head tilts farther back in the pillows.
Your sweet honey splashes across his face, down his chest, and all over your legs. The slick noises increase in volume, your walls clamp on Jeonghan ‘s evil tongue, and your whole body slumps. The tremors in your inner thighs stay long after the aftershocks. Every soft lick of Jeonghan licking you clean, making your whole body flinch with an electric zap!
When he’s satisfied, he sits up, his face dripping with your arousal filthily that you almost don’t notice he’s got his hard cock in his hand. You blink dumbly, brain turned to mush as he smacks the head of his cock on your raw pussy. You jolt with each slap, your ear ringing as he raises an eyebrow at you with a cruel smirk.
“Spread those legs some more, pretty.”
-
A/N: I just need Jeonghan to hold me down and make me take it.
Anyways, love to see your comments, kudos, and feedback! Hope you enjoyed 👍🏼
Hello!!! For the ‘Until the sun sets on 2030’ prompt, could I request smut + prompt 12 with dino being inexperienced please?
pairing: virgin!chan x experienced!f!reader
genre/warnings: smut (MDNI); subby/virgin/inexperienced!chan, a more experienced reader; orgasm denial, edging, god praise kink!!!!, corruption kink if you squint, the overusage of "good boy," chan asking for a fuck ton of permission, some begging...
a/n: so i may have overdone this because as i was writing my smut medleys....virgin!chan was just...groundbreaking. it was like i ascended on a new level of computer corruption. anways um yeah
prompt list | ask box
someone being a virgin/inexperienced (a nicer version of a corruption kink)
he’s nervous.
you can feel it in the way his fingers tremble when they brush your waist. the way his breath hitches when you kiss down the side of his neck. he tries so hard to keep his composure—but it’s crumbling fast.
“chan,” you whisper against his skin, “you okay?”
he nods too fast. “yeah. i’m good. i just—i’ve never—”
you smile. soft. gentle.
“i know,” you say, brushing his hair back. “we don’t have to rush anything.”
his eyes meet yours, wide and earnest. “i want to,” he says quickly. “i want to. i just—idontknowwhatimdoing.”
“then let me show you.”
his breath stutters out. he nods again—slower this time—and lets you guide him backward until the backs of his knees hit the bed. he sits, watching you with parted lips as you climb into his lap, straddling his thighs.
“you’re so warm,” he whispers, like he can’t believe you’re real. his hands settle tentatively at your hips, and then a little tighter, like he doesn’t want to let go.
you roll your hips against his, just once—slowly—and his whole body jerks.
“fuck—” he gasps, eyes fluttering shut. “that—feels so good—”
you lean in, kissing him, swallowing the little sounds he makes as you rock against him again. his hands clutch at you like he’s drowning.
“can i?” you ask softly, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt.
he nods. “yeah. please.”
you strip him slowly, let him feel every inch of it—the way your hands trail down his chest, the way your mouth kisses across his collarbones, the way you press him down until he’s lying back on the bed, flushed and panting, watching you with awe.
you tug off your top next. his hands twitch at his sides like he doesn’t know where to touch.
“you can touch me, baby.”
he does—carefully at first, then more confidently when you guide him. he cups your breasts with both hands, thumb brushing over your nipple, and you shiver at the touch.
“you like that?” he asks, wide-eyed.
“mmhmm,” you smile. “you’re doing great.”
he looks dazed. amazed. like every moan you make is a revelation.
when you slide down between his legs, undoing his pants, he sits up halfway. “wait, you don’t have to—”
you kiss the inside of his thigh, grinning up at him. “i want to.”
and when you take him in your mouth—soft at first, then growing hard fast, twitching against your tongue—he loses it.
“oh—fuck—fuck—i’ve never—” his head falls back, one hand fisting the sheets. “that feels—you feel—oh my god—”
you only suck him a little longer, just enough to watch him squirm, then pull off with a pop and a wicked little smile.
