After a brief encounter where HYUNJIN clearly wasn’t interested, you keep pursuing him. Until one raw, explosive night he snapped, pushing you away for good. Only then did he realize how desperately he craved your presence, how empty the silence felt without you.
❛ ━━━━━━･❪🦙❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜
The first time you met Hwang Hyunjin, it felt like the universe had personally handed you a spark and then immediately doused it with ice water.
It was at Chan’s birthday party—loud music, too many people crammed into a too-small rooftop, fairy lights strung like afterthoughts. You’d spotted him leaning against the railing, long hair tucked behind one ear, black silk shirt unbuttoned just enough to look careless on purpose. He was laughing at something Felix said, head thrown back, and the sound hit you somewhere behind your ribs.
You walked over with the confidence only two soju shots and a mutual friend’s encouragement could give.
“Hi,” you said, offering your brightest smile. “I’m—”
“I know who you are,” he cut in gently, but not kindly. His eyes flicked over you once—assessing, uninterested—then returned to Felix. “Chan’s friend, right?”
The dismissal was so smooth you almost didn’t register it as rejection. Almost.
“Yeah,” you answered anyway, smile faltering only a little. “I just wanted to say your last painting—the one with the burning chandelier? I saw it in your recent post. It… stayed with me.”
He gave a small, polite nod. “Thanks.”
And that was it.
He turned back to Felix, conversation closed like a door you hadn’t even been allowed to knock on.
You stood there for three more awkward seconds before Minho appeared out of nowhere, slinging an arm around your shoulders and steering you away with an exaggerated “Come on, let’s not traumatize the pretty boy tonight.”
You laughed it off. You always laughed it off.
But something about the way Hyunjin hadn’t even pretended to be curious lodged itself under your skin like a splinter.
So you kept showing up.
Not in a creepy way—just… persistently.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
A week later you “happened” to be at the same café he always went to after morning dance practice (thanks, Seungmin, for the accidental intel). You slid into the seat across from him before he could protest.
“You’re stalking me now?” he asked, not looking up from his sketchbook.
“Coincidence,” you said brightly, stealing a sip of his iced Americano. “Great taste, by the way.”
He finally lifted his gaze. “You’re impossible.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
A tiny muscle in his jaw ticked. “Look… you’re nice. Really. But I’m not looking for anything right now.”
You leaned your chin on your hand. “I’m not asking you to look. I’m just sitting here. Breathing the same air. Very platonic.”
He exhaled through his nose, the sound almost a laugh—but not quite. Then he went back to drawing.
You stayed for twenty minutes anyway. He didn’t ask you to leave.
The next time was a mutual friend’s karaoke night.
You picked “Leave” by Stray Kids (of course) and sang it directly at him.
Halfway through the second chorus he finally looked up—really looked—and for one stupid, heart-stopping second you thought maybe the lyrics had reached him.
Then he stood up, muttered something about needing air, and walked out.
Chan found you later in the hallway, arms crossed. “You okay?”
You forced a grin. “Never better.”
“You’re bleeding,” he said, nodding at your palm.
You hadn’t even noticed you’d dug your nails in hard enough to break skin.
Still, you didn’t stop.
There was the time you “lost” a bet to Jisung and had to deliver homemade cookies to every dorm room. Hyunjin’s was last.
He opened the door in nothing but sweatpants and a towel around his neck, hair damp from the shower. For a second neither of you spoke.
Then he sighed. “You’re relentless.”
“They’re still warm,” you said, holding out the tin like a peace offering.
He stared at it for a long moment before taking it. His fingers brushed yours—barely—and you felt it like static.
“I don’t know what you want from me,” he said quietly.
You swallowed. “I don’t want anything you’re not willing to give.”
He looked at you then—really looked—and something flickered behind his eyes. Not warmth. Not yet. But… curiosity, maybe. Or pity.
“Then why do you keep doing this?” he asked.
You gave him the only honest answer you had left.
“Because every time I walk away, it feels worse than staying.”
He didn’t reply.
He just closed the door.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
Then came the night everything finally broke open.
It was late—after a long practice and an even longer after-party at the dorm. Most people had gone home. You were helping clean up empty bottles when you found him on the balcony, alone, staring at the city lights like they owed him something.
You should’ve left him there.
Instead you stepped outside.
He didn’t turn around. “You’re still here.”
“Someone has to make sure you don’t fall off,” you said lightly.
Silence stretched so long you thought he wouldn’t answer.
Then he spoke, voice low and razor-sharp. “Just stop. Please. For once in your life, stop.”
You froze. “Hyunjin—”
“No.” He whipped around, eyes blazing, chest heaving. “You think this is cute? You think you can just keep showing up, keep smiling, keep acting like my walls are something you can charm your way through? I’ve told you. I’ve pushed you away. And you still come back. Why? What the hell do you actually want from me?”
Your throat closed. “I just—”
“You just what?” he snapped, stepping closer. “You just like the chase? The idea of me? Because that’s all anyone ever wants. The face. The name. The access. The photos they can post to prove they got close to Hwang Hyunjin. Every time I let someone in, they take something and leave. So stop pretending you’re different. Stop making me feel like maybe you could be. Because I can’t do it again. I can’t.”
The words hit like glass.
You finally understood.
It wasn’t that he didn’t see you.
It was that he was terrified of what would happen if he did.
Your eyes stung, but you didn’t let the tears fall. Not in front of him. Not like this.
“Okay,” you whispered.
He blinked. “What?”
“Okay.” You took a step back. “I’ll stop.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. Something flickered across his face—confusion, maybe regret—but he didn’t say anything else.
You turned and walked back inside.
You didn’t look back.
── ⟢ ・⸝⸝
For the next week, you disappeared from his orbit completely.
No texts. No group hangouts. No “accidental” run-ins. You even told Chan and Minho you needed space, that you were tired, that you’d be back when you were ready.
The boys noticed.
Hyunjin noticed more.
At first he told himself it was relief. Finally. Peace.
But the dorm felt quieter. Group chats were missing your memes. Practice breaks were missing your laugh echoing down the hall. He caught himself glancing at the door during movie nights, waiting for you to walk in with snacks and that stupid, stubborn smile.
He hated it.
One day, Felix cornered him in the kitchen.
“You’re sulking,” Felix said flatly.
“I’m not.”
“You are. And it’s pathetic.”
Hyunjin glared. “She’s the one who—”
“She’s the one who finally listened when you told her to leave you alone,” Felix cut in. “Congrats. You won. Why do you look like you lost?”
Hyunjin didn’t answer.
Changbin found him later, sprawled on the couch staring at nothing.
“You miss her,” Changbin said. Not a question.
Hyunjin rubbed his face. “I don’t know what I feel.”
“You’re scared,” Changbin said gently. “That’s fine. But you’re also being an idiot. She wasn’t after your fame. She was after you. The grumpy, closed-off, paints-at-3-a.m. version of you. And you basically screamed at her to fuck off because you’re too afraid to try.”
Hyunjin’s throat worked. “What if she’s gone for good?”
“Then you’ll deserve it,” Changbin said. “But I don’t think she is. Not yet.”
Minho was blunter the next night.
“You look like shit,” he said, tossing Hyunjin a water bottle. “Go fix it before she actually moves on. Because someone else will chase her. And they won’t be as patient.”
Hyunjin stared at the bottle for a long time.
Exactly a week since he last saw you, he showed up at your apartment.
It was raining. His hoodie was soaked through, hair plastered to his forehead. He looked smaller than you’d ever seen him.
You opened the door and just… stared.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood there, breathing hard, like he’d run the whole way.
Then, quietly, brokenly:
“I lied.”
You frowned. “About what?”
“When I said I wanted you to stop.” His voice cracked. “I didn’t. I don’t. I hated every second of this week without you. I hated how quiet it was. How empty. I kept waiting for you to text something stupid, or show up with cookies, or just… exist near me. And when you didn’t, I realized—” He swallowed hard. “I realized I’ve been running from the wrong thing.”
Your heart hammered. “What thing?”
“The chance that maybe you actually see me. Not the idol. Just… me. The mess. The scared part. And you still stayed. Until I made you leave.”
Tears slipped down your cheeks this time. You didn’t wipe them away.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “For pushing you. For assuming you were like the others. For being too afraid to let you prove you weren’t.”
You stepped aside, opening the door wider.
He hesitated.
Then he walked in.
And when the door closed behind him, he stayed close.
He just stood there, dripping rainwater onto your floor, looking at you like you were the only thing keeping him upright.
“I don’t know how to do this,” he said softly.
You gave him the smallest, saddest smile.
“Then we’ll figure it out. Slowly.”
He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for years.
And when he finally reached for your hand—tentative, trembling—you let him take it.
Hyunjin, oh Hyunjin, he is the perfect man for you. You already knew him from when you were a kid, since he was the boy next door. It was always the two of you against the world, but the years flew by, and now you find yourself in Highschool. The worst part of it all is that he got kinda popular. He doesn't really look your way anymore, but of course, you didn't give up.
You leaned against your locker as he was walking by, his bag slung around his shoulder. Your eyes went to his gorgeous black hair, longer than most boys have. How would it feel to just touch it? You would do anything to just stroke his hair, just for one minute; you aren't asking for much.
He knew you were looking at him; he could feel it in his spine. At this very moment, he doesn't know how to feel about it. He never really viewed you as more than a friend, maybe not even that, just a girl he used to know. Gosh, if he knew how much those words would hurt you. And automatically, your hand raised, making a slow waving motion towards him. You knew he saw it, the corner of his eye looking, but he just walked further.
Look, you weren't weird, but you definitely weren't popular. It was something that divided both of you. Social status was pretty important in this school; it was like a barrier, making sure the losers stay with the losers and the better ones stay with the better ones. No, you weren't a loser, you were just someone with a real personality. You watched him walk further, a pain aching in your heart, but maybe he just didn't see you, that's all. Maybe he was too shy to wave back at you, or maybe he just desperately wanted to kiss you too, even tho we all know your delusions were reaching too high.
You shrugged it off and followed him to class, a big coincidence that you two were classmates. As you walked in, he was already sitting with his friends, those cocky, annoying boys of his. Your eyes slipped to his neck, just a bit more down, and you were met with a bare piece of skin. His collar was slightly open, making you wonder what else you could find there. And of course, he saw that too, and he turned away, making you feel ashamed.
These were the kind of moments that bore you down into the ground, everything in your body just physically hurting as you walked to your desk and sat down. Like usual, you looked out of the window, trying to act as if nothing had happened, but there were whispers on his side.
"That girl is weird."
"Hmmm? You mean Y/N?" Hyunjin placed his book facedown. Well, as your ears perked up, you fantasized about him standing up for you, "No, she isn't weird, she is the most beautiful girl in the world. Y/N, gosh, I love you."
Too bad your expectations were too high, "Uh, yeah, she is kinda weird."
Second shot to the heart of the day, actually no, the third, well, you don't really count them anymore, do you? You slumped back in your seat, not wanting to be viewed as weird, because you weren't. It wasn't your fault that you liked him so much. The lessons went by in a rush, frequently stealing glances towards him, which he obviously ignored again. You really liked the way he would slightly bite his lip as he was concentrating. It was adorable to look at.
The class bell was like music to your ears, building up the courage to ask him something. Every day since the start, he always stayed to the very last end of the class, always ending up alone. You rushed to make your backpack before he would be able to leave. Your hands were practically trembling with excitement as you slowly walked up to him. His shoulders were broad, and your index finger was lightly tapping them. Hyunjin already knew who it was, slightly sighing under his breath, "Yes?"
"Sorry to bother you," you smiled, trying to calm yourself as his eyes stared directly at you, "I was just wondering if you filled in the pages from five to ten."
"Uhhh...." he looked in his binder, his long fingers turning the pages rather fast, "Yeah, I did."
You practically yelled in your head, this was the perfect time to, "Could I maybe borrow your notes? I....I can give it back to you."
"...." he stayed silent, looking from you to his notes, then back to you again, "Sure...."
His hands moved to his binder, picking it up and holding it out for you. As you took it, you could feel his fingertips brushing against yours, an electric shock going through your body, almost dropping the binder," Thank you so much." You smiled, waiting for him to return it, but he gave you a fast nod. Fourth shot. And he was gone with the wind, leaving you there alone, feeling as if you did something wrong. You sighed, taking your bag before walking out of the class, your eyes droopy. It was hard to love someone who clearly didn't put any effort into liking you back, but of course, you didn't give up.
With a fast pace, you left the school building, holding the binder tight to your chest. It was practically hugging him as his hands held this too, almost feeling his warmth. The sun was very bright, and your bike was a bit further away. You were a tiny bit excited to go by his house and give him the binder back, cherishing this moment forever. Hyunjin was standing with his friends, looking even more beautiful under the sun. You were very open about having a crush on him, not hiding it. As you turned around, he glanced at you.
"Can she stop liking me for just one second, please?"
He felt guilty that he was thinking like that, but he just didn't want all this affection. You rode your bike with happiness, thinking there was a tiny bit of hope for the two of you. The rush to go home and immediately run up to your room. You squealed for no particular reason at all, just overly excited about him, even tho he didn't deserve it. You sat at your desk, already starting to write the pages you asked for. His handwriting was beautiful, always having a kind of edge to it. He did scribble some doodles in them,
"A zombie with an electric guitar....?" You couldn't help but laugh.
You drew something yourself in it, a zombie on the drums making a harmony. Outside, you could already hear him returning home, hearing his music out of his Walkman. He walked relaxed, hands in his pockets, his sleeves rolled up to give you a sneak peek of those arms. You opened your window, "Hey Hyunjin!"
Again, that same sigh slipping from his lips, "Yeah....hey....you."
"I am almost done writing the pages. When do I need to bring it?"
"Uhhh....it doesn't matter to me really."
"Okay, just checking, you know, maybe you got plans for tonight?"
"No....uh, I don't have any plans, so it doesn't matter."
"Okay," you smiled again, his eyes already facing away, "Bye,"
"Bye.....Y/N."
You closed your window again. Maybe you should ask him to do something tonight. You guys are thought to be friends, right? So just asking to hang out wouldn't be weird at all. As Hyunjin got to his room, he could see you writing through your window. Your desk was directly placed under it, making it easy to enjoy the light falling in. It wasn't a coincidence that Hyunjin's desk was also placed like that, so it felt as if you studied with him.
The only thing that bothered you was that once he got home, he closed his curtains. Making it difficult to "study" and "learn" with him. Again, those little barriers he created between you two, tho you still couldn't get the hint. You were thinking of making him a mix-tape, with all the songs that reminded you of him. Also, the songs you caught when he passed by. You took your radio, taking a bunch of CD's and a tape. This was a task of patience, letting the CD's play as you had to directly stop the tape when it ended, making sure there weren't too many long breaks.
After that, you started decorating it, drawing little hearts and even writing an entire list of the songs that you put on there. It was especially decorated with your charms, only for special occasions. You wanted to make it beautiful, just as he was in your eyes. Your thumb stroked over the tape, planning on putting it in the binder for him to be surprised, playing the songs, falling deeply in love with you.
You got up, already running down the stairs, ignoring everybody on your way. It was time to get down to business. Not even five minutes later, after the interaction, Hyunjin heard the bell ring twice. He didn't want to stand up, laying too comfortable on his bed with his comic books.
"Hyunjin!" His father called from downstairs, "Y/N is here for you!"
He groaned, "Yeah....I am coming!"
Leave me alone, just leave me be.
He slowly walked downstairs, hesitating between steps to go back and lock himself up in his room. He passed his father in the hallway, giving him a look everybody could recognise before walking to you. You were standing there, the binder clutched against your chest again. Clamping hard for the tape, not the fall on the ground, wanting to keep it a secret.
"Hey," again that stupid smile, Hyunjin thought, "I got your binder."
"Yeah....I can see that."
You didn't like the way he became so distant since high school, the friendship faltering to nothing worth the time. You gave it to him, his hands immediately clamping around it tightly.
"So....goodbye Y/N....see you tomorrow?"
"Yeah...." your eyes still glinting with hope, "Wait....you have nothing to do tonight, right?"
Hyunjin was already panicking, knowing what he had said, "Uhh, actually....I have much homework, you know...."
"Oh....yeah, sorry, go make your homework." All the courage sank into your shoes, letting him close the door in front of you. Disappointment was written all over your face as you turned around and went back to your own house. The only little hope you had was in that mixtape.
Speaking of it, he just went back to his room, throwing the binder on his bed, when he suddenly saw something in between the pages. He took it in his hands, looking at what you've written on it: "For the one, everything that makes you you."
"What....?" He looked at the many hearts you drew on it, knowing it was a love mix-tape for him. Again, he groaned, his frustrations rising every day. How is it possible that you still like him, after all the hints he'd given you? He had had enough of it, and out of pure annoyance, he went to the garbage can outside, opening the lid and throwing it inside. This was the final straw, having had enough of all this. Luckily, you hadn't looked outside your window, your heart would have shattered into multiple pieces.
You imagined in your room how he would listen to the songs with his Walkman, finally understanding how often you would think of him. You had made a very special selection which had to be listened to in a certain order. It was all so exciting as you lay down on your own bed. Your heart was still beating vividly, not knowing it was already at the bottom. And with those thoughts, you fell asleep in your bed, dreaming about everything that would happen afterwards.
Your clock rang too fast, the sun shone through your window, everything felt alive again, and you felt more than anything. Today, you rushed to see Hyunjin, wanting to see any sort of reaction. So you quickly put on your clothes, going outside to stand in front of your house with your bike at your side. The trees looked beautiful today, and the birds seemed to sing a song along their way.
The moment Hyunjin walked outside, he saw you standing there, immediately turning around and walking the other way, making an entire detour to avoid you. You heard him walk and looked at your left, seeing him walk a new route today.
"That's strange...." you mutter underneath your breath, but accept. Maybe he had to take another way, maybe he was planning something for you. The thoughts feeding your delusions again. The school trip was rather fast, and you desperately wanted to see him. Your bike was pushed aside, locked, and your pace was fast as you walked through the corridors.
You were the first one to reach the classroom, already settling down in your seat. The teacher wasn't even present; it was only you and the room. Slowly, more students came to fill it up, student after student, but no Hyunjin in sight. The clock was starting to annoy you, and with every tick, you began to be even more nervous.
The moment you saw that familiar shape, the familiar lucious black hair, just everything that made him him, you began to feel ecstatic. The interaction that fueled the fire was his looking at you. In your eyes, it was a look of shyness, of not knowing what to say or what to do. For him, it was more frustrations or weirdness, a gaze you wouldn't want to see when someone proposed to you.
During the lesson, you saw him shift uncomfortably on his chair, trying to shove closer to the wall with his desk. You frowned, not understanding why he would do that. He started to frequently brush his hand through his hair or even twirl a lock around his finger. It looked more as if he was starting to pull his hair out. It made you feel pain in your own scalp as you saw him in such distress. Your finger starts to dance with a lock of yourself.
When the bell rang, he got up instantly, making his backpack faster than usual. He was practically running outside, not wanting to face you today. It was weird, since he always stayed behind, but maybe he was in a hurry. The schooldays were never really interesting or exciting, just studying, studying, and yeah, guess what, even more studying and studying. The only person keeping it interesting is Hyunjin. You had dreamt of being hugged by him, making him wrap his arms around you and lift you up, twirl you around, just like in the movies. Maybe even kissing when rain dripped from his hair, making his lips even wetter. Was he a gasper, a panter, a moaner, or a whimperer? Gosh, you wanted to know everything. It would be magical to hear him whisper sweet little things in your ear, the things that you were thinking, made you beg for nobody to be a mind reader.
The school day went fast, almost didn't see Hyunjin all day long. You don't know what was going on, feeling insecure in the second. The worst part was that as you walked outside the building, you saw him in his usual spot, but this time accompanied by her, Lucial Patris. The most obnoxious person you know, no personality, no empathy, and guess what, of course, she was popular. They were just talking, but the thing Hyunjin did was keeping eye contact, making jealousy boil in your body.
You turned around, avoiding this. It wasn't if Hyunjin actually liked her; it was just for social status, but you didn't know that. Well, as you got home, you went to the little fruit garden. Since it was summer, everything grew and got fresh and fruity. Once upon a time, you had heard Hyunjin saying,
"I love strawberries, I like it when they just melt in my mouth."
How you wish you could be a strawberry, being savored by him more than he does to you now. It was a tactic, but you loved giving him stuff, helping him. The strawberries looked so juicy, all red and big, taken care of all the time, making sure everything would be perfect.
"One strawberry for Hyunjin....the second one for Hyunjin....the third one for Hyunjin....the fourth one for Hyunjin....Hyunjin Hyunjin Hyunjin Hyunjin...."
You got as many as you could in your basket, walking with them to the kitchen, washing them carefully. You wouldn't want him to eat an insect. There was a little letter you had written inside with a bow on it, it was just a little card saying: "For the start of a great summer."
"Perfect...."
They were all neatly placed before going to his house. You felt lucky being his neighbor; it was easy to reach him physically. As you walked up to his house, you met his father on the way, who had just opened the trash can, having found your mixtape.
"Hello mister Hwang."
"Ah, hello Y/N, ohhh, are those your fresh strawberries? Those look delicious!"
"Thank you! I....I actually wanted to give this to Hyunjin, since I know how much he likes these."
"Ah, that's so sweet! I'll bring it to him; we are definitely going to make a cake out of it."
You smiled, "Thank you."
"Well I got nothing in return right now...."
"It is a gift, mister! I don't need something in return." you smiled cheekily.
"Well, just to give you something....I found this. I guess Hyunjin doesn't need this, but maybe you can have some good use of it?"
You smiled as he gave you something, "Ahh, what is i-....." You looked down, it was a mixtape. It was the mixtape. You recognised the hearts, the drawings, the song list, everything you wanted him to hear. There was a lump in your throat, clearing it, "Whe-....Where did you find this?"
"Oh, I found this in the trash can." He smiled, not knowing what he had just given you.
"Oh....thank you...." There was a thump in your stomach, a block that was omnipresent. It felt more as if your heart was getting squeezed in, tears already starting to form behind your eyes.
With that, the goodbyes were said, his father sensing something within you, something had changed all of a sudden. He looked worried as you stormed off back to your house. The basket was still in his arms as he entered his own house, already calling Hyunjin downstairs.
"Yeah? What you got there?"
"Oh, strawberries. Y/N gave them, it was actually a gift for you, but I think we all can make use of it."
"Yeah, sure," he wanted to turn around and go back upstairs, but then, "Hyunjin?"
"Yeah?"
"It was alright that I gave that tape to Y/N, right?"
He froze, not understanding what he was talking about, "What tape?"
"You know that one I found in the garbage." He was already walking towards the kitchen as Hyunjin lost his color.
"What? That mixtape? With those hearts and....and-.....and that....and that mixtape? That mixtape? You gave it to whom?"
"Wow, easy there. I thought you didn't need it so I thought Y/N would appreciate it more."
He groaned, burying his face in his hands, "WHY would you do that?"
"You cannot let music go to waste! But if it bothers you THAT much, just go ask it back, sure she won't mind."
As that conversation was taking so long, you were already up in your room. The tears were rolling down your cheek, almost streaming like waterfalls. It hurt so much, it felt like someone stabbed you. He could have just denied the tape, at least giving you a clear sign, instead of accepting it, giving you hope, and throwing it away. The moment you reached your window, Hyunjin had just arrived in his room, opening his curtains to see your form. As he came closer, he could see the tears rolling down.
"Dammit...."
He wanted to do something, the guilt eating him alive as he saw you standing there. The moment you saw him, he finally locked eyes with you, finally, after all this time, he could properly make eye contact. But right now? Right now, it was too late. Right now, you want to be left alone, especially by him. So in a swift motion, you closed the curtains, now being the one making a barrier.
He didn't know what to do, and seeing you like that did change something. It hurt more than he would expect as your tears reflected sunlight, being like little crystals. He sighed and slid down, his face in his knees. He didn't care then; why would he care now? A question he couldn't answer himself. At least he was determined to speak to you, to talk about this. Well, as the night was filled with your cries, it shouted the morning awake. You had a dream about him that night, just him in his pearl eyes looking at you.
You wanted to finally give it all up; you had tried your best to at least reconnect, but he didn't put any effort. Your red eyes were visible as you retreated from your house, the bike again by your side. This time, Hyunjin had stood up earlier, already waiting for you outside by your mailbox. Your eyes widened with astonishment, but also with anger. You weren't feeling it right now as you saw him stand there, his hands buried deep in his pockets. Again, his sleeves were rolled up, clearly seeing his veins. Even tho he was just as handsome as yesterday, something had changed.
You walked over the grass to avoid him, "He- Wait!" he walked behind you. "Y/N please, please let's just talk."
"No." your pace fastened.
"Please, I am sorry. I know I was wrong to do that. I am so sorry, I really am. I promise I am going to listen to it."
"Why."
He saw you suddenly stop in your tracks, "What do you mean?"
You didn't even glance back at him, "Why do you suddenly want to listen to it. It didn't matter to you then, so why now?"
"Because....because....it matters to you, alright? Just give it back to me, please."
You gripped your steering wheel tighter, not believing that you were having this conversation right now, "Go find it where you left it," and with those words, you let him stand there. He immediately knew what you were talking about, running up to the trash can in front of the house. As soon as he opened the lid, he got it out, the mixtape, but this time the black string was pulled out, making it inoperable. He sighed as he looked at the strings hanging from the tape, leaning with his head against the pillar of his house.
He didn't even want to go to school right now, already slowly walking into the classroom, hoping for a glance from you, but you faced away, looking straight out of the window. This time, the tables had turned. The entire lesson, he couldn't keep his eyes off you and your cold demeanor. He suddenly saw how you also bit your lip as you were concentrated, just like him. It was something he just noticed, but also giving him a kick of something. To be honest, he did expect it to fade away this cold facade of yours in at least an hour.
Well, that thought had been crushed as the bell rang when he immediately stood up to walk to your desk. The same binder clutched in his hand, "Hey....just....if you need some notes?" he smiled reluctantly. Oh, now he can smile, too late, schoolboy.
You ignored him as he was standing there, his binder in front of your nose. You were packing your stuff fast, pushing him aside as you left the classroom in the same hurry as he did that day. He truly didn't expect to be pushed against a desk, being shoved aside physically and mentally by you. This cold demeanor did hit a deep place in him, something that he couldn't describe. His eyes followed as you left, noticing how you have always had a fast pace naturally.
You walked outside, not giving him any time to follow behind you as you jumped on your bike and fled away. Just as soon as he had run outside, he watched you drive off.
"Wait...." he whispered under his breath, his gaze following you. His head hung a bit down before he felt a hand on his shoulder, "What's wrong?" It was one of his friends, not a fake friend, you know, those he had for status, but a real friend. His name was Christopher, aka Chan.
"Nothing....nothing just got to go back home, I have....a lot of stuff to take care of."
"Ahh....yeah I see. If there is something, just call me alright?"
Well, he was used to calling Chan as soon as something went downhill; he was like a big brother to him. He always knew what to do and also what not to do. Right now, Hyunjin had a plan, he wanted to go home and use those strawberries of yours to make a cake. Maybe the sweetness would make you again sweet towards him. So that was exactly what he did. Imagine this: a kitchen full of flour, dough, strawberries, and whipped cream. Just an entire mess that he was making to make a decent cake for you.
His father was surprised that he was pulling out his cooking skills, just for a "normal occasion". His full attention was to make this perfect, placing it under a cover and for the first time in his lifetime he actually wrote a letter with it, it said; "I am sorry, please forgive me.", which was weird, since he usually didn't care. With that spirit he had, he went to your house full of fear. The bell ring once, the bell ring twice and when his heart made a little jump of relief he suddenly saw your mother standing there.
"Hello Hyunjin, how can I help you?"
"....Hello miss L/N....I am actually looking for Y/N....I she home?"
"Oh no, sorry. She went for a walk. She will be home soon." She smiled sweetly.
She has her mother's smile.
"Oh, alright....I did make her a cake just....for fun."
"That is very nice of you, Hyunjin!" she took the cake from his embrace, "I am sure she'll love it!"
"Yeah....I hope so."
"Well, come by later, I am sure she'll be home by seven."
"Okay....I'll call or stop by, thank you miss L/N."
"No problem, bye, Hyunjin."
He slowly made his way back home, his head hanging down with disappointment. The last few days, he had felt exhausted for a reason, thinking about you the entire time, and the way you were gloomy because of him. And now you were out there somewhere, who knows what you were doing. Maybe you were crying, or maybe you were....
Maybe she is kissing another guy.
His eyes widened, not having expected something like that to pop up in his mind. Kissing another guy? He thought about the image of it, your face angled with your eyes closed, letting you tong- STOP. A sudden kick went through his body as he thought about it. He didn't know if it was a reaction of disgust for the image or just his heart clenching by the thought of it.
He let his hand go through his hair, letting it grip into his locks, almost pulling out his hair from stress. He was determined to call your landline right at seven p.m not a minute later. Well, as the clock started to tick very slowly in his room, he couldn't help but stare at the ceiling and drift off in his own thoughts.
This feeling I have is a feeling of guilt, right? Cmon it's Y/N, my neighbor, this girl....this....just it's Y/N. It is probably just severe empathy I have, nothing else. Cmon there is no way but....maybe I just need to close my eyes....
And that is what he did, close his eyes and starting to imagine stuff he would never have brought you into the scenario,
Hmmm, maybe a kiss, just a little kiss....
