Summary: You and Chris are very close. A friendship at the edge of something else. But then there's Hyunjin and his soft silent longing.
a/n: Craving Hyunchan...
You were curled up on the couch, legs tangled with Chris’s under a shared throw blanket. The warmth of Chris’s body pressed against yours and the steady rhythm of his breathing, were the only thing in your mind just then.
You’d been friends with Chris for years, the kind of friendship where the line had blurred long ago. Late-night studio sessions turned into sleepovers, and sleepovers turned into something more - something neither of you labeled but both of you craved. His apartment, shared with Hyunjin, was your second home at this point.
This morning, you were cuddled together, home after a late night out. You knew that Hyunjin was home, but the apartment was eerily quiet. Your voice was soft as you spoke, your heart flipping a little as Chris's hand rubbed circles on your hip where your shirt had ridden up. His eyes never left your face, drinking in every word you said.
Your hand, though, had a mind of its own. It started innocently as your fingers brushed over the hard planes of his abs, feeling the warmth of his skin under his black tank top. Chris was used to it, and it honestly didn't take his attention off your story.
Your touch drifted lower, teasing the waistband of his gray sweatpants, and then lower still, palming him lazily over the fabric. He was already half-hard, the outline of him pressing against your hand as you rubbed slow, firm circles.
A low hum rumbled in his throat, as you gripped him a little tighter.
“You’re gonna kill me one day,” he murmured, voice rough with sleep and something else, his lips curving into a smirk.
“Good way to go, though, right?” You grinned, leaning closer until your nose brushed his.
He chuckled, and before he could respond, a soft gasp cut through the air.
You froze. So did Chris, before he turned to the source of the sound. The living room was still dark, so the only light came from the faint glow of the TV you’d left on mute.
Hyunjin stood in the hallway, his silhouette barely visible in the shadows. His oversized hoodie hung loosely on his frame, his eyes, wide and unblinking, were fixed on the two of you. He looked like he wanted to speak or move but couldn’t find the words.
“I…I didn’t mean to -” he stammered, voice barely above a whisper. His gaze flickered down to where your hand still rested on Chris, and his cheeks flushed a deep pink, visible even in the dim light.
Chris shifted slightly, sitting up a bit but not pulling away from you.
“Hyunjin, it’s fine,” he said, voice calm. “Couldn’t sleep?”
Hyunjin shook his head, still rooted to the spot. His eyes darted to you, and there it was. That familiar spark you’d noticed before. Hyunjin had a crush on you, and he wasn’t very subtle about it. The way he blushed when you teased him, the way he lingered a little too long when you hugged him goodbye, and the way his voice softened when he said your name? Yeah, these things said it all.
He was adorable, with his shy smiles and sharp features, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t find it endearing.
But Chris was… Chris. Your anchor, your heat, your everything.
“Wanna join us?” you teased, your voice playful but with an edge that made Hyunjin’s breath catch. You didn’t move your hand from Chris, but you tilted your head, inviting him with a lazy smile.
Chris raised an eyebrow, glancing at you like he was trying to understand what's on your mind. But he didn’t object. He never did when you pushed boundaries. He just watched, waited - letting you lead.
Hyunjin hesitated, his fingers twisting the hem of his hoodie.
“I… I don’t know if I should…”
“Come on,” Chris said, his tone softer now, almost coaxing. He patted the cushion next to him, and something in his voice, how low and reassuring it sounded seemed to tip Hyunjin over the edge.
He shuffled forward, sitting on the opposite end of the couch, his posture stiff. You noticed the way his eyes kept flicking to you, to Chris, to the way your bodies were still pressed together. Hyunjin’s gaze lingered on you both, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard.
“You okay, Jinnie?” you asked, your voice a little huskier now. You shifted slightly, turning to face him, your hand was now rubbing slow circles over Chris. And he let out a soft groan, his head tipping back against the couch, and you felt the way he hardened fully under your touch.
Hyunjin nodded, but his eyes betrayed him - dark, dilated, fixed on the scene in front of him.
“Y-yeah,” he whispered, but his voice cracked, and he shifted in his seat, clearly trying to hide how much you affected him.
Chris chuckled as he said, “He’s not as innocent as he looks. Bet he’s been thinking about this for a while.”
“Chris!” Hyunjin’s voice was a mix of embarrassment and protest, but he didn’t deny it. His cheeks were burning now, and he looked away, biting his lip.
“Is that true, Jinnie? You've been thinking about me?” You laughed softly, the sound low and teasing.
Hyunjin’s flustered silence was answer enough. His eyes met yours for a moment, and the raw need in them sent a shiver down your spine. You’d always thought he was cute, but this? His quiet intensity and the way he was trembling with nervous energy, had you craving him.
“C’mere,” you said again, softly, patting the spot right next to you. Chris’s hand was on your thigh, giving you a little squeeze, like a silent encouragement.
Hyunjin was by your side in a blink, close enough that you could feel his body heat. His knee brushed yours, and he froze, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you.
You reached out, cupping his cheek gently, your thumb brushing over his jaw.
“You’re so sweet,” you murmured, and his eyes fluttered shut for a moment, leaning into your touch like he was starving for it.
Chris shifted beside you, his lips brushing your ear.
“You’re gonna break him,” he whispered, but there was no jealousy in his voice. Just a dark, hungry edge that made your pulse race.
“Maybe I want to,” you whispered back, turning just enough to let Chris kiss you, slow and deep, your tongue sliding against his. He groaned into your mouth, his hand sliding under your shirt to grip your waist, pulling you closer.
Your hand didn't leave Hyunjin. Instead, your fingers trailed down his neck, feeling the way his pulse hammered under your touch.
When you pulled back from Chris, Hyunjin was watching, his lips parted, his breathing heavy. You leaned toward him, close enough that your lips were inches from his.
“Can I kiss you?” you asked, voice soft, almost a whisper.
He nodded so fast it was comical, and you closed the distance, kissing him gently at first. His lips were soft and hesitant, but when you deepened the kiss, he absolutely melted. A small whimper escaped him as he kissed you back desperately.
Your hand slid down his chest, feeling the lean muscle under his hoodie, and then lower, brushing over the front of his pajama pants.
He was so hard. Painfully so. And he gasped into your mouth, his hips bucking up into your touch. You stroked him gently, and Hyunjin’s head fell back, a soft moan spilling from his lips.
“Fuck,” Chris muttered, his voice rough as he watched you.
His hand slid between your thighs, finding you already wet through your thin sleep shorts, and his fingers moved over the fabric, making your breath hitch.
Hyunjin’s hands finally moved, one slipping under your shirt to caress your ribs, the other gripping your thigh tightly. Chris’s lips were on your neck, sucking lazily, his fingers slipping under your waistband and straight into your wetness, and you moaned, the sound muffled against Hyunjin’s lips.
“You’re so sensitive, Jinnie,” you murmured against his mouth, stroking him over his pants, feeling the way he trembled under your touch. “You like this?”
“Y-yes,” he gasped, his voice high and needy. “Please… don’t stop.”
Chris chuckled, his fingers curling inside you, making you arch against him.
“She’s good, isn’t she?” he said to Hyunjin, his voice teasing. “Drives me fucking crazy.”
Hyunjin could only nod, his eyes glazed with lust as he watched the way you moved between them. Your hands slipped under his hoodie, feeling his toned stomach under your fingers. Your eyes met, and he gulped, wetting his lips nervously.
You literally couldn't resist this man, and leaned down to kiss the skin just above his waistband, making him shudder. You tugged Hyunjin’s pants and boxers down just enough to free him.