“you okay?”
his eyes are glassy. “i think i’m in love with you.”
you laugh softly, climbing back over him. “you wanna try now?”
he freezes. “like—actually…?”
you nod. “if you want.”
he licks his lips. “yeah. i want. i just don’t know—how to start.”
you guide his hand between your legs. he groans when he feels how wet you are, how ready.
“start here,” you whisper.
he touches you like he’s worshipping you. fumbling at first—shy, unsure—but he listens. you tell him where to press, how to move, and his eyes never leave your face as you fall apart for him.
“you’re amazing,” he whispers, reverent. “i can’t believe this is real.”
you line him up and let him press in slowly, slowly, inch by inch. he’s thick, careful, his forehead pressed against yours as he pants through the stretch.
“oh my god,” he breathes. “you’re so tight. so warm. i—i’m not gonna last.”
you kiss him. “just feel me.”
he moves inside you with shaky, gentle thrusts. not deep yet—just careful. nervous.
you wrap your legs around him. “it’s okay, chan. go slow. you’re doing so well.”
he lets out the softest whimper at that—like praise is all it takes to ruin him.
“feels so good,” he gasps. “you feel so good. i don’t ever want to stop—”
he buries his face in your neck as he rocks into you faster now, still gentle but needy, and the little sounds he makes—those broken moans, the way he whispers “i’m yours, i’m yours” like a prayer—only make you wetter.
“i’m close,” he chokes out. “can i—inside? please—”
“yes, chan. give it to me.”
he cums with a soft cry, clutching you to his chest, hips stuttering. he stays inside you, panting, shaking, kissing your shoulder like he’s saying thank you.
He’s still panting beneath you, chest flushed and heaving, eyes dazed as you straddle him again.
“W-wait—” Chan’s voice cracks. His thighs twitch under your hands. “You’re gonna—again?”
You lean in, lips brushing his ear. “Oh, sweetheart. You didn’t think I was done with you, did you?”
A whimper escapes him.
You slide down slow, savoring how his cock jerks and twitches against your folds, already overly sensitive from the last round. He shudders violently, one hand flying to your hip while the other clutches the sheets like it’s the only thing anchoring him to earth.
“Fuck, fuck—oh my god—” he breathes, voice breaking into a moan as you finally sink down fully, taking him all the way.
His head tips back against the pillows. “You feel—so warm, I—please—please slow down.”
You start slow. Cruel, patient drags of your hips, moving just enough to make him squirm, his breath catching with every movement. You watch him try to keep it together—lips parted, face contorting as his body trembles beneath you.
“You wanna cum again, baby?” you whisper, leaning forward, your chest pressed to his as your hips roll just right.
Chan nods rapidly, eyes glassy. “Y-yeah. I—it’s too much, but I want to. Please.”
“Hmm.” You pull back slightly and clamp your walls around him on purpose. “But you’ve already made such a mess. Think you can handle more?”
His mouth drops open. “I don’t know,” he whines. “I—I think I’m gonna die.”
“You’re not,” you tease, running your fingers down his chest, tracing the ridges of his abs. “You’re just pussydrunk.”
He whimpers like it’s a confession. “I am. I really am. It’s so good. I didn’t know it could feel this good.”
Then you stop.
Just like that, your hips still. You don’t lift off him, but you don’t move either.
His eyes fly open in panic. “W-wait, why’d you stop?”
You smile down at him. “You said you wanted to cum.”
“I do!” he gasps. “Please—please, I need it. I need you to move, please, I can’t—”
He’s babbling now. Pleading. Writhing beneath you like a mess, trying to thrust up into you but you pin his hips down easily.
“Nuh-uh,” you murmur. “Be a good boy. Take it like this. I wanna see you beg.”
He whines high in his throat. “Please—I need to feel you. I need to finish, it hurts, I—fuck—please don’t stop touching me—”
You finally roll your hips again, slow and deep, and his whole body jerks.
“Fuckfuckfuck—” he chants. “I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum—!”
“Nope.” You stop again.
He practically sobs. “Y/N. Please. I can’t take it. Please let me finish. I—I’ll do anything, just—please—!”
You lean in close, kiss the corner of his mouth, soft and sweet. “You’ll do anything?”
