hyunjinsmuze

hyunjin biased 💞

[blossruki]

────୨ৎ──── Behind The Quiet

Riki x Reader

Summary: Growing up with jake meant meeting the other members and growing close with them, but Riki has always kept you at a distance with his silence, pushing you away with every chance, but even if he is incapable of love, he definitely can fuck

Contains: smut (minors dni), p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it up please), fingering, dirty talk.

Word count: ~6000

The dorm feels like a second home. Honestly, sometimes it feels more like home than your own place. It’s all because of Jake; you’ve been best friends since before he even debuted, and once ENHYPEN settled into their space, he’d practically installed you as permanent honorary member. You’re there for movie marathons, late-night ramyeon runs, helping pack for schedules, hanging around the practice studio lobby until they finish. The rest of the boys never minded. If anything, they got used to you fast.

Heeseung always offers you a drink when you walk in. Jay teases you about stealing their snacks but never actually stops you. Sunoo drags you to sit next to him for every film, Jungwon includes you in group conversations like you’re one of them, Ni-ki… well, Ni-ki is different.

He’s there, of course, always present, always watching, but never really with us when you’re around. He sits on the far end of the couch, or leans against the wall, or busies himself with his phone or stretching even when everyone else is relaxed. When he does speak, it’s short, quiet, polite, barely more than a word or two. If you ask him something directly, he’ll answer, but his eyes never meet yours for long, and he always turns away quickly.

Tonight is no exception. It’s raining hard outside, the kind of night that makes everyone want to huddle up. You’re squished between Jake and Sunoo on the big sofa, a half-eaten bowl of ramyeon in your lap, as some old comedy plays on the TV. Laughter bounces off the dorm walls, loud, warm, familiar. You glance over toward the kitchen island, where Ni-ki is perched on a stool, scrolling through something on his screen. His dark hair falls over his eyes, his profile sharp but soft in the dim light. Even from here, there’s a quiet energy around him, distant, untouchable.

“Earth to you,” Jake says, nudging your shoulder. “You missed the whole joke.”

“Sorry,” you say, smiling quickly. “Just tired.”

Jake studies you for a second, he knows you better than anyone, but he lets it go. “Long week,” he agrees. “Glad you’re here though. It’s not the same without you.”

You look back over at Ni-ki again. He hasn’t looked up once. You wonder what he thinks about you, if he thinks anything at all. Just another person always hanging around, probably. Someone extra in his space, someone he tolerates because the others do.

Later, when the movie ends and people start drifting off to their rooms or to get ready for bed, you help Jay clear the empty bowls and cups. The dorm quiets down, the hum of the fridge the loudest sound left. You head toward the living room to grab your bag, and Ni-ki is still there. Only now he’s standing by the window, looking out at the rain streaking down the glass.

Your heart does that stupid little flutter you’ve been trying to ignore for weeks. You should just walk past. You should leave. But instead, you stop a few feet away.

“Still awake?” you ask, your voice softer than you mean it to be.

He turns his head slightly, just enough to glance at you. “Yeah,” he says. That’s it. One word. Then he looks back out the window.

You stand there awkwardly for a moment longer, feeling like you’re intruding even though you’re allowed anywhere here. “Okay,” you murmur. “Goodnight, Ni-ki.”

He doesn’t reply. You grab your things and walk toward the door, but your mind is already made up. Whatever this quiet wall is between you two, you want to break it down. You want to know what’s behind it.

ᯓ★

In the days that follow, you make a quiet promise to yourself: you won’t let Riki stay a stranger in your own second home anymore. It’s not just curiosity anymore. Not when every glance at him leaves your chest tight, not when you find yourself scanning the room first for his presence before anyone else’s.

You start small. Whenever you bring snacks or drinks for the boys, you make a point to hand one directly to him, instead of passing it along or leaving it on the table. “Brought extra banana milk,” you say, holding it out when he’s stretching by the practice room mirrors. His fingers brush yours briefly, cool, calloused from dancing, and he mumbles a quick “thanks”, eyes darting away almost instantly. But it’s more than he’s said in days.

You sit beside him during movie nights instead of across the room, keeping a polite distance but close enough to speak without raising your voice. You ask about his dance routines, his favorite music, even the video games you spot him playing on his phone. Most of the time, his answers are short, one or two words, a half-shrug, a quick glance anywhere but your face. But you don’t let it deter you. You know what it’s like to be quiet, to feel like you don’t fit in; you figure he just needs time.

Jake notices the shift one afternoon when you’re all hanging out in the dorm living room. Riki’s sitting in the armchair, you on the couch nearby, asking him about a new choreography he’s been working on. Once you get up to grab water, Jake leans over, voice low. “You’re trying really hard with him, huh?”

You pause, heat rising to your cheeks. “What do you mean?”

“Riki,” Jake says, nodding toward the armchair. “He’s not… he keeps to himself, Y/N. More than anyone. He doesn’t open up easily to anyone, let alone people outside the group.” He pauses, studying you closely. “You like him, don’t you?”

You look away, twisting the hem of your shirt. You’ve never said it out loud, not even to yourself properly. “I don’t know,” you admit quietly. “He’s just… there’s something about him. Like there’s so much more under the surface. I want to know him.”

Jake sighs, but there’s no judgment in his eyes, only concern. “Just be careful. He’s young, he’s busy with everything going on as an idol, and he’s never been the type to let anyone get close.”

You nod, but you don’t back down. You can’t. Every time Riki laughs at something Sunoo says, quiet and brief, or when you catch him looking at you when he thinks you won’t notice, your resolve only strengthens.

A few nights later, the dorm empties out. Heeseung, Jay, Jungwon, and Sunoo went to a late recording session; Jake left to meet a friend for a while. It’s just you and Riki, the apartment quiet save for the hum of the AC and the faint sound of music coming from his room. You’re in the kitchen making tea when he steps out, hair damp from a shower, wearing an oversized hoodie and sweatpants.

He stops short when he sees you, like he’s ready to turn around and leave again. You smile gently, gesturing to the kettle. “Making tea. Want one?”

He hesitates, then nods slowly, walking over to lean against the counter, far enough to keep space, but closer than usual. “Sure.”

You hand him a mug, and for a moment, the two of you stand there in the soft light, the silence not as heavy as before. “You’ve been working really hard lately,” you say, referring to the extra practices you’ve seen him stay behind for. “I saw you in the studio yesterday. You’re incredible.”

Riki stares into his mug, jaw tightening slightly. “It’s just practice,” he mumbles. “Need to be perfect.”

“Doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to hear it,” you say, taking a small step closer. “You’re really talented, Riki. Everyone sees it. I see it.”

He lifts his head then, eyes locking with yours, dark, guarded, but something else underneath, something you can’t quite place. The air between you shifts, grows thicker. Your heart hammers against your ribs, loud enough you swear he must hear it.

“Why do you do this?” he asks suddenly, voice low and sharp, not unkind but cutting. “Why do you keep trying?”

You blink, taken aback but steadying yourself. “Because I want to know you,” you say honestly. “Because you’re always so quiet around me, and I don’t know why. I want to be your friend, Riki. More than that, even.”

The words slip out before you can stop them, and your breath catches. Riki freezes, his expression shuttering completely. He pulls back, setting his mug down hard enough to make the liquid ripple. The warmth that had been building between you vanishes instantly, replaced by that familiar cold distance. Only this time, it’s worse.

You reach out, almost touching his arm before he pulls away further. “Riki—”

“I think you should go,” he says, voice flat, eyes cold. Not angry, exactly. Worse: closed off, unreachable. “Everyone will be back soon. It’s not appropriate for you to be here alone with me.”

Hurt pricks at your chest, but you push through it. “I don’t care about that. I care about you. Why are you shutting me out like this?”

He doesn’t answer, just turns his back to you, staring at the closed front door. You stand there for another minute, heart sinking, feeling like every step you’ve taken forward has been erased. Finally, you turn and walk toward the living room to get your bag, the silence ringing in your ears louder than ever. You thought you were getting somewhere, that you were breaking through the wall. But you had no idea how high it really went.

ᯓ★

You avoid the dorm for three whole days.

It’s not a choice, exactly. It’s self-preservation. Every time you think about walking through that front door, about seeing Riki’s face or hearing his voice turn cold, your chest tightens until it’s hard to breathe. You tell Jake you’re swamped with errands and work, and he buys it. He’s busy too, caught up in comeback preparations, so he only checks in with quick texts and occasional calls. You hate lying to him, but you can’t bring yourself to explain the truth: that you’re hiding from the one person you’d wanted to know most.

On the fourth evening, Jake shows up at your place unannounced, holding a bag of takeout and looking concerned. “You’ve been distant,” he says, stepping inside like he owns the place, old habit. “And you haven’t been to the dorm. Did something happen?”

You hesitate, picking at the wrapper of your chopsticks. You could lie again. You could say everything’s fine. But Jake knows you better than anyone; he’d see right through it. “I… I tried talking to Riki,” you admit quietly. “When everyone else was out. It didn’t go well.”

Jake’s expression softens with understanding, though a shadow of worry crosses his face. “I told you he’s hard to reach. What happened?”

“He shut me out,” you say, your throat tightening just thinking about it. “He told me I should leave, like I was some stranger intruding. And I told him… I told him I wanted to be more than friends, basically.” You look down at your lap. “He wouldn’t even look at me after that.”

Jake sighs, leaning forward to rest a hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry. He’s not good with this kind of thing, feelings, people getting close. He’s been that way since they debuted. He keeps everything locked up tight.”

“I just don’t understand why,” you say, voice cracking a little. “What is he so afraid of?”

“Maybe we should go back tomorrow,” Jake suggests gently. “Not for anything big. Just be there. Show him you’re not running away because he was cold. And if he’s still being impossible, I’ll step in. Okay?”

You nod, though your stomach twists with anxiety. You know you can’t avoid the dorm forever. Still, sleep doesn’t come easy that night, your mind replaying the last look Riki had given you, distant, guarded, completely unreadable.

The next afternoon, you follow Jake into the dorm. The air feels different, stiffer, heavier. The boys are scattered around: Heeseung and Jay going over schedules on the couch, Sunoo sorting through clothes, Jungwon on his phone. They greet you warmly enough, but you notice Riki immediately. He’s leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the floor. He doesn’t look up when you enter.

For an hour, you try to act normal. You help Sunoo fold clothes, listen to Heeseung talk about the upcoming promotions, but your focus is entirely on the boy across the room. Every so often, you glance his way, and once or twice you think you catch him looking back. Only for his gaze to snap away instantly.

Eventually, you find yourselves in the hallway alone. Everyone else has moved to the kitchen, their voices fading behind the closed door. It’s just you and Riki, standing a few feet apart, the silence stretching tight between you. You know you could walk away. You know it would be smarter. But the hurt and the confusion are too much to carry quietly anymore.

“Why are you like this?” you ask, your voice trembling slightly but clear. “Why do you act like I don’t exist unless you can push me away? What did I ever do to you?”

Riki stares at you, his face impassive, like he’s built a fortress around himself that nothing can touch. “It’s not about what you did,” he says, his tone flat and unbothered. “It’s about who I am.”

“I don’t believe that,” you reply, stepping closer despite yourself. “Nobody shuts everyone out for no reason. Let me in. Let me try.”

“There’s nothing to let in,” he cuts you off sharply. His eyes are dark and unyielding, and when he speaks next, his words are deliberate, like he’s striking them one by one to make sure they hurt. “You’re wasting your time. I’m not a person who does love. I don’t know how to care about someone like that, and I never will. I don’t want it, and I don’t need it. So stop trying to get close to me. It’s never going to happen.”

The words land hard, knocking the breath out of you. It’s worse than you imagined, harsher, more final. You stand frozen, feeling heat rise to your eyes, humiliated and heartbroken all at once. He says it so easily, like it’s a simple fact, like your feelings are nothing more than an annoyance he’s grown tired of.

“Is that really true?” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Or are you just saying it to hurt me?”

Riki’s jaw tightens for a fraction of a second, the only sign of anything beneath the surface, but his expression doesn’t soften. “It’s the truth,” he says coldly. “You should keep your distance. It’s better for both of us.”

He turns and walks away before you can reply, disappearing into his room and closing the door firmly behind him. You stand there in the empty hallway for a long time, tears finally spilling over. It feels like he’s torn something open inside you. You’d thought maybe, just maybe, there was a chance. But he’d made it perfectly clear: there was no reaching him.

You don’t wait for anyone to notice you’re upset. You grab your things quietly and slip out the front door, the sound of his words echoing in your head all the way home. I don’t do love. You replay it over and over, wondering how someone so young could sound so certain, so completely closed off to anything real.

ᯓ★

A full week passes before you step foot in the dorm again. You keep your head down, your replies short. Even Jake picks up on how hollow you feel, but you can’t bring yourself to explain. The words Riki said still loop in your mind, sharp and unyielding: I’m not a person who does love. You tell yourself to believe him, to let it go, but every time you see him, the pull only grows stronger, tangled now with hurt and a confusing, burning tension.

The night everything shifts starts like any other. You’d come over to pick up a forgotten jacket of Jake’s. He’d texted saying everyone was heading out to a late group dinner, the dorm empty. You punch in the passcode you know by heart, push the door open, and step inside, the apartment quiet and dim. You spot Jake’s jacket draped over the arm of the sofa, but just as you reach for it, a sound comes from down the hall, low, familiar, the faint thud of movement from the practice room they keep set up in the spare room.

You freeze. Everyone was supposed to be gone.

Curiosity gets the better of you, quiet steps carrying you toward the slightly ajar door. Inside, Riki moves through choreography, sharp, precise, intense, sweat slicking his skin through his thin black t-shirt, hair sticking to his neck. Music hums low from speakers, but he’s so wrapped up in the rhythm he doesn’t notice you watching from the doorway. He looks different like this: unguarded, raw, every line of his body speaking something words can’t. When the track cuts out, he stops short, chest heaving, and finally lifts his eyes, catching yours instantly.

Neither of you moves for a long second. The air feels heavy, charged, like the space between you has been pulled tight as a wire.

“I thought everyone left,” you say, voice quiet in the quiet room.

He wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, gaze dropping then snapping back to yours, darker than you’ve ever seen it. “I stayed behind. Had things to work through.”

You hesitate, hand tightening on the doorframe. “I’ll go.”

“Why?” he cuts in, stepping closer to the mirror but not away from you. “Scared I’ll say something else you don’t want to hear?”

The challenge stings, pushing you forward despite yourself. You step fully into the room, letting the door click shut behind you, sealing you in with him. “I’m not scared. I just know when I’m not wanted.”

Riki’s jaw clenches, his posture shifting, defensive but not cold anymore, restless. “You think it’s that simple?”

“You told me it was,” you remind him, your voice trembling only slightly. “You said you don’t do love, that I’m wasting my time. You made it very clear.”

He takes a step toward you then, closing the distance until you can feel the heat coming off him, smell the faint scent of his cologne and sweat. Up close, you see the way his breath quickens, the way his pupils dilate, swallowing the dark of his irises. “I meant what I said,” he murmurs, his tone lower, rougher. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel something.”

Your heart hammers hard against your ribs. “What something?”

He doesn’t answer directly. Instead, his eyes trace your face, slow and deliberate, lingering on your lips, your neck, like he’s memorizing what he’s let himself ignore for too long. “I try to keep you away,” he admits, so quiet you almost miss it. “Because you’re always there, always looking at me like you see something, and it makes it impossible to think straight. I don’t know how to be soft, how to be what you want. I never have. But when you’re not around, I hate it.”

The confession hangs in the air, fragile and loaded. You stare at him, the walls you thought were permanent starting to crack open right before your eyes. “Riki.”

“Don’t ask me for more,” he whispers, another step bringing him inches from you, his voice strained. “I can’t give you the things you want. Not names, not promises, not love. But right now.” He breaks off, his gaze dropping to your mouth again, his control fraying visibly. “Right now, I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

You know you should pull back. You know it’s dangerous, that you’re setting yourself up for more hurt if you let this happen. But your body betrays you, leaning into his space, your breath catching as his hand lifts, hovering for a second before he touches you, fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, tentative at first, then firm, like he’s confirming you’re real.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathes, his forehead nearly touching yours. “And I will. But if you don’t.”

You don’t make him finish. You close the gap between you, pressing your lips to his, and he responds instantly, hungry, pent-up, everything he’s kept locked away pouring out at once. His arms wrap around your waist tight, pulling you flush against him, your hands tangling in his damp hair as he deepens the kiss, desperate and thorough. There’s nothing quiet about him now, no distance, no hesitation, just heat and longing and all the unspoken things he’s refused to say out loud.

He walks you backward until your back hits the mirrored wall of the practice room, the cool glass against your skin a sharp contrast to his warmth. His hands roam over your sides, your back, gripping like he can’t get enough, like he’s trying to memorize every curve. You feel the way his heart races against your chest, the shiver that runs through him when you touch his neck, and you realize he’s not as unaffected as he pretended. He’s just been hiding it better than anyone.

“Are you sure?” he asks against your skin, his voice ragged, as his lips move down your jawline to your neck, slow and intentional.

You tangle your fingers in his hair, tipping your head back to give him more access, your voice breathless and sure. “please riki.”

The mirror at your back is ice-cold, but Riki’s body is burning, searing, unrelenting, every inch of him pressed tight against you like he’s trying to merge. No more hesitation, no more holding back; every wall he hid behind is gone, replaced by raw, hungry urgency. His mouth is hard and demanding on yours, kissing deep and rough, his tongue sweeping in to claim you, one hand gripping your jaw to keep you exactly where he wants you. The other slides down hard, fingers digging into your waist, then your hips, yanking you flush so you can feel every hard line of him, every inch of his arousal, thick and heavy, obvious through his clothes.

“Couldn’t stop looking,” he mutters against your lips, voice low and rough, no softness. “Wanted to ruin you right here, every time you walked in.”

He lifts you easy, muscles coiled tight, and carries you to the practice sofa, dropping you back before he’s on you again, knees spreading yours, body covering yours completely. He yanks your top off in one sharp motion, bra gone next, his hands big and hot, palms dragging over your skin, squeezing your breasts, thumbs rubbing hard and fast over your nipples until you arch and gasp. He doesn’t gaze or admire. He takes, mouth closing over one peak, sucking deep, biting just enough to make you shiver, moving to the other without a pause.

Clothes go fast after that, your jeans and underwear pulled down and tossed aside, his hoodie and sweats gone in seconds, baring him fully: lean, defined, skin flushed, cock hard and heavy against your thigh. He’s thick, tip flushed and leaking, and he wastes no time spreading you open, fingers slipping between your legs, two, then three, working you open quick and rough, rubbing firm circles where you’re most sensitive until you’re wet and slick and trembling, gripping the sofa cushions.

When he pulls back to look at you, his eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, no softness left, just pure, focused lust. “You want it?” he asks, voice gritty. “Want me to fill you up?”

You nod, breathless, and he pushes in slow at first, stretching you, burning, so deep you feel it in your bones, then holds, letting you adjust, his jaw tight. Then he starts moving: steady, hard strokes, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, hitting that deep spot inside you every time. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, loud and raw, mixed with your moans and his sharp, ragged breaths. He hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, angle deeper, thrusts harder, faster, relentless.

He watches your face but it’s not tender. He’s tracking every twitch, every gasp, knowing exactly what makes you clench around him. One hand stays on your hip, bruising pressure, the other slips down to rub fast, tight circles against your clit while he fucks you deep and unforgiving. “So tight,” he groans, head falling back, sweat beading on his chest. “Perfect fucking fit. Only me.”

The heat builds fast, coiling tight in your gut, every stroke pushing you higher. He doesn’t let up, keeps the rhythm brutal and precise, grinding into you with every drive, your bodies slick with sweat. When you come, it hits hard, sharp and blinding, your muscles locking up around him as you cry out his name, back arching off the cushions. He keeps going through it, doesn’t slow, chases his own release with sharp, uneven thrusts, grunting loud, before he stills completely, spilling deep inside you with a long, rough groan, his body shuddering on top of you.

He stays there for a minute, heavy, breath hot and fast against your neck, cock still twitching inside you. When he pulls out, it’s quiet, no soft words, no cuddling, just grabs a cloth to clean you up, drags a blanket over your lower half, and sits back, chest heaving, eyes still dark. He doesn’t say anything about feelings or love. He never did. But the way he looks at you now, raw and spent, is clear enough.

A/N: HEY this is my first story !! leave some request on my page i will mainly be writing enhypen. also comment to be on the tag list !!

[hyunjinsmuze]

go read !!!

[heevangell]

You’re Dripping on Me - lhs

-‎“You’re dripping down my hand.”-

SUMMARY: in which your boyfriend spends half the car ride ignoring you… until he slides his hand between your legs and realizes you’re soaked.

CONTENTS: MDNI (18+) * car sex * fingering * creampie * * teasing * smut * slight exhibitionism *

p.taglist : @heelvcr @kittywonwon @jenlunes @heevnly @d0llddeonu @hoonieslove @hevxnsgurl

‎The highway was mostly empty, the kind of late-night quiet that only existed when everyone else had already gone to sleep. Jake was driving, one hand on the wheel, the other occasionally reaching for his energy drink. Riki sat in the front passenger seat with his knees pulled up, scrolling through his phone and throwing random comments into the conversation. Heeseung sat beside you in the back, wearing a black hoodie, his black hair slightly messy.

‎They had been talking for almost an hour straight.

‎Something about an old video game, then a stupid story, then Riki doing an exaggerated impression that made both Jake and Heeseung laugh. You sat there with your legs crossed, trying to look interested, but your mind was elsewhere.

‎Specifically, on the fact that you were already wet.

‎It had started small. Heeseung’s hand rested on your thigh under the hoodie he had thrown over both of you earlier because the AC was too strong. Then his thumb started moving in slow circles. Just enough to make your body react.

‎Now it was a problem.

‎You shifted in your seat for the third time. Heeseung didn’t notice. He was too busy leaning forward between the front seats, arguing with Riki about whether a certain scene in a game was fair or not.

‎“I’m telling you, it was broken,” Riki said.

‎“You’re just mad you lost,” Heeseung replied, voice light and amused.

‎You pressed your lips together and subtly tugged on the sleeve of his hoodie. He glanced at you for half a second, gave a small “hm?” and then turned right back to the conversation when Jake started laughing.

‎You stared at the side of his face.

‎Really?

‎Another few minutes passed. His hand was still on your thigh, but his attention was completely on his friends. You were getting wetter by the second while he was busy debating game mechanics. The unfairness of it made you both annoyed and more turned on.

‎You tried again. This time you placed your hand over his and slowly guided it higher. Heeseung finally looked down at your lap, then up at your face. In the dim light his expression was hard to read, but you saw the exact moment he understood.

‎His eyebrows lifted slightly.

‎You gave him a pointed look that said finally.

‎A small, crooked smile tugged at his mouth. He leaned back in his seat, still facing forward like he was listening to Jake, but his hand turned under yours and pressed firmly between your legs. The moment he felt how soaked you already were through your underwear, his smile widened just a little.

‎You sucked in a quiet breath.

‎Riki was in the middle of a loud story about almost missing a flight. Jake was laughing. Neither of them was looking back.

‎Heeseung, still watching the front seats from the corner of his eye, slowly pulled your underwear to the side and slid two fingers along your wetness. You gripped the edge of the seat. He didn’t rush. He traced you leisurely, spreading the slickness around, before pushing one finger inside.

‎Your thighs tensed.

‎Heeseung made a low humming sound like he was reacting to something Riki said, but his finger curled at the same time. You bit the inside of your cheek hard.

‎“You’re actually insane for that,” Jake was saying to Riki.

‎“I’m just saying what we’re all thinking,” Riki replied.

‎Heeseung added a second finger and started moving them in slow, deliberate strokes. You turned your face toward his shoulder, half-hiding against the soft fabric of his hoodie, trying to keep your breathing under control. He smelled like clean laundry and the faint cologne he always wore. It made everything worse.

‎He leaned in slightly, lips close to your temple, and whispered so only you could hear:

‎“You’ve been like this for a while, huh?”

‎You didn’t answer. You couldn’t without risking a sound.

‎Heeseung chuckled quietly under his breath and kept going, fingers thrusting deeper now, the wet sound thankfully covered by the road noise and Riki’s dramatic storytelling. His thumb found your clit and started rubbing lazy circles. Your hips twitched despite yourself.

‎Jake turned the music up a little. Riki started singing along off-key on purpose. Heeseung used the noise to push his fingers faster, curling them against the spot that made your toes curl in your shoes. You grabbed his wrist under the hoodie, not sure if you were trying to stop him or keep him there.

‎He turned his head just enough to look at you. His eyes were dark with amusement and heat.

‎“Quiet...baby” he mouthed, almost teasing.

‎You glared at him, but the effect was ruined by the way your lips parted when he pressed harder. He looked far too pleased with himself for someone fingering his girlfriend in the backseat while his friends sat a few feet away.

‎The conversation in the front continued. Something about camping food. Something about who would sleep where. You barely heard any of it. All you could focus on was the slow movement of his fingers and the way he kept glancing at the rearview mirror to make sure no one was watching.

‎You were so wet it was almost embarrassing. Heeseung clearly noticed. He leaned in one more time, voice barely audible:

‎“You’re dripping down my hand.”

‎Your face burned. He only smiled, pressed a quick kiss to the side of your head, and kept fucking you with his fingers like they had all the time in the world.

‎Jake yawned loudly in the front seat.

‎“Y’all good back there?” he asked casually.

‎Heeseung’s fingers stopped moving for half a second, still buried inside you.

‎“Yeah,” he answered, voice completely normal. “We’re good.”

‎Then he curled them again, deeper, and you had to press your face harder into his shoulder to stay silent.

‎Jake lasted another forty minutes before his yawns started coming every few sentences. Riki held out longer, still throwing random comments into the quiet car, but even his voice eventually got slower and thicker. At some point the music was turned down low, and the only real sounds left were the tires on the highway and the occasional soft snore from the front.

‎Heeseung’s fingers had never fully stopped.

‎He had slowed down when the conversation died, keeping two fingers inside you in lazy, shallow movements just to feel how wet you stayed. Every time you tried to close your legs or shift away, he pressed his palm firmly against you and kept you open under the cover of his hoodie. Your forehead stayed against his shoulder. Your breathing had long since turned uneven.

‎When Jake’s head finally tipped against the window and Riki’s phone slipped onto his lap, Heeseung waited a few more minutes in silence. Then he leaned in close, lips brushing your ear.

‎“They’re out.”

‎You lifted your head slightly. Both of them were genuinely asleep — Jake breathing deeply, Riki’s mouth slightly open. The car was dark except for the soft glow of the dashboard.

‎Heeseung pulled his fingers out slowly. You made a quiet, involuntary sound at the loss. He wiped them on the inside of your thigh, then reached down and tugged his sweatpants just low enough. In the dim light you saw how hard he already was.

‎“Come here, baby” he whispered.

‎You hesitated only a second before carefully climbing onto his lap, knees on either side of his thighs, the oversized hoodie covering most of both of you. Heeseung held your hips steady with both hands, guiding you down. The second the head of his cock pressed against your soaked entrance, he exhaled sharply through his nose.

‎“Fuck… you’re still this wet.”

‎You sank down onto him in one slow movement. The stretch made your mouth fall open against his neck. Heeseung’s hands tightened on your waist as you took him all the way. For a moment neither of you moved. You could feel him throbbing inside you.

‎Then he started guiding your hips in small, careful rolls.

‎It was different from usual — quieter and more controlled. Every thrust had to stay short so the car wouldn’t rock. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, one hand gripping the front of his hoodie, trying to keep every sound trapped in your throat. Heeseung’s breathing grew heavier against your temple. His fingers dug into your ass under the hoodie as he pulled you down to meet each upward push of his hips.

‎“You feel so good,” he whispered, voice strained. “Taking me so well while they’re right there…”

‎You clenched around him at the words. He let out a low, almost silent groan and fucked up into you a little harder. The wet sound of it was soft but filthy in the quiet car. Your thighs started trembling.

‎“Come on, babygirl” he murmured against your hair. “I’ve got you. Just stay quiet.”

‎The orgasm hit you hard and sudden. You bit down on the fabric of his hoodie to stay silent, pulsing around him as your whole body shook. Heeseung kept you moving through it, breathing roughly against your ear, until he suddenly pulled you down flush against him and came with a muted, shaky exhale, spilling deep inside you.

‎For a while you just stayed there, forehead against his shoulder, both of you trying to catch your breath without making noise. Heeseung’s hand stroked slowly up and down your back under the hoodie. He pressed a lazy kiss to the side of your head.

‎“You okay?” he whispered.

‎You nodded against him, still too wrecked to form words.

‎Eventually he helped you shift off his lap and fixed your clothes with careful hands. You ended up curled against his side, his arm around you, the hoodie draped over both of you again like nothing had happened. The low hum of the car and the warmth of his body made your eyes heavy almost immediately.

‎You fell asleep to the feeling of his fingers slowly running through your hair.

‎Some time later, the sky outside had started turning a faint gray.

‎You woke up to the sound of Riki’s voice, rough from sleep.

‎“…I’m just saying, I had a very interesting dream.”

‎Jake made a sleepy noise from the driver’s seat. “What?”

‎“I swear I heard something,” Riki continued, clearly amused. “Like… wet sounds. And whispering. Very suspicious for a family-friendly car ride.”

‎You kept your eyes closed, face still pressed against Heeseung’s chest, praying the heat in your cheeks wasn’t visible. Heeseung’s body stayed relaxed under you, but you felt the quiet huff of laughter that moved his chest.

‎“You’re hearing things,” Heeseung said, voice calm and slightly rough from sleep. “Go back to sleep, Riki.”

‎“Mm. Sure.” Riki yawned. “But if the backseat is sticky, I’m not taking the blame.”

‎Jake snorted. “Why would the backseat be sticky?”

‎“I’m just saying,” Riki replied innocently.

‎Heeseung’s hand, hidden under the hoodie, gave your waist a slow, secret squeeze. You pinched his side in revenge. He only smiled into your hair, completely unbothered, as the car kept driving toward the campsite and the first light of morning spilled across the highway.

‎

[liliwolfstar]

mdni. nsfw bf!hee headcanons

bf!heeseung who will absolutely fall asleep between your thighs. with no shame, too, mind you. he’s just always so eepy!! eating you out lulls him right to bed lolol

bf!heeseung who gladly lets you do whatever you want to him. ride his face, grind against his thigh, fuck his fingers, dryhump his cock, etc. just take what you need! he’s happy to please ^^

bf!heeseung who loves your tits. doesn’t matter how big or small they are. he loves them regardless! something about the way the fat spills between his fingers when he kneads them leaves his mouth watering. &&& play with his hair while he sucks on your tits and you’ll have him whining and humping the bed beneath him in minutes.

bf!heeseung who came so hard the first time you cried during sex. he def felt sooo bad and wrong about it :( but the way your mascara ran down your puffy cheeks while you sniffled and reassured him got him hard all over again.

bf!heeseung who has god knows how many videos of you two fucking on his phone. some are short; you jerking and sucking him off, him fucking your tits and cumming on your face. some are long; the two of you fucking like bunnies on the couch, on his bed, on your bed, on hotel beds. hell, he even has one of you two fucking in the living room of his old shared dorm. he needs material for when he’s away, okay!

bf!heeseung who randomly sends you said videos attached to the neediest, sappiest text you’ve ever seen as if he didn’t just send you a literal sextape.

bf!heeseung who’s surprisingly shy about sending nudes at first. i only say surprisingly because he sends the nastiest sexts when he needs you. but don’t worry, expect 5 minute long videos of him jerking off and whining your name once he’s warmed up :)

bf!heeseung who takes his time marking up your neck just for you to cover them up when you go out. he pouts and sulks like a child when you do so, btw.

bf!heeseung who gives the best aftercare. he always makes sure you’re hydrated and cleaned up! whether that be wiping you down with a warm, wet rag or running you a warm bubble bath. regardless, he’s helping you to the bathroom anyways to go pee. he’ll even turn around if you want him to. only when you’re tucked in and sound asleep does he feel comfortable enough knocking out on top of you.

hihi i’m back. i got a lil carried away but once again lmk if anyone wants me to expand on any <3

[hyunjinsmuze]

FORBIDDEN

part 1 || part 2 || part 3

part 3: stole my heart

Contains: SMUT, f and m oral, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex (don’t do that)

summary: it was the guilt that was killing you, after what you did with seungmin at the party. you had to speak with felix you knew you did…even Minho told you too, but you didn’t expect it end that way

pairing: stray kids x reader (felix in this chapter)

word count: 11k

It has been seventy‑two hours. Three whole days since you stumbled out of Seungmin’s bed, since you saw Felix broken on the floor outside the door, since you broke every single promise you ever made to yourself and to Chan. And nothing has felt right since.

You move through the dorm like a ghost. You wear high necks and hoodies in the middle of summer to hide the bruises Seungmin bit into your skin, you flinch every time a door creaks, you lie through your teeth so many times you barely know what’s true anymore. And Chan notices. Of course he notices, he’s known you since you were in nappies; he can read every single micro‑expression on your face before you even feel it yourself. He hovers, brings you food, sits on the end of your bed with that furrowed‑brow worried look he gets when something is wrong and you won’t tell him.

“You’ve been so quiet,” he says for the fourth time that morning, leaning against your doorframe, hair still damp from the shower, dance bag slung over one shoulder. “You barely eat, you don’t laugh like you did, you jump if anyone touches your arm… did something happen at the party? Did someone do something? Because I swear to god if any of them laid a finger on you I’ll-”

“No!” you cut in, too fast, too sharp, your heart hammering so hard you’re convinced he can hear it through your shirt. You force a smile, bright and fake and so far from real it hurts. “I’m fine, Channie, honestly. Just jet lag still. My head’s all over the place, that’s all. I’ll be good as new in a couple days, promise.”

He doesn’t believe you. You see it in his eyes, he knows you’re hiding something, but he doesn’t push. He never does, not with you. He just sighs, steps forward to brush your hair back like he did when you were seven and fell off your bike, and nods.

“Alright. But you know I’m here, yeah? Always. Doesn’t matter what it is, you tell me, I fix it. That’s the deal.” He glances at his watch, swears under his breath. “Shit, practice. We’re already late. We’ll be gone a good three, four hours, you gonna be okay here alone?”

You nod, fingers twisting tight in the sleeve of your hoodie. “Yeah. I’ll just nap or something. Go, before you get in trouble.”

He squeezes your shoulder once, gentle, safe, completely unaware that his very best friend has already shattered the rule he laid down twice over in the space of one weekend, and then he’s gone, calling down the hall for the others to hurry up. You hear the chaos: Changbin yelling, Jisung dropping something, Hyunjin laughing, Jeongin apologising, Seungmin’s flat unbothered voice answering like he didn’t absolutely ruin you three nights ago and hasn’t so much as looked you in the eye properly since.

And then, silence.

Almost silence.

Because one person did not come out. One door has not opened once in seventy‑two hours. No food taken, no water, no sound at all except the occasional quiet sob you hear through the wall when the house is dead quiet at 3am.

Felix.

He hasn’t left his room since that night. Not once. The boys are confused, “Is he sick?” “Did someone upset him?” “He won’t answer any of us” they knock, they leave trays outside his door, they worry. But nobody knows why. Nobody except three people:

You.

Seungmin, who acts like it’s absolutely nothing.