He was gorgeous - flushed, leaking, and so, so eager. You stroked him slowly, your lips brushing the tip, and he cried out, his hands fisting the cushions.
The soft, desperate whimpers spilling from his lips were enough to melt you. You glanced up at him through your lashes, taking in the way his sharp features were softened by pleasure - eyes half-closed, lips parted, cheeks flushed a deep pink. He was unravelling, and you hadn’t even started.
“Relax, Jinnie,” you murmured, your voice low and teasing as you stroked him slowly, your thumb circling the head. “Let me take care of you.”
He nodded, or tried to, but the moment your lips closed around him, warm and wet, his entire body jerked. A strangled moan tore from his throat, loud enough to echo in the quiet apartment, and his hips bucked involuntarily, pushing himself deeper into your mouth. You hummed, the vibration making him shudder, and you took him slowly, savouring the way he felt. So hot, heavy, and so responsive.
“Fuck,” Hyunjin gasped, one hand flying to your hair, not pulling but just resting there, like he needed to anchor himself. “You’re - oh god-”
Behind you, Chris’s low chuckle sent a shiver down your spine. You felt him shift as he moved to kneel behind you. His hands, warm and strong, slid over your hips, tugging your shorts and underwear down in one smooth motion and it made you gasp around Hyunjin. He whimpered, his fingers tightening in your hair.
“Look at you,” Chris murmured, his voice rough with want as his hands squeezed your ass. “So fucking perfect, taking care of him like that.”
His fingers brushed between your legs, finding you soaked, and he groaned, low and primal.
“And so ready for me.”
You moaned, the sound muffled as you bobbed your head, taking Hyunjin deeper. The stretch of your lips around him, the way he pulsed against your tongue felt intoxicating. He was falling apart, his breaths coming faster, his moans turning into needy little cries.
“Please,” he begged, voice cracking. “I’m…fuck, I’m so close.”
“Not yet, Jinnie,” you said, pulling off just enough to speak, your hand still stroking him lazily. You flicked your tongue over the tip, and he whined, his whole body trembling.
Chris’s hand landed on your lower back, pushing you down slightly as he said, “You’re such a tease,”
And then you felt the pressure of him against you, hot and hard, making you gasp. He didn’t rush, though. He just teased you, sliding himself along your slick folds, coating himself in your arousal.
“Chris,” you breathed, your voice shaky as you braced one hand on Hyunjin’s thigh, the other still working him slowly. “Please.”
He didn’t make you wait. With one slow thrust, he filled you. You moaned at the gentle sting, as your body adjusted to the fullness. Hyunjin’s eyes snapped open, watching the way you arched, the way Chris’s hands gripped your hips, and his own hips twitched, chasing your mouth again.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” Chris growled, his voice low and rough as he pulled back and thrust again, making your toes curl. His fingers dug into your skin, and he set a lazy rhythm, like he was savoring every second of being inside you.
You leaned forward, taking Hyunjin back into your mouth, and the combined sensation of Chris fucking you from behind, Hyunjin trembling under your tongue, pushed you to the edge real soon.
You sucked Hyunjin harder, your tongue swirling around him as you moved faster, matching the rhythm of Chris’s thrusts. Hyunjin was a mess now, his moans turning into broken sobs, his hips stuttering as he tried not to thrust too hard into your mouth.
“You’re gonna make him cry,” Chris said, his voice laced with dark amusement as he leaned over you, one hand sliding up your spine to grip your shoulder, pulling you back onto him harder. “Look at him, baby. He’s wrecked.”
You pulled off just enough to glance up at Hyunjin, and the sight nearly undid you. His face and neck were glistening with sweat, and his eyes were glassy. He looked like he was one breath away from falling apart completely,
“Want you to cum for me, baby,” you whispered, your voice hoarse as you stroked him, your lips brushing the tip. “Can you do that for me?”
He nodded frantically, his breath hitching, and you took him deep again, sucking hard as your hand worked what your mouth couldn’t reach. Chris’s thrusts grew sharper, his fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight circles that made you clench around him. The pleasure was overwhelming, a tight coil building in your core, and you moaned around Hyunjin, the vibration pushing him over the edge.
“Fuck, I…I’m -” Hyunjin’s words cut off in a choked cry as he came, hot and sudden, spilling into your mouth. You swallowed what you could, letting the rest drip down your chin as you kept moving, taking it all from him. His body shook, his hands clutching your hair like a lifeline as he gasped for air.
Chris groaned, raw and possessive, as he watched you.
“Good girl,” he murmured.
His fingers pressed harder against you, and his thrusts grew rougher, as he chased his own release along with yours.
“So fucking good for us.”
You were close, your body trembling as Chris’s fingers and cock worked you in perfect sync. Hyunjin’s hands softened in your hair, his touch turning gentle, almost reverent, as he watched you, his eyes wide with awe. The contrast - the tenderness from Hyunjin, the raw intensity from Chris, sent you spiraling.
“Chris,” you gasped, your voice breaking as the coil snapped. Your orgasm hit hard, waves of pleasure crashing through you as you clenched around him. Chris cursed under his breath, his hips stuttering as he followed you, thrusting deep one last time as he came, filling you with a warmth that made you shudder.
For a moment, everything was quiet again. Just the sound of heavy breathing. Chris pulled out slowly, his hands gentle as he helped you sit up, tugging your panties and shorts back into place. Hyunjin was still slumped against the couch, his chest heaving as he stared at you with something like adoration.
“You okay, baby?” you asked him, and he leaned towards you to wipe your chin with his hand.
He nodded, as he whispered, “Yeah… yeah, I’m… wow.”
Chris laughed, as he pulled you against his chest, kissing the side of your head.
“Told you she’d break you,” he said to Hyunjin, but his eyes were on you, soft and loving.
You nestled into Chris’s warmth, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from Hyunjin’s face.
“You’re so cute,” you teased, and he blushed, ducking his head.
The three of you stayed there, huddled together on the couch as the sunlight started to creep through the windows. No one said anything about what came next. Because for now, this was enough - the closeness and the quiet promise of more.
summary|| sometimes your boyfriend do something that get you all hot and bothered so you have to express your feelings on the matter
gener|| comedy
reference|| love (chan), my baby (han), sweetheart (felix), muse (hyunjin)
warnings|| please MDNI although there's nothing explicit it is very suggestive, swearing, mention of a choking kink (felix), mention of pregnancy (han)
a/n|| lowkey too tired to make a good theme
ss|| 13
мaѕтerlιѕт
𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ִֶָ. ..𓂃 @imsleepingwhataboutu @dina-10s-blog @ilvin88 @loonarixsxx @hanniesbubuwife @hyunjinsslut12 @lilyxii @anastarsia-00 @chrispypineappleburger @1-aria-1 @leeknaurrrr @koala-wonderland @jeonginsfavglazer @yngjgn @ren0325 @yourstargirlyyy @viisstrayy @bunbunbl0gs @vernorica123 @naenaen @minhossluticecream if you want to be added OR removed please feel free to send an ask or comment!!
⟢ genre: humor, fluff, idolverse, established relationship
⟢ author’s note: hello, hello! here’s a light little something i wrote today. i hope you all enjoy, and if you do i would love to read your thoughts on it<3
⟢ ┆ stray kids x reader. ot8. new relationship. nsfw.
