ness

blog for.. well, everything (‘02)

[hyprfixate]

hiya :) i’m ness, i’m an ‘02 liner, and this is my kpop side blog with occasional appearances from other medias. i stan stray kids (seungmin biased), bts (yoongi biased), ateez (yunho biased), and txt (yeonjun biased)

i mostly write fanfics and reblog pics/funnies. always feel free to send me asks, i really enjoy them and don’t bite!

masterlist:

O N E - S H O T S:

a genetic disposition (to loving you) [B.C x Reader]

for the taking [B.C x H.J x K.S x reader]

magnum opus [H.H x reader]

the peer review process [K.S x Reader]

S E R I E S:

Hold On Tight [L.F x Reader] : prologue • part one

Soul Vine [L.M x Reader] : part one • part two • part three • part four

mr and mrs han [H.J x Reader] : part one

[hyprfixate]

mr and mrs han ↝ [H.J.] :: part one

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: when the international crimes task force (ICTF) finally gets a lead on a case they’ve been chasing for years, there’s no room for error. they need their best agents. unfortunately, that means you’re being sent on an extended undercover mission with agent jisung han, deep in small-town america, to play the part of his loving, devoted wife.

which wouldn't be so bad. if you didn't hate his guts.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ pairing: han jisung x she/her reader

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ chapter word count: 5.1k words

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ chapter warnings: non graphic mentions of trafficking (reader discussing a case)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ tags: spy au, exes to lovers, forced proximity, fake dating/fake marriage, sharing a bed, mutual pining in denial, slow burn, eventual smut, found family, miscommunication/misunderstandings

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ author’s note: not edited (because when do i ever), if you find typos pretend you didn't. enjoy!

“Aw man.” 

Felix sighs, tiny lips pouting as he watches the coffee disappear down the drain of the break room sink. Steam billows up from the swirling black pool in the center of the metal square. “That was definitely still hot. Why'd you dump it?”

“It was bad,” you murmur. The excuse is flimsy. You reach for a new filter and the bag of grounds. “Saw a fly go into it.”

In the haste of your movements, your hand brushes against the sole mug in the break room's dish drainer, and you pull back as if you’ve been burned.  If you were anyone else, in any other profession, you would take the mug and smash it against the ground, but you are not just anyone. You are a highly trained field operative employed at the highest office of the International Crime Task Force. You choose to close your eyes in an attempt to ground yourself. 

“Wait, seriously? A fly? In here? Agent Park is going to lose his mind. Did you get the disinfectant?”

Felix is usually a very loving and perceptive person. These are the qualities that make him an incredible tech officer and handler. But maybe that honor is reserved for after he's been properly caffeinated. You count to three before opening your eyes, watching his newly bleached head of blonde hair squeeze past you to look under the sink for the disinfectant. A sigh passes your lips.

“Felix.”

“I'm serious.” His voice is obscured by the thick wood of the cabinet doors. “Have you seen Seongwha clean this place? A fly would be a personal disrespect to him. We have to wipe down the counters before he comes in.”

“Felix.”

The urgency in your voice cuts through the early morning stupidity that seems to have afflicted your best friend’s brain. He pulls back, just a bit, disinfectant and wipes in hand. You look down at him with a stare that could level a city. 

“There was no fly.”

“Oh.”

He seems almost disappointed to put down the disinfectant. You watch as the resignation on his face slowly gives way to confusion. He opens his mouth, likely to ask again why you’d dump perfectly good coffee out, but then his eyes trail up, up to the sink, up to the dish drainer, and he sees the sole mug in there. The imperfect, stout, navy blue mug with cream stars and a chip on the handle in the shape of a J.

Understanding crosses his face. His eyes widen just a fraction, his grip loosening around the can of expensive disinfectant.

“Oh. Agent Han made the coffee.”

It’s not so much a question, moreso a confirmation of what he's seeing. Everyone knows that mug, and the owner of the mug, and as trauma-bonded as the agents at ICTF are, you all are not in the habit of sharing mugs. Seeing that mug above a pot of freshly made coffee can only mean one thing.

You let your professional mask slip back into place and nod once, sharp and final, turning back to the coffee maker. The machine whirrs to life as you press the brew button with more force than necessary. Felix rises from his crouch by the cabinet, setting the disinfectant back under the sink with careful, measured movements. He knows better than to barrel into things. It's one of the reasons you love him.

"He's… early," he says after a moment, voice pitched low. He's moved to stand beside you, shoulder brushing yours in silent support. “Usually it's just us and Bang here now.”

The methodic drip of the coffee into the pot is the sole focus of your attention. “I don't see how that concerns me.”

“Right,” he murmurs. He drums his fingers on the counter, looking around the room. “But…that's… I mean, you know him. That's not like Han.”

Unfortunately, Felix is correct in the fact that you know Jisung better than anyone else in the agency.  He would rather drink a jean jacket through a paper straw than get to work before 9am. Judging from the barely-there pink glow that’s begun to dust the streets, you know that it is certainly not 9am.

The clock on the wall ticks away before the minute hand firmly lodges into its place, delivering 7 distinct chimes.

Jisung Han is at work, and has been at work, since 7am. 

Felix is staring at the mug again.

You can see it in your peripheral vision, the way his eyes keep drifting back to it, like he's trying to solve a particularly complicated equation. The coffee maker sputters its final drops into the pot with an almost deeply relieved sigh, and you gather the materials to pour yourself a cup with mechanical precision. You try not to look too closely at your mug when you pull it out of the cabinet: a round, stout, dreamy cream colored thing dotted with navy stars. 

Felix makes a noise akin to a frightened kitten.

I really should switch to the one they handed out at orientation, you think, pouring coffee into your mug and loading the whole thing with far too much sugar and creamer.

"Maybe he couldn't sleep," Felix offers. Finding answers has always been his thing. “Or maybe Bang is sending him on a mission that requires early briefing.”

“Does it even matter?” You punctuate your question with a sip of your coffee. It’s disgustingly sweet. You swallow it anyway, needing to put space between yourself and this situation, at least metaphorically. “Hopefully his mug is the only bit of him I’m forced to see today. I’m going to sit.”

Felix looks like he wants to say more, like he wants to comb through every reasonable and unreasonable scenario about why on earth Jisung Han would be here, at work, before the sun has even come up. But the haze of early morning stupidity has left his brain, and he’s paying more attention now, really noticing the tension in your shoulders, the stifled way you walk to your favorite table, and he just lets out a long, deep exhale. You’ve told him before that you’ll talk about what happened when you’re ready, and he has to trust that, so he just nods, following you with his own cup of appropriately made coffee.

The situation is upsetting, but you’re not upset with Felix. Four months ago, before things went wrong, you’d be curious just like him– maybe even more so. The sight of that stupid blue mug would’ve sent a jolt of excitement down your spine and you would’ve taken it, filled it with coffee made in the exact way that you know Jisung likes it, and headed out into the maze of corridors in the building to find him. You would’ve been excited to see him, actually, so excited to spend extra time with him before the work day got busy.

But that was before the excited butterflies turned to wasps. Before the quiet implosion of your universe. Before you ripped him out of your life and used duct tape to close that Jisung-shaped hole. Before…

Before Stockholm.

It’s better this way, you remind yourself, shaking your head to dislodge the thoughts. You slip your agency assigned tablet out of your crossbody bag and begin looking through briefings and emails. Routine is safe. There is no more Jisung here. Just Agent Han.

Thankfully, the rest of the early morning passes easily. You and Felix have developed a system over the years where your early mornings in the break room become a space for coffee and contemplation. If you talk, it's minimal, more content to exist in each other's space.

Slowly but surely, the building starts showing its first signs of life. A few agents from other divisions trickle in and out, varying in their levels of consciousness and enthusiasm. Your division, the Crimes Against Persons Unit, is the smallest, and has a penchant for not getting things rolling until closer to 8am.

Felix looks up when the breakroom door opens at 7:47am, the neutrality on his face easing into a grin. “Damn, Hwang, you look terrible.”

You glance up. Hyunjin could never look terrible, not by any normal human standards. He has the type of face that’s been sculpted from renaissance paintings and a slender, lengthy body to match. As if his face wasn’t devastating enough, he’s all charm and a knee-buckling smile with a jet black buzzcut that was office gossip for weeks. He does look exhausted though, and you watch with amusement as he flips Felix off without speaking, making a direct B-Line to the coffee machine. 

“How was Anchorage?”

“Cold,” Hyunjin murmurs. “And we stayed at a Holiday Inn. Which meant four days straight of Changbin singing that stupid Pitbull song on repeat.”

You quirk an eyebrow up. “Hotel Room?”

On cue, Agent Changbin Seo walks into the breakroom with a particular pep in his step you wouldn’t expect to see from someone who spent four sleepless days doing surveillance in subzero Alaskan temperatures. And, true to Hyunjin’s word–

“We at the hotel, motel, Holiday Inn–”

Hyunjin thunks his head against the upper cabinets with so much force that they rattle. “Make it stop, please.”

Changbin is all smiles, his wispy black hair falling over itself and into his eyes as he slides into an empty seat at your table. His muscular form fills out his button up and slacks, but anyone who has spent any time with him knows he’s truly the biggest softie ever. His shoulder nudges yours in greeting and you return his smile, easy and genuine.

“Did you guys miss us?” He steals a grape out of Felix’s breakfast container. “Four whole days without the two most handsome agents must’ve been difficult. I’m surprised the building is still standing.”

The blonde quirks his lips into a half smirk. “I wasn’t aware Hyunjin and Minho were the ones away?”

Hyunjin snorts, pulling his mug from the same cabinet that he just tried to put his head through. That is where everyone’s mugs go at the end of the day, an efficient system orchestrated by people who spend more time at work than they do at home. You catch when his eyes land on the only other mug that’s not in its proper place. A mug that usually doesn’t make an appearance until well after 9am. His eyebrows furrow, slender fingers picking up the cup and turning it around to inspect it.

“Hey, isn’t this–”

“Good morning team!”

Relief crashes through you when he’s interrupted. Your small group looks towards the door where Jeongin, in the final stretch of his Cadet program, is struggling to fit through the doors with the boxes of bagels and donuts in his hands. He manages eventually, looking as excited about life as one would expect from someone who hasn’t been on the field yet.

“Yang!” Changbin rises and claps him on the shoulder, nearly shoving the poor, unsuspecting boy across the room. “Donuts? On a Wednesday? You’re a Godsend.”

The mug goes back into the dish drainer, forgotten, and the itch of anxiety at the top of your spine begins to dissipate. It’s fine. Everything is fine. You can exist like this, quiet and watching under the comfortable chaos of people who trust each other with their lives. There’s a bubble that you’ve created here, and for right now it is impenetrable. You let yourself breathe, because you can.

The members of your division continue to talk around you, asking Hyunjin and Changbin about their Anchorage operation.Changbin is happy to talk about the fishing he got to do before extraction, embellishing greatly on the sizes of the fish he caught. Agents from other divisions drift in and out, the breakroom feeling full and alive in a way that isn’t too overbearing. 

You’re finishing the last dribble of your coffee when he arrives.

You feel his presence rather than see him, as you always do. Every microscopic hair on your body rises, perked to attention like metal seeking its magnet.  Your spine goes rigid, and you're distantly aware that your grip on your mug has tightened enough that your knuckles are white. It feels like ice has been poured down your spine.

Jeongin smiles around his cruller. “Hey, Agent Han! I was wondering where you were.”

You stare into your mug. You can’t lift your eyes.

“Missed me, Yang?” His voice carries its usual musical lilt across the space. “Morning, team.”

You feel a nudge against your foot under the table. It’s Felix. A comfort, maybe, or a warning to hold yourself together so you don’t leap out of your chair and bludgeon a fellow agent with a mug.

You let your eyes trail up.

Jisung– Agent Han looks… like himself. His hair is a bit longer than you remember, curling in on itself around his ears and framing his face. His big, expressive brown eyes are crinkled under the weight of his smile, the playful smile that draws everyone in to him. He’s wearing the agency’s dark gray quarter-zip pullover over a pair of black pants. He looks perfectly normal.

You’re not sure why that angers you.

You feel the scowl settling over your face, the way your mouth pulls down and your eyebrows crease. He keeps up a steady stream of chatter as he moves through the room, effortlessly social and happy and not at all suffering like you are. Were. 

He’s leaning over Changbin’s shoulder, looking at his pictures from Alaska. He’s close enough to you that you can smell his cologne. Your gaze drops to your mug again. It would be so easy to hit him with it, you think.

“Hey, uh, good morning.”

The chatter at your table has stopped.

It takes a moment, but you look over at Jisung and realize he’s speaking to you. His smile is cautious, wide eyes hopeful as he looks at you.

You stare back, unblinking.

Hyunjin takes a large bite of his everything bagel, attempting to fill his mouth to escape the awkwardness. In the process, he drops a sesame seed that Changbin picks up and begins inspecting with the kind of intensity usually reserved for bombs.

You continue to stare, the scowl on your face unmoving.

Jisung’s smile falters for a fraction of a second. Anyone else would miss it, but you see it. You see the way his shoulders tense slightly, the way his hand comes up to rub the back of his neck in that nervous habit he's had for as long as you've known him. You hate that you notice.

He tugs at the collar of his sweater, whistling and looking away. “Haha. Wow, tough crowd. Is this thing on?”

You hear choking you can only assume comes from Hyunjin. Jeongin leans over without looking and gives him one good whack on the back.

Jisung rocks back and forth on his feet, his lips pursing in thought. “Soooo, um. Yeah. I came to, uh. Deliver a message. From the big guy upstairs. Not Jesus! Um. Mr. Bang. He wants to see you. Like, um. Now.”

That’s interesting. Mr. Bang doesn’t typically summon people to his office without prior warning, especially not first thing in the morning. Not unless something important is happening. You start cataloguing every possible reason—a new lead on a previous case, a meeting with another division head, disciplinary action for the imagined physical assault of a fellow agent—

“Okay,” is all you say.

You don’t wait for him to say anything else. You gather your things, rinse your mug out in the breakroom sink, and wave to your colleagues before heading for the door. They all wave back in various dazed states, except Felix, who gives you an encouraging smile and a wiggle of his phone. Not spy code, but you know what he means.

Good luck. Text me later.

The heavy oak door of the breakroom swings shut behind you, and you let your feet take you across the linoleum floors.

You are barely ten steps away when you stop abruptly. You don’t turn around. You don’t need to.

“I know where Mr. Bang’s office is.”

Jisung’s surprised squeak comes from somewhere over your shoulder. “Huh? Oh! Of course, I know that.”

“Then why are you following me?” “Ha! Following– I’m, you know, just.” He clears his throat. “I’m headed that way too. Small building problems, right?”

'Small building.' Mr. Bang’s office is on the 9th floor.

You start walking again, faster this time, determined to get to the elevators with enough of a gap between the two of you so that you don’t have to suffer in an enclosed space with him. The mug was one thing. The stilted conversation was another. But you cannot, and will not, willingly subject yourself to an elevator ride with Jisung Han.

You’re not sure how big of a distance you’ve put between the two of you now, but even so, it’s not enough. It will never be enough. You can feel those humongous brown eyes boring into you from anywhere in the building. You can sense the desperation rolling off of them in waves, in the same begging plea that he used to cornered you three months ago.

Please, he had said, those big eyes watery and sad. He had pulled you into a corner of the hallway away from the usual bustling crowd. There was barely an inch of space between you, but it wasn't the close quarters that was suffocating, it was the weight of his gaze. His hands shook in the space between you. Please tell me what I did. I can fix it, I know I can, I just–

You shook your head, putting a hand on his arm and shoving, hard, attempting to put space between you. Despite his training and his muscle, he stumbled back easily, hurt crumbling the last of his resolve like an old stone wall. You opened your mouth to say something, anything really– to tell him that what was done was done, that he couldn’t take back anything that he said, but the words lodged in your throat like bile. 

You have no idea what your face must have looked like then, but whatever it was made Jisung wither. You remember watching his broad shoulders curl in, his head hanging down in defeat as you backed away from him.

Just… Leave me alone, Agent Han.

You shake your head in the present, jamming your finger on the elevator’s call button.   Agent Han. That's what you call him now.  It has to be. He hasn't been Jisung to you for a long, long time.

Thankfully, you don't have to wait long to board the elevators, and you sigh in relief. An older agent from another division steps out and you breeze past him, pressing your destination and watching your lone reflection as the silver doors close quietly.

The ride to the administrative floor is quick and efficient. You division head, Mr Chan Bang, has an office in the block that sits just around the corner from the elevator bay. A simple door with his name printed on it atop the agency's insignia. You’re there before you know it, staring at the CAPU Division Head carved into a placard at the side. You smooth your hands down your blouse, take a deep breath, and knock.

“Come in.”

You turn the handle and step inside.

There is nothing particularly intimidating about the office or its primary inhabitant. The space is a wide, open floor plan with tall, narrow windows that look out to the river below. Mr. Bang has decorated it with the sparse mementos of his life, photographs on the walls and a few succulents on his wide wooden desk. He is not very frightening either; your age gap is not significant, and he carries himself with a warmth you don't see in other department heads. That warmth presents itself today in a dimpled smile, the exposed skin of his forearms gesturing towards the leather seats in front of his desk. 

"Good morning," he greets, the familiar twinge of his home country's accent in the undercurrent of his voice. He never uses titles, but he also never uses first names. A delicate balance of authority and friendliness. "Please, sit."

You take the seat closest to you, taking in the spread of papers and files on his desk. It's his usual brand of organized chaos. However, today he's got a stress ball shaped like a hamburger on his desk next to an industrial sized bottle of ibuprofen. He's also still holding his pen, tapping a nervous rhythm against the top of his desk.

"Good morning," you say. "Is everything alright, sir?"

Mr. Bang's eyebrows furrow. He's biting his bottom lip, clearly mulling over how to phrase whatever it is he's thinking. He opens his mouth to start, then closes it again. He stands from his chair and comes around to the front of the table, leaning against it, effectively dismantling any borders between the two of you. He folds his arms once. Twice.

"Sir?"

"Tell me about Operation Luna."

You blink. You weren't expecting that.

Operation Luna is somewhat legendary within the ICTF, specifically your division—a bit of a white whale that's been haunting the organization since before you even graduated from the academy. It's a massive international child trading ring that's been operating for, at the very least, a decade, moving victims across borders with terrifying efficiency. People in power use the children as leverages for those that owe them something. On such a grand scale, they should be relatively easy to catch, but they're ghosts. Every time the agency gets close, the ring adapts, changes tactics, disappears into the wind.

Dozens of agents have worked Operation Luna over the years. None have made significant progress.

"I know that it's ongoing," you say carefully. "A multinational trafficking operation, primarily focused on children. It's known for its sophisticated logistics and communication networks. There have been dozens of failed interception attempts over the past ten or so years."

He nods. "Anything else?"

You think back to the briefings you've read, the case files you've skimmed for training when you couldn't sleep. "The ring operates in cells. No single member knows the full network, which makes it nearly impossible to dismantle from the inside. They use legitimate child centered businesses as fronts for trades— daycares, doctor's offices, adoption services--"

"Adoption services," Mr. Bang interrupts, and something in his tone makes your pulse quicken. He nods, reaching for the stress ball and rolling it around in his hands. "What do you know about their adoption fronts?"

"Not much," you admit. "But that’s not a personal deficit, the intelligence is limited. We know they've been using private adoption agencies in suburban and rural areas, places with less oversight. They target couples looking to adopt, with a preference for those who seem frustrated by traditional timelines. The couples are innocent, genuinely looking to adopt children, but the kids they adopt, they aren’t..."

You don't need to finish. The unspoken words linger over both of your heads.

They aren’t orphans. They're victims.

Mr. Bang seems satisfied with your knowledge, nodding again and walking back to the space behind his desk. He doesn’t sit yet, but pulls out a file that looks like an agency heirloom. The corners of the folder are bent and miscolored, evidence of being passed around from division to division. He walks back towards you, stopping to lean on the empty chair next to you as he thumbs through the file. 

“Six weeks ago, the Cyber Crimes team arrested one of Luna’s mid-level operators for an unrelated charge. In exchange for a reduced sentence, he blabbed. Most of what he said were things we already knew, but he gave us something new: a concrete location.”

He plucks a photograph from the folder and turns it towards you. You see a Victorian house converted into an office building, complete with pale pink siding and white trim. A hanging plaque above the door reads ‘New Beginnings Family Services’.

“This is their adoption front, stationed in New Edinborough, a small town outside of Otsego County, New York. The population is 2500, a real picturesque American dream.” You watch his eyes harden as he stares at the picture, the same way they always do when he gets serious about work. “Can you believe they’ve been operating out of here for five years.”

Five years. The implications of the timeline make your breath stutter in your chest.

You reach forward and take the picture to inspect it closer. The building looks... harmless. Surprisingly normal, even. But you have training, and you know better than to be fooled by appearances.

You run your thumb across the image, understanding dawning on you. "So we need eyes on the inside. Someone to get close, right? What do you need me to do?"

You watch in real time as your boss short circuits. The hesitation from earlier drops back into the space like a brick of lead. Mr. Bang looks at you, studies you with the same intensity you've seen him study case files and crossword puzzles, really searching your features. Whatever he's looking for, he must find, because he nods one more time. He takes a deep breath, pushes himself up off of the wall, and goes to open his office door.

"Han."

The floor disappears from under your feet.

Maybe there’s another Han, your brain tries to reason. There are at least six Kims in Internal Affairs alone.

But then you see him, all wide eyes and fluffy hair, shuffling into the room dropping into the chair next to you. He smiles, small and unsure. You continue to stare, not sure if your ears are ringing from the shock or the rage.

“Oh, hey. Funny running into you here,” he says, a little breathless. 

You whip around to face Mr. Bang. “Sir, I–”

But he's already looking directly at you. "Did you know that you have the highest individual success rate of any field agent in this agency's history? Seventy-three operations, seventy-three successful outcomes."

Next to you, Jisung mumbles something that sounds like “Ooh, impressive.” You dig your nails into the leather on the chair.

“Han has run sixty-four ops, with sixty four successful outcomes. The numbers don’t lie, and as much as I am one for encouraging my agents, it's a simple fact when I say this: you two are the best. Not only individually, but your partnership saw a perfect record. We have never had a perfect partnership record in ICTF history.”

You open your mouth to argue, but you know he’s right. You’ve seen Changbin and Hyunjin come back from unsuccessful missions before, you’ve heard Felix give a good expletive-ridden recount of tech mission collaborations gone wrong. 

It takes a certain level of chemistry and understanding to work together flawlessly, one that only the two of you see to have.

Had. You had that chemistry.

You watch as Mr. Bang makes his way back to his desk, finally sitting down. He produces two manilla envelopes from a drawer by his feet, a lot newer looking than the one holding the Operation Luna file. He slides them across the desk towards you.

“Kim worked very hard on these,” he murmurs. “Please read them carefully.”

Anxiety twists in your gut again. Seungmin. CAPU’s documentation specialist. Backstories have already been made. You’re going on this mission whether you want to or not.

