drowning in the dark. @hanllucination - Tumblr Blog

heart at your door. hwang hyunjin (18+)

Hwang Hyunjin shows up at your door with nothing in his hands and everything in his heart.

PAIRING. hwang hyunjin / fem! reader GENRE. smut, fluff, friends to lovers, idiots (read: hyunjin) in love WORD COUNT. 9.6k WARNINGS. strong language, some anxiety & nervousness, explicit sexual content: protected sex, fingering, oral sex (f! receiving), dirty talk & praise, very light & unintentional breathplay

NOTES. i’m back! ...ish. haha so i started writing this some time ago when hyunjin got a buzz cut so this is buzz cut hyune because i love him and it’s so hot. i genuinely apologize for the length of this, it’s 9k words of inner turmoils and awkwardness and idiots >< not proofread, but i hope you have happy reading ♡

READ ON AO3. / MASTERLIST.

Sometimes Hyunjin wishes he could shut off his brain, even for a few minutes.

Or thirty. Or maybe an hour. A day, even. But he knows that’s too much to ask.

It’s not like he has a bad brain or anything. No, Hyunjin’s brain is perfectly fine, thank you very much. It’s just… overly enthusiastic. One moment, he’s thinking about his latest painting, the next it’s wondering what kind of bread he should eat for breakfast, and then bam! It’s back to you. Always you.

He stares at his reflection on his phone screen, awkward and glaring at him with disdain. There are a million different things he would rather do, but he’s stuck thinking about the text message he had typed and deleted once (or twice, five times) and it’s all so ridiculous. He recalls the reason why he’s here, pacing around his room, and then he feels his chest doing that thing again—that uneven, frantic hammering that makes it even harder to think straight.

Great. Now he wants to shut off his heart, too.

It’s not like he wants to think about you all the time either. (He does.) It’s not his fault! (It is.) You’re just… you. That’s the best his perfectly fine brain could articulate, unfortunately. You’re the person who laughs way too hard at his jokes, even the ones that aren’t funny. You’re the one who somehow always knows when he’s had a rough day, showing up with a quiet smile or a piece of candy like it’s no big deal. And… you’re the one who makes his heart do this strange little thing he could only describe as cartwheels of a toddler that he’s almost certain isn’t part of any standard human anatomy.

And that’s the problem.

Because Hyunjin is Hyunjin, and he’s supposed to be cool. That guy who can charm anyone with a single glance, that guy who can hold his own in any conversation because he’s cool. But around you? He’s a mess. A walking, talking, tripping-over-his-own-fucking-feet mess.

He rubs his palms against his sweatpants, trying to steady himself, push all the thoughts away or, at the very least, get them together in a logical arrangement in his head.

Just say it, his inner voice urges. Not good. Now his brain is talking. It’s not a big deal.

He stops in front of the mirror in the corner of his room, dusty and dark. He glares at his face, then winces internally seeing how flushed he looks. “Not a big deal?” he mutters, feeling out of his own mind. “This is the biggest deal ever!”

Then his feet strides across the floor before he throws his whole weight onto his bed. He feels the harsh bounce of his body and he groans, flinging his arm up to cover his eyes. He feels like an idiot, making something big out of something so small.

But, he thinks, there is nothing small or insignificant or trifling about this. Stupid, somewhat, yes. Meaningless? Not at all.

What’s the worst that could happen? He tries to reason with himself, but his brain, ever the pessimist, is quick to answer: Everything. How fortunate, that his brain talks like this. Everything could happen. You could laugh in his face. You could tell him it’s weird. Then the whole thing would be a mistake–

A force of habit brings his hand up to brush through his hair, and he sinks further into the sheets because he just shaved his head, goddamnit. So that didn’t help. His resolve continues to dwindle with each passing second of having no solution to his dilemma, and before it could completely vanish, he holds his phone back up and taps away to navigate to your contact number. Your name, lovingly tacked on with two pink hearts, stares at him and he stares back. His finger hovers over the call button for a second before he just gives up and lets the device fall onto his chest.

He could just sleep on it, right? He’d be better in the morning, he’ll have a fresh mind to think about what to do. Right?

Wrong. His phone slides from his chest down to the side until it falls on his bed. He sighs, staying there for some time. Then his brain, sometimes the optimist, supplies: What if it goes right, though? What if this time, for once, it’s not a disaster? How very fortunate. What if you smiled and held his hand and–

…Maybe this would be easier if he just showed up.

Hwang Hyunjin shows up at your door with nothing in his hands and everything in his heart.

He didn’t mean to bother you so late at night, but he could not bear it anymore; the pinpricks on his palms when his fingers touch, mapping out how he thinks the shape of yours would fit in his. The warmth of your skin on a cold night. From your end of the earth to another. He could not bear it anymore.

(He speaks as if you live hundreds of miles away.)

(You live around five minutes away from his place.)

His hands could not find any purpose in his pockets, fiddling in his fingers his phone tucked behind the flimsy fabric. The breeze blows in late night and he shivers, feeling the shape of the device in his hand. He wonders if he should just ask for help. You know, like any other person with good friends. But—good friends. God forbid he asks help about something like this. Besides, who could he ask? Chan? Minho? Or–fuck, Seungmin? No way.

It’s not like they know either. Hyunjin never told them.

(They don’t. They don’t. Hyunjin never told them. They don’t know… right?)

In his peripherals the streetlights blur slightly as his thoughts wander. He furrows his brows at the flickering one, about 3 blocks away, and wonders when it will get fixed. It’s been like that for months, hasn’t it? He turns to look at it, squinting his eyes and counting its ons and offs. One, two… three… one, two… one… Anything to stall this whole thing.

Doubt clings to him like the cold air. His knees wobble under the weight of his nerves.