⟢ author’s note: hello, hello!! i’ve been a bit mia this past month and i got quite a few requests for some reason, so today i felt like writing this one about either y/n or skz!member waking up alone after their first time together. it was fun to write it and i hope it’s fun to read<3
summary: stays always talk about how chan is secretly their oomf on twitter, but they never stop to think that their oomf could be dating a member of stray kids, or that she could be dating all of them
a/n: happy 8 years to our boys!! i’ve been a stay for 8 months, 8 is fate ugh, and it has been the best 8 months ever! i love them so much and am so proud of them. they led me to meet such amazing friends and other stays i am so grateful <3 also please tell me your thoughts on the new song they released for us! i have been crying about it ever since it came out
*this is a oneshot poly skz spin off of my seungmin his gf is oomf series! there will not be another part for this poly skz version. i just wanted to make something fun and silly for the boy’s anniversary with my oomf concept! also please ignore that i reused the twitter profiles this does not take place in the same universe i was just too lazy to make new ones lol*
Summary: Hwang Hyunjin didn’t do seconds or thirds after a hookup which is why you thought fucking him once would get him to leave you alone. You were wrong, he came back twice during the summer after that one time during the spring semester and now you’ve got a Hwang Hyunjin stuck on you like a lost, lovesick puppy. Hyunjin’s on a mission to sabotage every date you go on until you admit that you two are perfect for each other. You tell him he’s being a stalker, he says he’s being persistent and dedicated and you’re just being dramatic.
Warnings: Certified loverboy/Munch!Hyunjin, uni student!hyunjin x TA grad student!f.reader, implied curve/plus size reader, Hyunjin has some morally grey traits that you overlook because you lowkey like that shit and you just as much as a simp for him, smut! MDNI! Multiple sex scenes/rounds, unprotected sex, oral (m.&f.rec), slight exihibitionism, car sex,public sex, unprotected sex, slight dom/sub/switch dynamics, Hyunjin was a kiwi when they first hooked up, nicknames: Hyune, baby,Simp/munch(his), Muse(this is cannon atp), pussy-fairy, baby etc (hers), as usual I might have missed something.
W.C: 17.7k
You had thought fucking Hyunjin would get him to leave you alone. He never went back for seconds from what you had heard around campus and the kid’s been nagging you—not really because you do enjoy his company sometimes—since you TA’d one of his English Foundation classes last fall.
You figured he just wanted to try sex with a big girl given what you knew his usual hookups looked like.So, after one particularly shitty presentation—with a lecturer that you were sure hated you—you invited him over.
What you hadn’t planned on was having Hwang Hyunjin stuck on you like a lost puppy after one fuck; okay, maybe two…three times. Once in late spring, twice over the summer when he somehow kept showing up at places you frequented and now it’s the fall semester again and Hyunjin has found every opportunity to be in your bubble even befriending your friends Minho, Chan and Changbin.
“Yahhh! Hwang Hyunjin, you can’t keep doing this to me.” You groan as you push open your apartment door with him hot on your trail. This is the third date since the semester started that he’s run off.
“I don’t see why you need to be going on dates when I’m literally right here, ready and willing to do all that Muse.”
“That’s not the point Hyune.”
“It’s not? I’m hot, you’re hot. The sex is an incredibly hot bonus but at least you know it won’t be subpar and I’ll actually get you off. All you gotta do is say yes, I’m very persistent.” He smiles.
You drop your bag on the kitchen counter with more force than necessary, the thud punctuating your frustration. Hyunjin closes the door behind him—of course he follows you inside—and leans against it with that infuriating confidence that probably works on everyone else.
“Persistent is one word for it,” you mutter, yanking open the fridge to grab a bottle of water. Anything to avoid looking at him right now, at the way his hair falls perfectly even after he’s been trailing you across campus, at how his shirt rides up slightly when he crosses his arms. “Stalker is another.”
“Dramatic.” He pushes off the door and you can hear the smile in his voice as he moves closer. “I prefer ‘dedicated.’”
You spin around, pointing the water bottle at him like a weapon. “You literally interrupted my date at the restaurant, Hyunjin. You sat down at our table and ordered food.”
“The guy was boring you to tears. I could see it from across the room.”
“You were across the room watching me? Do you hear yourself right now?”
He has the audacity to shrug, unbothered, as he hops up onto your counter like he pays rent here. “I was meeting someone at the café next door and happened to look up—”
“Meeting someone? You?”
“—and I saw you doing that thing you do when you’re trying to be polite but you’d rather be anywhere else.” He tilts his head, studying you with those dark eyes that got you into this mess in the first place. “That little fake laugh, the way you keep checking your phone under the table. You did it in Professor Kim’s lecture last spring too, remember?”
You hate that he notices these things. Hate that he’s right. Hate even more that you know there was no one he was meeting; he’d literally sat at that café for an hour, coffee going cold, just waiting for the right moment to swoop in and ruin your date.
“That doesn’t give you the right to crash my dates, Hyune. We hooked up. Past tense. That’s it.”
“See, you keep saying that.” He leans forward, elbows on his knees and the air between you shifts into something heavier. “But your body language says something different. The way you let me walk you home. How you haven’t kicked me out yet. How you’ve already called me ‘Hyune’ twice in the last five minutes.”
Fuck. You hadn’t even noticed.
“I—” You falter, gripping the water bottle tighter. “That’s just habit.”
“Is it?” He slides off the counter, moving into your space slowly, giving you every chance to step back. You don’t. “Because I think you like having me around. I think you keep going on these shitty dates hoping one of them will make you stop thinking about me, about us.”
“There is no us.”
“There could be.” His voice drops lower, softer, and suddenly you’re very aware of how close he is, how warm your apartment feels. “Just say yes, Muse. One real date. Let me take you somewhere, treat you right, show you I’m not just some college kid looking for a hookup.”
“You ran off three of my dates, Hyunjin.”
“Because they weren’t good enough for you.” No hesitation, no shame. “And I am. Let me prove it.”
Your heart hammers against your ribs, treacherous thing that it is. You should say no. Should maintain the boundaries you set months ago when you decided sleeping with him was a lapse in judgment.
But god, the way he’s looking at you right now—like you’re the only thing in the world worth his attention—makes it really hard to remember why those boundaries existed in the first place.
“One date,” you hear yourself say, and his face lights up like you’ve given him the moon. “But if you fuck this up—”
“I won’t.” He’s grinning now, that devastating smile that should come with a warning label. “You won’t regret this.”
“I already do,” you lie but you’re smiling too and from the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, he knows it.
You turn your back to him as you head towards your bedroom to change out of your clothes. You know he’s going to follow you and follow he does, making himself comfortable at the foot of your bed leaning back on his arms in that lazy confident way he has while you strip out of the layers of clothes you’d been wearing.
“You’re staring, Hwang.”
“Can you blame me?”
“Annoying fucker.”
“Yeah, but you like me though.” and you don’t even have to look at him to know he’s grinning or smirking. “C’mere, muse.”
“Don’t use that tone of voice,”
“Why? Does it make you wet?”
You pause mid-motion, your shirt halfway over your head, heat crawling up your neck that has nothing to do with the layers you’re peeling off. “Hyunjin—”
“That’s not an answer.” His voice is lower now, teasing but edged with something darker that makes your stomach flip.
You yank the shirt off completely and toss it at him. He catches it easily, bringing it to his face with an exaggerated inhale that makes you roll your eyes even as your pulse quickens.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re avoiding the question.” The bed shifts as he adjusts his position before he speaks again. “Come here, Muse.”