His eyes are wild. He nods. “Yes. Anything. Just ride me, please. I’ll be good. I’ll—fuck—just please let me cum.”
You start moving again, faster this time.
Your fingers thread through Chan’s hair again, yanking just hard enough that he moans into your skin, mouth open and pressed to your shoulder. His whole body trembles under you — flushed, sweat-slicked, desperate. His legs twitch with every slow grind of your hips, and he whimpers when you lift slightly and sink back down with an agonizing roll.
“P-please—” His voice is wrecked. “I—I can’t… I need—fuck, I need it—”
“You’ll wait,” you breathe against his ear, your voice silky, indulgent, cruel. “You said you’d be good for me, didn’t you?”
His head snaps up weakly, tears glossing his eyes. “I am—I’m trying, I swear—I’ll be good, please, I wanna be—” He pants, chest heaving, trying not to thrust up, his hands gripping your hips so hard they might bruise.
You ride him slow now, dragging your walls around him in a way that makes his eyes roll back. You feel the way he twitches helplessly inside you, how every second you don’t let him cum frays him further at the edges.
“You’re doing so well,” you praise, and his breath catches. “You’re so good for me, baby.”
He lets out a broken sob of relief, one hand sliding to your waist as he pulls you close — his forehead dropping to your shoulder, mouth pressing kisses against your damp skin.
“C-can I cum now?” His voice cracks like he’s pleading for salvation. “Please, please, let me cum—I’ve been good—I need you—please, let me cum with you—”
You press your forehead to his, finally grinding down harder, faster, chasing your own release now, and that’s when it breaks.
Chan cries out — a gasping, near-wail of a moan — and his arms wrap tight around your waist as he bucks up into you. His hips move instinctively, chasing your heat, chasing your high even through his own ruin. He fucks into you with a desperation you’ve never seen, overstimulated and shaking, his face crumpling against your shoulder.
“Wanna make you cum, wanna be good, am I—am I a good boy?” he chokes out, voice ragged, tears streaming now as his rhythm stutters.
“You’re perfect, Chan,” you moan, fingers fisting in his sweat-damp hair. “You’re so good—so good—”
Chan’s voice breaks. His hands fly to your hips, but it’s all desperation now, holding on like he’s drowning. “Th-thank you—thank you, oh my god—I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna—”
You clench down around him and he wails. His body arches off the bed, overstimulation turning his second orgasm into a meltdown.
“Cumming—oh my god—I’m cumming, fuck—please don’t stop—”
Your orgasm crashes through you, and you tighten around him with a cry, making him cry out again, his hips jerking wildly as he spills inside you. You can feel how much there is — hot and deep, pulse after pulse — his body reacting completely on instinct.
He shudders, mouth open against your neck, breath warm and uneven, still moving through the overstimulation like he’s drunk on it. “I love you,” he whimpers suddenly, raw and honest, voice thick with everything he’s feeling. “I love you—”
You kiss his temple, his cheek, his swollen lips. “I love you too, baby. You did so good for me. So good.”
Chan’s still twitching inside you, cock throbbing as he dry-cums again, groaning, helpless and completely lost in it. Tears are pricking the corners of his eyes, and when he collapses back into the mattress, it’s with his chest heaving and lips parted, a dazed smile on his face, your boobs pressed against his chest, his arms around your waist.
The room is silent except for your breathing and the occasional quiet whimper from him, lips brushing your collarbone like a prayer.
You kiss him sweetly as he blinks up at you, ruined and blissed out.
“At least ‘m not a virgin anymore,” he whispers, breathless.
You laugh softly, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead. “Congrats, baby.”
18+. f bodied reader. written in 45 mins sorry it's shit
Lee Chan is such a fucking loser.
Not in the incel kind of way, god forbid. More like the 'hey watch me nail this water bottle flip yo' and then fail for five consecutive times and insists that somehow it wasn't his fault. Something about the density of the water .... Or the texture of the ground (it was tiled floor, idiot).