And Minho.

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

You’re standing in the kitchen staring into an empty glass when minho appears, silent as a cat, leaning in the doorway, arms folded, dark eyes pinning you in place so you can’t run. Minho hasn’t said a word to you about it. Not in three days. But you saw him that night, you caught him leaning against the far end of the hall when you ran from Seungmin’s room, you saw the way his eyes flicked from your messy hair to Felix curled on the floor, and you knew instantly: he worked it all out before you even caught your breath. He knows everything. And he’s been waiting.

He pushes off the frame, steps slow into the room, and keeps his voice low, only for you, sharp but not cruel. Just… tired.

“They’re all gone now. Van’s just pulled out of the drive. It’s just you… and him.” He nods his head toward Felix’s closed door at the end of the hall. “He hasn’t eaten. Hasn’t slept properly. Won’t speak to a single one of us. And everyone’s walking round confused like idiots, but you and I both know exactly why he’s in there, don’t we?”

Your throat closes up. You look down at your feet, hot shame burning all the way up from your chest to your ears. “Minho… I-I didn’t mean for it to-”

“I don’t want your excuses,” he cuts you off, soft, but final. He steps closer, and for the first time you see it, he feels guilty. Guilty he was the one who pulled Felix away from you that night. Guilty he left you alone. Guilty he didn’t stop it before it broke the sweetest person in this house. “I’m not here to yell at you. I’m not gonna run and tell Chan, that’s your mess to fix or hide, not mine. But I am telling you this..go in there.”

He nods again, harder this time, no room for argument.

“You did this. You knew how he felt. You let him adore you from the second you walked through that door, you let him hope, you knew Chan told him to stay away and he did, he suffered in silence like the good boy he is, and then you went and gave yourself to the one person who never even tried to be careful. And now he’s in there destroying himself over you. So you are gonna go knock on that door. You are gonna stay there until he lets you in. And you are gonna fix whatever the hell you broke. Because out of all of us… Felix never, ever deserved to be the one who got hurt.”

He pauses, his expression softens just a fraction, the sharp edges melting away.

“And for the record? I don’t think you went in there with Seungmin because you wanted him. I think you did it because you were scared of how much you actually want this.” He glances once more at Felix’s door, then back to you. “He won’t yell at the others. But he’ll yell at you. And honestly? You deserve to hear it. Now go. Before they come back.”

He doesn’t wait for you to answer. He just grabs his own bag, slips out the front door, and clicks it shut softly behind him, leaving you completely alone in the quiet dorm, heart hammering, legs shaking, knowing with every fibre of your being, he is right.

You have to do this. There is no other way.

Your feet carry you down the hall before your brain can talk you out of it. You stop right in front of his door, the same spot you stood three nights ago, guilty and naked under your dress, and you just… listen. Nothing. Not a sound. Not a breath. You lift a fist, hesitate for what feels like forever, and knock, soft, careful, barely there.

“Felix?” Your voice cracks. You try again, stronger this time. “Felix… it’s me. Please open up. Minho said-I know you’re in there. Please. We need to talk.”

Silence. So thick you could cut it with a knife.

You knock again, a little harder this time. “I know you’re angry. You have every right to be. I’m not here to make excuses. I just… please. Let me in. Even if you just scream at me and send me away again. Just… let me see you.”

Another long, agonising minute passes. And then, you hear it. The soft scrape of feet on carpet. The slow turn of the lock. The door pulls open just an inch, enough for one eye to peer through, dark and red‑rimmed and swimming with tears, and your heart shatters all over again.

It’s worse than you imagined.

Felix is a wreck. His blonde hair is a tangled mess falling in clumps over his face, his freckles stand out stark against skin pale as paper, there are deep purple shadows under his eyes that haven’t slept in seventy‑two hours, his lips are bitten raw and swollen. He’s in an old faded hoodie and sweatpants, he looks smaller somehow, broken, folded in on himself, and the second his eyes land fully on yours his jaw tightens so hard you see the muscle jump. He doesn’t open the door wider. He doesn’t step back. He just stares at you, hurt, furious, devastated, and still so stupidly in love it hurts to look at.

His voice comes out, rough, gravelly from disuse and crying, barely above a whisper, and it cuts you deeper than any knife ever could.

“What do you want? Haven’t you done enough already?”

You don’t wait for permission. You push the door open just enough to slip inside, and he steps back automatically, never taking his eyes off you, and you shut it behind you, click the lock softly. You are alone. Completely alone. No Chan. No rules. No witnesses. Just you and the boy you destroyed.

The room is dark, curtains drawn tight, air thick and heavy, smelling of him, vanilla, rain, and the sharp salt of tears. Clothes are strewn across the floor, his bed is unmade, trays of untouched food sit cold on his desk. He backs away until his legs hit the mattress and he sits down, hands clasped tight between his knees, head bowed so he doesn’t have to look at you, shoulders shaking with the effort of holding it all in.

And then, he snaps.

He lifts his head fast, and the tears spill over before he can stop them, hot and fast down his cheeks, and all the anger he’s swallowed for three days comes pouring out in ragged, choking bursts.

“You knew. you knew. Everyone knew! Chan told me, over and over,she’s off limits, Lix, don’t do this to yourself, she’s my best friend, and I LISTENED! I stood back! I suffered in silence for months before you even got here just listening to him talk about you, falling for a girl I’d never even met, and when you finally walked through that door I thought… this is it. Maybe. Just maybe. I was so good. I was so careful. I never touched you when I wanted to more than anything, I never said too much, I respected every single stupid rule because I didn’t want to lose you before I even had you… and then you… YOU…”

He chokes, stops to drag a shaking hand through his hair, and when he looks at you again his eyes are blazing, anger and longing warring in equal measure.

“You got drunk. You pretend to care..you flirt and giggle…and then the second my back was turned you spread your legs for Seungmin? Seungmin? he probably doesn’t even care? he treated you like a conquest and then acts like nothing happened the next morning? I stood outside that door for hours. I heard EVERYTHING. Every noise. Every time you said his name. And I just stood there and I let it happen because I thought… if it makes her happy… even if it kills me… but it didn’t make you happy, did it? Because look at you now. You’re just as broken as I am.”

In the moment seungmin did make you happy and apart of you is still craving seungmin but right now you deny it because the moment felix confessed to you…you fell for him.

He leans forward, elbows on his knees, face in his hands, and sobs once, broken and ugly, and you can’t take it anymore. You cross the room fast, drop to your knees right in front of him, and before you can think you’re reaching for his hands, and he flinches like you burn him, but he doesn’t pull away.

“I know,” you whisper, crying now too, tears matching his, your own throat raw. “Felix, god, I know. You are completely, one hundred percent right. Every single word. I was stupid. I was drunk. I was scared, scared of how you make me feel, scared of breaking Chan’s heart, scared of everything, and I ran straight into the easiest, most dangerous thing I could find because it didn’t feel like it mattered. But it did. And I hurt the only person in this whole house who never, ever deserved it. And I am so, so sorry there aren’t enough words in the world to fix it.”

You lift your free hand, slow, so he can stop you if he wants, and brush the tangled hair off his wet face. He shivers, his whole body trembling under your touch, and his eyes flutter shut for a second, like even now, after everything, just your skin on his is enough to unravel him completely.

“I hate it,” he breathes, voice wrecked, barely there, forehead falling forward until it rests lightly against yours, breath hot and shaky mixing with yours. “I hate that I’m angry. I hate that I want to scream at you and never speak to you again… and I hate even more that none of it changes a single thing. I still want you. I’ve wanted you every single second since the first time Chan said your name. You could sleep with every single person in this building and I’d still be here… waiting for you to finally look at me the way I look at you.”

His eyes open, dark, blown wide, swimming with tears and lust and years of repressed wanting, and he lifts one hand to cup your jaw, thumb brushing slow over your bottom lip, and the air in the room vanishes completely.

“Tell me to stop right now. Tell me to leave it alone, tell me to go back to hating you, and I will. But if you don’t… I swear to god I’m not holding back anymore. Chan’s rules be damned. Everything be damned. I’ve waited long enough.”

You don’t even hesitate. You lean in, lips brushing his, barely there, and whisper the only answer that has ever mattered, because you had you, you couldn’t stand the thought of him hating you.

“Don’t stop, Felix. Please.”

It doesn’t explode. Not like Seungmin, fast, rough, hungry, all fire and rebellion. This is slow. This is years in the making.

Felix makes a broken little noise deep in his throat, half whimper, half growl, and then his mouth is on yours, soft, reverent, desperate, like he’s trying to memorise every single millimetre of you before you vanish. He kisses you like you are holy, like he still can’t believe this is actually happening, his lips moving gentle but sure, tongue sliding slow against yours, tasting salt from both your tears, his hands coming up to hold your face like you are the most precious thing he has ever touched. There is no rush. No hurry. He has waited this long, he is going to take every single second.

He kisses you until your lungs burn, until you are both breathless and dizzy, until the anger has completely melted away and all that is left is raw, aching need. He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, both of you panting hard, and his hands slide down your neck, over your shoulders, down your arms, trembling the whole way.

“God,” he whispers, voice wrecked, accent thicker, deeper, rougher than you’ve ever heard it. “You have no idea… how many nights I laid right here… touching myself… thinking about exactly this. Wondering what you’d taste like. What you’d sound like. If you’d feel as perfect as you look.” He presses another soft, filthy kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Let me show you how much better it is when it’s real. Let me show you how you should have been touched that night.”

He guides you up, slow, until you are standing between his spread legs, and then his hands are at the hem of your hoodie, eyes searching yours one last time for permission. You lift your arms; he pulls it over your head and drops it to the floor, and then he sees them. The faint purple marks still staining your skin, Seungmin’s marks, and his whole body goes rigid for half a second. His jaw clenches. His eyes darken, pure, unadulterated jealousy flashing hot.

He goes to lay you back, but you stop him. You press your hands firm to his chest and push him gently until he’s sitting back fully on the bed, elbows propped behind him, chest heaving, blonde hair falling over his eyes, looking up at you like you hung every star in the sky. You sink slow back to your knees between his legs, and his breath catches so hard he chokes on it.

“what-”

“Shh,” you murmur, fingers hooking into the waistband of his sweatpants, dragging them down slow along with his boxers, letting his cock spring free, hard, flushed, leaking already, thick and perfect, and you look up at him through your lashes. “You spent years wanting me. You spent three nights hurting because of me. Let me make it up to you. Let me take care of you first.”

You don’t give him time to answer. You lean in, slow, and lick one long, flat stripe from the base all the way up to the sensitive tip, swirling your tongue right over the slit, tasting the salt of him, and Felix’s head falls back hard with a long, broken moan that echoes off the walls, hands fisting tight in the sheets.

“Oh f-fuck- oh god- baby… just like that… please don’t stop…”

You take him into your mouth, slow at first, just the head, sucking soft, your tongue pressing flat along the underside, one hand wrapping around what doesn’t fit, stroking in time with your mouth. You go deeper, inch by inch, until he hits the back of your throat, and you swallow around him, hollowing your cheeks, and Felix absolutely unravels. He is nothing like Seungmin, quiet, controlled, arrogant. Felix is loud, open, desperate, he tells you everything, every single thing you do to him.

His hands come down, gentle, never forcing, tangling soft in your hair, guiding but never pushing, his hips twitching up in tiny, helpless little thrusts he can’t control, constant breathless praises falling from his lips like a prayer:

“god your mouth feels so fucking perfect… so warm… so wet… look at you… on your knees for me… you have no idea how many times I dreamt this… s’better… so much better than anything I ever imagined… fuck you’re gonna make me come already if you keep doing that—”

You hum around him, the vibration making him jerk and cry out, and you speed up just a little, taking him deeper, swallowing every time, your free hand coming up to cup and roll his balls soft between your fingers, and he is shaking apart above you, sweat beading at his hairline, abs tensing, freckled chest flushed bright pink, eyes never leaving yours for even a second, he wants to watch everything. He wants to memorise the sight of you like this, his, only his.

You keep going, steady, perfect, exactly what he needs, and you feel him swell harder on your tongue, his thighs trembling on either side of your head, his voice rising an octave, completely gone:

“Close-baby I’m so close-you can stop, you don’t have to, I wanna last for you”

You don’t stop. You double down, suck harder, take him deeper, look right up into his blown‑out black eyes, and you feel it coming, but then suddenly his hands are in your hair, firm but still so gentle, pulling you off him with a wet pop, chest heaving so hard he can barely breathe, tears pricking his eyes again from how badly he wants it.

“Not yet,” he gasps, wrecked, desperate, already pulling you up the bed over him. “Not like that. Need to feel you. Need to be inside you when I come. Need to come with you. Please… let me touch you now. Let me make you feel as good as you just made me.”

He flips you both in one smooth, desperate movement, suddenly you are on your back, sinking deep into his soft sheets, and he is hovering over you, weight warm and heavy and perfect between your legs, kissing his way slow down your body, over your jaw, your neck, your chest, licking and sucking new marks right over the old ones, erasing Seungmin, replacing every single memory with him, until he is settled between your thighs, pushing your skirt and underwear down and off in one motion, baring you completely to his gaze.

He stares for a long moment, eyes black, hungry, reverent, and groans low in his chest.

“So beautiful… all mine… finally…”

He doesn’t dive in straight away. He takes his time. He kisses slow up your inner thighs, so close to where you are throbbing and dripping and desperate for him, nipping soft, soothing with his tongue, making you whine and arch your hips off the bed, hands tangling hard in his blonde hair.

“Felix-please… need you… don’t tease…”

He smirks, wrecked, breathless, and finally, finally, he licks one slow, broad stripe right through your folds, circling your clit soft and perfect with the tip of his tongue, and you cry out so loud you have to clamp a hand over your mouth. He eats you out slow, thorough, worshipping, learning every single reaction, until you are shaking, soaked, completely at his mercy, and then he comes back up your body, one arm braced beside your head, the other hand sliding down between your legs, two long, slender fingers pushing easily inside you in one smooth, perfect stroke.

You gasp, back arching clean off the mattress, because it feels nothing like before. Seungmin was rough, fast, taking what he wanted. Felix is precision. He curls his fingers exactly right, rubbing firm and steady against that soft, sensitive spot deep inside you that makes you see stars, his palm pressing perfect pressure against your clit, moving in slow, firm, relentless circles, his face buried in your neck, whispering the filthiest, softest things right against your skin:

“Feel that? Feel how wet you are for me? God you’re… so warm… taking my fingers so perfectly…you gonna come for me, baby? Come on… let go… I’ve got you… I’ve always got you…”

He keeps the exact same rhythm, never speeding up, never slowing down, perfect, relentless, and it builds so fast and so deep you can’t breathe, pleasure coiling hot and tight in your belly, spreading out through every limb, your thighs clamping hard around his wrist, nails dragging down his back, sobbing his name over and over like it’s the only word you know.

“Felix-oh god felix i’m gonna-don’t stop i’m gonna cum”

“That’s it,” he growls, biting soft at your pulse point, fingers curling harder, faster now. “Come for me. Come all over my fingers. Wanna feel every single second of it.”

And you shatter. It hits you harder than anything you have ever felt, white hot, blinding, wave after wave of pleasure rolling through you, clenching hard and rhythmically around his fingers, your whole body trembling, crying out his name broken and loud, and he works you through every single second of it, slowing down gradually, gentle, soft, until you are whimpering and over‑sensitive and he pulls his fingers out slow, bringing them to his own mouth and licking them clean with his eyes locked on yours, groaning deep in his chest at the taste.

You are still floating, boneless, breathless, skin buzzing, but you need more. You need all of him. You wrap your legs around his waist, flip him easily onto his back, and now he is the one looking up, wide‑eyed, flushed, mouth open, completely yours, and you straddle his hips slow, your wet, sensitive heat sliding perfectly along his hard, throbbing length, making you both gasp in unison.

You rest your hands flat on his freckled chest, feeling his heart hammering fast and wild under your palms, and you look down at him, this beautiful boy who loved you when you gave him absolutely no reason to, and you decide right then you are going to spend the rest of the night making it up to him.

“My turn now,” you whisper, leaning down to kiss him slow and deep, tasting yourself on his tongue, and you reach between you, line him up perfectly at your entrance, and sink down slow, inch by agonising inch, taking every bit of him until he is buried to the hilt inside you, stretching you full, perfect, complete.

Felix’s hands fly to your hips, gripping hard enough to leave bruises of his own, head thrown back into the pillows, a long, guttural moan tearing out of his throat, his whole body arching up off the bed.

“oh fuckkk, so good.. so tight… so wet… wrapped around me perfectly… never felt anything this good in my life… move baby… please… ride me…”

You start slow, rolling your hips in deep, lazy circles, grinding down against him so he hits that perfect spot deep inside you with every single movement, your hands braced on his chest, head thrown back, hair falling down your back. It is slow, intimate, intense, eye contact never breaks once. You watch each other, every flicker of pleasure, every gasp, every tiny change in expression, and it feels less like sex and more like two souls finally fitting together exactly how they were always meant to.

You build it, gradually, faster, harder, bouncing on him now, skin slapping soft and wet in the quiet room, the headboard tapping gently against the wall, both of you too far gone to care if anyone hears. Felix meets every single one of your thrusts, hips bucking up to meet yours, hands roaming all over your body, squeezing your breasts, pinching your nipples, gripping your waist hard to guide you exactly how he needs, constant praises falling non‑stop:

“Yes… just like that… ride me so good… look at you… so beautiful taking my cock like you were made for it… I don’t care about anything else, not Chan, not the rules, not anything, only this, only us, right here, right now…”

He sits up suddenly, one strong arm wrapping tight around your waist to hold you flush against him, chest to chest, skin on skin, sweat mixing, hearts beating as one, and he kisses you deep, messy, desperate, thrusting up into you harder now,deeper, faster, the pleasure building again, sharper, hotter, bigger than before, coiling tight in both of you at the exact same speed.

You can feel it. He can feel it too. You are both right on the edge, trembling, breathless, completely gone, and he pulls back just enough to look you dead in the eye, forehead pressed to yours, hands fisted in your hair, voice raw and wrecked and serious.

“Listen to me… You don’t come before me. I don’t come before you. We hold it… and when I say… you can come with me okay sweety?”

You nod, fast, desperate, tears spilling over again from how overwhelming it all is, bouncing harder, faster, chasing it together, every nerve ending on fire.

“Yes, god yes Felix, please, I’m so close, so close, don’t stop”

Everything narrows down to this exact second. There is no past. No Seungmin. No Chan. No rules. No guilt. No dorm. No world outside these four walls. There is only you and him, moving as one, breathing as one, about to fall apart completely together.

Felix’s rhythm stutters, his thrusts get sharper, deeper, more erratic, his arms lock around you like iron, holding you so tight you will feel it for days, his mouth right against your ear, counting you down, voice barely there:

“That’s it… almost there… hold it just a little longer baby… I’ve got you… I’m right there with you… three… two… one..”

And you both cum…

It hits you exactly together.

Felix buries himself as deep as he can possibly go, right against your cervix, and pulsing, thick, hot ropes of his come flood deep inside you with a long, broken, sobbing cry of your name, and at the exact same millisecond your own orgasm tears through you, harder, longer, more blinding than the last, clenching down hard around him, milking every single drop out of him, wave after endless wave of white‑hot pleasure washing over both of you at once, your vision going completely blank, your body locking tight against his, screaming his name over and over into his shoulder, your nails dragging down his back hard enough to leave marks you will be proud of.

He keeps thrusting, slow, shallow, gentle, dragging it out for both of you as long as physically possible, until you are both whimpering, over‑sensitive, completely drained, every last bit of tension and anger and hurt from the last three days fucked right out of your systems and replaced with only this, only each other.

He doesn’t pull out. Not yet. He stays buried deep inside you, softening slowly, still full, and he flips you both gently onto your sides, still connected, arms wrapped so tight around you you can barely breathe, his face buried in your neck, both of you gasping for air, bodies slick and trembling and completely, perfectly sated.

He kisses your shoulder, soft, wet, lazy, and mumbles against your skin, half‑asleep already, voice wrecked and happy and whole again hie eyes locked onto yours.

“your so pretty”

You lay like that for god knows how long, tangled in each other, skin on skin, hearts slowing back down together, no words needed. The guilt is still there, quiet, at the back of your mind, Chan’s rule, Seungmin, the lies, but right here, right now, none of it matters. Nothing has ever felt this right.

Yet he’s in the back of your mind…seungmin, the way he wanted you that night, you push the thought to the side…atleast you tried too.

Eventually Felix pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes are clear now, no more redness, no more pain, just soft, warm, adoring, his fingers tracing slow patterns over your hip where his come is leaking slowly out of you and down your thigh, and he smirks, that bright sunshine Felix smirk you haven’t seen in three whole days.

“For the record?” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “I’m still mad at you. A little bit. You hurt me really bad. And we are gonna talk about it properly later. But… I think we just worked out the best way to make up for it.”

You laugh, breathless, still shaky, and run your fingers through his messy hair. “Oh really? And how many times are you gonna need to ‘make up for it’ exactly?”

He grins, wicked, bright, beautiful, and rolls his hips once, still inside you, making you gasp all over again.

“Oh sweety… we’ve got years of lost time to catch up on. And Chan and the boys won’t be back for at least another two hours…”

But even as he says it, even as you smile and pull him back down for another kiss, a cold little thought creeps in, sharp and unavoidable…

This doesn’t fix anything. It only makes it infinitely more complicated.

You have now slept with two of them.

Seungmin, reckless, secret, rough, the mistake you don’t regret.

Felix, soft, loving, the one who waited, the one who owns your heart whether you like it or not.

worst of all… Minho was right. You didn’t sleep with Seungmin because you wanted him. You did it because you were terrified of how much you wanted this. And now you have it… you don’t know how you’re ever going to give it up.

because you know seungmin won’t leave your mind…and you know chan will kill you…so there’s gonna be a point when your gonna have too.

Felix must feel the shift in you. He holds you tighter, presses a kiss to your forehead, and whispers soft into your hair:

“Don’t think about it yet. Not today. Today is just us. Let tomorrow worry about itself.”

You hear it then, faint, but unmistakeable. The van pulling back into the drive. Doors slamming. Voices getting closer. Chan laughing loud from the gate.

You both freeze, eyes going wide, and suddenly you are moving in a frantic, giggling, desperate rush, pulling clothes on, fixing hair, wiping faces, straightening the bed, trying to make it look like nothing at all happened in here for the last three hours. Felix tugs his hoodie over his head, looks almost normal again, if you ignore the messy hair and the swollen lips and the permanent smile he can’t wipe off his face, and he grabs your hands one last time before you leave, holding them tight, serious again.

“This isn’t over between us. Not by a long shot. And whatever happens next… whatever mess we make… we will be okay..Yeah?”

You nod. You lean in for one last quick, secret kiss.

You slip out his door, closing it soft behind you, and make it to the kitchen just as the front door bursts open and the noise floods back in. Chan spots you instantly, and for the first time in three days he smiles, real, relieved, because you look lighter. You look like you again.

“There you are!” he calls, dropping his bag, coming over to ruffle your hair, completely, blessedly oblivious. “You look better. Did you sleep? Did you talk to Felix? He actually came out of his room for water five minutes ago, looked like a new man! Whatever you said, whatever you did, thank god. Thought we were gonna lose him in there.”

You force a smile, heart hammering, Felix’s come still warm between your legs, his marks already blooming dark on your skin under your clothes, and you glance down the hall just in time to see Felix lean in his own doorway, looking right at you, and wink.

And you know, with absolute terrifying certainty,

The Best Friend Rule is well and truly dead. And you have only just begun

A/N: AHHH it’s moving FAST guys but there will be three more chapters released this week and the last 5 chapters posted next week so be ready hehe and comment to be on the tag list if your not already so you can be updated

tag list: @hwangjoanna @ami01x @kpopdiva89 @beppybeesnuggets @ilovedallywinston @skyearby @xoxomanicpanic @ihrtlix @chasinghxran @sylus-made-me-delulu @sheerficrec @shortcake-whoops @angrygardendeer @zofiiij @mintchip175 @cutiebooty123 @2minnieverse @alondra6011 @supernaturalstilinski @edininwinter @whydolife

[hyunjinsmuze]

FORBIDDEN

part 1 ||part2

PT2-Bed mistake

Warnings: light smut, alcohol use, drunk sex, unprotected sex (wrap up guys)

summary: You decided to let chan throw the dumb “welcome to Korea” party but you didn’t expect to wake up in one of the members bed, and you definitely didn’t expect for someone to find out

pairing: stray kids x reader (seungmin x reader in this chapter)

word count: 3.2k

It’s two days after the bowling night. Two days of awkward glances, Felix hovering but never daring to touch you, Chan watching everyone like a hawk, repeating his rule like a prayer: she’s off limits. Tonight, though, tonight is different. The dorm is alive, music thumping so loud the walls shake, bottles litter every surface, and for the first time since you landed, Chan relaxes. “Y/N!! come here!,” he yells over the noise, pressing a cold soju bottle into your hand, dimples deep. “Tonight you don’t have to be the best friend from Australia. You just get to be you.”

You take a sip. Then another. Then another.

It feels good. Free. For months you’ve only been Chan’s girl, the girl from the stories, the forbidden one. Tonight the alcohol burns warm down your throat, blurs the edges, makes every touch feel lighter, every look feel heavier. You laugh too loud, lean too close, let the boys spin you round until the room spins. Chan is dragged off by Changbin and Jisung halfway through the night, yelling something about a drinking game, and before you can look for him, Felix is there, glued to your side like always, freckles glowing, hand hovering near your waist but never landing, too scared to break the rule. “You okay?” he asks, voice soft, eyes full of that same desperate adoration. “Don’t drink too much, yeah? I’ll look after you.”

You smile, fuzzy, warm, already too far gone to feel guilty about anything. “I’m perfect, Lix. Don’t worry about me.”

And then, someone calls his name. Hyunjin yells from the kitchen, waving him over, and before he can argue Minho appears, claps him hard on the shoulder, and physically steers him away. “She’s fine,” Minho says, glancing straight at you, one eyebrow raised like he already knows exactly how this night ends. “Go on. We’ll keep an eye.”

Felix looks back once. Twice. Then he’s gone.

And suddenly, you are alone in the middle of the crowded room.

You turn. Leant against the dark hallway wall, away from the noise, drink in one hand, the other stuffed deep in his jeans pocket… is Kim Seungmin.

You barely know him. Since you arrived he’s been the quiet one: polite, dry little smirks, answers in one word, hangs back, never draws attention to himself. Chan always said “Seungmin’s the good one, sensible, stays out of trouble, never causes drama”. You bought it. Everyone buys it. He looks like an angel, soft dark hair, big innocent eyes, pretty mouth that barely smiles. But right now? Right now he isn’t looking at you like the good boy.

He pushes off the wall and walks slow towards you. He’s had a few, you can tell by the flush high on his cheekbones, the way his eyes are darker, heavier, half‑lidded. He stops so close you smell alcohol and mint and him, and for the first time he doesn’t look shy. He looks hungry.

“You are absolutely wasted, aren’t you?” he says, voice lower, rougher than you’ve ever heard it, no politeness left at all. He tilts his head, eyes dragging slow from your face right down your body and back up, and you shiver so hard you almost drop your glass. “Chan’s gonna kill someone if he sees you like this. All pretty… and no one watching.”

Your heart slams. “I’m fine. Felix was just-“

“Felix is gone,” Seungmin cuts in, stepping closer still, until his chest almost brushes yours. He leans down, mouth right next to your ear, breath hot and dangerous, and whispers something that makes your knees turn to water

“And we both know… he’s never gonna be brave enough to do what I’m about to.”

“And what exactly are you about to do, Seungmin?” you breathe, voice barely there, head swimming.

He smirks. That tiny, wicked smirk you saw once at dinner, the one that said I know more than I let on. He takes your glass from your fingers, puts it down on a side table without breaking eye contact once, then rests both hands light on your waist, firm, claiming, nothing gentle about it. The music thumps around you; people laugh and shout five feet away but it feels like you are the only two people in the whole world.

“I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want,” he murmurs, fingers pressing just a little harder into your skin, dragging you flush against him. “But I’ve been watching you since you walked through that door three days ago. I’ve heard Chan say it a hundred times, off limits, don’t touch, she’s mine. And honestly?” He laughs, low, dark, nothing like his usual laugh. “Rules were always made to be broken. Don’t you think?”

You should say no. You should push him away, find Chan, go to bed, be the good best friend. But the alcohol has melted every single filter you own. You look up at him, at the boy everyone thinks is harmless, and you realise: he is the most dangerous one of all. Because no one suspects him. No one would ever believe sweet quiet Seungmin would be the first one to touch you.

You wind your arms round his neck. His breath catches.

“Show me then,” you whisper. “If you’re so brave.”

That’s all it takes.

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

He doesn’t kiss you there. Too many people. Too many eyes, especially Chan’s. Seungmin may be reckless but he’s not stupid. He laces his fingers tight through yours, keeps his head down, and pulls you fast and quiet through the bodies, out the main door, down the hall, away from the noise, away from the party, away from all of them.

“Where are we going?” you giggle, stumbling a little, leaning all your weight on him, and he catches you easy, strong arm round your waist holding you up.

“Somewhere no one will find us,” he says flatly, and then he’s guiding you out the back entrance, into the cool night air, and round the side of the building to the quiet dorm entrance only they use. “Everyone’s staying at the main party for hours. Chan’s already three sheets to the wind, he won’t even notice you’re gone till morning. Felix is too busy moping to look. Minho knows… and he won’t say a word. He never does.”

You don’t even question how he knows all this. You just let him lead you up the stairs, key in the lock, door clicking shut behind you, silence. Total silence. Just you. And him. And the knowledge that what you are about to do will ruin everything.

And neither of you cares. Not even a little bit.

The second that lock turns, the good boy dies completely.

Seungmin shoves you back soft but firm against the closed door, one hand flat above your head, the other gripping your jaw tight enough to hold you still, and he kisses you like he’s been waiting his whole life to do it. No shyness. No hesitation. Pure, filthy, desperate need. His mouth is hot, demanding, tongue sliding against yours, swallowing every little noise you make, and you realise very fast, Seungmin does not do soft. He takes. Exactly what he wants.

“God,” he groans against your lips, already moving down your neck, biting and sucking marks he knows you’ll have to hide tomorrow, hands roaming everywhere at once, greedy. “You have no fucking idea how many times I’ve imagined this. Chan going on and on about you, my best friend, don’t touch, every single time I just thought… watch me.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, hair messy, lips swollen, eyes black with want.

“You gonna let me ruin you tonight,” he murmurs.

You’re so drunk, so turned on, so far past caring you can only nod, fast, desperate, and pull him back to you. “Yes. God..yes, Seungmin, please.”

“Good,” he whispers.

He walks you backwards slow through the dark dorm, never once breaking the kiss, until your legs hit the edge of his bed and you fall back into the soft sheets. He follows you down, body heavy and warm between your thighs, clothes coming off fast, discarded on the floor in a messy pile, and every touch is electric. He is nothing like you imagined: rough when he wants to be, precise, knows exactly how to make you shake, whispers the filthiest things right against your skin that you would never in a million years have thought came out of his mouth.

“So pretty… all mine tonight… Chan can make all the rules he wants… right now you belong to me…”

It’s messy. It’s drunk. It’s fast and slow and perfect and so, so wrong. Every time you remember who you are, Chan’s best friend, OFF LIMITS, it just makes it hotter. The danger. The secret. The fact that if anyone walked through that door right now your whole world would shatter.

And Seungmin loves it. He loves that it’s wrong. He loves that he’s the one doing it. He holds your wrists down above your head with one hand, uses the other to make you fall apart over and over, and when he finally pushes inside you it’s everything, sharp and deep and blinding, and you have to muffle your scream into his shoulder because the walls are thin, and people are still in the building.

“That’s it,” he growls, pace hard and steady, face buried in your neck, voice wrecked. “Take it. Take every single bit. Let them hear if they want. Let him hear. Let him know someone finally stopped listening.”

For hours it’s just skin and heat and pleasure and no thoughts at all, no Chan, no rules, no Felix, no consequences. Just Seungmin. Only him.

When it’s over you’re both sweaty, breathless, tangled in his sheets, bodies still buzzing. The alcohol is starting to wear off just a little, enough that you feel the very first prickle of panic, but not enough to make you move. Seungmin lies on his back beside you, one arm thrown lazily behind his head, the other resting light on your bare hip, staring at the ceiling, already slipping back into that quiet blank face, like he didn’t just absolutely ruin you five minutes ago.

“You okay?” he asks, normal voice, like nothing happened.

You nod into the pillow. “Yeah. Yeah I’m… wow.”

He huffs a tiny laugh, that familiar dry one, and glances at you, eyes softening just a fraction. “Told you I wasn’t what everyone thinks.” He traces slow patterns on your skin. “This stays between us, yeah? Obviously. Chan would actually kill me. And… honestly? I don’t regret a single second. Do you?”

You think about it. You really do. And even with the cold dread creeping in… you don’t.

“No,” you whisper. “I don’t.”

“Good.” He leans over, presses one last soft, completely un‑Seungmin‑like kiss to your forehead. “Get some sleep. We’ll work out the rest tomorrow.”

You’re exhausted, drunk, worn out, brain completely empty, so you curl into his side, eyes already closing, and within seconds you are gone.

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

You wake up confused. Head throbbing, mouth dry, sheets tangled round your naked body, sunlight already starting to creep through the curtains. For two seconds you have no clue where you are, then it all comes flooding back: the party. The drinks. Seungmin. Everything you did. Every single rule you shattered into a million pieces.

Your stomach drops so hard you think you’ll be sick.

Oh my god. Chan. CHAN.

You sit up fast, clutching the sheet to your chest, heart hammering so hard you can hear it in your ears. Seungmin is still asleep beside you, hair messy, one arm thrown over his face, completely unbothered. You look round the room, clothes everywhere, the evidence impossible to miss, and you want to cry. You came here to be close to your best friend. You promised yourself you’d never hurt him. And night one of freedom and you slept with the one person literally no one saw coming.

“Shit shit shit shit SHIT,” you breathe, scrambling out of bed, grabbing your things, shaking legs barely holding you up. You have to get out. You have to get back to your room, get changed, pretend NONE OF THIS EVER HAPPENED.

Seungmin stirs, blinks at you slow, smirks that wicked smirk again. “Leaving so soon? Scared someone’ll find out?”

“YES SEUNGMIN I AM SCARED,” you hiss, pulling your dress over your head, hands shaking. “Do you realise what we did? Chan will EXILE you. He’ll never speak to either of us again! Felix-”

You stop dead.

Felix.

The boy who confessed everything to you three nights ago. The boy who loves you. Who was told don’t touch her and obeyed. And you, you went and gave yourself to the quiet boy who didn’t even hesitate.

You feel sick.

You yank the door open — ready to sprint down the hall to your room and lock yourself away forever, and you freeze.

Right there. Back pressed to the wall opposite, knees pulled to his chest, head in his hands, FELIX.

He’s still in last night’s clothes. Hair a mess. Eyes swollen, red‑rimmed, completely shattered. He’s been there ALL NIGHT.

He lifts his head slowly when he hears the click. And the look on his face, pure, unfiltered agony, will haunt you for the rest of your life. He looks from your messy hair, your swollen lips, the marks Seungmin left all over your neck that you haven’t even seen yet… to the open door behind you… to Seungmin sitting up in bed, sheets low on his hips, completely unashamed.