There it is again—that voice, the one that’s all command wrapped in honey, the one that got you into trouble the first time. You should tell him to back off, remind him that one date doesn’t mean he gets to waltz back into your bed like nothing’s changed.
But your body has other ideas, already responding to his proximity, to the memory of his hands on your skin.
“This wasn’t part of the deal,” you say but your voice comes out breathier than intended as you turn to face him.
He’s still on your bed, leaning back with that infuriating smirk playing at his lips, eyes tracking every inch of you like he’s memorizing the view. “What deal? I just want you closer. We can just talk.”
“You don’t want to talk.”
“Maybe not.” He reaches out, fingers ghosting over your wrist. “But I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give me. Even if that’s just you sitting here, telling me about your terrible date while I try very hard to behave myself.”
You snort despite yourself. “You? Behave?”
“I can be good when properly motivated.” His thumb traces circles on your inner wrist and goddamn if that simple touch doesn’t make you want to forget every reason this is a bad idea. “So, what’s it gonna be? You gonna keep pretending you don’t want this, or are you gonna stop overthinking for once and let yourself have something good?”
You don’t know what possesses you to do it but you wrap your hands around his throat and tilt his head back just a little so he’s looking up at you. What you don’t expect is the moan that slips out of his mouth along with the way his grip tightens on both of your ass cheeks.
“You’re playing with fire, Muse.”
His pupils are blown wide, dark and wanting, and the way his breath hitches under your palms sends a thrill straight through you. You tighten your grip just slightly—not enough to hurt—just enough to feel his pulse jumping against your fingers.
“Maybe I want to get burned,” you murmur, watching the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips.
“Fuck,” he breathes and his hands slide higher, pulling you closer until you’re standing between his spread thighs. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass, gripping like he can’t get enough and there’s something about the way he touches you—like every curve is exactly what he wants—that makes your breath catch. “You can’t just…Muse, if you keep touching me like that, I’m not gonna be able to keep my promise about behaving.”
“Did I ask you to behave?”
Something shifts in his expression; surprise giving way to hunger, that cocky facade cracking just enough to show you the desperate want underneath. It’s intoxicating, this power you have over him, the way someone so confident turns pliant under your touch.
“You’re killing me,” he groans but he’s tilting his head back further, offering himself up. “Months. Months of you ignoring me, going on dates with other people, pretending those nights didn’t change everything—”
“It was just three nights,” you say, squeezing just a little harder and his moan is obscene.
“Three perfect nights that I can’t stop thinking about.” His hands slide from your ass to your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft skin there. “The way you look on top of me, the sounds you make, how your thighs feel wrapped around my head—” He cuts himself off with a shudder as your thumb traces along his jawline. “Please, Muse. Put me out of my misery. Tell me I’m not crazy, that you feel this too.”
You could still walk away. Should walk away. This is exactly what you were trying to avoid; getting tangled up with Hwang Hyunjin and his persistent attention, his ability to make you forget every logical reason this is complicated.
But God, the way he’s looking at you right now, like you’re everything he wants…
“You’re not crazy,” you admit quietly and watch his face transform with relief and triumph and raw need. “But you’re still annoying.”
“Yeah?” His hands slide under the waistband of your pants, palms hot against bare skin. “Wanna shut me up about it?”
Your fingers flex on his throat and before you know it the world tilts and suddenly your back hits the mattress, the air rushing from your lungs. The switch happens so fast your head spins or maybe that’s just the way he’s looking down at you under him with his hand around your throat; eyes dark with promise and that damn smirk that makes your thighs clench.
“Know you missed your favorite necklace.” He says with a grin and a flex of his fingers.
His hand spans your throat perfectly, thumb resting against your pulse point like he’s counting each racing beat. The weight of it, the controlled pressure, sends liquid heat pooling low in your belly.
“There she is,” he murmurs, leaning down until his lips brush your ear. “Been wondering how long you’d make me wait to see you like this again.”
You should probably say something cutting, remind him he’s getting ahead of himself, that agreeing to one date doesn’t mean—
But then his fingers flex, just enough pressure to make your breath catch and coherent thought becomes a distant memory. Your hands fly up to grip his wrist, not to push away but to anchor yourself as your body arches involuntarily beneath him.
“Fuck, I missed this,” he breathes against your neck, his free hand sliding down your side, tracing the curve of your waist, your hip. “Missed the way you melt for me the second I get my hands on you. All that attitude just…gone.”
“Hyunjin—” His name comes out strangled, needy, and you hate how desperate you sound. Hate more that he’s right about all of it.
“Yeah, baby?” Another flex of his fingers, his thigh pressing between yours. “Still think those other guys could give you what I can? Still think you need anyone else when you’ve got me?”
Your nails dig into his wrist and he groans, low and dirty. “That’s my girl. Mark me up, Muse. Want everyone to know exactly who I belong to.”
“Possessive bastard,” you gasp out but your hips are already rolling against his thigh, seeking friction.
“Only for you.” His mouth finds that spot below your ear that makes you whimper. “Say you’re mine. Say those dates were bullshit and you want me.”
“You’re—ah—so fucking cocky—”
“Because I’m right.” His hand tightens fractionally, and stars burst behind your eyelids. “Now answer the question, or I stop.”
“Stop and I’ll never give you head again. Know you like that thing I do with my tongue before I take it all the way in.” You grin.
He freezes above you and you feel the full-body shudder that runs through him at the memory. His hand loosens just slightly on your throat as he pulls back to look at you, eyes blazing.
“That’s playing dirty, Muse.”
“You started it,” you shoot back, running your tongue along your bottom lip deliberately. His gaze tracks the movement like a starving man watching food. “What was it you said last time? That no one’s ever—”
“Don’t.” His voice comes out strangled, hips pressing harder against you. “Fuck, you can’t just—that thing you do, that fucking swirling before you—Jesus Christ.”
The power shift is delicious. For all his cockiness, all his control, you know exactly how to unravel him. You’ve done it before, watched him fall apart with his hands fisted in your hair, saying your name like a prayer, telling you how good you look on your knees with your mouth stretched around him.
“So maybe,” you say, walking your fingers up his chest, “you should reconsider your ultimatums. Because I can be just as stubborn as you, Hwang Hyunjin, and I know all your weaknesses now.”
He drops his forehead to yours with a breathless laugh. “You’re evil. Absolutely fucking evil.”
“You like it.”
“I love it,” he corrects and something in his voice makes your heart stutter. Too honest, too raw. He catches it immediately, tries to cover with that cocky grin. “Love how you think you’re in control right now when we both know how this ends.”
“Oh? How’s that?”
His hand slides from your throat to cup your jaw, thumb brushing your lips. “With you saying my name so loud your neighbors complain. Again.” He punctuates it with a roll of his hips that has you gasping. “But first, you’re gonna answer my question. Those dates—”
“Were boring,” you admit, because fuck it, he’s not going to let this go. “Happy?”
“Getting there.” His smile is pure sin. “Now tell me you’re mine.”
“Make me.”
The words are barely out of your mouth before his eyes go molten, that pretty face transforming into something predatory and hungry. His hand slides back to your throat, not squeezing, just possessive.
“Oh, Muse,” he says, voice dropping an octave that goes straight between your thighs. “You really shouldn’t have said that.”
Before you can respond with something appropriately bratty, he captures your mouth in a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and months of pent-up frustration. It’s not gentle—Hyunjin’s never been gentle when he’s like this, wound up and desperate—and you wouldn’t want it any other way.