Jisung has already started to look through his folder by the time you get the courage to crack yours open. You barely read the first word before he makes a strangled, pained noise.

“Woah,” he chokes. “Uh, dude-- I mean, Sir, Mr. Bang, Sir, how long are we–”

“Married?!”

The screech comes from your toes, boiling with white hot rage until it spills out of your mouth.

Because, yes, you’ve just bypassed a forged document with a sticky note labeled “Marriage Certificate.” It has your and Jisung’s names delicately sprawled across it in a looping calligraphy font.

You might throw up.

Next to you, Jisung has gone a shade of pink you’ve never seen before. The color starts at the tips of his ears and travels all the way down to his throat. He fumbles with the folder in his hand and a small package drops at his feet. You squint at it.

Wedding bands.

"Mr. Bang," you start, voice weak, but he holds up a hand.

"Before you say anything, I want you to listen. I know—" he pauses, choosing his words carefully, "—that there's… tension, between you two right now. I don't know the details, and frankly, I don't want to know the details because it sounds like paperwork I don’t have time to file. But what I do know is that we are closer than ever to an actual breakthrough in busting Operation Luna, and if anyone can do it, it’s you two. So please.”

Your boss wrings the foam hamburger between his hands. “Please. If not for me, then for the kids.”

For the kids.

You hate that you have to force that thought to the forefront of your mind. With anyone else it would be no problem, but you know deep inside your stomach that Mr. Bang is right; Felix needs to be here at HQ for tech operations, Hyunjin is terrified of children, Changbin is awful at long term covers, Minho is currently in the middle of Guatemala and Jeongin hasn't his training yet. There is no one else you can do this with.

Regardless, you hate that you have to look down at the documents and see a wedding certificate with your and Jisung's names printed together, almost like some sick mockery of the life you used to dream about. But that was a long time ago, before you realized that dreaming and living were two entirely different things.

Jisung clears his throat, breaking you out of your reverie. "How long?"

"We're not sure, but we're looking at a minimum of 6 months. "

He flinches. "When do we leave?"

"We need you stationed in 8 days."

It's a faster timeline than usual, but given the nature of the assignment, you're not entirely surprised.

A tense silence settles over the office. Mr. Bang reaches over to the bottle of ibuprofen and shakes two out, downing them with a gulp of his watery iced coffee that's dripped all over his desk by now. He puts his head in his hands afterward, the hallmark of a man with too many things to balance on his shoulders.

Jisung reaches down and picks up the ziploc baggie with the wedding bands. He turns it over in his hand, examining the insides before he slides one out. The diamond is real, which shouldn’t surprise you the way it does, and the metal itself is a real gold band. He holds it in front of him and twists his wrist from side to side, watching the sunlight bounce off of it and cast tiny rainbows on the walls. He chews his lip nervously.

He turns to you. "So. Terrible timing, but will you marry me?" Mr. Bang makes a wounded noise at his desk.

You snatch the ring from him, eyes murderous, and slide it onto your finger yourself.

"Not like I have a choice."

[hyprfixate]

mr and mrs han ↝ [H.J.] :: part one

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ summary: when the international crimes task force (ICTF) finally gets a lead on a case they’ve been chasing for years, there’s no room for error. they need their best agents. unfortunately, that means you’re being sent on an extended undercover mission with agent jisung han, deep in small-town america, to play the part of his loving, devoted wife.

which wouldn't be so bad. if you didn't hate his guts.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ pairing: han jisung x she/her reader

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ chapter word count: 5.1k words

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ chapter warnings: non graphic mentions of trafficking (reader discussing a case)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ tags: spy au, exes to lovers, forced proximity, fake dating/fake marriage, sharing a bed, mutual pining in denial, slow burn, eventual smut, found family, miscommunication/misunderstandings

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ author’s note: not edited (because when do i ever), if you find typos pretend you didn't. enjoy!

“Aw man.” 

Felix sighs, tiny lips pouting as he watches the coffee disappear down the drain of the break room sink. Steam billows up from the swirling black pool in the center of the metal square. “That was definitely still hot. Why'd you dump it?”

“It was bad,” you murmur. The excuse is flimsy. You reach for a new filter and the bag of grounds. “Saw a fly go into it.”

In the haste of your movements, your hand brushes against the sole mug in the break room's dish drainer, and you pull back as if you’ve been burned.  If you were anyone else, in any other profession, you would take the mug and smash it against the ground, but you are not just anyone. You are a highly trained field operative employed at the highest office of the International Crime Task Force. You choose to close your eyes in an attempt to ground yourself. 

“Wait, seriously? A fly? In here? Agent Park is going to lose his mind. Did you get the disinfectant?”

Felix is usually a very loving and perceptive person. These are the qualities that make him an incredible tech officer and handler. But maybe that honor is reserved for after he's been properly caffeinated. You count to three before opening your eyes, watching his newly bleached head of blonde hair squeeze past you to look under the sink for the disinfectant. A sigh passes your lips.

“Felix.”

“I'm serious.” His voice is obscured by the thick wood of the cabinet doors. “Have you seen Seongwha clean this place? A fly would be a personal disrespect to him. We have to wipe down the counters before he comes in.”

“Felix.”

The urgency in your voice cuts through the early morning stupidity that seems to have afflicted your best friend’s brain. He pulls back, just a bit, disinfectant and wipes in hand. You look down at him with a stare that could level a city. 

“There was no fly.”

“Oh.”

He seems almost disappointed to put down the disinfectant. You watch as the resignation on his face slowly gives way to confusion. He opens his mouth, likely to ask again why you’d dump perfectly good coffee out, but then his eyes trail up, up to the sink, up to the dish drainer, and he sees the sole mug in there. The imperfect, stout, navy blue mug with cream stars and a chip on the handle in the shape of a J.

Understanding crosses his face. His eyes widen just a fraction, his grip loosening around the can of expensive disinfectant.

“Oh. Agent Han made the coffee.”

It’s not so much a question, moreso a confirmation of what he's seeing. Everyone knows that mug, and the owner of the mug, and as trauma-bonded as the agents at ICTF are, you all are not in the habit of sharing mugs. Seeing that mug above a pot of freshly made coffee can only mean one thing.

You let your professional mask slip back into place and nod once, sharp and final, turning back to the coffee maker. The machine whirrs to life as you press the brew button with more force than necessary. Felix rises from his crouch by the cabinet, setting the disinfectant back under the sink with careful, measured movements. He knows better than to barrel into things. It's one of the reasons you love him.

"He's… early," he says after a moment, voice pitched low. He's moved to stand beside you, shoulder brushing yours in silent support. “Usually it's just us and Bang here now.”

The methodic drip of the coffee into the pot is the sole focus of your attention. “I don't see how that concerns me.”

“Right,” he murmurs. He drums his fingers on the counter, looking around the room. “But…that's… I mean, you know him. That's not like Han.”

Unfortunately, Felix is correct in the fact that you know Jisung better than anyone else in the agency.  He would rather drink a jean jacket through a paper straw than get to work before 9am. Judging from the barely-there pink glow that’s begun to dust the streets, you know that it is certainly not 9am.

The clock on the wall ticks away before the minute hand firmly lodges into its place, delivering 7 distinct chimes.

Jisung Han is at work, and has been at work, since 7am. 

Felix is staring at the mug again.

You can see it in your peripheral vision, the way his eyes keep drifting back to it, like he's trying to solve a particularly complicated equation. The coffee maker sputters its final drops into the pot with an almost deeply relieved sigh, and you gather the materials to pour yourself a cup with mechanical precision. You try not to look too closely at your mug when you pull it out of the cabinet: a round, stout, dreamy cream colored thing dotted with navy stars. 

Felix makes a noise akin to a frightened kitten.

I really should switch to the one they handed out at orientation, you think, pouring coffee into your mug and loading the whole thing with far too much sugar and creamer.

"Maybe he couldn't sleep," Felix offers. Finding answers has always been his thing. “Or maybe Bang is sending him on a mission that requires early briefing.”

“Does it even matter?” You punctuate your question with a sip of your coffee. It’s disgustingly sweet. You swallow it anyway, needing to put space between yourself and this situation, at least metaphorically. “Hopefully his mug is the only bit of him I’m forced to see today. I’m going to sit.”

Felix looks like he wants to say more, like he wants to comb through every reasonable and unreasonable scenario about why on earth Jisung Han would be here, at work, before the sun has even come up. But the haze of early morning stupidity has left his brain, and he’s paying more attention now, really noticing the tension in your shoulders, the stifled way you walk to your favorite table, and he just lets out a long, deep exhale. You’ve told him before that you’ll talk about what happened when you’re ready, and he has to trust that, so he just nods, following you with his own cup of appropriately made coffee.

The situation is upsetting, but you’re not upset with Felix. Four months ago, before things went wrong, you’d be curious just like him– maybe even more so. The sight of that stupid blue mug would’ve sent a jolt of excitement down your spine and you would’ve taken it, filled it with coffee made in the exact way that you know Jisung likes it, and headed out into the maze of corridors in the building to find him. You would’ve been excited to see him, actually, so excited to spend extra time with him before the work day got busy.

But that was before the excited butterflies turned to wasps. Before the quiet implosion of your universe. Before you ripped him out of your life and used duct tape to close that Jisung-shaped hole. Before…

Before Stockholm.

It’s better this way, you remind yourself, shaking your head to dislodge the thoughts. You slip your agency assigned tablet out of your crossbody bag and begin looking through briefings and emails. Routine is safe. There is no more Jisung here. Just Agent Han.

Thankfully, the rest of the early morning passes easily. You and Felix have developed a system over the years where your early mornings in the break room become a space for coffee and contemplation. If you talk, it's minimal, more content to exist in each other's space.

Slowly but surely, the building starts showing its first signs of life. A few agents from other divisions trickle in and out, varying in their levels of consciousness and enthusiasm. Your division, the Crimes Against Persons Unit, is the smallest, and has a penchant for not getting things rolling until closer to 8am.

Felix looks up when the breakroom door opens at 7:47am, the neutrality on his face easing into a grin. “Damn, Hwang, you look terrible.”

You glance up. Hyunjin could never look terrible, not by any normal human standards. He has the type of face that’s been sculpted from renaissance paintings and a slender, lengthy body to match. As if his face wasn’t devastating enough, he’s all charm and a knee-buckling smile with a jet black buzzcut that was office gossip for weeks. He does look exhausted though, and you watch with amusement as he flips Felix off without speaking, making a direct B-Line to the coffee machine. 

“How was Anchorage?”

“Cold,” Hyunjin murmurs. “And we stayed at a Holiday Inn. Which meant four days straight of Changbin singing that stupid Pitbull song on repeat.”

You quirk an eyebrow up. “Hotel Room?”

On cue, Agent Changbin Seo walks into the breakroom with a particular pep in his step you wouldn’t expect to see from someone who spent four sleepless days doing surveillance in subzero Alaskan temperatures. And, true to Hyunjin’s word–

“We at the hotel, motel, Holiday Inn–”

Hyunjin thunks his head against the upper cabinets with so much force that they rattle. “Make it stop, please.”

Changbin is all smiles, his wispy black hair falling over itself and into his eyes as he slides into an empty seat at your table. His muscular form fills out his button up and slacks, but anyone who has spent any time with him knows he’s truly the biggest softie ever. His shoulder nudges yours in greeting and you return his smile, easy and genuine.

“Did you guys miss us?” He steals a grape out of Felix’s breakfast container. “Four whole days without the two most handsome agents must’ve been difficult. I’m surprised the building is still standing.”

The blonde quirks his lips into a half smirk. “I wasn’t aware Hyunjin and Minho were the ones away?”

Hyunjin snorts, pulling his mug from the same cabinet that he just tried to put his head through. That is where everyone’s mugs go at the end of the day, an efficient system orchestrated by people who spend more time at work than they do at home. You catch when his eyes land on the only other mug that’s not in its proper place. A mug that usually doesn’t make an appearance until well after 9am. His eyebrows furrow, slender fingers picking up the cup and turning it around to inspect it.

“Hey, isn’t this–”

“Good morning team!”

Relief crashes through you when he’s interrupted. Your small group looks towards the door where Jeongin, in the final stretch of his Cadet program, is struggling to fit through the doors with the boxes of bagels and donuts in his hands. He manages eventually, looking as excited about life as one would expect from someone who hasn’t been on the field yet.

“Yang!” Changbin rises and claps him on the shoulder, nearly shoving the poor, unsuspecting boy across the room. “Donuts? On a Wednesday? You’re a Godsend.”

The mug goes back into the dish drainer, forgotten, and the itch of anxiety at the top of your spine begins to dissipate. It’s fine. Everything is fine. You can exist like this, quiet and watching under the comfortable chaos of people who trust each other with their lives. There’s a bubble that you’ve created here, and for right now it is impenetrable. You let yourself breathe, because you can.

The members of your division continue to talk around you, asking Hyunjin and Changbin about their Anchorage operation.Changbin is happy to talk about the fishing he got to do before extraction, embellishing greatly on the sizes of the fish he caught. Agents from other divisions drift in and out, the breakroom feeling full and alive in a way that isn’t too overbearing. 

You’re finishing the last dribble of your coffee when he arrives.

You feel his presence rather than see him, as you always do. Every microscopic hair on your body rises, perked to attention like metal seeking its magnet.  Your spine goes rigid, and you're distantly aware that your grip on your mug has tightened enough that your knuckles are white. It feels like ice has been poured down your spine.

Jeongin smiles around his cruller. “Hey, Agent Han! I was wondering where you were.”

You stare into your mug. You can’t lift your eyes.

“Missed me, Yang?” His voice carries its usual musical lilt across the space. “Morning, team.”

You feel a nudge against your foot under the table. It’s Felix. A comfort, maybe, or a warning to hold yourself together so you don’t leap out of your chair and bludgeon a fellow agent with a mug.

You let your eyes trail up.

Jisung– Agent Han looks… like himself. His hair is a bit longer than you remember, curling in on itself around his ears and framing his face. His big, expressive brown eyes are crinkled under the weight of his smile, the playful smile that draws everyone in to him. He’s wearing the agency’s dark gray quarter-zip pullover over a pair of black pants. He looks perfectly normal.

You’re not sure why that angers you.

You feel the scowl settling over your face, the way your mouth pulls down and your eyebrows crease. He keeps up a steady stream of chatter as he moves through the room, effortlessly social and happy and not at all suffering like you are. Were. 

He’s leaning over Changbin’s shoulder, looking at his pictures from Alaska. He’s close enough to you that you can smell his cologne. Your gaze drops to your mug again. It would be so easy to hit him with it, you think.

“Hey, uh, good morning.”

The chatter at your table has stopped.

It takes a moment, but you look over at Jisung and realize he’s speaking to you. His smile is cautious, wide eyes hopeful as he looks at you.

You stare back, unblinking.

Hyunjin takes a large bite of his everything bagel, attempting to fill his mouth to escape the awkwardness. In the process, he drops a sesame seed that Changbin picks up and begins inspecting with the kind of intensity usually reserved for bombs.

You continue to stare, the scowl on your face unmoving.

Jisung’s smile falters for a fraction of a second. Anyone else would miss it, but you see it. You see the way his shoulders tense slightly, the way his hand comes up to rub the back of his neck in that nervous habit he's had for as long as you've known him. You hate that you notice.

He tugs at the collar of his sweater, whistling and looking away. “Haha. Wow, tough crowd. Is this thing on?”

You hear choking you can only assume comes from Hyunjin. Jeongin leans over without looking and gives him one good whack on the back.

Jisung rocks back and forth on his feet, his lips pursing in thought. “Soooo, um. Yeah. I came to, uh. Deliver a message. From the big guy upstairs. Not Jesus! Um. Mr. Bang. He wants to see you. Like, um. Now.”

That’s interesting. Mr. Bang doesn’t typically summon people to his office without prior warning, especially not first thing in the morning. Not unless something important is happening. You start cataloguing every possible reason—a new lead on a previous case, a meeting with another division head, disciplinary action for the imagined physical assault of a fellow agent—

“Okay,” is all you say.

You don’t wait for him to say anything else. You gather your things, rinse your mug out in the breakroom sink, and wave to your colleagues before heading for the door. They all wave back in various dazed states, except Felix, who gives you an encouraging smile and a wiggle of his phone. Not spy code, but you know what he means.

Good luck. Text me later.

The heavy oak door of the breakroom swings shut behind you, and you let your feet take you across the linoleum floors.

You are barely ten steps away when you stop abruptly. You don’t turn around. You don’t need to.

“I know where Mr. Bang’s office is.”

Jisung’s surprised squeak comes from somewhere over your shoulder. “Huh? Oh! Of course, I know that.”

“Then why are you following me?” “Ha! Following– I’m, you know, just.” He clears his throat. “I’m headed that way too. Small building problems, right?”

'Small building.' Mr. Bang’s office is on the 9th floor.

You start walking again, faster this time, determined to get to the elevators with enough of a gap between the two of you so that you don’t have to suffer in an enclosed space with him. The mug was one thing. The stilted conversation was another. But you cannot, and will not, willingly subject yourself to an elevator ride with Jisung Han.

You’re not sure how big of a distance you’ve put between the two of you now, but even so, it’s not enough. It will never be enough. You can feel those humongous brown eyes boring into you from anywhere in the building. You can sense the desperation rolling off of them in waves, in the same begging plea that he used to cornered you three months ago.

Please, he had said, those big eyes watery and sad. He had pulled you into a corner of the hallway away from the usual bustling crowd. There was barely an inch of space between you, but it wasn't the close quarters that was suffocating, it was the weight of his gaze. His hands shook in the space between you. Please tell me what I did. I can fix it, I know I can, I just–

You shook your head, putting a hand on his arm and shoving, hard, attempting to put space between you. Despite his training and his muscle, he stumbled back easily, hurt crumbling the last of his resolve like an old stone wall. You opened your mouth to say something, anything really– to tell him that what was done was done, that he couldn’t take back anything that he said, but the words lodged in your throat like bile. 

You have no idea what your face must have looked like then, but whatever it was made Jisung wither. You remember watching his broad shoulders curl in, his head hanging down in defeat as you backed away from him.

Just… Leave me alone, Agent Han.

You shake your head in the present, jamming your finger on the elevator’s call button.   Agent Han. That's what you call him now.  It has to be. He hasn't been Jisung to you for a long, long time.

Thankfully, you don't have to wait long to board the elevators, and you sigh in relief. An older agent from another division steps out and you breeze past him, pressing your destination and watching your lone reflection as the silver doors close quietly.

The ride to the administrative floor is quick and efficient. You division head, Mr Chan Bang, has an office in the block that sits just around the corner from the elevator bay. A simple door with his name printed on it atop the agency's insignia. You’re there before you know it, staring at the CAPU Division Head carved into a placard at the side. You smooth your hands down your blouse, take a deep breath, and knock.

“Come in.”

You turn the handle and step inside.

There is nothing particularly intimidating about the office or its primary inhabitant. The space is a wide, open floor plan with tall, narrow windows that look out to the river below. Mr. Bang has decorated it with the sparse mementos of his life, photographs on the walls and a few succulents on his wide wooden desk. He is not very frightening either; your age gap is not significant, and he carries himself with a warmth you don't see in other department heads. That warmth presents itself today in a dimpled smile, the exposed skin of his forearms gesturing towards the leather seats in front of his desk. 

"Good morning," he greets, the familiar twinge of his home country's accent in the undercurrent of his voice. He never uses titles, but he also never uses first names. A delicate balance of authority and friendliness. "Please, sit."

You take the seat closest to you, taking in the spread of papers and files on his desk. It's his usual brand of organized chaos. However, today he's got a stress ball shaped like a hamburger on his desk next to an industrial sized bottle of ibuprofen. He's also still holding his pen, tapping a nervous rhythm against the top of his desk.

"Good morning," you say. "Is everything alright, sir?"

Mr. Bang's eyebrows furrow. He's biting his bottom lip, clearly mulling over how to phrase whatever it is he's thinking. He opens his mouth to start, then closes it again. He stands from his chair and comes around to the front of the table, leaning against it, effectively dismantling any borders between the two of you. He folds his arms once. Twice.

"Sir?"

"Tell me about Operation Luna."

You blink. You weren't expecting that.

Operation Luna is somewhat legendary within the ICTF, specifically your division—a bit of a white whale that's been haunting the organization since before you even graduated from the academy. It's a massive international child trading ring that's been operating for, at the very least, a decade, moving victims across borders with terrifying efficiency. People in power use the children as leverages for those that owe them something. On such a grand scale, they should be relatively easy to catch, but they're ghosts. Every time the agency gets close, the ring adapts, changes tactics, disappears into the wind.

Dozens of agents have worked Operation Luna over the years. None have made significant progress.

"I know that it's ongoing," you say carefully. "A multinational trafficking operation, primarily focused on children. It's known for its sophisticated logistics and communication networks. There have been dozens of failed interception attempts over the past ten or so years."

He nods. "Anything else?"

You think back to the briefings you've read, the case files you've skimmed for training when you couldn't sleep. "The ring operates in cells. No single member knows the full network, which makes it nearly impossible to dismantle from the inside. They use legitimate child centered businesses as fronts for trades— daycares, doctor's offices, adoption services--"

"Adoption services," Mr. Bang interrupts, and something in his tone makes your pulse quicken. He nods, reaching for the stress ball and rolling it around in his hands. "What do you know about their adoption fronts?"

"Not much," you admit. "But that’s not a personal deficit, the intelligence is limited. We know they've been using private adoption agencies in suburban and rural areas, places with less oversight. They target couples looking to adopt, with a preference for those who seem frustrated by traditional timelines. The couples are innocent, genuinely looking to adopt children, but the kids they adopt, they aren’t..."

You don't need to finish. The unspoken words linger over both of your heads.

They aren’t orphans. They're victims.

Mr. Bang seems satisfied with your knowledge, nodding again and walking back to the space behind his desk. He doesn’t sit yet, but pulls out a file that looks like an agency heirloom. The corners of the folder are bent and miscolored, evidence of being passed around from division to division. He walks back towards you, stopping to lean on the empty chair next to you as he thumbs through the file. 

“Six weeks ago, the Cyber Crimes team arrested one of Luna’s mid-level operators for an unrelated charge. In exchange for a reduced sentence, he blabbed. Most of what he said were things we already knew, but he gave us something new: a concrete location.”

He plucks a photograph from the folder and turns it towards you. You see a Victorian house converted into an office building, complete with pale pink siding and white trim. A hanging plaque above the door reads ‘New Beginnings Family Services’.

“This is their adoption front, stationed in New Edinborough, a small town outside of Otsego County, New York. The population is 2500, a real picturesque American dream.” You watch his eyes harden as he stares at the picture, the same way they always do when he gets serious about work. “Can you believe they’ve been operating out of here for five years.”

Five years. The implications of the timeline make your breath stutter in your chest.

You reach forward and take the picture to inspect it closer. The building looks... harmless. Surprisingly normal, even. But you have training, and you know better than to be fooled by appearances.