And Felix, sweet, sunshine Felix, he doesn’t yell. He doesn’t scream. He just stares at you, voice cracking so thin you barely hear it

“You… you knew. You knew how I felt. Everyone knew. Chan told me..stay away, she’s off limits, and I DID. I respected it. I waited. And you… you just gave yourself to the first person who didn’t care?”

His voice breaks completely. Tears spill fast down his freckled cheeks.

“I stood here. For hours. I heard everything. Every single noise. Every time you said his name… you never wanted me.”

You can’t breathe. You can’t speak. There are NO WORDS. No apology big enough. No excuse. You stand there half‑dressed, exposed, guilty as sin, and you just cry, silent, hot tears running down your face, because he is right.

You did know. You did lead him on. You let him hope. And then you got drunk and you forgot all about him and you let Seungmin do exactly what Chan forbade.

Behind you, Seungmin sighs, swings his legs over the bed, pulls on his sweatpants, leans in the doorway completely calm. He looks at Felix, broken Felix, and he doesn’t even look sorry. He just tilts his head, that rebellious streak flaring again:

“Don’t act so surprised, Lix. You had months. You had every chance. You were too much of a coward to break the rule. I wasn’t.” He glances at you, sharp, final. “And she didn’t exactly say no, did she?”

Felix flinches like he’s been hit.

“Get out,” he whispers, to both of you, but his eyes never leave yours. “Just… get away from me. Please.”

You stumble past him, bare feet cold on the floor, whole body shaking, and you don’t stop running till you slam your own bedroom door shut and slide down the back of it, sobbing into your hands.

It’s over. Everything is ruined.

You broke Chan’s number one rule in the worst possible way.You destroyed Felix, the boy who loved you first, most, and honestly. You slept with Seungmin, and you still don’t even know who he really is. And worst of all… you would do it again.

You hear footsteps in the hall. Felix’s quiet broken sobs fading as he goes to his room and locks the door. Seungmin’s door clicking shut, calm, unbothered, like he didn’t just blow the whole dynamic of the dorm sky high. Somewhere down the hall Chan stirs, still drunk, still clueless, still thinking his best friend is safe and untouched and his.

You curl up on your floor and cry until you have nothing left. You thought moving here would fix everything. You thought you’d just be Chan’s best friend again.

You had no idea one night would turn your whole world upside down.

And you have a terrible, sinking feeling… this was only the FIRST mistake.

You finally drag yourself up, look in the mirror, and gasp.

Your neck. Your collarbones. Your shoulders. Covered. Purple, red, dark, Seungmin marked you everywhere. Claimed you. Left his signature all over your skin so that everyone will know exactly what you did, even if they don’t say it out loud. You scrub at them hard till your skin burns but they won’t fade. They’re there to stay.

A soft knock at your door makes you jump out of your skin.

You don’t answer. You already know who it is.

On the other side, Felix. Leaning his forehead against the wood, voice barely audible through the panels, broken and raw and angry all at once

“You had no right… you knew… you let me believe… and now I hate that I still want you even after you’ve ruined me.”

He walks away as you slide back down the door. you knew you needed to fix this… you had too.

A/N: i’m soo glad you guys liked the last chapter and i promise each chapter just gets more and more messy 🙏😭 i hope you enjoyed! (if your not already on the tag list and want to join, comment!!)

Tag List: @hwangjoanna @ami01x @kpopdiva89 @beppybeesnuggets @ilovedallywinston @skyearby @xoxomanicpanic @ihrtlix @chasinghxran @sylus-made-me-delulu @sheerficrec @shortcake-whoops @angrygardendeer @sheerfreesia007

[hyunjinsmuze]

FORBIDDEN

warnings: [NON IN THIS CHAPTER]

Summary: You’re Chan’s lifelong best friend, and after years apart you finally move to Seoul to meet the boys he calls family, the ones you already feel like you know. Everything feels perfect… until one of them makes a confession everyone else already saw coming.

Pairing: Stray kids (all members) x Reader

You and Bang Chan have been best friends since the day you were born, neighbours in Sydney, inseparable your whole lives. When he left to chase his dream in Korea you cried for weeks; you spoke every single day, he told you every single thing about the boys he trained with, the group he debuted with. Stray Kids. You know their names, their habits, their fears, their favourite foods… you feel like you know them inside out. But you have never once met them face to face. Until now. You’ve finally packed your whole life and moved to Seoul to be near him again. You’ve been here THREE DAYS. And everything is about to change.

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

The flight felt like it lasted forever, but the second you stepped through arrivals and saw him, curly hair, black hoodie, that dimpled smile you’d missed more than air, every second of travel vanished. Bang Chan. Christopher Bahng. Your person. Known him literally since you were born, born three days apart in the same hospital, grew up next door to each other in Sydney, learned to walk together, got in trouble together, promised each other nothing would ever split you up.

Then when he was seventeen he left. Left Australia, left you, flew halfway across the world with nothing but a backpack and a dream. You were heartbroken, but you never once stopped him. You knew how much this meant. And for years after that: late night calls that stretched until 4am, voice notes when time zones clashed, him rambling down the phone about seven boys he was training with, how they were becoming his family too.

“You’d love Jisung, honestly, he’s chaotic but he’s got the kindest heart… Minho acts like he doesn’t care but he remembers everything… Felix, god, you and Felix would get on like a house on fire, he’s got that same sunshine energy you have… Seungmin’s quiet but he’s secretly a menace… Changbin’s loud and soft all at once… Hyunjin feels everything so deeply… Jeongin’s our baby but he’s growing up too fast…”

You knew them all. Knew who slept in, who forgot to eat, who cried at sad movies, who wrote lyrics at 3am. They were like characters in a story Chan had been reading you for years. And they knew you too, Chan never shut up about you. “My best friend from home… the girl I grew up with… the only person who’s known me longer than anyone…” To them, you were already legendary. You just hadn’t breathed the same air as any of them — until three days ago.

Chan pulls you into the tightest hug right there in the airport, face buried in your neck, voice all wobbly:

“Fucking finally. You’re actually here. Never letting you leave me again, yeah?”

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

It’s been exactly seventy‑two hours since you landed. You’re staying in the spare room at the dorm, Chan insisted, said he wasn’t having you in some random apartment alone in a new country. The first two days were quiet: he showed you the nearest convenience store, how to work the subway, bought you all your favourite snacks he’d been shipping over for years but you could now have fresh. You’d heard voices, seen shadows pass the door, caught glimpses of hooded figures slipping to the kitchen at 2am… but proper meetings had been slow. Everyone was being polite, careful, almost. Like you were something precious Chan had warned them not to break.

Every time you pass a doorway you feel eyes on you. Every time Chan says your name at dinner, heads snap up. You know exactly why: Chan has spoken about you so much, for so long, you aren’t just “the new girl” you’re mythical.

Late night of day 3, you’re curled up on the end of Chan’s bed while he works on a track, just like you did back home when you were fourteen. He spins round in his chair, looks at you properly, and his face goes soft, that serious best‑friend face.

“They’re all desperate to properly get to know you, y’know. Properly. Not just quick hellos in the hallway. I told ’em we’d all go out tomorrow. Bowling first, then that barbecue place you said you wanted to try. Sound good?”

Your stomach flutters. finally

“More than good. I feel like I already know ’em… but I wanna actually know know ’em.” you giggle

Chan smirks, but there’s something sharp underneath it, protective, already.

“Just… remember they’re idiots. All of ’em. And if any of ’em try anything? You come straight to me. Okay?

You didn’t know yet how much those words are going to hang over everything

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

Next afternoon, you’re dressed cute but comfy, hair how you like it, Chan’s arm slung naturally over your shoulders like it’s been there since birth as you walk through the doors of the bowling alley. And there they are. All eight of them, well, seven plus Chan, lined up waiting, suddenly all awkward and shy like schoolboys.

This is it. The moment you’ve imagined a hundred times on late‑night calls.

Chan does the honours, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt:

“Alright, you know all the stories, now meet the men themselves. Guys… this is her. Y/N.”

One by one they step forward, exactly how you pictured them, yet nothing like you imagined at all:

Changbin was the first over, loud, warm, huge smile, pulls you into a hug like you’re already family, “HEARD SO MUCH ABOUT YOU! Chan literally does not stop, we know your whole life story at this point!” already winking, already playful, you see instantly why Chan adores him.

Hyunjin stepped over next, quiet, beautiful, polite little bow, eyes never leaving yours, soft voice, “It’s so nice to finally meet you… Chan talks about you like you hung the moon.” you feel your cheeks heat up instantly.

Han was was literally bouncing on his heels, nervous but excitable, rambles immediately, “HI! I’m Jisung! I write songs too! Chan plays me bits of stuff you used to sing when you were little! I feel like I already know your voice!”you laugh, already love him.

Minho was calm, cat‑like, barely smiles but his eyes are warm, “hey. I’m Minho. Chan says you’re the only person who can tell him when he’s being an idiot. I look forward to having an ally.” you know instantly you’re gonna get on so well.

next, jeongin…sweet, shy, dimples out, polite, “Hi… I’m Jeongin. It’s really nice to meet you at last.” looks like an angel, you already want to protect him.

Seungmin hangs back a little, deadpan but with that tiny secret smirk you already know means trouble, “Hey. Seungmin. Chan’s shown us about a million baby photos of you two. Fair warning.” there it is, that shy‑but‑rebellious side you love already.

And then… Felix.

Everything slows down the second his eyes land on you.

You’ve heard Chan talk about Felix more than almost anyone else. “Freckly kid from Brisbane, same accent as us, kindest soul alive, works harder than anyone…” But nothing, nothing, prepared you for this.

He’s frozen half‑step forward, bowling ball slipping a little in his hand, mouth slightly open, freckles standing out bright against pink cheeks. His voice, that deep voice you’ve heard in clips, comes out all high and soft and breathless:

“Oh… wow. Um. H‑hi. I’m Felix. I… uh… hi.”

He blinks fast, swallows, can’t stop staring — like you’re something he’s been waiting to see his whole life. You smile, that easy Australian smile you share, and his whole face lights up so bright it could power the whole building.

“Hi Felix. Heard so much about you. Chan says you’re basically the brother he never had.” You smile at him.

He actually giggles, actual sunshine giggle, and scratches the back of his neck, ears bright red.

“Only good things I hope… god. You’re even prettier than he described. Way prettier.”

The words slip out before he can stop them. The whole group goes quiet for half a second, everyone notices. Changbin snorts into his drink. Seungmin raises an eyebrow. Minho smirks to himself. Chan’s arm tightens just a fraction around your shoulders.

Felix doesn’t even care. From that exact second, he does not leave your side.

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

You split into teams. Of course Felix demands to be on yours. Chan is on the other side, pretending to be competitive but watching everything.

And it becomes obvious, painfully, gloriously obvious, to every single person in that building, including you:

Felix has it BAD.

He carries your bag.He fetches you drinks before you even ask.He cheers so loud every time you roll, even when you throw it straight into the gutter.He leans in close when he talks, smells like vanilla and fresh laundry, his arm brushing yours constantly. He laughs at every single thing you say like you’re the funniest person alive.When you get a strike he actually picks you up and spins you round, then freezes, bright red, puts you down stammering apologies, you just laugh and tell him it’s fine. It is so far from fine,it’s everything.

You catch Chan watching you both across the lanes, jaw tight, that protective leader look creeping in. He pulls Felix aside for ten seconds while you’re tying your shoes, you don’t hear what’s said, but you see Felix’s face fall, then set stubborn, nodding once before coming straight back to you like nothing happened.

Meanwhile you’re learning them:

Changbin is competitive as HELL, trash talks you the whole time but buys you iced chocolate afterwards. Hyunjin dances between every turn, shows off, makes you clap.Jisung falls over his own feet at least three times. Minho wins. Obviously. And never lets anyone forget it. Seungmin wins silently, smirks every time he gets a strike, looks at you like he’s daring you to beat him.Jeongin is just happy to be included, grinning the whole time.

By the end of game two you feel it you already fit. Like you were always supposed to be here.

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

Bowling done, you all pile into the barbecue restaurant Chan promised, tables pushed together, meat sizzling, soju and coke flowing, noise levels through the roof. This is the Stray Kids Chan always told you about, loud, messy, loving, chaotic family.

You’re sat smack in the middle: Chan on your right, Felix glued to your left. He hasn’t moved once all night. Leg pressed to yours under the table, shoulder touching yours, every time someone speaks he glances at you first to see your reaction. He uses his chopsticks to put the best pieces of meat straight onto your plate, “Here, this one’s cooked perfect, you’ll love it”over and over.

Changbin, ever the loudmouth, leans across the table grinning, nodding between you two:

“Y’know… before she even landed… Felix had a list. A list. Of things he wanted to show you, places to take you, food you had to try. Hasn’t shut up about you coming for literally months. We all had a bet on how long it’d take him to say something stupid the second he saw you.”

Felix goes bright red, kicks Changbin hard under the table, voice cracking:

“SHUT UP, I DID NOT, it’s not like that, I just,we’re both Aussie, yeah? Just looking out for her!”

But nobody believes him. Not even you. You look at him, really look, and you see it clear as day: this isn’t just friendliness. This is a full‑blown, head‑over‑heels, hopeless CRUSH. And the worst/best part? He doesn’t even try to hide it anymore.

Chan goes quiet beside you. Doesn’t laugh. Just swirls his drink, eyes dark, thinking hard.

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

As the night goes on, drinks flow, inhibitions fade. Felix gets softer, clingier, more honest. He leans right into your ear, voice low, deep, only for you, breath hot on your neck:

“They’re not lying y’know… I really did wait for this. Every time Chan spoke about you… I just kept thinking… I need to meet her. I need to know her. And now you’re here… and you’re even better than I imagined. Way better.”

Your heart hammers so hard you’re convinced everyone can hear it.

“Felix… you barely know me yet.”

He shakes his head, looks you dead in the eye, completely serious now.

“I feel like I’ve known you my whole life. Chan’s told me everything. Every memory, every stupid thing you did as a kid, every dream you ever told him… I know it all. And somewhere along the way… I started feeling things I definitely shouldn’t have. About a girl I’d never even touched.”

oh.

Oh god. He’s actually saying it.

Right here in the middle of dinner. Not quite shouting, but unknowingly loud enough that the whole table has slowly gone quiet. Every single pair of eyes is on you two now.

Seungmin stops chewing. Changbin leans forward delighted. Minho smirks into his glass. Hyunjin’s eyes go wide. Jisung covers his mouth. Jeongin looks between you both wide‑eyed.

And Chan… Chan is frozen solid.

Felix realised everyone heard, and out of embarrassment and desperation, he doesn’t care who’s listening anymore. He’s been holding this in since before you booked your flight. He reaches out, hesitates half a second, then rests his hand lightly over yours on the table. His is warm, trembling a little. His voice is raw, honest.

“I like you. Okay? There, I said it. Everyone knows anyway, they’ve been teasing me for weeks. I like you so much it’s actually annoying. I didn’t wanna say it this soon… didn’t wanna scare you off… but you’re here… and you’re real… and I can’t pretend anymore. I know you’re Chan’s best friend. I know it’s complicated. But I had to tell you. I had to know… if there was even the smallest chance… you might ever feel something too?”

Silence. Absolute total silence in the whole booth.

You can’t breathe. You stare at his hand on yours,at his big hopeful eyes, his pink cheeks, his messy blonde hair, and you feel it: you do feel something. How could you not? He’s perfect. But at the same time , Chan’s words from earlier echo in your head

You open your mouth to answer, but you don’t get the chance.

Chan moves so fast you barely see it. He pulls your hand gently but firmly out from under Felix’s, wraps it in his own instead, turns to Felix, voice low, steady, the one he only uses when he means business. Not angry, but unmistakable.

“Alright. Enough. Everyone heard you. We’ve all known for months, you haven’t exactly been subtle, mate. And I get it, I do. She’s incredible. Anyone would fall for her. But you listen to me good, yeah, and this goes for every single one of you sitting around this table.”

Chan sweeps his gaze round every single member and lands hard back on Felix. His arm is tight around your waist now, claiming, protective, possessive. He says the exact line you wanted, the one that hangs over every single thing that happens after this.

“She is my BEST bestfriend. Known her since we were babies. She is the most important person in my entire life. I brought her here because I wanted her safe, I wanted her happy, I wanted her with me. And I am telling you ALL right now, she is OFF limits.

He leans in closer to Felix, voice dropping, deadly serious

“You have feelings, fine. I can’t stop you feeling. But you do not act on them. You do not make things weird. You do not confuse her. You do not break her heart. Because if any of you, mess this up… if you hurt her… or make things awkward so she feels like she has to leave… you will answer piss me off. And trust me… none of you want that. She comes first. Always. No exceptions.”

Felix looks absolutely crushed, shoulders slump, eyes glistening, nods slowly, swallows hard.

“I know… I know, hyung. I’m sorry. I just… couldn’t help it.”

Chan softens just a touch, pats his shoulder.

“I know you didn’t mean harm. And I’m not having a go at you. But rules are rules. She’s family. And family doesn’t do that.”

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

Dinner ends fast after that. The walk to the cars is quiet — awkward, heavy, charged. Felix walks ten paces behind you, head down, hands in his pockets, heartbroken. The others are quiet too, all thinking the exact same thing

Chan said off limits… but we all saw the way she looked back at him.

You’re squished in the back of the van between Seungmin and Changbin. Changbin leans over, quiet.

“Y’know… Chan can say whatever he wants. Make all the rules he likes. But I saw your face when Lix spoke. And I saw his. Rules are made to be broken, don’t you think?”

Seungmin, on your other side, says nothing. Just glances at you out the corner of his eye, that tiny rebellious smirk tugging at his mouth again. He doesn’t need to speak. You read him loud and clear:

I’m not gonna listen either. Not really.

Up front, Chan driving, Felix in passenger seat, not a word spoken between them the whole journey. You know this isn’t over. Felix isn’t the type to just switch his feelings off because someone told him to. And you’re starting to realise… you don’t want him to.

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢

You pile back into the dorm, 1am now, everyone drifting to their rooms, but nobody is actually going to sleep. You pass the open doorways and hear whispers

“Did you SEE that? He actually said it!”

“Chan was scary though… deadass meant every word.”

“Off limits my arse,did you see how she looked at him? She wants it too.”

“It’s not just Felix either… let’s be real… none of us are immune.”

“Shhh..she’ll hear you!”

You go to the kitchen for water, heart still racing, and find Felix leaning against the counter waiting for you. Alone. He looks up, eyes red‑rimmed but still so soft for you.

“I meant it. All of it. Even if I have to hide it… even if I can never have you… it’s still true. Okay? Nothing changes how I feel. Not Chan’s rules… not anything.”

He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, so gentle it makes you shiver, then slips away to his room before you can reply.

You stand there alone in the dark kitchen. Three days in Seoul. One night out. One confession. One very big rule laid down. And you already know deep down.

Chan’s rule is gonna be the hardest one any of you ever tried to follow.

You slip into your own room, door clicking shut behind you, back pressed to the wood, breath coming fast. You replay the whole night on a loop:

Chan, your person, your protector, drawing lines in sand you already want to step over. Felix..open, bleeding heart, loving you out loud no matter the cost.

You came here just to be near your best friend again. Just to have your person back.

You had no idea you were walking straight into the middle of something that would end up involving every single one of them.

You flop back onto the bed, stare at the ceiling, smile to yourself despite everything.

Tomorrow is a new day.

And you have a feeling… Chan’s “off limits” rule? It’s not gonna last very long at all.

A/N: There’s overall 10 chapters and to cut things short, reader sleeps with each member so be prepared 😝also lmk if you wanna be on my tag list

@hwangjoanna @skyearby @xoxomanicpanic

[hyunjinsmuze]

Skz helping you lose your virginity as a caring friend? 😳 Maybe even the aftermath of how it changes your dynamics as "friends"?

Practice Makes Perfect

Pairing: Jeongin (Stray Kids) × Reader (Y/N)

Contains: ⛔️smut

Warnings: friends fucking, unprotected sex, virgin reader, soft!dom jeongin, vulnerability.

Summary: best friends blur lines between comfort and curiosity, where “practice” turns into something deeper, and neither of them can turn back.

word count: ~4.8k

The dorm had long since stopped feeling like a place you were intruding. At first, you used to knock every single time, waiting nervously until someone opened the door and ushered you in.

Now, months later, you barely even thought about it. You pushed the door open like it was your own apartment, kicking off your shoes in the entryway and calling out a greeting.

“Y/N’s here!” Chan’s voice rang from the living room, half-teasing, half-relieved.

“Finally, some peace in this house.”

You laughed, tugging your jacket off and making your way toward the sound of voices.

“Wow, thanks. Am I supposed to be the responsible adult now?”

“No,” Minho said from where he was stretched out on the couch, phone in hand. He looked up at you with a lazy grin.

“But you’re less loud than these guys. That’s good enough.”

A chorus of protests followed, Jisung waving his arms dramatically, Seungmin throwing a pillow across the room, Hyunjin clutching his chest like he’d been mortally wounded.

You just rolled your eyes, dropping onto the floor between them like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t always like this. When you first met them, a random mutual friend had dragged you to one of their practice sessions, you never expected to become so close. But something about the way they treated you, the way the group’s energy pulled you in, made it impossible not to stay. And somewhere along the way, the dorm had turned into your second home.

“Where’s Jeongin?” you asked, noticing his absence.

“Kitchen,” Changbin replied with a smirk. “Probably eating half the leftovers from last night. Better go before he finishes them all.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. Sure enough, when you padded into the kitchen, you found him perched on the counter, chopsticks in one hand, container of kimchi fried rice in the other. He looked up the second he heard your footsteps, eyes brightening instantly.

“Y/N!” he said around a mouthful, hopping down from the counter. He was taller than the last time you really noticed, when did that happen? — but his grin was still the same one you’d first gotten used to. “I saved you some.”

You arched a brow, glancing at the half-empty container. “Saved me some? Or forgot I’d probably show up and steal it anyway?”

He grinned wider. “Both.”

Jeongin had always been your closest anchor in the group. Maybe because he was the youngest, maybe because you two just… clicked. From the very beginning, he was the one who talked to you the most, who sat beside you when you didn’t know anyone, who teased you just enough to make you feel like you belonged. Over time, that teasing turned into a rhythm the two of you fell into naturally — snappy comebacks, inside jokes, endless banter that the others often rolled their eyes at but never discouraged.

He pushed the container toward you now, nodding at the chopsticks he set aside. “Eat before I change my mind.”

You took them with a mock-suspicious look but dug in anyway. “Still warm. You didn’t hog it all.”

“Because I’m nice,” he said matter-of-factly, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms. “You’re welcome.”

“Oh, so you want a medal for basic decency?”

He tilted his head, pretending to consider. “Maybe a trophy. Something shiny. Gold.”

You snorted, shoving his arm lightly. “Keep dreaming.”

By the time you both wandered back into the living room, the others had started a video game tournament. Felix immediately waved you over to join his team, swearing up and down that you were the secret weapon they needed. You weren’t actually good at the game, but you enjoyed playing just to watch Hyunjin get overdramatic whenever he lost.

Jeongin, naturally, plopped down next to you on the floor without asking. The space between you was nonexistent, your knees brushing against his. It was such a normal thing that you barely noticed anymore, though sometimes you wondered if the others did.

As expected, Hyunjin let out a theatrical wail when your team beat his. “Not fair! Y/N cheats.”

“Excuse me?” you shot back. “You’re just bad.”

“That’s exactly what a cheater would say.”

The whole room broke out in laughter, and Jeongin leaned close to whisper, just for you: “Don’t worry, I know the truth. You totally cheat.”

You elbowed him in the side, and he made a show of groaning, falling dramatically onto the carpet. The others ignored him — they were used to his antics by now — but you couldn’t stop smiling.

It was like that, always. Every hangout, every late-night snack raid, every silly group outing. You felt like you belonged in ways you hadn’t expected, but with Jeongin especially, the connection ran deeper. He was your best friend, the one you texted first thing in the morning, the one you stayed up with on voice calls until neither of you could keep your eyes open.

Somewhere along the line, you realized you didn’t even have to think about it anymore: wherever Jeongin was, that was where you naturally gravitated. And the look on his face when you entered the room, like it lit up just a fraction more — was something you secretly cherished.

Tonight was no different. As the game tournament dragged on, he kept close, sometimes leaning his chin on your shoulder to throw you off your moves, sometimes tugging at your sleeve just to annoy you. The others groaned about your endless bickering, but it was easy, effortless, the way it always had been.

By the time the game finally ended and everyone settled into their usual chaos — music blasting from someone’s speaker, snacks scattered across the coffee table, you felt that familiar warmth. Being here, being with them, being with him.

And you realized, not for the first time, that you didn’t know what you’d do without it.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The dorm had gone from chaos to a steady hum of background noise. Music still leaked faintly from the living room where a few of the guys argued over song choices, but most had retreated to their rooms. You weren’t surprised when Jeongin nudged your shoulder and jerked his head toward the hallway.

“Come on,” he said casually, like he always did. “Movie night. Just us.”

You followed without question. His room was small but familiar, a mix of tidy organization and the kind of clutter only he could make look effortless. Posters on the walls, stacks of books and games, and a small lamp glowing warm in the corner. You’d lost count of how many nights you’d sat cross-legged on his bed, watching movies or scrolling through memes until you both laughed so hard the others yelled at you to shut up.

Tonight was no different at first. He pulled a blanket over both of you, laptop balanced between you as the movie started. The glow from the screen lit up his face, and you realized how close you were sitting. Not unusual — but for some reason, you noticed it more tonight.

Halfway through the movie, Jeongin suddenly shifted, giving you a side glance that had too much mischief in it.

“So…” His voice was drawn out, careful. “Are you ever gonna tell me what’s up with you and Sunghoon?”

You froze. “What?”

He smirked, clearly satisfied at your reaction. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks before you could stop it. “I don’t look at him any special way.”

“Oh, sure.” Jeongin leaned back, crossing his arms smugly. “Totally normal to go red every time he talks to you. Totally normal to laugh at his jokes that aren’t even funny.”

“They’re kind of funny,” you mumbled, fiddling with the blanket.

Jeongin’s grin widened like he’d won a game. “So you admit it. You like him.”

“I-” You wanted to deny it, but your throat closed up. It wasn’t that Jeongin was wrong exactly. Sunghoon was charming, and there had been moments you thought about it. But liking him and doing something about it… that was a whole other story.

Jeongin’s teasing faltered when you didn’t fire back right away. He tilted his head, eyebrows furrowing slightly. “Wait… do you actually? For real?”

You stared at the screen, pretending to be engrossed in the movie. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters.” His voice softened. “Why wouldn’t it?”

You bit your lip, the truth pressing heavy in your chest. Jeongin was your best friend — you told him everything. But this? This was different. Still, the concern in his eyes, the way he was looking at you like he’d never laugh at what you said, gave you courage.

“It doesn’t matter because…” You hesitated, twisting the blanket in your hands. “…because I’m not going to go for it.”

Jeongin blinked. “Why not?”

You swallowed hard. “Because I’m… not like that. Not like the girls he’s probably into. I’ve never…” Your voice dropped lower, like maybe if you said it quietly enough it wouldn’t sound so real. “I’ve never kissed anyone before. I’m still a virgin. I don’t know what I’m doing, Jeongin. I wouldn’t even know how to… start. What if I messed everything up?”

Silence settled over the room. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, terrified of the expression you’d find.

Finally, his voice came — soft, almost disbelieving. “You’ve… never kissed anyone?”

Your cheeks burned as you shook your head. “Never.”

He was quiet for a moment longer, and you risked a glance at him. His face wasn’t mocking, wasn’t amused. He looked… stunned. But beneath it, something else — something gentler.

“Y/N,” he said slowly, “that’s not… bad. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I know,” you whispered, though the knot in your stomach didn’t ease. “It’s just—everyone else has all this experience. They’d expect me to know what to do. And I don’t. It’s embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing?” He sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing. “You think that’s embarrassing? No. Stop.

You blinked at the firmness in his tone.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling. “Y/N, you’re not behind, okay? There’s no rulebook saying you have to check off a list by a certain age. You don’t owe that to anyone.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, his words both comforting and impossible to fully accept. “Still… it makes me feel… less. Like I’d disappoint someone if I ever tried.”

Jeongin stared at you, and the intensity in his gaze made your breath hitch. “Hey. You could never disappoint someone. Not you.”

The room was quiet again, but it felt different now — charged, heavy with something you couldn’t name. He was closer than before, his knee pressing against yours under the blanket. The movie flickered in the background, forgotten.

Jeongin’s voice dropped lower, gentler. “You really thought you couldn’t tell me that?”

You looked down at your hands. “I didn’t want you to think I’m stupid. Or childish.”

“Childish?” His hand brushed against yours, tentative but deliberate. “You think I’d ever think that about you?”

The warmth of his touch lingered even after he pulled it back. He shook his head, letting out a soft sigh. “Y/N… you’re not behind, and you’re not less than anyone else. You’re just… you. And that’s not something you need to apologize for.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything else. His jaw tightened like he was holding something back, thoughts spinning behind his dark eyes. He wanted to say more, you could feel it, but instead he let out a small chuckle that didn’t quite reach his smile.

“Look,” he said lightly, though his tone carried more weight than he probably meant it to, “if you like Sunghoon… you should go for it.”

Your head snapped up, eyes wide. “What?”

He shrugged, eyes flicking back to the laptop screen. “Why not? You’re amazing, Y/N. Anyone would be lucky if you gave them a chance. And if he’s too dumb to see that, then that’s his loss.”

The words landed warm in your chest, though there was an ache you couldn’t name beneath them. He meant them — he always meant it when he encouraged you, but something about the way he wouldn’t look at you when he said it made your stomach twist.

“Jeongin…” you started softly, but he stretched out, tugging the blanket higher around his shoulders like the conversation was over.

“Don’t worry about it so much,” he said with a small, lopsided smile. “You’ve got time. And when it happens… it’ll happen with the right person.”

You studied him for a long moment, wanting to read what was really going on behind that careful smile. But he just nudged your arm playfully and turned the volume up on the movie.

And even though you leaned back beside him, pretending to focus on the screen, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something important had been left unsaid.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The movie eventually faded into the background, the credits rolling unnoticed while you and Jeongin sat side by side in the glow of his lamp. You couldn’t shake the weight of your confession, even though he’d brushed it off with his usual ease. He’d told you to go for it with Sunghoon, but… something in his voice had sounded different. Softer. Careful.

You pulled the blanket tighter around you, staring at your hands. “You really think… it’s not weird?”

Jeongin turned his head. “What’s not weird?”

“That I haven’t… you know.” Your voice dropped again. “That I’ve never done any of that stuff.”

He frowned, leaning closer. “Y/N. How many times do I have to say it? There’s nothing wrong with you.”

You gave a weak laugh. “Easy for you to say. You’ve probably kissed plenty of people.”

His lips quirked, but not in a teasing way. “Not as many as you think.”

You tilted your head. “Still more than me.”

He studied you for a long moment, eyes searching. Then he shifted, sitting cross-legged so he could face you fully. His knee brushed yours, and his voice softened. “Okay. Be honest. Do you actually want to… learn? Or do you just feel like you have to?”

The question knocked the air out of you. You looked away, fiddling with the hem of the blanket. “I guess… I want to. But it scares me. Like, what if I’m bad at it? What if I don’t even know what to do?”

Jeongin’s gaze lingered on you, intense in a way that made your chest tighten. Then, slowly, he said, “You know… I could help. If you wanted.”

Your pulse roared in your ears. “You’d… teach me?”

He nodded, though his eyes flickered like he was second-guessing the offer. “If you want. It doesn’t have to mean anything. Just… practice.”

You sat frozen, heat blooming in your cheeks. It felt dangerous, like crossing a line you couldn’t uncross. But the thought of learning with Jeongin, safe, familiar, someone who already knew every part of you — sent a strange thrill through you.

“Okay,” you whispered.

His breath caught. “Okay?”

You nodded, heart hammering. “Yeah. I trust you.”

Something in his expression softened, almost melted. He shifted closer, so close the blanket pooled around both of you, and lifted a hand hesitantly to your cheek. His fingers were warm against your skin, thumb brushing gently along your jaw.

“We’ll go slow,” he murmured. “Tell me if you want to stop.

You nodded again, nerves tangled with anticipation.

Something softened in his expression, relief, maybe, and he shifted so he was facing you fully. His hand came up, brushing your jaw lightly as he guided your chin up.

“First thing,” he murmured, close enough that his breath warmed your skin, “don’t overthink. Just follow my rhythm.”

Your pulse pounded as he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, featherlight at first. He moved slowly, deliberately, showing you the pace. When he pulled back a fraction, he searched your face. “Okay?”

You nodded quickly. “Okay.”

“Good.” His lips curved faintly. “Now just… copy me.”

The second kiss lingered longer, his mouth tilting against yours with gentle insistence. You mimicked him, clumsy at first, but he hummed approvingly and adjusted you with a soft touch under your chin.

“Better,” he whispered. “Don’t fight it. Just let it happen.”

You swallowed hard and tried again, following the way he angled his head, the way his lips parted slightly before closing again. It started to feel natural, easier, like breathing in sync.

When he pulled back, his eyes flickered down to your hands, still frozen nervously in your lap. He reached for them, tugging gently. “Don’t just sit there. Touch me.”

Your cheeks burned. “Where?”

“Anywhere you want,” he said quietly. “Start simple. My shoulders, maybe.”

You raised your hands hesitantly, resting them on his shoulders. The warmth of his body beneath the fabric made your stomach flip.

“There you go.” His voice was low, approving. “Hold on when I kiss you. It’ll help you feel the rhythm.”

He leaned in again, and this time you clutched him instinctively as his lips pressed more firmly to yours. The steady pace he set was easy to fall into, and soon you weren’t thinking about how awkward you felt, you were just kissing Jeongin.

When his tongue brushed lightly at your bottom lip, your breath hitched. You froze, unsure, and he immediately pulled back just enough to murmur, “Relax. Just open for me. Follow my lead.”

Your body obeyed before your mind caught up. His tongue slid gently against yours, guiding, coaxing, and you melted into it, hands gripping his shoulders tighter. A soft sound escaped your throat, half surprise, half pleasure.

Jeongin groaned faintly in response, the sound vibrating between you. His hand slipped from your jaw to the back of your neck, keeping you close.

“Good,” he whispered against your mouth. “Just like that. You’re perfect.”

Heat flushed through you at the praise, at the way his voice had gone rougher. The kisses grew messier, your lips moving with more confidence now, matching his pace. Every time you faltered, he corrected you gently, with small murmurs of encouragement and the subtle press of his mouth showing you where to go.

Your hands slid down without thinking, from his shoulders to his chest, feeling the solid warmth beneath his hoodie. He sucked in a quiet breath at the touch but didn’t stop you. Instead, he kissed you harder, teeth catching lightly on your lip before soothing it with his tongue.

The air between you turned hot, the “lesson” dissolving into something far more urgent. The blanket slipped off your shoulders, pooling at your waist, and Jeongin shifted closer until your knees brushed, then pressed firmly together.

“Y/N…” He laughed softly, almost breathless. “Practice doesn’t usually feel like this.”