Suddenly he felt a tight knot in his stomach,
Hmmm maybe a little pull on her hair....
Again that same knot pulling harder,
Hmmm, would her skin be soft? Would she like it if I....
Dragging his stomach around,
If I....dip my head down and....
A sudden twist, his stomach rolling upside down and making him sit straight.
He had to admit, the experience was weird, but it felt amazing to think about it. And all of a sudden, the clock told him it was time, making it feel as if a thunderstorm was going downstairs. He ran downstairs to the phone, already dialing your landline in. It surprised him that he still remembered the phone number. It felt like ages as he waited with the phone pressed to his ear, his shoulder leaning against the wall.
"Hello?" You were lying on your bed, the phone pressed between your cheek and shoulder as you were reading something. You heard the person on the other line choke on his breath, "Uhmmm....hello? Who is there?" You furrowed your eyebrows, sitting up straighter.
"It's me....Hyunjin."
You had already recognised the voice, wanting to slam the phone down again, but something inside you stopped you, "What do you want."
"Did you get your cake?"
You actually did get your cake, not wanting to admit that you had already eaten a piece of it. It was delicious, and it made you smile a little as you thought about the fact that he used your strawberries to apologize to you, but that cold facade wouldn't break.
"Yeah. I got it."
"Good....good did you....like it?"
"Mhm."
He just could feel the ice being thrown in his face, "Okay....uh, do you have any plans for tonight?"
"I have a lot of homework to do, so I don't have any time for you."
We both know that that is a lie; it was almost vacation, maybe a couple of days, and the teachers hadn't given you any homework. It was just a way of getting back to him and the way he had behaved towards you. He had made you lose hope, like a brick sinking to the bottom of a river.
"Oh, I thought....we could just....hang out, I don't know, catch up?"
"Got no time for that. Goodbye." And with that, you slammed the phone down, letting a beep ring in his ear as he stood there with his lips parted. He still had so much to say to you, but you didn't want to hear anything from him, nothing at all. Now he had to admit, it did hurt.
Now you were the one leaving him in distress, his head leaning against the wall as a groan fell from his lips, not of annoyance but of something way worse. His body ached to see you for a reason, missing the little things more when he lost it. He went outside, going back to the garbage can where your mixtape was lying, still ripped apart by you. He took it, rubbing his thumb over it, and brought it inside. If you didn't know already, his father knew much about mixtapes and adored music. He went to him, placing the tape in front of his father, "What happened?" His father looked surprised at the demolished tape.
"Could you just fix it, please?"
He looked at his son, whose eyes were pleading, never having seen him in this kind of state, "Sure....just give me a moment." He took some scissors, tape, a boombox, and some other stuff. His father was determined to repair it, and Hyunjin was just looking at his father's hands move in such care. He didn't understand what he was doing, but apparently he was doing a good job as the black wire started to vanish bit by bit.
"Well there you go, be careful with these things, they are very sensitive and once really broken, you can't fix them."
"Yeah, I figured...." One was talking about a mixtape, the other wasn't, guess who?
Well, after this father-son bonding, he went to your house with the boombox, again letting the bell ring once and twice before your mother opened the door again.
"Hello, sorry for bothering again, could I please talk to Y/N?"
"Uhh I don't think this is the best time for that sweetie."
"Huh? Why not?"
"She has locked herself up in her room....she is not really feeling well at the moment?"
"Is she... sick?" She sounded fine through the phone, but maybe....? "No, she is just not coming out of her room."
"Could I just please....I can....can I just...." He was fumbling with his words, not being able to form a proper sentence.
The mother was waiting patiently, "Could I just please see her? It will be a short visit, please?"
She sighed, almost letting a smile slip out before standing against the wall to let him go through, "Thank you so much, miss."
He immediately started to run upstairs to your room with his boombox. The reason why he knew where to go is that you had never changed your room since you were a child, always being at the door at the right, just passing by the bathroom for him to reach you finally. He knocked twice, "Y/N....Could I please talk to you?"
Your eyes widened as you heard him directly outside your door. You got up, silently walking up to place your ear against the door, hearing him clearly breathe, "What do you want?"
"I want to show you that I do care, I do care, Y/N." He kneeled down, placing the boombox down and putting your mixtape inside of it. The moment you heard the song enter your ears, your heart leaped in your chest. It was the first song of the mixtape, it made you hamper in your words. You just leaned closer against the door, listening together to the songs you especially recorded for him. This time Hyunjin was listening clearly to every lyric, every meaning, and it became clear how much thought of it.
He sat down, feeling a bit more relaxed that you were on the other side of the door. It was a special moment, just the two of you indirectly interacting. You now had the power in your hands to get rid of the barrier between the two of you, the door. Hyunjin could hear the door creak open, his eyes going up to see you standing there. He caught his breath, looking at how you seemed so relaxed even tho your hands trembled in your pockets.
His eyes were glued to yours as you sat down right in front of him. It was a nice moment, just the two of you enjoying each other's presence, stealing glances at each other from time to time. As the tape got to its final destination, the last song, the melody tore Hyunjin even more apart. He stood up, your eyes following him in confusion, "What are you doing?"
He held his hand out, "What?"
"I want you to dance with me."
You looked at him, your eyes widened with astonishment, but you didn't resist and placed your hand in his as you got up. You didn't really know how to do this, but he led your hands slowly to his neck, letting them wrap around him. His neck was warm, and his skin was very soft. You felt his hands wrap slowly around your waist, reluctantly moving to catch any negative reaction. It was a strange experience, but the two of you just started to go with the flow, letting your bodies move with the rhythm of the music.
"This feels....nice." He said, slowly wanting to lean his chin on your shoulder, "Yeah....I guess...." Still trying to keep that cold harmor on, cmon just slip it off.
"I am sorry, Y/N. I don't know what got into me to do that....I just....I am just very sorry for hurting you."
"Yeah, I figured," you chuckled softly, making Hyunjin smile into your shoulder. Hyunjin moved his face deeper into your shoulder, his nose starting to tickle you in your neck. He felt you raise your shoulders, cramp a little bit up with a laugh falling off your lips.
"You are very ticklish." He kept brushing his nose against your neck, loving it when he heard you laugh.
"Hyunjin," You laughed, pushing him slightly away, but not being able to since he had a tight grip around your waist. "No, no don't push me away...."
And before you knew it, your eyes widened as he dipped his head down, kissing your lips in a slow motion. He didn't know what got into him, but it felt right to taste your kiss under his lips. He wanted to savor you like he tasted a strawberry, the juices dripping from his lips.
"Uh-hm...." You gripped him tighter around his neck, your eyes still wide open as you tried to understand what was happening right now. Your lips parted slightly, but you followed his lead as he slowly licked yours. This was your moment to finally touch his beautiful hair, letting your hands wrap into his locks, stroking them with care.
"Mhm...." he moaned into your mouth, wanting to be a bit silent since your parents were still downstairs. "I like that...." his lips feeling plump against yours, his tongue flicking your lip as he bit into it slightly. He couldn't help but feel your mouth against his, loving your taste. He pushed you tighter against your door, his hands already going under your shirt to feel the bare skin of your waist. It was something he would grip more after this moment, which would be visible in the years to come.
Would you say this was one of the best memories you've ever had? No.
AN: Everybody thank Lollapalooza Hyunjin for forcibly dragging me out of my writing rut and making me post again. Also, thanks to Sam @souplix for listening to my stressed, horny thoughts and feelings about him lol.
Synopsis: You have a very rude awakening about how sweaty Hyunjin makes you feel.
Tags and warnings: Hwang Hyunjin x Fem! Reader, established relationship, mentions of Hyunjin going to the gym/working out and how his body has changed because of that, one brief mention of possessiveness, Reader is shorter than Hyunjin and there is no plot here.
Smut tags and warnings: Reader is down catastrophic (she's just like me fr), scent kink, sweat kink, lots of mentions of sweat and scent basically lol, lots of licking and biting (both giving and receiving), implied strength kink, mentions of bruises, sex in Reader's kitchen, some pussy play (f. receiving), handjob (m. receiving), throatfucking (m. receiving), one mention of hentai, kissing post oral sex, dirty talk, some manhandling, Reader is lifted briefly, piv sex without a condom, praise (f. receiving), usage of petnames, creampie, hints of overstimulation, a brief mention of tears, mentions of Hyunjin being clawed at, mentions of pussy eating and implied cum eating.
Word count: 3.3k
I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.
It's stupid. So incredibly stupid.
You don't know why your brain and body have chosen today to make such a big deal out of your very attractive, very sweaty boyfriend but, they've decided now was apparently the appropriate time to conspire against you. Maybe you can blame this on ovulation. Maybe if you check your calendar, the desire you feel clawing at your gut watching him chug water from his bottle and the way his white shirt clings to his broad back will all make total sense.
When did he get so broad, anyway? You feel like you just blinked and suddenly he was all muscles and strength and you're trying really hard not to think of that one he pressed you so hard into your mattress that your thighs were littered with bruises afterwards–
“Are you okay?” His concerned voice violently shakes you out of the memories that were fogging up your brain. Oh. Oh, it's so much worse being faced with him directly. Who the fuck goes to the gym in a white shirt? Doesn't he see the way it's sticking to his drenched torso? Is he just that unaware of how sweaty of a person he is? Does he not care? You shove down the twinge of possessiveness that flares up at the idea of anyone getting to look at him while he looks this hot.
“Hmm? I'm fine. Why do you ask?” You pray to whatever higher power is listening that the breathy quality of your voice is only evident to you.
The knowing look that dawns on his handsome face lets you know that the higher powers aren't on your side today.
You've been in love with Hyunjin for far, far longer than the two of you have been together and you know it's way too soon to tell him that. However, it's moments like this that make you question your feelings because the smugness rolling off of him in waves as he sets down his bottle and stalks his way over to you is so insufferable. It's hard to maintain your annoyed exterior when he's so close to you and his scent is all around you. You think your ovulation hypothesis might have been correct because it's so fucking absurd that your mouth starts to water just from smelling him and his damp chest being a few centimetres from your face.
“I'm not sure why,” he starts and the gravelly quality of his voice shoots straight to the apex of your thighs. He doesn't stop, though. Pressing you further into your kitchen counter while his hands burn a trail from your thighs to your hips, your oversized shirt shifting up in the process, “but, you look like you want to devour me right now.”
The whimper that escapes your throat is beyond pathetic but, apparently that's all he needs before pouncing. The wind is knocked out of the moment his mouth descends onto yours. His hands give your hips a sharp squeeze before drifting to your ass. Kneading it while his tongue and teeth leave you a mess. All you can think to do is grasp onto his biceps for some sort of lifeline. The muscles and veins underneath your palms don't help the state of pussy in the slightest. The sheer ferocity of the want you feel for him right is a little terrifying. He could ask you to do anything right now and you doubt you'd find it within you to say no.
You swallow down the frustrated whine that threatens to bubble out of you when he pulls his mouth away from you. He doesn't keep you waiting for long, though. Kissing his way along your jaw until his full lips begin showering your neck with licks and nips. If he has any complaints about the way your nails dig into his biceps, he doesn't make them known. God, it's like you can feel your sanity crumbling with every kiss he presses into you and every millisecond you spend surrounded by his dizzying scent. This is quite the way to discover you're apparently really into your boyfriend when he's covered in sweat.
He departs from your neck with one, final kiss. Meeting your lidded gaze with an electrifying one of his own. Frankly, with the way he's looking at you right now, you're not sure why he hasn't tugged down his sweats and shoved his cock into you. It's clear as day that that's what you both want. Then again, your boyfriend being ever the giving romantic typically isn't one to let you feel him until he's made you cum with his fingers and/or mouth at least once. Which you do love but, you're pretty sure if he doesn't sink his cock into you right now, you might die actually. You're sure you're more than wet enough.
As if reading your mind, one of his hands drift to your inner thighs and, of course, you spread them for him. Your breath stills in your lungs when his fingertips brush against your soaked folds. “Fuck,” he hisses, his jaw clenched so hard that you can see one his veins tick. Honestly, if you weren't so delirious just from a few, light strokes of his fingers, you'd happily be licking at it. “How are you so wet already?” He asks, his eyes meeting yours briefly and, the intensity in them makes it infinitely harder to breath, before his attention is focused back on watching his fingers toy with you.
“It's not my fault you're so hot,” you mean to say that as a half-joke but, the sheer desire in your tone makes any attempt at humour fall flat. His mouth is back on yours in a heartbeat. His fingers trace your slick folds with practised ease. He even has the nerve to grin against your lips when your hips jump as his fingers add pressure to your neglected clit. You're so relieved that you have your counter there to support you because you're certain your legs would have given out ages ago. He greedily swallows every noise he pulls from you with his mouth and his fingers. Quiet gasps, needy moans and pitchy keens all find their way into his awaiting mouth while his stupidly long fingers continue to toy with you. You're so wet that you can feel it dripping onto your thighs and, you're sure his fingers are thoroughly coated in it too. A thought that prompts you to kiss him harder and impatiently tug at one of the causes of all of this madness in the first place.
“Off,” you impatiently demand against his plump lips, shoving his shirt up his slick torso. His responding laugh is obnoxious but he does oblige your request without much fanfare. Tugging off his shirt and discarding it somewhere on your kitchen floor. Honestly, you're not sure what's worse: when the stupid shirt was clinging to him or having his bare, sweaty chest right there for you to have your way with. Fuck. You should ask him to drop by after his workouts more often. Raw, carnal desire propels you forward. Pulling him into a kiss that's more spit and teeth than anything. Delighting in the hardness you can feel prodding at your stomach and the groans of pleasure that spill from him while you tug on his damp locks. While this is nice, you have other plans in mind.
You've probably explored his body hundreds of times at this point but, you don't think you'll ever grow tired of feeling the way he reacts to your every touch. Smiling into his lips when his muscles jump underneath your fingertips. Your walls fluttering around nothing when his whimpers hit your eardrums as you tease his sensitive nipples. Burning every part of him you can into your memory all over again. Fingers mapping paths they've travelled thousands of times before but, it never quite feels like enough. This time around, he's the first one to pull away for air. Your kitchen is filled with nothing but the sounds of your respective laboured breathing and the habitual drones from your various appliances.
Your mouth finds his throat and the salty taste of his skin shoots straight to your clit. Hyunjin is a sweaty man. This isn't a secret. However, you're not sure what's changed so drastically today that makes his sweat almost an aphrodisiac to you. You find yourself chasing as much of his taste as you can. Licking his neck until it's a mess of spit and sweat while your skilled hands hurriedly pull at the waistband of his sweats. Whether it's because he's just as lost in all of this as you are or because he wants you to, he doesn't stop you from pooling his sweats and boxers around his thighs. He's scorching, slick and hard in the palm of your hand.
It's a delirious feeling the way he quivers beneath your every touch. His pulse jumping underneath your tongue with every lazy stroke you give him. He doesn't let you touch him like this as often as you'd like. He's giving and so deeply focused on your pleasure to a fault so, you always savour moments like this whenever they arise. Mouthing at his neck and toying with cock just further stoke the flames of arousal lashing at your gut but, it's not enough.
An idea springs to your mind and your pussy throbs just thinking about it.
Thankfully, Hyunjin is too distracted with trying to fuck your hand and paw at your ass to notice anything is going on until you're on your knees. The floor is cold and you can already tell your knees are going to hurt later but, you can't bring yourself to care when he gives you a look that's equal parts confusion and lust. It's so fucking unfair that he still manages to look so cute while his cock is centimetres from your face and your hand is covered in him.
“What–” his question is cut off by a strangled moan of your name when you take him down your throat as far as you can. Not unlike Hyunjin, you're quite the romantic yourself. Typically you'd paint his torso and hips with kisses before teasing him with licks until he's begging you to suck him off properly.
Today isn't a typical day.
Pride swells up inside of you when he leans against your counter for support with a whispered ‘fuck.’ The brief discomfort you feel from his tip nudging the back of your throat is so worth it. You probably took too much of him too fast but, you don't care. You feel like a woman possessed right now. Your hand continues to stroke what you can't fit into your mouth and his taste causes more of your wetness to gush out of you. He always tastes so good, so him but, this is something else. You're sure if this was a hentai, your pupils would be in the shape of hearts right now. You wonder if he'd be grossed out by you asking him not to shower immediately after the gym and his dance classes anymore. Probably.
One of his hands finds its way to your hair when the sounds (and likely sensations) of you gagging on his cock are too much. You manage to blink up at him through your wet lashes (when did you start crying?) and the look in his face worsens the mess between your thighs. Even from here, you can see how almost black his eyes are. A pretty blush dusting across his face that would look endearing if he didn't look like he wanted to fuck you within an inch of your life. He maintains your eye contact as he shallowly starts to thrust into your mouth. Bruised lips parting to let out curses and groans but, his eyes remain completely locked onto you. Watching for any signs of discomfort or him going too far as his hips gradually pick up speed.
It's hard to breathe but, you push that to the back of your mind for now. Focusing on relaxing your throat as much as you can so he can fuck it thoroughly. Your face is a mess of tears, spit and pre-cum but, he's still looking at you like you're the most gorgeous person in the world to him. Maybe you are a little insane about him because what rational person thinks about how much they love their boyfriend while he's throatfucking them?
It takes you a second to notice him slowing down his pace until he stops completely. Before you can shoot him a questioning look, he's easing himself out of your mouth and a noise of frustration escapes you before you can stop yourself. His laugh, like always, is music to your ears and that coupled with the way he plays with your hair for a bit acts as a balm for your brief irritation. Still, your confusion must be written clear as day even as he helps you to your feet because he says, “Was getting close. Didn't wanna cum in your mouth.”
Driven by the painful pulse between your thighs, you drag him into another kiss. The knowledge that he's tasting himself on your tongue is so fucking hot that think you've finally, well and truly, reached the end of rope.
“Jin-Jinnie,” you gasp against his mouth, fingernails desperately clawing at his shoulders, “I ah need you to fuck me, please. Need to feel you,” you rush out in a single breath that you're not even sure he heard you. However, based on the way he practically hoists you onto your counter and ruts his cock into your thigh, he heard you just fine.
“Didn't even get to get you ready,” he complains, his massive hands spreading your thighs for him to easily slot himself between. Your breath stutters in your chest when his fingers stroke your swollen, dripping core and it's especially hard to remember how to breathe when they ghost over your clit. “Didn't even get to taste this pretty pussy,” he whines against your cheek, pressing his nose to your skin while his fingers inch closer to your entrance.
You need to stop him now otherwise you're going to wind up with his face between your thighs for like three hours like last time. And as mind-blowing as that was, you really just want his cock right now.
“Later, Jinnie, okay?” You assure him, grabbing his face in your hands and forcing him to look at you. It's hard to focus when he looks at you like that but, you persist, “You can eat me out all you want later,” it does do fantastic things for your ego watching the way his eyes glaze over at the offer, “but, right now I really just want your cock, please.”
“You're so unfair,” he groans before doing his best to devour you with his full, gorgeous lips. His hands keep your thighs spread for him, gripping them so harshly that you wouldn't be shocked if you had fresh bruises decorating your skin later. 'Seriously, when did he get so strong?' you wonder briefly before you feel him sinking into you. Granted, you did quite literally beg him for this but, it still takes you a few, very long moments to remember how to breathe while he lets you feel every inch of him. You're more than wet enough. That's not the problem here. It's just so much feeling him balls deep inside of you. All you can think to do is claw at his biceps while you try to gather yourself and adjust to the stretch and the sudden, toe-curling fullness.
“So good, so tight,” he moans when he pulls away for some air, focusing his attention on lapping at your throat while his hands fondle as much of your thighs as he can reach. His thrusts start out without an ounce of mercy. The snaps of his hips are precise, deadly and meant to brush against that spot inside of you that always makes you see stars and feel lightheaded with every thrust. It's filthy, frankly. The noises of his skin slapping against yours echoing throughout your kitchen. Your shared, shaky breaths and broken moans adding tension to the familiar knot you can feel tightening in the pit of your stomach.
Blinking your eyes opening, you're met with the sight of his inky hair sticking to his damp forehead and sweat dripping down his handsome face while he watches himself thrust into you, totally transfixed. Impatient hands tugging your shirt out of the way as much as possible so he can watch the way your tits move with every stroke too. You'd laugh at his ever present fixation on your tits if you weren't so keyed up and unbearably close. Clued in either by your watery whimpers or your walls trying their best to milk him dry, Hyunjin drags you as close to the edge as he comfortably can. Pulling you impossibly close to him, right into his sweat covered chest and further onto his stupidly long cock. It's so much, too much being pressed directly into the cause of all of this in the first place. His scent is all encompassing and zipping straight from your nostrils to the apex of your thighs, more of your arousal gushing onto him.
You nearly jump when his fingers find their way to your clit, rubbing quick circular motions just the way he knows you like it, his mouth finding its way to your ear, “You're so close, aren't you, baby?” He whispers, adding pressure with his fingers for good measure while his pace doesn't falter in the slightest, “Gonna cum for me? Wanna cum for me? Don't you? Cum all over this cock that you've been begging for. That you sucked off like a good girl–”
All you see is white after that. Your entire body seizing up so intensely that for a fleeting moment you're worried about how deeply your nails are digging into his skin. Hyunjin doesn't seem to care, though. Not even a little bit. Muttering what you manage to briefly catch are praises and moans of your name while he continues to fuck you through your climax. Tears prick the corners of your eyes while you ride out the waves and Hyunjin seeks out his own release from your spasming walls. You can tell from the way he twitches non-stop inside of you to the increase in his whines that he's growing close. One final, brutal snap of his hips is all it takes for him to sheath himself inside of you and fill you with his warm cum. His broken moans pressed into the hollow of your neck while he cums and cums and cums.
You let him lean against you while he takes a few minutes to compose himself and come back down to Earth. Truthfully, you're not faring much better but, at least you have a counter and an apparent gymrat of a boyfriend to help steady you. He hums appreciatively into your skin when you start playing with his hair and drawing nonsensical patterns into his back.
You're not sure how much time passes, could be five minutes, could be forty but, eventually he starts to pull out of you. This is easily your least favourite part and you can't help the unpleasant shudder that runs down your back once he's completely out. However, you know you need to pee and you both definitely need to take a shower so you don't begrudge him for getting the ball rolling. At least, that's what you thought was going to happen so, when he drops to his knees, you're left baffled and look at him totally puzzled.
“What–”
“You did say I could eat you out all I want later, didn't you?”
This man is going to be the death of you.
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Synopsis: You learn to protect yourself from hurt by building walls around you. Then Hyunjin comes, showing you that love can be soft, patient and gentle — and worth the leap. (17k words)
The gallery is louder than Hyunjin remembers it ever being.
Voices overlap in polite admiration and thinly veiled competition, laughter ringing too sharp against the white walls. The annual student exhibition always draws a crowd.
His painting hangs at eye level, exactly where the faculty suggested it should be. Oil on canvas. Controlled strokes. Composition honed through months of revisions. He stands near it, hands loosely clasped behind his back, posture relaxed in a way that has been practiced into muscle memory over the years. People drift in and out of his orbit easily.
“This one’s yours again, Hyunjin,” someone says with a laugh, nudging his shoulder.
“You’ve outdone yourself,” another adds, eyes bright with admiration.
“Second years in a row—legendary.”
Everyone keeps saying, assuming the same thing just because he won the student art prize last year. To Hyunjin, winning has never been something he allows himself to assume—not because he lacks confidence, but because he knows how fragile it is. Art doesn’t belong to expectation.
Hyunjin answers questions thoughtfully. He talks about process, about intention. He never talks about victory. He smiles when he’s expected to. Nods. Thanks them. But he never lets it settle because the moment he believes he deserves something, it stops listening to him.
As the crowd shifts, his attention wanders to other paintings lining the walls, to names printed neatly on placards. He scans instinctively, cataloguing styles, techniques and then, he realizes something. There’s a gap. Not an empty wall, but a presence he doesn’t recognize.
At the far end of the gallery, tucked slightly away from the main flow, a painting holds a quiet gravity that doesn’t beg to be noticed. Green dominates the canvas, lush and layered, alive in a way that feels deliberate rather than decorative. Flowers bloom unapologetically, vines twisting into one another like they’re holding secrets.
He steps closer before he means to and at first glance, it’s beautiful. Serene, even. The kind of work that soothes viewers, that gives them something pleasant to praise. He almost turns away—
And then he sees the space between the leaves sharpens. Shadows pull into shape. Two eyes look back at him, not directly, but as if they’re watching from somewhere just beyond the room. A face emerges slowly, fragmented, hidden beneath the growth. And behind it all—thin, careful lines etched into the canvas. Old wounds. Healed badly. Covered, not erased.
Hyunjin stills because the longer he looks, the more the painting changes. Then he glances at the placard beneath it. A name he doesn’t recognize.
He looks around instinctively, expecting to find the artist nearby so he can ask further about their work, but no one stands there. The space around the painting is empty like it’s been left alone on purpose.
Hyunjin exhales slowly, something unfamiliar settling in his chest. Not jealousy. Not fear. Curiosity.
Because whoever painted this—
They weren’t trying to win. They were trying to be understood.
-
The night stretches on in a slow, gilded blur.
Hyunjin answers more questions, accepts more praise than he knows what to do with. Someone presses a champagne flute into his hand, he takes a polite sip and sets it aside untouched. Every few minutes, his gaze drifts back to the green painting at the end of the room like a reflex he hasn’t learned to control yet.
His curiosity deepens as the artist never appears until eventually, the lights dim just slightly—a subtle cue that the night is reaching its peak. Conversations soften, people instinctively drawing closer to the podium located in the center end of the gallery where the judges gather.
Hyunjin straightens without thinking, smoothing a hand over his sleeve. Around him, bodies shift. Eyes flick toward him, then away again, then back. Expectation hums in the air.
Someone near him murmurs, “Here we go,” under their breath.
He feels that collective assumption settling like a weight on his shoulders. Two years of precedent. Two years of predictability. He doesn’t resent it, but he doesn’t claim it either. He keeps his expression calm the way he always does.
Art isn’t a crown you wear. It’s something you offer and then let go of.
The head judge steps forward, microphone catching softly. They speak about growth. About voices. About courage in creation.
Hyunjin listens carefully, more than most. His pulse remains steady.
“And this year,” the judge continues, “the winning piece moved us not because of its polish but because of its honesty.”
A few students glance at him again, smiles already forming, ready to hear his name being called.
Hyunjin doesn’t move. His fingers curl slightly at his side.
“And the winner of this year’s Art Prize is…”
The name is spoken and it’s not his.
For a heartbeat, the gallery goes silent. The kind that comes from surprise, not disappointment. Hyunjin feels the shift immediately, like the room has inhaled and forgotten how to exhale.
Around him, students turn in unison, eyes flicking from him to the far end of the gallery, to the painting cloaked in green. Whispered confusion ripples outward and buzzing in place.
Hyunjin doesn’t feel the loss. There’s no sting. No hollow drop in his chest. Instead, something else unfurls.
He looks again at the painting, seeing it now not as an anomaly, but as an answer. The judge continues speaking, calling for the artist to step forward, but no one does. A pause stretches and then another.
The artist isn’t here.
A quiet murmur spreads, surprised, uncertain. Hyunjin barely hears it. His attention stays anchored to the canvas, to the pair of eyes hidden in the leaves, to the face that never quite steps into the light.
Who paints something like that and doesn’t come to watch it win?
He exhales, the corner of his mouth lifting just barely in intrigue.
Whoever you are, he thinks, you didn’t paint this for applause.
And suddenly, he wants to know you.
-
Hyunjin sits through his lectures with the same attentiveness he always has, but there’s a thread pulling at the back of his mind, tugging his focus loose every few minutes. Sketches form beneath his pen without him realizing—leaves, curved lines, negative space that keeps resolving into eyes when he looks too closely. He frowns, closes the notebook, forces himself to listen.
By lunchtime, he eats with friends, nods along to conversations about critiques and deadlines and the shock of the prize going to someone new. Your name surfaces again and again, each time spoken with the same puzzled tone.
“You know who painted it?” someone asks him.
Hyunjin shakes his head. “No.”
That answer sits strangely on his tongue.
Between classes, he starts asking around. Just curiosity disguised as coincidence.
“Hey, do you know who painted the piece that won the art prize?”
“Oh, her? She’s in the illustration track, I think.”
“She’s quiet. Never really talks.”
“I don’t think she hangs around much.”
Most answers trail off into shrugs. Finally, near the end of the day, he catches up to someone from one of the shared studios. He keeps his tone light, conversational.
“Do you know where she usually works?”
The student thinks for a moment. “Yeah. She stays late. Always does.”
“Where?”
They jerk their chin toward the older buildings at the edge of campus. “Studio H. The abandoned one after that fire. Barely anyone uses it anymore. She’s almost always there after school.”
Hyunjin thanks them and turns away before they can read too much into his expression.
The last class of the day drags. He packs up the second it ends, slinging his bag over his shoulder and stepping out into the frosty winter air. The sun hangs low, casting long shadows across campus, students spilling out in clusters toward buses and cafes and home.
Hyunjin walks in the opposite direction and the farther he goes, the quieter it gets. The chatter fades, replaced by the sound of his own footsteps and the rustle of leaves stirred by the wind.
The building comes into view gradually—older, narrower, one of the walls still has smoke stains from a fire that happened almost a year ago.
Hyunjin slows as he approaches, something like reverence settling over him. The windows glow faintly, warm against the encroaching dusk. He pauses at the entrance, fingers brushing the strap of his bag, suddenly aware of the intrusion his presence might be.