The kind of loser who somehow always loses at rock paper scissors, and convinces everyone (not really) that it was all 'part of a strategy' before offering 'best of three?' and so on. The type of loser who would gloat about how skilled he is with classic arcade games or claw machines, and get absolutely humbled by an inanimate box powered by electricity and spite to never let this man win.
He's the kind of guy who would sigh longingly like he was tasked to find the rarest metal on earth or that doomsday is coming, and when asked what's wrong he'd answer 'they ran out of my favourite ice cream'.
He's talking about the supermarket.
They haven't restocked his favorite flavor yet.
You've always heard whispers, playful nudges, sarcastic 'is he really your boyfriend?' comments spoken through muffled snickers of amusement, and you always nod. Immediate nod, not hesitating even for a nanosecond.
Because behind the 'i was just warming up, the next round is for real' and then rage quitting at Mario kart, the 'my controller is lagging, so it really wasn't about my skill.' or the 'best of seven, come on. Please?' with those puppy eyes, lies a demon he masked perfectly with the facade of a himbo who can't open cans properly.
Chan pounds you hard, Chan fucks you good.
He makes sure that your attention is solely on him, like an asteroid orbiting a planet. His mindless empty gaze now sharp as a hawk. Those hands that he once swore were 'not sweaty! It's just the weather that's hot' in the middle of fucking autumn, now holds your wrist in place as his hips snap into yours. Bolts of electricity flows through your body, like current breaking through a faulty circuit.
For a man who can't even seem to walk well on two legs, he's surprisingly calculated when it comes to sex— Chan never goes hard and rough immediately, no. He's patient (unlike when he's in line for morning coffee), Chan always ensures to leave touches that felt like live wire brushing on skin. Never a trail of fire, but sparks— gentle yet deadly.
When he's satisfied with seeing you break, get all desperate for him, then he complies with your wants. Gone was the sunshine idiotic boy who thought that he, could survive in the wild, with a knife and protein bar while he couldn't even survive in urban life without being constantly supervised. In his place a smiling devil, end of his lips curled up like a cat who just spotted its prey.
When he's deep inside, he's merciless. He's panting against your neck, groaning and spouting nasty nonsense about how good you feel all while destroying the hell out of your insides. The friction he provides is more than electric, pulses of pleasure running through like high voltage arcs. Chan however, does not stop panting little 'ah, ah, ah's and deep murmurs as his chest presses against yours, bullying your cunt as if he's trying to drill himself into it.
When you're both near, he knows. And ever the gentleman, he'd adjust his timing to match yours. 'Getting closer?' He'd ask, tilting his head and propping himself up with both his arms, skin drenched is sweat before going absolute jackhammer against your poor cunt. You'd cry out his name, a sharp 'Channie!' left your lips as you wrap your legs around his waist, hand griping his arm for moral support as he continues to snap his hips into yours like it's a damn mission to make you cum. Eventually, he arrives too, as the coil in his stomach became unbearable. Pulling out, he released all over your stomach. The liquid warm and sticky against your skin. You squirmed a bit, but you know he'd clean you up later.
Yeah. You love this loser. There's no doubt of it.
--------------------------------------------
hi. still suffering from exams here (fuck chemistry and kinetics can suck my dick) but yesterday I stopped my 12 hour study party to watch thunder and screamed before going back to drowning in galvanic cells. I hope I don't fail. Anyway, this is low-key based off of thunder (hence the theme of electricity...) and I just think god Chan was so hot in thunder (everyone was). My writing skills are rusty I fear, but I hope I can get back to writing soon.
Warnings: mdni 18+, frat boy!Joshua, he needs to be a warning, oral (f rec.), small dirty talk, messy eating from Joshua
WC: 1652
Frat boy! Joshua, who takes a body shot off you and smirks at how needy you look afterwards. “Here, want a taste?” His fingers thread into your hair, tilting your head back and coaxing your pretty lips to drop open for him.
Frat boy! Joshua, who keeps eye contact with you as he throws a shot back and then leans towards you. The vodka, warm, pours out of his mouth and right into yours. And you whimper, barely able to swallow it all before his mouth is on yours. Claiming your mouth with his, his tongue licks the few droplets at the corner of your mouth as he deepens the kiss, his hands firmly keeping you in place, making you breathless.