Hyunjin exhales sharply and coughs, taking in too much of the night air and clenching his fists inside his pockets. He’s been carrying his secret for too long, letting it weigh him down with every shared glance, every time your laugh bubbled up like music, every casual touch that lingered just a second too long. He can’t live like this anymore, trapped between wanting and fearing, standing in limbo every time you cross his mind.

The fear hasn’t disappeared. He knows it never will. But the possibility—oh, the possibility of you smiling at him, pulling him into a hug, saying something like I was waiting for you to say something—ignites something inside him. Something wild, something reckless, maybe something a little stupid. His heart swells and he giggles like the fucking lovesick fool he is. He thanks the heavens that only he isn’t in the right mind in this neighborhood, out on such a cold, late night because he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone seeing him jumping around the slippery pavement.

He’s at least feeling a little hopeful about this.

The door swings open before he can even bring a hand up to knock. He flinches in surprise before his gaze settles on yours. On you. A mix of confusion and curiosity swims behind your eyes, and all the words he’s practiced, all the things he’s wanted to say… they vanish.

All that’s left is you.

And him.

And the realization that he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

“What the– Hyunjin?” you blink twice, in major disbelief and almost delirious. “Is that you? What the fuck– What are you doing?”

Hyunjin’s face drains of color. “I, uh,” he stutters. The quiver on his lips gives him away, though, and he hopes you would think he is just feeling the cold. “Sightseeing?” is the only thing he could say.

He feels your eyes on him. Somewhere. Through his own, then to his empty hands now lingering helplessly at his sides. He shivers, pinpricks turning into something more intense, a quiet storm brewing under his skin.

He hangs his head low, trying to look as small as he can, except that’s almost impossible with five-foot-ten of legs. Your fingers grip his wrists in a gentle hold as you pull him inside the warmth of your home, and shame is all he feels when your touch lingers on the skin your thumbs had brushed. It’s like it’s burning, but not quite.

The door clicks shut behind him and now — now what?

“How did you know I was outside your door?”

You rub your hands together before walking towards the corner of your living room to grab a pair of house slippers. You set them down in front of Hyunjin and his palms grow sweatier. Oh God, he feels the blood in his ears surge.

“I didn’t,” you shrug. Hyunjin feels your stare as he slips off his clogs (not his best decision, but he hasn’t made a good amount of right choices tonight) to wear the slippers you so kindly offered. “I was just going to see if I can get some takeout, but it’s too cold. I did see a head by the window and you– you scared the shit out of me, did you know that? Since when did you get bald–”

“I’m not bald! It’s a–” Hyunjin cuts himself off with a painfully awkward laugh. “Let’s not talk about it. Do you want some?”

His mouth is almost running as fast as the thoughts in his head. He’s not making any sense to you, for sure, because he is not making sense to him. He clears his throat, wishing he was the only one aware of the palpable discomfort filling the room. The thickness of it tickles his shoulders and he so badly wants to shake it off.

“What?”

“Takeout,” Hyunjin says. “Do you want some? I can go and get takeout.”

He refuses to look back at you. Not with the nerves, the shaved head, the feelings. But he knows there is a wrinkle on your forehead, right between your brows, perturbed, and his heart skips. He wishes he could gather himself enough to be only slightly affected by his inner turmoil because he wants to peer at your expression. But with his gaze down, he only hears you click your tongue before seeing your feet beginning to walk away.

“You’re crazy,” you mutter under your breath. Hyunjin stays in his place just by your door. “This cold? In that ugly jacket?”

But that? That’s what would make Hyunjin look.

“Ugly?” he grits his teeth. “This is not ugly! This was from–”

It turns out the jacket is part of his not-good decisions for tonight. He watches you slowly turn around and he almost takes a step back. You give him a pointed look and it shoots right through him enough to shut him up. He pockets his hands in his ugly jacket again, and in an attempt to save himself from this ordeal, he purses his lips to try and think of something to say. A justification, a reason. Anything.

But there was nothing logical about this. He wouldn’t be here if there was.

“It’s the first thing I grabbed before running out the door.” Hyunjin settles for an honest explanation. “I was in a hurry.”

You continue to walk and he follows you like a puppy in its new home. He stares at your back, follows the dip of line on your shirt down your spine, and begs you to God, please say something in his head. Instead, you lead him to the kitchen and say nothing until you stop by your fridge.

“I have leftover stuff, I think,” you tell him, one hand on your hip and the other opening the fridge. “Maybe we can make something out of it.”

Hyunjin tries his best to ignore the unease he feels and nods, despite knowing you wouldn’t see it. He moves closer to you, leaning a bit forward to peek into your fridge like the nosy little ass he is. Your fridge is an assortment of things that don’t necessarily go together for a fancy dinner: some leftover rice, a few eggs, a half-eaten pack of seaweed, and a plastic container of what looks like stir-fried vegetables. He couldn’t even comment because he’s well-aware his fridge is much worse. He stares at the contents like they might arrange themselves into something gourmet if he wills it hard enough. They don’t.

It doesn’t help that he has suddenly become hyper-aware of how close he is to you. He hovers over you like a fucking prick in five-foot-ten of legs and he wants to move away, but he feels like he would lose his balance if he so breathes a second too long.

“Have anything in mind?” you ask, shifting in front of him to reach for the rice.

Hyunjin stiffens. He clears his throat. “Uh, fried rice?”

You snort. “Predictable.”

“Hey, it’s a classic.”

He steps back, moving steadily as he finally gains his footing. Your shoulder almost brushes his chest when you unexpectedly move at the same time he does. He wonders if you’ve been noticing the way he keeps tensing up, if you can hear his breath stutter.

“Alright. You’re on chopping duty.”

Hyunjin groans dramatically but takes the knife from your outstretched hand. He guides you with an arm as you dish out everything you need from the fridge and lay them on the counter. He makes sure he doesn’t touch you, though, because he feels his skin would flare even at the lightest touch of yours.