He doesn’t know what he’s going to say, only that he needs to see the person who painted something like that. So pushes the door open quietly and steps inside.
-
The studio isn’t what Hyunjin expects.
There’s no familiar scent of oil paint or turpentine, no easels or canvas lined neatly against the walls. Instead, the air is thick with clay and dust, cool and damp in a way that settles into the lungs. Half-finished sculptures crowd the room—torsos without heads, hands reaching for nothing, faces frozen mid-thought. It feels less like a classroom and more like a place where people disappear into their work.
Someone stands at a table near the entrance, sleeves rolled up, hands buried in a block of clay. He wears headphones, head bobbing faintly to a rhythm Hyunjin can’t hear. The sculptor glances up when the door opens, eyes flicking over Hyunjin with mild curiosity before returning immediately to their work. Unbothered.
Hyunjin steps farther inside, careful with his footing. His eyes instinctively search for an easel, canvas, brushes, anything that confirms the person he’s looking for belongs here. He doesn’t find one but what he does find is you.
You sit on a wooden stool near the back, posture slightly hunched, fully absorbed. A half-body sculpture rests in front of you. Your hands move with steady familiarity, thumbs pressing, fingers smoothing. Clay clings beneath your nails, streaks your apron, catches in a loose strand of hair by your temple.
Hyunjin hesitates, suddenly aware of the intrusion. He knows this feeling too well because he too, hates when someone interrupt him in the middle of painting.
Still, he clears his throat softly. “Hi.”
You glance at him then. Just enough to register his presence. Your eyes meet his for half a second before dropping back to your sculpture, hands never pausing. No greeting. No dismissal either.
Hyunjin exhales quietly. He decides to be quick. “Sorry,” he says, lowering his voice. “I’m looking for someone. Do you happen to know where I can find—” He says your name.
Your hands keep moving. You don’t turn to him. “That’s me.”
Hyunjin is puzzled once more. His gaze drifts back to the sculpture, then to you, recalibrating everything he thought he knew. A painter, he had assumed. Not this.
“I—” He catches himself, straightens. “I’m Hyunjin. We haven’t met. But I saw your work at the exhibition.”
Your shoulders tense, just slightly.
He continues carefully, “I wanted to congratulate you. Your painting—it was incredible. I really admired it. And winning the student art prize—”
“I didn’t win anything.”
The interruption is flat and final.
Hyunjin frowns, confused. “But your painting was there. You won this year’s art prize.”
You press your thumb into the clay a little harder than before. “Someone else submitted it without my consent.”
That stops him cold but he isn’t offended. Only sincerely, utterly confused. That painting, raw and deliberate and brave, doesn’t feel like something that should be taken from its creator. And the thought unsettles him.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” he says honestly.
You finally look at him again, this time longer but there’s no warmth in it. Just distance, hollow.
“If you don’t mind,” you say coolly, already turning back to your sculpture, “I’d like to work in peace.”
Hyunjin nods immediately. He understands that tone. He’s used it himself. “Of course. I’m sorry for disturbing you. I hope you have a good day.”
He backs away slowly, careful not to bump into anything, and slips out the door as quietly as he entered.
Outside, the air feels lighter but his chest only tightens. Hyunjin reaches the doorway, hand hovering over the handle, but he quickly pauses. Because now, more than ever, he wants to know why someone who creates like that would let their work speak without them.
And why they’d rather remain unseen.
-
You’re halfway through cleaning clay from beneath your nails when your phone vibrates on the edge of the sink, screen lighting up with your professor’s name. The subject line is polite and you skim most of it, finding out that she wants to see you in her office later.
So after lunch, you make your way there. Her office smells faintly of paper and old coffee, sunlight spilling in through tall windows that make everything feel exposed. She gestures for you to sit, her expression unreadable in that careful way professors master over the years.
“I wanted to talk to you about the exhibition,” she begins.
You already know about what she did with your painting without your permission. Thanks to whoever came to the studio the other day, telling you that you won something you didn’t even know you were a part of in the first place.
She folds her hands on the desk. “I submitted your painting for the student art prize.”
The words land exactly where you expect them to, and still—they irritate. Settle under your skin.
“I didn’t give my consent,” you say evenly.
She sighs, not frustrated—more thoughtful. “I know. And I understand why you’re upset.”
Upset isn’t the word. But you let her continue.
“It won,” she adds.
You look at her then, exasperated but don’t know how to express it since she’s your professor and your respect her too much. “That doesn’t change anything.”
She studies you for a moment, gaze softening. “You’re exceptionally talented. But you hide. You always have. Your work deserves to be seen.”
You inhale air to calm yourself before speaking. “I don’t need validation. Or praise. Or awards.”
There’s no bitterness in your voice. Just fact.
She leans back slightly, fingers tapping once against the armrest. “It’s not about validation. It’s about connection. About letting others know they’re not alone.”
You stiffen because she’s hovering too close to the very thing you don’t want to talk about.
“Your painting,” she continues, careful now, “it heals. Art heals. People like you—people who don’t know how to speak yet—they see it and feel understood.”
You look down at your hands, at the faint cracks in your skin, clay still embedded in the lines of your palms.
“I don’t make art to heal people,” you murmur. “I make it so I can breathe.”
She nods, accepting that. Then she reaches into a drawer and places the certificate on the desk, followed by the small trophy. They look out of place between stacks of papers and books. “I won’t argue with you. But I won’t apologize either,” she says.
You consider pushing back but you’re too tired and arguing won’t unpaint what’s already been seen. You take the certificate and the trophy, not in triumph, but in defeat.
“Since you won,” she adds, stopping you at the door, “your painting is being showcased in the main hall now.”
You close your eyes briefly. Eyelids fluttering as you hold yourself back. You nod once, hand tightening around the edge of the certificate as you step back into the hallway. The door closes behind you with a soft click, leaving you alone with the echo of her words and the weight of something you never asked to share.
You exhale slowly at the fact that more people know about the painting and the one who painted it now. And you’re not sure how that makes you feel—only that there’s no taking it back.
-
The hallway feels longer after stepping out of your professor’s office. Your footsteps echo softly against the tiled floor, certificate tucked under your arm, the trophy weighing your already packed bag.
Students pass you in pairs and clusters, voices overlapping, laughter brushing past you without catching. You keep your eyes forward, jaw set as you think about the painting. You never meant for it to leave your hands.
It wasn’t created for walls or spotlights or circles of admiration. You painted it late at night, alone, when the studios were empty and no one could watch you hesitate. It’s the most honest you’ve ever been—every brushstroke a confession you never learned how to say out loud. You didn’t plan for anyone to see the face hidden beneath the leaves, the way the wounds rest beneath something alive.
You showed it to your professor because you trusted her. Because she asked gently. Because she never pushed. You thought that it would stay between the two of you, safe in that small space of understanding.
Apparently, it wasn’t.
The main hall opens up ahead of you, wide and bright, sunlight flooding in through the tall and wide entrance of the building that leaves nowhere to hide. You slow without meaning to, pulse ticking louder in your ears. A small crowd lingers near the center wall in that particular way people get when they know something is important but don’t quite know why.
You see it then. Your painting hangs there, framed neatly, too clean for what it contains. The green looks brighter under the lights, the flowers more alive than you remember. From a distance, it almost lies, almost convinces. Up close, the truth waits patiently for anyone willing to look long enough.
You notice one person in particular stands in front of it, unmoving. Tall. Lean. Long, silky black hair falling just past his eyes, catching the light when he tilts his head. His posture is relaxed but intent, hands tucked loosely into the pockets of his jeans like he’s afraid to touch anything. There’s a stillness to him that sets him apart from the others drifting in and out.
You recognize him immediately as the guy who came to the studio the other day. He introduced himself and it takes you a while to recall his name.
Hyunjin.
He isn’t looking at the placard. He isn’t glancing around to see who’s watching. His gaze stays fixed on the canvas, expression stripped of anything performative. Just quiet focus like he’s listening to something only the painting is saying.
A strange, uncomfortable thought settles in your chest. Because out of everyone here, he’s the one who’s really seeing it.
You stop a few steps away, heart knocking unevenly, caught between wanting to turn around and wanting to know what he sees when he looks at something you never meant to share. This time, you don’t feel annoyed by his presence. You feel exposed.
You stay where you are as he shifts his weight slightly, head tilting as if he’s following a line only he can see, eyes tracing the edges of the leaves, the spaces between them. He leans in, just a fraction, like he’s careful not to miss anything.
You wonder what he wants from you. When he showed up at the studio, you assumed curiosity sharpened by ego—another artist wanting to size you up, to confirm that the prize made sense. Or maybe obligation. A polite congratulations delivered because it was expected of him, because everyone was watching.
But now, standing here, alone with your painting, he doesn’t look like someone checking a box. He looks… thoughtful.
You wonder if he knows how close he stands to the face hidden in the green. If he’s seen the eyes yet. If he’s noticed the cuts behind the leaves, softened by color but still there, still real. You wonder if he understands that the painting isn’t brave—it’s just tired of being quiet and you hate how much it matters.
You quickly remind yourself that his intentions don’t concern you. That whatever he thinks about your work, about you, doesn’t change the fact that it was never meant to be here.
As if sensing the weight of your gaze, Hyunjin turns and his eyes meet yours immediately. Surprise flickers briefly across his face, then fades into something gentler.
Neither of you speak. The moment stretches thin, suspended between the two of you.
You look away and turn on your heel, heart thudding a little too hard, and start down the hallway toward your next class.
Behind you, you don’t hear him follow. But you feel the echo of his attention linger long after you’ve gone and you don’t know yet whether that unsettles you more than the painting being seen.
-
Studio H has gotten a renovation done months ago but many students choose not to use it anymore because of the fire, the building is old and narrow, and secluded from the rest of the school. This space understands silence better than most people do and for you, that’s the whole charm of it.
There’s only one other person using the studio other than you. Ben. He’s a fellow sculptor, doesn’t talk much and keeps it to himself most of the time which is why you’re comfortable sharing the space with him.
You greet him with a small nod as you step inside. He lifts a hand in return, already half-lost in his work, headphones slipping over his ears. You walk to your usual spot near the back, the stool already molded to the shape of you from hours spent there. The half-body sculpture waits exactly where you left it, surface still bearing the marks of your last touch. You hang your bag, take your apron and put it on.
The door bangs open and someone stumbles in carrying far too much at once—an easel clattering against the frame, a box filled with what looks like paint tubes and brushes threatening to spill, two blank canvases pressed awkwardly under one arm. A backpack recklessly hangs off one shoulder.
Hyunjin freezes for half a second when he spots you, then grins like the disruption is part of his charm. Unfazed, he crosses the room and drops everything into the far corner, directly across from your space.
You watch him quietly as he straightens, dusts off his hands, then shrugs like it’s nothing. “I’m a student here. I can use whichever studio I want,” he says with a coy shrug.
You don’t respond but tie your apron and pick up your sculpting tool, turning back to your work as if he isn’t there. But he is.
You feel the way his presence alters the room, the subtle shift in energy. The scrape of the easel as he adjusts it. The soft clink of paint tubes. The rustle of canvas. You try to tune it out, focus on the curve of the shoulder you’re shaping, the line you want to soften. But it doesn’t work because you’re fully aware that he’s there, close enough to matter, close enough to be intentional.
And that’s what bothers you most. You don’t know why he’s here, but you have the uneasy feeling that at least part of the answer is you.
-
People drift between studios all the time, especially this one, tucked away and forgotten. Hyunjin will get bored, you think. He’ll realize there’s nothing here for him.
But on the next day, his easel is already set up when you arrive. The third day, he’s rearranged the corner just enough to make it his. He moves through the space with an ease that unsettles you, like he’s found comfort faster than he should have.
It annoys you more than you expect. You try to ignore him, the same way you ignore most people. You focus on your sculpture, on the press and pull of clay beneath your fingers. Still, you register everything: the scrape of his chair, the soft hum of music leaking from his headphones, the way he pauses sometimes, staring at his canvas like he’s waiting for it to answer back.
A few days in, he starts bringing coffee. He arrives one afternoon with a cardboard tray balanced in one hand, steam curling up toward the ceiling. He offers cups around casually like he’s always been part of this routine. Ben accepts one with a surprised laugh, pulling off their headphones to say thanks.
Hyunjin doesn’t ask you. He just sets a cup down on the empty table near your station and moves on, as if he knows you’ll decide for yourself.
You don’t touch it, but the warm, bitter, faintly sweet smell lingers longer than you want it to.
Another day, you glance up briefly and find him leaning against Ben’s table talking quietly. They’re smiling and chatting. You don’t hear what’s being said, only catch the way Hyunjin’s hands move when he talks, expressive, animated. It’s strange, seeing him like this here, in a space that never belonged to him before.
Hyunjin laughs at something Ben says and the sound makes your chest tighten, just a little. A few minutes later, he wanders over to your station. You feel him before you see him, the air shifting as he stops beside you. You keep working, carving carefully, refusing to acknowledge him. He doesn’t say anything but stands there, watching. Finally, you glance up and he smiles at you, quiet and unintrusive. Not the kind meant to impress or demand. Just… there.
You look back down at your sculpture, irritation curling low in your stomach. You still don’t know what he wants. But it’s becoming harder to pretend he isn’t slowly making himself impossible to ignore.
-
You already know you’ll see Hyunjin.
The thought settles in your mind sometime between your last class and studio H, and instead of following it, you turn the other way. You leave campus behind, cut through streets you know by heart, and end up at the city park just as the afternoon light begins to thin.
The fountain is cold and still, icicles hanging off the edge like flows of water frozen in time. You sit on a bench nearby and pull your sketchbook free, tucking your hands into your sleeves between strokes. The winter air bites, stiffening your fingers until you have to stop every few minutes, rubbing your palms together, breathing warmth into them before continuing. You don’t mind it. This is your version of rest.
You sketch without thinking too much, letting the page take whatever your hands give it. The sky shifts slowly above you, washed in pale gold and fading blue. People come and go—joggers, couples, someone walking their dog—sometimes sharing the bench for a moment before moving on. You notice them only in passing, vaguely, like background noise.
“Hey,” a voice says. “Do you mind if I sit?”
You look up from your drawing and Hyunjin stands there, hands hooked into the straps of his bag, breath fogging faintly in the cold. He smiles when he sees you, easy and confident, like this was always a possibility.
You slowly look back down at your sketchbook. “It’s a public space. Sit wherever you want.”
He takes that as permission.
He drops down beside you immediately, close enough that your sleeves brush. You stiffen, but he doesn’t comment. He just starts pulling things out of his bag: sketchbook, pencils, eraser. He lines them up neatly on the bench between you.
When you think he’s done, you hear the quiet tear of plastic. All of a sudden, he presses something into your hand. You look down to find a small heat pack, warm and humming faintly against your palm.
Hyunjin doesn’t look at you but flips open his sketchbook to a clean page like he didn’t just do all that and starts drawing, pencil moving with slow confidence. You sit there, stunned, heat seeping into your fingers. And for a long moment, you let him.
The two of you draw in silence, the space between you filled with the scratch of pencil and the distant sound of the city. Your hands loosen. The cold eases. The sky darkens until the last streak of color slips below the horizon, and the park gradually empties, footsteps fading one by one.
When it’s finally quiet enough to hear your own breathing, you close your sketchbook and turn to him. “Say what you want.”
Hyunjin pauses, pencil hovering. He pretends to think about it, eyes drifting upward like he hadn’t come here with intention stitched into every step. Then he looks at you with eyes soft, smile gentler than you expect.
“Uhm… Coffee?”
-
The café is warm in a way that slowly seeps into your bones. Steam curls up from your cup, fogging the space between you and the table, carrying the earthy, comforting scent of coffee. You don’t drink it right away. You just sit there and watch him.
Hyunjin cradles his cup like it’s something fragile. He lifts it, inhales first with eyes closing briefly, a small smile pulling at his mouth before taking a careful sip. He looks at ease like he isn’t sitting across from someone who’s wound tight enough to snap.
You keep watching and he doesn’t call you out on it, doesn’t shift or fidget or ask what you’re staring at. He just lets you look, like he’s used to being observed and has nothing to hide.
It’s been a moment and you’re not exactly enjoying his company so you decide being the one who breaks first. “I know you won the student art prize last year,”
He nods once, swallowing another sip. “Yes.”
“So I’m assuming all of this—congratulating me, suddenly working in my studio, following me around—”
“I didn’t stalk you,” he cuts in calmly.
You pause, eyes narrowing.
“Ben told me you go to the park when you skip the studio,” he adds, unbothered. “I just… guessed.”
You ignore that entirely, lean back slightly and look at him properly now. “Did you do all this because you were hurt? Because you didn’t win this year, and some unknown did instead?”
Hyunjin doesn’t flinch, doesn’t defend himself. He simply sets his cup down on the table with care, porcelain meeting wood softly. Then he looks at you and smiles as he says, “I did it because I admire your work.”
You scoff before you can stop yourself. “How? You only know me now.”
He tilts his head slightly. “It’s not too late to like something.”
You don’t respond. Mostly because you don’t want to entertain him further.
Silence stretches between you, but Hyunjin doesn’t rush to fill it. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter, sincere. “Technically, your painting is incredible. Your control of color, the way you layer greens without letting them turn muddy. Your brushstrokes feel intentional, not decorative. And the composition—how the eye keeps getting drawn inward instead of outward—it’s hard to do that without forcing it.”
You stare at the surface of your coffee, jaw tightening. Then you notice the way his tone shifts.
“But what stayed with me,” he continues, “was the feeling. The restraint. The way the painting doesn’t ask to be understood, but it waits. The honesty in it—how you didn’t soften anything just to make it easier to look at.”
He looks at you steadily now and somehow, you can’t look away. “That takes courage… Being that bare. Not everyone can do that.”
Something in you recoils. It feels like being cut open—not violently, but precisely. Like he’s peeled back layers you never gave permission to touch, standing there with clear sight of everything you keep hidden. You stiffen, spine straightening, walls sliding back into place.
Because this isn’t flattery. This is real. And it terrifies you.
You inhale slowly, forcing calm into your voice. “I appreciate your comments about my painting.”
You stand before he can say anything else. Your chair scrapes softly against the floor as you grab your bag, sling it over your shoulder. There’s a tightness in your chest now, something burning and dangerously close to anger.
“But I’d appreciate it more,” you add, not quite looking at him, “if you stopped coming to the studio. Paint somewhere else.”
You don’t wait for his response but walk straight to the door, push it open, and step outside. The winter air rushes to meet you, cold brushing your cheeks, your hair, stealing your breath for a second. As you head down the street, hands shoved deep into your pockets, you frown to yourself. You don’t understand why you’re so mad at him.
Only that somehow, he saw too much and you weren’t ready for that at all.
-
You walk toward the studio with your shoulders drawn in, jaw set, already bracing yourself.
You tell yourself not to but you do anyway. You picture him there before you even reach the door. Hyunjin, exactly where he’s been these past days, sprawled into the space like he belongs, like your words from last night were nothing more than background noise.
You inhale deeply before pushing the door open. Warm air rushes out to meet you as you slip inside, and you’re quick to shut it behind you, muttering a quiet curse at the cold before it can follow.
“Hey, Ben,” you say, out of habit.
Ben looks up from his station and grins, lifting his thumb in a silent thumbs-up. You nod back, automatic, already moving further inside. And oh, you’re dreading it cause you’re going to see—
Hyunjin’s spot is empty. No easel angled just a little too close to yours. No canvases leaning against the wall. No careless backpack slung over a chair, no presence stretching across the space and into your awareness. It’s… bare.
The corner looks wrong without him like something’s been erased.
Ben notices the pause. He slips one side of his headphones down and follows your line of sight. “Oh, Hyunjin came about an hour ago. Packed up his stuff and left,” he says casually.
You hum in response, like that information means nothing to you. You don’t ask why. You just move. Your feet carry you to your station on instinct, hands already reaching for your apron, body slipping back into the familiar rhythm of work. Clay beneath your fingers, cool and solid, grounding you as you pick up where you left off.
Still, your eyes betray you. They flick up now and then, drifting to that empty corner across the room. Each time, they pause for half a second too long, as if they’re waiting for something to fill the space, as if they need time to adjust.
You tell yourself it’s nothing. Just a habit you’ll break.
-
The cold deepens quietly, the kind that doesn’t announce itself until it’s already settled into your bones. Each day, the walk to the studio becomes a struggle—air biting at your cheeks, breath fogging in front of you like a small, constant reminder that winter has decided to stay. You haven’t seen Hyunjin since that night in the café. Not in the studio. Not in the halls. Not hovering in places you didn’t ask him to be. You tell yourself that’s good. That it’s what you wanted.
Today, snow is already falling by the time you reach the studio. It crunches beneath your boots, a soft, brittle sound that follows you all the way to the door. Inside, warmth wraps around you instantly.
“God, it’s freezing,” Ben groans when you greet him.
You hum in agreement, shrugging off your coat, slipping back into routine like muscle memory. Clay under your fingers. Silence where it belongs. Time dissolves without asking permission.
You don’t notice how late it’s gotten until Ben starts packing up. He pulls on his jacket, shoulders his bag, glancing out the window with a frown. “Weather’s supposed to get bad tonight. You might want to head out early,” he says in quiet concern.
“I’ll wrap up soon,” you assures him.
He smiles in understanding. “Be safe, okay?”
You nod and with that, Ben leaves. The door clicks shut behind him, and the studio exhales into stillness.
It’s quiet in a way that feels heavier without other people to dilute it. You lean back against the wooden table and look out the window. Snow flutters down in uneven patterns, catching the light, softening the world into something distant and muted. There’s a strange ache in watching it—something slow and sinking that you don’t bother naming.
You work for another hour anyway and when you finally stop, your hands are numb. You wash them thoroughly, watching the clay spiral down the drain, then button your coat all the way up, tugging it tight around your throat. Bag over your shoulder. You take one last glance around the studio and then you step outside.
The snow comes down immediately, clinging to your hair, your sleeves, the lashes of your eyes. You shut the door carefully behind you, already dreading the long, freezing walk to the bus stop. You turn toward the school gate and halt to a stop when you see someone there.
Hyunjin, leaning against the wall, hands tucked into his coat pockets, snow caught in his hair, dusting the collar of his coat and the red scarf wrapped loosely around his neck. He looks like he’s been standing there for a while, long enough for the cold to settle into him. Yet, he smiles when he sees you like all of that doesn’t bother him.
“What are you doing here?” you ask, incredulous.
“Waiting for you,” he says easily. Then, as if it’s obvious, “You didn’t want me in your studio.”
“So?”
“So I waited outside.”
That only makes it worse. “Why?”
He coyly shrugs. “I figured you’d be out late. And the buses stop running when the weather gets like this.”
He glances at the snow, then back at you. “So I’ll… drive you home.”
None of it makes sense. You don’t understand why he’s here. Why he’s worried. Why he’s standing in the cold like this is something he owes you. You’re no one to him. You should tell him to leave. You should say thank you. You should say anything that resembles civility. Instead, what comes out is sharp and raw and unfiltered.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
Hyunjin just smiles, breath fogging in the air as he once again, coyly shrugs.
-
The car is warm in a way that makes you too aware of everything else.
Hyunjin drives with one hand on the wheel, eyes steady on the road, posture relaxed but attentive. He doesn’t put music on, doesn’t fill the silence with idle talk. The only sound is the low hum of the engine and the soft crunch of tires rolling over snowed road.
You watch the world slide past the window as streetlights blurred into halos, sidewalks smoothed over by white, everything looking quieter, cleaner. Snow has a way of making the city feel forgiven like nothing bad has ever happened here, like nothing bad ever will. It’s almost convincing.
When he stops in front of your apartment building, you don’t move right away. The engine clicks off. Silence pours into the car, low and intimate. The windows fog slowly, your breath and his blurring the glass until the outside world feels very far away.
This time, he’s the one who speaks. “I tried. After you asked me to stop,” Hyunjin says quietly. “I really did.”
He exhales, fingers loosening on the steering wheel. “But every time I walk past your painting… it just—” He shakes his head, a soft, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his lips. “It makes me like you more.”
The words are simple, almost innocent. You take them the way you’ve learned to take things like this. As intentions. As strategies. As something said with a desired outcome already in mind. You can already see where this goes—hopes raised too high, expectations forming, the inevitable collapse waiting patiently at the end. Disappointment. Pain. Regrets. More Pain.
So you scoff, soft but sharp. “So that’s what you want now? Us?”
You finally turn to him, eyes steady but intense. “You want to be boyfriend and girlfriend? Walk around campus holding hands? Kiss and dance under the snow like we’re in some romance movie?”
Your voice stays calm, but there’s something mocking beneath it.
Hyunjin doesn’t flinch as he easily says, “Yeah.”
Then, just as quickly, he adds, “We don’t have to do all of that. Not yet.”
You let out a short laugh because he really doesn’t seem to hear the sarcasm woven in your words.
Hyunjin shifts closer, an arm reaching into the backseat. The movement catches your attention despite yourself as his head lingers so close to yours for a brief moment. He pulls out a folded brochure and holds it out to you.
It takes you a second to register that it’s a brochure for an art exhibition of your favorite sculptor. Your fingers close around it before you can stop them.
“We can start with this,” he says softly.
You hate that you’re considering it, hate that the thought doesn’t feel heavy or terrifying and that it’s easy and possible.
“It’s this Saturday,” he adds, smiling.
You swallow, then hand the brochure back. “I don’t do this,” you say.
“Do what?”
You hesitate for a moment. Then—
“This. Going out. You and me—” You trail off, choosing not to finish the sentence.
He studies you for a moment, then nods like he’s reached a conclusion all on his own. “That’s okay. You don’t have to come.”
Relief barely has time to settle before he continues. “Just so you know, I’ll be waiting outside. In case you change your mind.”
You know what he’s doing. You recognize the shape of it. Emotional leverage dressed up as patience.
You decide not to respond. You unbuckle your seatbelt, fingers steady despite everything tightening in your chest. “Thank you for the ride,” you say.
The cold rushes in the second you open the door. You step out, shut it behind you, and don’t look back.
-
Hyunjin tells himself this was a bad idea. Standing outside the gallery, hands buried deep in his coat pockets, cold seeping through the soles of his shoes, he replays the conversation in his head for the hundredth time.
Waiting outside. In case you change your mind. He winces at his own words.
What was he thinking? This only gives you a way out. He should’ve picked you up, should’ve insisted, should’ve bribed you with something. Anything would’ve been better than this self-inflicted purgatory.
Snow gathers along the edges of the sidewalk. People pass him, couples slipping into the warmth of the gallery, chatting lightly, shaking snow from their coats.
He checks his watch and it’s only been twenty-eight minutes from the appointed time. It hasn’t even been that long, and yet he already senses the disappointment. He exhales, breath fogging in the air, shaking his head at himself.
Of course you wouldn’t come. He knows better than to be angry about it. You were clear. He’s the one who chose to hope anyway. That’s on him.
A few minutes later, acceptance settles in. He reaches into his coat pocket, fingers brushing against his car keys, ready to call it. Ready to leave before he makes a bigger fool of himself.
Then, he looks up and there you are, climbing the steps toward the entrance, coat pulled tight around you, expression calm and composed as always. His hand stills mid-motion, keys half out of his pocket. For a moment, he honestly thinks he’s imagining you.
You stop right in front of him. Your eyes briefly flick to the keys in his hand. “Planning to leave?” you ask flatly, a teasing edge cutting through your deadpan tone.
He gulps, then recovers fast. Too fast. “No. Just—uh—making sure I had my car keys with me.”
You raise an eyebrow in doubt. “Thought you were giving up. Figured you’d assume I wasn’t coming.”
“I didn’t,” he replies immediately, way too quick to be believable.
He sees the way your lips twitch, the split second where a smile almost breaks through before you look away, eyes fixed on the gallery doors instead.
“Can we go in? It’s cold,” you say, shoving your hands deeper into your coat pockets.
Relief hits him so hard it almost knocks the air from his lungs. “Yeah—yeah,” he says, already turning, holding the door open for you. “Of course.”
-
Walking through the gallery with you feels nothing like Hyunjin imagined.
It’s quieter than the campus halls. White walls. Soft lighting. The kind of space that asks people to lower their voices, even their thoughts.
You move slowly, hands tucked into your coat sleeves, stopping in front of each sculpture like you’re greeting an old acquaintance. Hyunjin stays half a step behind you, watching the way your eyes trace lines and shadows before you even look at the plaque.
“So,” he says, stopping beside you in front of a tall, abstract piece, “tell me everything.”
You glance at him. “You can read the brochure.”
“Unacceptable.”
“Or,” you add dryly, “ask the curator.”
He leans closer, lowering his voice like he’s letting you in on a secret. “That defeats the purpose.”
You sigh. “And what purpose is that?”
“Bringing you,” he says easily.
You scoff. “Why me?”
He smiles, eyes warm. “Because you’re the only sculptor I know.”
“That’s a lie,” you reply immediately. “Ben’s a sculptor.”
Hyunjin barely thinks before answering, “Yeah, but there’s nothing romantic about taking Ben here.”
You stop walking and turn to look at him. “I came because I thought it supposed to be educational,” you say.
“It is,” he says, grinning. “With romantic undertones.”
You shake your head, muttering something under your breath as you move on, but a few steps later, you start talking anyway. About the negative space. About balance. About how the sculptor clearly wanted the weight to feel like it’s leaning forward even though it isn’t.