You run your thumb across the image, understanding dawning on you. "So we need eyes on the inside. Someone to get close, right? What do you need me to do?"

You watch in real time as your boss short circuits. The hesitation from earlier drops back into the space like a brick of lead. Mr. Bang looks at you, studies you with the same intensity you've seen him study case files and crossword puzzles, really searching your features. Whatever he's looking for, he must find, because he nods one more time. He takes a deep breath, pushes himself up off of the wall, and goes to open his office door.

"Han."

The floor disappears from under your feet.

Maybe there’s another Han, your brain tries to reason. There are at least six Kims in Internal Affairs alone.

But then you see him, all wide eyes and fluffy hair, shuffling into the room dropping into the chair next to you. He smiles, small and unsure. You continue to stare, not sure if your ears are ringing from the shock or the rage.

“Oh, hey. Funny running into you here,” he says, a little breathless. 

You whip around to face Mr. Bang. “Sir, I–”

But he's already looking directly at you. "Did you know that you have the highest individual success rate of any field agent in this agency's history? Seventy-three operations, seventy-three successful outcomes."

Next to you, Jisung mumbles something that sounds like “Ooh, impressive.” You dig your nails into the leather on the chair.

“Han has run sixty-four ops, with sixty four successful outcomes. The numbers don’t lie, and as much as I am one for encouraging my agents, it's a simple fact when I say this: you two are the best. Not only individually, but your partnership saw a perfect record. We have never had a perfect partnership record in ICTF history.”

You open your mouth to argue, but you know he’s right. You’ve seen Changbin and Hyunjin come back from unsuccessful missions before, you’ve heard Felix give a good expletive-ridden recount of tech mission collaborations gone wrong. 

It takes a certain level of chemistry and understanding to work together flawlessly, one that only the two of you see to have.

Had. You had that chemistry.

You watch as Mr. Bang makes his way back to his desk, finally sitting down. He produces two manilla envelopes from a drawer by his feet, a lot newer looking than the one holding the Operation Luna file. He slides them across the desk towards you.

“Kim worked very hard on these,” he murmurs. “Please read them carefully.”

Anxiety twists in your gut again. Seungmin. CAPU’s documentation specialist. Backstories have already been made. You’re going on this mission whether you want to or not.

Jisung has already started to look through his folder by the time you get the courage to crack yours open. You barely read the first word before he makes a strangled, pained noise.

“Woah,” he chokes. “Uh, dude-- I mean, Sir, Mr. Bang, Sir, how long are we–”

“Married?!”

The screech comes from your toes, boiling with white hot rage until it spills out of your mouth.

Because, yes, you’ve just bypassed a forged document with a sticky note labeled “Marriage Certificate.” It has your and Jisung’s names delicately sprawled across it in a looping calligraphy font.

You might throw up.

Next to you, Jisung has gone a shade of pink you’ve never seen before. The color starts at the tips of his ears and travels all the way down to his throat. He fumbles with the folder in his hand and a small package drops at his feet. You squint at it.

Wedding bands.

"Mr. Bang," you start, voice weak, but he holds up a hand.

"Before you say anything, I want you to listen. I know—" he pauses, choosing his words carefully, "—that there's… tension, between you two right now. I don't know the details, and frankly, I don't want to know the details because it sounds like paperwork I don’t have time to file. But what I do know is that we are closer than ever to an actual breakthrough in busting Operation Luna, and if anyone can do it, it’s you two. So please.”

Your boss wrings the foam hamburger between his hands. “Please. If not for me, then for the kids.”

For the kids.

You hate that you have to force that thought to the forefront of your mind. With anyone else it would be no problem, but you know deep inside your stomach that Mr. Bang is right; Felix needs to be here at HQ for tech operations, Hyunjin is terrified of children, Changbin is awful at long term covers, Minho is currently in the middle of Guatemala and Jeongin hasn't his training yet. There is no one else you can do this with.

Regardless, you hate that you have to look down at the documents and see a wedding certificate with your and Jisung's names printed together, almost like some sick mockery of the life you used to dream about. But that was a long time ago, before you realized that dreaming and living were two entirely different things.

Jisung clears his throat, breaking you out of your reverie. "How long?"

"We're not sure, but we're looking at a minimum of 6 months. "

He flinches. "When do we leave?"

"We need you stationed in 8 days."

It's a faster timeline than usual, but given the nature of the assignment, you're not entirely surprised.

A tense silence settles over the office. Mr. Bang reaches over to the bottle of ibuprofen and shakes two out, downing them with a gulp of his watery iced coffee that's dripped all over his desk by now. He puts his head in his hands afterward, the hallmark of a man with too many things to balance on his shoulders.

Jisung reaches down and picks up the ziploc baggie with the wedding bands. He turns it over in his hand, examining the insides before he slides one out. The diamond is real, which shouldn’t surprise you the way it does, and the metal itself is a real gold band. He holds it in front of him and twists his wrist from side to side, watching the sunlight bounce off of it and cast tiny rainbows on the walls. He chews his lip nervously.

He turns to you. "So. Terrible timing, but will you marry me?" Mr. Bang makes a wounded noise at his desk.

You snatch the ring from him, eyes murderous, and slide it onto your finger yourself.

"Not like I have a choice."

[hyprfixate]

me: i should finish that seungmin enemies to lovers academia fic

google docs: might i interest you in a sci-fi chan doomed soul mates instead

[chanrizard]

250920 — The Fact Music Awards / CEREMONY Lee Know

[skzdarlings]

blind date ; jeongin x reader ; one-shot

masterlist.

( READ ON AO3. )

You are on a terrible blind date when you run into a boy from your past - only, he is far from a boy now. And he is determined to prove it to you.

pairing: yang jeongin/reader content info: a lot of sexual tension (thoroughly resolved). older woman/younger man. little brother's friend (hyunjin is the brother). reader's age is ambiguous but she is explicitly older. jeongin was hyunjin's friend when they were university freshman and she hasn't seen him since. power exchanges (she calls him a good boy and he basically says oh, really, you think huh?). one use of noona, more pointedly than anything. dom!jeongin, sub!reader, pussy-eating, hand kink, spanking, creampie. also some drinking but no one is drunk. and reader's blind date is very rude and makes unprompted remarks (bringing up a piss kink randomly, comments about her ordering dessert, sexist comments about friendships with men.)

(word count: 8700 words.)

enjoy ;)

-

“And if tonight is gonna work,” your date says, “you will need to be good with piss.”

You freeze, your water glass halfway to your lips.

“Uh, sorry,” you say.  You clear your throat.  “Piss?”              

“Yeah,” he says.  “You’ll need to piss on me.  That’s not a problem is it?”

You like to consider yourself a reasonable person.  You are not someone who jumps to conclusions or overreacts.  People at work look up to you as a guiding figure in times of crisis.  You are very in control of your emotions. 

It is an astounding testament to your abilities that you refrain from chucking your glass at this moron.  

It has been a few years since you were last on a blind date.  You have since approached the oh-so shuddering threshold of long-term adulthood singleness, but how desperate is that supposed to make you? Does a vague gym buddy of your colleague genuinely think it’s appropriate to tell you, unprompted, that he wants you to piss on him tonight?  Ugh.  

For the first time, you wish you were more like your ridiculous little brother.  Hyunjin would have flipped the table on this guy.  You need to be a melodramatic bitch like Hyunjin. 

You are shocked into silence.  The waiter arrives and puts your food on the table.  Your date thanks him. 

“You think about it,” he says, still unashamed.  “I’m gonna take a leak.  But you hold onto yours, huh?”  He laughs like that was funny. 

You are still staring at his empty seat when he leaves.  You put your water glass back on the table. 

This is the last time you let Changbin arrange a blind date.

You look between your table and the exit, wondering if you can bolt and text your bad date an excuse.  You can tell him you had a family emergency.   Or a medical emergency.  Or maybe you simply realized roasting your head over an open flame would be more fun than this date. 

Your gaze wanders over the bar and stops on a head of dark hair.  You tip your head, struck with a sense of déjà vu.   The dark haired man is looking your way and he is as familiar as he is good looking.  Not only is he impeccably dressed from his smart shoes to the crisp white shirt between the lapels of a jean jacket, but he is preposterously handsome.  He is all long lines, svelte but athletic and flaunting it in the clean silhouette of denim on denim.  His jaw is sharp, his cheekbones high, but his eyes are friendly.  Dark hair falls neatly over his forehead, a smiling face just under it.   His dimples are incredibly pronounced.   

Those dimples.  Oh.

You recognize him at the same time he recognizes you.  Surprise bursts on both your faces.   

He approaches the table, hands in his pockets and those deep dimples beaming at you.  Your heart skips a beat and you blame it on surprise.  It must be surprise, because it would be very inappropriate if it was spontaneous attraction for one of your little brother’s university friends. 

“Hi!” Jeongin says, his laughter as endearingly wheezy as you remember.  

The rest of him is not quite as you remember.  Jeongin is a year younger than Hyunjin but Hyunjin spent a gap year in Paris ‘chasing his artistic soul’ so they were university freshmen together.  They met at some summer program and Jeongin spent most of the season hanging around your house.  Hyunjin is an irredeemable little twerp but his friends are remarkably nice.  Jeongin was the sweetest of the lot.  He was always helpful and polite, a little gawky and awkward in that over-grinning, brace-faced, eighteen-year-old-boy way, but nice. 

You had nothing in common at the time so you didn’t spare him much of a second glance.   

Jeongin is… not eighteen anymore.  Not gawky.  Not awkward.  His smile is perfect now, his build still slender but strong, his dark eyes sparkling and his hands –

He extends a hand for a shake, his long, long ringed fingers reaching for yours.  You can’t help but run your gaze up that hand, his arm, over the breadth of his shoulders, until you finally look into his smiling face. 

“Hi,” you say.  It takes another second, but you come to your senses.  You shake his hand a little firmer.  “Jeongin.  Hi.  It’s been a while.”  You do remember he had a contagious smile.  That much is still the same, those dimples coaxing your own smile out of hiding.  “How are you?” you ask.  And because the reality of it is still computing, you also blurt, “You look good.  Really good.  Wow.”

He laughs again, looking a little embarrassed with how his eyes drop.  He is still smiling when he meets your gaze again. 

“Thank you,” he says.  “You too.  Wow.” 

He says it in the same awkward, surprised way you did.  It makes you laugh together.  It is a bubbly, champagne laughter, intoxicating, perched on the edge of anticipation.  

Your hands are still clasped and your eyes still locked.  Those bubbles start to feel suspiciously like butterflies. 

You drop his hand.  You have to press your palms together to numb the leftover tingles.  His own hand flexes.

“I hope you’re doing well,” you say.  “You must have graduated university already?”

He puts his hands in his pockets and nods, several head bobs in a row.  A nervous fidget maybe.  Not unlike your thumbs pushing at each other in your lap.

“Yes,” he says.  “I’m a teacher.  Substitute teaching right now.  Hyunjin said you moved out of town for a while…?”

“Moved back a few weeks ago,” you say.  “Promotion at work moved me out, another one moved me back.”

“Are you happy to be back?”

“Yeah,” you say, a little airily.  It’s not a lie but also not the truth.  You had as much going on back there as here, which is pretty much nothing but work.  But you’re certainly not getting into the gritty details of all that with Jeongin.  Not when Mister Golden Showers could get back any minute.  So you just nod and say, “It’s nice being close to my old friends and family again.”

“Hyunjin missed you,” Jeongin says.  He steps a little closer, speaking in a low voice.  “I know he’d never say it, so I’ll tell you for him.”

You giggle, the sound surprising you.  You bite your lip to hold it. 

“Thanks,” you say.  “Always good to have a spy giving up my brother’s secrets.”

He salutes, then admits, “Hyunjin is pretty easy to betray.”

“I believe you,” you say with a snort.  “I love the kid, but I think the hair dye fumes are getting to him.”

“I shouldn’t say it,” he says, grinning, “but I was definitely the brains to his looks.”   

“You could give him a run for his money now,” you say without thinking.  It sounds more matter-of-fact than flirtatious, but that honesty is almost more provocative.  

The tips of his ears turn red.   It makes your own skin feel warm to the touch.  He lifts his arm to rub the back of his neck.  His ringed fingers circle his neck and settle on his shoulder, idly pressing there while he gazes down at you.  

“Thank you,” he says.  “You look… you look fantastic.  Are you…” He glances at the food in your date’s spot.  “With someone, I’m guessing?”

“Blind date,” you answer quickly.  “So, yeah, I’m a little more dressed up, haha.  Thanks.  But yeah, I’m single and…”  You look at your water glass.  “I don’t think that’s gonna change tonight.” 

“Uh oh.”  He laughs, his face brightening once more.  “Going that well?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” you say with a much beleaguered sigh.  You’re usually more discreet, but tonight has taken a toll.  You think you are going to explode.  Piss?  Really?  During the main course?  Come on. 

“Sorry to hear it,” he says.  His dimples soften as his smile goes from goofy to soft.  “His loss. I’m serious.”

There’s a moment of charged silence.  You really cannot deny the reciprocated attraction. 

You try to suppress it.  You are not in the habit of picking up early twenty-somethings who hang out with your dumb brother, especially not while out with someone else.  So you clear your throat and reach for your glass, giving you an excuse to look away from him.  

“What about you?” you ask.  “Are you here with someone?”

It’s a casual question.  At least, it’s supposed to be.  It could be misconstrued as interest.  Even your own ears catch the hint of curiosity.

You take a big gulp of cold water. 

“I’m meeting a blind date too actually,” he says.  He rocks on his heels.  “I’m single too.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

“Mhm.”

“Well,” you say with a curt nod.  “I hope it goes better than mine.”

As if summoned like the demon of discomfort that he is, your date returns.  There is a substantial musculature difference between him and Jeongin as your date is a self-identified gym rat, but he is so conventionally good looking in contrast to Jeongin’s distinguished character that he is immediately boring to look at.  

You would far rather spend the night looking at Jeongin’s funny expressions.  Even now, his thick eyebrows knit together as he gives your date a quick onceover.  He looks back at you with a smile like you’re sharing a secret.

“We’re not quite ready for dessert,” your date tells Jeongin.  “She probably doesn’t need any, but I’ll ask about the tart after.”

Jeongin tries to hide his laugh in a cough.  Your date looks at him funny.  

You suck in a breath, trying not to cringe at your date or laugh at Jeongin. 

“Jeongin is not a waiter,” you say.  “He’s a friend.  He was just saying hi.”

“You’re friends with men?” your date says apprehensively.  “As a female?”

Jeongin purses his lips, looking at you with a cringe.  You do your best to remain composed. 

“Yes,” you say with fake sweetness.  “Like the one who set us up in the first place, remember?” 

“I’m, uh, gonna head back to my spot,” Jeongin interrupts, pointing over his shoulder.  “Cool, uh, meeting you,” he says to your date.  “And getting your dessert order.”    When he looks at you, it’s with a wink.  He says your name and offers his hand for another shake.  “It was nice talking.  Good luck.”  

You are about to respond, but then he lifts your hand and kisses your knuckles.  It’s so cheesy and stupid that it swings right back around to being adorable, especially with his mischievous eyes twinkling at you the whole time.  Those dimples stay pressed, the touch of his hand lingering when he lets go.  This time, there are leftover tingles from his lips as well. 

“Have a good night,” he says.  He gives one last nod then leaves. 

You watch him go until your date scoffs.  You look at him with a quirked eyebrow. 

“No offence,” he says in an indubitably offensive manner, “but that’s why a female shouldn’t be friends with men.  You might not know it, but he was being inappropriate.” 

“Oh.  Really.”  Much as you smother your bitch gene, you and your brother share a natural propensity to glare a dummy down.  You are certain your date feels the ice in your stare.  “I know you’re good looking and it has allowed you to behave rudely and not get called a creep, but speaking as a woman with plenty of experience, you need to learn to show some respect for your partners and their wants.  And for the record, no, I will not be pissing on you tonight, or any night.  In fact, I have zero intention of even kissing you.  No!  No.  Don’t say anything.  It’s fine.  Eat your food.  I’ll eat mine.  We’ll pay.  We’ll go.  Sounds good?  Good.”    

Unfortunately, your scolding probably gets him hard.  At least he already peed.   

-

You finish your meal in silence.  Your date pays since he’s such an oh-so grand gentleman, then he leaves on his own. 

You can follow.  The dinner is over, the food gone, the cheque paid.  It’s just you and the drops of white wine swirling around the bottom of your glass.  You look into it, the little tang still lingering on your tongue.  It’s almost empty.  You can leave.

You should leave. 

Here’s the thing: in the time it took to finish dinner, a pretty young woman joined Jeongin at the bar.  Your gaze wandered over there despite knowing better.  Curiosity and a hint of jealousy conquered your good sense. 

Sensible, that’s what you always are.  You do not suffer fools.  But here you are, acting like one.  It’s ridiculous.  It’s fun. 

You looked over more than once.  The pair of them chatted politely, Jeongin friendly and laughing as always.  She’s a lucky girl, you told yourself.  And he’s a good guy.  You wanted them to have a nice time. 

Really.

But you are a little pleased they never left the bar.  They had one drink each and chatted a little.  He made no moves.  She touched his arm a few times, leaned in when showing him something on her phone, but he leaned away and found reasons to move her hand. 

Eventually, they hugged dispassionately and said good night.  The woman left. 

Jeongin is still sitting at the bar, nursing a drink that is also down to its dredges.   He has his chin propped on his fist, his attention on his phone as he flips through it with a dull expression.  You look at his long fingers wrapped around the device, at the rings on his closed fist, the way his hair flutters when he sighs and purses his full lips.   

He casts you a sideways glance. 

He’s been doing it all night.

Every time, your heart skips a beat.  Your usual powers of deliberation are failing you.  Going over there feels like a stupid thing to do.  Sitting here also feels like a stupid thing to do.   You hate that the wrong man is being a gentleman, waiting for you to decide if that’s the direction you want to go. 

You take the final swig of wine and draw your purse over your shoulder.  You walk over to the bar.   He has no reason to be here, same as you, so it is abundantly obvious you are waiting on each other.  That doesn’t have to mean anything.  Maybe he just wants to catch up some more.  You can talk as friends. 

He lifts his head and his smile is not friendly at all, softer than a smirk but suggestive all the same.  Oh, it feels very wrong to submit to the heat that follows, but that makes it all the more tantalizing.  This is Yang Jeongin, you tell yourself, even while he checks you out and you very much let him, accentuating your walk with a swing. 

“Hi,” you say, taking the seat beside him. 

“Hi,” he replies.  “How was dessert?”

You laugh while waving to the bartender.  One glass of wine was enough to melt those bubbles into a warm simmer, but you suspect it is not quite enough to stoke whatever comes next. 

That is unusual for you, usually so self-possessed, but the novelty makes your pulse pound. 

The bartender brings you another glass.  You sift through your purse for your wallet but Jeongin taps his card on the machine before you find it. 

He grins at you with those deep dimples.  His credit card is delicately balanced between two ringed fingers.  He curls them back in and it’s all a little much, like he knows you’re looking at his hands that way. 

“Since you’re older than me,” Jeongin says, making your heart skip a beat, “there is something I want to ask first.”

“Oh?”  

Even though he says first, implying the expectation of every moment after that, you still anticipate a certain question.  Should he acknowledge that age difference in how he addresses you? 

But he tilts his head, his dark eyes so focussed on you.  It makes you realize how intensely you have been staring back into his eyes.  You lower your gaze.  His long fingers are at his neck, fidgeting with the chain of a necklace. 

“I’m just wondering,” he says, with a softer smile and a little laugh, “Does my age make you uncomfortable?”

“Uncomfortable?”  You stare intently at your wine glass then take a slow sip. 

You can feel him looking at you.  You catch the wander of his gaze, eyes tracing the shape of you.   You feel so very close.  His knee touches yours under the bar. 

“That is not the word I would use,” you say, voice just a little lower, just a little softer, so he has to lean a little closer. 

“But you’re thinking about it,” he says. 

You stare at your glass, feeling a lot of heat high in your cheeks.  You rub your thumb up and down the stem. 

“Yes,” you admit.  You look at him slowly, not sure what to expect. 

His whole face brightens with delight and he laughs.  He is more than a little flushed too. 

“Good,” he says and looks down at his own glass like he is embarrassed.  He downs the last swallow of spirits. 

“Good?” you ask with a helpless laugh, so taken aback by the reaction.  “Why is that good?” 

He hooks his foot around your bar stool.  Startled, you gasp as he pulls you closer so you are touching along the whole side-lengths of your bodies. 

“Because if you weren’t thinking about it,” he says with a blush, “it would mean you are here because you are just being friendly.  It would mean you aren’t thinking about me as anything but your little brother’s friend.”      

You sit a little straighter when you feel his hand under the counter.  Just a touch, his fingers moving softly over your knee.  The fabric of your skirt wrinkles under the gentle attention.  When you do not protest – when your lips part and you press a little closer to his side, knee to knee and arm to arm and shoulder to shoulder – his thumb curls in and takes a bit of your skirt with it.  You feel it whispering across your skin in a teasing suggestion. 

“But if you are thinking about it,” he says, “then I think… maybe you aren’t here because you are just being friendly.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                

“Mm, I see.”  You tilt your head towards his.  “You don’t think we can be friends?” 

He laughs and says, “I can be friendly.”  And he lightly squeezes you, his fingertips pressing the inside of your knee. 

You are looking at each other so intently; anything could be happen in this room and you would miss it.  You have eyes for each other and nothing else.  The evening’s possibilities play as a shared fantasy between you. 

The more pragmatic part of you says no, no way, not your thing.   You’ve always been strict with men, no goofing around, no one night stands, and they always meet your approved list of expectations. 

That list does not include a man this much younger than you, your little brother’s friend, with dark eyes and a far too mischievous smile. 

“All right,” you say as your heart races with nerves and exhilaration.  “Let’s be friends, then.” 

-

A friend would walk you home after a bad blind date.  A friend would ask all the nice questions that Jeongin asks, and he would make you laugh like Jeongin does.  He would gasp with boyish incredulity when you tell him about your date’s inappropriate remarks.  He would hum with sympathy that you were disappointed, that you were prepared for a long night, that with the right partner you might have allowed, well… 

A friend would smile, his eyes sparkling, as he opened the door to your building.   He would gently touch your lower back and press the elevator button for you.   

Perhaps that is why the tension between you is so thick.  A bubble surrounds it: the thinnest veneer of innocence to every interaction.  If you both chose to say goodbye now, then nothing ever really happened, did it?  You didn’t really go there, didn’t break all your rules.  It wouldn’t be a lie to say you were friendly and nothing more.   No explicit word has been spoken. 

But if glances were words, Jeongin would have written you a novel tonight.

He leans against the opposite elevator wall, his eyes moving down your body while you pretend not to notice.  He has already complimented every detail of your appearance, but much more has gone unsaid, at least verbally.  Just like your preoccupation with his hands, his gaze keeps dipping to the flare of your hips, the curve of your thighs and where the skirt clings to your backside.  His fingers twitch before he pockets them, like he is desperate to stroke the length of your body, to press his fingers on the softest parts of you.  