Before you could answer, he kissed you again, harder than before, pushing you back against the headboard as his hand braced beside you. The kiss turned hot, consuming, his tongue stroking yours until your thoughts dissolved into nothing but sensation.

Your fingers curled in his hoodie, pulling him closer, and he groaned low in his throat. The sound made your whole body jolt, heat pooling low in your stomach.

When he finally tore his mouth from yours, his lips were swollen, his breathing uneven. His eyes burned into yours, dark and unreadable.

“Do you want to stop?” he asked quietly, searching your face.

You shook your head, breathless. “No.”

His eyes darkened, a low sound catching in his throat. “Then I’ll keep going.”

And he did.

The kisses grew needier, deeper, your body pressed flush against his as his hands slid carefully along your sides. He didn’t push too far, didn’t take more than you were ready for — but every brush of his lips, every tug of his teeth, every warm press of his tongue against yours sent fire racing through you.

You clung to him, every thought dissolving into sensation, into the realization that Jeongin wasn’t just teaching you. He was showing you, showing you how it could feel when someone wanted you, when someone held you like you mattered.

The air between you felt dangerous, thick with heat neither of you knew how to handle. Jeongin’s lips were still swollen from kissing you, his chest rising and falling sharply as he pulled back just enough to catch his breath.

You were both silent, staring at each other, the hum of voices in the hall fading into nothing. For a moment, it was like the world outside his room didn’t exist — just the two of you, caught in the aftermath of something you weren’t supposed to cross.

You swallowed, nerves warring with the heat crawling up your spine. “But… if I’m going to learn… wouldn’t it be easier if you helped me? With… everything?”

The words felt dangerous as they left your lips, a confession and a request all at once.

Jeongin froze. His eyes searched yours, wide with shock before something darker, heavier, settled there. “Y/N…” His voice cracked, quiet but firm. “Do you know what you’re asking?”

You nodded, though your body trembled. “I don’t want it with anyone else. I trust you. If it’s you, it won’t be scary.”

His jaw tightened, restraint pulling at his features like a taut wire. He leaned closer, his forehead pressing to yours again, his lips brushing your skin as he murmured, “If we do this…i don’t think it’s just practice anymore.”

Your chest ached with the weight of his words, but your answer was steady. “I don’t want it to be.”

That broke him. His mouth claimed yours in a desperate kiss, all hesitation burned away as his grip on your waist tightened, pulling you flush against him. The sound he made, low, raw, almost pained, shot straight through you.

“Hands,” he murmured against your lips, catching your wrists gently and guiding them up to wrap around his neck. “Here. Hold on to me.”

Your fingers dug into the softness of his hair as he kissed you deeper, his tongue sliding against yours in slow, deliberate strokes. You followed clumsily at first, but every approving groan from his throat spurred you on, each one sending heat rushing low in your belly.

He shifted, pushing you gently back against the pillows until he was braced above you, his body hovering but close enough that you could feel every inch of him pressing into your curves.

His mouth trailed lower, hot kisses against your jaw, your neck, sucking lightly just below your ear until you gasped and arched beneath him. He groaned at the sound, his hand sliding beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers splaying across your stomach.

“Can I take this off?” he whispered, pausing to look into your eyes.

You nodded quickly, breathless. “Yes.”

He peeled the shirt away slowly, almost reverently, as though every inch of newly exposed skin was something sacred. His gaze swept over you, dark and hungry, but his hands stayed gentle as they cupped your sides.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, kissing your collarbone softly. “You don’t have to be scared. I’ll go slow. I’ll take care of you.”

The promise in his voice calmed the storm in your chest. You let him guide you, let him unclasp your bra with careful fingers before lowering his head to your chest, lips tracing over your skin until you were gasping and curling your hands into his hair.

Every touch was patient, every kiss deliberate, like he was learning you as much as you were learning him. He pulled back only long enough to strip his own hoodie and shirt, your wide eyes roaming over the lean muscle revealed.

Your hand reached out before you realized, fingertips grazing over his chest. He sucked in a breath, his muscles twitching beneath your touch, and then he caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Touch me as much as you want,” he whispered. “I want you to.”

Heat burned through you as you traced the lines of him, your nervous fingers exploring. He kissed you again, harder this time, like your touch undid him. His hands slid down, hooking into your shorts.

“Can I?” he asked again, his voice ragged.

“Yes,” you breathed, your body already arching toward him.

He slid them down slowly, along with your underwear, leaving you bare beneath him. His eyes darkened, his tongue darting across his lips as he took you in. “So beautiful,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your hip.

Your face burned, but the sincerity in his voice left no room for doubt.

When his fingers finally touched you, bare, gentle strokes between your thighs, you gasped, your whole body jolting. He paused instantly. “Okay?”

“Yes,” you whimpered, clinging to him.

He pressed a kiss to your jaw, whispering, “Good girl.”

The praise sent shivers down your spine as his fingers moved again, slow and teasing, circling until your hips lifted instinctively. He worked you patiently, carefully, listening to every sound you made, adjusting until your gasps turned into soft moans.

“Just like that,” he encouraged, his voice low, rough. “Don’t hold it in. Let me hear you.”

When his fingers slipped inside, you tensed, the stretch sharp and unfamiliar. He stilled immediately, kissing your temple. “Relax. Breathe. I’ve got you.”

You exhaled shakily, focusing on the steady rhythm of his touch, the soothing cadence of his voice. The discomfort faded, replaced by a molten heat that built steadily until you were whimpering his name.

“Jeongin…”

The sound of his name on your lips nearly undid him. He kissed you hard, swallowing your moans as he worked you until your body shook, until your release crashed over you with startling intensity.

You slumped against the pillows, trembling. He kissed you softly, stroking your hair back from your damp forehead. “Perfect,” he whispered. “You’re perfect.”

Before you could recover, he stripped off his sweats, your eyes widening at the sight of him fully. Your body tensed instinctively, nerves spiking.

He caught your chin gently, making you look at him. “Hey. You don’t have to be afraid. I’ll go slow. Tell me if it hurts, and I’ll stop. Okay?”

You nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “Okay.”

He settled between your thighs, guiding himself to your entrance. His forehead pressed to yours, his breath harsh. “Y/N. Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you whispered without hesitation.

He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, his groan muffled against your neck as your body stretched around him. You clutched his shoulders, gasping at the unfamiliar fullness, the sharp edge of discomfort.

He stilled instantly, chest heaving. “Breathe. Just breathe. I’ll wait.”

It took long moments, but eventually the sting eased, your body relaxing beneath him. You nodded faintly. “Okay. Move.”

He pulled out gently before sliding back in, setting a careful rhythm that let you adjust. The pain dulled with each thrust, replaced by warmth, by a rising pressure that made your toes curl.

“You feel incredible,” he rasped, kissing you deeply. “So tight… taking me so well.”

The words, the way his voice broke around them, sent sparks through you. Soon your hips lifted to meet his, your moans spilling freely as pleasure overtook the nerves.

His pace quickened, his dominance slipping through as his grip tightened on your hips, holding you firmly beneath him. “fuck,” he groaned against your mouth. “No one else gets to have you like this.”

“I don’t want anyone else,” you gasped, nails digging into his back. “Just you.”

That broke what little restraint he had left. He thrust harder, deeper, his kisses frantic as he drove you both higher. The heat coiled tight in your belly until it snapped, your body trembling violently as your climax tore through you.

Jeongin followed seconds later, burying himself deep as he groaned your name, his body shuddering against yours.

Silence fell, broken only by your heavy breaths and the thundering of your hearts. He kissed you softly, over and over, until the storm faded.

“You okay?” he murmured, brushing hair from your face.

You nodded, still dazed. “Yeah… more than okay.”

He smiled faintly, though his eyes burned with something deeper. “Good. Because you should never think you needed anyone else for this. It’s always been you and me.”

Tears pricked at your eyes — not from sadness, but from the overwhelming clarity of it. You didn’t need Sunghoon, or anyone else. You needed him.

You cupped his cheek, whispering, “It’s always been you.”

And when he kissed you again, slow and tender, you knew it was the truth.

A/N: comment to be added to the tag list

@sammhisphere

@penguins-in-space @skyearby @hwangjoanna

[hyunjinsmuze]

Let Me Watch

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader x Han Jisung

Warnings: threesome, voyeurism oral sex, mxm and fxm, no protection

Summary: Chan has always been steady, but lately he’s been acting strange—watching a little too closely when Han’s around. When the truth comes out, you realize your boyfriend doesn’t just want you… he wants to watch you with him

Word Count: ~7.5k

You hadn’t expected much when you first met Chan. It was through mutual friends, the kind of introduction you forget about five minutes later. Except you didn’t. He was warm in a way that stuck with you, a smile that seemed too genuine for someone you’d just met. He asked questions and actually listened to your answers. You caught yourself thinking about him later, replaying little pieces of conversation like they were more important than they were.

The friendship turned into something more before either of you really said the words. You just… gravitated to each other. Long nights spent talking until your voices went hoarse, walking home in the cold and him pretending not to shiver so you’d keep his jacket. When he kissed you for the first time, it wasn’t some movie-perfect build up. It was quiet, simple. He leaned in, you met him halfway, and it felt like you’d already been kissing him forever.

Being with Chan never felt forced. He wasn’t over the top, but he was steady. He remembered the things you said in passing, the little details most people forget. He texted you reminders to eat when you got busy. He noticed when you were quiet and never pressed too hard, just sat next to you until you talked. Falling for him wasn’t dramatic. It was like exhaling after holding your breath.

Dating Chan meant being folded into his group of friends sooner or later. They were loud, close in a way that felt almost like family. The first time you hung out with all of them you were nervous, but they didn’t give you a chance to linger on it. Jokes flew across the room, someone shoving takeout menus into your hands, another offering you the last slice of pizza like it was a test you passed by taking it.

Seungmin was the one who made you laugh first. He cracked a joke at Chan’s expense that had the whole room groaning, and the way he grinned at you, waiting for your reaction, made you laugh harder than you meant to. He seemed pleased with himself, and you didn’t mind. He was quick like that, sharp but light hearted. The kind of person who filled in silences without making it feel heavy.

It wasn’t just one of them, though. The whole group had a rhythm, a constant back and forth you found yourself pulled into. It was easy to see why Chan loved them, and why they leaned on him so much. He was their centre of gravity.

It became a regular thing—people dropping by your apartment, sometimes just one or two, sometimes the whole crowd. The air filled with laughter, arguments over video game scores, debates over who got to pick the next movie.

You didn’t always join in. Sometimes you sat back on the couch, legs tucked under you, watching Chan light up in ways he didn’t always when it was just the two of you. Around his friends, his shoulders were looser, his smile easier. You liked that version of him.

More often than not, Han ended up on the couch next to you. He never asked, he just flopped down like he belonged there. Half the time he was too busy trash talking someone across the room to notice how close he’d landed. He was comfortable like that, like being part of the furniture.

“Don’t let him fool you,” Chan would call from the floor when Han was being particularly ridiculous. “He’s not that funny.”

You’d roll your eyes, laugh anyway, and Han would wink like he’d won something. It was harmless, easy, nothing worth thinking about.

When everyone left, the apartment always felt twice as quiet. You and Chan would move around each other automatically—clearing glasses, folding blankets, putting things back where they belonged. At some point he’d pull you toward him, tucking you into his chest, pressing his lips to your hair.

“Thanks for putting up with the chaos,” he’d murmur.

You’d smile against him. “I like it.”

And you did. You liked the noise, the mess, the way it showed you parts of him you might not have seen otherwise. The way he teased back, the way he softened when one of them was down, the way they all trusted him to keep them steady.

Still, the best part was always when the door finally clicked shut and it was just the two of you again. His arms, his warmth, the quiet certainty that you belonged right where you were.

At that point, everything felt simple. You and Chan, steady and solid. His friends weaving in and out of your lives, adding laughter and noise. Nights that ended with your head on his chest, his heartbeat steady against your ear.

If there was more to notice, more to question, you hadn’t seen it yet.

For you, it was enough.

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At first, you didn’t think much of it. Chan had always been the type to keep his door open, to tell friends to come over whenever. But in the weeks that followed, you started noticing that one face appeared more than the others.

Han.

It wasn’t every night, but it was often enough that you started expecting the knock, the sound of his voice in the hallway, and the way he always made himself at home on your couch.

Chan never seemed surprised to see him. In fact, he always looked a little too pleased.

“Han’s coming over,” he’d mention offhand, like it wasn’t already obvious. Or, “I told Han to swing by.”

You didn’t mind. Han was easy to be around. He filled in the silences with jokes, dragged Chan out of his broody moods, and kept the atmosphere light. If anything, his presence made evenings more fun. But what you didn’t notice yet—what you couldn’t know—was that for Chan, this was exactly the point.

One Friday evening, the three of you ended up watching some random action movie none of you were paying attention to. You were curled against Chan, his arm warm around your shoulders, while Han sprawled on the other end of the couch with a bowl of popcorn.

Halfway through, Han leaned across to pass you the bowl. Your fingers brushed his when you took it, and you laughed when he immediately accused you of “rigging it” by fishing out the biggest pieces.

Chan chuckled too, but when you tilted your head up to look at him, he wasn’t laughing at the joke. His eyes were on your hand where it had brushed Han’s. For a split second his expression shifted—sharp, almost hungry—before he caught himself and smiled at you like nothing was wrong.

“Don’t let her get away with it,” he teased Han, pressing a kiss against your hair. “She’ll steal all the good ones.”

The air felt normal enough, so you let it go. What you didn’t notice was the way Chan shifted slightly under the blanket, pressing his thighs together, hiding the way his body had reacted.

It kept happening in little ways.

Game nights where you and Han ended up shoulder to shoulder, leaning forward, laughing when you bumped into each other in your rush to win. Your thigh brushing his when he dropped onto the couch too close, too casually. Even simple moments in the kitchen, reaching for the same glass at the same time, your hands knocking together as you both laughed.

You thought it was harmless. You didn’t see anything in it.

But Chan was always there. Sometimes with his arm clamped firmly around your waist, sometimes pulling you down into his lap halfway through the evening, sometimes kissing your shoulder like he couldn’t resist. He wasn’t subtle about claiming you, but it didn’t feel like jealousy. It felt like… intensity.

And every time, you noticed the heat in his gaze when he watched you and Han laugh together, the way his chest rose a little faster when you leaned close to Han without realizing.

Once, you caught him glance across you at Han. Not a warning look. Not protective. Something else entirely—something you didn’t recognize yet. And Han, to your surprise, didn’t flinch. He only arched an eyebrow back at Chan, the corner of his mouth twitching like they’d shared some unspoken joke.

You shook your head and focused back on the game, missing the way Chan shifted uncomfortably, trying to adjust the hardness pressing against his jeans.

One afternoon you came home to find Han already there, sitting cross-legged on the floor while Chan leaned back on the couch, laptop balanced on his knees. They were laughing about something you’d missed, voices bright, comfortable.

“Finally,” Han said when he saw you, dramatic relief in his voice. “Save me from this guy lecturing me about compression settings.”

Chan glanced up, smile softening immediately when he saw you. “Hey, baby.” He reached for your hand as you passed, tugging you down onto the couch.

As you settled against him, you felt the hard line pressing into your hip. You frowned slightly, shifting, but Chan only kissed your temple like nothing was unusual.

Han noticed. You didn’t.

Another night, another movie. This time Han came back from the kitchen and dropped down beside you instead of his usual corner. The couch wasn’t small, but it wasn’t big either, and the shift meant his thigh brushed yours.

It should’ve been nothing. Just closeness. You didn’t move away, and neither did he.

But Chan noticed. He always noticed.

His arm around you tightened, pulling you closer against his chest. His breath hitched, just enough for you to feel it, before he pressed a long kiss into your hair. His other hand stroked absent patterns against your side, soothing, steady—but the bulge pressing against your lower back betrayed him.

When you glanced up questioningly, his eyes were already on you. He smiled, kissed you again, and whispered, “Love you.”

It felt like reassurance. You didn’t realize it was excitement.

The more it happened, the clingier Chan became. He pulled you into his lap more often, kissed you longer in front of Han, touched you like he was proving something.

You teased him about it once, nudging his shoulder. “You’re extra cuddly lately.”

He grinned, leaning in to kiss you. “What? Can’t a guy want to hold his girlfriend?”

You laughed, shaking your head, and settled against him. You didn’t see the way his eyes darted past you to Han, who smirked knowingly before focusing back on the TV.

Later that night, as you stretched out to grab the remote, your shirt riding up slightly, Chan let out a low sound behind you. You turned, surprised, catching him shifting again, eyes fixed on where Han’s gaze had accidentally lingered on your waist.

He caught your stare, winked quickly, then pulled you down into a kiss before you could ask questions.

For you, these weeks felt balanced. Comfortable.

You had Chan steady, affectionate, always reminding you with every touch that you were his. You had Han—loud, funny, an easy friend who made evenings brighter.

If Chan’s clinginess felt more urgent than before, you chalked it up to him being affectionate. If you sometimes caught something unreadable in his eyes when you and Han laughed together, you brushed it off.

You didn’t know yet what he wanted. What he was craving.

All you knew was that life felt full. Warm.

And if the ground beneath your feet was shifting, if Chan’s desire was twisting into something stranger, something he hadn’t told you yet—you were still blissfully unaware.

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You weren’t the type to overthink things. At least, not usually. But lately… something about Chan’s behavior had been sticking in your mind.

It wasn’t just that Han was around more. It wasn’t just that Chan seemed clingier, touchier. It was the way his eyes lingered when you and Han laughed at the same joke, the way he shifted against you when Han’s leg brushed yours, the way his smile sometimes looked sharper than soft.

You didn’t want to believe it was weird. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe you were imagining things. But then there were moments—tiny flashes—that unsettled you.

Like the night you leaned across Han to grab the remote, brushing his arm in the process. When you turned back, Chan was watching, pupils blown, his jaw tight. He didn’t look angry. He looked… aroused.

And then, just as quickly, he winked at Han.

Han hadn’t reacted much, just raised his brows like he wasn’t surprised. You’d swallowed hard, forcing your attention back to the TV, but your thoughts had been loud all night.

You didn’t say anything to Chan. Not yet. But the questions were stacking up.

He could tell you were starting to notice.

The way your eyes sometimes lingered on him after those little moments, the frown tugging at your lips like you were trying to puzzle him out. He didn’t mind. In fact, part of him wanted you to see.

But not too soon. Not before he set it up right.

That night, after you’d gone to bed, he lingered in the kitchen with Han. The place was quiet except for the hum of the fridge, shadows stretching across the counter.

Han leaned back against it, arms crossed, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. “You’re not exactly subtle, you know.”

Chan huffed a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah? And you’re not exactly complaining.”

Han tilted his head, studying him. “I figured something was going on. You’ve been watching her like—” he cut himself off, grinning, “—well, let’s just say it’s not hard to guess.”

Chan’s mouth curled. He hesitated for a beat, then asked, “What do you think of her?”

Han blinked, caught off guard by the directness. “Y/N?”

“Yeah.” Chan’s voice was steady, low. “Be honest.”

Han shrugged, pretending to think, though his expression gave him away. “She’s great. Funny. Sweet. Easy to be around. Honestly… she’s hot, man. I’d have to be blind not to notice.”

Chan’s chest tightened, not with jealousy but with something hotter, darker. Exactly what he wanted to hear.

He leaned in slightly, his tone dropping. “I want you to. Notice her.”

Han’s brows lifted. “You mean—”

“I want her with you,” Chan said, the words spilling out easier than he expected. “I want to watch. I want to see her with you. I want her to want it.”

Han stared for a beat, then let out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s… not what I expected you to say tonight.”

Chan smirked faintly, though his pulse was hammering. “You’ve picked up on it already, right? The way I’ve been… letting things happen. The touches. The closeness. She’s noticing, even if she doesn’t realize it yet. She’ll get curious. That’s how I’ll bring it up.”

Han rubbed the back of his neck, still watching him. “And you’re sure she won’t just freak out?”

“I know her,” Chan said firmly. “She trusts me. And I’ll make sure she knows she’s safe. It won’t happen unless she agrees. But she will. I can see it in her eyes already.”

Han let out a breath, then chuckled. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

“Maybe,” Chan admitted, lips curving. “So? Are you in?”

Han was quiet for a long moment, then finally nodded. “Yeah. I’m in.”

The relief that washed over Chan was electric. He clapped Han on the shoulder, grinning in a way he hadn’t in weeks. “Good. Then we wait. She’ll come around. I’ll make sure of it.”

Han shook his head, still laughing softly. “You’re seriously something else, man.”

Maybe. But Chan’s mind was already racing ahead—to the look on your face when you realized what he wanted, to the moment you gave in, to the sight of you with Han while he finally got what he’d been craving.

For now, though, he’d play the game. Keep touching you, keep letting those little moments happen, keep letting you notice just enough to wonder.

It was only a matter of time.

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The night started like all the others. A knock on the door, Han’s familiar voice calling out before he even stepped inside.

You moved quickly to greet him, smiling as you wrapped your arms around him in a friendly hug. It wasn’t unusual—you hugged all of Chan’s friends—but Han always hugged you back a little tighter, his laugh warm in your ear.

When you pulled away and turned back toward the living room, your steps faltered.

Chan was standing there, trying to play it casual, but there was no hiding it. His eyes were dark, his jaw tight, and the bulge pressing against his jeans was impossible to miss.

Heat shot through you, equal parts shock and confusion.

Han followed your gaze, and when he saw it too, his lips curled into the faintest smirk. Not mocking, not surprised—just amused, like he’d expected this all along. His eyes flicked between you and Chan knowingly before he strolled past, heading straight for the couch like nothing had happened.

Your pulse was racing, but you forced yourself to move, pretending you hadn’t noticed even though the image burned behind your eyelids.

The night passed in a blur.

The three of you sat through a movie you couldn’t remember, your body tense against Chan’s as he wrapped an arm around you, pressing a kiss to your temple like everything was normal. Han cracked jokes from the other side of the couch, his laughter filling the room. Every now and then, when you dared to glance up, you caught him looking at you with that same faint smirk.

By the time Han left, you were wound so tight you felt like you might snap.

“See you, Y/N,” Han said at the door, his tone light, easy. But there was something in his eyes when he looked at you—something that told you he knew exactly what you’d seen, exactly what you were thinking.

You mumbled a quick goodbye, closing the door behind him.

And then it was just you and Chan.

You turned to face him, heart thudding. “Chan.”

He smiled softly, already stepping toward you, hands reaching for your waist. “Hey.”

You stopped him with a hand on his chest. “Don’t. I… I saw.”

He froze. For a second, the air between you was too heavy, too silent. Then, instead of answering, he leaned in and kissed you.

His mouth was soft but urgent, his hands pulling you close like he could melt the moment away. Normally, you would’ve kissed him back, let yourself sink into him. But not this time.

You pulled away, breathless. “No. Don’t try to distract me.”

His jaw clenched, eyes flickering with something you couldn’t read. He held your gaze for a long moment, then sighed, his forehead pressing briefly against yours.

“You saw?”

You swallowed hard. “You were hard. From… me and Han.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, his lips curved into a small, almost shy smile. “Yeah.”

Your stomach flipped. “Why? Why would you—”

“I like it,” he interrupted quietly, his voice steady, deliberate. “I like seeing you with him. I like watching you get close. It turns me on more than anything.”

You stared at him, words caught in your throat.

He reached up, cupping your cheek. “I want it, Y/N. I want you with him. I want to watch you. To see you with him right in front of me.”

Your pulse pounded in your ears. “You mean… you want me to sleep with him. While you watch.”

“Yes.” His eyes burned into yours, no hesitation, no shame. “That’s exactly what I want.”

You pulled back slightly, shaking your head as if it might clear the fog in your brain. “Chan, that’s… I don’t understand. Why would you want that? You’re my boyfriend. Why would you want me with someone else?”

He stepped closer again, his voice low, almost desperate. “Because it’s you. Because I trust him, and I trust you, and the thought of seeing you like that—seeing you taken apart right in front of me—it drives me crazy. Not because I don’t want you. Because I want you so much it overflows.”

Your mouth was dry, your chest tight. “That’s insane.”

“Maybe,” he admitted with a soft laugh, though his eyes never wavered. “But it’s what I want.”

You hugged your arms around yourself, trying to steady your breathing. “And Han? Does he know?”

For a split second, Chan’s smile gave him away.

“Oh my god.” Your heart leapt into your throat. “He does know. He knew tonight, didn’t he? That’s why he—”

“He knows,” Chan confirmed simply. “And he’s fine with it. More than fine.”

You pressed a hand to your forehead, dizzy with the thought. “You planned this.”

“I didn’t force anything,” Chan said quickly, his hands brushing your arms, trying to soothe you. “But yeah, I told him. I wanted to make sure he’d be okay with it if… if it ever happened. I wouldn’t push you into it, Y/N. Not ever. But if you wanted it too…” His voice dropped. “It’d be everything I’ve ever wanted.”

You stared at him, struggling to process.

Part of you wanted to be angry, to tell him how crazy this was, how insane it sounded for your boyfriend to want you with someone else. But another part—the part you didn’t want to admit to yourself—felt heat pooling low in your stomach, your body responding before your mind could.

The image flashed unbidden in your head: Han’s hands on you, Chan watching from across the room, his eyes dark and hungry.

You squeezed your thighs together, cursing yourself silently.

“Y/N,” Chan murmured, tilting your chin up. “Talk to me. What are you thinking?”

You forced a shaky laugh. “I’m thinking my boyfriend’s a freak.”

His grin widened, unbothered. “Maybe.” He kissed your forehead, gentle. “But I’m your freak.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing him off. “I can’t—Chan, I can’t think about this right now.”

“Okay,” he said simply, kissing your temple again before letting you go. “That’s okay. You don’t have to.”

Later that night, you lay in bed beside him, your body tense under the covers. His breathing evened out quickly, but yours stayed shallow, your mind running circles around itself.

You should’ve been disgusted. You should’ve been unsettled. And maybe you were, a little. But the truth—the secret truth you refused to say out loud—was that the thought had your body betraying you.

Every time you closed your eyes, the image replayed: Han’s smirk, Chan’s dark gaze, the way his cock strained against his jeans when he saw you close to another man.

You shifted under the sheets, thighs pressing together, a pulse of heat between your legs. You hated yourself for it, hated the way your body ached, hated that you were wet from the very thought of what Chan had confessed.

You turned your face into the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut.

It didn’t matter. You wouldn’t tell him. You’d sleep it off. You’d brush it away in the morning.

But deep down, you knew you wouldn’t forget.

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You’d been restless for days. No matter how many times you told yourself to drop it, Chan confession stayed lodged in your mind, replaying like a song you couldn’t escape. I want to watch you with him.

It made no sense—your boyfriend wanting to see you with his best friend—but the more you turned it over, the more your body betrayed you. A single intrusive image of Hap’s lips against yours, his hands gripping your hips while Chan sat in the corner, eyes glued to the scene… it was enough to make you wet even when you tried to shake it away.

Tonight, you couldn’t deny it anymore.

Chan was sprawled on the couch, phone in hand, when you walked into the living room. He glanced up at you with that lazy, teasing smile that always made your chest flutter.

“Hey, baby,” he drawled. “You look serious.”

You stood there, heart pounding, your mouth suddenly dry. “I… I’ve been thinking.”

His eyebrow arched. “Yeah?”

You swallowed hard, then finally let it spill: “I’ll do it. With Han. If you really want me to… I’ll let you watch.”

For a beat, the room froze. Chan’s phone slipped from his fingers and hit the cushion with a soft thud. His jaw clenched, his nostrils flared, and then his lips parted into the kind of grin that was half relief, half feral hunger.

“Fuck, baby,” he rasped, pushing up from the couch in one fluid motion. His hands were on your waist before you could blink, dragging you against him. He kissed you hard, messy, like he was already thanking you for a gift he’d been dying for.

“You mean it?” he asked, breathless.

“Yes.”

Chan groaned into your neck, grinding his already hard cock against your hip. “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear that.”

Before you could reply, he pulled back, excitement buzzing in his veins. “Go grab some food. Anything. Just give me, like… twenty minutes.”

Confused but too flustered to question, you slipped on your shoes and left.

The moment the door shut, Chan was on his phone, calling Han. His voice was low and urgent. “It’s happening. She said yes.”

There was a pause on the other end, then Han’s laugh, light but nervous. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious. Get over here now.”

Han hesitated. “You’re really sure you want this?”

Chan’s lips curled. “More than anything. I’ll sit back. I’ll watch. Just… do it with her. Make her feel good. Let me see it.”

Another pause, then Han exhaled hard. “Alright. I’ll be there.”

By the time you returned, food bag dangling from your hand, Chan was already waiting by the door. His eyes were wild, cheeks flushed, his whole body humming with energy.

“Upstairs,” he said, taking the bag from you and setting it aside. His hand pressed to the small of your back as he guided you up the steps, heart hammering against your spine.

The bedroom door was open. And there, perched on the edge of the bed, was Han.

He looked up at you, nervous but smiling, his hands clasped loosely between his knees. The sight of him waiting made your stomach flip violently.

Chan leaned down, lips brushing your ear. “Remember, baby. You’re mine. But tonight, I’m gonna let you give yourself to him.”

Your throat went dry, your legs trembling. Han stood slowly, his eyes flicking from you to Chan and back. “You’re sure?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “I… yeah. I’m sure.”

Chan stepped away, moving toward the chair in the corner. He sat, legs spread, already hard under his sweats, one hand resting on his thigh as he watched the two of you. His breathing was rough, his eyes hooded, fixed entirely on you.

The room felt like it was shrinking. Han stepped closer, his hand lifting to brush your cheek. “If you want me to stop…”

“I’ll tell you,” you whispered.

He leaned in. The kiss was hesitant at first, lips soft, testing, but the heat between you ignited quickly. Within seconds it grew hungrier, tongues sliding, teeth grazing, your hands gripping the front of his shirt.

Chan groaned from the chair, the sound low and raw. You felt the heat spike between your thighs instantly, knowing he was watching every flick of Han’s tongue against yours.

Han’s hands slipped to your waist, tugging you flush against him. You felt the hardness pressing against his jeans, your stomach clenching with want. He deepened the kiss, his teeth catching your lower lip, sucking it before letting it go.

You gasped softly, chest heaving. Han's eyes burned into yours. “Fuck… you taste good.”

From the corner, Chan exhaled sharply, his palm dragging over the bulge in his sweats. “That’s it, baby. Let him kiss you.”

Han tugged gently at your shirt, his fingers brushing your stomach as he pulled it up and over your head. Your bra barely contained you, nipples already pebbling. His thumbs grazed over the peaks, and you moaned into his mouth.

Chan shifted in the chair, groaning under his breath, his hand squeezing himself through the fabric.

Han’s lips travelled down your neck, sucking lightly, leaving marks along your collarbone. His hands slid behind your back, unclasping your bra in one swift movement. He dropped it to the floor, then pulled one nipple into his mouth, tongue circling, teeth scraping lightly.

You cried out, clutching his hair, your hips pressing against his thigh for friction.

Chan’s chest rose and fell heavily, his eyes locked on Han’s mouth tugging at your breast. His knuckles whitened as he stroked himself, barely restraining the urge to jump in.

Han’s mouth trailed lower, over your stomach, down to the waistband of your jeans. His eyes flicked up at you. “Can I?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

He unbuttoned them, tugging them down along with your panties. You stood bare before him, heat rushing to your cheeks, your body trembling with both nerves and lust.

Chan let out a strangled groan, his hand moving faster, eyes burning into the sight of you naked before Han.

Han guided you gently onto the mattress, parting your thighs as he settled between them. He kissed your inner thighs slowly, teasingly, each press of his lips closer to your aching center.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured.

Then his tongue pressed against your clit, a slow, deliberate lick that made your whole body jolt.

You gasped, hips lifting, fingers digging into the sheets. “Oh, fuck—”

Chan’s groan from the corner was loud now, ragged. He had his cock fully in his hand, stroking in long, rough pulls as he watched Han’s mouth disappear between your legs.

Han licked again, circling, flicking, then sucking your clit between his lips. His fingers slid inside you, curling upward until you cried out. He moved in tandem, tongue and fingers working together, drawing wet sounds from your body that made Chan bite back curses.

Your thighs clenched around Han’s head, your body rocking against his mouth. “Oh my god, Hap—”

Chan's voice cut in, low and wrecked. “That’s it, baby. Ride his face. Show me how good he makes you feel.”

You couldn’t stop. The tension built fast, sharp, unbearable. Han’s tongue flicked harder, his fingers pounding inside you, and your orgasm ripped through you with a scream. Your back arched, hips jerking as wave after wave of pleasure consumed you.

Han pulled back slowly, his lips glistening, your slick smeared across his mouth and chin. He licked his lips shamelessly, eyes burning into yours. “You taste… fucking amazing.”

You collapsed against the bed, trembling, trying to catch your breath. Hap crawled up, kissing you messily, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

Chan moaned loudly, almost violently, his fist pumping faster. His face was twisted with arousal, his chest slick with sweat. He hadn’t touched either of you, but he looked like he was already close just from watching.

You pulled Han closer, your heart racing, your whole body still humming with the aftermath.

From the corner, Chan's dark voice sliced through the haze: “You’re mine. Both of you. But tonight… fuck, tonight you’re perfect.”

And for the first time, you realized this was only the beginning.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The room still smelled like sex. Your thighs trembled where Han had left them spread, your skin tingling where his mouth had just ruined you. You were still gasping when you heard the scrape of a chair.

Chan.

He stood, towering, his cock thick and flushed, hanging heavy in his hand. His knuckles were white from the way he’d been stroking himself, but his eyes — dark, blown wide with lust — were fixed on you.

“Fuck,” he rasped, voice breaking. “I can’t just sit there anymore.”

Han glanced up, chest heaving, lips shiny with your slick. He didn’t move, but the way his tongue darted to taste you again told you he didn’t regret a thing.

Chan crossed the room in a few strides. He didn’t climb on the bed — not yet. Instead, he cupped your face with one trembling hand and leaned down, kissing you like a man starved. You whimpered into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue as he licked inside desperately.

“You let him eat you out,” Chan murmured against your lips, his forehead pressing to yours. “You let me watch. God, baby, you’re perfect.”

Your hand found his cock, hot and throbbing in your grip. He groaned loudly, hips jerking into your palm. “Open your mouth,” he ordered, voice hoarse.

You obeyed.

Chan guided the head of his cock to your lips, smearing precum across them. He pushed in slow, groaning as the wet heat of your mouth closed around him.

“That’s it, baby,” he gasped, his fingers tightening in your hair. “Fuck, look at you… with him still between your legs.”

Because Han hadn’t moved. In fact, Han’s hand slid higher again, fingers pressing back into your soaked cunt, curling until your thighs clenched. The angle had you choking around Chan’s cock as another moan tore from your throat.

“Holy fuck,” Chan growled, hips rolling shallowly into your mouth. “She’s moaning on my cock while you finger her.”

Han smirked faintly, glancing up at him. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

Chan’s jaw flexed. He thrust a little deeper, his tip hitting the back of your throat, and you gagged softly, eyes watering. He yanked back just enough to let you breathe, then slid in again.

You were drowning in sensation — Han’s fingers pistoning into you, Chan fucking your mouth, the two of them circling you like predators who finally decided to share.

It happened almost by accident. Chan pulled back to let you gasp for air, his hand still tangled in your hair. Han shifted up your body, kissing your jaw, and for a moment Chan and Han’s faces were only inches apart.