“Months,” he growls against your lips, kissing down your jaw. “Months of watching you pretend you don’t think about this.” His teeth graze your pulse point and you gasp. “Watching you go on dates with guys who couldn’t possibly know what you need.”
His free hand slides down your stomach, fingers playing at the waistband of your pants. He doesn’t move to remove them yet, just traces patterns that make your hips lift involuntarily.
“Hyune—”
“Shh,” he soothes, but there’s nothing gentle about the way he’s looking at you. “You wanted me to make you admit it, right? That’s what this is?” He pops the button of your pants with practiced ease. “Let me remind you exactly what you’ve been missing.”
“You’re such an asshole,” you manage but it comes out breathless.
“Maybe.” He drags the zipper down slowly, torturously. “But you like it. Like when I call you out on your bullshit.” His fingers slip just beneath the waistband of your underwear, not touching where you need him yet, just teasing. “Like when I don’t let you hide.”
You dig your nails into his shoulders through his shirt, trying to pull him closer but he resists. That damn smirk is back.
“Patience, pretty baby. We’ve got all night and I’m gonna take my time reminding you exactly why you can’t stop thinking about me.”
“Cocky—” The word cuts off in a moan as his hand finally, finally slides lower, cupping you through the thin fabric. The heel of his palm grinds against your clit and your vision goes hazy.
“What was that?” He does it again, watching your face. “Couldn’t quite hear you over all those pretty sounds you’re making.”
“I said you’re—fuck—” He adds pressure and your argument dissolves entirely.
“That’s what I thought.” His mouth finds that spot below your ear. “You can act tough all you want, Muse, but your body tells me everything I need to know.”
He hooks his fingers in your waistband but doesn’t pull down yet. Just waits, making you squirm.
“Tell me you want this,” he murmurs against your neck. “Tell me those dates were bullshit attempts to forget about us.”
“There is no us—”
He pulls his hand away entirely and you actually whimper at the loss. His answering laugh is dark and knowing.
“No? Then I guess you don’t need me to—”
“Don’t you dare.” You grab his wrist, pulling his hand back and his eyes light up with victory.
“Then say it.” He starts pulling your pants down, slowly, watching you the whole time. “Say you thought about me while you were out with them. Say you compared them to me and they didn’t measure up.”
The worst part is he’s right. Every single date, you’d found yourself thinking about Hyunjin; the way he laughs at your terrible jokes, how he brings you coffee during your TA sessions without being asked, the way he looks at you like you’re the most fascinating thing in the world.
And yeah, the sex. Definitely the sex.
“They were boring,” you finally admit, lifting your hips so he can slide your pants and underwear down your legs. The cool air makes you shiver, or maybe that’s just the way he’s looking at you, like he wants to devour you whole.
“Boring,” he repeats, tossing your clothes somewhere behind him. His hands slide up your thighs, gripping the soft flesh there, spreading you wider. “Just boring?”
“Hyunjin, please—”
“Please what?” He settles between your legs but doesn’t touch you yet. Just looks, and the hunger in his eyes makes you clench around nothing. “I want to hear you say it, Muse. Want to hear you admit that this—” he finally drags one finger through your wetness, and you gasp, “—is all for me.”
“You’re the worst,” you breathe but your hips chase his touch.
“Yeah?” He circles your clit once, twice, before pulling away again. “The worst, but you’re soaking for me anyway. Been like this all night, haven’t you? Sitting across from that guy, being polite, while thinking about what I could do to you instead.”
You want to deny it, but he chooses that moment to slide two fingers inside you, curling them exactly right and the truth spills out in a broken moan.
“There she is.” His voice is reverent now, awed. “Fuck, I missed this. Missed watching you fall apart for me.” He sets a rhythm that has your back arching, your hands scrambling for purchase on the sheets. “Missed the way you get so wet, so ready. Like your body knows exactly who it belongs to even when you’re being stubborn about it.”
“Not—ah—yours,” you try, but it’s weak even to your own ears.
His thumb finds your clit and you nearly sob. “No? Then why are you grinding on my hand like you’re desperate for it? Why’d you let me follow you home, let me in your apartment, your bedroom?” He leans down, breath hot against your ear. “Why haven’t you kicked me out yet, baby?”
Because you can’t. Because despite every logical reason for why this is a bad idea, you want him. Have wanted him since that first night when he’d looked at you like you were everything, touched you like you were precious, fucked you like you were the only thing that mattered.
“Say it,” he demands, adding a third finger that has you seeing stars. “Say you’re mine and I’ll give you everything you need. Make you come so hard you forget every other guy’s name.”
“Fuck—Hyunjin—I can’t—”
“You can.” His fingers speed up, hitting that spot inside you that makes your thighs shake. “Come on, Muse. Stop being stubborn and just admit it. Admit you want this, want me, want us.”
He’s relentless and you can feel your orgasm building, pressure coiling tight in your belly. Your hands find his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan.
“That’s it,” he encourages, grinding the heel of his palm against your clit. “Take what you need, baby. Show me how good I make you feel.”
You’re so close, teetering on the edge and he knows it. Can probably feel it in the way you’re clenching around his fingers, the way your breathing has gone ragged.
“Just say it,” he coaxes, softer now but no less demanding. “Three little words and I’ll make you come. That’s all, Muse. Just tell me the truth.”
Pride wars with desperation but your body makes the decision for you; arching into his touch, chasing the release only he seems capable of giving you.
“Yours,” you finally gasp out. “I’m yours, okay? Happy now?”
His smile is blinding, triumphant, before his mouth crashes into yours. “So fucking happy,” he murmurs against your lips and then his fingers curl just right and you’re gone, falling apart in his arms while he swallows your moans and tells you how perfect you are, how good, how his.
You’re still trembling through the aftershocks when he slowly withdraws his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean with an obscene moan that makes heat coil in your belly all over again despite having just come.
“Missed that too,” he says with a little pat to your sensitive cunt, eyes dark as he watches you try to catch your breath. “The way you taste. Been thinking about it for months.”
“You’re such a fucking munch,” you manage but there’s no heat behind it. Can’t be, not when you’re boneless and satisfied and he’s looking at you like that.
“Wonder whose fault that is?” He’s already pulling his shirt over his head, revealing all that lean muscle you’ve tried very hard not to think about. “And we’re not done. Not even close.”
Your eyes track the movement of his hands as he works his belt loose, the clink of metal loud in your quiet bedroom. “Confident.”
“Realistic,” he corrects, shoving his jeans down. “You think one orgasm is enough to make up for months? I’ve got a lot of lost time to account for, Muse.”
He’s not wrong. Even now, barely recovered, you want him. Want his weight on you, in you, surrounding you. It’s infuriating how easily he gets under your skin.
“Come here,” you say, reaching for him and he goes willingly, settling between your thighs like he belongs there.
His cock presses against you, hard and hot, and you both groan at the contact. He rocks against you slowly, coating himself in your wetness, the head catching on your clit with each deliberate thrust.
“Hyune—” Your nails rake down his back and he hisses.
“What, baby? Use your words.” He’s teasing, the bastard, dragging this out when you both know what you want.
“Stop teasing.”
“But you’re so pretty when you’re desperate.” He does it again, that maddening slide that’s almost enough but not quite. “Flushed and needy and all mine.”
You wrap your legs around his waist, trying to angle him where you need him, but he doesn’t budge just holds himself just out of reach with that infuriating smirk.
“Ask nicely.”
“I’m going to kill you,” you threaten but it comes out more pleading than murderous.
“You love me,” he says, and then seems to realize what he’s said. For a moment, the cocky mask slips and you see something vulnerable underneath, hope and fear and want all tangled together.