You are almost embarrassed at the notion of him touching you so intimately.  Usually, there is a process to getting turned on, and you and your partner get there together.  But if those fingers dare to touch, he will find you have already melted into a puddle of longing.   

At your apartment door, you take your time, looking in your purse for your key.  He stands patiently at your side with his hands in his pockets.  

“Would you like to come in for a drink?” you ask, like this invitation is at all unexpected, like you are still just being friendly. 

Those dimples will be the death of you.  They really do give the game away. 

“Yes,” he says.  “Thank you.” 

You know he is already seduced, just as you are, so you really don’t have to do anything but drop your coat and say, kiss me.  You can picture what would swiftly follow, are far too experienced to be naïve about the direction of tonight, yet it seems at once too near and too impossible.  It remains a thrill to imagine the journey.   Maybe that is why you don’t simply jump him in the doorway. 

He continues to be good, obedient to your desires, though his gaze is ever more roving and he fidgets a little more.  Much longer and he may break his constraints without your direction – and that should be alarming, right?  But it makes your core tighten and your breath catch. 

He is drawn as taut, back straight, taking a deep breath as he steps inside.  That thick tension is ready to split as the veneer melts away. 

“Have a seat,” you say, pointing to the couch in the main room.  

You hang your coat.  Shoes are left by the door.  He wanders through your living space with his hands caged in the pockets of his jean jacket.  He looks around, smiling.  The living area opens into the kitchen so you make yourself busy with fetching some glasses.

He sits politely on the couch like you told him. 

“Here we go,” you say.  You return with two glasses and an open wine bottle. 

You sit beside him on the couch.  Your knees touch as you face each other.  He thanks you as you pour a little wine into each glass. 

Then you each take a sip, looking at each other in the silence.  You both smile.  He laughs a little, still flushed and not really from the wine.  You feel very warm even though your dress is sleeveless. 

You talk more about this and that, an everything and nothing conversation, just filling that silence.  Yes, filling it, more and more until that tension is fit to bursting and the bubble can no longer contain it. 

Your hand shakes uncharacteristically.  You slosh a bit of wine while drinking and laugh at yourself.  

“Sorry,” you say, wiping your chin. 

You put your glasses down at the same time.  He is laughing too, a still-friendly sound, eyes bright. 

“Here,” he says.  “You missed a…” 

And he touches you.

It is just his thumb at first, there at the corner of your lips.  He wipes that tiny little drop of wine, his eyes fixated so resolutely on it.  Then his gaze drifts into yours. 

His thumb is still there, his fingers curled loosely under your chin.  

You breathe in, can see your own chest rise dramatically with the intake of breath.  His eyes never leave yours. 

His touch is still gentle, but coaxing.  His thumb moves across your cheek, his fingers opening beneath your jaw. 

You find yourself leaning into his hand, basically nuzzling it.  It is an entirely thoughtless action propelled by the base and carnal need to touch, touch, touch.  Your heart races at having his hand on you, even just caressing your face. 

His fingers sweep along your jaw, down your throat.  You don’t remember when you grabbed his wrist but you’re holding it like you’re the younger, girlish one, desperate with your wide eyes and open mouth as you cling to his hand.  His fingers curl around the back of your neck and pull you close. 

You lean in until your faces are almost touching.  You look at his mouth and he looks at yours, then your eyes meet again.  Your hand slides up his arm as your mouths move achingly closer.  You can feel his breath coming quickly, your exhales colliding.  His hair brushes your forehead, his nose your nose. 

You make a horribly embarrassing sound, whimpering even though you haven’t even kissed.  But it moves right through you, starts low and rises past your lips. 

Your hand is on his collar now, tugging.  Your faces are still close, breath still mingling, gazes moving to your mouths and back again.  He lowers his hands to unbutton his jean jacket.  You try to help but you are suddenly clumsy and you wish you could blame the wine but it’s not that.

It’s him.  Oh, fuck, this is Jeongin.  It’s really all him, having this effect, doing this to you.    

And you are so close to each other, about to breach that space, about to break every rule and change everything together. 

His hands are also clumsy until he gets that last button undone, then he is tearing his jacket off with quick force.   He has just pushed it off, only just freed his hands, is sitting there in his jeans and t-shirt with his necklaces and his long ringed fingers, staring at you and breathing hard when –

You close the distance at once.  His mouth is soft on yours despite the intensity with which he moves.  You could sink right into him, the kiss so, so good, worth every second of anticipation. 

Your mouths move together and sighs pass between you.  You make a sweet noise when he cups your face with both hands.  He pulls you even closer, kisses you even deeper.  He licks into you, but not too much too fast, just enough to make you throb at the possessive sweep and still leave you yearning for more.    

He returns a low noise of satisfaction.  He breathes the word, “Yes.” 

Your arch your back and press against him as his hands move down your face.  For a moment, both his hands are on your neck and he tilts your chin up with a press of his thumbs.  Then his thumb is on your pulse, pressing down as he slides his deft fingers down your throat. 

You touch his biceps, feel the bare skin revealed by his t-shirt, squeeze the lean muscles there.  Your fingers press in, climbing a little higher. 

His warm kisses move from your mouth to your jaw.  He leaves a few gentle presses there, then he is sucking a hot, harsh kiss on your throat. 

His hands are quick in their sweeping caress down your arms.  He takes the straps of your dress with him, the fabric looped neatly into his clever fingers.  You shrug out of the top as swiftly as he did his jacket.   He is fast then, unclipping your strapless bra and tossing it to the side. 

Your eyes have been closed the whole time, so lost to sensation, but you open them when he wraps both his arms around your waist and hauls you easily into his lap.  Perched on his thighs, you stare down at him, at the lushness of his mouth.   His eyelids are heavy too, complexion so flushed.  His necklaces are askew, his hair a little messy, his pristine t-shirt already rumpled where you fisted the material in your desperate clawing.

You feel your own desire, so evident in your expressions and movements.  You have been stiff with tension all evening, but now you are so pliant and open, legs spread over his lap, dress tugged down to your waist, skin bare to him, and breathing hard.   

He stares back at you, shifts his hands around your hips.  You close your eyes and whimper again, though you’ll never admit you made such a sound.  You certainly never thought you’d make it for Yang Jeongin, but here you are, an embarrassing bundle of nerves and desire, coming undone in his arms.  That sound is whining and needy as he pulls you down into his lap, rolling his hips under yours. 

“Jeongin,” his name is little more than a squeak of noise on your frantic mouth.  You wrap a hand around the back of his neck, pull his face close.  Your mouths are almost touching again as he grinds against you. 

Your dress is hardly protecting your modesty in this state, bare breasts rubbing against his shirt, wet sex grinding against his thickening bulge.  Only thin black lace is keeping you from making a mess on his jeans. 

He makes a stuttering noise that might be an attempt at your name.  You sink your fingers into his hair, press your open mouth to his and kiss him deeply.  He moans into it while curving his hands down your thighs, then back up under your skirt.  He touches your bare skin there, all those soft and tender place so close to the heart of your desire.  His thumbs caress your inner thighs and his big hands squeeze their fill.  

Then his hands are on your hips and he moves.  You are surprised to find yourself once more sitting on the couch.   He flips you in the space of a moment, sits you down, and pushes the coffee table out of his way.  Then he is on his knees in front of you, your underwear already halfway down your thighs before you even fully realize it. 

The panties join the bra somewhere on the floor with the jean jacket. He sits back on his heels and gazes up at you.  His mouth is pink from kissing and his breathing a little laboured.  But his smile – his smirk – is downright filthy.  He looks at you as he plucks his rings off, one by one, and puts them on the table behind him.  The necklaces follow.  Then he kneels upright and runs his hands through his hair to clear his face.

You make a very undignified little squeak when he pulls you to the edge of the couch.  He lifts your skirt to your waist and puts your legs over his shoulders.  He wets his fingers in his open mouth and you laugh, breathless. 

“Trust me,” you say.  “That won’t be necessary.”

His finger leaves his tongue.  It moves to the inside of your thigh, which is resting on his shoulder, the sensitive skin there a little ticklish.  You squirm but are secure in his hold.  

His hand continues its path, torturously slow.  He is luxuriating in the feel of you while you rock your hips in need of more.  He ignores that pleading, so cruelly, and continues to touch, stroke, caress, and tease until finally his knuckle moves between your thighs to find how much you want him. 

“Oh,” you gasp.  “Jeongin, please—”

For a moment, he is just breathing hard, slowly touching you, unfurling his fingers and sliding them inside you.  He curses under his breath.  When you clench involuntarily around his fingers, he seems to realize he isn’t dreaming.  Then he smiles, looking very pleased with himself, but you can’t even feel embarrassed because he knows how to use his hands and he does.  Competently.  Thoroughly. 

You throw your head back, slouching against the couch while he makes a complete mess of you.  Then he dives forward and his mouth is there too, a moan in his throat as his tongue seeks out the swell of pleasure amidst all that wet heat.  He is fast but steady, face happily buried there, your thighs pressing against his head.  You shove your fingers into his hair and pull him even closer.  You lift your hips and hiccup with gasps as he deftly and seemingly so easily draws you over that crest into a mind-shattering orgasm. 

“Ah—!" is the only sound you manage, your eyes closed, your fingers pressing into his scalp. 

He brings you to a slow descent, hands on the outside of your thighs as you twitch with shuddering aftershocks. 

You loosen your grip and feather your fingers through his soft dark hair.  You sigh, a satisfied exhale. 

“Oh.”  You feel fuzzy, like you are floating even though he has put your feet back on the ground.  You look at him through heavy-eyelids.  All those giggly, girlish bubbles are back, tingling through your whole body.  “Oh, wow,” you say.  He is already flushed but that makes him blush a little harder, though he stays grinning.  “Oh, you are a good boy.” 

That isn’t normally the type of thing you say; it just sort of comes out in your dreamy post-orgasmic haze.  It doesn’t much resonate with you, but it certainly does with him.  It makes him lift an eyebrow and tilt his head, his eyes narrowing just a bit, as if with determination.

“Good… boy…” he says.  He kneels upright and looks at you with those dark, penetrating eyes.  “Am I a boy, noona?”  And he stands up between your legs so he is towering over you. 

From your vantage on the couch, your eyeline directly falls to the thick, unmistakable bulge trapped in denim.  Your gaze lifts when he gathers the hem of shirt and pulls it over his head.  It falls somewhere but you don’t see it, because your eyes are on him, drinking in every hard plane of his naked chest. 

Your eyes lower when his confident hands go to his belt and flick it open.  Then he gestures to you, a come-hither command with the same two fingers that fucked you through the most intense orgasm of your life. 

“Come on,” he says.  “Take it off.  I’ll show you if I’m a boy, hm?”

You reach for him, a little shaky from the tremors of pleasure, so he grabs your hand mid-air and pulls it towards his belt as if impatient.  You sit up straighter, determined now, weaving his belt through the loops and off.  It clatters to the floor and he grabs your face with both hands, tilting your head all the way back, and swoops down to kiss you with a domineering, desperate hunger. 

He pulls you up like that, kissing you, claiming you, probably ruining you for every other kiss in your life.  Your legs are shaky under you but he holds you, first your face, then a hand on your lower back, bringing your body against his.  That bulge presses against you and your skirt is rucked up between you, so it’s bare skin on denim.  This time you don’t squeak but practically squeal. 

You rear against him, desperate, hands on his bare shoulders and chest, feeling him up.  You put a leg around him to press harder against his bulge.  He catches that thigh, hiking it around his waist and holding you there.  You tip your head back, his mouth finding your throat, both of you moaning as he grinds a filthy rhythm against your softest most vulnerable place. 

“Bedroom,” he whispers into the skin of your throat.  You point over his shoulder in the vaguest gesticulation, not entirely sure of up from down never mind the layout of your own apartment. 

He scoops you into his arms.  You wrap both legs around his waist, string both arms around his neck, and kiss him with frantic, impatient need.  He kisses you back, carrying you to the bedroom door and kicking it.  It flies open and probably hits the wall too hard, but you don’t even notice, lost in all those deep kisses. 

He groans with pleasure and carefully places you down.  It takes you a second to find your balance but you do.  You rock on your feet, digging your fingers into his shoulders as he kisses and bites down your throat.  He blazes a hot, wet trail to your breasts.  His mouth is there as he fumbles with your skirt, finally tearing it off and leaving you completely bare. 

He grabs the back of your neck and kisses your mouth, holding you against him while his other hand smooths down the curve of your spine.  He guides you closer, encouraging you to arch into him, and eventually settles that hand in a possessive squeeze on your ass.  Then it moves around your body until he finds your hand.  He grabs it and puts it on his bulge, curves your palm around the hard shape of it, making you rub him until you are breathing hard into each other’s mouths. 

“Am I a good boy?” he asks, mouth so close that your lips brush when he speaks.    

You don’t answer because you have essentially descended into a primal state, thighs pressed together, pushing your naked chest against his, squeezing him in your hand.  You have no thoughts for once, everything purely physical.

“Huh?” he asks.  He squeezes the back of your neck, just enough to make you gasp into his open mouth.  Just enough your eyes open, meeting his piercing, determined stare.  He knows he has you.  You have been talking all night.  He knows your date, that man your age, was an immature disappointment.  He knows you were looking at him all evening.  He knows your thighs were rubbing together under that bar as you stared at his hands and his belt buckle and thought about this moment.  He knows what you actually want.  And he knows your answer to his question.  “Am I a boy?” 

“No,” you say, nearly breathless and dizzy with desire.  “No, I’m sorry. You’re not.  You’re—you’re—”

“I’m—?” 

“Jeongin, Jeongin, please, please, please,” you cry out, trembling in his arms. 

He smiles, those deep dimples far too sweet for the kind of look on his face.  He kisses you deeply, his tongue in your mouth, soothing you and taking control of you all at once.     

Then he laughs into the kiss, just lightly, and says into your obedient open mouth, “Good girl.” 

You moan, already undone, clawing at his chest and shoulders as he lets go of you to open his jeans.  You help push them down his hips then stumble towards the bed while he takes them off. 

You face each other at the bedside, still standing, nearly colliding, breathing hard and faces close.  There is a moment of pause, not hesitation but anticipation, like when you sat on that couch with your faces so close and the precipice before you.  That moment right before the bubble burst, before you decided to throw away all your rules and change everything between you. 

“I’m going to fuck you,” he says, just so the reality of it is totally inescapable.  He says it right to your face, right against your lips, grinning while he runs his hands down your body like he owns it.  “You want it, don’t you?”  

He takes your hand and lifts it to his mouth.  His eyes are fixed on yours while he kisses your fingertips then your palm, then opens his mouth and licks you, filthy wet.  He leads your hand down between his legs where there is no barrier anymore.  He wraps your wet hand around him, so fucking hard and hot. 

His bigger hand is wrapped around yours as he guides you like he’s the older, more experienced one and you’re a trembling, helpless girl.   His eyes are so intense, his energy so overwhelmingly dominant, that it is hypnotizing, and you think for a moment you must become exactly that. 

“Yes,” you say.  “Yes, sir.”  It slips out as thoughtlessly as that good boy, but this time he rewards the correct answer. 

He continues to guide your hand on his cock, stroking slowly, and touches you with his other hand.  He is flushed and breathing heavy, and a little sweaty at his hairline, but he is still more composed than you.  That never happens; you are the level-headed one, always.  But he stares down at you, calm and collected as you touch each other.  He is the one to work you into a frantic state, until you are crying out and close to coming. 

Your legs are shaking.  You can’t concentrate on touching him and he knows it, so he guides your hand to his hip instead.  You hold onto him as he lays you down on the bed, his hand never stopping between your legs.  You arch your back and close your eyes, riding the length of his fingers, shuddering under the steady roll of his thumb.  You come again, shouting his name, gasping and writhing and slamming your thighs closed around his hand.

He pushes them apart again.  He leaves you barely a breath before he is poised between your open thighs.  He must know you are still throbbing from the rolling wave of your orgasm when he angles your hips and slides right into you.  It happens so fast, so smooth and wet and easy, like that’s exactly how it’s supposed to be, like he’s been waiting far longer than a few hours to be there. 

“Fuck,” he says, and finally seems to come a bit undone.  If he intended to fuck you slowly, it doesn’t happen.  It’s like his patience runs out all at once and he rolls his hips down into you.  “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”  He goes breathless, voice disappearing, and he pants and whines instead, staring at where his cock slides wetly, messily in and out of your soft and needy pussy. 

You hold onto his wrists, letting him move your body exactly how he wants, trusting he will give you what you need.  And he does, stretching those soft walls and hitting all those squishy, weak places inside you, begging to surrender to him.  You feel so open, so wet, and he feels so deep, even going so fast. 

Then he somehow feels deeper.  It makes your eyes roll closed.  He pushes your thighs back and presses his body more closely to yours.  Your faces are near again, whispering each other’s names before he kisses you.  His tongue seems to claim you as deep as the rest of him, making you feel so wholly taken. 

Both your hands are on his face, holding him there, kissing him back.  You slowly slide one hand down his side, making him laugh when you touch somewhere ticklish and sensitive.  You smile back, but that giggling mirth disappears when you take one of his hands and slap it to your ass – more your thigh, at this awkward angle. 

He makes a noise into your mouth, rumbling and low.  Then you are the noisy one, mewling as he flips you over with quick work of his hands.  There is a mirror on your vanity that you can see now, cheek pressed on your sheets while he lifts your hips to get back inside you.  You see the shudder that moves through his lean body as he sinks into your pussy and you squeeze around him. 

You feel his thumbs rubbing circles where he spread you open, and you feel as his fingers splay across your skin.  You see him lift his hand but it’s still a surprise when it comes down again. 

Your eyes close instinctively and you whimper, feeling needy and pathetic and thrilled with it.  You don’t feel like you have to hide anything, don’t think you even can, as you arch your back and beg for more.  He brings his hand down again, again, as he fucks you, fast and dirty and mean until you are aching inside and outside. 

Then he reaches around you and pulls you up, your back to his chest.  He puts you in his lap and fucks you with an arm across your collarbone and another hand covering an obscenely bouncing breast.  He squeezes and teases you, gets you moaning loud and carefree as him.

He notices the mirror at the last moment and looks momentarily stunned in the best way, then he smiles that mean smile at you.  The arm across your collar shifts and he clasps his hand around your throat.  Clutching you so possessively, he moans your name and thrusts hard.  You feel as he comes, warm inside you, leaving no part of your body untouched by him. 

“Oh,” you say, still shaking in the aftermath.  You are both breathing hard, still clinging together. 

He hums in agreement.  His grip loosens and he moves, the slightest change in position making you whimper.  He twitches inside of you, like that sound is almost enough to make him go again. 

He lays you down on your front, the sheets cool on your hot skin as you press your cheek there.  You gasp as he pulls out and you feel his cum leaking out of you.  You can see him in the mirror, looking there, flushed and sweaty and surprised, like he was out of his body until this moment.  You know the feeling.    

Fuck, you think, your more rational self scolding you from where she is buried six feet in the back of your head.  You just let one of your brother’s stupid little friends blow a load into you, idiot. 

It will be fine.  You had flirtatiously mentioned it earlier, having been oh-so prepared with internal protection and disappointed by your date, what a waste since you would have allowed, well… 

It feels like years since you were just talking, merely perched on the edge of anticipation with all those champagne bubbles. 

Now you are in the very real world after the fact.  Even though you know you’re safe and fine, you still let him come inside you.  You don’t even usually let a man hold your hand until the third date at least.  So much for your lists and rules. 

“You okay?” he asks, voice soft, a wonderful hand gliding gently up your spine.  It feels so good, just that simple, comforting touch.  The silly voice gets buried again.

“Hmm,” you say and nod, eyes closing, content. 

You feel him lay down beside you.  You are at the foot of the bed and will have to move, but you both catch your breath for now.  You open your eyes to look at him, find his looking at him, his cheek squished into the bed too.  You blink at each other, then smile at the same time. 

“You okay too?” you ask.

“Oh yes,” he says, and you both laugh. 

The laughter softens when he reaches out and touches your face, just stroking your cheek. His eyes follow the caress.  You swear they are sparkling with his happiness. 

Your heart does a funny summersault.  You have never felt it do that and it surprises you.   Is genuine affection a physical feeling?  Maybe it’s just the aftermath of everything else. 

Maybe, you think, it’s just him. 

“Will you stay the night?” you ask, shyly.  You are not usually shy.  You would not care about the answer at all.  But you care about his answer, you realize.  You think you would be hurt if he said no.  That is a little frightening, and also a little exciting, your heart racing with emotions. 

He smiles at you and it races even faster.

“I’ll stay forever,” he says, and it’s probably supposed to be a joke but it comes out a little too sincere with his piercing eyes and sweet smile.  It’s hard to tell if he’s blushing because he is still so flushed from exertion, but you think so. 

It should make you cringe.  But just like when he kissed the back of your hand, it is so goofy and ridiculous that it swings right back around to being endearing.  And so you giggle instead, biting your lip to keep it in.  But you don’t need to hide, because the giggling relaxes him, and he beams back at you. 

He offers his hand.  You take it and your clasped fingers rest between you. 

“I’m afraid we’ve ruined our chance at friendship, Jeongin,” you say, looking at his fingers curled around yours. 

“Hm,” he says.  “That might be for the best.  You don’t want to have to another date with the piss-before-dessert guy.”

You both laugh, squeezing hands. 

“No,” you say.  “You’re right about that.” 

“Good thing I’m here,” he says. 

“Yes.”  You wonder if your eyes are sparkling too.  It’s a little embarrassing to consider, but you find you don’t mind at all.  “A very good thing.” 

Your more pragmatic side does eventually surface.  Tangled with this new version of you, she is a little shy, but Jeongin seems to understand her, so it’s okay.  He agrees to follow your lead, that you don’t want to tell anyone just yet as you explore this thing between you.  He just seems happy that there is something further to explore. 

Eventually, his smug little grins and cheesy expressions are too much for you, and you laugh and swat his chest, and you both get under the covers and start kissing again. 

-

Of course, your plan to not tell anyone is thwarted the next morning when Hyunjin barges into your apartment without knocking.  Like the spoiled primadonna little brother he is, he waltzes right into your bedroom, complaining about something from work.  Well, he promptly forgets all his problems, slack-jawed at finding you and Jeongin groggily stirring under the covers. 

“Hyunjin—” you say, fully awake in a second, because you can tell what’s coming from that look on his face. 

Hyunjin screams.  Jeongin covers his ears, wincing, and you sigh, rolling your eyes. 

“Hyunjin!” you shout, louder than him. 

He runs out of the room.  You and Jeongin exchange a glance, him smothering a laugh as you huff in annoyance.  You throw on a house robe while Jeongin looks around for his jeans.  You go to the kitchen where Hyunjin is rinsing his eyes in the sink. 

“Hyunjin,” you grunt.  “For goodness’s sake.”