Hyunjin listens, genuinely, eyes flicking between you and the piece. At one point, he tilts his head and says, far too casually, “I don’t know. Sculptors always seem like they’re just… attacking their materials.”
You stop mid-sentence, clearly offended by what he said. “Excuse you? That’s such a lazy take. Sculpting is about dialogue—about resistance and cooperation. You don’t dominate the medium, you listen to it.”
Hyunjin’s smile slowly blooming on his face, wider and brighter. “Oh, she has opinions,” he pokes fun.
You keep going, words tumbling out faster now, hands moving as you talk. You’re defending it with your whole chest, and it hits him all at once—how alive you look like this. How open.
You catch yourself a second too late. Your voice trails off. Your cheeks warm. You look away.
Hyunjin laughs softly. “Wow. I didn’t know you could talk this much.”
You shoot him a glare that lacks real bite and Hyunjin lifts his hands in surrender. But he sees you almost—almost—laugh and he counts that as a win.
By the time you reach the last room, the crowd has thinned. Hyunjin feels that soft winding-down of the evening, the way the energy shifts when there’s nothing left to discover but the exit.
You stand in front of the final piece a little longer than necessary, then step back, hands slipping into your coat pockets. “Well,” you say, turning to him, voice measured. “That’s the end of the educational trip.”
Hyunjin doesn’t miss a beat. He shakes his head, slow and confident. “Disagree.”
You narrow your eyes. “On what grounds?”
“It continues,” he says.
“With what?”
He leans in just slightly, lowering his voice like this is the most serious thing in the world. “Learning Italian cuisine.”
You stare at him, an eyebrow raises higher than the other.
He holds your gaze, completely unbothered, then smiles. “There’s an Italian place not far from here.”
He watches you think like this is a decision that will alter the trajectory of your life. Your jaw tightens. Your eyes flick toward the exit, then back to him.
Hyunjin doesn’t rush it. He’s learned better than that. Finally, without saying a word, you turn and start walking.
It takes him half a second to realize what just happened.
He catches up to you easily, falling into step beside you, a triumphant smile pulling at his lip, but careful as to not scare the moment away.
-
This Italian restaurant is what Hyunjin expected to be after reading the reviews on the internet. Farfalle, a restaurant that earned three stars rating. Great place, great food, great service but of course, you don’t care with such thing. Hyunjin doesn’t mind, he likes it that you’re more at ease with a glass of wine within reach.
The food arrives not long after and for a long while, the two of you eat in comfortable silence. Then curiosity gets the better of him.
“So,” Hyunjin says between bites, “why sculpture?”
You look up at him sharply. “What, you think that means I’m bad at it?”
He freezes for half a second. “No—no, that’s not what I meant.”
You hold his gaze, then the faintest smile appears, like a crack in glass. “I like it more. I like that it’s tangible. Heavy. Real.” You gesture lightly with your fork. “It takes patience. Time. You can’t rush it.”
Hyunjin nods, listening closely. Giving you all of his undivided attention.
“Painting,” you continue, quieter now, “is personal. I don’t do it for anyone else. It’s like… a private journal.”
That lands somewhere deep in his chest. He takes a sip of his wine, thoughtful.
“What about you? What do you do besides painting?”
Before he can swallow and answer your question, you tilt your head and add, “Let me guess—you take half the girls at school on ‘educational trips’ like this.”
He coughs once, then laughs, setting his glass down. “First of all, they were not educational.”
You hum as you reach for your wine glass. “Of course.”
“And second,” he adds, shameless, “I stopped because apparently it’s bad for me financially.”
You gasp softly, eyes widening in mock horror. “What a revelation!”
Then you lean back, fingers wrapped around the stem of the wine glass. “And how about this one?”
Hyunjin doesn’t hesitate. He looks at you in the eyes as he confidently answers, “Special occasion.”
You don’t look impressed, but he catches the way your lips curve as you lift your wine glass.
“Whatever,” you say, clinking your glass lightly against his. “You’re paying.”
Hyunjin holds your gaze as you both take a sip, smiling into the moment.
-
Outside, the cold greets you immediately and Hyunjin feels bad for telling you that he’s parked his car down the street so the two of you have to walk through the park to get there. You sigh like it’s an inconvenience carved directly into fate, but you nod and step forward anyway.
He barely lets you take two steps before stopping you. You turn, ready with another comment, but he’s already unwinding his scarf and drapes it around your neck with utter gentleness, careful.
You roll your eyes. “I was fine.”
“I know,” he says, smiling.
You let it happen and that feels nice. It matters to him.
The park is quiet and empty at this hour, snow floating lazily through the air, settling onto benches and pathways like the city has decided to hold its breath. Each step crunches softly beneath your shoes. Hyunjin listens to the sound of the night folding itself around the two of you. He smiles, warmth spreading through his chest. “We had a pretty romantic night, don’t you think?”
You glance at him. “You mean educational?”
He laughs. “Fine. Educational exhibition. Then a romantic dinner.”
“Also educational.”
He hums, pretending to consider. “So what’s next on the list?”
He remembers your words in the café and it’s playing in his head like a tune. You want to be boyfriend and girlfriend? Walk around campus holding hands? Kiss and dance under the snow like we’re in some romance movie?
He smiles at himself as he recalls it. Then looks at you. “We could try holding hands.”
“Pass.”
He nods solemnly. “Okay. Kissing?”
“Hard pass.”
Hyunjin stops walking altogether, drawing in a dramatic breath. “Dancing under the snow?”
You turn to him, unimpressed. “Nope.”
“Why not?”
“This isn’t some romcom. It’s real life. People don’t just… dance under the snow.”
Hyunjin tilts his head, eyes bright and mischievous. “I beg to differ.”
Before you can react, he takes your hand and tugs you forward. You resist at first but barely. Then he feels the moment where resistance softens into reluctant allowance. He guides you gently, twirling you once, twice, laughter slipping into his voice as snow clings to your hair.
You look annoyed but he continues anyway. He spins you out, then pulls you back in a little too hard, too fast. You crash into his chest just as his foot slips on the slick pavement.
“Oh my—”
You both crash down as gravity wins. Hyunjin hits the ground first, breath knocked out of him, and you land squarely on his chest. Cold seeps through his coat, but he barely notices.
“Are you okay?” he blurts, hands already hovering, panicked.
You lift your head and you’re… laughing. Full, unguarded, breathless laughter. It catches him off guard so badly that he starts laughing too, the sound echoing into the quiet park. He asks again, softer this time. “Are you okay?”
You nod in confirmation, still laughing as you roll off him and collapse beside him.
You both lie there, side by side, staring up at the dark sky as snow drifts down, tickling your cheeks, melting into your hair. The hilarity continues for another moment until laughter slowly fades, leaving behind something tender and fragile.
Hyunjin feels this quiet, glowing fullness in his chest. A happiness so simple it almost scares him. He turns his head toward you and his heart sinks when he sees tears sliding silently into your hair.
He knows better not to rush you or interrupt you as you’re processing emotions. He watches for a moment, lets you have the space to feel whatever is breaking open inside you. Then he rolls onto his side, close but not crowding. He finds your red-rimmed eyes, shining, holding a sadness that seems too great to hold by yourself. He lifts his hand, knuckles brushing gently along your cheek, wiping the tears away. His cold skin meeting your hot tears.
“I just…” your voice breaking, heavy with sadness as you whisper, “I don’t want to get hurt.”
Something slides into place. That’s it. That’s the wall you built around yourself. Not indifference. Not pride. But fear, old and crippling.
Hyunjin wipes another tear from your temple, then cups your face fully, grounding you, steady and sure. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he quietly assures you.
You nod, even as tears cling stubbornly to your lashes.
He leans in slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. Then his lips meet yours in a soft, fragile kiss, almost reverent. Not a promise of forever. Not a demand. Just proof that he’s here for anything but hurt you. He kisses you slowly, carefully because he’s aware of how easily this could shatter if handled wrong. Your lips tremble against his, and he keeps his hand steady at your cheek, grounding you and himself in the moment.
Hyunjin closes his eyes because he knows that this is something sacred. Fragile. Earned. And whatever happens next, he’ll carry this with him as something precious he was lucky enough to be given.
When you pull back, snow settles softly into your hair. Hyunjin looks at you then and understands something with quiet clarity. This isn’t something he won. It isn’t something he charmed his way into or stumbled upon by luck alone. This is permission. This is trust. This is you opening a door just wide enough for him to stand in the threshold and he knows how rare that is.
He presses his forehead lightly to yours, breath mingling with yours in the cold air, and makes himself a promise. He won’t waste this. He won’t rush you. Won’t take more than you’re ready to give. He’ll stay. He’ll prove it, not with grand gestures or pretty words, but with patience, gentleness, and care.
Because being let in like this isn’t something to take for granted. It’s something to earn. And Hyunjin knows, with a certainty that settles deep in his chest, that he wants to spend whatever time it takes earning you.
-
Hyunjin waits by the back exit with his breath fogging faintly in the cold. Both hands are buried deep in his coat pockets, shoulders hunched against the wind, eyes fixed on the path you always take to the studio.
As expected, you appear a moment later with your coat buttoned up, bag slung over your shoulder, expression calm as ever.
He smiles before he can stop himself and he notices the subtle curl of your lips when you see him. Small. Almost nothing. But to him, it’s more than enough.
You keep walking and Hyunjin falls into step beside you, matching your pace easily.
“Going to the studio?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“Want to spend time with me instead?”
“Nope.”
The word is flat, but the smile tugging at your lips gives you away.
Hyunjin steps ahead of you suddenly, blocking your path. He turns, hands still in his pockets, a sly grin spreading across his face. “How about somewhere warm and quiet—where I’ll let you draw this pretty face of mine?”
He watches as you scoff but he already knows how this goes. You pretend you’re immune. You aren’t.
You sigh, defeated. “Yes to the warm and quiet. No to the pretty face.”
Despite it, Hyunjin’s grin widens. Before you can reconsider, he reaches out and takes your hand. You tense immediately, instinct flaring, trying to pull away but he holds firm. He shoves your interlocked hands into his coat pocket, warmth closing around both of you, and starts walking.
Hyunjin feels your hesitation soften just a little and he knows—this, too, is something he’s earning, step by step.
-
The city library is warm and quiet as Hyunjin promised. In fact, it’s too quiet that the only sounds that can be heard is the rustle of papers as people flips the pages on theirs book and that low, haunting creaks coming from the trolley the librarian pushes around to return the books to its shelf.
Hyunjin sits beside you on the wide windowsill on the third floor, knees drawn up slightly, sketchbook balanced against his thigh. Outside, the city stretches out in muted winter tones, rooftops dusted with snow, the skyline hazy and distant.
For a while, neither of you speak. Just pencil against paper. Breathing. Existing.
“You draw here often?” you ask suddenly, not looking at him.
“You’d know about it too,” he says lightly as he glances over at your drawing of the city skyline, “if you didn’t coop yourself up in that abandoned studio.”
Hyunjin smiles to himself because he knows your silence by now—how it’s not dismissal, just refusal to indulge him.
The quiet returns and Hyunjin steals glances at you as he draws. The way your brows knit when you focus. The way your shoulders relax when you forget you’re being watched. There’s something unguarded about you like this—soft, real, almost painfully beautiful.
He can’t help but wanting to know more what’s inside that pretty head of yours.
“What’s your favorite season?” he asks.
“Fall.”
Honestly, Hyunjin didn’t expect that you’d answer immediately. He didn’t even expect that you’d answer at all. He holds himself back from doing any form of celebration and pretends to continue drawing to ask more.
“Favorite singer?”
“Nina Simone.”
“Favorite food?”
“Shrimp scampi.”
“Favorite movie?”
“Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.”
“Favorite color?”
“Lilac.”
He leans in slightly, opening his mouth for another question and he closes it again when he finds you glaring at him.
“Stop asking questions,” you firmly scold.
He pouts, lower lip jutting out dramtically, genuinely offended. “I was going to ask if you want coffee.”
Your expression softens immediately. It’s subtle, but he sees it. “I’d like coffee,” you say quietly.
Hyunjin smiles and sets his sketchbook aside, then, just to push his luck, leans his head against your shoulder, letting it rest there for a beat. “Wait here, yeah?” he murmurs.
You hum in response.
He lifts his head and looks at you seriously. “I’m serious. Stay here. Don’t go anywhere.”
You sigh, rolling your eyes to the side. “Yes. I’ll be here.”
Satisfied, Hyunjin smiles again before walking off, warmth settling in his chest.
-
It’s hard to act calm when Hyunjin leans in too close and you can feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek when he tells you to wait here. His voice drops, soft but serious in a way that surprises you.
“Stay here. Don’t go anywhere.”
It doesn’t sound teasing. It sounds like he means it like he’s afraid that if he turns his back, you’ll disappear. You inhale air before turning your head to look at him.
“Yes,” you steadily says even though something in your chest tightens. “I’ll be here.”
Only then does he nod, satisfied, before finally turning and walking away.
You exhale slowly once he’s gone and force yourself to focus back on your sketchbook. You draw because drawing is easier than thinking, but your eyes somehow keep drifting to Hyunjin’s sketchbook that sits beside you, unattended and flipped open. The page catches the light from the window, graphite smudged at the edges.
You hesitate because you know that you shouldn’t look into someone’s personal thing. You’d hate it too if someone does that. But you can’t resist for long, you pick it up and flip one page, then another.
They’re drawings of people. Strangers, mostly. A boy laughing with his head thrown back. An old woman with deep smile lines. Flowers sketched with detailed attention, places caught mid-breath. All of it beautiful in that quiet, unshowy way that feels honest.
“You know, most people ask first,” a voice says from behind you.
You jolt, nearly dropping the sketchbook.
Hyunjin stands there, coffee in hands, eyebrows raised, not amused.
“I—I didn’t mean to. I just—” you stammer, fully aware that you did wrong.
“Who allowed you to look through my sketchbook… without me?” he asks flatly and then breaks into a big, smile. The kind that makes his eyes form two crescent moons.
He sits back down beside you and hands you your coffee first before setting his aside. He gently takes the sketchbook from your hands. “Since you’ve already seen it, I might as well explain,” he says, the smile still etched on his face.
He flips the pages to the beginning. He eventually stops, pointing to a sketch. “This is from last summer. Kids playing in a fountain. I ruined my shoes that day.”
You smile despite yourself.
He turns the page to show a different drawing. “This one’s a little girl petting a puppy. It wasn’t even her puppy. It just came to her, asking to be petted.”
More pages, more behind stories of his drawing. Flowers from the botanical garden. A garden from one of his trips, drawn with memory rather than precision. He talks with his whole body—hands moving, voice warm, eyes lit with something unguarded.
You watch him more than the drawings. This love for his art that spills out of him naturally. Then he flips to a rough sketch of something familiar, something you’ve seen before.
You place your hand on his wrist, stopping him from flipping the page. “Wait.”
He looks at you, surprised.
“Is that… the sketch of your painting? The one that won last year’s art prize?”
He stills, not expecting that. “You know that one?”
“Yeah,” you admit. “I can see why you won. You’re… really talented.”
You hesitate, then add with sincerity, “I think you were born for this. Painting. Creating beautiful things.”
Hyunjin goes quiet, so quiet that fear flickers through you. You wonder if you somehow crossed a line, if you said too much. Then he smiles and your worries melt away with it.
“Thank you,” he says with a soft, almost disbelieving smile. “That… means a lot. Coming from you.”
You smile, a little shy. You didn’t expect that your words hold that kind of effect on him. You shake your head quickly. “You don’t have to—”
Hyunjin leans in and doesn’t stop until his plush lips meet yours in the most innocent kiss of lips meeting lips, softness on softness. He kisses you like he’s careful not to scare something fragile away.
You stiffen for half a heartbeat and honestly, you’re tired of fighting it. You cave in, slowly part your mouth open, allowing him to deepen the kiss, allowing him more of you to taste.
He retaliates by sliding his hand to the back of your head, holding you with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. He tilts his head, angling his head with such calculation to deepen the kiss the way he wants it. He parts his mouth just slightly and a soft gasp slipped out of you when you feel his tongue slipping between your lips.
In the next moment, Hyunjin pulls away for a brief moment only to have your lower lip tugged between his lips, sucking at it gently. He lets go to kiss you again, deeper, a little harder.
You can hear your own loud heartbeat and somehow, the sound of the kissing is even louder in your ears. Your heart flutters wildly, cracking open, and your fingers clutch the edge of his sketchbook like it’s the only solid thing you can hold on to.
When he pulls back, he smiles. Then he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear and keeps it there. “Thank you,” he says once again and you’re not sure if he’s thanking you for your words, the kiss or both.
You mind goes blank as he presses another quick kiss to your lips, lighter this time. He puts an arm around you as he looks out of the window.
“We should go,” he says, noticing the snow coming down in flurries now. “Before the weather gets bad.”
You nod, moving on instinct, heart still unsteady, still airborne. But he takes your hand and somehow, that’s enough to keep you grounded as you walk together into the falling snow.
-
The city lights blurring past the windows like smeared paint. Snow taps lightly against the windshield, rhythmic, almost soothing. You cradle the warmth of your coffee between your palms, watching his reflection in the glass. He glances over after a while like he’s been thinking about saying something and finally gives in.
“Do you want to grab dinner first?” he asks casually, cautiously.
You shake your head, already smiling a little. “No. It’s too cold.”
He nods easily, accepting it without fuss, eyes back on the road.
For a second, that seems like the end of it. Then you add, almost absentmindedly, “We could order food instead. And just… have it at my place.”
The words settle in the car but you see the exact moment it clicks. Hyunjin stills for half a beat. Not enough to be obvious, but enough that you notice: the slight tension in his jaw, the way his grip on the steering wheel tightens before he loosens it again. He keeps his eyes forward, like if he doesn’t look at you, he can play it cool.
“Oh,” he says. Then, a breath later, “Yeah. We can definitely do that.”
You turn your face toward the window, biting back a smile as warmth blooms in your chest. You can practically feel the nerves rolling off him now, hidden behind that calm tone like he’s trying very hard not to overthink the fact that you just invited him into your space.
Snow keeps falling as the car keeps moving and you keep smiling to yourself, holding onto the small thrill of knowing you’re the reason his heart’s probably racing just a little faster right now.
-
In your bedroom, you change into comfortable clothes—an old sweater that smells faintly like laundry detergent and home, leggings worn thin at the knees. You take a breath before stepping back out like you’re crossing some invisible line.
Hyunjin is in your living room, hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans, moving slowly as if the space might spook if he’s too loud. He stops in front of the small painting on the wall—the one of your childhood pet cat, all crooked whiskers and warm amber eyes. He leans in a little, studying it with genuine focus.
“Did you order the food?” you ask, leaning against the doorframe.
He startles, just a bit. “Yeah—yeah, I did. It should be here soon.”
You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. He looks… lost. Awkward. Like he’s been dropped into unfamiliar territory without a map. It’s strangely endearing, especially considering the rumors, the reputation—Hyunjin, who supposedly knows exactly what to do in every room he walks into.
“You can sit,” you tell him gently. “Make yourself comfortable.”
He nods, then pauses when you add, “Do you want something to drink?”
“A glass of water would be nice,” he says.
You head into the kitchen, already reaching for a glass, but you hear his footsteps trailing after you. You glance over your shoulder to see him standing by the fridge, eyes scanning the cluttered door.
He points at the collections of fridge magnets and then his gaze lands on the slightly faded Christmas card tucked under one of them.
“Can I see that?” he asks, softer now.
After dinner, you stand at the sink, sleeves pushed up, warm water running over your hands as you wash the dishes one by one. Hyunjin stands beside you, close enough that your elbows almost brush, carefully drying each plate before setting it aside. He hums under his breath, something absentminded, and you pretend not to notice how domestic it all feels.
He glances out the window and stills. Snow is coming down harder now, thick and relentless, the streetlights outside blurred into soft halos.
“I should probably head home soon,” he says, wistful.
Something in your chest tightens. The thought of him leaving, of the door closing behind him and the apartment going quiet again, makes you uneasy in a way you weren’t prepared for. Before you can overthink it, the words slip out. “You can stay,” you say, casual, like it doesn’t mean anything.
A beat later, you quickly add, “I just think that it’s not safe to drive in this weather.”
He turns to you slowly, brows knitting together in confusion, like he’s trying to figure out if he heard you right. Then a teasing grin spreads across his face as he leans closer.
“Are you worried about me?” he playfully asks.
You roll your eyes, focusing a little too hard on the plate in your hands. “Never mind. I take it back.”
Hyunjin moves behind you, arms wrapping around your waist. You freeze as he presses closer, his solid chest against your back, his chin settling into the crook of your neck. He nuzzles there and your breath catches despite yourself.
“You’re so considerate, so kind for not letting me drive in this weather,” he murmurs followed with a quiet laugh. “Thank you for letting me stay.”
You fight the smile threatening to give you away, squirming in his hold. “Let go,” you say, failing to sound firm.
He doesn’t obey right away but you stop resisting, letting yourself lean back just a fraction, let the moment stretch until it feels dangerously easy to stay there.
After a while, you clear your throat and try again. “I still need to finish the dishes.”
He gasps dramatically like the idea has only just occurred to him. “Oh. Right. Dishes.”
He releases you at once, stepping back with a sheepish grin, and picks up the towel again. As he resumes drying the dishes, his smile lingers while your heart keeps doing things you pretend not to notice.
-
You pull the blanket free and give it a sharp shake, letting it settle over the mattress. Hyunjin stands on the other side of the bed, holding the extra pillow, that same smile glued to his face like he’s won something and decided not to gloat about it out loud.
“What,” you say, narrowing your eyes at him as you tuck one corner of the blanket in. “Why do you look like that?”
He only shrugs, still smiling, eyes following your hands as you work. It makes you oddly self-conscious, like every small movement is being carefully memorized.
You straighten up and meet his gaze. “Just so we’re clear, we’re sharing the bed because the sofa is too small for you. That’s it.”
Hyunjin nods like he’s been expecting this explanation all along. “I know. Blaming my long legs as we speak,” he says but he looks satisfied. Content in a way that makes your chest feel tight.
“And,” you add quickly, “nothing is going to happen.”
This time, he tilts his head, considering it for a second before shrugging. “Who knows?”
The smirk that follows is immediate and infuriating. You swing the pillow in your hands and hit him lightly in the chest.
He laughs and catches the pillow mid-air before it can fall. Instead of tossing it back, he hugs it to his chest, still grinning at you like this is exactly where he wants to be.
“Violence already?” he says, amused. “And we haven’t even gone to bed yet.”
You turn away to hide your face, busying yourself with smoothing the sheets, pretending your heart isn’t beating too fast.
Behind you, Hyunjin stays right where he is—smiling, pillow clutched to his chest, looking entirely too happy for someone who’s been warned that nothing is going to happen.
-
The night stretches quietly around you.
The lamp by the bed is dimmed low, casting soft shadows along the walls, and beyond the window the snow keeps falling. You and Hyunjin lie side by side under the blanket, warm and snug, a careful space kept between your bodies like an unspoken agreement. Close, but not touching.
You talk about the paintings around your apartment, the small ones tucked into corners and above shelves. You tell him which ones are yours, which ones were made by your mom.
There’s a pause, then he turns his head slightly toward you. “Can I ask about the Christmas card?”
“What about it?”
“Your grandparents called you ‘little beaver’ in it.” His tone is gentle, curious. “Why’s that?”
This is the kind of thing you don’t usually give away. It feels small, harmless but it’s yours, and it comes with the risk of being seen too clearly. Still, he’s lying there on his side, facing you, eyes patient and open, waiting without pressure.
So you give in. You keep your voice soft and low as you share. “When I was little. I was obsessed with beavers. Like—really obsessed.”
You let out a quiet breath, half a laugh before continuing. “I even made up this… beaver dance. I used to perform it for my grandparents on family gatherings, birthdays, Christmases… Anway, it was stupid.”
You wince, bracing for teasing. Instead, Hyunjin’s smile widens, warm and earnest. “That’s adorable.”
You roll your eyes, but it doesn’t quite land. “That’s why they still call me that. Little beaver. Even to this day.”
He nods like it makes perfect sense. “Are you still obsessed with beavers?”
“…A little,” you admit, a soft chuckle slipping out before you can stop it.
He grins. “Do you still remember the dance?”
“Barely.”
His eyes light up as he turns more fully toward you. “Do you think I’ll ever get to see it?”
You snort. “Never.”
“Ever?”
You shake your head firmly. “Never. Ever.”
He sighs dramatically, disappointed in a way that’s clearly exaggerated, but still sincere enough to make you smile. “That’s tragic.”
Silence settles after that, the kind that doesn’t demand filling. You glance at him without meaning to and he’s already looking at you. Soft, dark brown eyes deeply staring into yours.
Your gaze drops and notice his hand resting in the empty space between you. Palm turned up and open. Fingers relaxed, slightly curled, like an invitation.
Slowly, hesitantly, you reach for it. Your fingers brush his first, testing, before slipping between his. You lace them together loosely, like you might pull away at any second.
You can’t remember the last time you shared a bed with someone like this. Under the same blanket. Talking about nothing and everything. Offering childhood memories instead of defenses. Being listened to—truly listened to.
Once upon a time, you did this without fear and it broke you.
You remember what came after: being hurt, manipulated, lied to. Cheated on. Your heart shattered so completely that you were sure it would never fit back together the same way. So you built strong walls. Grew a thicker shell. Learned how to survive by keeping everything out. You told yourself that strength meant distance.
But lying here now, fingers tangled with his, you realize something else: you’re strong because you’re fragile. Because you feel things deeply. Because you still can. And it terrifies you.
The fear creeps in quietly at first, then all at once. Your chest tightens. Your breath turns shallow. Your heart shakes like it’s shrinking in on itself, and suddenly it feels hard to breathe.
“I’m… scared,” you whisper, the words barely making it past your throat.
Hyunjin turns fully toward you, concern flickering across his face but not panic. Just understanding. He knows exactly what you mean.
“I’m here,” he says it so low like a whispered prayer. “You can hold on to me.”
You see it in his eyes: sincerity, patience, something steady and real. He isn’t rushing you toward anything. He’s just offering to stay.
You scoot closer before you can talk yourself out of it and the moment you do, his arms gently come around you, pulling you into his chest. He’s warm, solid, familiar already. His scent surrounds you, calming something deep in your chest you didn’t realize was still hurting.
You realize then that loving someone is a leap—an act of faith. It’s stepping off the edge and trusting that someone will catch you.
And right now, wrapped in Hyunjin’s arms, you’re not sure you’re ready for it but your hand clutches at his shirt, clinging onto his chest because it feels like you’re already falling.
-
The weather’s been kinder lately. You notice it halfway through class, the way the light slips in through the window without that harsh winter glare, the sky pale instead of heavy. Snow still lingers in corners of the campus, but the air feels forgiving like it’s giving you a break. You rest your chin against your palm and stare outside a little too long, thoughts drifting somewhere warm and soft and entirely distracting.
The bell rings before you realize it. You gather your things and step out into the hallway. You stop short the second you notice the long, silky hair, the stance that oozes quiet confidence and the eyes that forms into crescents as he smiles.
Hyunjin stops leaning against the wall outside your classroom, his whole face lights up like he’s been waiting only for this exact second. Before you can say a word, he’s already grabbing your hand.
“I still have another class and—” you start, but he’s moving, pulling you gently into the flow of students flooding the hallway.
“I know,” he says easily, like he’s reading your mind.
You glance at him, suspicious. “Then why are you—”
He veers sharply to the side, tugging you with him and slipping into an empty classroom. The door shuts quietly behind you, cutting off the noise of the hallway.
“Hyunjin,” you warn, half-amused, half-confused.
He turns to face you, eyes gleaming. “Do you have your apartment keys with you?”
Your brows knit together. “…What?”
He tilts his head, patient but clearly pleased with himself. “Your keys.”
Slowly, you nod. “Yeah?”
“Where?”
Still confused, you reach into your bag, fingers rummaging past notebooks and pencils before closing around the cold metal. You pull them out and Hyunjin snatches them from your hand.
“Hey—!” you protest.
“I’m borrowing these,” he says cheerfully.
“For what?”
He smirks. “It’s a surprise.”
You groan immediately. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“That’s because you don’t like surprises,” he counters, clearly enjoying this far too much.
He steps closer, hands settling on your arms, grounding you in place. “One more thing,” he says, suddenly serious. “You’re not allowed to come home before seven.”
You stare at him. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Hyunjin—”
He cuts you off by leaning in and kissing you. It’s long and lingering, the kind that steals your breath and leaves your thoughts scattered. His lips are warm, familiar now in a way that still makes your chest flutter.
When he finally pulls back, he flashes you a crooked grin, eyes bright with mischief. “See you later,” he says.
You don’t answer—just let out a long, defeated sigh.
He laughs softly, already turning to go. But after two steps, he spins back around and presses another quick peck to your lips, stealing it before you can react.
This time, he leaves for real—half-jogging down the hallway, giggling like he’s just won something. You watch him go, the messy bun bouncing at the back of his head, your heart doing something reckless in your chest.
It’s only when the hallway starts to empty that you realize you’re almost late for your next class.
-
You’ve got a little more than two hours to kill. Which feels illegal, somehow—being told not to go home to your own apartment. You end up walking to the studio out of habit, letting your feet decide for you while your mind keeps circling back to the same thing: seven o’clock.
When you step inside, the familiar scent of clay and dust greets you. Ben’s already there, hunched over his sculpture, headphones on, head nodding slightly with whatever he’s listening to.