The moment stretches between you, weighted with things neither of you are ready to name.
“Hyunjin,” you say softly, cupping his face. “Fuck me. Please.”
It’s enough. He reaches between you, lining himself up, and then he’s pushing inside with one slow, devastating thrust that has you both gasping. The stretch is perfect, familiar, like your body remembered exactly how he feels.
“Fuck,” he breathes, dropping his forehead to yours. “Fuck, Muse, you feel—” He can’t finish the sentence, too overwhelmed, and something about seeing him undone like this makes your chest tight.
“Move,” you urge, rolling your hips. “Baby, please move.”
He pulls out slowly, almost all the way, before slamming back in hard enough to punch the air from your lungs. Sets a rhythm that’s punishing and perfect, each thrust hitting so deep you see stars.
“This,” he grits out, punctuating the word with a particularly hard thrust. “This is what you’ve been missing. What those other guys could never give you.” His hand finds your throat again, not squeezing, just holding. “Tell me. Tell me they didn’t fuck you like this.”
“They didn’t—” You gasp as he changes angles, hitting that spot that makes your toes curl. “Didn’t even—fuck—didn’t even have a chance—”
“Because they don’t know you.” His thumb traces your racing pulse. His other hand grips your thigh to hook your leg over his shoulder, fingers digging into the soft flesh there and pulling you tighter against him. “Don’t know that you like it rough. Like when I hold you down and take what’s mine.”
He proves his point by pinning your wrists above your head with his free hand, holding you completely at his mercy. The position makes your breasts press up and he takes advantage, ducking his head to drag his teeth across one nipple.
“Don’t know how fucking perfect you are when you let go and just feel.”
You should probably protest at the possessive way he’s talking, the assumption that he knows you better than you know yourself. But he does know you, knows exactly how to make you fall apart, how to push you right to the edge and keep you there.
“Harder,” you demand because if you’re doing this, if you’re giving in, you might as well get everything you want.
His answering laugh is strained. “Greedy girl.” But he complies, fucking into you with enough force that your headboard starts hitting the wall. “That what you need? Need me to ruin you so you can’t even think about anyone else?”
“Yes—fuck yes—”
“Good.” He releases your wrists to hitch your other leg higher over his hip, the new angle making you cry out. “Because that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”
His hand slides between your bodies, finding your clit and the dual sensation is almost too much. You can feel another orgasm building, faster this time, pulled tight like a wire about to snap.
“Hyune, I’m close—”
“I know, baby, I can feel it.” His rhythm is getting erratic, chasing his own release. “Come for me. Wanna feel you squeeze my cock, wanna watch you fall apart.”
“Come with me,” you gasp, pulling him down into a kiss that’s more breathing into each other’s mouths than anything else. “Want to feel you—”
“Fuck…Muse—” The nickname becomes a chant as his hips stutter and the desperation in his voice is what tips you over. Your second orgasm hits harder than the first, pleasure white-hot and all-consuming, and you feel him follow seconds later with a groan that you swallow down.
He collapses on top of you, both of you sweaty and spent and trembling. For a long moment, there’s nothing but heavy breathing and the occasional aftershock, his cock still buried inside you like he can’t bear to separate yet.
“So,” he finally says, voice muffled against your neck. “Still think those dates were a good idea?”
You smack his shoulder weakly. “Cálla.”
“Make me.” But there’s no heat behind it, just lazy satisfaction.
You wrap your legs tight around him and roll him onto his back as you settle on top of him. The ride you start is slow and torturous, hands on his chest as you lift until only the tip is inside before you drop all the way back down.
His eyes go wide when you flip him, a startled laugh escaping before it melts into a groan as you sink back down onto him. He’s still sensitive from coming, you can tell by the way his abs clench, the way his hands fly to your hips with a grip that’s going to leave bruises.
His fingers span your hips, thumbs pressing into the soft give of your stomach and there’s something almost reverent in the way he’s looking up at you, like he can’t quite believe you’re real.
“Fuck, baby, what are you—”
“Teaching you a lesson,” you murmur, rising up slowly, torturously slow, until just his tip is inside. His fingers dig into your flesh, trying to pull you back down but you resist. “About running your mouth.”
You drop down hard and he chokes on whatever he was going to say, head falling back against the pillows. The oversensitivity makes him twitch inside you, makes his thighs tense beneath you.
“Baby, I just—ah fuck—”
You do it again. And again. Setting a pace that’s designed to drive him insane, that has him writhing beneath you and trying to thrust up to meet you. But you keep the control, keep him exactly where you want him.
“What’s wrong?” You drag your nails down his chest, watching red lines bloom in their wake. “Thought you liked being in charge. Liked making me beg.”
“I do—fuck, I do—but you’re gonna kill me—” His feet plant on the mattress, trying to get leverage, trying to fuck up into you harder.
That’s when your hand wraps around his throat again.
The effect is immediate and devastating. His whole body goes taut, cock throbbing inside you and the moan that tears from him is absolutely wrecked.
“Stay still,” you command, squeezing just enough to make his breath catch. “You’re going to take what I give you, understand?”
“Fuck,yes, yes—” His eyes are glazed, pupils blown so wide there’s barely any iris left. His hands fall away from your hips, surrendering, and the sight of Hwang Hyunjin—cocky, confident, always-in-control Hyunjin—completely at your mercy sends a rush of power through you.
You start riding him in earnest now, the way you know drives him crazy. Rolling your hips on the downstroke, clenching around him deliberately, using him for your own pleasure while your hand stays firm on his throat.
“Oh god…oh fuck, Muse—” He’s babbling now, coherence lost. His hands scrabble at the sheets, his back arching. “Please,please, I can’t—”
“Can’t what?” You lean down, maintaining the pressure on his throat as you change the angle. “Can’t handle what you’ve been begging for? Can’t take being fucked the way you fuck me?”
“No…yes, fuck—” Tears are gathering at the corners of his eyes from the intensity. “Don’t stop—please don’t stop—”
You weren’t planning to. Not when he looks like this; absolutely destroyed, that pretty face twisted in almost painful pleasure, completely yours. Your free hand slides up to pinch his nipple and he nearly sobs.
“You’re so good like this,” you tell him and mean it. “So perfect when you let go. When you stop trying to control everything and just feel.”
“For you—” he gasps out. “Only for you—”
Your rhythm is relentless now, chasing your third orgasm of the night while he falls apart beneath you. You can feel him getting close again despite having just come, his cock swelling impossibly harder inside you.
“Gonna come again already?” You tighten your grip on his throat fractionally and he keens. “Greedy boy. So desperate for it.”
“Please—” It’s barely a whisper. “Please, Muse, I need—”
“I know what you need.” You lean down to bite at his jaw, his neck, marking him the way he marked you. “Need to come inside me again. Need to fill me up until it’s dripping down my thighs.”
“Yes! fuck yes,please let me—”
“Then come,” you order, releasing his throat and clenching around him as hard as you can. “Come for me, Hyunjin.”
He does, with a shout that’s definitely going to have your neighbors complaining, his whole body seizing as he spills inside you. The feeling of it, the heat and the way he pulses, triggers your own orgasm; smaller than the first two but no less intense for it.
You collapse onto his chest, both of you gasping for air. His arms come around you immediately, holding you close despite the way you’re both trembling.
“Jesus Christ,” he finally manages, voice absolutely wrecked. “You’re trying to kill me.”
“Payback,” you mumble against his skin, feeling the rapid thump of his heart beneath your cheek.