Their eyes locked.

You saw the tension snap in real time. Chan tilted his head first, crashing their mouths together. It was fierce, sloppy, desperate — a clash of tongues and teeth above you. Han groaned into it, his hand never leaving your cunt, still thrusting into you even as Chan devoured his mouth.

The sight alone made your hips buck. Two men kissing over you, sharing the taste of you on Han’s tongue, Chan moaning like he’d lost control.

“Fuck,” Chan panted as they broke apart, their foreheads pressed together. “You taste like her.”

“Yeah,” Han muttered, licking his lips. “I could get addicted.”

Chan slid onto the bed finally, pressing his knees into the mattress beside your head. His cock slapped against your lips again, wet and flushed. “Open up, baby. Don’t make me beg.”

You parted your mouth, and he slid back in, fucking deeper this time, his groans vibrating through his chest. Han’s fingers pumped harder inside you, his thumb circling your clit mercilessly.

The mix was devastating. Your body writhed, your throat stretched around Chan’s cock, Han dragging moans from your soaked cunt.

“She’s shaking,” Han muttered, his other hand gripping your thigh tight.

“Make her come again,” Chan growled. “Do it while I’m down her throat.”

Han’s smirk widened. He twisted his fingers just right, pressing that spot that made your vision go white, and you convulsed violently, climax tearing through you again.

You screamed around Chan’s cock, gagging as you did, tears spilling from the corners of your eyes. He groaned loudly, pulling out just enough to let spit and slick drip down your chin.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, rubbing his cock across your swollen lips. “Messy little slut.”

Chan leaned down suddenly, grabbing Han’s jaw and kissing him again, even filthier this time. You watched through hazy eyes as they swapped your spit between them, Chan moaning into Han’s mouth while his cock rested heavy against your cheek.

Han broke the kiss to murmur against his lips, “Let me fuck her.”

Chan’s pupils blew even wider. He nodded, jaw tight. “Do it. But I’m not letting go of her mouth.”

Han stripped his jeans off in seconds, cock hard and dripping. He positioned himself between your thighs, lining up.

“Ready?” he asked you softly.

You nodded frantically, already desperate.

The first push was slow, stretching you inch by inch. You cried out against Chan’s cock as Han filled you, your body arching off the mattress.

Chan groaned above you. “Holy fuck, Han. Look at her take you.”

Han buried himself to the hilt, his head falling forward, his breath harsh. “She’s so tight—fuck.”

Chan shoved back into your mouth, moaning raggedly as the rhythm built: Han fucking into you, Chan using your throat, the two of them occasionally kissing above you while they ruined you together.

Han’s thrusts grew deeper, harder, his hips slamming into you with a steady rhythm that had your whole body rocking up the bed. Every snap of his hips shoved a needy moan up your throat — only to be swallowed by Chan’s cock as it slid deep into your mouth.

You were overwhelmed, tears streaking down your face, drool dripping past your lips, your body strung so tight you felt like you’d shatter.

Chan’s voice cracked above you, raw with arousal. “You feel that, baby? You’re getting split open on his cock while you choke on mine. You’re fucking perfect.”

Han groaned low in his chest, his eyes squeezing shut as he bottomed out again. “She’s so wet—fuck, she’s clenching so hard already.”

Chan tightened his grip in your hair and angled your head back, fucking your throat with longer, sharper strokes. His moans grew guttural, mixing with Han’s grunts and the wet slap of skin on skin.

You gagged, choked, came up gasping for air — only for Chan to shove back inside. He pulled out just far enough to let strings of spit stretch from your lips to his cock, groaning at the sight.

“Messy girl,” he rasped. “God, Han, look at her. Look at what we’re doing to her.”

Han slowed for a moment, leaning down to catch your lips. He kissed you hot and desperate, tasting Chan’s cock still lingering on your tongue. The angle made him grind deeper into you, and you moaned into his mouth, your cunt clenching violently around him.

Bang let out a dark laugh. “Sharing my girl, huh?”

Without warning, he leaned down and kissed Han again. This time, it wasn’t hesitant. Their tongues tangled, sloppy and wet above you, groaning into each other’s mouths as Han kept thrusting inside you.

You clenched at the sight, your body pulsing. Watching them lose themselves in each other while using you as the anchor was too much.

Han broke the kiss just long enough to pant against Chan’s lips, “You want to taste yourself?”

Chan growled low and crashed their mouths together again, sucking your taste straight from Han’s tongue while his cock twitched in your mouth.

Han pulled back only to lift one of your legs over his shoulder, changing the angle. The new thrusts had him hitting deeper, grinding against that perfect spot until you were screaming around Chan’s cock.

Your body jerked, your nails clawing at the sheets, your throat stuffed full while your pussy clenched hard around Han’s length.

“She’s close,” Han grunted, his pace ruthless now.

“Good,” Chan moaned, thrusting harder into your mouth. “Make her cum on your cock. I want to feel her throat tighten while she does.”

The demand was too much. Han’s thumb found your clit, circling fast, and the orgasm ripped through you like lightning. Your vision went white, your body convulsing, muffled screams strangled by Chan’s cock.

Chan hissed through his teeth, pulling out just long enough to watch you writhe and squirt down Han’s thighs, your juices slicking his cock as he pounded through your climax.

“Holy fuck,” Chan groaned, palming himself desperately. “She’s soaking you.”

Chan climbed onto the bed fully now, kneeling beside you. His cock, slick with your spit, brushed Han’s hip as he leaned down.

“You want more?” he asked, voice dark. “Or do you want to see how she looks with both of us inside her?”

Han’s eyes widened, his hips stuttering, but the way his cock twitched inside you gave away the answer. “Fuck—yeah. Yeah, I want that.”

Your body trembled at the thought, overstimulated and still desperate. You nodded frantically. “Yes—please.”

Chan smirked wickedly. “Good girl.”

He kissed Han again — slower this time, tongue dragging, filthy and hot. Then he pulled back, guiding Han to still inside you. Chan sat you up and moved behind you, he positioned himself lower, pressing the tip of his cock against your entrance alongside Han’s.

You gasped, the stretch unreal as he slowly pushed in beside his friend, the two of them groaning loudly as they filled you together.

“Holy shit,” Han muttered, his jaw tight. “She’s so fucking tight—”

Chan snarled against his throat. “And she’s mine.”

The rhythm was chaotic at first — both of them shifting, finding the pace, your cunt stretched and stuffed full, every nerve ending alight. Soon it synced: Han’s thrusts deep and heavy, Chan grinding into you alongside him, their hips slamming together as they fucked you full.

You screamed, nails clawing at their shoulders, your body overwhelmed by the stretch and the heat.

“Take it, baby,” Chan growled in your ear, his breath ragged. “Take both of us.”

Han’s hand found your clit again, circling mercilessly. Your whole body spasmed, tears streaming down your face as another orgasm tore through you, soaking the sheets.

“Fuck!” Han shouted, hips jerking as you clamped down around him.

Chan groaned gutturally, his head thrown back. “She’s milking us both.”

Chan pulled out suddenly, stroking himself furiously. “On her face,” he barked, glancing at Han. “Let’s ruin her.”

Han groaned and pulled out too, stroking his slick cock as he hovered above you. Both of them stroked in tandem, eyes locked on your tear-streaked, wrecked face.

You opened your mouth willingly, tongue out, moaning for them.

Chan cursed loudly, his cock jerking as he spilled across your lips and cheeks, hot spurts painting your face. Han followed seconds later, groaning your name as his cum streaked across your tongue and chin, mixing with Chan’s.

They collapsed around you, panting, their bodies slick with sweat.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

For a long moment, no one spoke. The only sounds were gasps for breath, the distant hum of the city outside the window.

Then Chan reached for you, gentle now, wiping your face with a discarded shirt. He kissed your temple softly, his voice raw but tender. “You okay, baby?”

You nodded weakly, your body limp but warm in his arms.

Han brushed your hair back from your damp face, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to your forehead. “You’re incredible,” he murmured.

Chan met his eyes over your body. Something unspoken passed between them — not regret, not shame. Just raw satisfaction.

He kissed you again, slow and deep, tasting Han still lingering on your tongue. “We’ll take care of you,” he promised. “Always.”

And wrapped between both their bodies, utterly spent and blissful, you believed him.

@penguins-in-space @sammhisphere @skyearby @hwangjoanna

A/N; hii im back comment if you want to be added to thebtag list, and send requests!!

@delusionalidlestan request

[hyunjinsmuze]

Hie hie loved your fics 🫶🏼

I was wondering, do you only write for skz? Or are ya open to writing for other groups too? And would ya write fics with mild smut? (I hope it's not a rude question)

Have a nice day hun!

thank you so much <3333

and yea i’m open to other groups like enha, bts, ateez, txt ect!!! you can send them too my page i’d love to take in requests

[hyunjinsmuze]

Game over, baby

warnings: unprotected sex (don’t do that!), rough felix, dirty talk

contains: ⛔️smut

summary: felix was never dominant, not till tonight, not till you teased him a little too much.

pairing: felix x reader

words: 2k

You and Felix had been together for a few months now — that kind of soft, magnetic love that made everything feel warm and a little dizzy. There were late-night walks with your fingers tangled together, shared playlists, matching hoodies, and long weekends spent doing absolutely nothing… except touching, talking, kissing. Falling a little harder each time.

And Felix, your golden boy, had layers you never got tired of peeling back. He was sweet, cuddly, and eager to please. But under all that softness, there was heat. A quiet sort of hunger that only came out when you poked the right spot.

Like tonight.

He was planted on the couch, hunched over the controller, headset slung messily around his neck. The glow of the monitor flickered across his cheekbones, illuminating the slight furrow in his brow as he focused hard on his game.

“Fucking campers,” he muttered, thumb flying over the joystick. “Bro, there’s no way that hit, did you see that?!”

You smiled, lingering in the doorway for a moment, just watching him. He was so locked in, jaw clenched, brows drawn together, he didn’t even notice you coming up behind him until you draped your arms loosely over his shoulders from behind.

“Hi, Lixie.”

He glanced up and his whole face changed. Smile blooming. Eyes softening. Voice suddenly boyish and warm.

“Hey, baby,” he said, tipping his head back for a kiss.

You pecked him quickly, then let your arms slide down his chest before stepping around the couch. Oversized hoodie swishing around your thighs, pleated skirt barely covering anything.

He watched you settle onto his lap, his brows lifting just slightly. “Mmm. Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” you whispered, tucking yourself neatly onto his thighs, straddling him with ease.

He adjusted to you out of habit, one hand loosely resting on your hip while the other stayed on the controller.

His sweatpants were soft beneath you — but not soft enough to hide how fast he started to grow under you. And you were bare. No panties. No shorts. Just skin and heat.

You rocked your hips just slightly, letting your bare folds graze along the thickening shape beneath the fabric.

Felix twitched. You felt it.

His voice caught. “Wait… baby—”

You leaned in close, brushing your lips against his ear. “Keep playing.”

He blinked. “Y-you’re not wearing anything?”

You smiled. “Nope.”

A choked sound left him, and his hands stuttered on the controller. “Holy shit.”

You nuzzled into his neck, lips grazing skin. “I just wanted to feel you.”

You shifted again and he gasped, because now he could really feel you. Wet, warm, dragging right over his clothed cock. A twitch. A pulse. Another inch of him hardening beneath you.

His voice was higher now. “You’re—fuck, babe—if you keep moving like that I’m gonna lose—”

“I don’t care if you win,” you murmured, fingers curling around the waistband of his sweats. “I just want this.”

He watched you, dazed, needy, as you slid your hand into his pants, curling your fingers around him and slowly tugging him free.

Felix hissed through his teeth. “Oh my God.”

You held him for a beat, feeling how hard he was already. Then, with no warning, you lifted your hips and lined him up, pressing the head of his cock against your entrance before easing down. Inch by inch.

The moan he let out was almost wounded. Deep and helpless.

“Shit— you’re—fuck—baby—”

“I just want to stay like this,” you whispered, fully seated now, buried to the hilt. “No moving.”

Felix’s mouth hung open, his whole body trembling as you clenched around him once. Just once. Slowly. Cruelly.

“...Are you serious?”

“Mhm.” You licked his earlobe. “Be good. Play your game.”

He tries.

For two full matches.

Sweat slicks at his temples, his voice tight when he talks into the mic, hands gripping the controller like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.

But you keep pulsing around him. Your heat, your breath on his skin, your soft little sighs every time he shifts under you. He’s leaking. Twitching. A mess.

And the worst part? He knows he’s not allowed to do anything about it.

He tried, he really did, the feeling of your wet, gummy walls tight around his cock was too much.

He snapped.

The controller hit the carpet with a dull thud, but neither of you looked down.

Felix’s hands gripped your hips like they were the only things tethering him to Earth. His head dropped forward, nose brushing your collarbone as he let out a trembling breath — and for a second, he just stayed there. Breathing you in. Letting the heat simmer.

Then he looked up at you.

Eyes dark. Jaw tight. That soft, golden boy of yours?

Gone.

“Do you think this is funny?” His voice was low, a warning. More gravel than air. You swore your whole body pulsed at the sound.

Your breath caught. “I… I just wanted—”

He cut you off by rocking his hips up once, hard, making your eyes roll back instantly.

“No.” Another snap of his hips, rougher this time. You gasped, grabbing his shoulders. “You wanted to play games.”

You nodded helplessly, already trembling from how deep he was, the sudden stretch making your thighs shake.

“Well, guess what,” he growled, standing up with you still on him. “Game over, baby”

He dropped you onto the bed face-down, making you bounce slightly on impact. You didn’t even get a second to turn before he was on you, chest to your back, one hand pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you down as he lined himself up again.

“Lix—wait—” you started, voice barely a whisper, “you’re still—”

He thrust in without warning.

You cried out, not from pain, but from the shock of it, how deep he buried himself in one smooth, merciless stroke. His cock had been nestled inside you the entire time, twitching, leaking, waiting, and now it was unleashed.

“You don’t get to tease me like that and then pretend you’re innocent,” he hissed in your ear, hips already rolling in hard, sharp strokes. “You sit there with nothing on. You grind on me. You fuckin’ clench around me while I’m trying to concentrate—”

“I didn’t mean—fuck—” You were gasping, arching up into him as your thighs shook. The angle was brutal. Deep.

“Yes, you did. You knew exactly what you were doing.”

He gripped your wrists and pinned them above your head, hips never slowing. The slap of skin-on-skin echoed through the room, lewd and rhythmic, interrupted only by your moans — and his growls.

“You like teasing me?” He leaned down, biting at your shoulder. “You like being a needy little brat?”

“Yes—yes—Lix—please—”

“You like getting used like this? Bent over with your legs shaking while I fuck the attitude out of you?”

You moaned, high and desperate, burying your face into the sheets. “I’m sorry—”

“Oh, you will be.”

He flipped you suddenly, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder and pushing in again from the front. Your hands flew to his chest, nails digging in for any kind of control, but there was none, not with the way he was looking at you.

Hair sticking to his forehead. Lips parted. Eyes locked on your face like it was the only thing that existed.

And God, he looked wrecked. Flushed, panting, sweat dripping down his neck — completely feral.

“I’ve been so fucking patient,” he rasped, driving into you over and over. “You were sitting on my cock while I tried to ignore it, tried to focus—but you just kept clenching. You wanted this.”

“I did,” you sobbed, wrapping your arms around him. “I wanted it—I wanted you to lose control—”

He laughed, short and breathless, like he couldn’t believe how far gone he already was.

“Yeah? You want to see what losing control really looks like?”

Then he slammed in, one final thrust that made your whole body jolt, and stayed there.

Deep. Still. Pulsing.

He bent down, mouth right at your ear.

“Ride me.”

You blinked through the haze, brain barely working. “W-what?”

He pulled out, roughly grabbed your hips, and dropped back onto the mattress, flat on his back, cock glistening, hard, flushed, insanely ready.

“You wanted this,” he said again, voice rough, “so come take it.”

You crawled into his lap, thighs shaking as you hovered over him, sinking back down inch by inch, both of you moaning the moment he bottomed out.

Your hands braced on his chest. His eyes stayed locked on yours. And this time?

You started moving.

First slow, grinding your hips in tight circles. Then faster, up and down, thighs burning, nails digging into his skin as you chased the edge that had been taunting you all night.

Felix groaned beneath you, grabbing your hips and meeting your rhythm now, pushing up into you on every bounce.

“That’s it,” he gritted, “fuck, just like that—taking it so well—so tight around me—”

You whimpered, eyes rolling. “I’m close—Felix, I’m so close—”

“Then come.” His voice was a snarl now. “Soak my cock. Show me how much you needed this.”

You shattered.

It hit you like a wave, violent, full-body, clenching around him as your legs locked up, thighs trembling. You collapsed against his chest, moaning into his neck.

But he didn’t stop.

He flipped you again, slamming in from behind, hands gripping your waist like you were his to break.

“You think we’re done?” he growled, rutting into you with ruthless rhythm. “You cockwarm me and then make me wait? Nah, baby. I’m taking every fuckin’ second back.”

You were babbling now, words falling out with every thrust. “Too much—can’t—it’s too much—”

“Yes, you can.” He leaned over you, lips brushing your ear. “You’re gonna take everything I give you.”

And you did.

Until you were sobbing. Overstimulated. Fucked out. Barely able to move.

Then finally — finally — you felt it.

His hips stuttered. His breath caught.

And with a low, broken moan, Felix came inside you, hips flush, arms wrapped around your middle as he buried himself as deep as he could go.

“Mine,” he panted into your shoulder. “All of you.”

You nodded weakly, shivering in his arms. “Yours.”

@hwangjoanna @penguins-in-space @sammhisphere @skyearby @hwangjoanna

A/N; comment if you wanna be added to the tag list and if you have any requests send them to my page <3

[hyunjinsmuze]

Forget Me, Gently

part 1 | part 2

warnings: one smut scene, mentions of memory loss

contains: ⛔️smut, a lot of fluff, angst, happy ending.

summary: you sent the letter, you don’t know why, but it wasn’t a mistake, in-fact it was the opposite because you fell again for him…

pairing: hyunjin x reader

words: 4.6k

The apartment was quieter than it had ever been. The kind of quiet that didn’t just fill the room—it pressed against his chest, seeped into his bones, and settled like dust in the corners of his mind. Hyunjin sat in front of his easel, paintbrush in hand, unmoving. The canvas stared back at him, blank and accusing.

It had been weeks since she left. Or maybe months. Time had become a blur, each day bleeding into the next, marked only by the rising and setting of the sun. He tried to keep track at first, marking the days on a calendar, but eventually, he stopped. What was the point?

He still painted. He had to. It was the only thing that made sense anymore. But every brushstroke felt hollow, every color muted. His art had always been an extension of his emotions, a reflection of his soul. Now, it was just...empty.

He reached for a tube of paint, fingers trembling slightly. The color was a deep, rich red the same shade as the tulips he used to bring her. He squeezed a small amount onto his palette, watching as it pooled like blood. The sight made his stomach churn.

He dipped his brush into the paint, hesitated, then brought it to the canvas. The first stroke was tentative, uncertain. But as he continued, the lines began to take shape, a curve of a cheek, the arch of an eyebrow, the gentle slope of a shoulder. He was painting her. Again.

He had painted her countless times before. In moments of joy, of passion, of quiet contentment. But this was different. This was a portrait of longing, of loss. He poured every ounce of his grief into the canvas, each stroke a silent plea for her return.

As the hours passed, the painting came to life. Her eyes, once vibrant and full of mischief, now held a distant sadness. Her lips, always quick to smile, were pressed into a thin line. It was her, but it wasn’t. It was the version of her that haunted his dreams, that lingered in the shadows of his mind.

He stepped back, surveying his work. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the floor. He felt a lump rise in his throat, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. He let them fall, unashamed.

He missed her. God, he missed her. Every laugh, every touch, every whispered word. He missed the way she would curl up next to him on the couch, her head resting on his shoulder as they watched their favorite dramas. He missed the way she would hum softly as she cooked, filling the apartment with warmth and love. He missed the way she would look at him, eyes shining with affection.

He missed the way she made him feel, whole, understood, loved.

He sat down on the floor, back against the wall, and pulled his knees to his chest. The painting loomed above him, a silent testament to his heartache. He closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him.

He remembered the first time he saw her, sitting alone in a café, sketching in a worn notebook. He had been drawn to her immediately, captivated by the furrow of her brow, the way her tongue peeked out as she concentrated. He had approached her, heart pounding, and asked if he could draw her. She had looked up, startled, then smiled and nodded.

That was the beginning.

He remembered their first kiss, tentative and sweet. The way her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. The way his heart had soared, knowing she felt the same way.

He remembered the night he told her he loved her, voice shaking with vulnerability. The way her eyes had filled with tears, her lips trembling as she whispered, "I love you too."

He remembered the accident. The blinding lights, the screech of tires, the sudden, jarring impact. The way everything had gone dark.

He remembered waking up in the hospital, pain radiating through his body. The panic that set in when he realized she wasn't there. The crushing weight of the nurse's words: "She's in a coma."

He remembered the days spent by her bedside, holding her hand, whispering stories and memories, hoping she could hear him. The way his heart had shattered when she finally opened her eyes and asked, "Who are you?"

He remembered the hope that had bloomed when she started to smile at him again, the way she laughed at his jokes, the way she leaned into his touch. He remembered the devastation when she left, without a word, without a goodbye.

He opened his eyes, the room now cloaked in darkness. The painting glowed faintly in the dim light, a ghostly reminder of what he had lost. He stood, legs unsteady, and approached the canvas. He reached out, fingers brushing against the dried paint.

"I miss you," he whispered. "Please come back."

The silence answered him, heavy and unyielding.

He turned away, moving to the window. The city stretched out before him, lights twinkling like stars. Somewhere out there, she was living her life, unaware of the hole she had left in his heart. He wondered if she ever thought of him, if she ever felt the same ache that consumed him.

He pressed his forehead against the cool glass, closing his eyes. He didn't know what the future held, didn't know if he would ever see her again. But he knew one thing for certain: he would never stop loving her.

He would wait, as long as it took.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

It had been eighty-three days.

Eighty-three mornings waking up with a tightness in her chest she couldn’t name. A silence that lingered in the spaces where a voice used to be. His voice.

There were times she thought she was okay. She went through the motions—showered, ate, worked. Smiled when people smiled at her. Laughed at the appropriate times. She even bought herself tulips once, but they wilted too fast, as if the universe was reminding her: not everything you love stays.

But some nights, when the wind got quiet and her walls weren’t high enough, she’d remember his hand in hers. The gentle weight of his head on her shoulder. The steady thump of his heart beneath her palm.

She didn’t understand it. Didn’t know why her heart pulled toward someone she couldn’t even remember.

But it did.

She’d wake up gasping from dreams that didn’t make sense, candlelight and fingers tracing her spine, a boy with sorrowful eyes calling her angel, paintings, his laughter. Familiar. All of it so familiar it made her ache.

It was hyunjin, she knew it, it was the boy she walked away from.

Some mornings, she found herself reaching for a phone number she didn’t save. And it always ended the same: staring blankly at her reflection, wondering if she was going insane.

Then one afternoon, it just… broke.

It had rained all morning. The kind of rain that felt personal, like the sky was grieving with her. She’d made herself tea, sat by the window, and tried to read—but the pages blurred, her thoughts drowning in a name she barely remembered, a face she dearly missed.

Hyunjin.

She stood abruptly, heart racing, and rummaged through the box under her bed, the one she swore she wouldn’t open. Inside: photos she didn’t take, letters she didn’t write, drawings of her smiling, laughing. Loved.

In the very back was a sketch of her asleep on a blanket by a river, tulips in her hand, his jacket around her shoulders. His initials in the corner. H.J.

That was the moment.

The one where the guilt caught up with her, even if she didn’t fully understand it.

She was gone. Left. Disappeared from a life that loved her.

So she sat at her desk, hand trembling, and wrote the only thing she could.

The Letter:

Dear Hyunjin,

I’m sorry. I don’t know where else to begin.

I think I’ve been running because I’m scared. Because I still don’t remember everything, and the pieces I do have feel like they belong to someone else’s life. Someone better. Braver.

But I see you in all of them.

There are moments where I’ll catch myself smiling at nothing and I think—that smile used to belong to you. I don’t remember every memory, but I remember the way you make me feel.

Safe. Soft. Wanted.

I know it’s not fair. That I left without warning. That I gave you no choice, no closure.

But if there’s still space for me, even a small one… I want to try again.

I want to meet the boy my heart remembers even when my mind doesn’t.

I’ll be at the Hanok house for the next few days. You know the one. The tiny one near the river with the broken step and the red wind chime.

I hope you come.

– Y/N

She didn’t sleep that night.

Kept pacing the small wooden floor, biting her thumbnail, trying not to regret sending it. Maybe he moved on. Maybe he was happier now. Maybe she was selfish for even reaching out.

But when morning came and the sun spilled gold over the tatami mats, her chest didn’t feel quite as heavy.

She waited.

All day.

Until the sky started to turn soft and blue, and her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

She didn’t expect him to come. Not really.

So when the knock sounded at the door, her body froze.

And when she opened it—and saw him standing there, hair damp from the rain, sketchbook under his arm, eyes full of disbelief and pain and hope—

She forgot how to breathe.

Hyunjin looked at her like she was both his home and the storm that took it away.

“Hi,” she whispered.

He didn’t speak.

Just stared, chest rising and falling in unsteady waves, as if her face was something he’d painted a thousand times but still didn’t dare believe was real.

Her throat tightened. “I didn’t know if you’d come.”

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to,” he said, voice low, like it hurt to speak.

“I did.”

“You left.”

“I know.”

A beat of silence. The wind carried the sound of birds somewhere in the distance.

“I didn’t remember everything,” she said, voice breaking. “But I remembered you. I remembered… feeling you.”

His jaw clenched. “Do you know what it did to me when I found that room empty? I waited. I hoped. I thought maybe you just needed air. That you’d come back.”

Her eyes filled. “I didn’t think I deserved to. I still don’t know if I do.”

“You were always enough,” he said quietly. “Even when you didn’t know me.”

Tears slipped down her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again. “For everything.”

And for the first time in weeks, she saw it, the soft tremble of his lips, the way his eyes glossed over as he stepped forward and pulled her into his chest.

He held her like she was fragile. Like one wrong move and she’d disappear again. Like he hadn’t stopped missing her for a single goddamn second.

She clung to him, fingers gripping his shirt like she could stitch time back together.

And for a long while, they didn’t speak. Just breathed.

And that was enough.

They stood in silence, the weight of unspoken memories pressing down on them. Finally, she stepped aside, allowing him in.

The apartment was cozy, filled with soft light and the faint scent of vanilla. He noticed a canvas on the easel, colors blending in a way that stirred something deep within him.

"I've been painting," she said, following his gaze. "I don't know why, but it feels... right."

Hyunjin nodded, his throat tight. "You always loved to paint."

They sat on the couch, a careful distance between them. She studied him, her brow furrowed.

"I don't remember everything," she admitted. "But when as i was going through your stuff, something inside me stirred. Like a whisper of a dream I couldn't quite grasp."

He reached into his bag, pulling out a worn sketchbook. "I brought this. It's filled with drawings of you, of us. Maybe it can help."

She took it, fingers tracing the cover. Opening it, she gasped softly at the images within, moments captured in graphite and ink, each one a testament to their shared past.

Tears welled in her eyes. "I may not remember these moments, but they feel... familiar."

Hyunjin reached out, gently taking her hand. "We can create new memories. Together."

She looked up at him, a tentative smile forming. "I'd like that."

The evening unfolded gently, filled with shared stories and quiet laughter. As the night deepened, a sense of comfort settled between them, bridging the gap left by lost memories.

In that moment, amidst the soft glow of the room and the warmth of rekindled connection, they found solace in each other once more.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

He called the next day and she came.

They sat in the quiet of his apartment like it was a memory waiting to be rewritten.

Rain tapped softly against the windowpane, the kind of gentle drizzle that made everything feel slower, softer, closer. Hyunjin had lit a few candles like he used to, even though he hadn’t planned to, it just felt right. Like his body remembered what his mind was still trying to process.

She was here.

Sitting across from him, wearing his oversized hoodie, her knees drawn up on the couch. Her bare legs curled underneath her, hair damp from the walk over, cheeks still pink from the cold. It felt like déjà vu, except it wasn’t. Not really.

Because she didn’t remember the last time they sat like this. But he did.

He remembered everything.

Every soft inhale, every whispered “I love you,” every time her fingers would unconsciously reach for his under the blanket like it was instinct.

And she was starting to do it again—reaching for him. Trusting him. Wanting him.

That made it harder. That made it real.

“You used to light candles for me,” she said softly, voice almost drowned by the rain.

He blinked, meeting her eyes. “Yeah,” he said, smiling a little. “You always said it made everything feel like a movie.”

She returned the smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her fingers tugged at the sleeves of the hoodie, as if she didn’t know where to put all the nervous energy.

“It feels like I’m trying to fall in love with someone I already belong to,” she whispered.

Hyunjin’s heart stilled. His throat went dry. He wanted to tell her she did belong to him. That she always had. That there hadn’t been a single night where he hadn’t missed her like hell.

But he didn’t say any of that.

Instead, he stood slowly, walked toward her like he was approaching something sacred. Sat beside her without a word. Their knees brushed. Her breath hitched.

She looked up at him, wide-eyed and unsure. “Hyunjin…”

He leaned forward a little, his voice low, trembling. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. You can tell me to stop and I will. Always.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered.

He froze.

“I don’t know why,” she continued. “But every time I look at you, I feel… warm. Safe. My heart races and I get scared but not the kind of scared that tells you to run—more like the kind that says you’re standing right in front of something real.”

Hyunjin's eyes dropped to her lips. She looked soft everywhere, her expression, her body language, her whole presence. It reminded him of when they were first falling in love. Only this time, he was the only one who remembered.

He cupped her cheek gently, brushing his thumb beneath her eye. Her skin was warm under his fingertips, her breath shallow.

“I’ve missed you every day,” he said, voice barely audible. “You have no idea how much.”

She leaned into his touch like her body knew him even if her memories didn’t. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but instead, she kissed him.

It was soft. Gentle. Searching.

But then she sighed into his mouth, and something shifted.

Hyunjin deepened the kiss slowly, his hand cradling the back of her head like she was something breakable. She kissed him back with urgency, like she’d been waiting to breathe.

His other hand found her thigh, warm and bare beneath the hem of his hoodie. She gasped when his fingers slid higher, not quite touching her but close enough to make her squirm.

He pulled back slightly, forehead pressed to hers, panting. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “I want you.”

His chest ached.

“You don’t remember the first time,” he whispered, like it was a confession.

“No,” she said. “But this feels like the first time anyway.”

Hyunjin kissed her again, slower this time. Reverent.

Then he stood and offered his hand.

She took it.

He led her into the bedroom, lit only by candlelight. The scent of vanilla still lingered in the air like a ghost from their past. The same room where he had once asked her to be his.

She climbed onto the bed and sat on her knees while he stood in front of her, unsure where to start.

“I want to remember this,” she said softly, reaching for the hem of the hoodie and pulling it over her head, baring herself to him.

His breath caught in his throat.

She was so beautiful it hurt.

“You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, dropping to his knees on the bed, kissing her collarbone. “I used to tell you that all the time.”

“Tell me again,” she whispered.

So he did. Over and over.

He undressed her slowly, hands soft, eyes locked with hers like he was asking for permission with every touch. When she was bare beneath him, he kissed down her chest, over her stomach, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

She trembled under his mouth, and he smiled against her skin.

“You always liked when I kissed you here,” he murmured, brushing his lips along the inside of her thigh. “And here…” He moved lower.

Her hands gripped the sheets, hips already twitching. “Please,” she gasped.

And Hyunjin—God—he gave her everything.

He knew what made her breath hitch, what made her legs shake, what made her cry out his name. He teased her slowly at first, savoring the way she came apart beneath him like he was unlocking a part of her that still remembered.

He sucked and licked at her clit, like he was starved, yet he didn’t let her finish, he wanted more, needed more.

He crawled up her body, kissing her cheeks, her jaw, her lips. She was trembling in his arms, legs still wrapped around his waist.

“I need you,” she whispered, pulling him down, nails dragging over his back. “I want to feel what it’s like to be yours.”

“you already are baby” he said kissing her four head.

He pressed into her slowly, watching her face the whole time. Her lips parted, a shaky breath slipping past them, and her brows knit together as her body stretched to take him in.

Her hands clutched at his shoulders, then slid down to his waist like she needed to anchor herself to him. “Hyunjin,” she breathed, eyes fluttering shut. “You feel so—so good…”

He groaned softly, burying his face in the crook of her neck. “God, you feel like home.”

Every inch of movement was deliberate, deep, slow, reverent. He knew her body like a map he’d studied in the dark for years, hands gliding over her waist, her hips, her thighs. She moved with him, hips tilting to meet each thrust like her body remembered the rhythm even if her mind didn’t.

He kissed her everywhere—her jaw, her lips, her shoulder, the hollow of her throat, his breath hot and uneven.

“I missed this,” he whispered against her skin. “I missed you.”

Her legs locked tighter around his hips, pulling him deeper. Her nails dragged down his back, not enough to hurt, just enough to say don’t stop, don’t go, don’t let this be a dream.

He shifted his angle slightly and she gasped, head tipping back, lips trembling.

“There?” he asked, voice low, wrecked.

She nodded, clutching the sheets. “Yes, please—Hyunjin—don’t stop.”

He didn’t. He kept his pace steady, rocking into that spot over and over until she was a mess beneath him, panting, clinging to him like he was her last tether to the world.

Her body was flushed, dewy with sweat, hair fanned out across the pillow. She looked ethereal, completely undone and utterly beautiful.

He watched her, chest aching, wondering how he got so lucky to have her in his arms again. To feel her falling, piece by piece, back into love with him.

She whimpered something close to his name, legs shaking around him.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, lips brushing her cheek. “I’ve got you. Let go.”

And she did, trembling, moaning, crying out his name like a prayer. He held her through it, one arm wrapped around her back, the other hand threading through her hair as she shattered in his arms.

When she came down, she was still gasping, her body soft and pliant beneath his.

But she didn’t let go.

She pulled him closer, kissed him deeper.

“I want to remember this,” she whispered again, voice broken with emotion. “I want you.”

His breath caught, chest tight. He couldn’t hold back anymore.

He thrust deeper, slower, hips rolling in long, dragging strokes that made her tremble all over again.

“I love you,” he said. “I never stopped. Not for a second.”

He felt her body tighten around him, another wave building, her nails digging into his arms. Her voice was high and breathless, a litany of whimpers and moans and half-formed pleas.

“Hyunjin—I—fuck—I’m—”

“I know,” he rasped, voice raw. “Come with me.”

He thrusted slow, every thrust deep and unhurried.

And then she did.

This time, she took him with her—crying out as they came together, tangled in each other, broken open and breathless.

He came soon after, buried deep inside her, whispering how much he loved her, how he’d never stopped. The weight of it hit him like a wave—every second of missing her, every night spent alone, every prayer he'd whispered into the dark.

He collapsed against her, burying his face in her neck, their hearts pounding in sync.

Afterward, he didn’t move.

He stayed inside her, breathing her in, kissing her softly until her breath evened out.

“I don’t remember the last time,” she murmured against his shoulder.