Jeongin emerges from the bedroom, shirtless because his t-shirt was abandoned somewhere near the couch.  You look at each other, helpless but to smile in the morning light, even while your melodramatic brother has a breakdown by the faucet.  Keeping it a secret was your only real contingency, and now that’s done and over.  It leaves you without any sort of plan at all. 

You walk over to the couch and find Jeongin’s t-shirt.  You hold it out to him.  He approaches slowly, still smiling.  When he takes it, you tug on it, pulling him close. 

So it turns out you have no plan at all.  And you should be panicking, should be descending into melodrama. 

But he smiles at you.  Those dimples really will be your undoing. 

And so you smile back, unbound by any rules or expectations, completely and totally free. 

-

“Oh my god, stop kissing,” Hyunjin says.  “That’s my sister!  What the hell!  When did you two even meet again?  What is going on right now?” 

[hyprfixate]

so I think I am gonna start working on soul vine part 5 actually. it's gonna take some work because my writing style has... definitely evolved since I posted part 4, but seeing so many people find it and fall in love with it made nostalgic for the storyline!! there's so much to tell in that universe!!!

[hyprfixate]

magnum opus :: [H.H] x reader

read on AO3

summary: you get a call at 3AM from a number you should've blocked ages ago. you subsequently make three mistakes.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader

tropes: exes to lovers, artist!hyunjin, artist x muse, grapheme-color and emotional synesthesia, angst-to-smut, post breakup yearning, hurt-comfort kinda

smut warning: semi drunk sex, dry humping, desperate hyunjin (like, very desperate), begging, biting, pussy eating, slow, needy sex, unprotected sex (use condoms ppl), slightly dubious consent at first, vaginal fingering

content warning: hyunjin has a drinking problem, mentions of past arguments and previous toxic behaviors

word count: 10.9k

author's note: this was supposed to be another plotless smut but I couldn't help myself lol. also i did not edit this. if you see typos no you didn't. enjoy!

A sound penetrates your subconscious, worming its way into your dream until you blink awake, eyes dry and not yet used to the darkness of your room. It takes a second to orient yourself, to recognize that the sound is real and coming from your phone. The digital clock by your charger reads 3:24 AM.

Had you been more awake, you would recognize the ringtone, or would have seen the caller ID. This is mistake number one of the night.

You swipe accept on the call, eyes still blurry and thick with sleep. You clear your throat, which proves useless when your words still come out croaky and garbled.

“Hello?”

“Hi, pretty girl.”

It feels like ice has been doused down your spine. You shoot straight up in bed, the hairs at the nape of your neck standing fully at attention. 

You know this voice. 

It's an entirely unique voice. A voice splattered with colors and textures you can't begin to comprehend. But even if it weren't, you know it would still be etched in your brain forever. Your hand shakes as you pull the phone from your ear to glance at the contact name.

‼️DO NOT ANSWER (Hyunjin)‼️

Oh fuck.

This has to be a dream.

You hear his voice crackle through the speakers one more time, his words unclear with the distance you created. Hyunjin shouldn't be calling you, and you certainly shouldn't have answered. It would be wise to hang up, to block his number like you thought about doing so many times. Instead, when you hear more crackling as he continues speaking, you hold your breath as you put the phone back to your ear.

This is mistake number two.

“-- you there, love?”

You swallow thickly, willing your mind to wake up faster so you can fully comprehend what is happening. You feel like you're floating. Or drowning.

"I didn't expect you to pick up."

Your heart hammers in your chest.

"Are you okay?" You ask after a few beats of silence. It's the only thing you can think to ask.

You hear a deep hum of contentment. “Yeah. Better now.”

The air in the room suddenly feels too cold. You should hang up. You need to hang up. But your fingers refuse to uncurl from the death grip you have on your phone. “Why… why are you calling me?”

You hear the distant sounds of the city on his end of the line, padded by his breathing. It sounds labored. Manual, like he's reminding himself every so often to inhale and exhale, too busy chasing a fading feeling. You could recognize that specific pattern of his breath anywhere. You close your eyes, letting out a deep sigh.

"Are you drunk?"

"No," he murmurs. "Maybe. I don't know."

That translates to a yes.

You pinch the bridge of your nose with your fingers. This is why you don't answer his calls. This is why you should've blocked him months ago. You feel the tension of the moment fizzle into nothing but annoyance. "It's four in the morning. Why did you call me?"

Hyunjin lets out a soft whine, his breath picking up.

"I miss you."

His words land like a punch to your chest, knocking the wind out of you. A simple string of words in that pitiful, whining tone of his, and you already feel like putty in his hands.

You hate this. You hate him.

You want to scream at him. Tell him that this is bullshit. He's bullshit. That you've been trying so hard to stay away from him. But your heart is pounding so hard that you can feel it in your throat.

"No you don't,” you decide to be civil. “You're just drunk."

"But I know what I'm saying."

The civility only lasts so long. “Oh, fuck off," you breathe. There is no real power behind it, but it's better than nothing. "Don't say stuff like that."

He starts to speak, but a nearby train cuts him off. You think about taking the opportunity to hang up, but as much as you don't want to hear what he says next, you're powerless to stop yourself from listening.

"I missed your voice so much, pretty girl." The laziness of his tongue makes the words sound like something entirely new. "I missed hearing you say my name. Can you do that for me, baby? Can you say my name? Please?"

His words are slurred and heavy. You shouldn't be entertaining this. He won't remember this conversation in the morning, too busy with his extravagant artist lifestyle and the swarms of other girls that want his attention. You'll be a distant memory floating around his hippocampus with nothing to tether to, like an itch he will never find.

"Why?"

He lets out a shaky breath, the undercurrent of a whine coating his tone. "Please, baby." The desperation in his voice fills your chest and makes it squeeze tight. "Say it for me?"

You are weak to his voice, but the distant, angrier part of you refuses to let it affect you. He doesn't get to just call you in the middle of the night and ask you to talk to him. Not when he's had months to do that and hasn't bothered.

"No."

You hear him swallow thickly, a slight shift in his breathing as he lets out a short, humorless laugh. You wait for him to speak again, but you're met with nothing but silence. It stretches long enough that you wonder if he hung up, but then—

"I miss you so much, angel."

Six words.

It's only six words, but they hurt worse than anything else he could've said to you. You don't know if it's because you think he doesn't mean them, or because you hope that he does.

Regardless, emotion swells so quickly in your chest, you feel like you're going to be sick. You can't do this. You can't keep letting him do this to you.

"I have to go," you say finally, voice trembling.

"Don't hang up." He sounds panicked. "Please don't hang up. I need to hear your voice."

Your face feels hot, the back of your nose beginning to burn. You will not let him hear you cry. "No, Hy–” You stop yourself. “I can't do this with you anymore."

"Please, baby. Please. I need you. I can't stop thinking about you. I miss you."

That damned phrase again. Your breath stutters in your chest, words coming out softer than you intend. "You don't mean that."

"I do, pretty girl. I promise."

You shake your head as if he could see you. You wish he could see you through the phone— to see what exactly he's done to you, how he destroyed you. You know he doesn't mean any of this, that they're just the chosen lies from tonight's bottle of vodka.

There's shuffling on the line for a second. Then—

"Can I see you. Please?"

You close your eyes, the tears you tried so hard to fight spilling over and sliding down your face until they make fat plopping noises on your sheets. No. He can't see you. You can't do this with him anymore. You need to hang up. This has to stop.

"Okay."

And this is your final, biggest mistake.

—

You're not sure why, but you don't believe he'll actually show up.

You've played this game with him before, right after the two of you broke up. You remember the anxious anticipation whirling in your stomach while you waited for him one night, and how the first rays of the sunrise curdled it in your stomach. You suppose his way with words was what made him a good artist anyway—there is no surprise there.

So when you hear two raps at your front door, there is some surprise there.

You wipe the tears from your face quickly, running a hand through your hair and praying it isn't as wild as it feels. You glance in the mirror by your front door, giving yourself a once-over to make sure you're presentable enough, but you shake your head and stop yourself. It's not like he hasn't seen you at your worst before.

When you open the door, Hyunjin is standing in front of you, illuminated only by the soft glow of the street lamps on your block. He looks exhausted.

"Hi, angel."

You blink slowly, suddenly regretting every decision that brought you to this moment.

"You're here."

He smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes. "You look tired. Did I wake you up?"

You fight the urge to roll your eyes at his question, stepping aside to let him in. "Yes. It's four in the morning. Obviously you did."

He has the decency to at least look sheepish as he stumbles past you, looking around your apartment with a faraway expression on his face. You can smell the alcohol on him. It makes you incredibly dizzy.

He toes his shoes off and you watch him quietly, something stirring in your chest. He remembers. You didn't have to remind him about the no-shoe rule.

The realization sends a course of emotion through you that you cannot parse, so instead, you choose to focus on shutting and locking the door behind you.

It's been a full six months since Hyunjin has been in your apartment. It may not be that long in the grand scheme of things, but the two of you used to spend almost every waking moment together, especially when you were dating. You had grown accustomed to having him around so much, his absence left an aching hole in your life, your home, your bed.

When you gain the courage to turn around, you see that he's standing at the threshold of your living room. Hyunjin looks like he belongs here, yet somehow he also doesn't. This isn't the same Hyunjin from your final weeks together—the one that you screamed at until you couldn't breathe. This isn't the same Hyunjin that, in the middle of your last fight, pressed himself against the front door, caging you in your own apartment while you cried and begged him to let you leave.

That Hyunjin was different. He had meticulously styled hair and sunglasses that cost more than your rent. He was swimming in his quick rise to success, riding the wave and content to let you drown under him.

You look at present-Hyunjin, who's now peeling off the hood of his oversized sweater. There are no sunglasses.  no neatly styled hair. They are replaced by a blonde buzzcut, and watery, red eyes that cannot stay focused.

It would be easy to see him as a stranger, an intrusion, but you can't. It just feels like he's come home.

You're staring for so long, you don't realize until he looks over at you from his awkward stance by the couch.

"Are you gonna come over here?"

You take a few steps toward him, but not too close. You are a flame and he is a gas leak. You will both explode on contact.

You choose, instead, to play offense. "What are you doing here?"

He looks around your living room, fingers twitching like they're begging for something to hold. He won't meet your gaze. After a bit, he lets out a deep exhale.

"I don't know."

"Why did you call me?"

"I don't know."

"Do you know anything?”

He glances at you, his already watery eyes looking dejected and tearful, and your heart stutters in your chest. You wish you could hold steady to your hate for him. Sometimes it slips through your fingers like sand, leaving you scrambling to catch the pieces. Other times it's solid as glass. You wish it was always like that. You want to shove it in his face and let him suffocate under the weight of it.

But that look. The tears, the pain. You recognize it. It's a mirror of the same look you gave him when he broke up with you: heartbreak, rejection, confusion. 

You can't do this. You're going to cry. Or pass out. He shouldn't have come.

You open your mouth to say just that when he turns fully toward you, closing the gap a bit more. He's always towered over you– he's six feet tall and you're barely 5’1 on a good day– yet you find the intrusion surprising for a moment. You trail your sight all the way up to gaze into those red, unfocused eyes.

"You never say my name anymore," he says, the slur in his speech making a subtle appearance. He's wobbly on his feet. "Never on the phone, and not once since I've been here. Why?"

The question takes you by surprise. "What?"

"My name," he presses. He takes a step toward you, his presence pushing you one step back. "Why don't you say it anymore?"

You take another step back as he advances. You're not scared of him, you never could be, but the closer he gets the faster your heart beats. He's staring at you with an intensity you've never seen before, not even when you were together.

"I don't know," you echo. The lie is bitter in your mouth.

"Yes you do." He looks at you with those unfocused eyes, hurt flashing across his features. He takes another step. "You do know. You used to say it all the time, like my name was..." He trails off, his fingers twitching at his sides again, like he's trying to grasp something invisible. "Like it was yours."

You take a final step back, your spine hitting the wall. Hyunjin doesn't stop until he's a single step away from you, his chest so close to yours that you have to tilt your head back to look at him.

"Don't,” you warn.

"Say it," he pleads. His hands are shaking, and you're beginning to recognize that it's not the effects of the alcohol, but a raw desperation. He's literally shaking with need. "Please. Just once."

You exhale slowly through your nose, willing your anger to come to the forefront. You feel the start of it in your bones, boiling hot and ready to lash out.“Why would I say it now? You only listened when it was convenient for you.”

His brow furrows, confusion warring with the lingering haze of alcohol. "What are you talking about?"

The words feel hot like bile in your stomach, the heat of your anger boiling everything in you. He's too close. You're getting too angry. You should stop now, kick him out and block his number. 

But Hyunjin closes the gap, his shaking hand reaching to cup your face. He barely connects with your skin before you feel the explosion.

"Don't touch me," you bark, jerking away from his hand. The hurt that flashes across his face only fuels your anger more. "You don't get to do this. You don't get to-- to come here, drunk and desperate, pretending like you care about what my voice means to you–"

"I do care," he insists, his voice cracking. "I've always—"

"No, you don't," The words tear from your throat, sharp and raw. You put both hands on his chest and shove him away from you with all of your strength. He stumbles back, but he's still not far enough.

"You stopped caring the minute that painting made you famous. The minute everyone wanted to know about the hot new painter with synesthesia and raw talent.”

It’s the first time you've said the words out loud. They taste like acid on your lips, and you hate that, but not more than how much you hate the way your eyes burn with tears.

You let the weight of your words settle between the two of you like a boulder in the ocean. You watch as Hyunjin grimaces, and internal war showing on his face before he lets out a deep breath, dragging his hands down his face and turning to take several steps away from you.

You don't want to feel bad for him. He deserves this. He deserves every ounce of pain you're feeling. 

You remember that conversation you had over a year ago, tangled in his messy sheets with your head on his bare chest. Your relationship was still new, still tender. The honeymoon phase seemed neverending.

As you laid there, his heartbeat was, at first, a steady pulse against your ear, but the longer you two basked in the afterglow, the faster it got.

You remember sitting up after a minute, hands cupping his face in concern. "What is it, Hyun?"

"I... I have something to tell you," he murmured.

He told you about his synesthesia, how it was his inspiration for pursuing art, but also an insecurity he struggled to coexist with. You listened to him, comforted him, encouraged him, loved him. Told him how amazing he was and how every little quirk of his just made him better.

A few months later, he was kissing you awake and saying he had a surprise for you. When you walked into his living room, you saw the most gorgeous painting you'd ever seen-- a canvas segmented into 4 sections, each section similar in their subject but distinct in composition.

"It's, uh. It's you," he explained, ears burning red at the tips. "Not a portrait of you, but this is how it looks when you say my name. When you're sleepy, when you're laughing, when you're upset with me, and when you... when we--"

He didn't need to finish his sentence. You knew.

It was you that encouraged him to submit it to a contest a couple weeks after that. It was you who picked out his outfit for his first gallery showing. It was you who said his name over and over the night after while he showed you just how he got the inspiration for that last panel.

And yet.

"You cast me aside."

You wipe at the tears that have traitorously slipped from your eyes. "I was behind you through all of that, and then you let the sounds of the attention you got become louder than me. I didn't mean anything to you anymore."

Silence stretches between you like a chasm. Hyunjin's shoulders rise and fall with each labored breath, his back still turned to you. The air in the apartment feels suffocating, thick with everything that's been said and has yet to be said. 

You don't even know why you're doing this, why you're bothering to explain anything to him when he's drunk. It'll be gone from his mind in the morning, and then what will have been the point?

You close your eyes and let your head thud against the wall. “Look. You should–”

"I never meant to make you feel invisible," he says.

You take a steadying breath. 

He carries on, his voice rough in the silence. "It was intoxicating. The praise, the intrigue, the attention-- I was seeing so many colors and shapes I'd never seen before. I'd never had so many people find it– find me interesting. Or worth something.

Your voice is small. “You had me.”

He turns back to you. There are tears streaked on his face, and the raw vulnerability in his eyes makes your heart twist in your chest. “I know. But I got lost in it– in the attention. I was drowning in so many colors that meant nothing because they weren't yours. But I didn't realize that until you weren't around anymore."

You want to stay angry. You want to hold onto the hurt that's kept you safe these past months. But seeing him like this— almost as broken as you'd been feeling —cracks something open inside of you.

"Do you know what the worst part is?” At his silence, you continue. “I was, and still am, so proud of you.” Your voice is quieter now, more tired than angry. "Even when it hurt, even when it felt like you used me. I was proud."

Hyunjin opens his mouth to say something, but the words die on his lips. You watch him swallow, hard, the deliberate bob of his Adam's apple catching your gaze. In everything he does, he looks like art. It's maddening.

He clears his throat, finally finding his voice. "Can I... can I show you something?"

You narrow your eyes at him, confused. "What?"

He fidgets in his spot for a second before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone. After a moment of scrolling, he turns the screen toward you. It's a photo of a canvas—clearly a work in progress, layers of color bleeding into each other in abstract patterns.

"I've been trying to paint again," he says softly. "Ever since we broke up. But nothing's been working. The colors are wrong. Dead."

He flicks to the next picture. It's a similarly unfinished painting. "It gets easier to ignore how wrong they look after a few shots. Sometimes they move around like before. But it never lasts, because it's not you.”

The confession hangs in the air between the two of you. Unlike the heaviness of your earlier words, Hyunjin's float above you two like a balloon, hoisting the last of your irritation away with it. You see the truth of his words in the muddy browns and grays that dominate the canvas, so different from the vibrant explosions of his earlier work. It feels, painfully, like he's lost a piece of his soul.

You can't look at it anymore. You glance up at him instead.

He looks more nervous now than he did when you opened the door. It reminds you of your first ever date, and how he tried to hide his nerves with a devastating smile and charm. The memory chips at a hardened part of your heart.

You've missed him.

You've been so, so tired of missing him.

"Why did you come here,” you breathe. The question is softer this time. More genuine.

He puts his phone back in his pocket, gaze locked on you. Beneath the haze of whatever buzz he still has, you see a glimpse of your Hyunjin, the one who made you laugh so he could paint the bright yellow rays of sunshine that exploded in his vision. The one who left you sketches of your sleeping form if he had to leave before you woke up. 

The one who thought the smallest pieces of you were his magnum opus.

Perhaps that's why, when he takes a step closer, you don't move away this time.

"Because I'm selfish," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "Because I miss you. Because I need to see it again– to feel it. Even if it's the last time."

He takes another step, the height of him caging you against the wall. His eyes search yours, desperate and hungry. "Please, angel. I am begging you. Say my name. Let me see it again."

The request vibrates through you, from the tips of your ears down to your toes. It's maddening how easily he can awaken something you've tried so hard to bury.

You know this is dangerous territory—that giving in now could shatter you all over again.

But his proximity is intoxicating, the familiar scent of him filling your senses. Your body remembers what your mind wants to forget—the way he used to worship you, the way your voice could bring him to his knees in more ways than one.

"This doesn't fix anything," you whisper, even as you feel yourself weakening.

"I know," he breathes, close enough now that you can feel the heat radiating from his body, can smell the lingering alcohol on him. "But God, I miss you. I miss the way you light up my world."

Your back presses against the wall as he crowds into your space, not touching, but close enough that the air between you crackles with tension. He puts his hands on either side of your head, caging you in so that all you can look at is him. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide with need and something deeper, more desperate.

"Say it, pretty girl."

You let his voice be the final push over the edge.

"Hyunjin," you breathe, and you watch as his entire body shudders in response.

His eyes flutter shut, plush lips parting slightly as a soft moan slips out. He's trembling now, hands twitching on the wall near your head as though still fighting the urge to touch you. "Again."

"Hyunjin," you repeat. Your voice is stronger now. Your heart is racing, stomach twisting with nerves and desire. It's been so long since you've said his name like this, and the effect it has on him is beyond intoxicating.

He whimpers, leaning in closer until his forehead rests against yours. "Fuck, I missed that," he murmurs. His breath is hot against your skin. You feel the brush of his low cut hair against your forehead. "I've never seen it like this before. Please, baby. Again. I need more."

The desperation in his voice makes you weak, and you find yourself sliding your hands up, up, up, until your fingers curl into his fuzz, tugging gently at the wisps of hair at the base of his skull. The reaction is immediate—Hyunjin grunts, low and guttural, his hips bucking forward against yours.

"Again," he pants. "Please. Please."

You drag your nails along his scalp, pulling another groan from deep within. You brush your noses together.

"My Hyunjin," you whisper, right against his lips.

He surges forward, crushing his mouth to yours in a hot, bruising kiss. You cling to him, fingers digging into his shoulders as he licks into your mouth. It's wet, messy, and desperate-- a clash of teeth and tongue that leaves you both breathless. You can't remember the last time anyone has kissed you this hard, this passionately—like he's trying to crawl inside you and never come back out.

He tastes like vodka and cheap beer, but underneath that is something that is so innately Hyunjin that you feel yourself melting, giving in to his touch and his mouth and his greedy hands. He shifts, slotting a thigh between your legs and flexing up into you. It pulls a moan from your throat that he swallows hungrily.

"Can I touch you?" He breathes his words right into your mouth.

You don’t hesitate. "Yes. Hyun, please."

His hands drop from the wall to the curve of your waist, sliding down until he has a bruising grip on your hips. His movements aren't as clumsy as you expect, but there's a hesitancy and nervousness that makes everything more enticing.

He uses his grip on your hips to grind you against his thigh. His movements are slow, deliberate. Your bodies are pressed flush together, his mouth still on yours, kissing you like you're the only thing keeping him on this plane of existence.

He bites down on your bottom lip and you whine his name right into his mouth. He hisses out a strangled sound before he breaks away, trailing hot kisses down your jaw, the column of your throat, and sucking a bruise into the soft, sensitive skin behind your ear. You're a mess of moans and whines and incoherent, half-finished sentences.

"God, you sound so fucking good," he murmurs into your neck. "Missed that too. Missed how pretty you sound for me.” He nips at your earlobe. “C'mon. Sing for me, angel."

He presses his thigh up into you more, the friction sending a jolt of electricity up your spine. You feel the length of him, hard heavy and hot, through his sweatpants. You dig your nails into his shoulders, a shuddering breath escaping you. 

"Oh. Fuck, Hyunjin."

His hips buck involuntarily, a grunt slipping from him. He kisses his way back to your mouth. "That's it, my love. That's it." 

"Hyunie." You're panting into his mouth now, words coming out in broken gasps. It's overwhelming, all the sensations– his hands, his mouth, his thigh. You try to hold back your next words, but the building pressure in your stomach disintegrates the barriers in your brain. They come pouring out before you can stop yourself. 

"I missed you so much.”

The confession seems to do something to him. He curses and ruts up against your leg, chasing the contact, the friction. You're both breathing heavily, the space between you nonexistent, moving with a practiced ease that's only born from being familiar with each other. He knows your body like he knows art, like it's a medium for him to mold and shape into whatever he wants.

"Wanna paint you," he huffs out when you moan again. He drags his teeth along the length of your throat. "Want you to see the colors you make for me."

“Tell me.” You drag your nails along the nape of his neck. “What does it look like?”

He moves his thigh up, the sharp movement making you gasp and drop your head onto his shoulder.