“Worth it.” His hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair. “So fucking worth it.”
You can feel him softening inside you, the mess of both of you starting to leak out, but neither of you move. Just lie there tangled together, his thumb stroking lazy circles against your scalp.
“So,” he says after a while, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “About that date…”
You bite his shoulder hard enough to make him yelp. “One thing at a time, Hwang.”
His laugh rumbles through his chest. “Yes ma’am.”
You shift to look up at him, finding him watching you with an expression so soft it makes your breath catch. His free hand comes up to trace the curve of your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone.
“Lemme stay,” he says quietly. “Tonight. Don’t kick me out this time.”
“I never kicked you out—”
“You very politely suggested that I had to go.” His lips quirk. “Three times. Spring semester, twice over summer. Same thing.”
You study his face; the vulnerability lurking beneath the teasing, the hope he’s trying to hide. “You’re clingy when you’re fucked out.”
“Mhmm,” he admits, no shame in it. “So is that a yes?”
You could say no. Should probably establish some boundaries, maintain some distance. But you’re warm and sated and he’s looking at you like that, and—
“Fine,” you relent. “But you’re the big spoon because I’m not sleeping on my back all night.”
His grin is blinding. “Deal.”
He finally pulls out, both of you wincing at the sensitivity, and disappears to your bathroom. Returns with a warm washcloth and cleans you up with a gentleness that feels at odds with how you’d just fucked each other into the mattress.
“Such a gentleman,” you tease as he tosses the cloth aside and climbs back into bed.
“Only for you,” he says again, pulling you against his chest and draping himself around you. His hand splays across your stomach, thumb tracing idle patterns on your skin. “See? Perfect big spoon.”
You hum in agreement, already feeling sleep pulling at you. His warmth surrounds you, solid and safe, and you find yourself relaxing into it despite your better judgment.
“Muse?” His voice is soft, almost hesitant.
“Mm?”
“I meant what I said. About wanting this to be real. About—” He pauses and you feel him press a kiss to your shoulder. “About all of it.”
Your heart does something complicated in your chest. “I know.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You lace your fingers with his where they rest on your stomach. “Now shut up and let me sleep.”
His quiet laugh stirs your hair. “Okay, baby.”
And wrapped in his arms, his heartbeat steady against your back, you let yourself drift off with a small smile on your face.
You wake up to a wet, heated sensation between your legs and when you look down, Hyunjin’s looking up at you from between your thighs, morning light filtering through your curtains and painting his skin gold.
“About time you woke up. Been down here for half an hour, baby.”
“Hyune,” you breathe, still half-asleep, and your hand automatically goes to his hair.
“Love it when you call me that.” He mumbles against your inner thigh, teeth scraping over the sensitive skin. You can already see the marks blooming there, evidence of his dedication. “Especially all sleepy like this.”
Your brain is still foggy with sleep, trying to catch up, but your body already knows; hips lifting into his mouth, thighs spreading wider to give him better access.
“Half an hour?” you manage, voice rough. “Why didn’t you—ah—wake me?”
He pulls back just enough to smirk up at you, lips glistening. “Wanted to see how long it would take. How deep I could get you before you woke up.” His tongue drags slowly through your folds and your grip tightens in his hair. “You were making the prettiest sounds in your sleep, Muse. Kept saying my name.”
“I did not—”
“You did.” He punctuates it with a kiss to your inner thigh, sucking another mark. “Kept squirming too, pressing that perfect ass back against me. Think you were dreaming about me?”
You were, actually. Hazy images of last night and the early hours of the morning bleeding into new scenarios, his hands and mouth everywhere. But you’re not about to admit that.
“You’re imagining things,” you say, trying for dismissive but it comes out breathy when he sucks a mark higher on your thigh.
“Am I?” His hands slide up to grip your hips, fingers pressing into the soft flesh there as he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed, to his mouth. “Then why are you so wet already? Been like this since I started, baby. So ready for me.”
His mouth returns to where you need it, tongue circling your clit with maddening precision. He’s not rushing, not trying to make you come quickly; just exploring, savoring, taking his time like he has all day.
“Hyunjin—” Your head falls back against the pillow as he slides two fingers inside, curling them just right. “Fuck—”
“Love the way you say my name,” he murmurs against you, the vibration making you gasp. “Especially first thing in the morning, all sleepy and needy.” He adds a third finger and you arch off the bed. “Missed waking up with you. Missed getting to do this.”
You want to tell him he’s only been in your bed three times before—spring semester, twice over summer—and each time you’d basically kicked him out the morning after. That this isn’t some regular thing. But then he swirls his tongue over your clit before sucking making your thighs shake, and all coherent thought evaporates.
“That’s it,” he encourages, feeling you clench around his fingers. “Let me take care of you, Muse. Let me make you feel good.”
His free hand slides up your stomach, over your ribs, palming your breast. His thumb brushes over your nipple and the dual sensation has you arching into his touch. He’s everywhere, surrounding you, consuming you, and it’s overwhelming in the best way.
“Close already?” There’s satisfaction in his voice as your hips start rolling against his face. “That’s my girl. So responsive for me.”
“Don’t—ah,don’t stop—”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He seals his lips around your clit and sucks, fingers pumping faster, and you squirt with a cry that echoes off the bedroom walls as you make a mess of his face and your sheets.
He works you through it, gentling his touches as you come down, pressing soft kisses to your thighs, your hip bones, your stomach. When he finally crawls back up your body, his face is wet with you and he’s grinning like he’s won the lottery.
“Good morning,” he says, entirely too pleased with himself.
You’re still trying to remember how to breathe. “You’re insane.”
“Crazy about you,” he corrects, dropping a kiss to your shoulder. Then another to your collarbone. “Couldn’t help myself. You looked so pretty sleeping, and I’ve been thinking about doing that since you kicked me out last time.”
“I didn’t kick you out—”
“You strongly suggested I should leave because you had shit to do,” he reminds you, nipping at your jaw. “Wouldn’t even let me stay for breakfast. Three different times.”
“Because it was supposed to be a one-time thing.”
“Three-time thing,” he corrects. “And clearly not a one-time anything because here we are again and you’re not exactly complaining.”
He’s not wrong. You should be kicking him out right now, reestablishing boundaries, reminding him that one date doesn’t mean he gets to—
“Stop thinking so loud,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “I can literally hear you overthinking from here.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.” He shifts, settling beside you so he can look at you properly. His hair is a mess from your hands, lips swollen, and there’s something soft in his eyes that makes your chest tight. “Look, I know this is complicated. I know you’ve got reasons for keeping me at arm’s length. But Muse…” His hand cups your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “I meant what I said last night. I want this. Want you. Not just the sex—though fuck, the sex is incredible—but all of it.”
“Hyunjin…”
“I’m not asking you to marry me,” he says quickly. “Just…give me a real chance. Let me take you on that date. Let me prove that you’re more than a hookup.”
The earnestness in his voice, in his expression, makes something in your chest crack open. Because the truth is, you want it too. Want him. Have wanted him since that first night when he stayed after, ordering takeout and arguing with you about the themes in the book you were teaching, making you laugh until your sides hurt before he rearranged your guts again.
“Like I said, one date,” you hear yourself say, and his face lights up. “But if you screw this up—”
“I won’t.” He’s kissing you before you can finish the threat, enthusiastic and clumsy and perfect. “I promise, Muse. I’m gonna make you so happy you agreed to this.”
“You’re still in my bed naked,” you point out. “Shouldn’t you go home and shower or something?”