“I do,” he said. “And now we’ve got a new first.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

They didn’t talk much after that.

They didn’t need to.

She curled against him under the blankets, her body warm and tired, her fingers tracing slow lines over his chest.

He kissed her hair, humming softly like he used to, and she smiled against his skin.

“Stay,” he said quietly.

She looked up at him, eyes soft, lips swollen.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.

And for the first time in forever, Hyunjin believed it.

She fell asleep in his arms that night.

Just like before.

Only this time, he held her tighter.

Because he knew how it felt to lose her.

And now he had her back.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The Han River looked different now.

Maybe it was the way the light hit the water, or maybe it was the way she looked at it, like it was something sacred. Like it held answers.

Hyunjin watched her from the blanket they'd spread out, the same one they'd used countless times before. She sat cross-legged, a sketchpad in her lap, pencil poised but unmoving. Her eyes were fixed on the horizon, where the sun dipped low, casting golden hues across the water.

He reached over, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She turned to him, a soft smile playing on her lips.

"Do you remember this spot?" he asked.

She nodded slowly. "Not exactly. But it feels... familiar."

Hyunjin's heart ached with a bittersweet kind of joy. "We used to come here all the time. You'd paint, and I'd sketch. We'd talk about everything and nothing."

She looked down at the blank page. "I wish I could remember."

He took her hand, intertwining their fingers. "It's okay. We can make new memories."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, the sketchpad forgotten. They sat in silence, the sounds of the city fading into the background.

After a while, she spoke. "Tell me everything. From the beginning."

Hyunjin turned to her, surprised. "Everything?"

She nodded. "I want to know it all. Every detail. I want to remember."

He took a deep breath, the memories flooding back. “We met at that little café on the corner. You were engrossed in a book, and I was too distracted to watch where I was going. I spilled your coffee, and you looked up at me with those eyes... I was captivated.”

She chuckled softly. “Sounds like something out of a movie.”

“It felt like one,” he replied. “I insisted on buying you another coffee, and we ended up talking for hours. You told me about your art, your dreams, and I asked if you'd paint me.”

She began to write, her pen moving swiftly across the page. “I want to remember all of this,” she said, her voice trembling. “I'm terrified the universe will take it from me again.”

Hyunjin reached out, gently placing his hand over hers. “We'll create new memories, ones that are ours alone.”

They sat in silence, the only sounds being the rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds. The sun dipped lower, casting a warm glow over them.

“Do you remember our first kiss?” she asked.

He nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. “The first time after we came here together, i was driving you home, i kissed you, you just looked so beautiful.”

She closed her eyes, trying to summon the memory. “I wish I could recall it.”

Hyunjin leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead. “It's okay. We have now.”

She looked up at him, eyes glistening. “I may not remember the beginning, but I want to be here until the end.”

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he pulled her into an embrace. “Me too,” he whispered.

They sat there, the sun dipping below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange. The city lights began to twinkle, reflecting off the water.

She picked up the sketchpad, flipping to a fresh page. "Draw me."

Hyunjin smiled, retrieving his pencil. "Always."

He began to sketch, capturing the curve of her smile, the sparkle in her eyes, the way the wind played with her hair. She watched him, her own pencil moving across the page.

When they finished, they exchanged sketchpads.

She gasped. "Hyunjin, this is beautiful."

He looked at her drawing—a perfect rendition of him, eyes filled with love. "Yours too."

she looked at him, for just a second, this time with nothing other then love, she had fallen again. she was inlove with him.

Hyunjin wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. "I love you."

She looked up at him, eyes shining. "I love you too."

And in that moment, under the stars by the Han River, they began again.

@hwangjoanna @penguins-in-space @sammhisphere

A/N: comment if you wanna be added to the tag list

[hyunjinsmuze]

A/N it’s not letting me reply to my requests but this is a request!!! so if you have any send them to my inbox 💞

You Can Join

warnings: cock warming, oral (fem receiving) a little m x m, use of ‘good girl’

contains: ⛔️smut, threesome, a little fluff

summary: you were only supposed to be seeing your childhood bestfriend and now your involved in a secret you can’t forget

pairing: leeknow x han jisung x reader

words: 3.8k

You used to think summers lasted forever. Long days, scraped knees, and the sound of Changbin’s laugh ringing through the sticky heat like a bell. Back then, he wasn’t a famous rapper with millions of fans chanting his name. He was just Changbin from two streets over, the loud, scrappy kid who could never win at Mario Kart but insisted on rematches until the sun went down.

You didn’t grow up inseparable. It wasn’t like the dramas made it out to be. There were years when you barely talked, middle school drama, new friends, life. But the bond never really broke. You always came back to each other in the end, like bookmarks in a story neither of you had finished reading.

High school was when things started to shift. He got serious about music. You got serious about... well, trying to survive exams and not lose your mind. You cheered him on from the sidelines, sent him stupid memes at 3 a.m., sometimes didn’t talk for weeks but always picked back up like no time had passed.

Then came his debut.

You were proud — like, beyond proud. But it also meant distance. Not emotional, not really. Just time zones, tour schedules, and a version of him you could only see through screens and stage lights. Still, when he did reach out, it was always genuine.

Which brings you to now.

The friendship isn’t deep in the way some childhood friendships are, but it’s solid. It’s honest. He’s one of the few people who’s seen you ugly cry after failing a test and laugh until you snorted cola out your nose. That counts for something.

And the rest of Stray Kids? You’ve met them. Not in a fangirl way, you made that clear from day one. You weren’t there to drool over their visuals. They were Changbin’s people, and slowly, over a handful of get-togethers, they started to become yours, too.

Lee Know was cool, in that slightly intimidating “I’ll-read-you-in-two-seconds” kind of way. He didn’t talk much to you at first, but when he did, it was sharp, not unkind, just observant.

Jisung? He was chaos personified. Hyper, a little awkward, full of jokes. You liked him. He made you feel like you belonged even when you were just sitting quietly on the edge of a group.

You’d hung out with them a few times, movie nights, random meals when Changbin dragged you along, that one beach trip where you fell asleep with sand in your hair and woke up to Jisung drawing something obscene near your ankle with sunscreen.

Still, you were careful. You never overstayed. You knew their world was hectic, private. You never wanted to be that person , the childhood friend trying to milk clout or cling to old memories.

But when Changbin messaged out of the blue, “Hey, I miss your dumb face. Come hang out this weekend?” you said yes without thinking.

Because some bonds don’t need daily maintenance. They just exist. And sometimes, all it takes is a text to remind you that yeah, he still thinks of you as one of his people.

And you? Well. You missed being around people who knew you before.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

It’s quiet when you arrive — too quiet, considering the chaos that usually defines anything involving Stray Kids. You press the buzzer and wait, your reflection staring back at you in the gloss of the dorm’s front entrance glass. The door clicks open and you step inside, greeted by the soft hum of electronics and the faint smell of ramen and cleaning supplies, someone must’ve just cleaned.

You slip your shoes off and glance around. No one's in the hallway. No laughter. No shouting. You frown a little but shrug it off. Changbin did say they might be out. Still, it’s kind of eerie being in their dorm alone, even though it’s not your first time.

Text from Changbin [4:38 PM]:

"Running late — got caught in traffic. Be there in 45ish. You can chill, everyone else is probably out too 🫠 Don’t eat all the snacks."

You snort. Typical.

You wander in further, your steps light on the polished floor. The living room is the same as you remember, slightly messy, with throw blankets half-folded and a weirdly large collection of remotes that no one ever knows how to use. There’s a hoodie draped over the arm of the couch. You recognize it, it’s Jisung’s. You pick it up, giving it a small shake before tossing it neatly onto the back of the chair.

There’s something a little too domestic about it all.

You flop down on the couch and stare up at the ceiling, letting the silence fill your ears. It’s weird. Not uncomfortable exactly, but unfamiliar. Like you’re sitting inside someone else’s life. You scroll your phone for a bit, switch to some random playlist, and then let your eyes close.

For a moment, you think about Changbin again. It’s always a little bittersweet, seeing him now. You’re proud of him, always, but it’s hard not to notice how different his world is from yours. You’re still you — still figuring things out, still living in the spaces between job applications and late-night cravings. Meanwhile, he’s out here living the kind of life people only dream of.

And yet... he still invites you back.

Maybe that means something.

You sit up, stretching your arms over your head. “Okay,” you mumble to no one. “What now?”

Your eyes wander toward the hallway. A faint sound catches your ear, not music, not talking exactly, but something. A soft thud. Maybe a laugh? You tilt your head. Could be someone’s home after all. You hesitate. You’re not the type to snoop, but boredom’s a dangerous thing.

And maybe… maybe you’re curious.

You make your way down the hall quietly, your bare feet making barely a whisper against the floor. The noise comes from upstairs, the door to the second floor is slightly ajar. That’s when you hear it again.

Voices. Low. Male. A laugh — breathy, almost choked. Then something like…

A kiss?

Your stomach twists strangely, and for a second, you think maybe you misheard. You’re halfway up the stairs before your mind really catches up with your body. You're not trying to spy. You just—

Okay. You kind of are.

Curiosity gets the best of you.

You step carefully up onto the second floor, trying not to breathe too loudly. You follow the sound to one of the bedrooms. The door is cracked open, just enough. You peer through the gap.

And freeze.

There’s Lee Know, sitting back against the headboard. Jisung is half in his lap, straddling his thighs, his hands tangled in Lee Know’s shirt. Their mouths are moving together, slow, deep, like they’ve done this a hundred times before. It’s intimate in a way that feels like a secret and a confession all at once.

You suck in a quiet breath, stepping back. The door creaks just a little under your weight.

Jisung jolts first, wide eyes snapping toward the door. You can see the panic rise in his expression, the way his body goes tense and stiff like someone flipped a switch.

Lee Know’s gaze follows a second later, but his reaction is the complete opposite.

Calm. Composed. Maybe even amused.

“Shit,” Jisung breathes, scrambling a little, pulling at the edge of his shirt.

You’re already raising your hands. “I-I didn’t see anything. I swear. I just heard someone and thought— I’m sorry—”

Lee Know’s voice cuts in. Smooth. Unbothered.

“Don’t go.”

You blink.

He shifts slightly, and Jisung stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “Hyung—?”

“If you don’t tell anyone…” Lee Know’s gaze slides back to you. “You can join us.”

Your brain short-circuits for a second. “W-What?”

His head tilts, dark eyes sharp but unreadable. “I’ve seen how you look at us,” he says casually, like he’s stating the weather. “Especially Jisung.”

Jisung turns red, still trying to process the situation.

You stammer something, probably the beginning of a very weak excuse, but then Lee Know adds, “Come here.”

It’s not a question.

Something about his tone sends a small, electric thrill down your spine. It’s commanding. Teasing. Like he already knows what you’ll choose.

And then he looks to Jisung. “Tell her.”

Jisung licks his lips, eyes flickering nervously between you and Lee Know. “I… We’ve both— kind of— We’ve thought about you. A lot.”

There’s silence. Charged. Breathless.

Your heart is thudding way too fast.

You don’t say anything. Not yet. But you don’t move either.

You’re not leaving.

Not yet.

You should leave.

You should turn around, go downstairs, and pretend you never saw anything.

But you don’t.

You stand there, fingers clenched against your palms, heart racing so fast it drowns out the sound of your own thoughts. Jisung is still flushed, hands halfway tangled in the hem of his shirt, looking between you and Minho like he’s waiting for someone to wake him up.

Minho is steady. Always steady. His gaze stays locked on yours.

“Come here,” he says again, voice lower now, smooth like honey with a dangerous edge.

You step into the room.

Because you’re not pretending you didn’t hear him. You’re not pretending you haven’t thought about it, too — maybe late at night, alone, your thoughts wandering a little too far into dangerous territory. You’ve seen the way Jisung looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention. You’ve caught Minho smirking, watching you with those unreadable eyes.

You just never thought they talked about it.

“You’re really not going to tell anyone?” Jisung asks, his voice soft, uncertain.

You shake your head. “I won’t.”

Minho smirks slightly, satisfied. He pats the edge of the bed. “Then sit.”

You do.

Close enough that your knees brush Jisung’s thigh.

He swallows hard.

Minho shifts beside him, draping one arm behind Jisung casually, fingers ghosting over his shoulder. “We’ve thought about you,” he says, the words slow, deliberate. “A lot.”

You exhale slowly, trying to calm your pulse. “Like… thought about…?”

Minho’s eyes flick down your body, then back up, sharp and warm. “Like how you’d sound,” he says, “if we took turns kissing you.”

Jisung lets out a quiet breath, staring at his lap. Minho’s hand moves to his neck, thumb stroking over his pulse.

“Thought about how you’d look,” he continues, “with your head thrown back, mouth open, begging for more.”

Your thighs press together instinctively. He notices. His smirk widens.

“You’ve got no idea how pretty we think you are,” Minho adds, leaning a little closer. “Or how much we talk about you when we’re alone. Isn’t that right, Ji?”

Jisung groans softly, hiding his face for a second. “Hyung…”

“Tell her.”

You glance between them, your skin prickling with heat.

Jisung shifts, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “I—I think about you all the time,” he admits, his voice tight. “Like, fuck, it’s bad. The things I’ve imagined doing to you…”

You shiver.

He looks wrecked just saying it, pink-faced, pupils blown wide, lip caught between his teeth. “I’ve— I’ve jerked off thinking about you,” he blurts out, then immediately covers his face again. “Fuck.”

Minho laughs under his breath. “You’re so shy now, but you’re the one who whines when she texts you at night and you can’t touch yourself.”

You blink. “Wait, what?”

Jisung squeaks. “Hyung!”

“He gets so desperate,” Minho murmurs, leaning in toward your ear. His breath is hot against your skin. “He’ll send me voice notes begging for permission to touch himself. Just because you posted a photo looking too good.”

You don’t know where to look, everything is heat and tension and the sense that a line has already been crossed, and now there’s no going back.

“What about you?” Minho asks, eyes gleaming. “Have you thought about us?”

You nod slowly. “Yeah.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Both of us?”

You glance at Jisung, then back at him. “Yeah. Both.”

There’s a long pause.

Then Minho leans forward and kisses you.

It’s not soft. Not testing. He kisses you like he’s claiming something, like he’s known you’d taste good and now he’s proving it. His hand comes up to cradle your jaw, angling your face exactly the way he wants, tongue sliding against yours, hot and sure.

You whimper into his mouth before you even realize you’re doing it.

When he pulls back, Jisung is staring — eyes blown wide, chest heaving.

Minho tilts his head. “You want to kiss her too?”

Jisung nods, almost desperately.

You don’t even have to move — he leans in and captures your lips in a kiss that’s messier, needier, full of shaky breath and whispered sounds. His hands tremble as they cup your waist, thumbs sliding under your shirt just barely.

When you part, you’re breathless, your mouth kiss-swollen, your head spinning.

Minho’s hand slides down your back, warm and confident. “You want to join us, don’t you?”

You nod.

He smirks, pleased. “Good girl.”

Those two words set something off in you, a shudder deep in your gut. You gasp softly, and Minho clearly notices.

“Oh? You like being called that?”

You bite your lip.

Jisung’s hand moves to yours, fingers lacing together. “Can I touch you more?”

Minho hums. “Only if she says yes.”

You nod again. “Yes.”

Jisung shifts forward and places a kiss just below your jaw, sweet and a little clumsy. His hand slides up under your shirt, not rushing, just exploring — fingers brushing your ribs, then higher.

“You’re so soft,” he whispers. “So perfect.”

Minho watches you like a predator. “I want you to take your shirt off.”

You hesitate only a second before pulling it over your head.

Both boys groan at once.

“Fuck,” Jisung breathes, hands now on your waist. “You’re actually— you’re so hot, I don’t even know what to do—”

“Relax,” Minho says, voice low. “We’ll show her everything. She’ll beg for us by the time we’re done.”

He moves behind you, kissing down the curve of your shoulder, slow and sensual, while Jisung presses soft kisses to your stomach. Your skin is hypersensitive now, every brush of breath or fingertips makes you twitch.

“You still sure about this?” Minho murmurs near your ear.

You nod again, breath hitching. “Yes.”

“Say it,” he says, licking the shell of your ear. “Tell us you want us.”

“I want you,” you whisper. “Both of you.”

Minho smiles against your skin. “Good girl.”

He moves to unhook your bra, and the moment it falls, Jisung lets out a shaky groan.

Minho slides his hand over your chest, slow and possessive. “Next part,” he whispers, fingers grazing over one of your nipples, “we make you ours.”

Minho doesn’t give you time to overthink.

He nudges Jisung back with a quiet, firm “lie down,” and the younger boy obeys instantly, scooting back against the pillows with wide, glassy eyes.

Then Minho turns to you.

“Strip,” he says simply, voice cool, controlled.

You obey, slowly, nervously, but already burning up. You feel their eyes on you as you slide your pants down, then your underwear. By the time you’re bare, Jisung is chewing his lip and Minho is watching you like he already owns you.

“Fuck, she’s gorgeous,” Jisung whispers.

Minho doesn’t smile — not exactly. He’s too focused. But there’s satisfaction in the way he looks at you, like he’s seeing a fantasy finally come to life.

“C’mere,” he says, and you climb onto the bed.

He positions you right between them, Jisung beneath you, hard and panting, and Minho behind, still half-clothed but completely in control.

“You’re going to take us both tonight,” Minho murmurs in your ear. “You want that, baby?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Louder.”

“Yes.”

Minho hums his approval and kisses down your neck, his hands sliding around your waist to grope your chest again, firmer this time, possessive. “You’re already shaking,” he whispers. “And we haven’t even touched you properly.”

Jisung’s hands find your hips, pulling you down over him so you’re straddling his lap. His clothed cock presses against you, desperate and twitching. “C-Can I take mine off?”

But Minho presses his hand flat against your stomach. “Not yet.”

He glances down at Jisung, who’s panting, already bare, his cock twitching in his pants. “You want her mouth first, Ji?”

Jisung’s eyes are huge, pupils blown. “Y-Yes— wait, I mean—”

Minho smirks. “I meant your mouth on her, baby.”

Jisung’s brain visibly short-circuits.

“Oh—fuck, yes. Yes please.”

Minho grips the back of Jisung’s neck and nudges him downward with calm authority. “On your stomach. Face between her legs.”

You lie back, breath caught in your throat, and Jisung slides down the bed like he’s being summoned by gravity, kissing your thighs, trembling with anticipation.

Minho moves behind him, still fully dressed, and leans over to trail kisses down the curve of Jisung’s spine.

“She’s so wet for us already,” he murmurs, and Jisung groans in agreement as he drags his tongue through your folds, slow and reverent.

Your hips jerk.

“Oh my god—” you gasp, fisting the sheets.

Jisung moans against you, messy and needy — tongue swirling over your clit, then dipping inside you with growing urgency. He clutches your thighs, holding you open, face buried in your heat like he can’t get close enough.

Minho watches over his shoulder, one hand gripping Jisung’s hip, the other stroking down his back.

“Good boy,” he says, and leans in to press a soft, open-mouthed kiss between Jisung’s shoulder blades. “Just like that. She loves it, doesn’t she?”

You whimper a moaned “yes,” toes curling.

Jisung licks you faster, lips wrapping around your clit now, sucking gently — making obscene little sounds between desperate breaths. Minho kisses along his spine again, trailing down to the small of his back.

“Such a slut for her,” he murmurs, voice dark with heat. “Bet you’ve dreamed of this. Her thighs around your head. My hands on you. All of us like this.”

Jisung groans into you, the vibration making you gasp, your legs shaking.

“You’re gonna make her come, aren’t you?” Minho growls. “Make her gush all over that pretty mouth.”

You’re already close.

Your hips buck against Jisung’s tongue, and Minho strokes the inside of your thigh, watching your face intently.

“Let go, baby,” he whispers. “Come for us.”

You cry out, hips jerking, back arching, one hand tangling in Jisung’s hair as the orgasm crashes over you. He groans into it, licking you through every wave, hands gripping your thighs tight.

When you finally slump back, panting and trembling, Jisung pulls back, lips shiny, chin soaked.

He looks completely wrecked.

Minho leans down and kisses the back of his neck. “That’s my boy.”

Then he turns to you, eyes dark and hungry. “you wanna ride him now baby?” you nod eagerly

“Wanna let him fuck you while I play with you from behind?”

Your brain short-circuits for a second.

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes—please.”

He pulls off jisungs pants kissing his tights as the boy underneath him squirms and whimpers.

Jisung lays flat on his back as minho moved me to straddle jisung.

He grabs a condom and tosses it to Jisung. “Be quick. Don’t get sloppy.”

Jisung fumbles a little but gets it on, and Minho pulls you back just slightly, slipping a hand between your legs.

“Oh, fuck—” you gasp, jerking as his fingers slide through your folds.

“So wet,” he mutters. “She’s dripping for you, Ji. You feel that?”

Jisung nods helplessly, eyes glued to where Minho’s fingers are working you open. “I—fuck, I wanna be inside—”

“Then do it.”

Minho helps guide you down — slowly, inch by inch, and both of you moan when he finally fills you. You’re tight, soaked, your walls fluttering around him as you sink fully onto his cock.

“Shit,” Jisung groans, grabbing your hips like he’ll lose control otherwise.

You brace your hands on his chest, panting.

Then Minho wraps one arm around you, pressing his chest to your back. “You don’t move unless I say so.”

You nod.

His free hand travels down, teasing your clit slowly while Jisung twitches inside you, already close from the buildup.

“Look how pretty you are,” Minho whispers. “Both of you. Fucking beautiful.”

You whimper, trying not to buck your hips. Jisung is moaning, every muscle in his body tense.

“Please,” Jisung gasps. “Please let her move—hyung, I can’t—”

Minho’s fingers pinch your clit lightly, making you jolt. “What do you say?”

“Please,” Jisung groans again. “She feels so good, I’ll go crazy if she doesn’t—fuck—please—”

Minho chuckles. “Alright. Move.”

You rock your hips, slowly at first, rolling them just right so that both of you moan again. Jisung bucks up to meet you, nearly sobbing your name under his breath.

Minho bites your shoulder. “That’s it, baby. Ride him. Make him lose it.”

You do, building rhythm, faster, needier, until you’re both falling apart. Jisung grips your ass, thrusting up to meet you, whimpering with every motion.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna—” he warns, and Minho grabs your hips, slowing you down.

“Let go,” he says. “She can take it.”

Jisung moans your name as he finishes, trembling beneath you.

You’re still panting when Minho slides away from behind you.

“My turn,” he says, pulling his shirt over his head and shoving his pants down.

You stare.

He’s big.

And he knows it, too, the smug look he gives you as he rolls the condom on is enough to make your stomach flip.

He gently moves you off of Jisung and onto your back. “Open for me.”

You spread your legs and Minho moves between them, stroking himself once, twice, before pushing in, slow, deliberate, making you feel every inch.

You both groan.

“Fucking tight,” he mutters, gripping your thighs. “God, you feel like heaven.”

He starts slow, measured, deep strokes that make your toes curl. His hand slips under your leg, pushing your thigh up to get deeper.

“You’re doing so good,” he says. “Taking me so well. You were made for this, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please—faster—”

He obliges, snapping his hips harder, your whole body rocking with the force of it.

Jisung moves beside you, kissing your neck, your collarbone, whispering praise.

“You’re so pretty,” he breathes. “So fucking good, so perfect—”

Minho grabs your jaw and turns your face to his. “Eyes on me.”

You moan louder when he starts pounding into you harder, the bed creaking, skin slapping against skin, sweat dripping down his chest. “You love this, don’t you?” he growls. “Being fucked dumb by both of us?”

“Y-Yes—”

He reaches down, fingers circling your clit again, fast and unforgiving. “Then come for me. Come while I fuck this perfect pussy.”

You break.

The orgasm rips through you, sudden and overwhelming, your vision goes white, your body trembling under the force of it.

“Good girl,” Minho groans, thrusting once, twice, then spilling into the condom with a low growl.

You barely register him pulling out, collapsing next to you on the bed.

There’s a long silence.

Just panting.

Sticky skin and tangled limbs.

Then Minho brushes a strand of hair from your face and leans in, kissing your cheek. “You okay?”

You nod weakly, breathless. “Yeah… more than okay.”

Jisung cuddles up against your other side, nuzzling your neck. “That was the best day of my life.”

You laugh, dazed.

Minho smirks. “Guess Changbin’s gonna be real confused when he gets home.”

You all burst into giggles, tangled and happy and sated.

@hwangjoanna @penguins-in-space @sammhisphere

comment if you wanna be added to the tag list

[hyunjinsmuze]

Hey 😊 I just read forget me gently and I wanted to say thank you 😃.... for ripping out my heart and stomping on it

HEHE i’m so glad u enjoyed it, and also sorry for tearing ur heart out… 😸

do you guys want a part 2?

yes

no

Voting ended onMay 29, 2025

(i can make it more happy this time so u guys are not left heart broken)

[hyunjinsmuze]

Paint me naked

warnings: Unprotected sex, humping, grinding, nipple play,creampie, slightly subby Hyunjin (at first)

contains: ⛔️smut, slight fluff, soft dom!hyunjin

summary: When Hyunjin asks you to model for a painting, a teasing joke turns into something much deeper—and much filthier.

pairing: hyunjin x reader

words: 4.8k

You met Hyunjin on a random afternoon backstage at one of Stray Kids’ early shows before the lights, before the world knew him as more than a trainee with a pretty face and a body full of nervous energy. You weren’t part of the industry, not really. You were there tagging along with your cousin, a stylist-in-training who forgot her phone charger and begged you to bring it to the venue. You remember bumping into him—literally, shoulder against chest, awkward apologies exchanged in a cramped hallway.

He laughed, soft and polite, tucking his hair behind one ear. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking.”

Neither were you. But after that, you couldn’t stop.

It was the beginning of a slow, easy friendship. The kind that unfolds like pages in a well-worn book, comfortable, familiar, occasionally surprising. You ended up in the same coffee shops, the same late-night ramen joints, the same cramped dorm rooms where he and the other members laughed over horror movies and convenience store snacks.

What made you and Hyunjin different was the silence. Not awkward silence—never that. But the kind of quiet that hung between two people who didn’t need to fill the space with anything but presence. You understood his introverted spells, the way he disappeared into notebooks and sketchpads for days. He understood your tendency to overthink, your hesitancy to open up to new people.

He became your person. The one who texted at 2AM just to ask what the stars looked like from your window. The one who bought you hot packs in winter and made playlists for your bus rides. You never had to label it, but he was yours in a way no one else was.

He painted you once. Just your hands. He never told you he was doing it, just asked you to hold a piece of fruit one afternoon while he adjusted the lighting in his room. Weeks later, he texted you a photo of the finished piece, captioned with a single word: ‘yours.’

You didn’t ask what it meant. You didn’t have to.

Through the years, you watched him become Hyunjin—Hwang Hyunjin—idol, artist, fantasy. But he always came back to you, in small ways. A voice note here. A sketch of your favorite flower there. Movie nights, even when he was dead tired. He always had time for you, and you never questioned it.

He had other friends, of course. You weren’t delusional. But the intimacy you shared with him felt untouched, sacred. You knew what made him laugh until he cried, what song made him tear up in silence, the scent of the oil paint he used late at night.

Somewhere along the way, things shifted. You don’t know when exactly it happened, but one day you realized that your skin burned when he brushed your arm. That his gaze lingered too long when you wore off-the-shoulder tops. That when he hugged you, he held on a fraction of a second too long. That you liked it. That you craved it.

But you never crossed that line. You didn’t dare.

Hyunjin was flirtatious by nature, teasing, coy, all pouty lips and sparkly eyes—but there was something else in the way he looked at you. A softness. A depth. A quiet hunger he never acted on.

He wasn’t just pretty. He was breathtaking. Tall and lean with that graceful dancer’s body, lips made for sin, eyes that carried galaxies. And yet, he only ever seemed to look at you like you were the masterpiece.

Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was timing. Maybe it was the fact that you were so close, so intertwined, that the thought of losing him kept your desires locked behind your teeth.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

It started with a text.

hyunjin:

‘hey’

‘weird ask maybe, can i paint you?’

You were in bed when it came through. Face half-buried in your pillow, doom-scrolling past fan edits of him—shirtless, smirking, in that sheer black stage outfit you pretended not to zoom in on. You sat up, reread the message five times, then typed and deleted three different replies before finally settling on:

‘you’ve painted me before?’

He replied almost immediately.

‘not like this’

Your heart gave one of those annoying little skips. You could feel the heat pooling in your cheeks even though it was probably innocent. Probably. You waited, thumb hovering, then typed:

‘what’s “not like this” mean?’

It took him a minute. Long enough for you to overthink it, to imagine him staring at his screen, debating what to say. When the next message came through, your stomach flipped.

‘i wanna do a full portrait’

‘not just your hands or your back or whatever’

‘just you, sitting for me’

There was something about the way he said just you that made your skin tingle. Maybe it was the bluntness. Maybe it was the fact that he trusted you with this—something intimate, something artistic, something that sounded like it was more than just about a painting.

You stared at the message until your brain caught up with your body, until your fingers stopped fidgeting and your breath leveled out. Then:

‘okay. when?’

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

His studio wasn’t what you expected.

It was just a spare room in his apartment, walls splattered with dried paint, a couple of canvases leaning against the corners, a stool in the center with a single warm light trained on it. Music played softly in the background, something instrumental and moody.

He met you at the door, hair tied back in a loose bun, oversized shirt smudged with black paint. He smelled like that cologne you always associated with him, clean, sharp, with a hint of something woodsy.

“You came,” he said, smiling like he didn’t quite believe it.

“I said I would.”

“Yeah, but you say a lot of things you don’t mean.” He wasn’t teasing. Not really. There was something searching in his eyes, like he was checking to see if you felt it too, whatever it was.

You stepped inside, took in the space. “This is nice. Very you. Chaotic.”

He laughed. “It’s better when the light hits right. You’ll see.”

You dropped your bag by the door, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands. “So… what do you want me to do?”

“Just sit,” he said, already turning to grab his sketchpad. “I’m gonna start with some quick lines, get the posture right. You can relax. We’ll talk.”

You moved to the stool, adjusting your position a few times until he gave a little hum of approval. He stood a few feet away, flipping the pad open, pencil already in hand.

“Is this for a project or…?”

“Nah.” His eyes flicked up to yours, then down again. “Just for me.”

That shouldn’t have made your breath hitch. But it did.

“So,” he said, voice casual, like he hadn’t just casually short-circuited your brain, “the comeback’s almost done. Title track’s crazy. Felix has this deep part that’s gonna blow people’s minds.”

You leaned back slightly, letting yourself settle into the rhythm of it. “Is it the angry sexy kind of comeback? Or the emotional sexy kind?”

Hyunjin laughed, head still down, wrist moving in soft strokes. “Definitely angry sexy. We’re in our fuck you era.”

You grinned. “Hot.”

There was a pause. You could feel his gaze on you again, flickering between your posture and your face.

“You look good tonight.”

Your stomach did a weird, slow turn. You didn’t reply right away, just tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and shrugged. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s always true.”

He said it so easily. So simply. Like he didn’t realize the way his words sank into you, slow and warm and deep.

You glanced around, needing something to focus on. “How many people have you painted?”

He paused, pencil stalling mid-sketch. “Like… properly? Not many. You’re the only one I’ve asked to pose like this.”

You looked back at him. “Why me?”

His eyes lifted. He didn’t smile. Didn’t deflect.

“Because I know how to look at you.”

You should’ve said something clever. Should’ve laughed it off or rolled your eyes or made a joke. But the way he said it—quiet, sure, honest, left no room for anything else.

So you just breathed. Slowly. Carefully.

Then you said, “You’re flirting with me.”

He gave a soft little smirk. “Am I?”

“You are.”

“Is it working?”

You blinked. Heat surged through you in a sudden wave, hot cheeks, warm chest, pulsing low in your stomach. You opened your mouth to reply, and instead said:

“You should paint me naked.”

It came out before you could stop it. You didn’t even really mean it. It was a joke. A flirty little comment, the kind you’d made a dozen times before in less charged settings. But the second the words left your mouth, you knew they landed differently.

Hyunjin’s pencil stopped. Dead still.

He looked up at you, expression unreadable. There was a beat. Then:

“…Okay.”

Your breath caught.

“I—what?”

“I’ll paint you naked,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “If you want.”

You stared at him, frozen. “Hyunjin, I was joking.”

“I’m not.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with tension. The kind of silence that made your skin prickle. You could feel something shift in the air, something new and heavy and inevitable.

You wanted to laugh it off. But part of you didn’t.

Part of you wondered what it would feel like to let him see all of you. Not just your face or your posture or your hands—but you. Bare and unguarded and real.

And part of you, maybe a bigger part than you were ready to admit, wanted to see what he would do.

He didn’t say anything else. Just looked at you, waiting.

And before you could second-guess yourself, you reached for the hem of your shirt.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You don’t even realize what you’re doing until your shirt is halfway over your head.

You pause for a second, arms tangled in fabric, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. You want to say something, maybe still turn it into a joke, make it light, make it easy, but when you finally pull the shirt off and toss it onto the floor, the look on Hyunjin’s face shuts your brain down completely.

His mouth is slightly open. Eyes wide. Hands still clutching his sketchpad, but the pencil’s barely hanging on between his fingers.

You’re not even naked. Just in a bra, nothing fancy, black lace with a tiny bow in the center—but suddenly it feels like you’re wearing nothing.

“...Okay,” you say, voice way too breathless to sound normal. You try to smile. “You called my bluff. Happy?”

He doesn’t answer.

He just stares.

Like he’s seeing you for the first time. Like you’re not just his friend anymore, you’re something else. Something he can’t quite believe is real.

“I can put it back on,” you offer, and your voice is smaller now, not teasing anymore. “I was just messing around.”

“Don’t,” he says, and it comes out fast. Sharp. Then softer, like he’s catching himself. “I mean… only if you want to. But don’t because of me.”

You sit back on the stool, your bare skin suddenly way too aware of the air in the room. The studio light casts soft gold across your collarbones, down the slope of your chest. You can feel his eyes on you—like heat, like weight.

You glance at him. “Are you gonna sketch or just stare?”

He laughs once, short and nervous. “Sorry. Yeah. Sketching. Sketching.”

He fumbles with his pencil, nearly drops it, then clears his throat and lowers his eyes to the pad. You catch the way his hand is shaking a little. How his jaw flexes, how his tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip like his mouth’s gone dry.

You watch him. Watch the way his gaze keeps dragging back to your chest, your stomach, your thighs. How hard he’s trying to not look hungry. How he’s failing.

“So,” you say, like your voice isn’t a little shaky too, “what’s the, uh—what’s the vision here? Do I get a Greek goddess moment? Or are we going full Titanic?”

“Stop talking,” he mumbles, not looking up. His cheeks are flushed. “You’re making it worse.”

That makes you grin.

“Oh? What’s worse?”

“You know what.”

You tilt your head. “You’re getting turned on.”

He doesn’t answer, but the tips of his ears are red, and he shifts in his chair like he’s trying to discreetly adjust something in his lap.

You bite your lip. Your skin is tingling. Your thighs press together, involuntarily. It’s like the heat in the room has changed—like the air between you is full of static.

“I didn’t think this would actually do anything,” you admit. “I mean, we’re friends.”

“Exactly,” he says, finally looking up at you, and there’s a raw kind of intensity in his voice. “That’s why it is doing something.”