"That," he pants, "That one is white. Soft on the edges like feathers. It feels like cotton in my ears."

He sinks his teeth into your shoulder, his hips rutting against you with urgency. You can't help the moan that slips past your lips, and you swear his grip tightens, his breath hitching.

"Fuck," he breathes. "And that-- that one is hot. It's like rich red. Like the sun. It tastes sweet. Tastes like you.”

You whine into his neck, the combination of his words and the movement of his thigh making the heat coil tightly in your core. You're so close, right at the edge of your orgasm. You know you should stop-- that this is a dangerous line you're crossing-- but your body aches for him in a way it never will for anyone else.

"Come on. Cum for me, angel.” His voice is ragged, raw. "I wanna see it. Let me see it, please." 

And, well, you have never been able to deny him anything.

You tip over the edge, pleasure shooting through your body like a spark. Your orgasm hits you so hard that your vision goes white around the edges, a broken cry of his name spilling from your lips.

Hyunjin groans and ruts against you harder, faster. "Fuck, yes, that's it. Just like that, baby." 

He kisses you again, swallowing up every noise you make while he lets you grind your way through the aftershocks. His hands roam their way around your body, his nimble fingers slipping under your shirt to trace patterns on your skin.

You come down slowly, breathing hard into his mouth. When he's sure you've ridden out the last of your orgasm, he pulls back, eyes glassy and still a bit unfocused. His gaze is locked on yours as he slides his hands down your body, slipping a hand into the waistband of your shorts and moving to cup your ass in both hands.

Some of your wits return to you. You find the hairs at the nape of his neck again, dragging your nails against him gently. "Hyun," you breathe. "Hyun, you're drunk. We should stop."

"No," he whines. There's no aggression in his movements, just pure want. He tugs at your ass again, pressing his hips into yours. "Please, baby. I need to feel you."

He leans forward again, kissing down your jaw to your neck. The brush of his buzzcut against your face makes you shiver, but you don't pull away. Instead, you press a kiss to his temple, then another, and another, until you're kissing the shell of his ear.

"You'll change your mind in the morning," you murmur. The thought doesn't sting like you thought it would. It just seems like a fact. “Let's stop now.”

It takes some effort, but you manage to gently untangle yourself from him. You put a hand on his chest, not exactly pushing him but enough to signal a need for distance between you. He relents easily, stepping back and giving you space to breathe.

You take the opportunity to stare at him for a moment, taking in the sight of him: frazzled hair, blown-out pupils, kiss-swollen lips, and an erection straining painfully against his sweatpants. It's a sight that has your body singing for him all over again.

He looks lost. Desperate. Like you're the only thing keeping him together. Yesterday, you would balk at the thought of that, but now it makes your heart soften in your chest. You try to remember a time when you weren't weak for this man and come up short.

You sigh and reach out, resting your hand on his arm, thumb rubbing soothing circles into the skin. "Come on, Hyunie," you murmur. "You obviously can't go home. Let's get you to bed."

He follows you down the hallway to your bedroom like a lost puppy, fingers loosely tangled with yours. When you flick on the bedside lamp, the soft glow illuminates the space that used to be so familiar to him. He stands there, awkward, until you turn down the comforter and sit on the edge of the bed, patting the spot next to you.

"Do you want me to sleep here?" he asks, his voice small.

You nod. "I'll take the couch."

His hand tightens around yours immediately. "No." His voice is small, fragile. "Stay. Please."

You close your eyes, summoning strength from somewhere deep inside you. "Hyunjin, I don't think—"

"I won't touch you," he rushes to say, desperation creeping back into his tone. "I promise. I just... I can't be alone right now. Please don't make me be alone."

The plea strikes something painful in your chest. You've spent months trying to convince yourself that Hyunjin was fine without you—thriving, even. That he'd moved on to bigger, better things. But the man standing before you now, with bloodshot eyes and trembling hands, is far from fine. 

"Okay," you relent, because you're weak and tired and overwhelmed from the events of tonight. 

When he slides under the blanket, there's a safe distance between you. Not as vast as it's been the past six months, but a tangible space nonetheless. You lie there on your side, staring at him, wondering if this is what it feels like to drown. He stares back at you, and you watch the redness of his eyes dissipate, his body relaxing under the weight of your gaze. You can't even find it in you to be angry, but you try. You really do.

He looks at you with those glassy eyes and a soft smile. "You're so beautiful," he whispers.

You feel the anger slip through your fingers.

"You're drunk," you whisper back.

"I know."

You're not sure who moves first, but you find yourself closing the distance between you, your head tucked under his chin and your arm slung over his torso. He's warm and solid beneath you, and you find yourself melting into his embrace.

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, and you can hear the steady beat of his heart in his chest. You close your eyes, focusing on the rhythm, letting it lull you to sleep.

"Goodnight, pretty girl," he murmurs.

You're asleep before you can respond.

—

Sunlight filters through your curtains, painting warm stripes across your face. You stir, your consciousness returning to you in fragmented pieces. The first thing you register is the coolness of the sheets next to you. The second is the ache in your chest.

You open your eyes, staring at the empty space where Hyunjin had been.

Had.

He's gone.

The pillow still bears the impression of his head, the ghost of his presence lingering in the sheets in the form of his expensive cologne. You reach out, rubbing a bit of the sheet between your fingers, finding it cold to the touch.

Of course he left. What were you expecting?

You're not sure how long you lie there, staring at the ceiling, but it's long enough for the tears to come. They slip down the sides of your face and into your hair, leaving wet stains on the pillow as everything from last night comes back to you: the desperation of his voice on the phone, the feeling of his body pressed against yours, his breath hot on your neck as he begged and pleaded for you to bathe his world in color again. It all felt real, so urgent in the midnight hour.

But morning has a wicked way of washing everything clean, the sober light revealing every mistake in detail.

You wish you could be angry. You wish you could feel anything other than the pain that's splitting your chest in two. You wish you could hate him.

You press the heels of your palms against your eyes in an attempt to stall the tears before they get worse. This is exactly why you should've blocked him, why you shouldn't have let him in or slept beside him like nothing changed between the two of you.

"Stupid," You murmur. "I'm so fucking stupid."

A familiar weight settles in your gut, the same one your carried for weeks when he first left-- a noxious mix of anger, embarrassment, and grief. You thought you'd finally shed it, but here it is again, through no fault but your own.

You drop your hands from your face and glance at the clock, which tells you it's a bit past 11am. He's back at his fancy apartment by now, already forgetting the things he whispered in your skin. You let out a humorless snort, imagining that he's painting, finally able to put colors together properly after using you for inspiration.

You're about to drag your pity party to the kitchen when you hear it-- the faint squeak of your bathroom sink turning on.

Your eyes snap in that direction instantly. For a moment, you don’t hear anything else. Then–

Splashing. Someone is washing their face.

He stayed.

You freeze, heart suddenly pounding against your chest. You can hear the water continuing to slosh around for a second, then it shuts off.

More silence, just for a second, then the unmistakable padding of feet on tile.

The en suite door swings open. Hyunjin materializes in the door frame wearing the same clothes from last night. His hair catches the morning light like a halo and his face is freshly washed. His eyes are no longer glassy, even though they're rimmed with the telltale shadows of a hangover. When he sees you sitting up in bed, he pauses, hovering in the doorway as though he's unsure if he's still allowed in.

The two of you hold eye contact for a moment. It feels like forever, but you know it can't be more than a second or two. It doesn't matter how long, really. It's still too long. Long enough to make the ache inside you bloom until your entire chest is suffocating under its weight. Long enough to realize how much you still want him and need to keep him in this space that was once yours and his. Long enough to want to reach out across time and space and mold his edges into something that belongs solely to you—that only you can recognize. Something different and yet exactly the same.

"Hi," he says.

The breath is knocked out of you all at once. 

"You're still here," you breathe. You feel a new wave of tears behind your eyes. You think it might be from relief.

Something flashes across his face quickly-- hurt, maybe, or understanding. "Yeah." His voice is soft. "I told you I wouldn't leave again."

Did he say that? You don't remember. You can't exactly think over the pounding of your heart in your ears. 

The words hang in the air anyway, a fragile bridge stretching across the space between you. It feels precarious, like one wrong move will send all of it crashing down. You scan his face for any hint of deception, for a flicker of the old Hyunjin that prioritized his rising fame over you. But all you find is a raw sincerity that mirrors the ache in your own chest.

He takes a hesitant step into the room, then another, like he's waiting for you to change your mind and kick him out. You don't. You just sit there, heart thrumming against your ribs, watching as he drifts closer until he's standing at edge of the bed. There's barely any space separating you two, yet everything still feels so far away.

"Last night," he starts. He clears his throat, fighting against the tremble in his voice and hands. "It was a mess. I was a mess, I know."

You wait, unable to tear your gaze away from him.

"But even in the middle of all of that... I need you to know I meant it. Every word, angel. I still do."

Something swells inside of you, the pain making way for something soft and tender. It's overwhelming, but the good kind. The kind that makes you feel light and free.

"Do you?" Your voice is so quiet, you're not sure if he hears you. But he does, because his gaze softens, eyes never leaving yours.

Hyunjin lowers himself to the ground, situating himself on his knees so the two of you are eye level. He reaches a hand out, his long, slender fingers making their way across the space, gently cupping the curve of your jaw. You close your eyes, holding your breath while you bask in the way his skin makes contact with yours. The air around you feels like it might come alive. As you lean into the warmth of his palm, the ache in your chest begins to fade bit by bit.

"Yeah. I do," he whispers. His voice is thick.

There are a million things you want to say, yet the only thing you can force out is: "Why?"

He brushes his thumb along the rise of your cheekbone, the gesture tender and familiar. It's almost like he never left, like no time has passed between the two of you. He opens his mouth to answer, then closes it, like the words are getting stuck in his throat.

"Can I show you?"

The question sends a shiver down your spine. You swallow and nod.

His eyes flicker down to your lips, the hunger evident in his gaze. He leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours and breathing you in. His breath tickles your nose, the scent of your toothpaste mixing with the smell of his sweater.

"Are you sure?" he whispers.

You answer him by closing the gap.

Unlike the kiss from last night, this one is slow, measured. You pour everything you've wanted to say since he left into it, and he returns it tenfold. He kisses you with a passion that threatens to consume, his grip on your face tightening ever so slightly, tongue sweeping out to lick at your bottom lip. You part for him immediately, the taste of him igniting the dormant fire inside you.

Hyunjin kisses you like a starving man. You give him everything he needs, letting him map your mouth with his tongue, moaning into the heat of his kiss. You feel it everywhere, the heat coiling low in your belly and spreading throughout your limbs. It feels like a revelation, and the way his grip tightens tells you that he feels it too.

"Say it, please baby," he breathes. The desperation from last night is creeping back in. His hand leaves your cheek, trailing down the length of your neck to your collarbone. He curls his hand into the neck of your shirt and tugs it down to expose your skin, dipping down to wash his tongue across your collarbones. You're already shaking before he even nips at your skin.

"Hyunjin," you moan. The sound makes him grunt against you, low and needy.

His mouth is on yours again, bruising, like he wants to drown in the taste of you. You sink your fingers into his hair, pulling gently and feeling his body shudder in response. He adjusts his positions on his knees, tugging you closer to him so your hips are flush against his chest. The heat of his feverish skin burns you through the thin fabric of your night clothes.

"Again, angel," he pleads, mouthing his way over your shirt, down to your breasts, hands trailing up your bare thighs and gripping hard. You let out a little whimper, head falling back as you thread your fingers in the wisps of his hair, holding on for dear life. He doesn't stop. The mixture of his mouth and his hands has your mind hazy and unfocused.

"Hyunjin. Hyun, please." You feel him shudder at that, his mouth kissing lower, lower, lower. When he reaches the hem of your shit, he grips it in his teeth and pulls it up, tongue darting out to run a stripe across your belly button. You pant and squirm, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly, nails digging into his skin through his sweatshirt.

He nips at your stomach and you cry out his name, the sound breaking through the space like a firecracker. Hyunjin's hips buck up against the bed as his mouth finds your hip bone, sinking his teeth into the tender skin. Your back arches, legs clamping around his torso. His grip is bruising and you really hope he leaves a mark, that there are traces of him on you long after you're finished. You want him to burn himself into your skin so you never forget this again.

He's pressing sloppy kisses over the skin he's just bitten, murmuring a mixture of words you can't decipher. The sound is muffled against your skin, but you don't miss the way he says "angel" over and over again, the way his lips form your name against your body like it's a prayer, and he is the sole saint who has come to worship at your altar.

He shifts his mouth back to the waistband of your shorts, his big, blown out eyes fluttering open to stare at you in question. The look you give him is all he needs to peel off the fabric, slowly, teasingly, tossing them away and letting his fingers trail the newly exposed skin. His touch is hot on your legs, trailing up and down until you're panting for him.

"So perfect for me, pretty girl," he praises, his lips ghosting over your hips. Your brain feels like mush, like his praise is the only thing that exists anymore. You watch his long, perfect fingers slide up the expanse of your thigh until he reaches your heat, pushing your lips apart to reveal your aching cunt to him. His touch is so featherlight that it has your hips bucking up, trying to get more.

"Be still, love." He presses a kiss to your clit. "Be still for me. Let me worship you, yeah? Can you do that?"

You whine, desperately  trying to remain still, to let him explore every inch of your body with his perfect hands, to let him touch and tease you like he needs to.

"That's it, baby," he breathes. His fingers run along the wetness of your cunt. "Look at you. So fucking wet for me, my angel."

He slips his middle finger in with ease, sliding all the way to his knuckle. You barely have a second to adjust to the feeling before he dives down, plump lips wrapping around your clit and sucking hard. It sends a jolt of pleasure up your spine so sharp, you can't help the half scream that falls from your lips, your hand shooting out to grab onto his head. He moans in response, letting you grind yourself up into his face. He laps at you like a man possessed, fingers curling deep inside you to press against that one spot he's found countless times before.

The room fills with the wet sounds of your cunt against his eager tongue. His hair is soft under your hand, a contrast to how hard he's fucking his fingers into you. They move with urgency and precision. Each thrust has you panting his name, and in response his moans vibrate through your cunt.

He moves his free hand to grab the one that's gripping his hair and squeezes, fingers curling between yours in a silent show of gratitude for letting him touch you, letting him drown himself in you.

The combination of his touch and the sounds he's making has your stomach coiling, tight like a spring, and your release comes quick and sharp. Your orgasm crashes into you like a wave, and you call out his name, louder than anything he's ever heard from you before, so loud your voice bounces off the walls. He works you through it, licking up all the wetness that's pouring from you, groaning and growling like a starving man. He slips in a third finger to fuck you through the last of your high and the stretch is so good, so perfect.

His grip on your hand is the only thing that keeps you grounded as the last of the pleasure courses through you, leaving you shaking and trembling against his face. Hyunjin keeps his eyes on you the entire time, watching you like a predator watches prey, pupils blown so wide only a sliver of dark brown peeks out at you. He only pulls away once you stop shuddering, dragging his fingers out of you with a loud, wet noise, slipping them straight into his mouth.

The sight of his plush, pink lips wrapped around those perfect fingers makes you whine and squirm with want, even though you've just been thoroughly fucked out. Hyunjin crawls his way back up your body and kisses you deeply. His lips are wet with you, and he fucks his tongue into your mouth so you can taste yourself. You find yourself gripping at the soft hairs on the back of his neck again in an attempt to press him closer. He pulls away slightly to trail sloppy, open mouthed kisses down your jaw, teeth dragging across the hot skin.

"You drive me crazy, pretty girl," he pants. He sucks a bruise into the junction where your throat meets your shoulder. "Every noise you make, it sizzles in my eyes like fire. I see you everywhere."

You drag your nails down his neck and he groans into you. You can feel the impossibly hard length of him pressing against your thigh through his sweatpants. He ruts against your body lazily, his movements sluggish. The post orgasm haze still hangs over your body like a heavy fog, slowing everything down to a sluggish, sensual pace. It's hypnotic and delicious, the feeling of his hardness dragging along your thigh while he peppers kisses along your skin. You know this dance, your bodies know the steps so well it feels like your back at the very beginning again, like no time has passed at all between the two of you.

"Let me have you, please." His voice is tight. His desperation is bleeding into everything, tinging the air between you like an intoxicating drug. It makes your head spin and your skin tingle. He shifts his position so his hips are rutting into yours now, slow, deliberate, and grinding right down into you. You're so wet for him still that there's no resistance in his movements. With your eyes fluttering from the sensation, you drag your fingers across the expanse of his broad shoulders and then down to the dip in his spine, trailing your fingertips up under his sweatshirt to drag across his hot skin. It pulls a shaky whine out of him.

"God, please angel." His cock throbs against you. "I'll make it good for you, so fucking good. Just please let me have you, please."

You tug at his sweater until he relents, breaking away to yank it up over his head, tossing it somewhere in the room. You take the opportunity to look at his chest, which is flushed with color and heaving with want. His lips are parted as he tries to catch his breath, lust-blown eyes staring down at you like you hold all of the secrets to his universe. He's still getting harder in his pants, the fabric stretching taut over his cock, the shape of his length visible beneath it. The sight alone makes you dizzy, and the wetness that has been slowly building inside you reaches a crescendo, your cunt pulsing at the sight before you.

Your hand drifts down between your legs. Your fingers slide easily over the wetness that's gathered there from the pleasure Hyunjin has been so dutifully dishing out to you, and you don't even think about what you're doing. Hyunjin watches, eyes glassy as you dip two fingers in the wet mess he's made of your cunt. You slide them back up to your clit and moan, hips twitching into your own touch. His lips part a fraction, a breathy gasp spilling from him. He looks so painfully hungry that the thought of denying him crosses your mind for the briefest of moments. The thought disappears the second he opens his mouth.

"Baby, please, I need it." He shifts on his knees, squirming and aching for you. You almost don't recognize his voice— it's so raspy and tight with need, words stumbling out of him with no hesitation, no thought. It makes your skin hot all over again. You circle your fingers around your clit as you watch him watch you, his chest heaving in tandem with the movements of your fingers. 

Then he makes the prettiest little whine you've ever heard in your entire life.

The sound alone is enough to make you remove your hand and offer your wet fingers to him, his mouth falling open obediently to welcome them in. He swirls his tongue around your fingertips, lapping up any of the wetness he's left on you. He groans and shudders, eyes fluttering shut as he sucks and licks and hums around your fingers. Your brain feels like static and your thighs squeeze together to try and ease the ache inside you.

"Fuck, Hyunjin," you moan out, watching him suck your fingers clean. You try desperately to focus on keeping your hips still, the friction from your bodies moving together making you want to chase your pleasure again.

He moans around your fingers before pulling back, catching the hand you had been using to play with your clit and pulling it up to place a gentle kiss on your palm. He keeps eye contact the entire time, looking at you from under those thick lashes and his hooded eyes. His lips part just enough for the tip of his tongue to lick at your skin, his fingers still wrapped tightly around your wrist. It makes your stomach drop. He has you under a spell and he doesn't even need to try.

He nips at your fingertips once more before speaking again, his voice low. "You make it so impossible to see anything other than you," he says, breathless. "Everywhere I turn, everything I see, there you are."

He shifts again, his body moving downwards and slotting itself between your thighs. He uses his free hand to wrestle himself out of his sweatpants and boxers, leaving them to hang low on his hips, cock finally free from their confines and bobbing heavily in the cool air. A shudder runs through him and you can tell it's both from the chill and the feeling of relief that comes from the sudden freedom. Your eyes linger on the head, leaking so prettily for you that it has your cunt squeezing around nothing again.

The hand holding your wrist pushes gently until it has you pinned above your head on the bed, the grip loose enough to not hurt you but strong enough to hold you in place. He reaches down to finally wrap his free hand around himself, stroking the length of his cock as he lets his eyes wander all over your body. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, and you're transfixed by the way he lets it run along the swell of his mouth. He's such a pretty, pretty picture like this.

You think he might say something again, but the only sound that fills the space is his soft pants and moans. His strokes on himself once, the slick, wet noises making your brain go fuzzy all over again. Then he stops, leaning forward so he's hovering above you, the tip of his nose mere centimeters from yours. His lips brush against your mouth and his fingers twitch around your wrist, like he wants to let go but can't bear to.

You tilt your chin up to catch his lips, a soft whine bubbling in your throat. Want simmers under your skin so badly that you're a shaking, trembling mess under him. He coos at you in the kiss, and you feel him shift over you, lining himself up with your entrance. He rubs the head of his cock against your slit, gathering the wetness that has dripped out of your pulsing cunt and onto the sheets, using it as lubrication for the tip of his cock to catch on your entrance. Your hips twitch upwards involuntarily, making him break the kiss with a gasp, and you both look down to watch as pushes the head of his cock into you.

"Shit," he whines. It comes out like a hiss, his eyes slipping closed. The feeling of your body welcoming him home has a shudder running up his spine. He releases your hand and uses his elbows to hold himself up over you, fingers burying themselves in the sheets surrounding your head. The tips of his ears are dusted pink, and his mouth is slack as he lets himself be enveloped by the heat of your body. He rests his head in the crook of your neck.

He feels impossibly large inside of you. It has been so long since you've had him this close, it's almost like you forgot how good he can fill you. He shifts and pushes himself a bit further in and you can't help the whimper that tumbles from your mouth. The stretch is so deliciously good that your hips twitch again, body instinctively trying to grind itself onto his length to get him right where you need him. He curses above you again and his grip in the sheets tighten as he nips at your throat.

"Angel," he chokes out. His breath feels boiling hot against your skin. "Please don't move. Not yet, baby. You feel too fucking good."

His voice is strained, tight in his chest like he's barely holding himself back from pounding into you like his body so obviously wants to. The feeling of being stretched by him has you quivering, cunt pulsing around the intrusion. It feels like it takes him forever, but he finally manages to fully slide into you, letting his hips press against yours so you can take the time to adjust to the fullness. His name is a mantra on your lips, the only coherent word your brain is able to conjure right now. He kisses your neck to calm you down, nuzzles his nose against you, licks at the tender skin that has a pulse beating rapidly underneath it.

"So tight, angel," he grunts. His teeth dig into the skin of your neck, sucking another bruise into your skin. "So fucking tight for me."

Your nails are digging into his back now, scratching angry red lines down his shoulder blades as you struggle to breathe beneath him. It feels so good, the way his weight pushes into you and lets you feel every twitch and pulse of his body, lets you feel him shake and quiver. He slides back a bit before pushing into you again, his entire body shaking with the effort it's taking for him to maintain this languid pace. His forehead is pressed against your skin still and his breath comes out hot and shaky as he fucks himself into you again and again, slow and shallow.

The drag of his cock has your toes curling. Your hands slide from his back to his shoulder, down to his biceps, fingers digging into the skin to leave crescents that you can't bring yourself to feel bad about. The heat is pooling in your stomach again, making the feeling in your toes and fingertips start to fizzle away. All that's left is you and Hyunjin. The artist and his muse.

"Hyunie," you breathe. "Hyun."