Frat boy! Joshua, who pulls back, eyes half-lidded and dark. "Mm," he hums, licking his lips wet. "Tastes sweeter with you." He winks, and your face flushes, trying to figure out if it's the vodka or Joshua who is making your head spin.
Frat boy! Joshua, who doesn't leave you alone after that. Pulling you to him, your bodies moving with the music that pulses in the living room. Bodies similar to yours and Joshua sway and grind, but all you can focus on is his hands on your hips, his mouth next to your ear, his breath hot against your neck as you hold onto his shoulder for stability.
Frat boy! Joshua, who waves off his frat brother!Soonyoung who tries to invite him to be his partner in beer pong against Seungcheol and Mingyu. Instead, Joshua is pulling you onto his lap, both of you sitting on a couch that was pushed into a far corner of the living room to make room for people to dance.
Frat boy! Joshua, who can't help himself. His hands slide over the dips and curves of your body, his lips pressing addictive kisses up your neck as you straddle his lap. You can feel his hard-on underneath you, his hips pressing up into you firmly as you tilt your head back in pleasure.
Frat boy! Joshua, who holds your hand tightly as he guides you through the kitchen. Vernon is leaning against the kitchen counter, red solo cup in hand, eyes intently focused on what Seungkwan babbles about while making his own drink.
Fray boy! Joshua leads you to the second floor. The music still reverberates so loudly, the walls vibrate. But when Joshua gets you into his room, the door closes behind him. It's like it's just the two of you, the world fading out around you.
Frat boy! Joshua, who pins you to the door, his lips immediately pressing into yours. He swallows the moans you let out, his hands already working their way under your shirt. His tongue doesn't leave one part of your mouth unexplored, groaning as you use the leg he pressed between your thighs to rut against desperately.
Frat boy! Joshua, who kisses down your throat, licking and sucking his way down to mark any skin exposed to him. His teeth left a trail of goosebumps in their wake. "So pretty, moaning f'me." He hums before his fingers unclasp your bra, letting it fall off of you.
Frat boy! Joshua, who curses, eyes practically heart-shaped as he looks at you. His mouth immediately latches onto one of your breasts, tongue swirling around your nipple as his hand cups the other one. He relishes the cute gasps and moans you whine, trapped between him and the door still.
Frat boy! Joshua, who gets down onto his knees. His lips are kiss-bitten, hair disheveled from your hands. "Let me have a taste, pretty." His fingers dip into your jeans, dragging the denim down your legs, and leave you in just your panties.
Frat boy! Joshua, whose cock twitches in his pants, his eyes zeroing in on the damp spot between your thighs. Your panties are sticking to your drooling cunt like a second skin. His eyes meet yours, your eyes already hazy, "this all f'me?" He asks, and you're nodding your head, thighs squeezing together.
Frat boy! Joshua, who clicks his tongue against his teeth, hands moving to your plush thighs, spreading them back open. "No, no hiding, baby. Want to see all of ya." And then he's diving in, his tongue lying flat against your drenched panties, licking a broad stripe up until the tip of his tongue catches on your sensitive clit.
Frat boy! Joshua, who gets to hear the obscene mewl leave your pretty lips, your hands going to his hair to bring him closer to your weeping pussy. "Please, please-" you beg, hiccupping as he moves up, teeth biting into the hem of your panties because you don't need to tell him twice. His mouth drags your panties down your legs in one quick movement.
Frat boy! Joshua, who tucks your ruined panties in his pocket for later, making sure you don't notice by bringing one of your legs over his shoulder. He flashes you a wicked grin, placing his lips on your inner thigh and sucking a dark mark on your skin for you to find later. Your fingers twist in his hair more, your head spinning, "Don't tease, please."
Frat boy! Joshua, who coos at your cute little whines. His hands grab a fistful of your ass as he meets your eyes. "You're going to ride my face, pretty. You better make it extra wet," and then he's diving in nose first. His mouth drops open, tongue licking up your slobbering wet folds, groaning at your sweet taste as his nose presses firmly against your puffy clit.