You blink. “What?”

“You’re not just some model. You’re not just a body. You’re—” He breaks off, swallows. “You’re you. And you’re sitting there, all beautiful and confident and half-naked, and I’m supposed to just draw you like it’s nothing?”

You don’t know what to say. You don’t even know what you’re feeling.

You’d thought this would be a joke. That he’d laugh, roll his eyes, maybe throw a pillow at you. But instead you’re both buzzing. Breathing like you’ve been running. Hearts pounding. Every second that passes feels more and more dangerous.

You shift slightly on the stool, crossing one leg over the other, and you see the way his eyes drop. You see the subtle flex in his hands. The rise in his chest.

He’s hard. You’re sure of it now. There’s a subtle tension in the way he sits, a stiffness in his posture that has nothing to do with his sketch.

And the worst, or maybe best, part?

You’re getting there too.

You feel warm all over. Every time his eyes flick to you, you get this pulse between your legs—this low, throbbing ache that makes you want to move, to shift, to do something.

And suddenly you’re wondering what it would feel like if he touched you.

Not in some grand, dramatic way. Not all at once. But something small. The brush of his fingers along your thigh. The backs of his knuckles down your ribcage. His mouth on your neck.

You swallow hard.

“You okay?” he asks quietly, voice low and tight.

You nod. But then your voice betrays you. “Are you?”

His throat works. “No.”

And you don’t know what possesses you, maybe it’s the ache building low in your belly, maybe it’s the way his eyes look like he’s trying not to devour you—but the words slip out before you can stop them.

“Do you… want help?”

His entire body goes still.

You clarify, because you have to, because if you don’t you’ll explode. “With… with your hard-on.”

There. You said it.

And he looks at you like you just offered him something sacred. His lips part. His pupils are blown wide, chest rising and falling fast.

He nods.

Once.

Twice.

Three times, frantic and desperate, like the words aren’t coming fast enough.

“Please.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The moment the word please leaves his mouth, something shifts.

Hyunjin—your shy, soft-spoken best friend who blushes when you compliment his jawline, is staring at you like he’s about to fall apart. And you’re not much better. Your body is buzzing. Throat dry. Every nerve alive and humming.

You stand slowly, moving off the stool. The silence is so heavy it feels like a third body in the room.

He doesn’t move.

You step closer.

He still doesn’t move—but his breath hitches when you reach for the sketchpad, gently pulling it out of his hands and setting it on the floor beside the chair. His fingers graze yours, barely, but it’s enough to make your stomach clench.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Your hand moves carefully to the waistband of his sweats. You don’t pull, not yet. You’re watching his face, the way his lashes flutter, the way his mouth trembles with restraint. He’s letting you lead, nervous and desperate, completely open, like he’ll shatter if you stop.

You lean in, close enough that your breath fans against his ear.

“You’re so hard,” you murmur, almost a purr.

He whimpers.

Actually, whimpers.

You smile a little, heat pooling between your legs. “Thought you said you could handle it.”

“I can’t,” he breathes. “Not—not when it’s you.”

You kiss him.

There’s no hesitation. No second-guessing. Just mouths crashing together, all heat and hunger and months—years—of buried tension finally snapping loose. His lips are soft but eager, a little clumsy with how badly he wants you. He tilts his head, groaning into the kiss, hands gripping the arms of the chair like if he touches you too soon he’ll lose control.

You straddle him slowly, your knees on either side of his hips, settling into his lap.

And fuck, you can feel it now, his cock straining against the thin fabric of his sweats, pressing up against the soft part of your panties. It makes your hips jerk without meaning to.

He gasps.

“You feel that?” you whisper, brushing your nose against his. “You’re so hard for me, Jinnie.”

“Fuck,” he moans, head falling back. His neck arches and you take your chance, leaning down to kiss down the column of his throat, sucking gently just below his ear.

His whole body trembles.

You roll your hips, slow and deliberate, grinding down against him. The friction sends a shock through you, your clit catching just right against the fabric. It’s not enough, but it’s so good.

He’s breathing hard now, little gasps leaving his parted lips. His hands are twitching at his sides, and when one finally lifts, shaky, hesitant—you guide it to your waist.

“Touch me,” you say. “You can.”

That’s all it takes. His hands slide up your sides, warm and wide, fingers splaying across your back like he needs to hold you in place. He looks up at you like he’s still not convinced this is real.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, voice cracking. “I don’t—fuck, I don’t even know what I’m doing—”

“You’re doing perfect.”

You kiss him again, slower this time. Deeper. Letting your tongue trace his, dragging your fingers into his hair and tugging just enough to make him moan. He bucks his hips up into you, instinctive, needy, and the pressure makes you both gasp.

You whisper against his lips, “You want me to take it off?”

His eyes flick down to your bra. He swallows hard. Nods.

You reach behind you, unhook it slowly, then let the straps slide down your arms. The second it hits the floor, his eyes go wide—hungry. Like he wants to memorize every inch of you, paint you again and again, frame you in gold.

He reaches up with both hands, cupping your breasts carefully, reverently.

“Can I?” he whispers, thumbs brushing your nipples.

You nod.

He leans in, mouth warm against your skin, kissing along the curve before flicking his tongue over one nipple. You arch, grinding into him harder, and he groans, low and filthy, all breath and heat.

“Jinnie…”

“I can’t take it,” he gasps. “I need—fuck, I need more.”

His hands slide down to your hips, gripping tight, guiding your movements now. The rhythm builds, your clothed cores grinding together, wet heat meeting hard desperation, the friction slick and perfect. Your breath stutters. You feel yourself clenching around nothing, aching for more.

“Do you feel how wet I am for you?” you whisper. “I’m soaking through my panties.”

His hands tremble.

“You can touch,” you say. “If you want.”

His fingers hook in the waistband of your underwear so fast it’s almost funny, shaky and eager, like he’s scared you’ll change your mind. You help him slide them down, then press back into his lap, bare now, wet and swollen and hot.

The first touch is electric.

His fingers slip between your folds, slow and shaky, and when he finds your clit you both gasp.

“Holy shit,” he breathes. “You’re—fuck, you’re dripping.”

You bite your lip, rocking against his hand. “You make me like this.”

He kisses you again, deeper, hungrier. His fingers rub tight little circles, then dip lower, teasing your entrance.

“I wanna be inside you,” he whispers. “But I don’t wanna rush. I wanna feel everything.”

“We will,” you promise, kissing him back. “But I wanna make you feel good first.”

He looks up at you, eyes wide. “I’m gonna come if you keep doing this.”

You grin. “That’s the point.”

You reach down, slipping your hand into his sweats. The second your fingers wrap around him, he shudders—eyes fluttering, hips jerking into your palm.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” he moans. “Y/N—please—”

“You’re so big, Jinnie.”

He whimpers again, so pretty, and you stroke him slowly, matching the rhythm of your hips.

You’re both sweating now, breath ragged, moaning into each other’s mouths as you grind and stroke and kiss like you’re starving. You can feel your orgasm building—tight and hot and close.

“I wanna come on your cock,” you whisper. “I wanna feel you inside me.”

He nods like he’s possessed.

“I want that too,” he pants. “Please. Let me—let me fuck you—”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You pause at the sound of his voice.

Hyunjin’s face is flushed, eyes heavy and glazed with need, hair sticking to his damp forehead. His chest is rising and falling fast, lips parted as he stares up at you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks.

“Say it again,” you whisper, fingers resting against his bare stomach.

His jaw flexes.

“I want to fuck you,” he says again, this time firmer, his voice low and strained, like it’s burning his throat on the way out. “Please. Let me.”

You lean in close, letting your forehead press against his, your noses brushing.

“Then do it.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “I don’t have a condom—”

“I’m on the pill,” you whisper. “And I trust you.”

That’s all it takes.

He moves fast—like something inside him just snaps. His hands slide down to your ass, gripping tight as he lifts you up placing you on one of his tables in the room with surprising strength, mouth crashing onto yours in a bruising kiss. He’s not shy anymore. His body presses into yours, fully, completely, like he’s trying to mold himself against you.

“Tell me if I do too much,” he says, breath hot against your mouth. “Tell me if you want to stop.”

You nod, breathless. “I won’t want to stop.”

He kisses down your chest, licking over your nipples until you’re arching under him, legs falling open on instinct. His hands trail down your stomach, your thighs, until he’s slipping a finger between your folds again, and this time, it’s so much slicker. You’re soaked.

“Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re so wet for me.”

“For you,” you pant, gripping his shoulders. “Only you.”

He groans like he’s in pain, rocking his hips forward just once, grinding his cock against your entrance, dragging the thick head through your folds. The friction makes your whole body tense, hips lifting to chase the sensation.

“Please, Hyunjin,” you whimper. “I need you inside me.”

He presses his forehead to yours.

“Look at me,” he says, voice ragged. “I want to watch your face when I’m inside you.”

You do. You hold his gaze.

And then—slowly, carefully, he pushes inside.

The stretch is dizzying. He’s thick, long, and he goes slow, easing in inch by inch, his jaw clenched tight like he’s trying not to lose control. Your body clenches around him instinctively, and you gasp, your hands flying to his arms.

“F-fuck,” you stammer. “Hyunjin—you're so big—”

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he pants, voice shaking. “I’ll stop. I’ll wait—”

“No,” you gasp. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

He groans, deep and guttural, and finally sinks all the way in.

For a second, you both just breathe. Your bodies flush together, your chest pressed to his, every inch of him filling you perfectly. You feel split open, wrecked, full, but in the best way.

“I’ve wanted this,” he whispers. “For so long.”

You cup his face, pull him into a kiss, and then he starts to move.

The first thrust is slow, testing, dragging his cock out almost all the way before pushing back in deep. You both moan, eyes fluttering shut. His hands are everywhere now, your hips, your waist, your face, like he can’t decide which part of you to hold onto.

The pace builds quickly.

Soft grunts spill from his lips as he fucks into you—deep and rhythmic, grinding with each thrust. He’s still gentle, still careful, but the desperation is bleeding through. His hips slap against yours, the sound obscene in the studio silence, and you can’t stop the way you’re clinging to him—fingers tangled in his hair, thighs wrapped around his waist, pulling him in harder.

“God, you feel—” he chokes on a breath, “you feel so fucking good.”

You tighten around him, intentionally this time, and he gasps.

“Fuck…don’t do that,” he groans. “I’m not gonna last.”

“Then come,” you whisper. “I want you to. Come inside me, Hyunjin.”

He growls, actually growls, and pins your wrists above your head with one hand, the other gripping your hip tight as he starts fucking you harder. Not rough, exactly, but deep, urgent, hungry. Like he needs to bury himself in you and never leave.

Your orgasm builds like a tidal wave, tight and sharp, curling through your spine.

“I’m-fuck…I’m gonna~” you cry out, legs shaking.

“Come,” he gasps. “Come on my cock, baby. Let me feel it.”

And when you do, it rips through you like fire, your whole body seizing, walls fluttering around him as you scream his name. He’s right behind you, cursing under his breath as he thrusts deep one last time, spilling inside you with a loud, broken moan.

You stay like that, panting, trembling, pressed together, for a long moment.

Then he lowers himself gently onto your chest, still inside you, kissing your collarbone.

“...Holy shit,” he whispers.

You laugh, breathy, dazed. “That’s one way to end a sketch session.”

He huffs a laugh too, then kisses your neck, your jaw, your lips.

“I’m never gonna be able to paint you the same again,” he says softly.

You smile.

“Good.”

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The studio is quiet now.

No more breathless gasps, no desperate sounds of skin on skin, just the slow hum of the fan in the corner and the afterglow settling between your bodies like a blanket. You’re lying on the floor with him, tangled together on a half-unrolled canvas drop cloth, skin sticking slightly where your legs are wrapped around his.

Your chest rises and falls slowly. He’s beside you, arm slung around your waist, cheek resting on your shoulder. Still catching his breath.

He hasn’t said much since.

But he hasn’t let go of you, either.

You glance down at him, brushing your fingers through his messy, sweaty hair. “Hey.”

He lifts his head a little, just enough to meet your eyes.

“You okay?” you ask, and the softness in your voice surprises even you. You’re still breathless, still flushed, but the concern is real. You care. Maybe too much.

Hyunjin nods immediately. “Yeah. Yeah—I’m okay. Just…”

He pauses, lips parting, eyes searching yours.

“I don’t want this to mess anything up.”

Your heart clenches.

“Me neither,” you whisper. “But… it doesn’t feel like a mistake, right?”

He shakes his head. “No. Not even close.”

A pause.

Then he reaches beside him and grabs one of his oversized hoodies from the floor, black, soft, probably worn to death. He helps you pull it over your head, careful and gentle like he’s afraid of hurting you. It’s warm, smells like him, and falls way past your thighs.

You watch him quietly as he tugs his own shirt back on.

There’s a faint pink flush still on his cheeks, but his eyes are softer now. Sweeter. He leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m glad it was you,” he says. “If it was ever gonna be anyone, I wanted it to be you.”

Your heart twists, full and aching. You nod.

He walks you to the door like a gentleman, hand at the small of your back. When you step outside into the cool night air, he hesitates.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asks.

You grin. “You better.”

And when you walk away, his hoodie hanging off your body, your thighs still tingling from the hours before,you realize this isn’t just a shift.

It’s a beginning.

@hwangjoanna @penguins-in-space @sammhisphere

A/N comment if u wanna be added to the tag list, and if you have any request, feel free to send them on my profile

[hyunjinsmuze]

could u write a chan fic where reader cheats on her boyfriend with him?

OFC !! any request you guys want send through on my profile

Between Us

Warnings: Grinding, dry humping, dirty talk,

Contains: ⛔️Smut, cheating, friends with benefits, toxic relationship, unresolved feelings, studio setting

pairing: bangchan x reader

summary: you and chan used to have something, you pretended it was nothing after you stopped seeing him and got a boyfriend…but you couldn’t pretend no more.

words: 2k

It used to be simple.

Backstage, late nights. Quiet apartments. Hotel rooms and studio booths where the air smelled like tired sweat and synth pads. Chan would text you something vague, but you always knew what it meant.

"Rough day. Can you come by?"

You never asked for more than that. And he never offered.

Sometimes he’d be slumped in his desk chair when you got there, hoodie tugged low over his eyes, cap twisted backwards, silence draped over him like a second skin. Other nights he’d open the door before you knocked, his hand already wrapped around your waist before the door clicked shut.

It wasn’t romantic. It wasn’t supposed to be.

You were his comfort. His release. He was yours.

That was the deal.

There were nights when he'd whisper things into your skin — things that sounded a little too close to love, if you let yourself believe them. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not when everything between you existed in that space after midnight but before the sun.

You’d run your hands through his hair while he moved inside you, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath ragged and real. You’d collapse together in sweaty silence, limbs tangled, hearts pretending not to beat too loudly.

And then you'd leave.

Sometimes with a kiss to his temple. Sometimes with a note.

But it changed the night you told him about Yonjung.

"It’s getting serious," you had said. You didn't mean to sound apologetic, but your voice cracked anyway.

Chan blinked at you from across his bed, hair sticking up, shirt discarded somewhere on the floor. He didn’t say anything. Just nodded, once.

You didn’t see each other again after that.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

Yonjung used to be sweet.

Used to.

When you met, he made you laugh until your cheeks hurt. He sent you good morning texts with too many heart emojis. He learned your coffee order, memorized your Spotify playlists, kissed your temples when you were too tired to function.

He was kind, at first.

He held your hand in public. Told his friends about you with pride in his voice. He loved you loudly.

But love faded in him like colors left in the sun too long.

Now, he barely looked up from his phone when you walked into the room. His affection came in short, cold bursts. He still said "I love you," but only when it was convenient, like punctuation at the end of a fight.

He didn’t hit you. He wasn’t cruel with fists.

But emotional bruises still hurt.

He stopped asking about your day. Forgot the names of the friends you mentioned. You caught him texting someone else once, nothing explicit, but enough to make your stomach drop.

He called you overdramatic. Said you were imagining things.

So you stopped asking.

The day you saw Chan again, you were running late to a coffee shop. Your mind full of things Yonjung had muttered that morning, sharp words disguised as jokes.

Chan looked like the past dressed in black, hoodie half unzipped, headphones dangling from his collar. You locked eyes across the cafe and time bent. Just for a second.

"Hey," he said, voice soft, hesitant.

You blinked. Swallowed.

"Hey, Chan."

It started again like that.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

That evening, your phone buzzed.

Chan: saw an old file from 2021. that song we never finished. want to come by the studio sometime?

Your heart shouldn’t have fluttered. But it did.

You said yes.

The studio felt the same, but different. You took your usual seat beside him, fingers brushing over old memories etched into the soundboard.

He played the track.

Soft synths, raw vocals. That moment where your voice echoed under his. You’d forgotten how intimate it had sounded.

"It still works," he said, voice low.

You nodded, too aware of how close his leg was to yours.

You stayed longer than expected. Talked. Laughed. Almost like old times.

But it wasn't until the lights dimmed and silence fell between you that he asked it.

"You still with him?"

Your lips parted. Closed. Then opened again.

"Yeah. I mean... it's complicated. He's not really... he's not very nice anymore."

Chan didn’t press. Just stared at the keyboard, jaw tight.

"He ever hurt you?"

"Not like that," you said too quickly.

He nodded once. Then looked away.

You left that night feeling like you forgot something behind.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You went home and the guilt followed.

The apartment was dark. Yonjung's jacket was on the couch. You slipped off your shoes and padded into the bedroom.

He was already in bed, scrolling through his phone, the glow of the screen lighting his face.

"Where were you?" he asked, not looking at you.

You paused. "With a friend."

He hummed, turning on his side, back to you. "You didn’t answer your phone."

"It died. Sorry."

No response.

You crawled into bed beside him. The silence was louder than any scream.

He didn’t touch you. Didn’t even look at you.

And all you could think about was Chan. The way he used to pull you into his lap when you were both too tired to stand. The way his voice dipped when he said your name. The way he looked at you — like you mattered.

You turned onto your back and stared at the ceiling.

You wished, with everything in you, that it was Chan beside you. Not Yonjung. Not this version of him.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You came back.

Of course you did.

To hear the song. That’s what you told yourself.

But you wore your favorite lip gloss. Just in case.

He let you in without a word. The track was queued. The room was dim, only the soft blue glow from the mixing board lit his face.

The air between you was warmer this time. Thicker.

You perched on the edge of the couch as he played the file. That old song. You closed your eyes, letting it wash over you. Your voice blended with his, woven into a moment that felt suspended in time.

"Still hits," you murmured when it ended, your voice soft.

Chan didn’t say anything at first. He leaned back in his chair, just watching you.

"Yeah," he said finally. "It does."

His eyes lingered on your lips.

"Did you ever think about finishing it?" you asked.

His lips quirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I think we left it unfinished for a reason.”

You didn’t reply. You couldn’t.

He stood up slowly and walked toward you. Sat down beside you. Close enough for your knees to touch.

You both stayed quiet.

You weren’t sure who leaned in first, but it didn’t matter.

The kiss was slow. Tentative at first. His lips brushing yours once. Then again. And then with more urgency, as if the tension from every missed chance, every word left unsaid, was unraveling at once.

Your hand slid up his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his hoodie. He cupped your cheek, thumb stroking gently under your eye before his mouth moved more insistently against yours.

The sound you let out was soft, needy.

His fingers dropped to your waist, pulling you gently onto his lap. You straddled him, knees pressed into the couch cushions, hands on his shoulders.

The kiss deepened.

Tongues brushing. Teeth scraping.

His hands gripped your hips, guiding your movements without a word. You shifted, experimentally rolling your hips — and the groan that rumbled out of him made you ache.

"we shouldn’t," he muttered against your mouth.

"I know," you breathed.

But you did it again.

He was already hard beneath you. There was no hiding it. You rocked your hips again, grinding slowly into him, your clothed core dragging over his cock through the layers of fabric.

His head fell back for a second, eyes fluttering shut. “Fuck…”

His hands moved under your shirt, rough palms sliding up your back, exploring familiar skin like it was new again.

The friction between you grew unbearable — your panties already soaked, catching on your folds as you rocked against him in slow, languid circles.

His hips jerked up into yours.

You gasped, clinging to him. “Chan…”

"Keep going," he rasped. "Just like that. Don’t stop."

He matched your rhythm now, grinding up into you, making the pressure deeper, rougher. Every time your hips met, sparks shot through you. His cock pressed perfectly against your clit through both your clothes, sending tremors up your spine.

"You’re so fucking wet," he hissed. "Can feel it through everything."

Your face burned. Your body trembled. But you didn’t stop.

He sucked your bottom lip into his mouth, biting it gently, and you whimpered into him. His grip on your waist tightened.

"Can I touch you?" he asked. "Over the panties. Just once?"

You nodded frantically, already too close to care.

His hand slid between you, fingers pressing against your soaked core. You cried out, your hips jerking into his touch. He rubbed slow circles, firm and perfect through the thin fabric.

"That’s it," he murmured. "Let me feel you come."

You buried your face in his shoulder, moaning against his skin, the pleasure sharp and fast and dizzying. Your hips bucked, your breath ragged.

“Chan—fuck, I—”

He kept his movements steady, relentless, watching your face as you unraveled.

You came with a soft, broken cry, thighs trembling around him, your body arching into his touch.

He moved his hands back to your waist holding you through it, still grinding his own hips against you, his mouth dragging over your jaw, your neck.

A broken moan tearing from your throat. You shook in his arms, nails digging into his shoulders, hips still rocking, still needing.

“I’m gonna…fuck, I’m gonna come too,” he groaned, thrusting up against you harder, chasing his own release. “Don’t stop—just like that”

You whined into his mouth, still sensitive, still twitching from your high as he let go with a strangled gasp.

He came hard, hips stuttering beneath you, his cock pulsing inside his boxers as he released. The heat of it soaked through the layers between you, his body going rigid before slumping forward, forehead pressing into your shoulder as he panted.

The room went quiet except for the sound of your breathing. Hot. Shaky. Intertwined.

Neither of you moved right away.

When you finally pulled back, you stared at him, chest heaving, lips swollen.

“I have a boyfriend,” you whispered.

Chan rested his forehead against yours, exhaling a laugh full of guilt and ache.

“You didn’t fuck me,” he said. “Not really, it doesn’t count.”

And you both knew it would never be simple again.

@sammhisphere @penguins-in-space

A/N: comment if you want to be added to the tag list

[hyunjinsmuze]

TORN

warning: ⛔️smut, unprotected sex, fingering, dirty talk, hickeys

contains: smut, fluff, hurt/comfort, jealousy, a little angst

summary: You never meant to fall for either of them, but now you’re caught between, tangled in love, guilt, and everything unspoken.

pairing: idol!Han Jisung x Reader x idol!Jeongin

words: 6.3k

When you first walked into the practice room, no one looked twice.

You were just the new choreographer young, serious, sleeves rolled to your elbows, clipboard in hand, expression unreadable but never unkind. You were hired last minute to help clean up footwork and spacing for the upcoming tour setlist. The company had mentioned your impressive portfolio, but you didn’t act like someone who needed validation. You carried yourself with calm control, the kind that didn’t scream for respect, just quietly received it.

In the beginning, you kept to yourself.

You bowed politely when entering the studio, clapped your hands twice when they got too rowdy, corrected mistakes without unnecessary commentary. You didn’t talk much, but when you did, your words were clear, intentional.

“Felix smaller step on count seven. You’re blocking Minho’s line.”

“Changbin, soften your knees. You’re tensing again.”

“Jeongin, good energy but watch your upper body. Too much.”

You were firm, but never harsh. They didn’t dislike you, they just didn’t know you.

Jeongin was the first to crack you open.

Not on purpose—he was just easy to read. He’d mess up the same count three times and laugh every single time. One night, as rehearsal stretched past midnight, you caught his reflection in the mirror making exaggerated faces behind you during water breaks. You didn’t scold him. You just arched an eyebrow in the mirror, lips twitching with the start of a smile.

The next day, he offered you a protein bar before practice. “here, you need some food,” he said.

It didn’t take long after that.

You started staying late, five, ten, fifteen minutes to go over someone’s moves. Then twenty, thirty, because you were waiting for your bus. And sometimes Jeongin stayed too.

You’re not sure when it started.

Maybe it was the night he asked if you wanted to grab ramen after practice half-joking, probably expecting you to say no. Maybe it was when you said yes.

Maybe it was the first time you sat beside him on the floor, half-laughing, knees touching, chopsticks in hand, eating convenience store ramen like you were in some low-budget drama. Or maybe it was the night you fell asleep next to him on the dorm couch, in the middle of a movie, your head slipping down until it rested on his shoulder…

and he didn’t move.

That was the turning point.

Because Jeongin didn’t like skinship—not really. Not when it wasn’t necessary. But with you, he didn’t flinch. He let you stay there, quiet, content. When you shifted closer, forehead brushing his arm he didn’t stop you.

You weren’t dating. Nothing was official. But he was your person, and you were his.

You had inside jokes.

You shared playlists.

You started saving clips from practices and sending them to him privately with dumb captions.

He texted you before sessions with things like: “How strict are you feeling today?” or “If I bring you coffee will you go easy on me?”

You were close. Closer than you’d planned.

You still taught professionally. Still corrected their moves, still clapped your hands to get their attention. But you laughed more now. Smiled when Hyunjin made a dramatic entrance. Rolled your eyes at Seungmin’s sarcasm. You started wearing hoodies to practice instead of tailored jackets. You let your walls down at least with them.

At least with him.

But Han noticed.

From the very beginning, he noticed you.

There was something about your focus. The way you stood even after hours of rehearsing. The way you adjusted someone’s hand placement like it mattered more than anyone else realized. The way you didn’t always speak when the others were joking around not because you felt out of place, but because you didn’t need to fill every silence to feel included.

You fascinated him. But he didn’t approach, not right away.

He wasn’t shy. He just wasn’t sure what to make of you. Until he saw you with Jeongin.

The first time he noticed you walking back to the dorms together, heads tilted toward each other, laughing at something only the two of you seemed to understand he felt it.

That little twist in his chest.

He didn’t say anything. Not yet.

But the more he watched the way you looked at Jeongin when he wasn’t paying attention, the way Jeongin’s eyes always found yours first when something funny happened he felt it again. Something deeper.

Han wasn’t jealous.

Not exactly.

He just… wanted to be the one making you laugh.

He wanted to be the one you leaned on, the one who knew your thoughts before you said them.

He wanted to know what it felt like to be close enough to touch.

But for now, he watched.

And waited.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Time changes things. Not always in big, dramatic ways, but in little ones the way the Stray Kids members no longer bow quite so formally when they see you, or how they text you memes in the group chat now instead of dance questions.

You weren’t just their instructor anymore. Not to them, and honestly… not to you either.

Somewhere along the way, lines blurred. It started simple — small talk in the practice breaks turning into inside jokes. Seungmin once brought you a coffee and you thought it was a one-off until he started asking if you wanted one every other day. Chan gave you his hoodie once when you were freezing, and you forgot to give it back for two weeks. You and Hyunjin shared playlists now.

And Jeongin… well, Jeongin still walked behind you whenever you all left the studio late at night, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes flicking to yours whenever the streetlights hit just right.

You weren’t sure when it had happened when you went from being the professional who kept a polite distance to someone they joked with, hung out with, invited to karaoke nights. It just kind of happened. One day, you were just teaching them a tough transition, and the next, you were sprawled out on Chan’s studio couch beside Jeongin, arguing about what topping was superior on instant ramen.

You still taught, still guided them through choreography and counted off the beats like muscle memory. But outside of that, you were theirs. One of them.

Which made it all the more complicated when Han started looking at you differently.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed him before. You had. He was loud and sharp and wickedly funny, the kind of person whose energy pulled attention without asking. But where Jeongin was soft-eyed and gentle with you, Han was unpredictable. Bold, but not obvious. Observant in a way that made your skin prickle.

And that morning, he was early.

You were already at the practice room before the rest of the members earbuds in, stretching absently, lost in your own world. The studio door creaked open, and you turned, expecting Chan or maybe Hyunjin.

Instead, Han.

He paused in the doorway, eyes flicking down your frame in a split second before he smirked. “Damn,” he said casually, tossing his bag on the floor near the mirrors, “Is there a rule about looking that good this early, or…?”

You raised a brow, amused. “You’re early.”

He shrugged. “Could say the same about you.”

“I work here.”

“Yeah,” he said, flopping onto the floor next to your water bottle like he owned the place, “But I’d show up early too if I knew you’d be warming up like that.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “Are you always like this in the morning?”

He gave you a lazy grin. “Only when I’ve had enough coffee. And when I’m trying to charm someone.”

You nudged his knee with your foot. “You’re gonna have to try harder.”

“Bet.”

The banter was effortless — something about Han always made it feel that way. He didn’t flirt like someone trying to win you over. He flirted like he was already confident he had.

The rest of practice went by in a blur. The others trickled in slowly, one by one, and you shifted naturally back into your usual rhythm. But Han lingered close more than usual pbehind you during formations, over your shoulder when you demonstrated movements, always with some low comment or quick-witted tease.

Later that day, when most of them had scattered off to eat or nap, you stayed behind in the studio to jot down some notes. Jeongin had offered to wait with you, but you waved him off gently promising you'd be fine and you'd text him when you were done.

You didn’t notice Han was still there until he sat down next to you again, tossing you a bottle of water.

“You always this hardworking?” he asked, cracking open his own drink.

“Someone’s gotta make sure you guys don’t trip over yourselves.”

“Please. You’d miss it if I stopped messing up.”

You laughed. “Would I?”

“You would,” he said smoothly, then leaned his head back against the mirror, letting the silence sit comfortably for a second. “Hey, random question.”

You looked over. “Yeah?”

“I’m working on something. A song. Just a concept right now, really but I think it could be something.” He turned to you more fully now, his tone shifting just slightly. “Would you… maybe want to help with it? Just some ideas, maybe vocals. I’ve heard you hum along during practice. You’ve got good instincts.”

You blinked. “You want me to work on a song with you?”

“If you want.” He tried to play it cool, but you could see the flicker of something honest in his eyes. “I mean, I won’t beg. But I think it’d be cool.”

You nodded slowly, lips twitching. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” you said. “I’d love to.”

And just like that, something shifted.

You didn’t know it yet didn’t know what kind of weight those lyrics would hold, or how many nights you’d stay up talking in that studio while the rest of the world slept. You didn’t know what Han was already starting to feel, or how close it all was to changing everything.

You just knew he was looking at you in a way that felt like the start of something.

Something not so innocent.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You weren’t doing anything wrong.

At least, not in the way that mattered.

Han was laughing at something you’d shown him on your phone some dumb meme, probably, or an old video from a fan sign where Changbin tripped over a mic cord. You’d both been crying laughing over it for like a solid three minutes, the kind where you clutch your stomach and try to catch your breath, and Han was already leaning into your space the way he always did when something made him laugh too hard.

His hand reached for your phone, fingers brushing over yours when he pulled it from your grip.

“Show me again,” he said between breaths. “Please. I need to save that. I’m gonna bully Binnie with this forever.”

You leaned in automatically to grab the phone back, and that’s when it happened.

That pause.

The moment your faces ended up a little too close. Too close to ignore. Not touching, not even really moving — just still. His fingers wrapped loosely around your phone, yours still half-curled around it, and both of you kind of… froze.

His breath hitched. Yours probably did too. And you didn’t look away.

For like, two seconds.

It was nothing. Nothing happened. You moved. He cleared his throat. You laughed something off under your breath and grabbed your bottle of water to pretend like your face wasn’t warm.

What you didn’t realize was that Jeongin had seen the whole thing.

He wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it.

You were sitting on the studio couch with Han. Jeongin was behind you, sitting in a chair, legs stretched out like he wasn’t paying attention but you should’ve known better. He was quiet. Still. Phone in his hand but not looking at it, just kind of… watching.

You didn't see the way his eyes narrowed, just barely. The way his fingers clenched around the phone in his lap.

And the weird thing was —it wasn’t even a dramatic change. It was more like… this slow tilt in energy.

Like gravity had shifted slightly. Like something had gone sour in the air.

You noticed it maybe ten minutes later. You and Han were still on the couch, still occasionally leaning over each other's shoulders when he played some demo from his Notes app, and Jeongin?

Jeongin didn’t say anything.

Didn’t laugh. Didn’t joke. Didn’t even roll his eyes at Han’s dumb commentary. He was just… quiet. Staring at the floor. Then back at you.

It got weirder when Han tried to stretch out.

He shifted a little on the couch, spreading his arm lazily along the back like he was getting comfortable, not touching you, but definitely a little close and Jeongin, who had been leaning forward in his chair, suddenly sat up straighter.

“You done there?”

Han blinked. “What?”

“I said,” Jeongin repeated, tone perfectly calm, “You done? I wanted to sit.”

There was a pause. Han didn’t move.

“…There’s a chair right there,” he said eventually, nodding to the empty one beside him.

Jeongin tilted his head, and for a second, you thought he was going to argue.

Instead, he just looked back down at his phone, jaw tight.

It stayed weird like that for the next hour. You kept trying to catch Jeongin’s eye, but he was being deliberately difficult making short, clipped comments when you asked questions, barely reacting when you said anything funny, even though usually, he laughed at literally everything you said like it was the best thing in the world.

Eventually, Lee Know finished recording in the booth, and Han stood up to stretch with a groan.

“Let’s go grab food,” he muttered to Minho, who nodded and started grabbing his stuff.

You stood too, tugging on your hoodie and reaching for your bag. “I’ll catch you later—”

“Wait for me?” you said quickly to Jeongin, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He gave you a look. Shrugged. “Fine.”

That was weird.

You stayed behind to clean up a few things, tossing water bottles into the bin, tucking your charger into your bag. When you turned around, Jeongin was still there standing near the door, arms crossed, staring at the floor.

“Okay,” you said carefully, walking toward him. “What’s wrong with you today?”

“Nothing.”

“Jeongin.”

“I said nothing,” he replied, a little sharper this time.

You stopped walking. “You’ve been weird ever since practice started. You barely said anything. You looked like you wanted to set Han on fire.”

He didn’t say anything. His jaw clenched.

You frowned. “Are you mad at me?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

Jeongin exhaled sharply, shifting his weight. “You’re just… I don’t know.”

You stared. “No, tell me.”

His eyes met yours, and they were tired. Frustrated.

“You’re just close with him all of a sudden,” he said finally, voice low. “You and Han.”

You blinked. “Okay, but so? He’s my friend.”

Jeongin didn’t reply.

You studied him for a second. Then: “Wait. Are you—”

“No.”

“Jeongin.”

“I said no.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You’re jealous.”

He scoffed. “Why would I be?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

“Do whatever you want with Han,” he muttered under his breath, already reaching for the door.

Your heart stuttered. “Jeongin.”

He stopped but didn’t turn around.

“Is that really how you feel?” you asked. “Like I’m doing something wrong?”

His voice was quiet. “It just looked like something else.”

You walked a little closer, not touching him — just enough that he could hear you clearly.

“It wasn’t,” you said. “We were laughing.”

“You were staring.”

You didn’t have an answer for that. Not really.

He finally turned, and his eyes weren’t angry…they were hurt. Like he didn’t even mean to be mad, he just couldn’t help it. And that, that stung more than anything.

“I don’t like feeling like I’m watching something I didn’t know I was supposed to be competing with.”