Taking a deeper breath, he tries to calm himself down again before making quick work of the green onions. His mind, though, is less on the task and more on the million failed attempts he ran through his mind. He hadn’t even made one actual attempt yet.

He wonders if you can tell. If you know how much he’s struggling to say three stupid words.

“Why were you in a hurry?” you start again, casualness seeping through every word that it feels so out of place in Hyunjin’s ears.

He stops mid-chop. He doesn’t turn to look, doesn’t even bother knowing what you are doing, afraid he’ll crack right then and there. There aren’t any words that he could piece together confidently enough to respond to your question.

The silence stretches for a moment. “You showed up at my door bald and in that ugly jacket, because you said you were in a rush,” you continue. Hyunjin now feels a pair of eyes drilling through the back of his bald head. Maybe the lack of hair makes him feel it a little more sensitively. “In the middle of the night, too. Did you need something from me?”

Hyunjin’s throat tightens, then his mouth is suddenly dry. This time, your voice carries no playful edge and no hint of amusement, just a directness that leaves no room for evasion. Hyunjin feels he owes it to you to meet your eyes, so he does. When he turns, he almost melts at the intensity of your gaze, silently urging him to speak. It’s as though you know something is up but won’t push unless he gives you a reason to.

His mind races, a chaotic swirl of thoughts he’s been trying to suppress for weeks — hell, months. How do you always seem to see right through him? How do you know when to push and when to hold back, like you’re holding the reins to his emotions without even trying? He wonders if you can hear the way his heart is pounding, if you can tell how much he’s been dreading, and yet craving this moment.

“I…” he swallows thickly. His hands feel clammy against the knife handle, so he carefully places it on the countertop behind him before any accident can happen. “I just… wanted to see you.”

Your eyes soften, but your gaze doesn’t waver. “And?”

Hyunjin forces out a breath, his hands gripping the edge of the counter to balance himself. His five-foot-ten of legs feel like weird jelly. He hates how vulnerable he feels, how exposed, like every wall he’s built is crumbling under the weight of your gaze. He wants to look away, to hide, but he can’t. Not now. Not when you’re looking at him like that… like you already know what he’s going to say but are waiting for him to say it anyway.

“And… I’ve been wanting to tell you something,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. The words hang in the air, fragile and trembling, like they might shatter if either of you breathes too hard. He wonders if you can hear the fear in his voice, the way it cracks under the pressure of everything he’s been holding back.

You set the eggs down, leaning against the counter on the other side of your kitchen. “So tell me.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. He cycles through every possible way to say it, but none of them make it past his lips. His jaw tenses.

You wait, patient but expectant.

And Hyunjin? Well, Hyunjin fucking panics.

“I think we should add some chili.”

A beat of silence. Then, you blink. “What?”

“To the rice.” He gestures wildly to the stove, the pan empty but ready, as if that explains anything. “Chili. It would need chili.”

You stare at him and he sees the ever-so-slight tilt of your head. Then, to his absolute horror, you burst out laughing.

“Oh my God,” you wheeze, clutching the counter for support with one hand and holding your abdomen with the other. “You — Hyunjin, did you just–”

Hyunjin groans, head dropping into his hands before he returns to the countertop of green onions. “Kill me.” Maybe his amazing knife skills could make up for the fucking disaster of a scene that had happened. “Pass me the red chili peppers, please.”

You only laugh harder, and despite the sheer humiliation, he finds himself smiling, too.

Because it’s you.

He hears your light footsteps behind him until they stop just a perceptible length away from him. It catches him by surprise — the sudden embrace you give him, chest cautiously pressed against his back, arms loosely around his waist. It doesn’t feel like an embrace the way most people would know it, but it’s enough to send his brain into overdrive.

Fuck.

It ends as quickly as it happens. You’ve moved away and started on the actual cooking before Hyunjin could even process what had happened. It’s fucking insane to him, as well, what kind of thoughts occur in the depths of his brain, and unconsciously one particular chop has a heavier hand that Hyunjin slightly jumps.

He will not speak of those thoughts. He will never.

After that, he basically blanks out. Hyunjin doesn’t know how much time has passed until you offer to take over cooking dinner. A perfect chance to excuse himself, he thinks. He slips away to the bathroom.

When he gets there, he nearly collapses into the sink. He grips the edges of the porcelain, head hanging between his shoulders as he forces himself to breathe. The mirror is right there, but he refuses to look. If he does, he’s sure he’ll see the absolute wreck of a man he has become, someone who just botched a confession with chili.

(And he’ll also see the fucking boner he got from the not-embrace. He feels like an idiot and an asshole now.)

“Fucking chili peppers,” he mutters under his breath. His brain replays the way you laughed. Pure, delighted, merciless. He should be embarrassed. He is embarrassed. But at the same time, he wants to hear it again.

He wants to feel your touch again, too. An embrace, and a real one, this time. He wants to hold you closer, envelop you in his five-foot-ten and the million unspoken affections his body can no longer house alone.

Hyunjin splashes cold water on his face, hoping to reset whatever system his body has short-circuited. It’s been such a long, long day. He just ends up blinking water out of his lashes, still stuck with the overwhelming awareness of everything he’s feeling.

Okay. He can do this. He’ll walk out there, act normal, and get through the rest of the night without embarrassing himself further. That’s the plan.

With one last deep breath, Hyunjin straightens his back, wipes his hands on his pants, and steps out of the bathroom.

The scent of garlic and soy sauce fills the air. You’re standing by the stove, stirring the rice with an easy rhythm. Hyunjin stares at your profile, soft under the kitchen lights, and he cannot help but bite his lower lip, an attempt to suppress the way his stomach twists. You glance up as he enters, the corners of your lips still curved in amusement. There is a kind of mischief playing on the plushness of it.

“Hey, Chili Boy,” you greet, tone teasing but warm.