"I know baby," he grunts. You can feel the drag of his lips on you, leaving kisses against your feverishly hot skin. "I know. I'm here, I'm here."

He picks up the pace then, hips snapping against you to get his cock as deep as it'll go. Your brain has become static, aware of nothing more than the sound of skin slapping against skin, of the wet noises coming from where Hyunjin has returned to his home inside you. You arch your body into his hold and he slips his hand into the curve of your back, pressing you close so that every thrust brings him as close to your heart as he can get.

When he pounds into you particularly hard and you flutter around him, he grunts, sitting up and on his heels to gain leverage to piston into you deep. 

"So fucking perfect," he groans. He reaches down to thumb at your clit, circling it and grinding it down in time with his thrusts. You whine his name and buck against his hand as his thrusts get harder and faster in response. It has the coil in your belly winding tighter, so tight your body feels rigid against the bed. "Gonna show me that rainbow, right baby? Be good and come for me, yeah?"

You're already nodding frantically, words completely failing you. The sound of your skin meeting is loud, and your own moans are a chorus that's getting lost in his groans, in his pretty little whimpers of your name. It's all too much— you can barely catch your breath.

His hand that isn't playing with your clit finds one of yours and brings it to your stomach, pushing your palm into the skin below your belly button. When you feel it—the subtle bump from the tip of his cock, pressing against his fingers and into the flat of your stomach—you moan and dig your nails into the back of his hand.

"Fuck," he grits. "You like that angel? You like feeling full of me?"

A distant pulsing of your clit is the only warning you get before your orgasm hits you hard. You scream Hyunjin's name, nails digging into his skin for something to tether to. Your orgasm washes over you like an electric current, shooting up your spine and down to your toes. It whites your vision out, each pulse of Hyunjin's thrust translating into faded bursts of colors behind your eyes. The force of it makes your cunt squeeze down hard, so hard that you feel him stutter in his rhythm above you. You feel him drop forward to grip onto the pillow behind your head and bury his face into your chest, fingers digging in tight, hips bucking up into you. His eyes are squeezed shut and he's biting hard down on the fabric of your shirt, his breath coming in short, sharp bursts. You don't need to look to know he's coming inside of you, filling you up and painting you white.

It feels like the two of you ride through the aftershocks for years before he comes back down enough to gently slip his cock out of you, hissing from the sensitivity. You barely even feel him roll off of you, the world still tilted on it's axis significantly. Your vision takes a second to focus as your chest heaves. It takes even longer to realize that Hyunjin is staring at you from where he's lying on his side, head propped up on his elbow and an expression on his face you haven't seen in months. The thought that he could still look at you with a mixture of reverence and wonder after all this time is overwhelming.

But exhaustion is the prevailing emotion, and you only manage a small, sleepy smile before you pass out, lulled to sleep by the soft kiss he presses to your shoulder.

—

When you wake up a few hours later, you’re not panicked to find that you’re by yourself. The sheets are still warm, the shower is running, and there is still a dull, pleasant ache between your legs. You stretch, muscles nicely liquid and pliant, before patting around for your phone on your nightstand.

You do not find your phone. You find, instead, a piece of paper.

It takes a moment of sleepy shuffling, but once you get the lamp on, you see that it’s a pencil sketch of your sleeping form. There’s a cloud of colors surrounding you, beautifully rich blues and pinks that overlap to create equally vibrant purples. The colors feather out around the paper, swirling into soft, delicate hearts.

There is a single word on the bottom of the drawing:

Reconciliation.

[hyprfixate]

I keep updating at THE most random times, but unfortunately I have fallen victim to the fanfic author curse. I had a death in my family and then a major health emergency. I have so many fics im working on though. bare with me y'all lol

[hyprfixate]

hi everyone!! sorry I've been MIA. my job is so demanding 😭. I've been writing a few different things though! so when i make my full return i'll have a story for you all. I wanted to make a poll to see which one garnered the most interest:

which trope set sounds more interesting?

one sided enemies to lovers, spy AU, forced proximity

strangers to lovers, college sports AU, grumpy x sunshine

friends to lovers, fake dating AU, one sided to mutual pining

Voting ended onFeb 24, 2025

[obscuraskz]

[hyunpic]

🥝🥝🥝

[hyprfixate]

for the taking :: [B.C] x [H.J] x [K.S] x reader

read on AO3

summary: of your three boyfriends, you like to push chan's buttons the most so that he'll really get things going. you sadly underestimate how wild things can get when you rile him up.

pairing: kim seungmin x bang chan x han jisung x reader

tropes: poly!skz mmmf foursome, porn without plot

smut warnings: mentioned free use dynamics, dacryphilia, dom/sub dynamics, brat play, overstimulation x100000, pussy eating, implied mxm dynamics, dom jisung, soft dom/sadist seungmin, hard dom/brat tamer chan, mentions of safewords (it's not used), unprotected sex but it's a long established relationship, reader initiated slight cnc, dirty talk, reader is called a slut as a degradation thing. it's really just pure filthy, not a plot point in sight.

author's note: i didn't plan to write this at all. idk where it came from. enjoy anyway!!

word count: 8.7k

You're laying on your stomach in your bedroom. The lights are dim, music is thrumming from your speaker, and there's a candle on your wax warmer.  It's a quiet, soft night, the kind that you don't see many of. There's always something going on in the duplex you share with your partners. It can be tiring, but in the quiet, you realize you sort of miss it. You fiddle with the green beaded bracelet on your wrist as you scroll aimlessly through your phone.

Then, the door across the hall slams.

Only you and Chan are home tonight, Seungmin and Jisung off God-knows-where for whatever reason. Chan was supposed to go out with them, but he had a project to finish for his job, the same project that had him losing sleep for the last few weeks. You may never understand what exactly goes into producing music, but from the way he stayed hunched over his computer 24/7, you knew it was complicated.

You're not at all surprised when you hear your door creak open slowly. You turn over, eyes catching Chan's as he stands in your doorway with his arms folded across his chest. He's wearing a haberdash of house clothes, including a baseball cap, but you can still see the dark tint on his eyes.

You feign innocence.

“Hey you,” you smile at him. “Taking a break?”

“Something like that. What're you doing?”

You shift your phone to the hand with your bracelet, holding it up and giving it a little shake. His gaze hardens even more. “Just on Instagram.”

His eyes are trained on your wrist, just like you wanted. He recognizes the bracelet. Of course he does– he and the boys bought it for you after one of your many, many conversations. You give a little smile. "It's cute, right? The green matches my t-shirt," you say sweetly. 

It does, but that's not the only reason you're wearing it.

You're wearing it because they know that green means go. Or yes. 

Or take.

"Did you need something, Chan?"

He doesn't respond, choosing instead to push up off of the doorframe and make his way over to you. You decide to roll onto your back to see him better, and by the time you're situated, he's standing over you, arms still crossed.

You gulp.

"Um, hi," you breathe out. Nervousness was not part of the plan. "I– Did you... need something?"

He drops one of his hands and grips your ankle, and where the skin connects you feel like you've been electrocuted. Your body comes alive immediately. You can only watch as he barely strains a single muscle as he pulls you down to the edge of the bed.

"Put your phone down," he instructs. He reaches the soft part of your thigh and pinches, lips curling into a smirk when you yelp.

"Channie, I—"

"I said," he repeats, a little harsher this time, "put your phone down."

You do as you're told, dropping it on the floor next to his feet. He keeps pulling until your entire lower half is hanging off the bed. With your legs spread like they are, you're certain he can feel the pulsing coming from between your legs.

He hums.

"You know why I'm here," he says lowly. It's not a question.

Despite the speed of your heart, you blink up at him dumbly, fighting against the wave of arousal that licks down your spine when he raises an eyebrow.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you manage.

Both of his eyebrows are up now, his expression seemingly surprised for a second before it fades. He nods lightly, almost as though contemplating what you've said, and then he releases you and takes a step back.

Your heart drops for a second. You think you've messed up somehow, or maybe your tone didn't come out right. You're about to backtrack, but then he's back, hooking his fingers into either side of your waistband, and with one simple tug he has your pajama pants completely off. 

If Chan is surprised that you're not wearing any underwear, he doesn't show it.

You gasp when the cool air hits your lower body, and you watch as he smirks. He returns his vice like grip on your ankle when you start to squirm under his gaze. 

"I see you still like to pretend that you have some ounce of control in this relationship," he deadpans. He tugs you back down the bed when you try to wiggle away. You're embarrassed that his strength doesn't seem to be affected by his sleep deprivation. "Come on, baby. You know better than that."

You fight back the giddy smile that threatens to take over your face at his voice. "I don't know what you're talking about," you lie. "Why're you bothering me? Don't you have work to do?"

"I can't focus," he says smoothly. "I couldn't stop thinking about you while I was working. About how much easier work might be if I could fuck you to clear my head."

"That's too bad," you shrug, hoping he can't see how you're clenching around nothing. "I was busy."

He hums absentmindedly, letting the hand on your ankle travel higher. He runs his fingers up your calf, then your knee, until finally he hooks the inside of his wrist behind it, forcing your legs to part. You gasp and try to snap them closed, but he only has to shift a bit so that his other hand is on your opposite leg, holding you open for him.

"Why do you always act like you're not dying for me to touch you, hm?" he asks, but it's rhetorical.  He knows you don't have an answer. You never do. Even so, when you stay quiet, he huffs out a humorless laugh.

"Okay. I'm going to give you two options, because I'm feeling generous." He holds up one finger. "Option one, you admit you're just being a brat, I'll fuck it out of you, and then we can both go back to what we were doing. Or–"

You whine as he abruptly leans down with your legs still in his hands, effectively folding you in half. "Or, option two, you keep it up, and I can tell the boys to come home. Then we'll make this a lot longer than it needs to be."

Chan is dangerously close to your face now. The brim of his hat is touching your forehead. You're almost sure he can feel your heartbeat through the fabric of both of your shirts.

"So what do you want, princess?" he asks, voice dripping with honey. 

You shiver. His gaze is so intense you forget how to breathe. At your silence, he yanks you further into him, pressing himself right up against your uncovered cunt. Even through his basketball shorts you feel the unmistakable heat of his erection.

"I said, what do you want?"

Fuck.

You can't take it anymore. You feel like you're burning with need. "I'm sorry, Channie," you whine out. You can see the fire in his eyes, the way he's so worked up already, and it makes you weak. "I'll be good."

He gives you a sweet smile, leaning forward to press a kiss against your mouth. You sigh into it, letting your body go lax so he can take control. 

Despite your attempts, brattiness never lasts long with Chan. With Seungmin and Jisung, you love the challenge, love making them crack and beg a little, but Chan is entirely unrelenting. You know better than to get him too riled up, especially if you actually want anything to happen.

The kiss is a stark contrast to what you know is to come, and you know that it's on purpose. He always likes to give you the chance to back out, a way to change your mind. Bracelet or no bracelet, your comfort is still always his first priority. It's what makes you comfortable enough to tease him.

But when he pulls away from the kiss and you chase after his mouth, he only smiles.

"There's my good girl," he says. He releases your knees and presses a kiss against your cheek, and then the tip of your nose.

"Chan," you whine. Your body feels cold where his hands just were.

He only tilts his head when he looks at you. "Hm?" Then his gaze turns sinister. "Did you... need something, princess?"

Oh. 

Shit.

"Wait,” You're scrambling up from your position. “Wait, please, Chan, don't–"

He hums. "You were so mean to me," he says, trailing a single finger down your cheek. "I don't think you deserve anything from me."

You attempt to sit up, eyes widening, but he's keeping you pinned down on your bed. "But I said I'm sorry," you whine. "Channie, please, I'll be good--"

He tilts his head again, pretending to think, letting his hand fall down your face to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"No," he decides, and he straightens up, taking a step back. "I think I'm gonna go back to work."

Before you can grab him, he's slipped away, nearly halfway to your door. "Sorry, babygirl. Maybe next time, yeah?"

The smirk on his face is proof he's anything but sorry. He gives you a fake little pout before winking and stepping out of your room, clicking the door closed behind him.

You're sat up on the bed, staring at the door with your jaw slacked. This is a new level of evil, you think. You hear his bedroom door open and shut, then the muffled sound of the track he's working on vibrates the walls.

It takes longer than you'd like for your wits to come back to you, but when they do, you're both utterly gobsmacked and thoroughly impressed.

He's teasing you.

There's a part of you that's tempted to just give in, to make your way across the hall and apologize. Chan is stubborn, but not unreachable. You know if you march into his room, you could get on your knees and make him relent in seconds.

But fine. He wants to play dirty?

You can play dirty, too.

-

It's less than an hour later when you hear the front door open and shut, the sound of Jisung and Seungmin's voices carrying up the stairs. You hear takeout bags and the jingling of their keys, and then–

“We're home!”

You make no effort to move, waiting to see if Chan will leave his room first. Besides, you're still working through some of the details of your plan.

If you stay in your room, Seungmin would come upstairs to check on you first. You know he'll fuck you good, but it takes time to warm him up. By the time you start getting anywhere, Jisung will get to Chan, who might do something stupid like tell him that you were being a brat, and then he'll come in and ruin the whole thing.

No, you need eager. You need impulsive.

You need Jisung.

You pad to the bedroom door, opening it and sticking your head out. Chan's door is still closed, the track he's working on still pumping through the speakers, so you take the opportunity to get the ball rolling.

You make your way down the hall and to the top of the stairs, where you can see Jisung standing in the entryway of the kitchen. The two have already shed their jackets and shoes, and Seungmin is now busy unloading the food they brought back into the fridge. His back is turned to you.

Bingo.

"Hey," you say softly. Jisung's head whips up, eyes brightening as he spots you. He says something you can't hear to Seungmin before he's jogging up the stairs towards you. He scoops you into a squeezing hug.

"Hi my baby," he says happily, pressing a kiss against your forehead. "How was your day?"

You giggle in the hug. "It was alright. Kind of boring. How was yours?"

"We had fun," he says. He sets you down and leans against the wall next to you, reaching and catching your hand in his. You deliberately give him the hand with the bracelet, but he doesn't see it. "I missed you though."

"I missed you, too."

Jisung grins. He opens his mouth to speak again, but then he furrows his eyebrows when he looks at you, like he's just noticing something.

"Is that my shirt?"

“Is it?” You look down, feigning surprise. "Oh, yeah I guess it is."

He hums, tilting his head. His eyes trail to your hand, and he finally seems to notice the bracelet on your wrist. "That's weird. I could've sworn I saw it in my drawer this morning."

You shrug. "Maybe you're just losing your mind."

He grins, bringing your hand up to his mouth and pressing a kiss against your open palm. "Yeah, maybe. Or are you trying to tell me something?"

You bat your eyelashes up at him. "Am I?"

His smile turns sly. "You are, aren't you?"

Jisung doesn't wait for a response, clasping his hand around yours and pulling you down the hallway back into your room. He kicks the door shut behind him and spins to face you, a wicked grin on his face.

You squeal when he picks you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and laughing against his mouth. His kisses are hot and eager– there's no break for breath as he moves across the room with you. You don't even pause when he lays you down on your bed, hand sliding “his” t-shirt up your body.

You shiver when he brushes against your thigh. His hands are cold from outside, and the contrast against your warm skin feels like electricity. He smiles in the kiss and squeezes the skin tight.

Your own hands find their way around his neck, pulling him even closer into you. Through the thin fabric of the shirt you're wearing, you can feel the hardness of his body all pressed against yours. He shifts against you and the friction makes your nipples harden right under him.

His hands leave your thighs. They wind their way up your torso, feeling you up all along the way until he finds the stiff peaks that called his attention. He runs his thumbs over them, drinking up every sound you make. One of your hands cards into his hair and you tug.

He groans at that, finally pulling away from the kiss with a grunt and instead trailing his kisses down the column of your throat. His teeth graze your pulse point and you buck up into him in surprise.

You feel him laugh against you.

"You're so cute," he says into your neck. He mouths over the skin before biting down, hot wet tongue immediately after. A bruise, then.

"Sungie," you gasp out. Your back arches off the mattress as his hands wander all over you. You've always loved how naturally his mouth works its way around your body– he knows just where to kiss, what spots to brush his nose over. Like he's learned the entire road map to your pleasure.

Maybe he has.

He mouths down your body, pausing and sucking on your breasts before leaving wet, soft kisses down the expanse of your tummy. When he gets to your core, he shifts his kiss-trail over to your inner thigh.

"Do you know how hot you are?" He murmurs. "Like all the time. Holy fuck. This is my shirt, princess. My shirt. Don't you know that drives me crazy?"

You do. It's precisely why you grabbed it.

His tongue meets your skin in an agonizing, slow stripe along your inner thigh. The higher he gets, the more your legs tremble around him, until finally his lips close around your clit.

The feeling is overwhelming. Your head lolls back against the bed and you let out a breathy moan. He hums against you, fingers digging into the skin of your thighs as he holds your legs up. Your hands are shaking, but one winds its way back into his soft hair, and you tug.

He moans at that, a sound that sends vibration up through your whole core. He takes a hand away and brings it down, letting his thumb just press lightly against your entrance. Even in the slightest sense of pressure, you arch further into him, wanting more, more, more.

He sucks on your clit even harder, his tongue joining, and when you look down and see his blissed out expression between your legs, you think your heart might jump right out of your chest.

In all the times the boys have taken you apart, they've never made you come this quickly. You're not sure if it's because of the moment with Chan earlier, or because you've been thinking about having one of them fuck you all day. All it takes is two large fingers, pushing and stretching inside of you while his mouth moves so perfectly around your throbbing clit for you to snap. You come with a sob, your thighs pressing against his head.

If there's one thing Jisung certainly loves, though, it's eating you out. He could spend hours between your legs, kissing and sucking and licking until you're boneless and spent. So there is no sign of slowing in his rhythm, even when you wriggle from overstimulation.

"Sung," you moan. He responds by pinching your thigh, sucking hard on your clit so your yelp turns into a moan.

Distantly, you register the sound of footsteps that pause right outside of your door. You hear knocking, but not on your door, and you realize Seungmin has finally come upstairs, likely to grab everybody for some quality time after a day apart.

You almost laugh at how well this is working out for you.

Jisung slides his fingers back into you, and your attention is split between straining to hear what's going on in the hallway and the blinding pleasure you're feeling. He curls his fingers up and you find yourself gushing on his hand, your own fingers tangled in his hair so tight he can barely move.

"God, you're so fucking wet," he murmurs against you. He almost sounds giddy. "Did you miss me, baby?"

You can't even form a response, only able to whine as he fucks into you with his fingers, tongue flicking over your clit just fast enough to make you tremble. Your orgasm is coming on strong, and you feel like you're floating above your body, every touch electric, every movement monumental.

And then–

"Ah, so that's where they are."

Your eyes snap to your now-open door. Your other two boyfriends are there, and you make direct eye contact with Chan just as your second orgasm reaches its peak. You arch up off the bed, gasping into the air as your body trembles, and Jisung keeps his mouth on you, sucking hard and making your vision go white.

After a minute, he finally slows his pace, pulling away and finger-fucking you slowly and deep. He would never stop completely, especially not now that everyone's in the same room. His voyeurism is likely cranked up to 10, and you know he'll be pouty and whiney for the rest of the week unless he gets to watch one of the other boys split you open on their cock.

From the way he's looking at you, you feel like it'll be Chan doing the splitting.

Seungmin, ever the sane one, pretends to roll his eyes. "So this is why neither of you were answering my texts about movie night? This couldn't wait?"

"Well, she was wearing my shirt and nothing under it," Jisung says, grinning up at him. He gives your clit one last suck before kissing it and propping himself up, fingers still buried to the hilt inside of you. Your brain feels foggy as you stare at the three of them. You can still feel yourself gushing on his fingers.

Seungmin notices, eyes glued to your cunt as he walks over. You see his faux annoyance dissolving. "Fuck, she's really wet, isn't she."

Jisung grins. He presses a kiss against your inner thigh. "Yeah, I think she missed us."

Chan scoffs. He finally makes his way into the room fully, and you can see where his cock is straining against the fabric of his shorts. "No. She missed getting fucked." 

He stands at the end of the bed, eyes fixed on Jisung's hand as he continues to move inside of you. "Did you tell Jisung what happened earlier, baby?"

Jisung huffs out a little laugh, half lidded eyes going back to your face. "Hmm. No. She didn't."

A chill runs down the length of your spine. Fuck. It sounds like Chan got to them first.

"Chan said you were being a real big brat earlier," Seungmin hums. He pulls his eyes away from your center and finally looks at you. "Is that true, angel? Were you being bad for Chan?"

You shake your head, eyes going doe-ish as he gets closer to you. You realize you need to change your plan and do it quickly. It takes less than half a second for a new idea to come: Seungmin is the softest of the three of them, at least in sexual situations. If you can get him on your side you might have a chance.

That thought flies out of the window when his hand makes its way around your throat, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure. 

"Don't lie to me, sweetheart." His voice is deceptively soft. "Don't you think Chan already spoke to us?"

You fight back a gasp at the sheer betrayal, but decide to double down anyway. "Wasn't being bad," you manage. You stick out your bottom lip in a pout. "I didn't do anything!"

Seungmin squeezes again, harder, and you really do gasp this time. "Then why did we both get a text from Chan earlier saying you were being mean to him? Hmm?"

"He said he came to blow off some steam and someone," Jisung presses his fingers directly against that squishy part inside of you, "Was being all bratty. Telling him to leave her alone."

It's at this moment that you realize all your planning was futile. You've fallen right into their trap.

You try the Seungmin strategy again, panting as you look up at him. "Minnie, please," you whine. You can't think with Jisung hitting your spot like that. "I wasn't– I–"

He tilts his head. "Oh come on baby. I think you're just lying to us now."

Your chest heaves. Jisung has chosen now to dive back into your cunt, tongue swiping up your slit and circling around your clit. Your brain is too scrambled to think of any other ways out of this situation, so you resort to what you always do: 

Pleading.

"'m sorry, Minnie," you rasp. "Didn't mean to– Didn't mean to be bratty."

Seungmin softens only slightly. "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" You're gasping around your words. "I promise. I just wanted to make him mad, wasn't trying to be mean."

In all of your begging and the relentless fervor of Jisung's tongue, you barely notice Chan making his way to the other side of your bed. Seungmin's grip loosens around your throat, his fingers tracing the outline of your jaw as he takes in your words.

"Hm. What do you think, Chan?"

You turn to look at him. He's shed his shirt somewhere along the way, and the hard musculature of his stomach is glistening with sweat. He climbs onto the bed and situates himself so that he's behind you with your head in his lap. You're expecting his hand to replace Seungmin's around your throat, but instead he reaches over you, gripping the hem of your shirt and sliding it up over your chest until your breasts are on full display. Seungmin immediately sinks down to his knees and takes your nipple into his mouth.

You're a gasping, whining mess, eyes rolling back until all you can see is white. You feel Jisung sling his arm around you to keep your body still.

Above you, Chan lets the shirt go and switches his focus to your hands, pulling them up and holding your wrists together in one hand to keep them above your head.