Frat boy! Joshua, who moves one hand on your thigh to keep you steady as his other hand moves down his own body. Your sweet moans make him groan against your sopping cunt. He's wrapping a hand around his cock through his jeans, so turned on he's twitching in his own grasp as your hips buck and roll following his orders.
You're riding his face, eyes crossing as his tongue circles your entrance, before plunging his thick, wet muscle as deeply as he can into your pussy.
Frat boy! Joshua, who drinks you up like a man who hasn't drunk water in years. His head shaking left and right, dragging his nose on your clit as he thrusts in and out of your dripping hole. Your sweet juices flow endlessly, splashing onto his mouth as you press his face even closer between your thighs. "O-oh fuck, right there, right there!" Your tongue feels heavy, lolling out as the knot in your stomach twists tighter.
Your hips buck, squirming as he keeps you pinned against the door. It's filthy to be completely naked while he's still fully clothed. His hand is squeezing his cock through his jeans as you ride his face faster.
Frat boy! Joshua, who groans loudly, he wants you to suffocate him between your thighs. Your pussy tastes like heaven, he can't get enough, can't reach deep enough. His fingers dig into the meaty part of your thigh as he lets go of his cock to bring them back up.
Frat boy! Joshua moves his head higher, slicked wet lips wrapping around your clit, sucking deeply as his pointer finger and middle finger slip into your slobbering pussy. When he sucks, your body shakes, a loud, keen shrieking out of your mouth as he thrusts knuckle deep.
Frat boy! Joshua, who takes great pleasure from the way your gummy walls suck his fingers in each time he pulls back. He spreads them, stretching you open as your arousal drips down to his wrist.
Frat boy! Joshua's room fills with the squelches of your greedy pussy and your moans mixing with his. His tongue swirls and licks his name on your clit, and you're a mess. You're making the most lewd face for him, babbling that it feels so good. His name sounds like a prayer as you chant it over and over again.
Frat boy! Joshua adds his ring finger; he is already wearing a ring on it, and it stretches you even more. The cold metal makes your walls flutter around his fingers, and he's back to slurping all your sweet juices, tongue-teasing licks around where he's got you full of his long fingers.
Frat boy! Joshua curls his fingers, searching for that one spot he knows will make you fall apart. His thrusts push his fingers deeper with each hard jab. "C'mon, ride my fingers, pretty-" and then he brushes your g-spot.
Frat boy! Joshua, who watches stars form in your eyes as you let out a cute 'oh, oh, oooh!' Your hips are bucking as you do as he says. His fingers press the soft spot inside with each thrust, his tongue licking back up to your clit. He knows you're right there, your walls clenching around his fingers harder and harder.
Frat boy! Joshua wraps his lips around your puffy clit, sucking hard as the tip of his tongue flicks over it again and again. Your vision flashes white, your scream broken as hot white pleasure zaps through your body. Your legs shake, and you would give out completely if he weren't already holding you by your hip.
Frat boy! Joshua, who can't get enough of your pussy. He replaces his fingers with his tongue, jaw hanging open to slurp and suck as you ride his face sloppily through your orgasm. His nose tap, taps, tapping your oversensitive clit as he licks you clean.
Frat boy! Joshua, who looks like absolute sin as he finally lets go of your pussy with a wet 'plop'. His eyes meet yours, and he looks even more fucked out than you. His hair is messy, the bottom half of his face soaked in your sweet juices, lips puffy. His eyes are half-lidded when he keeps eye contact with you, tongue licking his lips clean. "Mm, sweet."
-
A/N: Frat boy! Seventeen supremacy
[I was supposed to finish another Seungcheol fic but then I got possessed and yup-]
when reader and them is in the same place(with all members and friends) and sends them some dirty messages..?? like teasing them, if that makes sense🫶🏻
── .✦ seventeen texts: sending them dirty texts
CONTENT | sexual content (dirty talk) included. mdni.
A/N | sorry for being ia </3