Hyunjin sighs. “Please. Don’t.”

You laugh again, a little quieter this time. He hears the fondness woven into it. “Come on, you made it too easy. And you’re also extremely bad with spice.”

“You enjoy making fun of me way too much, don’t you think?”

He drags himself to the counter, standing beside you as you continue cooking. The silence that stretches between you is not uncomfortable, despite the… situation. He watches you scoop a spoonful of rice to taste.

You hum in approval. “Not bad. You were right about the pepper.”

Hyunjin exhales a small chuckle, shaking his head. “I’m always right.”

“Debatable.” You smirk, but you get another spoon to scoop another bite of the food, blowing on it gently. His gaze flickers to your lips before he can stop himself. Then you bring the spoon to his lips before he even realizes it. “Here. Taste.”

He hesitates for a fraction of a second before his mouth opens. He feels the heat in his ears at the anticipating gaze you look at him with. Hyunjin swears his pulse trips over itself. He takes a bite, chewing slowly as he pretends he’s thinking very hard about the flavor. The truth is he barely registers the taste.

“Yeah,” he says after a moment, pulling his head back. “It’s good.”

You give him a knowing look, but you don’t say anything. Instead, you turn back to the stove, your presence steady, grounding. He hears the clang of the metal spoon on the sink and he winces. There are a thousand different sensations he feels, emotionally and mentally, physically, that are sure to get him in the morning. It will exhaust him; he’s certain.

Hyunjin shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

The moment is right there; he could say it. He could try again. But instead, he just watches you, the words still caught on the tip of his tongue.

You don’t say anything else, just reach for the plates kept by the rack near the sink. You stack them with quiet efficiency, and Hyunjin takes that as his cue to help, moving on instinct. He tries to ignore the sensation of the unspoken tension he feels in his body, but his fingers brush against yours when you reach for the same thing, and you both freeze.

You recover first, grabbing the plate and nudging it into his chest. “Don’t just stand there, Hwang. At least set the table.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes dramatically, but his fingers tighten around the porcelain anyway. “Yeah, yeah.” He notes how it takes you a second more before completely handing it to him.

It takes a little longer than necessary to get everything ready. Maybe it’s because Hyunjin keeps stealing glances at you while you move around the kitchen, the gentle glow of the lights delicately painting your skin. Maybe it’s because he catches you doing the same.

By the time you both settle at the table, the air between you is dense. You lift your chopsticks first, breaking the moment with a casual “Bon appétit,” and Hyunjin sighs, finally looking down at his plate.

He takes a bite. It’s good. But then again, it could taste like absolutely nothing and he’s not sure he’d notice. His mind is elsewhere, as it has been all day. Now he could only really think of the warmth of the room, the sound of your quiet chewing, the occasional clink of utensils against the plates. Of the way your lips part before each bite. Of the memory of your gaze, heavy-lidded, watching him taste from your hand.

“See? I told you the spice would be good,” he says, mostly to fill the silence.

You hum, nodding as you swallow down another bite. “Okay, Chili Boy. I’ll give you this one.”

He smirks, though it’s a little awkward. “One? I think I’ve been right about a lot of things tonight.”

“Mm.” You tilt your head, pretending to think. Hyunjin feels a flutter in his stomach. “Like what?”

Hyunjin leans forward slightly, resting his elbow on the table with his chopsticks dangling between his fingers. “Like the fact that you enjoy making fun of me a little too much.”

“So that’s two. Still not a lot.” Your lips curve, playful. It feels like the air is treading into a dangerous state. “And that’s not a fact. That’s just my natural response to you making it so easy.”

Hyunjin exhales a laugh from his chest, shaking his head, but it’s edged with something slower, something mellower, and it’s unfolding without his permission. He takes another bite, his eyes glancing at you as you mirror the motion. The silence returns, not the easy kind from before, but thick, taut, humming with the gravity of all the words suspended between you.

His knee bumps against yours under the table. He expects you to move away. You don’t.

Carefully, deliberately, you push back. Just slightly. Just enough for him to notice.

His pulse skips a beat.

You don’t even spare him a look. You just keep eating, acting as if nothing has happened, as if nothing has changed. As if this night isn’t shifting into something neither of you wants to stop.

Hyunjin clears his throat. He feels infinitely warm and he thinks he could burst any moment. He grabs his drink, downs half of it in one go. It doesn’t help.

“Are you okay?” you ask, amused. He sees the subtle curl at the edges of your mouth and his gut tightens. He nods, but he doesn’t believe himself at all.

You hold his gaze for a second too long before setting your chopsticks down. “Good.”

The meal continues, but the space between you is thrumming now, buzzing with an energy that crackles just beneath the surface. It’s like the pinpricks in his palms have now decided to plague his whole body. Every glance lingers. Every touch, no matter how fleeting, feels heavier.

And when the plates are empty, and the only thing left is the silence between you, Hyunjin knows, he’s so, so fucked. Neither of you moves to clear the dishes.

Hyunjin taps the end of his chopsticks against his empty plate, a quiet staccato rhythm that doesn’t match the rhythm in his chest. He peeks at you, then glances down at his hands, as if the words are hiding there somewhere.

He must do something. Clearly, this isn’t going anywhere until he says something. That’s the plan, anyway, isn’t it? Always has been. He’s just too far up in his fear and doubt and the funk in his confidence to do it properly.

“So…” he starts, his voice rougher than he expects. “Are you always this good at pretending nothing’s weird? Or is that just a special skill you use on me?”

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back into your chair. Another smirk tugs at your lips, and it affects Hyunjin all the same. “Who says anything’s weird? Maybe you’re just bad at handling silence, Chili Boy.”