"I think," he murmurs, using his free hand to caress your face, "That if she wants to cum so bad, we should let her."

Your heart drops. To the untrained ear, it sounds like you've won, but you know better. You know Chan, and you know he has something up his sleeve. But when you look up at him, he's looking down at you with a sickly sweet smile.

"If she's sorry," he continues, "She'll behave. Right, babygirl?"

You can't speak. The dual sensations are sending you to the moon. The hand caressing your face grips your jaw tight, keeping your gaze locked on him.

"I asked you a question, princess."

As soon as you open your mouth to answer, your orgasm crashes into you without warning. It's the third one in a row, and you feel much like a washcloth that's been wrung out. Your movements are jerky, uncoordinated, and even as you continue trying to respond to Chan, your voice is not coming out.

"Jisung." He says simply.

The boy in question pulls away from your cunt with a satisfying pop. He's absolutely pussy drunk, eyes half lidded and tongue rolling over his lips to savor the flavor of you. If it were just the two of you, he'd keep going, but amongst the hierarchy of dominance, Chan has been, and will always be, at the top.

"I think she's ready now, yeah?" Chan rubs his thumb against your skin. "Fuck her good for me."

When orchestrating your own plan, you looked at Jisung’s eagerness as something to work in your favor. You hoped he would get you riled up enough for you to scream his name a couple times and really make Chan mad. But now, as he shimmies out of his sweats and boxers, taking his thick length in his hand, you feel nervousness tickle your gut.

Seungmin has pulled away from your nipple, reaching down to hold one of your thighs up. He's murmuring sweet nothings to you as he holds you open for Jisung. The latter is poised at your entrance, stroking himself and watching you with hungry eyes. 

You tip your head back to look at Chan again, and he only smiles down at you.

"Channie," you whimper out. You can barely speak, you're so overwhelmed. "Please–"

"Shh," he coos. "I know, baby. But this is what you wanted, yeah?" His hand moves from your jaw to your mouth, pressing a finger against your lips. You suck it in without thought, letting your tongue swirl around him with your cheeks hollowed out like you would on his cock. "I just want to see you take Sungie's dick. Be good, baby."

You almost choke when Jisung thrusts into you. You're already so wet and so sensitive, and his cock is stretching you so wide, pushing deep inside until you're sure you can feel him in your stomach. He gives you no time to adjust, that eagerness coming full force as he fucks right into you.

"God, she's still so tight," he breathes. One hand finds purchase in the dip of your waist, the other moves to the thigh not being held by Seungmin, folding you up and spreading you open to give him more leverage as he fucks into you hard.

Seungmin hums, trailing kisses along your leg and the side of your neck. "Feel good, angel? You like having Jisung's cock inside you?"

You can't even respond, mind blank as Jisung plows you deep. Your back is arched off of Chan's lap, head pushed back as his finger keeps your mouth propped open. You're a dumb, drooling mess around him, and despite the soft smile on his lips, you know it's wrecking him. 

To prove your point, he digs his nails in one of your palms, a stark contrast to the way Seungmin's hand is gently rubbing up and down your body, playing with your nipples and caressing your sides and stomach.

It's all too much, the sensations are overwhelming, and you're so wound up from earlier that you already feel the orgasm building. You mewl pathetically, eyes watering as you look around for someone to have pity on you.

It's Chan who catches your pleading gaze, but he only raises an eyebrow.

"You're gonna cum again? Already?" he says. It's not condescending or snarky, rather genuine disbelief and curiosity. His finger leaves your mouth and you let out a dry sob as trails of spit drip down your chin.

Jisung doesn't hear this– or can't, rather. He's fucking into you like he'll die if he stops, breathy moans leaving his mouth as he does. He's babbling nonsense, things like how tight you are and how well you take him in. You know he's close too, because his hips have gone erratic in their rhythm. Yet somehow, he gets faster.

The knot in your stomach feels heavy as lead. This orgasm might genuinely take you out. 

"Please," you rasp. "Please, please, I can't–"

Chan shakes his head, smiling. "Oh, but baby, I thought you wanted to cum?" 

"I do," you whine. "Want to so bad but 's too much. Too much, Channie, please–"

"No. Shut up and cum, princess," the grit in his voice is back. "Cum on Jisung's cock. Be good for us."

That's all it takes for you to snap. You let out a broken cry as another orgasm rocks through your body. It's even more intense than the others, pulling all of your muscles taut so you sit up before slumping back into Chan's arms. You barely register the way your hands flex uselessly above your head, writhing in Chan's grip. You can only vaguely feel Seungmin kissing your cheek, whispering little encouragements in your ear, telling you how good you are and how pretty you look when you cum.

And then Jisung is grunting, snapping his hips against yours one last time before spilling into you. Your walls spasm around him as he cums, milking him dry and causing you both to whine into the air.

In typical Jisung fashion, he's still rutting up into you after you're both well past overstimulation. The pressure in your cunt throbs throughout your body, tears springing into your eyes. You're very close to abandoning the little bit of pride you have and begging him to stop.

It turns out you don't need to, because as if on cue, Jisung finally pulls out and Seungmin lets go of your legs, standing up. You nearly sob at the loss of his gentle contact, so you don't even notice he's taking off his clothes until he's standing where Jisung was, hands gripping the soft skin of your thighs to hold you open. 

"Aw, baby," he says softly. He runs a hand up your leg. "You did so well."

You pout, a sob bubbling in your throat when you realize their plan now. They're gonna drag as many orgasms out of you as they can, overstimulation be damned. The thought makes your clit throb, and that alone makes you whine. It's all too much.

Despite knowing you're already so wet and lax and malleable, Seungmin reaches down to rub at your clit in an attempt to open you up. 

"Min," you cry, squirming at his touch. Your cunt feels tender, and even though the first set of tears are long dried up on your cheeks, fresh ones start to come. "Minnie–"

"Shhh. It's okay, angel."

His words are gentle and reassuring, but when his eyes catch yours, all you see is darkness.

Seungmin's gentle dominance has a limit. He doesn't get all stern and mean like Chan, or desperate like Jisung, but there's only so long he can last before that other, darker part of him surfaces, the one that gets off on hurting you, on seeing you in pain and feeling good from it. You can tell by the look in his eyes that this is the part of him you'll be dealing with.

When he finally sinks his cock inside you, it's slow, and the moan that he lets out vibrates through his length and right into you. Your neck seems to give up, dropping you right back down in Chan's lap less than gracefully. It gives him better access to you, and he leans immediately to attach his mouth to yours. He alternates between soft kisses and hard bites that will surely bruise in the morning.

Seungmin is only a bit longer than Jisung, but he's so damn girthy. Every tiny thrust he rocks into you sends shivers down your spine. Your skin feels like it's on fire and you're not even kissing Chan back, basically panting into his open mouth.

"Prop her up, Chan," Seungmin grits out. "Wanna watch her while she cries."

He gives you one final peck, and then the hand that's still holding your wrists lets go. It takes a second, then both hands are under you, lifting you up off the mattress until you're sat up on his lap with his chest against your back. He crosses your wrists against your chest and holds them in one hand, and then the other snakes up and finds your throat. His hand is way bigger than Seungmin's, and he's not as gentle when he squeezes and forces you to look back at him.

He doesn't look mad, or even turned on. He's smiling at you, like you're a particularly good puppy. "Good girl. Gonna give us a big one, yeah?”

You barely have a moment to understand what he's implying before you feel a hand on your clit. Both of Seungmin's hands are occupied, so you're not sure why it surprises you to see that it's Jisung's deft fingers on you. He's standing behind Seungmin, one hand on him and the other on you.

It feels like your eyes are bulging out of your head. The touch is gentle, but it still feels like you're being hit with lightning bolts. You're too spent to even buck up at the contact.

"Oh my God," you choke. "Oh, oh, I–"

“That's it,” Chan purrs when you cum again. He kisses whatever skin is closest to his mouth, his fingers gripping your jaw. Your head feels light, the only thing keeping you grounded to the bed are their hands on you. You feel like you're going to faint, and Seungmin's eyes are only egging you on.

Your body trembles so violently, Seungmin is forced to pause in his motions to hold your knees and keep your legs from buckling in. Your vision is blurry, but you can see Jisung has a steady grip on Seungmin's hair, effectively holding him in place.

"Good girl," he breathes, those big brown eyes trained on your face. "You take him so well."

His words send shivers down your spine. Jisung is always more coherent and in control after an orgasm. You know if Seungmin was today's focus, Jisung would likely be spitting all kinds of nasty, filthy words in his ear, but his gaze is fixed on you. All it takes to get you going is a good stare.

He taps at your clit with his free hand. You jump, moaning loudly at the contact, your back arching off Chan's chest and into Seungmin's body.

"She's good. Keep going," Jisung murmurs, pulling his eyes away from yours to look at Seungmin. He pulls a little at the hair on the nape of his neck, causing Seungmin's cock to jump inside you.

They work in tandem. Jisung's hand keeps circling your clit in the same soft rhythm, and you're not sure how but it's making you even wetter and more loose. You're a mess of moans, not knowing whose name to scream when they all have their hands on you. It's dizzying in the best way. 

Seungmin has started rolling his hips into you with more vigor, the soft sound of skin slapping skin filling the room. The dark shroud over his eyes is back as he stares down at you. "Feels good doesn't it," he grunts. "Look at your little cunt fluttering open for me like a good slut."

You feel another sob bubble out of you, this one accompanied by tears, but it dies in your throat when Chan's grip on you gets even tighter. All you can do is pout and whine.

"Aw, look at the little crybaby." Seungmin starts to fuck into you in earnest, his own moans getting higher in pitch. You can tell by the way Jisung's grip in his hair tightens that he's close. "C'mon angel. You're being so good, you can take it."

"Minnie," you rasp, barely able to speak. "Please–"

"I said take it." He’s looking down, watching where your cunt is sucking him in with each thrust. He thrusts into you particularly hard, and your entire body lurches forward, causing you to gasp. "And if you can't, you know what to say. You know your word."

You do. Somehow, under all the begging and pleading, you're actually insanely giddy with want. It's all part of the little game you play, so you just pout pathetically at Seungmin as his hips snap harder into yours.

"She's not gonna say it," Chan sing-songs. He uses the hand on your throat to tilt your head to the side, giving him perfect access to more of you. He nips at your skin. "She likes being treated like this. Like a little toy."

It's all too much. Every inch of you is on fire, the room feels like it's a thousand degrees. Chan's mouth on your neck, Seungmin's cock deep in your cunt, and Jisung's fingers–

It's like something snaps.

A knot you didn't even realize was in your stomach explodes and your vision goes white. It's an orgasm unlike anything you've experienced before. Your brain completely melts, your hearing dulls, and you can feel the drool running down your chin. You feel like you're floating and drowning all at the same time. 

"Oh shit," you hear Seungmin groan. Your cunt is spasming around him. His thrusts become harder, sloppy. "God, fuck–"

He cums hard inside of you, hips jerking as he chases the aftershocks. You've gone completely limp, barely able to move at all as Chan continues to bite at your neck.

The hand on Seungmin's shoulder drops. "That's so hot," Jisung mutters, almost to himself. He's lost some of his in-control voice. "Wow, baby, you should be bratty more often.”

If you could see straight, you'd probably laugh at that.

Seungmin pulls out slowly, and when the head of his cock leaves you, you let out a tiny mewl. You're overstimulated to the point that you're numb. Seungmin smiles softly as he rubs the inside of your thigh.

"Oh, sweetheart, I know. It's a lot. But you're being so good for us.  I think it's Chan's turn though, hm? Wanna make him feel good?"

"Give her a minute," Jisung chides. You hear a sharp intake of breath and you know he's likely yanked on Seungmin's hair again. "She's about to pass out."

You can feel your limbs slowly returning to you, the fog clearing in your head. When Chan moves the hand from your throat, you breathe deeply, taking in gulps of air as moves his hand down to rub against your tummy. Jisung and Seungmin are bickering somewhere around you, and you let yourself relax in Chan's hold.

"Do you want to finish now, princess?" His lips are warm against your ear. "We can be done. You don't have to take me.”

It's a very tempting offer, especially with the way you can hardly remember what day it is. You could easily take it and call this all done. The four of you have almost certainly been at this for more than an hour now, and they've wrung six orgasms out of you. They're sweet enough to offer to call it a night.

But then you think about Chan, and how, despite being the reason this all started, he's barely done anything. Hasn't tasted you, hasn't shoved his cock down your throat– He's usually not one for letting go until you've milked him dry at least twice, and you can't stand the idea of him having that buzz under his skin all night. 

So you shake your head.

"No?" Chan laughs, almost like he's surprised. "Really? You still want to finish with me? Are you sure, princess?”

He's giving you the same offer he gave you earlier. An out. Making your comfort the first priority. The thought alone is what gives you the strength to nod against him.

"'m sure, Channie."

"Oh, fuck, okay." His grip around you goes a little slack as he moves, pulling you away from his lap and  laying you back into your bed. He leans over you and presses a gentle kiss against your mouth. It feels like he's thanking you, almost.

When he pulls away, his eyes are sparkling. You want to look into them for hours.

He barks something at Jisung and Seungmin, and the bickering stops immediately. You hear shuffling around you before Seungmin takes Chan's empty space and Jisung appears at your side. They're pressing soft kisses to your face and praising you as Chan works his shorts and boxers down. When his cock springs free, he lets out a hiss of relief.

The sight of him alone makes anxiety rear its ugly head. You start to wonder if maybe you should've taken the opportunity to tap out, or if maybe you should use your safeword, but then Jisung is grabbing your hand and pressing kisses against it, squeezing you and keeping you tethered to the present.

"You can do it, pretty girl," he murmurs in your ear, breath fanning over your cheek. "You did so good for us, just a little longer."

Chan catches your eyes, and he smiles again, reassuring. His hand runs down your body and grabs one of your legs, lifting it and hooking your calf over his shoulder. "Gonna go easy, baby. I know it's a lot."

Your stomach is filled with butterflies, and your hands are shaking a little bit when he ruts himself up against you. You're so open from the others that when his head catches on your entrance, it nearly slips inside.  

Your back arches as you moan, and then his cock brushes against your entrance with purpose and it feels like you're going to split right open. He rocks into you again, pushing in the barest inch and pulling right back out. You whine and shift your hips in an attempt to escape.

"Come on, be a good girl now, princess." His voice has gotten lower, lust taking over. "Relax.”

His eyes flit up from where you're connected to look at you, and in one move he pushes right inside of you.

It doesn't hurt– you're way too wet and open for that. It does feel like your stomach is being forced open, however. Like his cock is pressing against all of your internal organs. You arch up off of Seungmin's lap and he pulls you back to him quickly.

Chan groans, bottoming out inside you. His eyes are closed as he lets himself bask in the sensation, hips rocking shallowly. You're thankful that he doesn't move immediately, but even the barest amount of movement feels like too much, like you'll come apart at any second.

You barely feel it when Jisung slips your hand into his. It takes you a minute to realize it's because your brain has been reduced to nothing. Your body has melted into the bed, your muscles are lax, and there's an emptiness in your brain filled with nothing but static and Chan's name. You don't think about anything at all, can't form a single coherent thought. You don't feel the kisses on your throat or the way Seungmin's hands have taken residence on your stomach. The only thing you feel is the overwhelming pressure in your cunt as Chan slowly pulls out, leaving just the tip, before pushing all the way back in.

He builds a rhythm quickly. Seungmin is holding you tight to his body, as though he's scared you might float away, and you appreciate it because it gives you another sensation to focus on. Your head is lolled against his shoulder, eyes rolled back into your head so far all you see is white.

The sound of Chan fucking into you is absolutely obscene, a mixture of your juices and the remnants of the cum still leaking from your hole. He fucks you slow, but hard, snapping his hips into yours so hard it almost feels like you might get a bruise on your thigh.

Jisung is watching with hungry eyes from your side. He's not touching you at all anymore, too engrossed in the scene unfolding to do much else other than stare with his jaw slacked. Seungmin takes over for him.

"That's it," he breathes. "That's it angel, look at you." He moves the hand on your stomach and lets his thumb rub circles on your clit. You feel like you're going to pass out. You don't get time to beg him to stop before you feel that same hand move to your mouth, and two fingers push past your lips.

"Here, sweetheart," he breathes, eyes fixed on your lips as you suck his fingers. "That's you on my fingers, baby. Isn't it good?"

You moan around his hand, head spinning both at the taste of yourself and the intrusion of Seungmin's fingers in your mouth. He's not fucking them into you with any kind of rhythm, just shoving them in there until you're dribbling around his hand. He hums happily when he pushes in more and makes you gag, kissing away the tears the spill over.

Chan grunts, head falling back. "Min, again, please, she just– fuck, she–"

Seungmin doesn't need to be told twice. He repeats the motion again, making sure his fingers go far enough so you're choking around him. This time, when you splutter and gag, you can feel it when you clench down on Chan and his cock pulses in response.

"Oh my God," he moans, thrusting into you again. "Oh my god, baby, you're so good. You're doing so fucking good–"

Between the movement of his hips and the feeling of Seungmin's fingers down your throat, you're not quite sure you're still on this plane of existence. Everything is spinning around you, your cunt is throbbing, you can hear Jisung moaning somewhere, but you don't know from what.

You can feel Seungmin's lips pressed against your forehead as his fingers fuck your mouth, your eyes rolling back into your head again. You're so lightheaded, so far gone, you can barely remember your name. 

It's when Chan starts to thrust faster that you come back to your body with a jolt, mind filling with white hot heat. The pleasure has long since lost it's edge, and you're a moaning, writhing, teary mess again. The coil in your stomach starts to build for the seventh time, and you're pretty sure your brain has gone empty. The only thing you're able to focus on is Chan. Chan, Chan, Chan.

"Almost done, angel." You register a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth, and then another on your forehead. You think the voice belongs to Seungmin. Maybe, if the way he eases his hand out of your mouth is any indication.

Nothing is making sense anymore. It all feels like you're having an out-of-body experience.

Chan's hips falter, and his hand slides up to your throat again, but he doesn't squeeze. Just rests it there as his orgasm approaches, hips snapping against you at an erratic rhythm.

"Sweetheart." His eyes flutter open with strained effort, but they remain locked on yours. "Can you give us one more, princess? Hm? Can I get you to cum on me too, please?"

There's a desperation in his voice that makes your body feel hot. You want to tell him yes, that you're close, so so close, but all that comes out is a weak noise that you're not even certain you made. 

Seungmin seems to get it though, because he slips his fingers down between your legs, finding your clit again. He rolls it between his fingers with one hand while his other reaches up and settles on your jaw. You feel Jisung's tongue flick over your nipple and your world draws to a pinpoint.

Chan curses above you, fucking into you at an almost punishing pace. "Yes, baby, let go for us. That's it. We got you."

It feels like someone's stuck a vacuum in your brain with the incoherent way you're thinking. The sound of his voice saying your name in that desperate tone is all it takes, and suddenly you're floating out of your body, ears ringing as the pressure inside you bursts. Your eyes roll back and the clinging remnants of an orgasm wash through your body. It feels more like an aftershock. You're only vaguely aware of the way Chan moans, loud and throaty, when he finally spills into you.

It takes a couple minutes before the two of you come back down to earth. You can't move, and even though you know Seungmin is holding you tight, it feels like you might drift right off the mattress and float up into the clouds.

Chan pulls out slowly, and you shudder when you feel a trickle of his cum leaking from your hole. It's not long before your eyes droop shut from pure exhaustion. You think you might pass out right on the spot.

The room gets kicked into gear pretty quickly after that. From what you can tell in the hazy state you're in, someone grabs a wet cloth to wipe you down with while someone else finds you a new t-shirt (and panties this time). They dress you like you're a doll, maneuvering your limbs and telling you you're good, you're so good, they love you so much.

Then you're scooped up into a pair of arms while the distant sounds of sheets being pulled off the bed floats up to you. They take you out of the room.

"You did so good for us, baby." The owner of the arms whispers against your ear. From the cadence in their tone you're pretty sure it's Jisung. "You were such a good girl for us, sweetheart. We're so proud of you."

You think you nod against him, but you can't be sure. You hear him kick a door open, and then he sets you down on a bed and you register Seungmin and Chan coming in.

"Okay," Jisung murmurs, going through his aftercare list out loud. "Fresh bed, fresh clothes, we got her some water."

You feel the bed dip behind you. "We got it, but she's gotta drink it, though," Chan chimes. There's fondness in his voice as he scoots closer to you. "Come here, baby."

You let yourself go limp, and a content smile plasters on your face as your boys fuss over you and make sure you're comfortable. They're so gentle, despite what just transpired, and they all take turns pressing kisses against your head, your cheeks, your nose.

When you've all settled into the bed, you feel three pairs of arms around you, holding you close, and you feel insanely lucky for all of it. You snuggle deeper into someone's chest, humming absentmindedly in that dreamy, fucked-out headspace.

"Thank you," you mumble, pressing a kiss to whoever you're snuggled against. You think it's Jisung from the way they nuzzle into your cheek.

"Of course, princess," Chan replies, his voice vibrating against your back. You feel his lips press against your temple, and you smile again. "You're our good girl, even when you're a brat. We'll always take care of you.”

You don't bother replying, simply allowing yourself to sink back into that fuzzy state. You're about to slip out of consciousness when you feel Jisung's nose against your cheek.

"You really do need to be bratty more often, though."

You hear a dull thump as Seungmin smacks the back of his head, and you let their hushed bickering be the lullaby you need to lull you into sleep.

[hyprfixate]

any other stays going to dominATE at citifield??? I'm so excited

[hyprfixate]

your werewolf fic about chan was just beautiful. i can't even begin to explain how well you hit all the right spots with that with your amazing plot and the angst and the emotions in it. werewolf!skz is something that is so criminally underrated and is so difficult to find good ones of, and yours is just the best so far. keep on writing beautifully <33

ps. could there, pretty please, maybe be a spinoff of this with seungmin too?? you write so well and when you already gave us a glimpse of werewolf seungmin in that fic, you know we won't be able to resist a whole fic of him too!!

this is such a sweet ask ahh!! tysm!!

and hehe seungmin spinoff sounds... doable!! no promises though!

[hyprfixate]

ok so basically i js discovered ur blog and a genetic disposition to loving u was AMAZING HOLYYYY ur such a good writer but then i looked at ur masterlist and i read soul vine and i am ADDICTED its sooo good pls i need a part five pls!!! 🙏

ahhhh thank you!! the werewolf story was so easy to write it was almost scary, I'm so glad so many people are finding it good!!!

and I've been meaning to get back to soul vine for ages 😭 it's such a long story because there's so much to be told!!! since so many people are finding it and liking it maybe ill try to get back to it sooner than later

[hyprfixate]

Just read 'A Genetic Disposition' and WOW. You are an insanely talented, vivid writer! I am such a sucker for werewolf fics and that was such a unique twist on it! I've never seen anything like it! Bless you for writing something so perfect. Seriously one of my favorite fics.

hehe thank you!!! I'm glad you liked it <3