Noticing your arrival, Ben slips one side of his headphones down and looks at you, eyebrows lifting. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
You halt to a stop. “Why not?”
He squints at you, then smirks. “It’s Valentine’s Day. Thought you and Hyunjin would be… I don’t know. Have plans.”
You scoff, a short laugh escaping you before you can stop it. So that’s the kind of “surprise” Hyunjin’s cooking up. A valentine’s day surprise.
You shake your head and walk to your usual spot. The motions come back to you easily: apron on, hands working the material, body remembering what to do even when your mind refuses to cooperate. You used to lose yourself here.
Now, your phone keeps stealing your focus. You check the time. Put it away. Work for five minutes. Check again.
The sculpture takes shape under your hands, but you’re not really seeing it. Your thoughts keep drifting out of your body back to Hyunjin, smirking as he snatched your apartment keys from your hand.
You catch yourself calculating instead of creating. How long it takes to walk home. What time you’d have to leave to arrive around the allowed time for you to come home. You feel restless, anticipatory in a way that makes you want to roll your eyes at yourself.
When you finally glance at the clock and realize it’s time, you don’t hesitate. You peel off your apron and grab your bag.
Ben looks up just as you’re heading for the door, one eyebrow arching. “Leaving already?” he asks.
You pause and smile. “Yeah.”
He doesn’t tease you. Just nods and says, “Be safe on your way home.”
“I will,” you reply, soft.
You wave once and step outside.
The cold hits immediately, but this time, you don’t brace yourself against it. You pull your coat tighter and start walking, breath fogging in the air, heart steady and warm. Because now you have something to come home to.
-
You inhale air before pushing the door to your apartment open and the first thing that hits you is the smell. Something warm, rich… and dangerously close to burning.
You step inside, frowning slightly, and you find Hyunjin in your kitchen, sleeves pushed up, hair tied messily, standing over the stove like he’s in the middle of a battle. Steam rises aggressively from a pot of pasta he’s just strained, curling into the air as he waves a towel uselessly at it, half-coughing, half-cursing under his breath.
For a second, you just stand there and watch him.
When he turns his head and finds you there, his eyes widen, panic flashing across his face like he’s just been caught committing a crime. “Why are you here?”
“Because this is my apartment,” you simply answer.
He stares at you, horrified, then asks more urgently this time. “No, why are you here this early?”
You calmly pull out your phone and hold it up between you, the screen glowing. 7:14 p.m.
“I came right on time.”
Hyunjin gasps like the realization physically knocks the air out of him. “Oh—shoot.”
He whips his head back toward the stove, muttering under his breath. “I lost track of time—oh my god—”
He spirals for a second, moving between the counter and the stove, hands everywhere, unsure whether to save the pasta, turn off the heat, or simply lie down on the floor and accept defeat.
He eventually stops. Straightens his back. Takes a breath. Runs a hand through his hair like he’s trying to reboot himself. He turns back to you, forcing a smile that’s a little too tight but very sincere. “Okay. So. I need… like, ten minutes. Maybe fifteen. To set things up.”
You open your mouth, ready to say you can help but one look at him tells you he’s already juggling too much. You don’t want to be another thing he has to manage so you nod.
“Go get changed,” he says gently, ushering you toward the hallway. “I’ll call you when it’s… ready.”
You nod once again and then turn toward your bedroom. As you close the door behind you, the sounds of clattering pans and frantic movement resume on the other side. And despite yourself, despite the smell of nearly burnt pasta, despite the chaos on the other side of the door, despite the way everything is clearly not going according to plan— you smile.
-
It’s been twenty minutes since you sit on the edge of your bed, already changed, already ready.
You quietly open the door just a crack to have a peek into situation on the other side of the door. Hyunjin crossing the living room, disappearing into the kitchen, coming back with something in his hands. He doesn’t look done. Not even close.
So you quietly push the door shut again, giving him the grace of time. You us the spare time to brush your hair slowly, add a sheer layer of lipstick—just enough color to look alive. A few sprays of perfume at your wrists and neck.
When you peek again, the living room lights are off. Your heart does a small, traitorous flip.
You close the door gently this time, clear your throat, and raise your voice just enough to carry. “Can I come out now?”
There’s a pause and then the sound of movement that is rather clumsy.
“Give me a second,” Hyunjin says, slightly breathless.
You bite back a smile, picturing him rushing around your apartment, adjusting things, fixing something that probably doesn’t need fixing.
A moment later, he announces, “Okay. You can come out now.”
You inhale air, steady yourself and then turn the knob.
The living room is dark, save for the soft glow spilling from the kitchen and the amber flicker of candles arranged on the dining table. The light dances gently, low and intimate, casting shadows that make the space feel smaller like the world has narrowed down to just this room.
Hyunjin stands beside the table, changed into a white shirt and a tie. And— blue jeans?
You almost laugh at the combination, but the thought dissolves the second you take in his whole look and honestly, he looks good in everything. What you like the most though is the way he’s standing there now, a little nervous, a little proud, smiling at you like this moment matters more than anything.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says.
Once upon a time, you would’ve scoffed. Rolled your eyes. Thought it was corny. Cringe. Too much. But now, standing here on the receiving end of candlelight and effort and someone wanting to make something special just for you, you understand.
Those reactions were never about the romance. They were about never being chosen like this. And right now, you feel special.
You take slow steps toward him, the candlelight catching in your eyes, and Hyunjin’s smile never wavers even for a second, a little too soft for someone who used to feel so untouchable. Then he reaches behind his back.
“Uh—” he starts, and pulls out a bouquet.
You stop right in front of him as he offers it to you, both hands like it’s something precious. You take it, fingers brushing his, and he exhales like he’s been holding his breath this whole time.
“I didn’t know your favorite flowers,” he says quickly, a little sheepish, “but you said your favorite color is lilac, so… I got lilac.”
You lift the bouquet to your nose, breathing in the subtle floral scent, hiding your smile behind the soft petals.
“And,” he adds, rubbing the back of his neck, “apparently there are a lot of kinds of lilac. So I kind of… got all of them.”
In this light, stripped of rumors and confidence and reputation, Hyunjin is just… a boy—slightly silly, a bit awkward, visibly nervous and somehow, that makes him unbearably adorable.
You lower the bouquet, take one more step closer. “Thank you,” you murmur.
Before you can change your mind, you lean in to press a quick kiss on his lips. When you pull away, you see the surprise flicker across his face, eyes wide for half a second before he blinks.
You grin. “My lipstick got on you.”
He smacks his lips together experimentally, like he’s tasting it. “Oh.”
You tilt your head. “Never mind. It looks good on you.”
His smile turns slow, dangerous in the gentlest way. “You should put more on me then.”
You laugh. “I’ll go grab it from my room real quick.”
“Never mind,” he says quickly, moving to pull out your chair. “Sit.”
You raise an eyebrow, playful. “Wow. Very demanding.”
But you obey, sitting down and placing the bouquet carefully on the table. Up close, you really take in the effort—the candles, the plates, the way he’s tried to make everything feel intentional.
“Can I eat now?” you ask hopefully. “I’m starving.”
He holds up a finger, stopping you. “Wine first.”
You wait patiently as he uncaps the bottle, eyes squeezing shut in anticipation and fear. When the cork finally pops, his shoulders jump, and you both burst into laughter. He pours the wine, rich red filling your glasses, the aphrodisiac smell of it wafting around the room.
“To—” he starts, lifting his glass, then hesitates.
“To what?” you ask.
He goes quiet, genuinely thinking.
“How about… successfully not setting my apartment on fire?”
He laughs, relieved. “Yeah. That.”
You clink your glasses together, finally having that sip of sweet, earthy tone of the wine.
“Okay. Now can we eat?” you ask impatiently.
His hands fly to the lids covering the plates of dinner and sighs dramatically before reveal them. “Your favorite. Shrimp scampi.”
You lean in, impressed. It looks… good. But you don’t skip the chance to tease him. “Is it safe to eat though?”
He nods confidently. “I followed the recipe. I just can’t remember if I added salt or baking soda.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “Thank you for the food.”
You have a taste of it and it’s not exactly how you like it, but it’s good. For someone who made it for the first time in his life, he did well.
He watches you too closely. “Well?”
“It’s good,” you say.
“You can be honest.”
“It’s good because I’m hungry,” you jokingly say.
He smiles, entirely unoffended.
Dinner continues like that, filled with teasing, light conversation, easy laughter that comes naturally and sitting there, you realize something quietly—
You feel content.
-
The plates are empty now, pushed to the side, crumbs wiped away. The candles have burned lower, wax pooling lazily at their bases, and the room feels warmer like it’s wrapped itself around the two of you.
“So,” Hyunjin says, swirling the dark red in his glass. “Did you like the dinner?”
You nod without hesitation. “Surprisingly, I did.”
His face brightens immediately, pride blooming so openly it makes your chest ache a little. But you lift a finger before he can bask in it too long. “I liked everything. Except the part where I wasn’t allowed to come home to my own apartment.”
His lips form a coy pout. “I’m not sorry.”
You huff, but there’s no real heat behind it. Silence settles again, gentle this time. You take another sip of your wine, then look at him, sitting there in your space, surrounded by candlelight and effort and intention.
“…Thank you,” you say quietly. “I don’t remember the last time someone did something like this for me.”
“Yeah,” he says lightly, “I can tell.”
You shoot him a look but it does make him feel the slightest but intimidated like you hope it would.
“That look doesn’t scare me anymore,” he says with a soft chuckle.
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself.
He drinks from his glass, then glances at you over the rim. “By the way, did you prepare a gift for me?”
Your brows knit together. “What gift?”
“It’s Valentine’s Day. I gave you plenty of time to think of a gift.”
You gape at him. “You didn’t even tell me you were doing this. I only found out it's Valentine’s Day from Ben.”
“Oh, so you had a source,” he counters.
“That doesn’t count!”
The argument dissolves quickly into bickering and slowly descends into hilarity, then burst into laughter, the kind that makes your shoulders loosen and your chest feel light.
“Okay, okay,” he says, holding up his hands. “You don’t have to get me anything.”
You nod. “Good.”
“But,” he adds, eyes glinting, “it doesn’t have to be an object.”
You narrow your eyes, not liking the sound of it.
His gaze flicks past you, toward the fridge, toward the Christmas card. He leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes crinkling as his voice softens into something dangerously sweet. “Can I see the beaver dance?”
You groan, leaning back in your chair. “Absolutely not.”
He clasps his hands together. “Please.”
“I barely remember it.”
“I’ll take a glimpse. A hint. A historical reenactment,” he tries his best to coax you.
You mumble something incoherent, dragging a hand down your face. Every instinct tells you to refuse, but then you look at him. At the care. The effort. The way he looks at you like this moment matters.
It’s just a silly little dance, you tell yourself.
With a long sigh, you cave. “Fine.”
His grin is immediate and radiant, like he’s just been handed the greatest gift in the world.
You drain half your glass in one go before you can change your mind, the wine warming your chest as you stand up from the table.
“Sit,” you tell him, pointing at the sofa like it’s an order.
Hyunjin obeys immediately, a little too happily, hands clasped together on his lap, eyes bright with anticipation.
You stand in front of him and inhale. Exhale. You wait another second to let the wine takes effect on your nerves.
This is a terrible idea. You tell yourself but begin moving anyway. You lift one hand then immediately cringe.
“Wait. I need another second,” you mutter, grabbing your glass again and taking another long sip before returning to your spot.
Okay. Let’s get it over with.
You stare at the floor, replaying fragments of memory you haven’t touched in years. Made up lyrics only you remember. Movements half-lost to time. Your hands curl into small fists, lifting under your chin, elbows tucked in as you sway awkwardly from side to side the way a beaver does.
You mumble-sing under your breath about a beaver who can swim, about it eating apple, about things that made sense only to a child once. You shuffle, hop a little, mimic gnawing motions, cheeks burning, laughter bubbling up because you can’t believe you’re actually doing this.
The whole time, you’re avoiding Hyunjin’s eyes, hate to catch that smile of satisfaction on his devastatingly beautiful face. You continue until you can’t recall the rest of the choreography from memory but you finish with one last ridiculous beaver pose.
That’s when you finally glance up—still laughing, still breathless, ready to see him doubled over, teasing you forever about this.
However, Hyunjin isn’t laughing. He is very still. He looks at you with something so soft, so full, it almost hurts to see. Fondness, yes—but also something deeper. Wistful. Like he’s been shown a piece of sunlight he didn’t know he was missing.
Your stance falter, so does your smile. “…You can just say it,” you joke weakly. “I look silly. Or funny. Or—”
He stands before you can finish. In two long strides, he closes the distance, takes your hands gently, and guides you down onto the sofa. Then he kneels in front of you, right there. Your hands are still in his as he looks up at you, eyes shining even in the low light, voice trembling just enough to be honest.
“I don’t know how much you’ve been hurt. But I hate, I hate whoever made you feel like you had to hide this part of yourself.”
Your chest tightens but you daringly look back into his eyes, holding his gaze steadily.
“I hate that someone made you build walls,” he continues, gaze never leaving yours. “When there’s something this beautiful inside you.”
Your heart quivers because he sees it. All of it. And he isn’t flinching.
“Thank you,” he whispers, squeezing your hands. “For trusting me with this. With you.”
Your vision blurs as tears pooling in your eyes. It’s the way he looks at you, touched you with words that aren’t just words, they’re heavy with meaning and intentions and emotions.
“I promise,” he says, voice steady now, full of conviction, “I’ll do everything I can to make you happy. To make you smile. To make sure you never feel like you have to hide again.”
Tears spill despite yourself and in that moment, you know it with bone-deep certainty. He’s there. He’s not stepping back. He’s on his knees, ready to catch you.
So you lean forward and kiss him.
And this time, you don’t hesitate.
You take the leap.
-
The snow that once clung stubbornly to the ground is gone now, reduced to wet patches and darkened sidewalks, and the light outside feels softer, warmer. The sky is pale and open, the air no longer biting. You smile to yourself because spring is coming—you can feel it in the way the world seems to be slowly loosening its grip.
When the bell rings and you step out into the low hum of the hallway, Hyunjin is already waiting outside your class, leaning against the wall like he’s always been meant to be. His smile is warm and beautiful when his eyes find yours, and something in your chest eases at the sight of it. You walk straight into his space without thinking, rising onto your toes to press a quick kiss to his lips. He lets out a soft laugh, surprised but pleased, and when your fingers slide into his, he laces them together like he’s been doing it for years instead of weeks.
You move down the hallway hand in hand, carried along by the crowd but somehow separate from it, talking over each other about nothing and everything—coffee or a walk, somewhere quiet or somewhere familiar, now or later.
Hyunjin squeezes your hand as he talks, glancing at you like he’s trying to remember this exact moment, as if this ordinary afternoon matters. You bump your shoulder into his on purpose, smiling, already knowing you’ll figure it out together, wherever you end up.
And maybe that’s how it begins and continues.
Maybe the future is unclear, maybe there are still questions neither of you are ready to answer yet, but as you walk beside Hyunjin, you know one thing for certain: you are no longer afraid of wanting, of choosing, of loving out loud.
And if loving Hyunjin means stepping forward without knowing exactly where you’ll land, then this time, you’re willing to do it bravely, openly—together.
-
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It's a disease in which the affected coughs up flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. It ends when the beloved returns their feelings, or when the affected dies. It can be cured through surgical removal, but the chances of it coming stronger than before are high.
Hanahaki disease has three stages.
Stage one: the white roses.
That's when the feelings are brand new or simply dismissed as nothing but a crush. They're not as painful and the coughs are not as consistent. One could live a somewhat comfortable life with them. This stage is the longest, especially when there's no prior relationship between the two.
Stage two: the pink roses.
The feelings are getting stronger. This happens when the affected gets closer to the beloved. Most of the time, getting to know the person solidifies the crush and turns it into a deep affection. Most doctors urge their patients to start thinking about their treatment options or else there would be no coming back.
Stage three: the red roses.
The few people who got to this stage described it as the strongest pain they've ever felt in their lives. The petals turn into full bloom roses making it hard for the effected to breathe and cough them out and would require hospitalisation to make the last few weeks of their lives bearable. This stage is the shortest and at this point surgery would be too risky as the stems of the roses would be too entangled with the person's lungs.
Y/n was at stage two.
“Oh my god, are you okay?”
Panic was evident in Hyunjin's voice. He knew of hanahaki disease. Read about it in books, saw it in movies, heard stories about it in music. It's one of those things that a lot of people talk about and even fake on social media, but it was so rare that the fakers were easily spotted.
He never expected to see it right in front of him.
He stood next to her, eyes wide open and hands shaking, “normal?! Coughing up flower petals is not normal, y/n! You have hanaha-”
“Shhh!!” she snapped to cut him off and turned to look at him with a finger pressed firmly against her lips, “are you trying to tell the entire library my business?! Be quiet!”
After he apologised, he helped her clean up with the supplies she carries with her before sitting back down. There was a pregnant pause afterwards, one filled with so many questions from Hyunjin, and she could tell. He kept fidgeting with his fingers, eyes looking at her briefly before turning away to look at anything else and lips parting as if he was about to say something before stopping himself. She let out a deep sigh, preparing herself mentally.
“Go ahead, ask your questions.”
“Who in the world is worth putting yourself through all this pain ?”
She let out a chuckle and he frowned his eyebrows in confusion. “If only he knew,” she thought to herself. Of course, she wasn't going to tell him the truth. That she was going through all of this because her heart chose him as her beloved. That she hoped and prayed some miracle would happen and he would return her feelings. That she would let herself reach stage three if it meant seeing him smile because of her. She simply replied with a shrug and a small smile.
“If you are already on stage two, it means you've had these feelings for a long time. Why don't you confess and save yourself from hurting?”
She wished it was this easy for her. Y/n didn't fear rejection, she feared embarrassment. She didn't want to become the joke of campus because she confessed her feelings to the most popular guy who also happens to not only be taken but also way out of her league.
“It's not that easy. The person... They're in a relationship, a very happy and healthy one. I would be a really bad and ugly person if I ignored that for my own selfish benefits.”
He tried to reason with her and explain that getting rejected might be beneficial for her to get rid of those feelings, but she cut him off, too tired to continue this conversation. She thought his question would be less... Specific? Personal? She didn't know how to explain it exactly, but they hurt her more than she thought they would
“Can we stop talking about it? It happened, you saw it, it dies here and no one else hears about it. Can we finish this project now?”
Sensing the clear frustration in her tone, Hyunjin nodded his head and dropped the topic. He really wanted to help her. Over the past two months of working together, he grew to like her a lot as a person. She was very interesting and they had a lot of interests and favourite things in common, way more than he has with his current partner and friends. Conversations with her became very easy after she got comfortable with him and working with her was a breeze. It hurt him to see her in so much pain and agony over a person who was probably not even worth it.
When he got home, he decided that he couldn't just stand there and watch her waste away her life. First , he researched ways to help make her condition less painful and more manageable. Most suggested to just get the surgery done but there were some remedies he could make for her that a lot of people said were helpful. Then, he started researching about her. He tried to find who her friends were and anyone she hung out with in the hopes of pinpointing the person she has feelings for. He went to Felix first. He was the same major as her and they shared the same classes every semester. Thankfully, Felix was one of his very close friends and didn't question why he was asking him so many questions about his project partner.
“She keeps to herself. I don't think I've ever seen her hang out with anyone. Oh, except for Leaf the cat, she's the only one he allows to pet him.”
When that failed, he decided to find out when did her feelings exactly start and maybe that would lead him to the beloved. He knew that she was coughing when they first started the project so the disease probably developed before that. Stage two started only a couple of days prior so he looked into that more closely.
"Stage two of Hanahaki disease typically starts 6 to 8 weeks after the affected individual develops close proximity to the person of their affection. This stage is primarily characterized by a distinct change in the coloration of the flower petals, which transition from white to pink. Prior to its onset, patients may experience a range of prodromal symptoms including recurrent fevers, sweating, tremors, and more difficulty breathing."
Hyunjin stared intensely at his laptop as he read the article to try and make sense of it. He remembered seeing her exhibit all those symptoms and at the time she blamed it on her constant allergies and the random flu that hit everyone who lived in the dorms. She most definitely lied to him so he wouldn't find out she had the disease. He sighed deeply and pushed the laptop away from him. He was still confused on why she was allowing herself to go through this. Reading the symptoms and side effects alone made him vow to never allow himself or any of his friends to go through something like that.
"Stage two of Hanahaki disease typically starts 6 to 8 weeks after the affected individual develops close proximity to the person of their affection."
“Weird,” he mumbled to himself, his brows frowning as he stared intensely at the calendar he made which detailed the timeline of the disease’s development “we started working on the project exactly 8 weeks before stage two sta-”
Living with flowers in your lungs wasn't for the weak. They make it hard to breathe, you're constantly coughing up bloodied petals mid conversation and you have to make sure no one around you notices, your chest hurts. It's all very inconvenient. She wished she could get rid of them, but it wasn't as easy as one might think.
It's not like Hyunjin—that's the name of the guy behind the flowers in her lungs—knew of her existence. He was a whole different major, didn't share any classes with her, they didn't even have friends in common! But when she coughed those bloodied white petals for the first time, she knew why they were there.
She had been crushing on Hyunjin since she laid eyes on him three years prior on her first day of college. He was everything she would describe when asked about her type. Tall, pretty, fashionable, smart, polite. The total package. She knew she could never bag a man like him, but that didn't stop her from crushing on him.
Unlike her, Hyunjin was popular. President of the art club, part of the swim team, came in first in the college acceptance exams, spoke 3 languages, represented the university as an exchange student in Italy for an entire semester, and of course, he had a girlfriend.
Of course she was attracted to him.
She on the other hand was barely remembered by her own professors, not part of any club, didn't even try out to join any activities, her grades weren't bad but they could be better, her only friend was the cat that roams the campus from time to time, and her dating life was none-existing.
Hyunjin wouldn't even dare look her way.
She wanted to get closer to him but he was in a relationship and despite the amount of pain she was in, she'd rather die than get between any couple. Besides, anyone with eyes can see how in love he was with his girlfriend. The only hope she had left was completely ignoring her feelings and hopefully the flowers go away.
But life had other plans for her because for some reason in the new semester, she shared a class with him, and even worse, they were paired for the final project. She begged her professor to switch her with someone else, but to no avail, she couldn't change his mind.
“So, you're the one who didn't want to do the project with me.”
She wanted to die.
Hyunjin stood across from her in the hallway, a playful smirk on his face. Her cheeks heat up instantly. She had never been this close to him. It was making her dizzy and her chest felt tight. She prayed that she wouldn't start coughing now. How was she supposed to explain her condition? "Oh yeah, sorry about that. I have a huge crush on you to the point flowers are growing in my lungs and suffocating me". He'd probably call her crazy and tell everyone about it.
“Is there a reason why ?”
She laughed awkwardly, taking a step back from him. Her eyes darting everywhere to avoid looking at his intense stare. God, why was he so intimidating? A man acting like that should be giving her the ick, not making flowers bloom in her chests. Literally!!
“Nothing personal, I just wanted to do it with someone familiar.”
“We can become familiar with each other.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Was he naturally a flirt? Was he deliberately trying to get a reaction out of her? Or did someone bet him to do this? She felt a flush spread through her entire body and had to lean against the wall for balance. She wished the earth would split open and swallow her right at that second. Maybe she could move to a whole other town, change her entire identity and hide there for the rest of her life, far away from him.
“yeah uh, sure. Do you want to split the work 50/50? That way we can work on our own and combine them before giving it to the professor.”
Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he took a step closer to her. He was clearly teasing her, trying to get a reaction out of her. She tried her best to make it seem like he wasn't successful with his task, but she knew her fidgeting hands and eyes were speaking volumes.
“Are you trying to avoid me or something? We can always meet up in the library to work together.”
This would've been the best case scenario for her if he wasn't taken. She couldn't risk developing more feelings for him and making the thing in her chest worse. She knew there would be consequences, fetal ones, and despite her life being far from perfect, she still wanted to live. She was yet to complete her local bucket list, let alone her international one.
“Sure, uh I'll give you my number and we can set up a meeting time of something.”
She saved her number under "project partner" on his phone, not wanting his girlfriend to see it and think of something else. The last thing she wanted to do was ruin a perfectly healthy relationship. Hyunjin laughed when he saw the name but didn't question her.
He texted her first just as she was about to go to sleep. A simple "hey, is tomorrow at 2pm at the library good for you?". She tried to ignore her rapidly beating heart as she thought of a nonchalant and unbothered response, and after 3 minutes of writing and deleting, she ended up sending a simple "sounds good!" With a thumbs up emoji. She turned off her phone the moment she hit send, not wanting to see his reply and freak out over it.
And thus, their meetings began.
It took her a while to get used to being in his presence nearly daily. She couldn't help being awkward and clumsy around him. The fact he knew of her existence alone was making her a stuttering mess. Hyunjin tried his best to make her more comfortable by treating her like he treated his friends, but he could feel the barrier she put between them and it was kinda making it hard to work on the project. Seeing his effort, she tried being friendly with him too, even though his smile alone made her brain short circuit.
It took her a month of seeing him every other day for her to be able to breathe normally around him. She tried to keep their conversations strictly about the project, but Hyunjin was somehow able to squeeze other topics in between. Soon, she found out about his hobbies, his friends names, his favourite food, his routine, and he found out the same about her.
She was able to conceal her coughs easily at first. She took a whole lot of tissues with her and blamed it on an allergy to the dust surrounding the library. It worked for a while, but by month two her coughs started getting more frequent and more violent. She hoped he wouldn't take notice, but being the observant man that he was, he immediately realised something was wrong.
One day in particular, it was rough. The moment their session started, it felt like thorns were digging in her throat. She tried to soothe it with warm tea and honey, but it did nothing. Hyunjin side-eyed her every time she had to stop talking to cough and constantly asked her if she was okay, but she kept reassuring him that she was fine and it was completely normal. He knew this wasn't a normal allergy, though. Changbin—one of his friends—was allergic to nearly everything, but even he didn't have it that bad.
“Hey are you sure you're okay? We could stop here an-” Hyunjin was cut off by another one of her rough coughing fits ripping through her chest. This one was worse than any of the previous ones and sent her crumbling down to the floor, her coughs turning to sounds of choking as she tried to hold herself up by her arms. He rushed to her side and kneeled down next to her to rub her back in hopes that the simple action would sooth her. He was panicking internally, not sure on how to help her.
The metallic smell hit his nose first and it made his heart sink and beat faster. He was scared to check the source of the smell, expecting the worst. He looked down at the worn wooden floor of the library and was jolted back by the sight, his eyes widening in shock.
☁️ ༉‧₊˚. decided to finish this old wip. i became deranged when i saw hyunjin in that black tshirt and it basically pushed me to write this. it's just pure filth oh god. had to put my ovulation to work because nothing is free in this economy 🚬
Reblogs and feedbacks are always and highly appreciated!
There’s nothing more erotic and breathtaking than the sight of Hyunjin in a black T-shirt that clung to every curve and contour of his muscles. Specifically, when this bewitching man was looking up at you with half-lidded eyes, tongue gliding over the plumpness of his bottom lip still smeared with your arousal as his gaze flitted between you and your spent, fluttering pussy.
You lay sprawled beneath him on the rumpled sheets — utterly fucked out yet aching for more — body a canvas of exhaustion and ecstasy. Every nerve ending alight from the previous rounds where his cum had painted your thighs and belly, now mingling with the slickness dripping from your swollen folds onto the mattress below.
“So wrecked and still begging for it," he rasped, his voice a rough vibration that made your toes curl.
Your wrists chafed against the leather of his belt binding you to the bed rails. It left you wholly at his mercy, the restriction heightening your desperation to run your fingers through his dark hair or trace the hard lines of his torso. Poor you, couldn’t do all that, so all you could do was moan — a needy, broken sound that echoed off the walls as his hot breath ghosted over your cunt.
You found yourself in discomfort and delight simultaneously from overstimulation when Hyunjin descended again, mouth capturing your pussy with a filthy, unrestrained hunger that made your hips buck against his face for more friction. He lapped at your overstimulated entrance with broad strokes of his tongue, delving deeper over and over and over again, gathering your juices, sucking at you, his nose brushing against your nub this way and that, like pinpricks of molten lava in your veins. He was eating you out like a man starved despite making you cum on his tongue plenty of times previously tonight.
And as if fucking you with his mouth wasn’t enough, his fingers joined the assault — pumping slowly at first, then faster, stretching you out to draw out a string of whimpers that turned into full-throated cries. Curling them to hit that perfect spot deep within, more of your arousal coating his hand and dripping onto the bed and leaving you a quivering mess. He didn't let up, adding a third finger with a saccharine smile.
“That’s it, my perfect girl,” he murmured against your flesh, the praise wrapped around your heart as much as it stoked the fire in your veins. “You taste so fucking divine, all messy and mine—let me hear those sweet sounds.”
The overstimulation was exquisite torture, his fingers pumping faster, stretching you wide as he sucked harder on your clit, the pressure building relentlessly. Your throat was hoarse from all the sound he had drawn out of you.
"You want to touch me so bad, don't you? Tug my hair while I eat this pretty pussy?" he taunted, dirty words spilling out like honeyed venom as his free hand gripped your thigh to hold you in place.
He was right. Your hands strained against the restraints, desperate to tangle in his hair and pull him closer, but all you could do was whimper pathetically, "Please... I need to touch you," your words dissolving into breathless gasps as another wave of pleasure crashed over you, your pussy clenching around his invading fingers, leaking even more onto the bed in a shameless, sticky mess.