Hyunjin smiles at your easy tone. He laughs, feeling the way the air descends into something lighter. Less sharp, less embarrassed. It’s a slow deceleration, but he’s happy about it anyway. Although the pounding of his heart remains fast, it feels much more stable and steady; the rest of his body is now able to keep up with it.

“Maybe. Or maybe I’m just bad at handling you.”

You don’t respond right away. Instead, your finger grazes the rim of your glass, tracing the condensation lazily. Absentmindedly, really. But then you bring your finger to your lips, tongue flicking out to taste the cool dampness your skin has gathered.

Hyunjin’s mind goes haywire.

It’s nothing. But it’s everything. Something about it, the slight parting of your lips, the brief glint of your tongue, lodges itself in his chest like a glitch he can’t shake. His breath stutters, caught somewhere between surprise and something else he doesn’t want to name.

Something that has been simmering in his core since perhaps the very beginning of the night.

When you finally speak, your voice is smaller.

“It’s funny how quiet you get when it matters.”

Hyunjin’s breath catches again, this time for an entirely different reason. He feels seen — completely, undeniably seen — and it knocks the air right out of him.

You look up then, meeting his gaze head-on. The intensity of it all makes him freeze for a moment, like his body is caught between the instinct to run and the overwhelming urge to stay rooted right there, in that exact second. Your eyes are unreadable, but there is a knowing curve to your lips, like you already know he’s gone for you.

You stand slowly, deliberately, and he tracks every step you take like he’s afraid to blink and miss something. You’re so close now — closer than you’ve been all night, but still not close enough. The kitchen feels impossibly small, impossibly tight. Air stretched so thin, it’s as if a single breath might snap it.

You lean down, palms braced on the edge of the table, your face hovering just inches from his. He feels the warmth of you, the faintest hint of your breath, and it’s unbearable in the best possible way. His pulse roars in his ears, blood thrumming beneath his skin like a live wire.

Then you smile, gentle, but edged with something sharper.

“You’re really bad at hiding it, you know,” you murmur, your voice just above a whisper.

His body responds before his mind can catch up. His muscles go taut, his throat dry, his chest tight with something raw and needy. But he doesn’t move away. He doesn’t want to.

And then—

Your lips find his.

He’s absolutely sure he leans forward to meet you, but his heart swells with satisfaction at the fact that you made your move first. It happens fast and it feels inevitable. Gravity has been pulling you both toward this moment from the very start.

The first kiss is soft.

But when you pull away for a brief moment, just barely, just enough for Hyunjin to see the desire swirling in your eyes, he loses whatever restraint he has left. He knows that look, because it mirrors the very flame that’s been burning in him all night. He leans in this time, closing the distance with a kiss that’s nothing like the first. It’s hungry. Desperate, even. A silent confession in the way his lips move against yours like he’s starving, as if you’re the only thing that could satisfy him.

His hands find you, one threading into your hair and the other holding your waist, tugging you closer. He shifts in his seat to accommodate the new angle and then, without thinking, he guides you onto his lap.

The kiss grows messier, your mouths colliding with a fervor that feels both dangerous and necessary. His tongue flicks against yours, a bit apprehensive at first, but the light grazing of your teeth against his bottom lip undoes him completely. He groans, low and guttural, and that sound seems to break something open between you.

His hands slide under the hem of your shirt, fingertips skating across your warm skin. He’s not even sure what he’s touching, doesn’t care. It’s you, and that’s all that matters.

Your hips shift instinctively, a subtle grind against him, and Hyunjin’s breath shudders.

“Fuck, wait–” he breathes against your mouth, voice rugged and ruined already.

But then he pauses, his hands still resting on your skin, his forehead pressing against yours. His chest heaves with ragged breaths, but there’s a flicker of something in his chest now. Not hesitation, not anymore. Just care. His voice drops to a whisper, warm and sincere, “Is this okay?”

The question melts into the space between you.

You nod first, eager, breathless, but then you cup his face gently, and Hyunjin has a full view of the certainty in your eyes when you say, “Yes. I want this.”

Something in him unravels at your words. His mouth crashes back onto yours with a passion that feels even warmer, fueled by the security of knowing you want him just as much. He pulls back, enjoying the way your eyes flutter shut, before his lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, down the curve of your neck, where he sucks lightly, just enough to leave a mark if you’ll let him. His hands grow bolder. His palms span the dip of your back, thumbs brushing the sensitive skin at your sides, feeling the way you arch into him. He’s not sure when the need became so overwhelming, when it grew teeth and sank right into him, but it’s here now, reckless and relentless.

But then it’s you who pulls back this time, both of you winded, swollen-lipped, eyes dark with want.

Hyunjin exhales a shaky laugh, part disbelief, part surrender. “Why do I feel like I’m losing my mind?”

Your lips find his neck, peppering kisses along his jawline, down the sensitive spot just below his ear. “Maybe because you are,” you murmur against his skin, and the warmth of your breath sends a shudder straight through him. From your end of the earth to his.

That’s all it takes.

Hyunjin stands, his hands gripping your thighs as he lifts you with ease. The scrape of the chair against the floor is lost beneath the sound of his pounding heart. Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively and he carries you to your bedroom. It takes forever to walk there, Hyunjin feels, but he’s not about to let this happen on the kitchen counter, with dirty dishes still on the dining table in the same room.

It feels as if he cannot physically remove his lips on your skin. There is laughter slipping between your kisses as he stumbles down the hall, holding you up in his arms. Your bodies stay together like two poles of a magnet, hearts racing in tandem. The door barely clicks shut behind him before he’s on you again, hands everywhere, mouth chasing the warmth of your skin like it’s the only thing keeping him alive. Maybe, at this moment, it is.

Your fingers tug at his shirt clumsily and he helps you, pulling it over his head in one swift motion before reclaiming your mouth and pressing you against the wall. It’s all heat and friction, breaths mingling in the small space between confessions neither of you is ready to say out loud. But it’s there, tangled in the way he touches you, in the way you respond to every kiss, every graze of his fingertips.