You blinked. “Competing?”

He shook his head. “Never mind.”

And then he left.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You didn’t know it, but jeongin had been thinking about you more than he should’ve. More than he ever let himself admit, until now.

He didn’t know when it started — maybe it was the first time you showed up in the studio with your hair tied messily and a cup of coffee in your hand, calling him “Jjongie” like it was the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it was the way you always knew when he needed space, but still stayed close. Or maybe it was the way you fell asleep next to him once, head on his shoulder, and he didn’t want to move. Didn’t want the moment to end.

He told himself it wasn’t a big deal. That it was just friendship. That he wasn’t that kind of guy the one who pined or got caught up in things like feelings. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being harmless.

And now ?

now it felt too late

You had been spending more time with Han lately. Not on purpose not like you were avoiding jeongin but… everything felt different. Off. Like the balance had shifted and you weren’t sure how to fix it.

You still loved jeongin — in the way that your soul does when it’s been tied to someone quietly for so long. He was still your comfort, your best friend, the person you looked for in a room. But now, when he looked at you, it was guarded. Cool. Like you were someone he used to be close with.

Han, on the other hand, had been showing up in little ways.

He’d ask you to stay late and go over choreo ideas. He’d slide his water bottle across the floor when yours was empty. He started texting more about music, stupid memes, whatever came to mind. And somewhere along the way, he started showing up in your thoughts when you weren’t even trying to think of anyone.

So when he knocked on your door that night, you weren’t sure what you expected but it wasn’t this.

“Han?” you blinked, still in your hoodie, barefoot in the doorway.

He looked nervous, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket.

“I need to talk to you,” he said. “Please.”

You let him in.

You sat on the couch, facing him.

“I can’t keep this bottled up anymore,” he said quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

And before you could even ask what he meant, he leaned in and kissed you.

Soft. Quick. But enough to send your thoughts scattering like sparks on pavement.

You pulled back, heart racing.

“What was that?” your voice cracked a little.

“I like you,” he said. No hesitation. No game.

You stared at him, breath catching.

You liked him, didn’t you?

But there was jeongin. There was everything else tangled in your chest.

“I think you should go,” you said softly, holding back the tremble in your throat.

Han stared at you.

“What?”

“I don’t know what to do with this,” you whispered. “This is all… too much. I just… I think you should go. I’ll see you at practice.”

He hesitated, eyes flickering with something like hurt but he nodded.

And left.

But you didn’t go to practice the next day.

Or the next.

When you finally did show up again, you didn’t stay after. You barely looked at Han, and jeongin… jeongin didn’t even try.

He’d gotten distant quieter. Everything was heavy and silent between you now. You’d pass him in the hallway and he wouldn’t even glance.

It hurt more than you thought it would.

A few days later, you waited outside the studio after practice.

You saw jeongin walking out alone, bag slung over his shoulder.

You reached out and touched his arm gently.

“Hey… jeongin?”

He stopped, but didn’t turn around.

You stepped in front of him.

“Do you even care?” you asked, voice small, breaking at the edges.

He looked at you for the first time in what felt like forever.

His jaw was tight.

“Would it even matter if I did?”

The words landed heavy in your chest.

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out.

He held your gaze for a moment longer unreadable — and then walked away.

You stood there, frozen, feeling something inside you unravel.

You went back to the practice room.

Han had left his jacket behind.

You curled up in the corner, knees to your chest, and let everything spill out the tension, the confusion, the ache you’d been trying to ignore.

You didn’t even hear the door open again.

Han walked in, pausing when he saw you curled up on the floor, face buried in your arms.

“Y/N…” he said softly.

You looked up, eyes red.

He crossed the room and sat down beside you without asking.

“Talk to me,” he said, gently. “Please.”

You didn’t look at him. Your voice was muffled through your tears.

“I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. I care about you, I really do… and I care about jeongin and it’s like I’m stuck in the middle of something I never meant to start.”

Han stayed quiet, letting you speak.

“He’s mad at me. I think I’ve lost him. And I didn’t even do anything wrong, not really, and now I feel guilty for everything and I don’t even know what I want anymore.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks.

Han moved a little closer, careful.

“I never wanted to make things harder for you,” he said. “I just… I wanted you to know how I feel. You don’t owe me anything. But I’m here. Okay?”

You nodded, barely.

And he sat beside you on the cold studio floor not saying much more, just existing there with you in the mess of it all.

Letting you cry.

Letting you breathe.

Letting the silence hold what your heart couldn’t say yet.

Moments passed. The only sound filling the stillness of the practice room was your quiet sobs, soft and uneven, like waves crashing inside your chest.

Han sat beside you, his breath slow and steady, watching you without a word.

After what felt like forever, you looked up at him, eyes red and swollen, voice trembling as you asked, “Why do you like me?”

He met your gaze without hesitation.

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “There’s just always been something about you… something I can’t explain.”

You swallowed hard, confusion twisting inside you like a storm.

You didn’t know what you wanted — didn’t know who you wanted.

You liked him. You did. But you liked jeongin too. You had always liked jeongin. But Han… Han made you feel ike like you were you. in ways you hadn’t realized you were missing.

Your heart was tangled in all of it.

Without thinking, without planning, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was soft at first, uncertain but Han didn’t pull away. He kissed you back, deep and slow, hands sliding around your waist, pulling you closer.

Before you knew it, you were straddling his lap, breath hitching as he whispered against your lips, “Is this what you want?”

You didn’t answer with words. You just kissed him harder, hands clawing at the fabric of his shirt.

He grinned against your mouth before peeling it off, skin warm and solid under your fingertips.

Your own shirt was soon tangled in his hands, the room growing hotter with every touch.

Clothes fell away, hesitations dissolving.

He kissed your neck, sucking lightly at the spot underneath your ear that made ur back arch. He lent you back as you winced feeling the cold floor against your back.

“hannie” you looked up at him clawing at his jeans.

“i know. shh your gonna get what you want” he teased removing his pants and boxers at the slowest pace possible.

Your hand wrapped around his length gasping at his size, he groaned. loudly. bucking his hips into your hand.

“fuck baby~” he muttered pulling ur wrist away and rubbing his tip through your folds pushing at the entrance.

“so wet” he smirked

“please” you begged

That’s all he needed. he pushed into you slowly making you feel him inside.inch, by inch

He bottomed out almost immediately, but it didn’t take long for him to start fucking you, at just a slow pace taking his time making you feel.

“s’good oh-“ you moaned sweetly. your hands tangled in his hair moving to scratch down his back which only made han pick the pace up.

You were tangled together on the cold floor of the practice room — the place where it all started, the place where everything felt so complicated and raw.

“close” he groaned out biting your shoulder.

“me too don’t stop~ ah” you cried out, han slammed into you harder.

your orgasm hit you unexpectedly you clenched around han your legs wrapping around his waist your whole body shaking his name rolling off your tongue

It wasn’t long untill han was cumming, he pulled out pumping himself a few times releasing himself all over your stomach.

When it was over, he held you close, breathing slow and steady against your skin.

“your okay” he reassured as you still shook in his arms

“yeah i’m okay” you said trying to convince yourself that this WAS all okay

He drove you home in silence, the night air heavy with unsaid things.

You stood in your room afterward, heart pounding, hands trembling.

You didn’t know what to do.

You’d just slept with Han — the boy who made you feel like you were seen.

But jeongin was your best friend.

You wanted to fix things with him. You wanted to make it right.

But how?

You didn’t have the answers.

You only had the confusion swirling inside you like a storm you couldn’t escape.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You’d been avoiding it all day, everything between jeongin and Han that had been simmering under the surface since that night. But now, stepping into the dorm after practice, the tension was impossible to ignore.

The living room was unusually quiet. Chan has offered you to come over to work on a new dance though non of you have even started on it. The other members sat scattered, eyes on their phones, pretending not to notice the heaviness in the air. But you saw the sharp looks thrown whenever the door creaked open and jeongin stepped inside, his face stormy.

Jeongin hadn’t said a word all day. He’d spent hours wandering the streets, you’d heard. Nobody knew where exactly. And now, his shoulders were tight, jaw clenched, like he was carrying a weight too heavy for his age.

Han was sitting near the couch, his own expression unreadable but his eyes flicking toward jeongin the second he entered.

You stayed near the hallway, not wanting to get involved, but the quiet between those two was shouting at you.

Jeongin didn’t even glance at Han as he dropped his bag. Then, after a long pause, Han finally spoke.

“Where the hell have you been all day?” His tone was low but sharp, the kind of edge that never quite breaks into a yell but still makes you flinch.

jeongin shot him a look—flat, tired, but bitter.

“You asking me or telling me?” he replied, voice snarky, thick with frustration.

Han raised his eyebrows, leaning forward just a little.

“Look, what’s your problem?” he said, voice dropping to something almost pleading.

Jeongin scoffed, bitterness dripping from his words.

“You’re my problem.”

The room seemed to hold its breath.

Han didn’t flinch. “Explain.”

Jeongins eyes burned.

“You are.”

Han’s mouth twitched, like he was trying to keep cool but failing.

“Fine. I’ll spell it out. You’re acting like this because of her.”

“Because of y/n?” jeongin spat, voice rising.

“Yeah. Because of her.”

Jeongin laughed a sharp, bitter sound. “You think you know what she wants? You think you’re the one she wants?”

Han’s silence spoke louder than words.

“I slept with her,” Han said, voice low but steady.

The words crashed like a wave.

Jeongins face twisted, his anger breaking loose.

“Fuck you,” he hissed, stepping forward. “I hate you.”

The slam of the door echoed like a gunshot through the dorm.

You stood frozen, the weight of everything crashing down.

You wanted to be mad, yell at han for just yelling out your business like that, but you were frozen, you were angry at han he had no right…But it was jeongins reaction that broke you, without saying a word you left.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Days passed.

Jeongin was absent again, the empty space he left in the dance room almost unbearable.

You found yourself watching the doorway too many times, waiting for him to walk in, waiting for the tension between you to break.

Felix sat beside you, quietly watching your face.

“Is he okay?” you finally asked, voice soft, barely above a whisper.

Felix hesitated, then said, “You need to talk to him. Y/N. He’s not okay.”

Your chest tightened.

One evening, heart pounding with nerves, you found yourself standing outside his dorm room.

Your hand trembled as you raised it to knock.

The door opened before you could.

Jeongins eyes were guarded, tired.

“I missed you,” you said quietly, voice catching.

He looked away.

“I’m not the one who’s been sleeping with your friends,” he said bitterly.

Your heart broke. “jeongin, that’s not fair. I’m here because I miss our friendship. I miss what we had.”

He laughed, bitter and dry. “It stopped being a friendship a long time ago. You knew that.”

Tears welled in your eyes.

“I didn’t know anything,” you whispered.

He took a step closer, voice soft but raw.

“I’ve been in love with you. Always have been.”

You swallowed hard.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I didn’t know how you felt.”

Your voice barely audible, “I felt something too.”

His eyes darkened.

Without warning, he pulled you close, his lips crashing against yours.

The kiss was fierce and desperate, filled with everything neither of you had said.

You pulled away, breathless.

“I can’t,” you whispered. “Not now. Not after Han.”

Jeongin’s hands cupped your face, his voice a low growl.

“Don’t talk about him right now.”

His lips found yours again softer this time, but still demanding.

You melted into the kiss, your hands tangling in his hair as he kissed down your neck and pulled you onto the bed.

You should have pulled away… but you didn’t. Instead, you gripped him tighter, pulling him against you, opening your mouth and letting his tongue explore yours.

You could feel him — how hard he was pressed against your thigh. You lifted your hips slightly, and he groaned.

His fingers teased at the waistband of your joggers, slipping beneath to touch you exactly where you needed him, even through your lace panties.

“Jjongie,” you moaned, arching your back, craving more.

He pushed your panties to the side, his fingers finally making direct contact with your soaked core.

He wasn’t slow. He didn’t even give you time to think before he was two fingers deep, pumping in and out of you at a relentless pace, his eyes never leaving your face.

Your moans spilled out in stuttered breaths a mix of “oh”s and “ah”s, growing louder with every thrust of his hand.

“Cum on my fingers,” he said more of a demand than a request.

“Fuck, Jeongin—” you cried out as he curled his fingers at the perfect angle, hitting that spot that made your body shudder.

His thumb rubbed your clit ruthlessly and then you snapped.

Your orgasm crashed over you without warning, your body arching, shaking, your voice raw.

“Mmm, you did so good,” he whispered, pulling his fingers out, then crashing his lips into yours again — rougher this time.

Clothes were stripped off slowly, each touch sending more heat through your body, your skin prickling.

The kiss deepened. The room spun. All you knew was that this felt real.

That this was something.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked, lining himself up at your entrance. He was bigger than Han, not as thick, but longer. You nodded.

That was all he needed.

He thrust into you no hesitation, no slow build-up just raw, desperate motion.

He didn’t let you adjust. He just started fucking you like he couldn’t hold back anymore, his grunts low and hungry in your ear.

“Fuck, you feel so good… so tight, so fucking tight,” he growled, slamming into you like it was the last time he’d ever have you.

You couldn’t even speak, your mind was gone, wrecked. You were a moaning, gasping mess.

He kissed, sucked, bit at your neck, leaving marks like he wanted to claim you.

Your hand tugged at his hair, the other finding his and intertwining your fingers together.

There were no more thoughts. Just feeling. Just this.

You could feel all of him every inch, every time he hit your cervix, it made you feel like you were going to fall apart again.

“Oh, Jeongin— I’m close, close again!” you screamed, digging your nails into his biceps.

His thrusts grew sloppy, and you could feel him twitching inside you he was close too.

“Cum—cum with me,” he panted, resting his forehead against yours, watching your face as you came undone.

You nodded frantically, biting your lip.

And then it hit harder than before. Your vision blurred, your body shook, your second orgasm tearing through you.

Jeongin thrust one last time, the hardest he had the whole night, before finishing deep inside you, moaning your name like a prayer.

He held you afterward, both of you too still, too full of everything and nothing.

“Y/N, what—” he started.

“I don’t know… I don’t know anything,” you cut him off, your voice breaking as you clung to him.

Trying not to cry.

Trying not to feel the weight of what you’d just done.

jeongin was asleep beside you.

Your eyes wide open, heart pounding with a thousand thoughts.

You had slept with both of them.

Both Han and jeongin.

And now, you were caught in the middle of something too big to name.

You loved them both.

You didn’t know what to do.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You get home, your fingers trembling as you lock the door behind you. The weight of everything, the stolen moments, the whispered secrets, the tangled feelings is crushing your chest like a thousand pounds. Your phone buzzes almost immediately. Han’s name flashes on the screen. You don’t answer. You can’t.

“I know what you did with jeongin.”

His message stares back at you like an accusation. The truth hangs heavy between you two now, unspoken but impossible to ignore. You don’t know what to say, what to do. You can feel the distance growing already, even though you’re the one hiding behind silence.

Days pass. You don’t show up to practice. The empty space where you should be is like a ghost haunting the studio. The other members reach out, but their messages feel distant, like background noise you can’t catch onto.

Except for two.

Han and jeongin.

Their texts come differently, each filled with urgency but also hesitance.

Han: “Can we meet? We need to figure this out.”

jeongin: “I don’t want to lose you, but we have to talk.”

You want to answer. You want to crawl back to one of them, or maybe both. But inside, your mind is a storm—swirling confusion, guilt, and an aching heart.

You lie awake at night, feeling sick, but not with a fever or cold sick with love. You’re drowning in it. It’s consuming every corner of your mind. You love them both. You really do. But the thought of choosing? It feels like losing a part of yourself.

The friendship you once had feels fragile, like glass shattering underfoot.

You decide, maybe, it’s better to leave things as they are try not to let it get any more complicated. To protect what little normalcy you have left. But it’s tearing you apart.

Then your phone buzzes again.

Han’s name. You open the message with trembling hands.

“I can’t keep waiting. You have to choose me or jeongin.”

Your heart pounds so loudly you’re sure it echoes in your ears.

Before you can even start to type a reply, another message pops up.

jeongin: “I’m not going to stand on the sidelines anymore. It’s me or nothing.”

Your breath catches. The screen blurs. You’re caught in the middle, every option burning, every choice impossible.

Your breath catches as the screen blurs before your eyes, heart pounding wildly in your chest. Two messages, two ultimatums, two futures hanging on a fragile thread. Jeongin’s words ring in your ears “It’s me or nothing.” Han’s desperate plea burns through your mind “You have to choose me or Jeongin.”

You stare at the screen, frozen, fingers hovering over the keys but unable to type. You love them both Jeongin, with his quiet, steady warmth that feels like home, the one who has always been your closest friend, the one who showed you what it meant to be truly seen. And Han fierce, open, raw who ignited something wild inside you, who saw all the parts of you you kept hidden.

But how can you choose between the two halves of your heart? How can you risk losing either of them when both mean everything to you?

The weight of it all presses down on your chest. You realize that love isn’t always clear-cut or easy. Sometimes it’s messy, tangled, confusing and sometimes the hardest battles are the ones fought within yourself.

You close your eyes, trembling, knowing that no matter what happens next, nothing will ever be the same again.

@sammhisphere @lilithmotans

A/N: comment to be added to tag list

[hyunjinsmuze]

under the moonlight

warnings: smut, car sex, unprotected sex (wrap it up)

contains: smut, a little angst, break up

summary: Sometimes the only thing that makes sense is giving in to the moment — even if it’s messy and complicated.

pairing: seungmin x reader

words: 3.8k

The first thing to go was the coffee.

It used to be simple — two mugs, one sweet, one not, sitting side by side on the kitchen counter while soft music played in the background. He’d kiss your shoulder while you stirred in creamer. You’d steal a sip from his cup and grimace at how bitter it was. He’d laugh and call you dramatic.

You don’t remember when the mugs stopped showing up together. Maybe it was the third night he didn’t come home until after you were asleep. Or maybe the way his shoulders seemed heavier, always hunched over his phone, eyes darting between screens and schedules and everything but you.

It wasn’t sudden.

But it still felt like whiplash.

Chan loved you once, that much you're sure of. It was in the way he used to hold you like you were the calm in his chaos. In the way he’d whisper “I missed you today” even when you’d only been gone an hour.

But lately, he barely looked up when you walked into the room.

And when he did, it was like he was seeing someone else.

You told yourself he was just tired. That being a leader meant late nights and early mornings and mountains on his back no one else could see. You told yourself not to be selfish. Not to ask for too much.

You waited. And waited.

Until you started realizing how quiet the apartment had gotten. How loud your loneliness became.

The boys still invited you over sometimes. Movie nights, dinners, birthdays but it felt different. Felt like you were there because you used to belong. Not because you still did.

Everyone noticed it.

But no one said anything.

Except Seungmin.

He didn’t say it outright — he never would. Chan was his hyung. His leader. His brother.

But his eyes always lingered on you a little longer when you smiled too tightly. He noticed when your fingers trembled as you tried to light the candles on Chan’s birthday cake. He always sat next to you on the couch. Always offered to drive you home. Always texted to ask if you’d eaten.

Once, after a night at the dorms when Chan had stayed locked in his room working, Seungmin had walked you out and paused at the front steps.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he said gently.

You blinked at him, confused. “Pretend what?”

He’d shrugged. Looked away. “That you’re okay.”

You hadn’t said anything. Just nodded and left.

You were grateful, quietly, that he never brought it up again.

But he was right.

You weren’t okay.

And the weight of all the things left unsaid was starting to crack your ribs from the inside.

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

The apartment was too quiet again.

You stood in the living room holding a mug you hadn’t touched, the tea long cold, the steam long gone. Outside the window, the city blinked with soft orange lights, and you could hear a dog barking somewhere down the street. Domestic. Normal.

But you hadn’t felt normal in weeks.

The bedroom door creaked open. You heard his footsteps before you saw him, slow, heavy, careful. You didn’t turn around. Just waited until he passed the hallway corner, rubbing at his eyes, hair a messy halo of curls, laptop still open in one hand.

He froze when he saw you standing there.

“Oh,” Chan said, like he hadn’t expected you to still be up. “Didn’t know you were home.”

The words knocked the breath out of you.

You swallowed.

“Where else would I be?”

He didn’t answer. Just blinked and set the laptop on the table. His hoodie was inside-out. His voice was scratchy. He looked like someone who hadn’t slept in days.

You used to worry about that. Used to beg him to rest, to take care of himself.

Now you wondered if he’d even notice if you left.

You stared at him for a long second before speaking again. “We need to talk.”

That got his attention.

Chan’s brows furrowed, his expression shifting into something between guarded and exhausted. “Can it wait? I still have to—”

“No,” you said, too quickly. Too firmly. “It can’t.”

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, finally nodding.

You both sat at the edge of the couch like strangers. Your knees didn’t even brush.

The silence stretched thin between you, taut and ready to snap. You searched his face tired, older than you remembered, but still familiar. Still him. Still the man who once danced with you in the rain at 2 a.m. Still the man who used to write lyrics about your smile.

But also… not.

“Chan,” you said, trying to steady your voice. “Do you even love me anymore?”

It was a whisper. Fragile. Barely a sound.

But he heard it.

He went still.

His jaw clenched, his hands balling into slow fists in his lap. “Of course I do.”

“Then why don’t I feel it?”

The words cut sharper than you expected, and you watched as he winced, like he wasn’t prepared for how honest it was. Or maybe because he knew it was true.

He didn’t respond.

“I wait for you,” you continued, your throat closing. “I sit in this apartment and wait for you to come home. I pretend that it’s okay when you cancel dinner again. I try to act normal when the boys ask where you are, and I have to lie because I don’t even know anymore.”

Chan’s gaze dropped to the floor. “You know how busy it’s been. The comeback—”

“This isn’t about work,” you snapped, voice cracking. “I knew what I was getting into when I fell in love with you. I knew you’d be tired. I knew you’d be gone sometimes. But I didn’t think I’d feel so... forgotten.”

Silence.

His eyes finally lifted to meet yours.

And they were full of guilt.

Real, deep guilt. The kind that came too late.

“You’re right,” he said quietly.

That stopped you cold.

“I’m right?”

He nodded, voice barely a murmur. “I haven’t been there for you. I thought… I thought you understood. That it would be okay. That this was temporary.”

“How long is temporary supposed to be?”

Chan opened his mouth, then closed it again.

You blinked through the sting in your eyes. You didn’t want to cry. Not now. Not when you were trying so hard to hold your heart together with both hands.

“I miss you,” you said. “I miss us.”

Something in his expression shifted. Softer, sadder.

“I miss us too,” he admitted.

“Then why does it feel like I’m the only one trying?”

It hung in the air like smoke. Like a fire that had already burned everything down.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “Maybe I stopped knowing how.”

You felt something inside you crack.

That was it, wasn’t it?

He didn’t stop loving you.

He just stopped knowing how to show it.

And sometimes, that hurt worse.

You stood slowly, pacing toward the kitchen, just to move. Just to breathe.

“I don’t want to be the one holding this together alone,” you said. “I can’t be the only one fighting for us.”

“I didn’t mean to stop,” he whispered.

“But you did,” you replied, your back still to him. “And I think… maybe you don’t know how to come back.”

You turned, finally facing him again.

And his eyes — God, his eyes looked like they held a thousand apologies and still not a single fix.

“I don’t want this to be goodbye,” he said, voice breaking. “But I don’t know how to make it better anymore.”

You inhaled sharply, chest aching. “Then maybe we don’t try.”

He looked up at you like you’d just shattered his world.

And maybe you had.

Maybe you shattered your own, too.

“I’m saying maybe we stop trying,” you repeated, softer now. “Maybe we just… let go. Before it gets worse. Before we hate each other.”

You expected him to argue.

To beg. To promise things he’d already promised before.

But he didn’t.

Chan just nodded. Slowly. Hollowly.

“Yeah,” he said. “Maybe we should.”

A tear slid down your cheek before you even felt it.

And Chan — he didn’t wipe it away.

He used to.

He used to pull you into his chest and cradle your face and whisper “I’ve got you.”

Now he just sat there.

Watching you fall apart.

Maybe that was answer enough.

You grabbed your coat. Your bag. Your keys.

He didn’t stop you.

Didn’t even ask where you were going.

You paused in the doorway, turning one last time to look at him — Bang Chan, leader of Stray Kids, the boy who used to hold the moon in his eyes when he looked at you.

“I really loved you,” you said.

And he whispered, “I still do.”

But it was too late.

You left anyway.

And the door shut with the softest finality the kind that doesn’t echo, but lingers.

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

The door clicked shut with a soft finality as Chan walked into the studio. Seungmin looked up immediately, taking in the slouched shoulders, the unshaven jaw, and the way Chan avoided his eyes. His bag dropped with a dull thud beside the couch.

“Hyung?” Seungmin asked, cautiously.

Chan didn’t say anything.

He sat, rubbing his hands over his face. That’s when Seungmin noticed—his knuckles were red, raw even, like he’d punched something, or maybe tried not to.

“Did something happen?”

There was a long pause.

Then, barely audible, “We broke up.”

Seungmin blinked.

“What?”

Chan looked up. Eyes red-rimmed, watery, but stubbornly holding back more. “Me and Y/N. It’s over.”

Seungmin stared. For a moment, it didn’t register. The way Chan said it was flat, like he’d just ordered the wrong coffee or got a parking ticket—not like he’d lost someone who made him smile differently.

“…When?”

“Last night.”

“But…” Seungmin’s mind was still catching up. “I thought you were—” he stopped himself. Because the truth was, he hadn’t really thought they were okay. No one had. They just didn’t talk about it.

“She asked if I still loved her,” Chan said quietly. “And I hesitated.”

Seungmin's throat went dry. “Did you?”

Chan shook his head. “I didn’t know. So I told her we should break up. She said okay. That was it.”

That was it.

That was all?

Seungmin felt like the words punched a hole straight through him. The silence after hurt even worse.

“I gotta… get to practice,” Chan mumbled, standing up and brushing past him like he hadn’t just set a bomb down in the room.

Seungmin didn’t move for a long time.

He just sat there, staring at the floor, trying to figure out why his chest hurt more than it should’ve.

The next morning, his thumbs hovered over your name for ten minutes before he sent the message.

‘Is it true?’

You didn’t reply until two hours later.

‘Yeah. I guess.’

‘I’m sorry. Are you okay?’

‘I don’t know what I am.’

He stared at that last message for a while. Not knowing how to answer it.

You didn’t either. So neither of you said anything more that day.

But the next morning, he sent another message.

Just a link to a song.

‘this reminded me of you

(in the good way)’

And that was where it started again.

It was small things at first.

A song link. A meme. A picture of the sky on a walk.

Then your responses got longer.

You started asking questions again. You sent voice notes. You asked what he was eating. You sent blurry photos of your burnt food. You said you were lonely, even when people were around.

Seungmin was always answering.

Always showing up.

Always waiting when you didn’t know you needed someone to.

The first time you laughed again was because he told you a story about Felix falling asleep mid-squat at the gym.

The first time you saw him in person again was three days after that.

You didn’t tell anyone. He just showed up with your favorite coffee order and a bag of snacks “in case you hadn’t eaten properly.”

You hadn’t.

That day, you ended up sitting on your apartment floor for four hours, eating chips and talking about things that didn’t matter.

The next week, he asked if you wanted to go out.

“Something dumb,” he said. “Rollercoasters. Funnel cake. Let’s go scream until your heartbreak gets drowned out by teenagers.”

You rolled your eyes but said yes.

That day was a whirlwind.

You screamed so much your throat hurt. You laughed until your stomach ached. He won you a stuffed animal that looked like an aggressively pink bunny and made fun of your fear of ferris wheels until he realized you were seriously scared. Then he didn’t let go of your hand once.

When you stumbled out of the haunted house, breathless and clinging to him, you realized it was the first time in weeks your cheeks hurt from smiling.

You didn’t know what that meant.

You didn’t want to know what it meant.

He came over more often after that.

Sometimes for coffee. Sometimes for dinner. Sometimes to fix things you pretended were broken just to have him nearby.

You started calling him when the nights got too quiet.

You cooked together.

You spilled flour once and slipped on the tile and nearly took him down with you. You both ended up on the floor laughing so hard you cried. He wiped icing off your cheek. You stared at him a little too long.

Neither of you said anything.

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

One night, you were watching some dumb drama in his apartment.

The characters were mid-fight. The usual melodrama. Tears. Slamming doors. One of them leaving while the other just stood there, too afraid to chase.

“She’s gonna forgive him,” you muttered, arms crossed.

“She always does,” Seungmin said, unimpressed.

You frowned. “Would you?”

He looked at you. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“If they ever really showed up for her.” Your eyes lingered on his, only for a second before you snapped your head back to the screen.

Later that night, when the credits rolled, you stood to leave.

He walked you to the door, like always.

You hesitated with your hand on the handle. “Thanks again. For all of this.”

Seungmin leaned against the doorframe. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” you said. “You didn’t have to be here.”

“I wanted to.”

The silence was thick. Not uncomfortable. But not easy either.

Then he spoke.

Quiet. Almost like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

“If I had someone like you…” he looked up at you, eyes more vulnerable than you’d ever seen them, “…I wouldn’t forget how to love her.”

You froze.

Your breath hitched.

“…What did you just say?” you asked, your voice a whisper.

He shook his head quickly. “Nothing. Don’t— I shouldn’t have said that.”

You blinked. “Seungmin.”

“It’s not— it’s not what you think.”

You took a step back from the door.

“I think I should go,” you murmured.

He straightened, suddenly tense. “Wait. Don’t—don’t go like that.”

You turned, trying to smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Seungmin.”

The door clicked behind you.

He didn’t move for a long time.

He just stood there, back against the door, staring into the quiet.

You were gone.

And maybe he hadn’t lost you.

But maybe he’d shown too much too soon.

You walked home with your heart beating too loud in your ears.

You didn’t know what you felt.

You didn’t know if you were scared of what it meant, or scared that he meant it.

You weren’t ready.

But somehow, it felt like you were already falling.

And you weren’t sure who you were falling for yet.

Or if you could handle it again.

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

The car ride home is quiet.

We’d spent the afternoon walking through the Han riverside paths, watching the sunset bleed across the sky like a watercolour dream. It had been soft, gentle, like so many of our recent moments where nothing was said, but everything felt.

And now, the car hummed with the quiet tension of something unsaid.

The kind of quiet that isn’t uncomfortable — just full. Full of the things that haven’t been said yet.

Seungmin drums his fingers lightly on the steering wheel as he drives. His eyes flick toward you every now and then, subtle glances that don’t go unnoticed. He’s been more careful around you lately like he’s trying to stay close without stepping over a line that neither of you can define anymore.

You rest your head lightly against the window, the soft hum of the engine almost enough to lull you into forgetting. Almost.

But not quite.

Because your thoughts keep circling back to one thing — that night. What he said. What you felt. What you didn’t say back.

He pulls up outside your apartment, parking along the curb. You don’t move to get out yet.

And he doesn’t ask why.

A few seconds pass. Then, quietly, you ask, “What did you mean the other day?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His hand drops from the wheel, resting in his lap, fingers clenching slightly. “Please don’t,” he says softly, without looking at you. “Don’t make me say it again.”

You glance over. “Why not?”

“Because,” he breathes, “it was a mistake. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Your voice is almost a whisper. “But you did.”

Finally, he turns to face you. His eyes are darker now, conflicted. “You’d just gotten out of a relationship. I was supposed to be your friend. I am your friend.”

“And friends don’t feel the way you do?” you ask, testing the space between you. “Is that what you’re saying?”

He doesn’t answer. His jaw tightens slightly. His fingers curl into a fist.

And before he can say anything else — before you can stop yourself, you lean in and kiss him.

It’s soft. Brief. A question disguised as a kiss.

When you pull away, his eyes are still closed, his breathing a little unsteady.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” you admit. “What you said. About treating me better.”

His gaze meets yours, something raw flashing through it. “You don’t have to think about it,” he says, almost desperately. “You don’t owe me anything. I never wanted you to feel—”

You kiss him again.

This time, deeper. Slower. You press your lips to his with intention, with need. You feel the way he shudders under your touch, how his hand rises hesitantly to the side of your face, then pulls you closer like he can’t help it anymore.

The kiss turns heated not messy, not rushed, but full of the weight he’s been carrying for far too long.

When you pull away again, you don’t say anything. You just climb into the back seat.

And wait.

There’s a heartbeat of silence. Then the soft sound of the driver’s side door opening, closing. Footsteps.

And the passenger door opens.

Seungmin steps into the back seat with you.

His lips are on yours before the door even closes. His hands find your waist, your thighs, his mouth trailing fire along your neck as your fingers tangle in his hair.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this?” he murmurs against your skin. “How many times I watched you with him and wished you were mine?”

You breathe his name — just his name and it’s enough to make him growl low under his breath.

His hands slide under your shirt, lifting it slowly, reverently, as if undressing you were something sacred. You feel every brush of his fingertips, every shiver of anticipation running through you.

He removed your shirt slowly, mumbling something about how beautiful and perfect you are. He pulled the straps of your bra down your arms, unclasping it at the back. His lips kissed and sucked at your collarbone before moving to the top of your breast, then your nipple, which he took into his mouth, sucking and licking.

“oh~ seungmin” you moaned pushing his head against yoh harder

“I can treat you better,” he whispers against you. “I will.”

He’s careful but desperate. Your clothes are shed piece by piece, every touch deliberate. He worships you with his mouth, his hands, his voice — the way he tells you you're beautiful, the way he touches you like you're something he's dreamed of for years.

And when you’re both bare, straddling him in the back seat, your breaths mingling, his heart pounding beneath your hands it feels like everything slows down.

he slides into you with ease the both of you moaning loudly, seungmin didn’t wait, he thrusted up, one hand on ur waist the other squeezing your ass.

“fuck- s’good…so tight” he moans biting at ur shoulder.

his pace picks up moving u up and down to meet his hard thrusts, your mind was a blur…your hands tangled in his hair moaning his name.

He looks up at you, his hands on your hips.

“I’m not going to forget this,” he says hoarsely. “Not this time.”

You kiss him again slow and aching whilst you move together.

The windows fog. The car rocks gently. His hands never stop touching you, guiding you, grounding you. He whispers your name like a prayer, again and again, as if saying it could make the moment last forever.

You don’t say much.

You just feel.

All the pain, all the loneliness, all the weight of being forgotten it fades under the way he holds you. The way he looks at you like you’ve always mattered. Like you still matter.

you couldn’t feel he was close his cock twitched inside you and his thrusts became weak…you were also close so, so close

“gonna cum” you cry out dropping your head to his shoulder.

“hmm me too baby” he looks up at you and that’s all it took for you to snap. you came undone harder than u ever have before his name was the only thing on your lips. and it wasn’t long untill you felt the hot ropes of his release fill you up.

After, the silence isn’t awkward.

It’s warm.

You're still straddling him, both of you a little breathless, chests rising and falling together. The air in the car is thick with heat, your bodies still tangled.

You’re facing him, skin to skin, and you whisper, “We shouldn’t have done that.”

“I know,” he says, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “We shouldn’t have.”

But neither of you moves.

“I don’t want to stop,” you say, softer this time.

He leans his forehead against yours. “Neither do I.”

A pause. Then, a quiet laugh from you. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

His mouth curves into a slow smile. “Yeah,” he breathes. “We’re not going to.”

You both laugh — the kind of laughter that feels like an exhale. Like release.

And outside, the night holds your secret.