“Attagirl,” he chuckled, kissing your clit.
Hyunjin pulled out his fingers to admire his work, using his index and ring fingers to spread your pussy wide open. Your body twitched uncontrollably, your tied hands pulling at the railing as he leaned in and blew a teasing stream across your heated core, making you bow your back off the bed and a desperate mewl escaping your lips. He cooed softly, his eyes locked on yours with that intoxicating mix of dominance and adoration.
With evident satisfaction, he pushed his thumbs into your juicy hole and stretched you open even wider. A hot glob of his spit landed perfectly into the depths of you, the warm sensation sending shockwaves through your overstimulated body and mushed out senses. You cried out, the filthy act heightening the intimacy and thrill through you both until it felt like he was claiming every inch of you — marking you as his in the most primal way. Your hips kept lifting toward him as if craving more of his debauched attention.
Grinning at your reaction, Hyunjin pulled one thumb free and brought it to his lips, cleaning it with a savoring swipe of his tongue and satisfied hum, the taste of your combined arousals making his cock twitch visibly. That same hand then wrapped around his throbbing cock, veins pulsing along its length, and lined it up with your slit. With a powerful snap of his hips, he buried himself deep inside your welcoming heat, filling you completely. The sudden invasion drew a guttural cry from your lips.
"You're so goddamn tight, even now—gonna make you come again, soak my cock like the greedy little thing you are."
At the same time his other thumb pressed into your mouth. You complied eagerly, your tongue swirling around his thumb as if it were another part of him. The dual invasion was overwhelming in its intensity. The wet downright sinful squelching sound of his thrusts resonated through the room, combining with his high pitched moans and your whimpers.
He fucked you hard and deep, his free hand splaying across your abdomen to press down, amplifying every thrust to feel the way he filled you until you felt the pressure coil impossibly tight. “Fuck, you take me so well,” he groaned, his pace relentless.
Your body spasmed in waves of ecstasy until you were squirting around him in uncontrollable waves when your indefinite number of orgasm hit you. Your moans were reduced to muffled whimpers against the pad of his thumb pressed on your tongue, drool dribbling down the corner of your parted lips.
Chanting his name over and over again in a blabbering mess of pleas and gasps, the last bit of your theoretical sanity slipped away when he came inside you in a hot, flooding rush that filled you to the brim yet again, his load oozing out in thick waves that seeped out around his shaft.
a/n: aight listen - i needed some time to process his new look and now i'm wet for him. he has a tongue piercing in this fic bcs ever since i gave one to rockstar!hyunjin i can't stop thinking about it (and tattoos). he is the moment😩💅🏻❤️
~ masterlist
Fucking hell.
Your hot roommate somehow managed to become hotter than he already was even after he gave you a good scare.
You were used to seeing his fluffy hair flying around everywhere, him tying it up while he was painting or cooking, putting it behind his ear constantly as a habit.
But the hair you were so fond of (even though you found strands of it everywhere in your apartment) was completely gone.
Without any prior announcement too.
You were just finishing up with dinner when he came home, strolling in casually and greeting you as he opened the fridge to grab a cold drink.
You greeted back, not even looking up as you were concentrating on cutting up some veggies.
You made small talk as always, you were kinda close and didn't mind sharing your day to each other over a meal.
Something was weird, you noticed out of the corner of your eye and when you lifted your head to look up, you almost cut your finger off.
"What the fuck?!" you practically screamed and Hyunjin laughed before smirking at you.
"Surprise?"
"Damn right it is." you stared at him in disbelief.
It was different. His long hair was comforting to you as sometimes he even let you braid it or play with it when you hung out and seeing him now was a shock.
His facial features stood out more and you couldn't help but admire his jawline, his nose, his eyebrows, heck even his ears were pretty.
It was unfair that he looked so good.
"I think our dinner's burning." he smirked knowingly and you shrieked, quickly turning the stove off and moving the pot aside.
Even as you sat down to eat, your eyes were glued to him.
"I'm guessing you don't hate it since you keep looking at me." he said, smirking again.
"Hate it? Far from that. I think you look h- well... um." you bit your tongue.
You never made a move on him even though you wanted to so many times, he drove you crazy every day, testing your mental strength as he strolled around shirtless, sometimes only with a towel wrapped around his middle, still wet from his shower. And you had a feeling he knew what he was doing, he was playing with you and he knew you were gonna eat out of his hand no matter what he does.
If you say it now, it'll be there on the table, laid out for him to make the next move.
You were sure the sly bastard was teasing you constantly.
"I look what? Say it." he dared you.
You put your fork down, wiping your mouth as you looked at him again.
"Hot. I think you look hot." you said, your heart beating out of your chest.
"Damn, did I have to shave my head for you to finally admit that?" he smirked and yes you were furious.
But you were also turned on at the way he was eye-fucking you and licking his plump lips, making sure to put his pretty tongue piercing on display.
Fuck, it was even hotter now.
"Shut up." you threw a napkin at him and he laughed at your feeble attempt to chase him away.
"Make me." he bit on his lip.
You didn't expect that.
"Make you?" your thighs pressed together, your stomach filling up with butterflies as you felt arousal gather on your pussy.
"Yeah, shut me up. Be creative with it." he smirked.
You observed him shortly as you felt annoyance and arousal rise inside you, wilding like the sea that was constantly spilling between your legs.
You stood up, pushing your chair back, almost making it fall down before you rounded the table to his side.
Hyunjin had a shit-eating grin on his face, manspreading in the chair as he looked up at you as if he was inviting you to sit in his lap.
You grabbed his chin making his eyes flutter instantly as you leaned in closer to his face.
God, he was beautiful.
"What are you waiting for, doll?" he smirked.
God, he angered you so badly.
So you crashed your lips on his, finally tasting him, feeling his soft lips move against yours.
Your hand slid on his face, his soft skin under your fingertips as you made your way to his hair.
Hyunjin was smirking into the kiss as you swiped your tongue over his lips, pushing it into his mouth to play with him, your hand finally touching his hair and it was surprisingly soft as you caressed him.
Hyunjin's large hands grabbed at you, pulling you into his lap as you whimpered into his mouth.
The kiss was sloppy, full of slurping sounds and teeth clanking occasionally but neither of you cared.
"Creative enough?" you asked when you parted for air, his lips were swollen and glistening with spit and you were sure yours were the mirror image.
"I think you can do better." he noted, the annoying smirk playing on his lips as always.
You held his face as you crashed your lips on his once more, kissing him harder and Hyunjin gripped at your hips before his hands slid down to your ass.
You bit on his bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth and making him groan. His hand lifted up as he smacked your ass and you accidentally grinded against his growing bulge.
You froze for a moment and he looked at you hazily, his cheeks rosy, and a lazy smile, he looked even more edible than moments ago.
"Backing out?" he asked.
"N-no." you whined as he gripped your ass and pressed you into him, slightly moving against your core.
"Want me to take the lead, doll?" he asked with a smirk and you really didn't want to give him the satisfaction but he was already on it, leaning in as he started kissing your neck.
You shivered as he massaged your ass, slowly moving his clothed length against you and making your panties even more soaked.
Your hands were on his head and the back of his neck, touching him and getting used to the feel of it.
Hyunjin bit into your flesh, sucking on it and you wanted so badly to pull on his hair but you couldn't so you gripped the back of his neck, making him whine as his hands traveled under your shirt.
You were glad you didn't wear your bra as Hyunjin went straight for your tits, grabbing at them and playing with your nipples as he kept leaving marks on your neck.
You literally thought in that moment that he was going to make you cum in your panties, you felt so pathetic for letting him win so fast but he stopped all his movement, making you whine.
"Shh, doll." Hyunjin shushed you, grabbing your shirt and sliding it off, tossing it somewhere aside.
He looked at your tits as if he was in a trance but before you let him come near them, you tugged on his shirt so he took it off.
He had a few tattoos here and there and you wanted to press your lips to every single one, trace them with your tongue as if you were drawing on him.
Hyunjin didn't notice your mesmerized face because he was focused on your breasts, he finally leaned in and wrapped his lips around your nipple, moaning as he started sucking.
You whimpered, throwing your head back as you ran your fingers on the back of his neck.
Hyunjin's tongue lapped at your nipple, his hand sliding down into your panties.
You jolted a little, you didn't think he was this impatient but his fingers already found your puffy clit as he pressed into it and started moving them in circles.
You gripped his head, holding him down as he sucked on your breast harshly, making him whine around you as he sped up with his fingers.
"So wet for me, you're dripping." he ran his fingertips on your folds, gathering your wetness before he pulled them out of your panties and brought them to your mouth.
"Taste yourself." he smirked and you complied, opening your mouth as you moved against him, needing to feel anything as you sucked on his fingers.
He kept smirking as his other hand gripped your breasts, playing with them and you were just about to explode.
You gripped his wrist and pulled his hand away.
"I need more." you whimpered and he chuckled.
"Mm. What would that be?" he wrapped his arms around you, leaning in to kiss your collarbone and your breasts.
"Hyunjin, stop teasing me or so help me god-"
"What are you gonna do doll?" he smirked up at you, pressing your chest against his skin.
He was so warm and you wanted to drown in him.
You were about to get so annoyed with his teasing as you stood up, but Hyunjin followed you quickly, one arm wrapped around you as he moved the plates aside, making room to sit you up on the table.
You gasped in shock, looking back at the half finished dinner Hyunjin just pushed on the side, his fingers hooking into your pants.
"Here? Hyunjin, we eat here." you tried to scold him but he giggled.
"Oh, I'm gonna eat." he smirked, pulling your pants down and throwing them aside as you whimpered.
"Hyun!" your voice came out high pitched as he ran his fingers over the wet patch on your panties.
"All this for me?" he stared at you and you shivered under his gaze.
"Y-yeah." you swallowed, shivering in anticipation.
Hyunjin spread your legs before kneeling down, making you grip the table when his breath hit your core.
He leaned in, his lips attaching to your clothed clit as he licked at it, making the fabric even more wet before he started sucking on it.
"H-Hyun!" you moaned, your hand flying to his head to push him into you.
He smirked against you, tongue lapping over your folds as his nose pressed into your clit.
"P-please." you moaned, already grinding against his perfect face.
"Ah fuck it, I'm still hungry." he teased before pushing your panties aside, his tongue gathering your sweet juices as he moaned into you.
Your legs trembled as he started to suck on your clit, moaning constantly as if he was the one getting head, not you.
You kept running your hands on his soft hair, pushing him closer to you as he ate you out teasingly slowly, his tongue lapping at your insides, drinking from you, his piercing driving you crazy.
You needed more, faster, deeper and your legs started closing around his head but Hyunjin gripped your thighs, forcing you open as he kept eating you out like you were the last meal he was ever going to have.
You grinded against his face, his nose kept pressing against your clit as he fucked you with his tongue and soon your legs were shaking.
You kept him pressed against you and he moaned into your pussy, making out with your lower lips and you were losing your mind.
It didn't take much longer for you to explode on his face and tongue and Hyunjin eagerly licked it all up.
"Fuck." you groaned as he lifted up, licking around his swollen lips.
He looked at you as if he still wasn't satiated, as if he was going to devour you whole and at that moment you wanted him to.
"I could do that for hours." he whined, hand gripping at his obvious bulge.
"Why didn't you?" you smirked, still breathless.
"I wanna fuck your little pussy until it's shaped like my cock." he said as he pulled his length out, making you whimper and gasp at his words.
He gave himself a few tugs and you stared at his pretty cock, the tip glistening with pre-cum.
He gripped your panties and pulled them off before standing closer to you.
"H-Hyunjin!" you moaned when he pressed his tip on your folds.
"Gonna be a good doll and take it?" he smirked and you nodded.
He chuckled before pushing in, making you moan loudly as your nails dug into the table beneath you.
It wasn't the most comfortable thing to lay on but the feeling of Hyunjin stretching you with his cock and filling you up so perfectly made your mind cloudy.
He leaned closer to you and you gripped at his arms immediately as he held your hips, thrusting into you semi-fast.
"F-fuck..." you moaned, already on edge and it was embarrassing.
"How many times have you fantasized about me, hm babygirl?" Hyunjin smirked as he pressed himself closer to you, his cock massaging your cervix as his happy trail rubbed against your skin.
You opened your lips to speak as he held your hip, his other hand lifting up to put your hair behind your ear.
Before you could answer, your pussy clenched around him and you came all over his cock, tears flooding your eyes instantly.
"You came already?" he laughed mockingly as you dug your nails in his shoulders.
"I- I-" you were about to actually cry. This has never happened to you.
"It's okay doll. I know you're desperate for my cock. I think that makes you even cuter." he smirked as he started fucking you harder, the table with all the plates and glasses clattering.
"Ah!" you moaned repeatedly, not able to form any coherent words or sentences as he fucked you dumb on your kitchen table.
You wrapped your arms and legs around him as Hyunjin continued pounding into you, leaning closer again so he could grunt in your ear as you touched his soft short hair again, at this point the new look was making you feel even more aroused.
"I knew this pussy was greedy for my cock. Look how she's sucking me in." he looked down at where his length disappeared inside you so you followed his eyes, whimpering when you got the visual of his cock covered in your white cream fucking in and out of you.
"Shit!" you clenched around him again as he looked up at you.
"You gonna cum for me again?" he smirked, fucking you with even more force, the plates were dangerously close to the edge of the table.
"Y-yes!" you whimpered, completely dizzy and out of your mind as you squirted around his cock, your pussy gripping him so tightly that Hyunjin couldn't help it as he twitched inside you.
You scratched at his back as he dug his nails into your hips, filling you up with spurts of hot cum.
A crash startled you as he lazily fucked into you, trying to hold onto his high as long as possible and both of you looked up, seeing that one of the plates had fallen on the floor, smashing into pieces.
"Oh." Hyunjin groaned as he caged your head with his arms before he leaned down to kiss you, pressing his wet body against yours.
Both of you were sticky and wet and you couldn't believe you just let your hot roommate fuck you on the table in your kitchen.
He pulled out and chuckled at the mess.
"Wow you did a number on my back." Hyunjin noticed his reflection in the window, his back red with scratches.
"That's cause you didn't have any hair I could pull on." you smirked as you sat up.
"The way you held onto me I wouldn't have any left." he smirked back and you slapped his arm, giggling at him.
"I take it your really like my new hair." he leaned his hands on the table, caging you in again.
"I really like you." you said, your face heating up.
"I know you do, doll. Why do you think I've been teasing you? I was just waiting for you to finally react." he winked and you wanted to smack him but he caught your hand and held it.
"I really like you too." he said before kissing you.
"We should clean up the mess." you said as you leaned back.
"We should. After round two. Or more. Who knows." Hyunjin wiggled his eyebrows before lifting you up in his arms and making you squeal as he carried you towards your bedroom.
✎ Synopsis: you find yourself feeling alone and distant, lost in your own thoughts. Your annoying neighbor, Lee Minho, crosses your path, and the exchange between you is far from pleasant. But then, to your surprise, he apologizes. As the holiday season continues, the walls between you begin to crumble, and you start to realize that even the most unexpected neighbors can bring warmth and connection when you least expect it.
A/n : hii y'all! I bring the christmas fanfic for today, hope you enjoy the story and also Merry Christmas! I hope warmth found u^^
—Bae
The air was cold, sharp against your skin as you leaned on the edge of your window, a half-empty glass of wine in your hand. Christmas Eve had always been a hollow affair for you, a reminder of what you didn’t have.
Your family wasn’t just complicated—it was fractured, splintered beyond repair. Your parents had divorced years ago, both quickly moving on to build new families, leaving you somewhere in the middle. No one outright abandoned you, but no one fought for you either. Holidays became a game of polite invitations and shallow smiles, and eventually, you stopped trying to belong anywhere.
You finished the wine faster than you intended, the warmth in your chest doing little to ease the ache. The sound of distant laughter and carols drifted in through the window, each note a cruel reminder of what this night was supposed to be.
When you realized your stock of wine was gone, you sighed and grabbed your coat. A trip to the store would be better than sitting alone with your thoughts.
The grocery store was mostly empty, its fluorescent lights buzzing softly. You wandered the aisles, the sight of festive decorations and holiday discounts doing nothing to lift your spirits. Three bottles of wine went into your basket—too much for one night, maybe, but you didn’t care.
By the time you returned to your building, your arms were aching from the weight of the bottles. You stepped into the elevator, letting out a breath as the doors closed.
But they didn’t close fast enough.
“Hold it!” a familiar voice called, and your stomach dropped as Lee Minho slid in just before the doors shut.
Of course. Out of all the people in this building, it had to be him.
Lee Minho, your annoying salty neighbor who had been a thorn of your peacefull life in this building, you're not sure how and when it started, but every encounter with him always feels like a war somehow, well its maybe begin from the very first you moved in to this building.
Flashback
The new apartment smelled like fresh paint and floor polish. You sat on your worn couch, staring at the boxes still stacked in chaotic clusters, a sigh escaping your lips. Starting over wasn’t easy. The stress of work and the pressures of life had already begun weighing down on you, but you were determined to make this new chapter as bright as possible.
After a long debate, you decided to bake cookies for your neighbors as a peace offering—a way to establish yourself in the building. A sense of community might help ease the loneliness. Armed with a plate of warm cookies, you stepped out of your door, knocking at the unit beside yours.
It swung open sharply.
The man who stood before you was breathtakingly gorgeous, but his expression was nothing short of murderous. His dark, sharp eyes narrowed in annoyance, his jawline so sharp you could swear it could cut glass.
“Yes?” His voice was flat, unwelcoming.
“Oh, hi! I just moved in next door. I made cookies and thought I’d introduce myself!” you said, holding the plate out with a smile.
He stared at the cookies like they were contaminated.
“Thanks, but no thanks.” His tone was curt. Without another word, he shut the door.
You blinked, stunned. What the hell was that?
Or that one time when he complained, saying that you're being loud just 3 days right after you moved in.
The next few days after moving in filled with unpacking, arranging furniture, and trying to settle into your new place. It was exhausting, and by the weekend, you decided to reward yourself with a relaxing night—some wine, your favorite playlist, and a bubble bath.
The music was soft, barely above a whisper, but as you swayed along while unpacking some remaining boxes, a sudden knock startled you. It wasn’t just a polite tap; it was loud, deliberate, and aggressive.
You frowned as you opened the door, only to find yourself face-to-face with your grumpy neighbor. Lee Minho stood there, arms crossed, his dark eyes glaring down at you like you were the source of all his problems.
“Seriously?” he snapped.
“What?” you asked, taken aback.
“The music,” he said. “Some of us are trying to sleep, and your constant noise is making it impossible.”
You raised an eyebrow. “It’s barely 9 PM.”
“And? Some people have early mornings,” he replied. “Unlike you, apparently.”
You folded your arms. “Excuse me, but I’m not exactly throwing a party over here. The music is quiet enough that I can barely hear it myself. Maybe the problem isn’t me; maybe it’s you.”
His jaw tightened. “Oh, so now I’m the problem?”
“Kind of, yeah,” you shot back. “Maybe you should consider moving to a remote cabin in the woods if you hate hearing other people so much.”
The tension between you crackled like static. He exhaled sharply, clearly deciding you weren’t worth more of his time.
“Whatever,” he muttered. “Just keep it down.”
With that, he turned on his heel and stalked back to his apartment, leaving you fuming in the doorway.
You think that was the moment the gloves came off. From then on, the two of you clashed at every opportunity—snarky comments in the elevator, icy glares in the hallway, and a mounting frustration that turned into outright hostility.
Back to present time, he leaned casually against the cold wall of the elevator, his sharp eyes scanning the bottles in your arms. His smirk was almost immediate.
“Three bottles?” he quipped, tilting his head. “For one person? What is this, a pity party?”
You didn’t respond, staring straight ahead and hoping he’d shut up.
But Minho wasn’t done. “What? Are you that lonely? Not even a family to spend Christmas with?”
His words hit like a gut punch, sharp and uncalled for. Your fingers tightened around the bag handles as you turned to glare at him.
“Yeah, keep talking, Lee. I’m sure your perfect little life makes all of this just so much better,” you shot back, your voice trembling but laced with bitterness.
Minho blinked, taken aback. He had expected you to snap back, to fight him with the same sarcastic edge you always did. Instead, he saw the hurt in your eyes, the raw emotion you’d been trying so hard to hide. His stomach twisted in regret, realizing too late that he had pushed the wrong button this time. The smug expression he wore faltered, guilt creeping in as he watched you turn away right after the elevator door opened.
Once inside your apartment, the weight of his words finally crashed down on you. You set the bottles on the counter, your hands trembling.
Not even a family.
It wasn’t just an insult—it was the truth. Your parents had their own lives, their own families, and you were nothing more than a reminder of their failed marriage. Christmas had become a painful routine: fake smiles, awkward dinners, and feeling like an outsider in both of their homes. This year, you hadn’t even bothered to show up.
Tears welled in your eyes as you uncorked one of the bottles. The first sip burned your throat, but you didn’t stop. With each gulp, you tried to drown the ache, to silence the doubts and regrets swirling in your mind.
But the wine didn’t help. Instead, it magnified everything.
The tears spilled over, hot and relentless, as the weight of the night pressed harder on you. You sank onto the couch, clutching the bottle like it was your lifeline. The sound of distant carols and laughter seeped in through the thin walls, each note a cruel reminder of what you didn’t have.
A knock at the door made you freeze.
“Who’s there?” you called, your voice hoarse.
“It’s me.”
Minho.
Your chest tightened. The last person you wanted to see right now was him.
“Go away!” you shouted, wiping at your tear-streaked face.
But he didn’t leave.
“I need to apologize,” he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.
You clenched your jaw, anger and humiliation swirling inside you. “I don’t need your pity, Minho. Just leave me alone.”
But his voice came again, insistent. “Please. I shouldn’t have said that. It was out of line.”
Something about the raw sincerity in his tone gave you pause. Slowly, you stood and walked to the door, hesitating before unlocking it.
When you opened it, Minho was leaning against the frame, his usual smirk replaced by something almost apologetic. His eyes flickered to your puffy, tear-streaked face, and his jaw tightened.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
You crossed your arms, trying to keep your voice steady. “Why do you care?”
Minho hesitated, his gaze softening. “Because I know what it’s like to be alone on Christmas.”
The admission caught you off guard, and for a moment, you just stared at him.
“I’m serious,” he added, his voice quieter now. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. I was being an ass, and—"
The sincerity in his voice made your chest ache. Before you knew it, you were crying again, the weight of the evening too much to hold back.
Minho stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate. “—Hey,” he murmured. “It’s okay.”
Before you could stop yourself, you leaned into him. He hesitated for only a moment before wrapping his arms around you, holding you tightly. The warmth of his embrace broke something inside you, and you clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping you afloat.
Minho held you close, his arms steady and sure, like he was the only anchor keeping you from falling apart. The quiet between you was heavy but not uncomfortable; his presence alone was enough to steady your trembling breaths. His hand moved gently up and down your back, offering a kind of comfort you hadn’t realized you craved.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered into his chest, your voice muffled.
“For what?” His voice was soft, almost a whisper.
“For being a mess.”
He pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. His eyes softened as they searched yours, and for the first time, you saw something other than irritation or smugness—something tender.
“You’re not a mess,” he murmured. “You’re human.”
The sincerity in his voice made your throat tighten, and before you could think twice, you leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his shoulder, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne.
“Come on,” he said gently, his hands steadying you as he guided you toward the couch. “Sit down. Let me help.”
He left briefly, and you heard the soft clink of glasses. When he returned, he handed you a glass of water and a blanket, sitting beside you with a closeness that felt intentional.
“You didn’t have to do this,” you said, your voice still fragile.
“I wanted to.” His reply was simple, but his tone carried weight.
The room was quiet as you sipped the water, his eyes never leaving you. The soft glow of the Christmas lights from your small tree cast warm shadows across his face, making him look softer, more vulnerable.
“You’re different tonight,” you said softly, daring to glance at him.
His lips twitched, the ghost of a smile playing at the corners. “So are you.”
The silence stretched again, but this time it was charged, buzzing with something unspoken.
“Minho,” you began, your voice hesitant, but he interrupted you by reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for just a moment too long, making heat creeping to your cheeks, redish hue appear within a second.
“You deserve better than this,” he said quietly.
You blinked at him, startled. “What do you mean?”
“This.” He gestured vaguely at your apartment, the wine bottles on the counter, the loneliness hanging in the air. “Being alone on Christmas. Feeling like you don’t have anyone. You deserve someone who cares.”
The vulnerability in his voice stunned you.
“Do you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Care, I mean?”
His eyes darkened slightly as they locked onto yours. “More than I should.”
Your breath hitched, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The space between you seemed to shrink as the tension thickened. He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek with a tenderness that made your heart ache.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, his voice low, his gaze flickering to your lips.
But you didn’t want him to stop.
Instead of answering, you leaned forward, closing the gap between you. Your lips met his in a kiss that was hesitant at first, testing the waters, but quickly deepened as you both gave in to the pull that had been simmering between you for weeks.
Minho’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer as you shifted onto his lap. His lips were soft but insistent, exploring yours with a passion that sent a shiver down your spine. Your fingers tangled in his hair, eliciting a low sound from him that made your stomach flip.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his breath warm against your lips as he pulled back slightly, his eyes searching yours.
You nodded, your heart pounding. “Yes.”
He kissed you again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every second. He stood, carrying you effortlessly toward your bedroom, his movements careful and intentional.
Once inside, he laid you gently on the bed, his hands brushing over your skin like he was memorizing every inch of you. The way he looked at you—like you were something precious—made your chest tighten.
His touch was both tender and consuming, each kiss and caress unraveling the stress and pain that had been weighing you down for so long. The intimacy of it all made your heart ache in the best way.
It wasn’t just about the physical connection—it was about the way he held you, the way he whispered your name like it was sacred, the way he made you feel seen, cherished.
His lips moved to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You shivered, your body responding to his touch even before you could think. Minho’s hands caressed the curves of your body, each movement slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every inch of you. His touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting something inside of you that had been dormant for far too long.
"Minho..." You whispered his name, your voice trembling as your fingers slid to the waistband of his pants, grabing his clothed cock making him groan from the contact.
"Fuck, Princess."
He kissed you again, his lips claiming yours with a hunger that made your pulse spike. You felt his body pressing against yours, his muscles flexing as he leaned into you. His lips moved from your mouth to your neck, his hands sliding down your sides, pulling you closer to him until you could feel the heat of his body, hands trailing to tug on your sweater, getting rid of it in a swift motion, leaving you in your black lacy bra.
When he pulled away for just a second, his dark eyes searched yours, his chest rising and falling with each breath. "You're so beautiful” he said, his voice low and raspy, full of an almost dangerous edge.
He squeze your tits from outside of your bra, your body aching for him in a way you couldn’t deny. "Minh, please.”
With a growl, he kissed you again, his hands rough as they worked quickly to remove the last remnants of your clothes. You felt the heat of his skin against yours, his fingertips trailing down the curve of your spine before they slid to your hips, pulling you closer as his mouth moved over your collarbone, his kisses becoming more desperate.
Every kiss he gave, every movement of his hands, felt like it was igniting something inside of you, a need that you hadn’t realized had been building up for so long. You moaned softly, your hands running over his chest, feeling the taut muscles beneath your fingertips.
He responded with a groan of his own, his mouth returning to yours in a fierce, possessive kiss. The air between you grew thick with desire, the tension so palpable you could hardly breathe. His hands moved to your back, gently pushing you back onto the bed, his body following you, never breaking the connection.
As he hovered over you, his lips brushing against your ear, he whispered, “I want you, all of you.”
You felt the heat rush to your cheeks as his words sank in, the meaning behind them making your heart race even faster. “Then take me,” you responded, your voice low and demanding, feeling a surge of confidence you hadn’t known you had.
Without another word, Minho moved over you, his hands and lips tracing the line of your body with a sense of urgency, like he couldn’t wait any longer. He drag his waist band You felt the pressure of his body against yours, he run his heavy cock along your folds, squelching sound coming from the contact signing how wet you are already, "Holly fuck baby, do you hear that? Mmh all wet for me" he said, still teasing your drench cunt. The heat between you both becoming almost unbearable.
Minho finally align his tip to your enterance, pushing it in to your clenching hole, earning a trail of moan from both of you.
"Ahh minhh," Your fingers dug into his back, urging him on as you kissed him with the same urgency, your body moving against his in rhythm.
His movements grew faster, more desperate, as he sought to claim you in the way that only he could. You could feel every inch of him as he slid deeper, the sensation of him filling you making you gasp with pleasure. Your hands moved to his shoulders, gripping him tightly as your body trembled beneath him.
"Minho mmh," his name slipped from your lips in a soft, breathless cry, and the sound of it seemed to drive him wild. He growled low in his throat, his hips snapping against yours with a relentless intensity. You met him with every thrust, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control, the pleasure building, escalating with each movement.
"Minho... fuckh you're gonna make me cumhh," you gasped, the heat of your bodies colliding with an intensity that took your breath away.
He groaned, his name slipping from your lips in a way that made his pulse quicken. The sound of your voice, the way you were calling out for him, drove him to the edge. He leaned down, kissing you deeply, his tongue claiming yours in a dance that matched the rhythm of your bodies.
"Cum for me kitten, cum" he said, hips pistoning to hit the certain spot that makes you see the stars.
As the pleasure built to an unbearable peak, you felt the tension inside of you snap, "Minhh ahh FUCK," your body convulsing in waves of ecstasy.