He pulls at your top next, and it takes him no effort to take it off of you. His gaze wanders, his smile growing wild and dazed. Clothes are thrown off in some corner of the room and Hyunjin knows they’re a problem for tomorrow.

“Wow,” is all that comes out of his mouth.

“Wow?” you repeat, tracing his chest with a finger. Hyunjin gasps quietly at the sensation, leaning forward to let his head fall onto your shoulder.

“I can’t look at you,” he whimpers. “I can’t. My heart is going to burst.”

You laugh softly, arms wrapping around his back and pulling him closer. Hyunjin doesn’t comment on the way his clothed hardness presses against your hips. You keep him there for an amount of time that is enough for Hyunjin to go dizzy over the proximity.

His chest rises sharply, a shudder exhaled that’s drawn long enough to feel like he’s been holding it in for years.

“Is this your first time?” you ask gently, thumbs now brushing just under his eye. The question is laced with curiosity, not judgment, so Hyunjin doesn’t feel like he has to run or hide.

His laugh comes breathless and almost self-deprecating. His nose brushes against yours. “No, but…” His voice grows smaller, quieter, the vulnerability in it tugging at something between you. “But it’s my first time with you. And God, I just want to do it right.”

Your eyes flash with something Hyunjin could not name, but it’s all familiar and comforting all the same. Your hands slide down his shoulders before they find their way into the dip of his spine, and his skin trembles in heat under the brush of your fingers.

“Let’s do it right, then.”

Then he feels your arms stretch outward. He steps back, watches you and the grin on your face widen with every passing second. He’s left dumbfounded, confused, and heavily aroused. But you say nothing.

Hyunjin feels like a fucking idiot. That’s not something new, especially not tonight. Then he still doesn’t get the fucking hint, so you finally say, “Carry me to the bed, Hyunjin.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, but he feels another wave of mortification in his stomach because he was too fucking hard to get that very obvious invitation. He carries you again in the same way he did earlier, holding onto your thighs to let it wrap around his waist. He hides in the crook where your neck and collar meet, feeling a different kind of heat in his cheeks.

It only takes a few steps, but Hyunjin makes sure his touch projects less of his want and more of his devotion to it. It’s not that his greed for this very moment has diluted. In fact, he thinks that desire, when mixed with this kind of tenderness, fuels a fiercer flame. Something that burns satisfyingly within him. Not just a hunger to have, but a need to cherish. It spills from his fingertips, tracing the curve of your waist, and settling in the soft press of his lips against your skin — an ache, yes, but one wrapped in reverence.

He lays you down gently, so fragile and precious, something he’s terrified of breaking. But the way you look up at him, eyes dark with desire yet soft with trust, tells him you’re everything but that. You are precious in ways that tell him, maybe, he can handle you just fine. He can handle you because he is determined to. Your hands find his face again, pulling him down until your lips meet, measured, savoring.

Hyunjin settles between your thighs, forearms braced on either side of your head, caging you in. His mouth trails another path down your neck, across your collarbone, pausing to taste the skin there like he’s memorizing it. He could spend forever here and he would still not get enough.

“Still okay?” he murmurs, breathing against the shell of your ear.

You nod, sighing, fingers threading through his hair just enough to make his eyes flutter close. “More than okay. Please, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin slightly moves his way down. His fingers dance on the waistband of your pajamas, teasing, barely grazing your skin. He can feel your body shift under his touch, your hips lifting as if urging him to move faster, to give you what you want. But Hyunjin pulls back, just to look at you with those eyes full of want, but still filled with that deep-seated reverence that makes Hyunjin’s heart skip.

“Patience,” he breathes out, his tone a perfect blend of control and desire. The awkwardness and reluctance that plagued his whole evening now almost completely gone, and he thinks he could get drunk in this feeling. His lips brush against your collarbone again, hands now getting dangerously close to your heat.

A frustrated moan spills out of your lips. Hyunjin feels the protest in the quake of your hips. “Please, Hyunjin,” you whisper, fingers gripping the flesh of his back. “Don’t tease me.”

He smiles at your plea, tilting his head sideways before planting a soft kiss on the skin of your breast. “But you had a swell time teasing me tonight, though?” he murmurs, slowly, agonizingly, his fingertips lifting up from your skin. “I’m not teasing you, though. I’m just savoring this. Savoring you.”

Then his hand slides under the waistband of your bottoms, finally making contact with your skin. He’s on the edge of control, but he knows sooner or later he would fall over it himself. His fingers find your slit, easing it apart to tease your nub. A satisfied hum rolls off his tongue as your hips jerk upward at his touch. You let out a breathless gasp as he presses a gentle kiss to your lips, his touch finally becoming less teasing and more purposeful.

“Take it off, please,” you say, words caught between breaths. Hyunjin coos.

“My pleasure.”

Not wasting any time, he slides your pajamas down your legs. He relishes the way you lift yourself to assist him, loving how eager you seem about this whole thing. He pulls the rest of the fabric off your feet and kisses his way up, wet and determined, as he looks directly into your eyes. He grows more and more lightheaded with each press of his lips until he finds himself just inches away from your heat. He smiles to himself, seeing your wetness seeping through your panties.

“Hyunjin, I’m…” He hears you whisper, so he turns and looks up to you.

“Do you not want me to?” he asks, despite his wide-eyed look of arousal. He raises a concerned brow, hands resorting to rub the sides of your thighs in delicate patterns. “I’ll make you feel good, but you can tell me if you want to back out.”

“No! I mean, yes! I–” Your hand finds the side of his head, fingers fondling with his ear, and he keens at your touch. He moves sideways to accommodate your palm before completely nuzzling into it, almost propping his own head in your hand. He looks up to you with a smile he hopes conveys the want and the hunger, as well as especially his respect to give you an out if you wish.

He wants you, but he loves you first. He’s not about to be the bastard who’s set to get his dick down after getting an unexpected boner while attempting a confession.

(There. He admits it. He loves you. He loves you dearly.)

(The verbal confession would have to come later. He swears.)

Hyunjin feels your legs tremble with the shaky breath escaping your lips before he hears you murmur, “I don’t doubt you would.” You lean forward, propping yourself on your elbows, which allows Hyunjin to fully see every curve and frown and furrow on your face. “I’m just… embarrassed.”

Your eyes dilate, a familiar hue now in their gleam, one Hyunjin knows you’ve seen in his eyes many times over the past few hours, or the past few months. He stops himself from giggling, a weird feeling in his stomach coming in full force, and instead, he leaves a kiss on the inside of your thigh before pulling your panties to the side with a finger. He feels immense pride at the pleasured gasp you made and the sound of a body falling flat back onto the bed.

Lightly, he licks a strip up your slit. Your legs shiver and he holds them in place by caging them in his arms. Another lick, and a bit-down sigh resounds in the room. He’s determined to let you let all that out. Another lick, bolder, and you moan.

Hyunjin thinks he can do this all night.

With fewer qualms in his mind and more confidence in the patterns that have you reeling under him, Hyunjin begins to prod his tongue into your pussy, deliberate and steady. He savors every twitch of your thighs and every soft gasp you gift him. The taste of you floods his senses, sweet and intoxicating, and he hums against your skin, the vibrations pulling a whine from your lips.

He tightens his grip, thumbs digging gently into supple flesh as he gets more and more aroused with every sound you make. He pulls you closer, tongue delving deeper with eager strokes, pushing into depths that have your back arching off the bed. He listens intently to every breathless whimper, every choked plea, a melody he never knew he craved. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, and God, he feels worshipped.

But it’s not just about the sex.

Between fervent licks, he glances up, eyes locking with yours. Your face is a masterpiece of flushed cheeks, parted lips, and glassy, desire-drenched eyes. He blinks, wishing he could capture it in his memory vivid enough to paint a picture if you allow him to. His heart stutters, and his chest tightens not just from arousal, but from the overwhelming tenderness that crashes over him like a wave.

I love you.

It rings so loudly in his head, louder than your moans, louder than the slick sounds filling the room. It feels as if it’s clawing right out of his chest to escape.

So he doubles down, dragging his tongue flat with more pressure, flicking at the sensitive bundle of nerves until your thighs quake around his head.

“Oh, God, you–” Words cut short with the sudden flick of his tongue on your clit, your hands immediately holding onto what little hair he has and tugging at it. “I’m so close. I’m so–” He adds two fingers, slipping in easily, curling just right, because he wants you to fall apart for him. Wants to feel you unravel with his name tangled in the wreckage.

And when you do — when you cry out, trembling around his fingers, back arching like a bow pulled taut — Hyunjin swears he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

He slows, gently coaxing you through the aftershocks, pressing light kisses against your inner thighs, his cheek resting against the warmth of your skin as he catches his breath.

His heart still pounds, not from exertion, but from the burden of the words he has yet to say.

Maybe after. Maybe when you’re both lying there, tangled and breathless, he’ll finally whisper it against your skin.

I love you.

But for now, he presses one last kiss to your hip and smiles up at you.

“Was that okay?” he asks gently, though he already knows the answer.

“Okay?” You pull your arms back, letting them fall to your sides. Your body relaxes and Hyunjin sees the upturn at the corners of your lips. You gesture at him, nudging him to move. “Hyunjin, that was fucking mind-blowing. C’mere.”

Hyunjin climbs his way on top of you, hands holding onto your face as soon as it’s within reach before he kisses the tip of your nose. A sigh escapes you, fingers tracing his sides until he feels you tug on his bottoms. There is a determined grin plastered on your face, and Hyunjin swallows the lump in his throat.

He’s had the best time of his life eating you out of your damn mind, but the truth of the matter is he’s far from satisfied.

Heat shoots through his stomach once more, and he feels his hardness straining under all the fabric. He lets your hands play on the waistband of his sweatpants before giving you a nod. Lifting himself up high enough to pull the clothing down his legs, he obliges your impatient touch and whimpers when you accidentally brush against the side of his cock.

“Please, Hyunjin,” you plead, and he thinks he could almost see the need spilling out your lips. He sighs, feeling just as greedy with his cock catching against your slit, then he blinks.

“Condom,” he says, simply. He stares at you like you would make the rubber suddenly appear out of thin air.

“Oh,” you reply, simply. Well. “I don’t… I don’t have one, I think.”

Hyunjin has one. He’s just suddenly overcome with shame at the very idea of it.

Because having it means he thought about this — planned for it, even — and not just in the vague, wishful way. No, he knew he’d want you like this. He knew he’d fall apart under your touch. And now, with you lying beneath him, asking for him like it’s the most natural thing in the world, it feels like a confession he isn’t ready to voice.

I’ve wanted you like this for longer than I’d admit.

He clears his throat, trying to mask the rush of emotions overflowing in his chest. “Uh—I… I have one.” His voice comes out rough, strained, and he winces internally. Cool. Real smooth. He tries to think of excuses, something like, it has always been in my pockets, you know, for luck or Jisung pranked me and left it in my wallet, but I keep forgetting I still have it. Neither of them is good.

But your eyes brighten with a mix of relief and something more tender. “Okay,” you whisper, like it’s not a big deal. He’s wondering how you still don’t realize how much his resolve has been falling apart then coming together, only for it to fall apart again because of you.

Hyunjin shuffles to the side, fumbling through the pockets of his ugly fucking jacket with shaky hands until he finds the small foil packet. He holds it up, hesitating for a second before tossing it onto the bed like it’s burning his fingers. He doesn’t meet your gaze when he climbs back over you, afraid you’ll see right through him.