"Fuck, fuck fuck shit baby s'goodh mmhh" Minho followed you over the edge, his body trembling as he gave in to the moment, his own release consuming him.
You both lay there, breathless and tangled in each other's arms, your bodies still pressed together, the warmth of his skin against yours grounding you in the reality of the moment. His chest rose and fell with each breath, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.
Minho’s hand moved to your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he leaned down to kiss you gently, the softness of the kiss in stark contrast to the fiery intensity of what had just happened.
“I care about you,” he murmured, his lips brushing over yours once more. “More than you know.”
You looked up at him, the vulnerability in your chest now replaced with something deeper, something stronger. You smiled softly, your hands running over his back, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.
"I care about you too," you whispered, your voice full of quiet certainty.
And as the two of you lay together, tangled in the aftermath, you realized that this wasn’t just a night of passion. It was a turning point—one that would change everything between you. It was the beginning of something real, something lasting, and for the first time in a long time, you felt at home.
Synopsis: A certain dark haired leader of a biker club caught your attention online and you've been watching his weekly races in secret—or so you thought. Little did you know, this handsome biker already knows about his cute little stalker...
Content Warnings: Stalking but online. Smut🔞 after a bit of plot. Unprotected sex, P in V (from the behind), riding, rough, dirty talk(?), ass slapping, pet names, choking(kinda—), aftercare in the shower. Chris is a tease (maybe like a bit?).
Minors do not interact!!!
Note: 17 days late, but better than never— HAPPY NEW YEAR! I've been wanting to draw and write a biker Chan for a LONG LONG TIME, so finally here it is. (Yes that drawing is done by me haha)
If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.
The bike flashed away into the stretching tracks in a blink of an eye, leaving a trail of excitement and dust in its wake. The crowd erupted in cheers, their voices drowned out by the fading growl of the engine.
You pushed your hood further over your head to cover your hair flying in that direction, blending into the mass of onlookers while your eyes stayed glued to the figure disappearing into the night.
Christopher Bang Chan.
Did an accidental misclick on a hashtag "NightRider" lead you into his world? Yes.
You did have an unexplainable attraction towards bikes. It was the thrill, the speed, the freedom. Even if you couldn't ride one, the way bikes looked like a beast that could conquer the roads, it fascinated you.
But this— this wasn't just an attraction towards the sleek BMW S1000rr that was speeding this evening. No.
A random late-night scroll had led you to a short video of him—helmet off, his hair dark slightly tousled, a cocky grin tugging at his lips as he dismounted his bike like he owned the world. That pulled you like a magnet to steel.
You watched him, racing the tracks with swift motion, in practice ease, over taking every other rider, everything about him demanding attention.
Every other rider was left in his dust, and the cheers of his friends, 7 guys echoed above the deafening roar of the engines.
"Teach these bastards why they can’t touch you!” one of them bellowed, pumping his fist in the air, his blood red hair catching the rays of the setting sun.
“Eat that, losers!” another laughed, slapping the back of the guy next to him as they all leaned against their bikes, eyes glued to Chan’s figure dominating the track.
In a final swift, Chan drifted his bike as he reached the finish line, the tires screeching against the asphalt in a perfect arc. A plume of smoke curled up from under the wheels, his dimpled grin flashing at his victory and triumph.
The lingering growl of his bike continued as he sat there for a moment, one leg propped on the ground as if soaking in the chaos he had just commanded. His friends were the loudest of all, their jeers and cackles cutting through the noise.
Chan finally killed the engine and swung off the bike with the same effortless grace that had first caught your attention online. He pulled off his helmet, shaking his head slightly to ruffle his dark hair into place.
His eyes gleamed with a mix of adrenaline and triumph as he tucked the helmet under one arm and began walking toward his friends.
“That’s how it’s done, you fucking legend!” yelled one in a strong Australian accent, smacking Chan’s shoulder, the redhead taking his helmet from him and handing in a water bottle.
“Told you it wasn’t even a competition,” Chan quipped, his voice smooth but laced with that cocky edge that made your stomach flip.
The crowd began descending, slowly leaving you alone in your place, your hood over your head, covering your face slightly. Just as you were about to look away, his eyes briefly landed on you.
Your breath caught in your throat at the intensity of his gaze on you. It was like he knew who you were but that was impossible. You've been secretly coming to the race every Saturday (telling your parents that you're going to the library) ever since you discovered his page and of course he doesn't know who you are.
It's out of the question.
Chan's smirk deepened, something wicked flashing in his expression. You quickly looked away, pretending to fidget with your phone, but you could still feel the heat of his gaze.
Before you made a fool of yourself, you stood up and walked towards the end of the track, pulling your hood lower to shield your face. Just as you were about to step into the shadows, a sharp, confident whistle cut through the air, freezing you in your tracks.
Your heart was pounding in your ears, you didn't turn around but felt Chan's lingering gaze pressing against your back. You turned slightly to see through your shoulders but then turned around and walked away as if you didn't hear anything at all.
“That chick’s been here for the last four weeks.” Minho commented, his voice casual as he tipped back his can of Red Bull.
Chan didn’t respond immediately, his eyes still fixed on the spot where you had disappeared into the shadows. His jaw tensed slightly, a flicker of something unreadable flashing in his gaze.
He could still picture the way you had glanced over your shoulder for a split second, like you’d been caught but refused to admit it.
"Oi, Chan," Felix called out, snapping him out of his thoughts. "You losing your touch, mate?"
The group erupted in laughter, their cackles echoing against the emptying track.
“Maybe she’s got better taste than you thought,” I.N added, smirking as he leaned against his own bike.
"She’ll come around." Chan said smoothly, shrugging nonchalantly, the cocky edge in his voice masking the intrigue bubbling beneath the surface.
"Will she now?" Hyunjin mocked, raising an eyebrow. "What makes you so sure?"
"Trust me," he said, his tone low and deliberate. "No one comes to my races four weeks in a row without a reason." A devilish smirk tipped the corner of his lips that made the guys exchange glances.
"Whatever you're thinking, don't." Changbin interrupted, pushing himself upright with a sharp look.
"You don't even know what I was thinking." Chan shot back, running a hand through his dark, tousled hair. "Besides, if she keeps coming back, she’s going to slip up eventually. And when she does…”
Changbin rolled his eyes at him and grabbed a Red Bull from the ice box. He knew that Chan wasn't going to listen to what he's gonna say anyway.
Chan walked towards his bike and hoped on, revving his engine as it roared to life and slipping his helmet on. He glanced at his friends, his smirk turning downright wicked.
"Then what?" Hyunjin asked, crossing his arms.
"She wanted my attention, so she got it. And I want something in return.”
With that, he sped off into the night, leaving the guys behind in a cloud of smoke and laughter.
***
"Three, two, one, let's gooo!..."
You kept scrolling through Instagram reels, nothing interesting that grabbed your attention.
But you couldn't stop thinking about Chan...
It's Saturday, four o'clock in the evening. His races start at five. You went through his Instagram and TikTok, creating a folder in your saves for his biking videos and you catch yourself rewatching his highlights again and again.
Were you guilty for stalking him online? A bit—but you couldn't stop it. His bike didn't even fascinate you anymore the way it did the first time. You just were feeling obsessed with him.
The race track was only a few blocks away from you and you couldn't help but think, could he have crossed your home? You never noticed it but now everytime you hear a speeding engine, you look out your window, hoping it's Chan.
Yeah you were pretty much obsessed.
You went back to Chan's account and scrolled down his feed, opening some of his old posts when suddenly the phone slipped out of your hand and fell on your face.
"Fuck!" You yelped, rubbing your forehead, eyes widening as you glanced at the screen in horror.
Oh fuck—
You accidentally liked a picture of him from two years ago.
The red heart stared back at you, mocking your clumsiness, your heart sank as panic took over.
“Oh, no, no, no…” you whispered, scrambling to unlike it. You tapped the heart again, watching it disappear, but the damage was already done. Your phone trembled in your hands as you stared at the post, your reflection visible in the darkened screen.
It was a picture of him leaning casually against his bike, wearing a tank top with his buff arms crossed, a majestically inked dragon flexing on his bicep.
"Shit," you muttered under your breath, clutching your forehead. Does he get notifications for old likes? Does Instagram even do that?
You sat up, your mind racing just as fast as his bike. He had half a million followers, so maybe he wouldn’t notice, right? But what if he did? What if he checked? What if he remembered your face from the track and connected the dots?
"Calm down," you whispered, trying to reason with yourself. "He probably won’t even notice."
But deep down, a small voice in the back of your mind said otherwise.
Because if there was one thing you’d learned about Chan from watching him race, it was that he noticed everything.
~
"She'll be here today." Chan said, tossing the Red Bull can in the trash and turning towards his friends.
Seungmin tilted his head, looking up from his phone, arching a skeptical brow. "Oh, so now you're a psychic?"
Chan rolled his eyes, leaning casually against his bike. “No. She's been coming every Saturday, there's no way she'll not come today."
“You’ve been stalking your stalker?” Felix chimed in, his deep voice carrying a note of amusement as he slipped his hands in the pocket of his pants.
Chan smirked, unbothered by the jab. “I don’t need to stalk. She makes herself obvious. Hood up, always at the same damn spot. Like clockwork.”
“Maybe she’s just here for the bikes,” Seungmin said with a shrug, going back to scrolling on his phone. Chan shook his head, his smirk widening.
Chan shook his head, his smirk widening. “Nah, it’s not the bikes anymore. Her eyes practically screamed busted when I whistled at her.”
“That’s because you’re fucking annoying.” Jisung piped up, sipping from his own can of soda. “If someone whistled at me in public, I’d leave too.”
The group laughed, but Chan’s gaze remained steady, fixed on the track like he was already envisioning you standing there.
"Race instead of me." Chan effortlessly tossed his keys at Changbin.
"What?" Changbin caught the keys with a sharp reflex, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
"If she's really into the bikes, she wouldn't care if the rider is different. But if that's not the case..." His smirk grew wider.
"Then she'll know it's not me the second you hit the track." Chan finished, rolling his helmet between his hands. "She’s been watching me, not the bike. Let’s see if she’s as observant as I think."
Changbin raised an eyebrow, twirling the keys in his hand. “So, you’re basically using me as bait?”
“Not bait,” Chan corrected, handing Changbin his helmet and clapping him on the shoulder. “More like... a decoy. Just ride, keep it clean, and make it convincing. Wear my helmet, keep your head down, and let me handle the rest.”
“This is either genius or the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.” Felix said, shaking his head.
“Shut up and watch,” Chan said, his tone light but confident. He turned back to Changbin. “You good?”
Changbin sighed, slipping the helmet on. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t blame me if I win and your little stalker realizes you’re not as fast as you think.”
The group laughed again, but Chan was already focused, his gaze cutting across the other riders getting ready for the race and watching the crowd gather, waiting for his shadowed muse.
The air began getting slightly colder, riders hopping on their bikes getting ready for the race. Chan stood with the guys, his back facing the crowd and his face hidden with a hoodie, watching Changbin rev up the engine.
He gave a small thumbs to Bin who responded with his own one and held the handle, preparing to flash away.
You finally managed to slowly get in your spot blending in with the crowd, your usual hood on, hair in front to shield your face, eyes glued on the riders before you.
At this point it felt silly than anything else, sneaking around every Saturday like you were some undercover agent. But you couldn’t stop yourself. The magnetic pull Chan had on you was impossible to ignore, even if you didn’t fully understand it yourself.
Your eyes scanned the lineup of riders, automatically locking onto the sleek, black BMW S1000rr. The sound of its engine roaring to life sent a familiar thrill through you, but something felt... different tonight.
The rider atop the bike gave a sharp nod, helmet obscuring his face. You couldn’t tell, but the way he usually carried himself—effortless confidence paired with a hint of smugness—seemed oddly subdued.
Your heart sank slightly. Was he even here tonight?
You pushed the thought away, gripping the edge of your hoodie to ground yourself. Focus. It didn’t matter. You were here for the race, for the thrill, not for him.
At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself since the last four races.
The countdown began, the cheers of the crowd growing louder with each passing second. The sound of engines revving filled the air, and you found yourself leaning forward slightly, anticipation buzzing through your veins.
Three... Two... One—
The riders shot forward, a blur of color and speed tearing down the track. Your eyes stayed glued to the black bike, trying to shake the unease gnawing at the back of your mind.
Is it him?
You watched curiously for the first two rounds, pushing away the feeling that it's not Chan but when it was the third round and you still didn't see his dramatic drift at the curved corners of the track, you were sure that it really wasn't Chan racing.
You leaned backwards exhaling and pulling out your phone, your interest in the race quietly dying down.
"I caught you princess..." A smug grin spread across Chan's face who had been secretly watching you but the race.
Hyunjin, who had also been watching you with Chan, waiting for him to be wrong, sighed dramatically, pulling a crumpled fifty out of his pocket and slapping it into Minho’s palm.
"Unbelievable," he muttered, shooting Chan a side glance. "She really is here for you man."
Chan chuckled, low and confident. “Told you,” he said, brushing past them as he made his way toward you.
You were distracted with the reels playing on your phone to notice until he sat next you, your eyes fell on that unmistakable silver bracelet you recognised instantly.
Your heart pounded in your ears.
“Enjoying the race?” a low, teasing voice asked, so close you could feel the faint vibration of it in your chest. You stiffened, your head snapping up.
And there he was. Bang Chan.
Sitting casually next to you, leaning back like he owned not just the seat, but the entire universe. His hoodie was slightly pushed back, giving you a perfect view of his sharp jawline and those maddening dimples that tugged at his smirk.
For the first time, you noticed how sharp his features were up close—perfectly sculpted, how his lashes framed those piercing eyes that seemed to see right through you.
You swallowed hard, your nerves threatening to spill over, but you kept your guard up and tried to calm your racing heart.
“You okay there, princess?” he drawled, his tone dripping with amusement. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or maybe... me?”
You quickly snapped out of it, your face heating. “I’m fine,” you said, sitting straighter and forcing your voice to sound steady. "And I think you've mistaken me, I don't really know you."
Your lie was so bland, it practically hung in the air like a neon sign screaming caught red-handed.
Chan raised an eyebrow, playfully scoffing as he ran a hand through his hair. “Is that so?” he said, his tone laced with mock sincerity. He leaned in slightly, and you caught a faint whiff of leather and something distinctly him—sharp, clean, and deathly intoxicating.
“Yeah,” you replied, your voice firm despite the heat rising in your cheeks. “I don’t really follow bikers.”
“Hmm.” He tapped his chin theatrically, his eyes narrowing in playful suspicion. “Funny, because someone who doesn’t follow bikers somehow managed to stumble across my page. And, oh, what’s this?”
He mimicked scrolling on an invisible phone, his grin wicked. “Liked a post from two years ago? Now, that’s dedication for someone who doesn’t know me.”
Your stomach did a somersault, and for a moment, you were certain your face betrayed you. But you quickly composed yourself, leaning back slightly and crossing your arms. “That was an accident,” you said coolly, trying to ignore the way your pulse thundered in your ears.
Chan tilted his head, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “So you accidentally clicked on my profile, accidentally scrolled back two years, and accidentally double-tapped? Seems like a lot of accidents for one person.”
You huffed, glaring at him. “Are you always this full of yourself?”
“Only when I’m right.” He shot back smoothly, his dimpled grin so close now, you could count the faint freckles dotting his cheekbones.
You could do nothing to calm your racing heart as Chan adjusted his seat and leaned back, watching whoever was racing in his place. He didn't say a word after that, just stayed silent and concentrated on the track.
You kept glancing at him with the corner of your eyes without fully turning, focusing on the race as well, but you could have sworn that he could hear your pounding beats in your chest over the screeching tires.
Of course whoever was riding in on behalf of Chan won tonight's race in an equally dramatic drift, you caught Chan smirking and nodding proudly. You were unsure what to do and stood in your place while the crowd began standing up, then when you were about to leave, a hand wrapped around your wrist.
"Where are you off to now?" His dark eyes glinted under the dim lights, mischief oozing from every inch of his expression.
“You’ve been sneaking in to watch the race for weeks, and now that you’ve got what you wanted, you’re just gonna leave? That’s kinda rude, don’t you think?”
You bit your lip, debating your next words. His confidence was infuriating, but it was also… dangerously attractive. Finally, you sighed, meeting his gaze head-on.
“Fine,” you said, crossing your arms. “Maybe I did. So what?”
Chan blinked, momentarily caught off guard by your honesty, before breaking into a wide grin. “Well, that’s a first. Didn’t think you’d actually own up to it.”
“Is there a point to this conversation?” you shot back, your tone laced with feigned impatience, though your pulse still raced from his lingering touch.
Chan tilted his head, eyeing you thoughtfully, then exhaled a sharp breath. “Don’t you think it’s time you saw what it’s like on the track?”
You blinked at him, your breath hitching. “What are you talking about?”
He straightened up, fixing his hoodie. “I’m offering you a ride, princess. Around the track. Are you up for it, or not?”
The sass in his tone lit a fire in you. You loved bike rides, the rush of speed, the wind in your hair—but doing it with him? That felt like stepping into dangerous territory. Still, your pride wouldn’t let you back down.
You crossed your arms, feigning indifference. “Fine. Let’s see if your riding skills are as good as your ego.”
Chan chuckled, the sound deep and low, and it sent an unwelcome shiver down your spine. “Careful what you wish for, princess,” he said, stepping closer. “You might not be able to handle it.”
You scoffed, though your heart was pounding. “We’ll see about that.”
You followed Chan as he descended the stairs and made his way towards his friends, all of them surrounded with their own bikes, cans of Red Bull, wearing leather jackets.
“Yo, I.N!” Chan called out as you approached, his voice carrying over the noise of the dispersing crowd. He looked up from his phone, his expression curious.
“What’s up?” I.N asked, his brows lifting when he saw you trailing behind Chan.
Chan jerked his chin toward I.N’s helmet, which was resting on the bike parked beside him. “Hand that over. Our guest needs it.”
I.N blinked, clearly surprised. “Wait, she’s riding with you?”
“Finally got yourself a passenger?” Minho, who was leaning casually against his own bike, snorted.
“Just a little gratitude to her for being so kind and showing up to my races every week.” Chan replied smoothly, throwing you a sidelong glance.
Your cheeks flushed crimson but you didn't say anything. You couldn't because you felt like your throat was shut tight.
The group erupted into low chuckles, Minho gave Chan a knowing look, shaking his head in mock disbelief.
“Don’t mess up my helmet,” I.N said, handing it over. “It's my favourite one.”
You hesitated for a moment, then took it, your fingers brushing against his. “Don't worry, I won't.” You said softly.
The group watched you curiously as if they were waiting for you to make a mistake but Chan’s gaze was the only one you cared about. He stepped closer, his voice dropping low enough that only you could hear.
“Nervous?” he asked, his lips twitching into a knowing smirk.
You lifted your chin, refusing to give him the satisfaction. “Not even a little.”
His smirk deepened. “Good. Don't hold back and enjoy the ride.”
Changbin threw the keys at Chan and handed him the helmet, moving aside revealing the sleek black BMW, shining under the bright full moon light.
Chan got on the bike and you climbed up behind him. The tension crackled between you like static, and you couldn’t decide if you wanted to throttle him—or hold on tighter.
The engine roared to life, the deep, guttural sound vibrating through your body. Your grip on the seat tightened as Chan revved the engine, his dimpled smirk still firmly in place as he glanced back over his shoulder at you.
With a swift twist of his wrist, the bike shot forward, the sudden burst of speed forcing a gasp from your lips. Instinctively, your hands flew to his waist, gripping tightly as the world blurred around you.
The track stretched out like a silver ribbon under the moonlight, the cool night air whipping past your face. Chan maneuvered the bike with practiced ease, leaning into sharp turns and accelerating down straightaways.
The bike slowed slightly as he leaned into another turn, and you took the chance to glance at him. The confidence in his posture, the way his shoulders moved with the bike—it was magnetic.
“Enjoying the view?” he teased, his voice cutting through the wind.
You scowled, your cheeks heating. “Focus on the road, Chan.”
“I always do,” he replied smoothly. “But you’re making it a little hard, princess.”
Your grip on his waist tightened involuntarily, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something you might regret. The speed continued until Chan slowed down, pulling to a stop at the other side of the track, the starting point looking like the size of an ant.
The sudden stillness was deafening compared to the roar of the engine moments ago. The cool night air clung to your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating between you and Chan.
He shifted slightly, his body still straddling the bike as he turned his head toward you, his dark eyes glinting under the pale glow of the moon. “Tight grip you’ve got there, princess,” he said, his voice low and teasing.
“Didn’t think you’d want to hold on that bad.”
***
“Ah-Chan—” your moans poured out of your lips like an erotic symphony, blood rushing down like a flood bursting out of a dam as you felt his length inside of you, breasts bouncing up and down.
Oh you were holding on that bad.
“Ride my cock, baby. Good girl.” Chan hissed, your pussy clenching him so nicely it drove him wild.
What started off him not knowing your existence to getting to know eachother to now him fucking the senses out of you escalated fast.
You can't lie, you did have fantasies about him during the nights when you scrolled through his socials. Imagining how he would be in bed. Those dirty nights when you moaned his name, imagining his cock replacing your vibrator.
Would he be gentle? A complete opposite to the menace he was on the road?
Boy you were wrong. He was anything but gentle.
He was rough. Hard. Strong. And you enjoyed that very much.
Chan's hand fisted your hair as he pulled you towards him, his lips crashing yours drinking the taste of you. Your fingers clung onto his shoulder, nails grooving scars on his smooth skin, rocking your hips for more friction.
His cock filled you completely, stretching you in ways that made your vision blur. Every upward snap of his hips drove you closer to the edge, the friction against your walls making your toes curl.
“Chan—” you whimpered, breaking the kiss to gasp for air, your head falling back as his pace quickened.
He didn’t let up. If anything, the sight of you unraveling only spurred him on. His mouth trailed down your throat, teeth grazing your skin before he latched onto the sensitive spot just above your collarbone, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.
His lips latched on your erect nipple, sucking and licking on it, the obscene sounds of him groaning feeling like music to your ears.
Wetness gushed down your thighs and onto his, a sinful symphony of wet, desperate noises that only fueled the fire between you.
“So fucking perfect for me.” he praised, his lips brushing against your ear as he pinched and played with your slick nipple that sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core.
You felt so dirty and depraved, shamelessly riding his cock, his praises turning you on even more.
“Should I punish this pussy for stalking me baby? Hmm?” His hand slipped between your bodies, his thumb finding your swollen clit, triggering an orgasm to break free just from his words.
He already “punished” you for stalking him by bending you over and fucking you to oblivion on his bike a week ago but he is so cocky and mean, he loved using that every chance he got.
“Or should I fuck you from behind and wreck you till you make a sweet mess all over my cock?”
Your mouth fell open in a silent scream as your release slammed through you, your body convulsing and your walls clenched around him, drawing a deep, guttural moan from his lips.
You couldn't even process the aftershocks of your climax and before you knew it, you were on all fours, Chan's eyes glued on your glistening slick pussy, the angry tip of his cock grazing and teasing your swollen folds.
“Chan— mngh,” you pushed back against him, whining with need, feeling the anticipation rebuild as you kept feeling the tip nudge against your entrance.
“Needy little thing, aren’t you?” he teased, his voice a dark purr that sent a shiver down your spine. “Barely gave you time to breathe, and here you are, already begging for me to ruin you again.”
Your fingers clenched the sheets, your body trembling from the mix of frustration and desire. “Please, Chan,” you breathed, voice muffled and desperate.
“Please, what?” he sneered, leaning down so his chest pressed against your back, his silver chain and bracelet on his wrist touching your skin, cold.
His breath was hot against your ear, and his hand slid up your body to grip your throat. “You want me to fuck you? Say it.”
Your cheeks burned, but the heat between your legs overshadowed any embarrassment. “I need you to fuck me, Chan,” you whispered, then louder, “Ruin me. Wreck me.”
He groaned at your words, his hand tightening slightly around your throat. “Good girl. That’s what I like to hear.”
Without another word, he thrust into you in one brutal stroke, knocking the air from your lungs. Your hands flew forward to steady yourself, a gasp tearing from your throat as he set a punishing pace, his hips slamming into yours with a force that had the bed creaking beneath.
“Look at you,” he continued, his tone dripping with arrogance. “So fucking cock-drunk, you can’t even think straight.”
You tried to speak, but he cut you off with a sharp thrust that made you cry out. His grip on your waist was bruising, holding you in place as he pounded into you mercilessly.
Every stroke hitting deeper, harder, until you were a squirming mess beneath him. His balls slapped against your clit, an almost tight hand around your throat had your vision going white.
His teeth sank into your soft skin, leaving a ruthless mark on your shoulder and his hand met with a sharp slap! on your ass. The pleasure of it overlapped the pain, relentless drilling on your sloppy cunt that made you grab the headboard.
“FUCK! I can't—” Your cries echoed off the walls of your bedroom, loud and feral.
“You can’t what?” Chan snarled, his voice laced with mockery as he dragged his cock out almost completely before slamming back in, hitting that spot and your skin meeting with another sharp slap!
His teeth grazed your earlobe as his hand gripped your hip tightly, holding you in place. “Can’t take me? Too much for this tight little cunt?”
“Y-yes—no—I don’t know!” you sobbed, your fingers clawing at the headboard as your body quivered beneath him.
His hand slid up on your throat, pulling you upright so your back was flush against his chest. The new angle made you scream, his cock hitting even deeper, harder, the relentless pace leaving you on the verge of tears.
“That’s it,” he groaned, his voice gravelly and thick with lust. “Scream for me, baby. Let the whole world know who’s making you feel this good.”
The way his cock kept hitting the right spots made you climb higher and higher, the knot tightening, only seconds away from snapping, your whimpers and moans poured out endlessly.
“I'm gonna come— I'm—”
You couldn't even finish your sentence as the second orgasm left you shaking, trembling and reeling beneath him. Your walls clamped down on his cock, pulling him deeper until he spilled his seed in you.
“Fuck.” Chan groaned, his grip on your throat loosening as he chased his own release. His hips stuttered, a low, guttural moan escaping his lips, cock twitching as he pumped you full.
Breaths ragged and heavy, the room was mixed in scents of mint and sex. Chan collapsed forward, but braced himself to avoid crushing you beneath his weight.
“You did so good, baby,” He murmured, his voice low and thick, trying to catch his breath while he nipped your sensitive skin.
Both of you were drenched in sweat, the mingling of your bodies making the heat in the room unbearable, yet neither of you moved.
His cock softened inside you, but he didn’t pull out. Instead, he just leaned forward kissing the nape of your neck and shifted slightly, you winced at the feeling of him still inside you, oversensitivity making your nerves spark.
Slowly your bodies untangled and he fell on his back next to you, the both of you just lay there, staring at the ceiling, the weight of what just happened settling in.
You gently turned your head to see Chan, who was lost in his own thoughts. He felt you watching him and he turned too, a soft smile tipping the corner of his lips, his fingers brushing a few strands of hair from your face.
His eyes trailed down your body, skin peppered with his bite marks and hickeys, something unusually painful stung in his chest even though he had never felt that before.
You moved closer to him, pecking a sweet kiss on his nose that made him knit his brows smiling.
“I’m okay, you didn’t hurt me if you think you did.” You said reassuringly.
Chan let out a soft breath, his smile faltering for a moment as he studied your face. His fingers ghosted over a particularly dark bruise on your collarbone, his touch featherlight.
“You sure?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual, his teasing edge nowhere to be found.
You rolled your eyes, the faintest smile tugging at your lips. “Of course.” He huffed out a laugh, the sound vibrating against your cheek and kissed your forehead.
Chan got up from the bed and carried you in his arms towards the shower, you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, letting out a content sigh as your head rested against his chest.
Under the spraying water, the steam curled around the two of you, but his touch was what kept you warm.
He grabbed a washcloth and the soap, lathering it before starting at your shoulders. His touch was slow and deliberate, careful not to press too hard as he cleaned every inch of your skin.
When he reached your bruised hips, his lips ghosted over one of the marks that made your heart flutter.
Once he was satisfied, he handed you the cloth, smirking faintly. “Your turn, princess.”
You laughed softly, taking it from him and mimicking his careful actions. You then saw the scratch marks and crescent scars you had left on his skin, etched like tiny badges.
Your fingers ghosted over them as you cleaned him, a pang of guilt flashing through your chest.
“Sorry about these,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. Chan chuckled, his smirk softening into something warmer. “Don’t be. I like them."
Heat rose up your cheeks and you let out a small laugh, shaking your head.
When you reached his bicep, you couldn’t resist tracing the outline of his tattoo, your fingers brushing over the ink that decorated his skin.
“You really are full of surprises,” you said, your voice soft.
His brow quirked. “Oh yeah? Like what?”
“Like this,” you said, gesturing between the two of you. “The rough biker with the soft side. Didn’t think I’d ever see it.”
He smirked, pulling you closer under the spray of water. “Don’t tell anyone. You’ll ruin my reputation.”
You rolled your eyes but leaned into him anyway, letting the water cascade over both of you. Pearl-like drops of water slid down your bodies, your back pressed against the cold titles as Chan's mouth claimed yours.
After the shower Chan changed into his clothes and you slipped into comfy sweats, he grabbed his keys and helmet from the living room, walking toward the door with a cool, confident stride.
“My race is on Saturday,” He said, slipping on his helmet. “I hope you'll be there, princess.”