It’s not like he doesn’t have his heart and dick out in the open, but still.

Then your hand curls around his arm, thumb rubbing small circles on his skin. “Hey,” you hum softly, “it’s okay.”

He leans into your touch, shifting forward to rest his forehead on yours. His eyes flutter shut for a moment before he kisses you, heavy and deep, trying to pour everything he hasn’t said yet into it. His hips grind against yours, the head of his cock brushing against your core. The friction is enough to make both of you gasp into each other’s mouths.

When he pulls back, his question comes. “Are you sure?” he asks, because despite everything, he needs to hear it.

Your answer returns without hesitation. “I’ve never been more sure.”

And that’s all he needs. He’s finally, finally resolute.

With trembling fingers, he tears the packet open, slipping the condom on with practiced ease that makes his face heat up again, not just because of the act itself, but because it’s you this time. It’s real.

He feels your own fingers gently move him away from his cock, and you pump it slightly. His head falls back at the feeling of your hands wrapped around where he needs it most, and he lets his jaw fall slack. He thinks he wants to moan, but he’s left so speechless that not even a sound leaves his throat.

Then, you help him position himself between your thighs, one hand still on his cock and the other pulling your panties to the side. His shaft lines up with your entrance, runs it up and down long enough to catch your gaze. “Tell me if you need me to stop.”

Your breathy, quiet “I won’t” is the last thing he hears before he finally pushes in. Steadily, carefully. His body is trembling with restraint and the tight, wet warmth of you just steals the air from his lungs. For a second, he can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t be — except right here, buried inside you.

A broken moan slips from his lips, his head dropping to your shoulder. “Fuck, you feel–” he cuts himself off with another shuddering breath.

You’re everything, everywhere. Around him, under him, in him in ways he never expected. And deep down, beneath the pleasure, one truth rings louder than anything else.

“I love you,” Hyunjin whispers into your skin. Your hands move to grip his back, nails slightly digging with every stroke he makes. He pulls out, only to push himself back in, reaching as far as he physically can because he wants to feel you completely. “I love you,” he repeats. Again, and again, and again.

Then he feels your shoulders shake under him. He leans back, pulling out until only little of him remains inside you, and he squints his eyes at the shit-eating grin slowly forming on your lips. He almost falters.

“Why’d you stop?” you complain.

“Are you laughing?”

“Yes,” you blurt out immediately, cheeky in tone. “And I was being fucked so good until I wasn’t. Don’t stop. Please.”

Hyunjin pushes back in, only slightly, and it has you gasping. He feels your hips shift to chase the feeling of his cock in you, but he doesn’t relent. “I’m the one fucking you good. Don’t laugh at me.” He thrusts fully, the suddenness deliberate to take you by surprise.

“I’m just…” Another moan betrays your words. Hyunjin takes his time thrusting in and out of your pussy, allowing him to feel every drag of his cock inside you. “That’s something… something you should say before you have your cock… fuck–inside me, you know.”

Hyunjin snorts, half-embarrassed. He leans down to kiss you on the side of your head before he presses a palm on your abdomen. The action got you choking on a wanton sob, then he pushes another drag of his shaft into you. He almost fucking cums when he feels you tighten around him.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your skin, voice sliding down your cheeks. “I love you,” he repeats.

“Apology accepted,” you whisper back, hands now fiddling with the hair at the nape of his neck, heavy enough to keep him in place. “—after you show me how good you fuck.”

Holy fucking shit.

Hyunjin gasps as you pull him down for another kiss. His hips stay in place, twitching whenever your tongue pokes the insides of his mouth. When you pull away, a wicked smile plasters on his face and he grabs your thighs to pull you closer. He holds it up, the angle accommodating his body better and his cock deeper. Then he fucks you good, because that’s what you asked.

The pace he sets is merciless, each thrust a declaration and a tangible response to your challenge. Skin slapping against skin, the sound fills the room, mingling with the wet, obscene slickness of your arousal. His name spills from your lips like a mantra, and yours rolls off his tongue like a prayer. It’s breathless and broken and so lewd, each syllable unraveling under the force of his hips snapping into yours.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Hyunjin’s hand slides from your thigh to your throat, not to squeeze but to ground himself, his thumb brushing along your jawline tenderly, a stark contrast to the way he’s fucking you like he’s trying to imprint himself in every part of you. His eyes find yours, blown wide with lust, but there’s an ache there, too. A need beyond the physical.

“You feel so good,” he pants, voice ragged, lips a hair’s breadth away from yours. “Like you were made for me.”

Your body clenches at his words. You’re on the edge, teetering, and he knows it. His free hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to have your back arching off the bed once again.

“Hyunjin—fuck, I’m–”

“I know, baby,” he breathes, kissing you once. His pace grows erratic, losing its steady rhythm and growing more and more inconsistent. Fuck. Holy shit. Fuck. Fuck. Then he kisses you hard, swallowing your moans beneath him as you fall apart. Your insides squeeze him almost impossibly tight that has him trembling and gasping into your mouth. His vision blurs at the edges as he feels you come undone. He follows soon after, hips stuttering as he spills into you, a low, grating groan ripped from his chest.

For a moment, there’s only the sound of your breathing, the weight of his body grounding the both of you, the warmth of him inside you. Then he shifts, pulling out gently that has you shivering and whimpering quietly, rolling to his side and pulling you with him so your bodies stay tangled.

He traces lazy patterns on your back, his other hand cradling your face.

“I meant it,” he sighs softly against your temple, his promise to whisper his affections onto your skin finally coming to fruition. “I love you. So damn much, you have no idea.”

This time, there’s no teasing on your lips, no cheeky comeback. “I think I do.” Just the truth, bare and simple, as you whisper back, “I love you too.”

this work is complete and will not have any subsequent parts.

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