A chuckle escaped from your lips, your mind going back to how you went watch his races every Saturday without him knowing who you were.
“I guess I’ll see you there, then.”
Chan nodded, opening the front door and stepping out, you watched him climb on his bike, revving the engine back to life. With a twist on the handle, he zoomed out into the night, flashing away into the stretching darkness leaving a trail of himself behind.
You couldn’t help but think that stumbling across that video online of a certain biker had definitely been the best misstep of your life.
Warnings: Mentions of cheating, Oral (M), Outdoors Sex, Unprotected, Pull out game (wow not a Creampie? What is this?) think that’s it. Sorry for any mistakes or missing warnings
-🖤
Minho was a regular at your bar, he always came in sitting away from everyone. He kept to himself however always flirted with you. It was cute, he was cute. However you were in a relationship.
“So gonna let me take you for a ride beautiful?” He’d ask.
“I don’t know, let me ask my boyfriend” you’d tease back.
This is how it always went, he never pressured you. Never did anything to make it feel weird. He was always respectful. Today when he came in he asked you like normal but when you responded he was taken back.
“So you ready for that ride today?” He’d said wiggling his eyebrows.
“I get off in 30” you said smiling but acting like you were cleaning the counter.
He looked at you puzzled for a second “wait really?” He asked.
“Yeah, unless you’re to chicken now since I said yes” you’d teased.
“What about your boyfriend?” He asked.
You pointed to a booth, a man who was tongue deep with a woman. “Looks like I don’t have one anymore” you shrugged.
His eyes went wide “I’ll kick his ass that little-“ he started as he got up.
“Don’t bother, he’s not even worth it. He’s dumb enough to come here. Out of all places” you laughed.
Minho was almost confused on how much you didn’t care. Maybe it was something that was coming for a long time. Or maybe it was the fact after seeing this you lost any feeling you had for him when you saw him cheating. Either way Minho wasn’t gonna waste the opportunity. Not when he’s found you attractive for so long.
He stayed at the bar like normal staring at you a little harder than he normally did. When your shift was up he handed you his helmet telling you he’d rather have you protected than him. When you walked out with him your ex got up realizing you were here today. “Y/n!” He yelled. He ran outside after the two of you as you got on the back of Minhos bike.
“What the hell are you doing!” He said walking towards you.
“Sorry I don’t date cheaters” you say with a wave as Minho revved his engine. You wrapped your arms around him giving him butterflies. Before you knew it he was speeding off. It felt freeing. You’d missed so many opportunities to do this and for what? A cheater?
You held onto Minho tightly as he tuned to pull off into a gas station. He tapped your head to take off the helmet. “I gotta give you a little run down real quick.” When you nodded he continued. “So turns you gotta move your body with mine ok? Gotta move the weight with the bike. You can hold onto the small handles on the back too. Also if you keep squeezing me like that we are gonna have a problem” he said his tone teasing with that last part.
You blushed a bit but everything right now felt exciting. You were definitely gonna test the waters. When you got back in the road you let your hands slip lower. Letting them rest on thighs. You felt his body tense a bit before relaxing into your touch. You took it as a sign moving them up more until they were inches away from his crotch.
You couldn’t hear anything but he let out a sigh his cock growing harder by the minute. He saw a sign for a hiking trail turning onto the road knowing no one would be there at this time. When he pulled in you were a bit confused taking off your helmet to look at him. “You gonna murder me out here?” You joked.
“Oh totally, definitely didn’t pull off cause of someone’s hands.” He teased back.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about” you said innocently.
He turned your body on the bike making sure you wouldn’t fall. Putting the stand down before pulling your body to his. You could feel how hard he was against you. “I told you we’d have a problem didn’t I?” He said with a smirk.
He put his hand under your chin your faces inches away from one another’s. Neither of you moved for a few seconds before you broke the silence “you gonna kiss me or just keep staring” you said. The smirk that spread across his face was enough to make you wet. God was he ever so hot. He wrapped your legs around him as he kissed you deeply. His lips were as soft as they looked, they felt like little pillows. He tasted like the alcohol he was drinking with a hint of mint from his gum.
His hand came down to your waist as he grinned his cock into you. You let out a soft moan into the kiss letting his tongue slide in. He kissed you with such need before pulling away slightly “god I’ve wanted you for so long” he said almost desperately.
“I’ve actually had a- recurring dream of you” you admitted.
“Yeah? Tell me”
“You sat on your bike while use my mouth” you said a bit shyly.
He stared at you like you just said the hottest thing in the world to him “let’s make it a reality then” he said moving away from you to get into position. He slipped his pants down a small bit letting his painfully hard cock finally spring forward. Your mouth almost watered at the sight of him.
You inched yourself closer to him kissing the tip of his cock. Slowly licking it before taking him back your throat. His hands gripped at your head before pushing back as far as he could. “Gonna let me use this pretty mouth of yours?” He asked. You nodded looking up at him with soft eyes. Ugh how were you so fucking hot he thought to himself. He fucked your mouth slowly quickly getting lost in the feeling. “Fuck you’re taking me so well beautiful” he groaned. He was using your mouth like a flesh light. Fucking into it a little rougher now “fuck- fuck-“ he moaned pulling himself from you.
“Come here” he said positioning you on his bike. He had you bent over the seat. He slipped your pants down just enough. Before moving the tip of his cock up and down your now soaked folds. “All this for me?”
“Yes- all for you” you groaned.
He wasted no time before slowly pushing into you. His body almost trembled at the feeling of your warm walls sucking him in. He gripped at your thighs as he pushed into you fully cock hitting your most sensitive spots. “Y/n fuck- you- ah- feel so good” he moaned out.
You gripped at the bike as he pounded into you the sounds of sex and moans filing the woods that surrounded you. His hand left your hip coming around to play with your clit. He rubbed circles around it, it was like he knew your body already. “Beautiful I’m sorry- I’m not gonna last- ah- fuck-“ he moaned out.
“It’s ok- ah- I’m- I’m close too” you moaned back.
“Cum with me- please- shit I’m- I’m so close” he said his thrust becoming sloppier and sloppier.
His fingers found your weak spot moving over it making your body shake. “I’m- cumming!” You screamed your orgasm creeping up on you faster than expected. Your walls tightened as you came making him pull out cumming on the ground below him. “Fuck- fuck-“ he moaned.
He pulled your body to his holding you tightly against him. “Are you ok?” He asked breathily.
“Mhm. Just. A little cold” you said back.
With no hesitation he took off his leather jacket wrapping it around you. “How about we go back to my place? We can.. cuddle” he said with a shy smile.
“That sounds perfect”
After that day Minho came to pick you up from work every night. Finally making it official after a week. He even scared your ex away that tried showing up at the bar after you blocked him. You wished you did this way sooner but he was finally yours now and he wouldn’t let you go even if you wanted.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵
warnings— blood, gore, very suggestive, choking/gagging, fingering (fem receiving), sucking, blood play/kink, chasing, no protection(wrap it up yall !)
summary— railway inspired fic mwehehehehe
“Thank you for coming,” you said. “I know its not easy to come on such short notice and we’re pretty isolated put here.”
“Ah, it was a rough ride,” Chan answered. “But the train never sleeps.”
You opened the door to let him in, his sleek black coat and leather bag of equipment made him look like a mad scientist. His odd colored eyes completed the look. It suited him well, since he was here to help you study vampires and werewolves. Word of mouth was he knew his shit. If that were the case, then he should be able to help you with a cure.
He walked with you through the corridor. You couldn’t help but notice, and it was so strange, how the other vampires would reach out to him like a savior. With everyone else who’d been here, they were gnashing their fangs and waving their claws at them.
“They must really hate me,” he chuckled meeting your gaze.
“Must, or they think you’re here to save them.”
He shot you a cold look before quickly hiding it behind a cold smile.
“That would be insane.”
You should have doubted him more. It only took a second. You led him to the room filled with vampire blood, hanging from iv racks. He set his bag down roughly, one of his sharp tool pierced a bag. Blood spewed from the tear, and he snapped.
He wasn’t who you thought he was, no, he wasn’t what you thought he was. No vampire would act like that. The way he tore through the guard you called when he shoved the blood bag against his lips was animalistic. He was like a wolf devouring prey.
A hybrid.
You managed to knock him out from behind, running out of the cell and locking it behind you. You stayed and watched him for a while.
He was asleep right now. God was he beautiful, but the blood staining his clothes was eerie. You shivered at the thought of what he’d done to people. What he could do to you.
What he will do to you.
You stood outside the cell he was in. Blood bags hung around him, IVs dripping steadily onto the floor. The sheets were soaked red. Your eyes traveled up his body, taking in every detail of his flawless skin. his veiny arms, his broad chest, his plump lips, his odd eyes staring coldly into your soul. Your blood ran cold, and he twitched.
He didn’t say a word when he got up, thrashing around the room like a wild animal. His eyes were wide with fear, confusion, hunger.
He grabbed one of the blood bags off the pole, biting into it and moaning as he sucked it dry.
You swallowed hard as you watched him. His eyes locked onto yours and he stumbled forward. It was like tunnel vision; all he saw was you.
and God did you look so fucking delicious to him.
You should have turned around; you should have told someone he was awake. But no, you were in a trance. He reached his hand through the bar and stroked your neck with his bloody fingers.
“You look so delicate,” he whispered.
You shivered at his icy touch, the cold burning past your skin. He leaned in closer, his cheek rubbing on the steel bars. You could see the smoke swirling in the air as it burned him, contrasting the cold air his breath blew against your ear.
“Let me taste you,” he whispered again. “I’ve heard so much about you, I want you t be mine.”
You snapped back into reality, and you pushed yourself away. Your eyes refocused, you didn’t even notice they had gone blurry. You took a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
“What the hell are you?” you asked.
He laughed darkly, watching you through hooded eyes.
“I bet you scream so pretty,” he said, his voice almost sounding whiny.
He stuck his tongue out, dragging it up the bar that you touched.
You shouldn’t have reacted that way.
You turned around to leave when you heard it. The sound of metal scraping, screeching and bending in ways it shouldn’t be capable of. You whipped around and saw him pulling the bars apart, smiling maniacally.
You didn’t wait any longer, you ran as fast as you could down the hall. You told every guard you passed that he was awake and escaping.
You could hear him coming. The sound of flesh tearing and blood spilling, his growls as he thrust his claws into their necks. Their screams.
You didn’t want to look, but you couldn’t resist. You saw him lift a guard with one hand before slamming him into the ground.
He wasn’t struggling. No, he was playing, he loved the chase, he loved it so much. He didn’t want to catch you yet; he wanted to catch you when you were out of breath with your clothes torn and your hair a mess.
So, he let you run and hide.
You reached the door you had come through, but it didn’t respond to your keycard.
“Fuck!” you shouted under your breath.
You don’t know how he did it, but the power was out. The lights flickered before going off, and the cell chamber went on lockdown. You were trapped.
In a second Chan was right behind you, his claws digging into your side and drawing blood. You screamed in shock, trying to break free.
“More please,” he whispered in your ear with a sadistic smile.
You gasped as he dug his fingers in deeper just before throwing you aside. You clutched your wound and got up, running away from him.
He had let the other vampires out, and they slaughtered the rest of the guards. One of them grabbed your arm, but before it could do anything Chan gashed its throat.
“It’ll be safe when its just you and me,” he said.
You scrambled back to your feet and ran again. It was still late at night, the sun wouldnt rise for hours. You managed to find a closet to hide in, the sounds you heard would haunt your nightmares for years. That was if you even made it out alive.
It took all your strength to stay awake, and after a while the sounds stopped. A dead silence hung in the air with the stench of blood. Slowly, carefully, you opened the door. The heavy metal scraped against the cold stone floor and echoed through the halls.
In the center of the corridor, you saw him. He was sitting atop a throne of bodies, his head resting on the back of his hand like a king. His eyes were locked on you, he knew you were there the whole night.
With a burst of adrenaline, you made a run for it. The sun had just started to rise, you could make it outside and then you’d be safe.
He let you run.
You ran down the corridor, passing the bodies left to decorate his new lair. You slipped in a pool of blood, falling onto the unforgiving ground. You felt your ankle roll and heard it pop, the blood you fell in spattering against the walls.
He was on you before you even realized it. His weight pressed you down, the blood soaking into your clothes snd staining your skin.
“Don’t you worry about the casualties,” he hissed.
He took a deep breath in, his hands holding your waist. He teased the wound he left earlier with his finger, tracing the punctures he’d left. He gave you a rough squeeze and blood oozed out again. You yelled in agony, and he moaned against your ear. His tongue trailed up the side of your neck, thick blood spreading across your skin.
“Baby,” he whispered. “Trust me now.”
You broke free and stood up, bracing yourself against the wall.
“I can hear your heartbeat racing, you’re trembling, come with me.”
You clutched your side and shook your head, desperately trying to avoid his enchanting stare. You pushed off the wall and stumbled out into the courtyard.
The sun was blinding, you could barely make out what was what, who was who. The guards rushed to your aid, they were shouting and yelling but you couldn’t understand them. Your head ached and you felt dizzy, everything looked blurry and red.
The sun only got brighter, and it scorched your skin. You fell to the ground and the guards circled around you. Blood sprayed your face as Chan ripped through them.
You were his now.
You could barely see him, tearing them apart and draining their blood. The dry grass was painted a dark red all around you.
A second silence fell, only the hollow wind blowing gently in contrast to the horrors that had happened.
A shadow fell over your face, and you opened your eyes. Chan stood over you with a crazed smile. He lifted his wrist to his mouth, and bit down hard. Blood spurted out, speckling his face. He let it drip off his chin, and you couldn’t resist sticking your tongue out to catch the few droplets.
It was like a drug.
You grabbed onto his leg, and he knelt down, lifting your head to rest on his thigh.
“More, please,” you begged.
He smiled wide, his fangs on display for you. He took another bite and sucked hard. You crawled more into his lap, twisting to face him. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as you pulled him down.
He pushed your hands off of him, sliding you off his lap. Before you could protest, he took off his jacket and straddled your waist. With one hand under your head and the other pinning your wrists, he pressed his lips against yours.
Blood poured into your mouth, spilling out from between your lips. You hungrily swallowed what you could, choking on the rest. He didn’t let up, moving his tongue against yours and almost down your throat to make your gag.
His blood was so good, it felt so good going down your throat. You gulped it down, it was like you had been thirsty for years, and he was finally quenching it.
He pushed you down harder into the ground, the dirt turning into a bloody mud beneath you. You tugged on his shirt, needing to be closer to him.
He broke away and you gasped for air, coughing up more blood. Your clothes were torn, your hair was a mess, blood was all over you.
Now he would take you.
He lifted you off the ground and carried you back inside. You couldn’t control yourself, you were clawing at him and biting his neck and shoulder.
You were teething.
He took you to the cell with the blood bags, laying you on the table. He took his shirt off and got back over you. He kissed you again, and you dug your claws into his back. Your scratches left deep, dark red marks.
He killed like an animal, and he feasted like a beast, but he fucked like a demon.
He kissed you like he was just as thirsty as you were. He bit down your neck, growling and kneading your flesh. His hands slipped under your shirt, his claws scratching your soft skin.
Chan moved down your body, his mouth was desperate but his pacing was too slow for you. He slid down from your neck to your stomach, you threw your head back and arched your back when he bit down on your wound.
When he sucked, you moaned lewdly. He returned the sound, his low and deep. His claws dragged down to your pants, pulling them off easily.
“Don’t hold back,” he whispered. “Enjoy the ride.”
His fingers slipped in easily, the sharp points on his fingertips made you scream and he moaned again. He moved back to your neck, biting down hard. His fingers thrust in and out of you quickly, and you bit down on his neck.
His back was nearly raw, and you couldn’t tell the difference between your releases and his blood. He was relentless, you weren’t able to keep up with him. Before long, you were out of breath and exhausted.
Once he wore you out, you felt his fingers slide out one final time. He brought his fingers to his mouth and moaned as he sucked them clean.
He smothered your lips with his again, biting your lip and sucking the blood. You felt him line up, his hips snapping as he thrust into you in one movement. The table creaked and squealed, the force of his movements pushing it up against the wall and thudding loudly.
Your eyes rolled back, and he bit hard onto your bottom lip to keep your head from falling back. You knew he wouldn’t have fit if he hadn’t fingered you so roughly before hand, and you were certain that he tore you from the inside to make room.
You could feel every vein, every twitch, every pulse. He pinned your hands down, keeping you still as he thrust into you. He didn’t stop until you finally felt him cum, his hips snapping into place and going deeper than you’d ever felt.
He slowly opened his mouth, his teeth unpiercing your lip. He released your hands and the fell limply off the table. You couldn’t say anything, you just felt indescribable.
He propped himself up on his elbow, and cradled the back of your head with his other hand. He lifted your head and licked the blood from your mouth, then whispered between his teeth.
“You’re mine now, forever.”
i wrote this in a day help me, i’ve never written a story this fast but i was DETERMINED (so ignore any errors)
➽ SUMMARY: Vampire Hyunjin has lived hundreds of years alone, only leaving his castle when the thirst became unbearable, so what happened when a pretty-faced, broken human asked to be his blood pet?
➽ WARNINGS : Mention of Abuse, body bruises and injuries, implied starvation
[Part 1] [How it's like Living with Vampire Hyunjin]
Note: "Shadows" is something I made up; they have no souls or opinions or anything; they're just mindless black shadows, basically his puppets.
Hyunjin's anger simmered as he paced his darkened chamber. He didn't even know why he was angry or why he cared. The human's scars told a heartbreaking story. How could they be so cruel to their own kind?!
He recalled your desperate tears and your willingness to surrender to him
to what your kind called a monster.
He called upon his shadows
Hyunjin's gaze narrowed. "Prepare a room. See to their wounds. Feed them. Clothe them." Before the shadow could take another step, Hyunjin sighed, and with a flick of his fingers, the shadow disappeared. If you were already terrified as it is now, there's no use scaring you more by having a shadow come get you.
He re-entered the bathroom, not surprised to find you curled on the floor, trembling. you were still crying, not even noticing his entrance; it seems like you won't be showering anytime soon now
Gently, he lifted your chin, cradling your fragile form.
"Little one," he whispered, "no harm will come to you here." Your eyes widend at his words, "y-you will a-allow me to stay here?"
His expression softened, but he quickly masked it with a scowl. "Don't get too comfortable, though. You're only here because I need a decent blood pet."
You stayed quite; he could still feel your little body tremble and shake. He sighed again before he carried you.
As he carried you to your new quarters, he muttered, "Stupid human. Thinking they can just waltz in here..." His gaze drifted to your bruised face. "And thinking I'd care."
you trembled slightly "T-thank you, my lord."
Hyunjin deposited you onto the plush bed, gruffly ordering, "Stay put. Eat. Sleep. Don't make a mess. These are the rules if you want to live here."
Hyunjin's scowl deepened. "Don't thank me. You're here for my convenience."
As he turned to leave, your tiny hand grasped his sleeves. "M-my lord?"
He froze, pretending irritation. "What?"
Your voice barely registered. "Aren't...aren't you going to feed on me?"
Hyunjin's mask slipped, revealing pity. it was apparent what you were doing; you wanted him to feed on you to make sure he will eventually let you stay and not kill you. A vampire's promise can only be sealed with a deal; the deal hasn't happened yet so obviously you were skeptical
"with the state you're in, you can't even stand on your own; one bite and you will die right here." you nodded. "that's very kind of you..my lord."
Your hands retreated, fingers fluttering like injured birds. "Sorry, my lord."
Hyunjin shook off your grasp, grumbling, "Don't touch me."
As Hyunjin turned to depart, Your stomach growled loudly. He spun back, catching your embarrassed flush.
"Food, right," Hyunjin muttered, snapping his fingers. A shadow rushed in with a steaming tray.
Y/N's eyes widened at the weird creature, immeditly backing away fear evedance in the air mixed with sadness. "i-i t-thought you won't k-kill me; i'm sorry, please; i will b-be good."
"They're harmless; they're just my servants; no harm will come to you I gave you my word already." Before you could say anything else the shadow dropped the tray on the bed before disappearing before your eyes.
. "O-oh…so much!"
Hyunjin rolled his eyes. "Eat. Don't waste my resources."
you didn't need to be told twice you dug in, slurping noodles, sauce dripping down your chin. Hyunjin's gaze unwillingly lingered.
Hyunjin sighed, handing Y/N a napkin. "Clean yourself."
Y/N dabbed, smearing soup across their cheek. Hyunjin's lips twitched.
"You're a mess."
You lowered your head. "Sorry, my lord!" You were already making mistake after mistake till when will he be so patient? You thought, When will he just get rid of you or, even worse, send you back to the village? you shudder at the thought.
Hyunjin's resolve crumbled. He grabbed a damp cloth, gently wiping your face.
Y/N's eyelashes fluttered. "Th-thank you…"
now that he's looking at your face he could tell there were some small bruses and cuts some on your lips and some right below your eyes
Hyunjin's touch lingered, his mask slipping. "Just…be careful."
you cowered, eyes wide, as Hyunjin's fingers brushed their skin.
his jaw clenched. He rose, departing abruptly. "Rest. I won't bother you."
Y/N's whispered "thank you" followed him, tinged with hope.
ok so i really need your guys opinion on this one because i used a new AI thing to help me with the grammar and spelling and sometimes it recommends other words so please tell me if you like this or not
Also, I would really appreciate it if you thought I should continue this since I already have the next chapter kinda written, and let me tell you it's going to be HOT!
one last thing would you guys like it better if i said Y/N all the time or just "You"?
Can u pls do a story where like Hyunjin/Lee know is touching u during class? (Pls I’m desperate😭😭😭)
Casual Distractions
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A/n: I'm so sorry it took so long. Life has been kicking my ass. Hope you enjoy!
Warnings: smut, public scenes, social anxiety, threesome? Mxm, bullying, language
You were new to this college, and it didn't help that the language was more than difficult to learn. You were nearly fluent, but knew nothing if the inside jokes or curse words, which was almost everyone your ages' dialogue.
You found it hard to make friends after the transfer, but one person was always kind to you.
His name was Han, and his English was perfect almost. He helped you out in certain course since you shared them, helping you with your pronunciation and all that jazz.
He eventually introduced you to his group of friends that had been together forever. Eight in total.
They were known as Strays. They couldn't be more different from one another. And to top it off, most of them knew English. Two were Australian, and one had lived in America for a short time.
Ironically near you, actually.
All of them were polite to you, but you kept your distance, not trying to force yourself in.
It had been months since you met them all, and it had become routine for you to sit with them in the cafeteria per Felix's request.
You still kept quiet, not confident on your Korean yet.
One day, you and Han were having a study session at your dorm, and got on the topic of crushes.
"If you had to pick between any of my friends, who would you want to fuck you?" He asked randomly, his face blank as if it were the most natural question.
You nearly choked on nothing, staring at him in shock.
"Excuse me?"
He looked at you, confused.
"I said, if one of my friends-"
"I know what you said, Han! But why?" You scoffed, jabbing at his shoulder playfully.
He pretended it hurt, sticking his tongue to you.
"Who do you think is hot? That's what I meant, y/n! Gosh," He grinned, watching your ears turn pink.
"What makes you think I like any of them?" You ask, your fingers fiddling with the edge of your textbook.
"Girl. It's a hypothetical question.." His eyes squint at you in silent question, and smile playing on his face.
You pause to think, unsure if you should tell him, knowing he was a blabber mouth. But you could easily say it was hypothetical just as Han did.
"Uhh, maybe....Hyunjin? Or-"
"I knew it! I knew you like him- wait did you just say 'or'?" He paused his prediction, wanting to hear who else you were going to say.
"I was gonna say, or Minho, Han."
You both sat there, looking at one another. He blinked while you shifted uncomfortably, not used to long periods of eye contact.
"Why him? Have either of you even said a word to one another?" He flicked at his pencil, holding it as if he were going to write.
"Not really...he's just gorgeous, you know?" You mutter, turning your attention back to your notebook. You felt judged despite them being friends. It almost seemed as if he were disappointed.
"Your right," you could hear the smile behind his words, making you look back up, returning it brightly.
"To be fair, though, we're all gorgeous, girly," He pitched his voice, flashing his undone nails making you cackle.
He lightened the mood knowing you weren't feeling right with how it was going. It was the main reason he was your best friend. He understood.
You both continued to joke and study, getting ready for the upcoming class.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next day, the only class you don't have with Han is the class you have with Hyunjin and Minho, ironically.
Hyunjin always says hello, and Lee Know just nods at you with a smile, but today, neither of them did so.
You looked at them multiple times, noticing how they glanced at you some times. It made you nervous. You wondered if you did something wrong that offended them.
They never sat next to you, but today they seemed farther than usual.
Their shoulders raised higher than they should be, almost making it seem like they were out of breath.
You were about to text Han in question, but the teacher called you out.
"Y/n, please step outside for your phone call seeing as it is more important than class,"
You looked up, seeing everyone's head snap towards you. Your heart stopped, "No, I-" your words got caught in your throat as you cleared it loudly.
You felt your face flush.
Sighing in defeat, you grabbed your belongings and darted out the door, catching the way Lee Know and Hyunjin looked at you with what looked like pity.
You held your head low, sighing loudly when you reached the empty hallway.
You walked towards the girls restroom, stopping before the janitors closet, just hoping for some quiet.
It doesn't last long.
You heard a door snap from behind you, making you jump, turning to see if you were in anyone's way.
But it was just the two boys you had been worried about all day.
"You okay, y/ninnie? We saw you freeze in the back," Hyunjin observed, his hands in his pockets as he stood to your right, Minho on the other.
"Oh! Yeah, M'okay. Just want the world to swallow me right now," you chuckled, your shoulders deflating.
"Don't worry about that asshole, okay? Just giving you a hard time," Minho scoffed, staring at the door leading to his classroom.
"Why are you guys out here, though? He's going over the test on Monday." You wonder, not wanting them to fail because they were worried about you.
"We just wanted to see you," Hyunjin said, making you confused.
"See me? You see me every other day," you reply, tilting your head.
"We just have something on our minds I guess. You are the only person we can talk to about it though," Hyunjin grinned, nudging against Minho, who smiled wickedly next to him.
Your heart dropped.
"A little Birdy may have told us something you said from yesterday," Minho growled, bringing his arm to cage your left to the wall while Hyunjin did the same on the other side. You squeezed, making them chuckle.
"Hans a liar," you whispered, feeling your face warm up.
"Are you sure, baby? Cause we can give you what you want," Hyunjin groaned next to your ear, your body shivering in anticipation.
"I-I-" you stuttered, your breathing suddenly shallow as you try to clear your foggy mind.
"Relax," Minho whispered.
Thats when you heard a door handle turning behind you, the wall disappearing that held you, making you fall. But Hyunjin was behind you in seconds, gently bringing you to the tile floor in the closet, Minho closing and locking the door behind him.
You three had officially now moved out of the public eye, away from any onlookers.
"This okay, Princess?" Minho asks as he kneels next to you, your faces inches away.
You breathe out a shaky yes before he nods, looking at your lips then back to you.
He leans in, locking his lips with yours as he started gentle, quickly becoming more rough but the second.
You moaned into Minho as you felt another pair of hands fondling your clothes breasts.
Hyunjin took his time, not bothering to take of your shirt, hoping you wouldn't look like walking sex by the time they were done with you.
He wanted to feel your nipple between his teeth, but he told himself to wait. That they can have you properly after school.
Minho growled into the kiss, shoving his tongue down your throat as you panted into his mouth.
"Let me have a turn, hyung!" Hyunjin whined as he played with your clothes nubs.
Minho pulled himself off of you, grunting. You didn't like the loss if contact, grabbing at his forearms.
"Finally," Hyunjin chuckled, grabbing the back of your head to pull you into him.
His lips crashed against yours, the rhythm easy to control.
Lee Know took his chance to run his hand up your skirt, fisting the fabric of your underwear before pushing them aside.
He ran his fingers through your slick folds, moaning at the feeling of your excessive wetness.
He shoved his middle finger into your hole, pumping slowly as Hyunjin sucked the air from you.
You were both moaning, the kiss getting sloppier until it was just wet pecks.
"Feel good, baby?" Hyunjin asked as he listened to Minho add another finger, the slickness making a sinful sound in the quiet closet."S'good,"
Your head tilted back, Hyunjin takes his chance to nip at your collar bone, leaving a trail of marks. He tried keeping them close to your neckline, hoping you could hide them.
You grabbed at his hair with a moan, pulling it gently as Minho quickened his pace.
He groaned against your neck, teeth scraping against the purple spots now blossoming on your neck.
They both kept at it until you felt the knot forming in your stomach.
"There!" You plead, Lee Know hitting your g-spot roughly now with three fingers.
"Here, baby?" He teases, now hitting it harder.
You were writhing underneath them as you felt your wife snap, your high washing over you suddenly.
Your body shook from overstimulation, nearly crying as they pushed themselves from you after you came down.
"That felt so good," You mutter, your eyes fluttering shut.
They both smirked at one another.
When you opened your eyes, you saw Minho pushing his wet fingers into Hyunjins mouth, his eyes rolling back at the taste of you.
The sight of them being intimate made your hole clench around nothing.
"Come over after school?" You asked them quietly, and try both nodded.
"we'll make you feel a lot more, I promise," Hyunjin smirked, pecking your lips gently. Minho did the same, helping you up.
All the way to class, you could feel your slick drip down lower on your thigh, making you both embarrassed and aroused as you thought about what they would do to you.