His grin turns wicked. “Actually, I was thinking we could shower together. Save water. Be environmentally conscious.”
“That is not—”
But he’s already pulling you up, laughing at your protests, and somehow you end up in the shower with him anyway. His hands are gentle as he washes your hair, his kisses slow and sweet under the spray, and you let yourself have this—have him—without overthinking it for once.
When you finally emerge, clean and wrapped in towels, he immediately starts raiding your closet.
“What are you doing?”
“Finding clothes,” he says, pulling out one of your hoodies. “This’ll work.”
“That’s mine.”
“It’s ours now.” He pulls it on and it’s slightly too small on him, riding up to show a strip of his stomach, but he looks entirely too pleased with himself. “Perfect.”
“You should go home and get your own clothes.”
“Why?” He asks pulling the sheet off of your bed looking at you expectantly as you pass him a fresh set which he puts on before he sprawls on it like he owns it. “It’s Saturday. Neither of us has anywhere to be.”
“Don’t you have—I don’t know, plans? Things to do?”
“My only plan was you,” he says, patting the space next to him. “And I’m exactly where I want to be.”
You should insist. Should maintain some boundaries, not let him get too comfortable. But he’s looking at you with those warm eyes, your too-small hoodie riding up to show that strip of stomach, and you find yourself giving in.
“Fine,” you relent, settling next to him on the bed. “But you’re buying or making food as long as you’re here.”
“Deal.” He immediately pulls you against him, arranging you so your back is against his chest, his arms wrapped around your middle. “What do you want to do today?”
“I was going to catch up on that show I mentioned.”
“The murder mystery one?”
You twist to look at him, surprised. “How did you know?”
He shrugs, but there’s something vulnerable in his expression. “You mentioned it. Three weeks ago, after your TA session. You said it looked interesting but you hadn’t had time.”
Your chest does something complicated. “You remember that?”
“I remember everything you tell me,” he says simply.
“You’re such a simp.”
“Only for you,” he says, and presses a kiss to your temple. “Now come on, let’s go watch your show. But I’m warning you, it’s always the butler.”
“How do you know?”
“It’s always the butler.” He sounds entirely too confident.
“That’s such a cliché—”
“Wanna bet?”
You twist to look at him. “What are the stakes?”
His grin is wicked. “If I’m right, you come to my friends’ New Year’s party with me.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“Then I’ll stop interrupting your dates.”
You snort. “You’re that confident?”
“In my detective skills? Absolutely.” He pauses. “Also I may have already watched the first episode when you mentioned it.”
“Hwang Hyunjin!”
He’s laughing now, trying to fend off your playful smacks. “What! I wanted to be able to talk to you about it! That’s romantic!”
“That’s cheating!”
“Okay, okay—” He catches your wrists, still grinning. “New bet. Come to the party with me anyway, and if the butler isn’t the killer, I’ll make you that pasta dish you said looked good on Instagram.”
“You follow my Instagram?”
“Have for months,” he admits, shameless. “You post the best food pics. Also that selfie you posted last week? In the library? Saved it.”
You don’t know whether to be flattered or concerned. “You’re obsessed.”
“Completely,” he agrees easily. “So? Deal?”
You should say no. Should not agree to go to a party with his friends, to blur these lines even further. But he’s looking at you hopefully, and—
“Fine. But the pasta better be amazing if you’re wrong.”
“It will be,” he promises, and seals it with a kiss.
You end up on the couch, you settled between his legs with your back against his chest, starting the show. He was right, the butler did do it, which he’s entirely too smug about. But you find you don’t really mind, especially when he keeps pressing random kisses to your shoulder, your neck, your jaw, clearly only half-paying attention to the show.
“Hyune,” you murmur during the second episode. “You’re missing it.”
“Don’t care,” he says against your skin. “This is better.”
“The whole point of watching together—”
“Is spending time with you. Which I’m doing.” He nips at your earlobe. “The murder mystery is just a bonus.”
You roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. “You’re impossible.”
“You like it,” he counters, and you can hear the smile in his voice.
Halfway through the fifth episode, your stomach growls loudly. Hyunjin laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest into your back.
“Lunch?” he suggests.
“It’s almost two. More like late lunch.”
“Even better.” But he doesn’t let go of you, just tightens his arms. “In a minute.”
“Hyunjin, I’m hungry.”
“Just—” He buries his face in your neck. “One more minute like this.”
Something warm and dangerous blooms in your chest. “Okay. One more minute.”
You give him five before standing up and pulling him with you toward the kitchen. “Come on. If you’re staying, you’re helping.”
“What are we making?”
“I was thinking cheesy kimchi fried rice? Nothing fancy, but—”
“Perfect,” he interrupts, already moving toward your fridge. “Comfort food. I can work with that.”
You expect him to be useless in the kitchen—he gives off those vibes—but he surprises you. He moves around your space with ease, finding things without asking.
“You can actually cook,” you observe, surprised.
“My mom made sure I all knew the basics,” he says, focused on cutting sausages and spam.
“And?”
“I’m no chef but I can handle myself fairly well in the kitchen,” he says. “It’s not really different from painting or drawing once you get used to it.”
“Big talk.”
“You’ll see.”
You work together comfortably; you handle the side dishes while he fries the rice. He keeps stealing touches; a hand on your waist as he moves past you, fingers brushing yours when you hand him the cheese, a kiss pressed to your shoulder when you’re stirring the adding radish to a bowl.
“You’re very touchy today,” you comment, not exactly complaining.
“Making up for lost time,” he says simply. “Plus you keep trying to kick me out in the mornings. Gotta get my fill while I can.”
“I don’t—” You pause. “Okay, maybe I do.”
“You do.” He flips the sandwich expertly. “Spring semester, you basically pushed me out the door. Said you had to work on your thesis.”
“I did have to work on my thesis.”
“At 7 AM on a Sunday?”
“…Yes?”
He gives you a look that says he doesn’t believe you for a second. “And the first time in summer, you had that ‘emergency meeting’ with your advisor.”
“That was real!”
“Mhm. And the second time, you suddenly remembered you had plans with your friends.”
You’re quiet, because okay, he’s got you there. Each time you’d basically panicked the morning after, overwhelmed by how comfortable it felt having him in your space, how much you didn’t want him to leave. So you’d created excuses, put up walls, tried to maintain distance.
“I’m sorry,” you say finally. “That was shitty of me.”
“Hey.” He turns and faces you properly, hands on your hips. “I get it. I’m younger, still in undergrad, not exactly what you probably pictured for yourself. And I came on really strong that first time. I get why you freaked out.”
“It’s not—” You struggle with the words. “It’s not about your age, really. It’s just…complicated.”
“It doesn’t have to be,” he says softly. “We can just…be. No pressure, no expectations. Just us figuring this out together.”
“You make it sound simple.”
“Because it is.” He cups your face in his hands looking at you. “I like you. You like me. Everything else is just noise.”
You want to argue, to point out all the ways it’s not that simple. But he’s looking at you with such earnest honesty that you find yourself nodding instead.
“Okay,” you say. “We can try.”
His smile is brilliant. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. But Hyunjin?” You poke his chest. “No more interrupting my dates.”
“Deal. Mainly because you won’t be going on them anymore.”
“Cocky.”
“Confident,” he corrects, and kisses you until the rice is in danger of burning.
You eat lunch curled up on the couch, his arm around your shoulders, arguing about the show and laughing at his terrible theories about who’s going to die next. It’s easy, comfortable, like you’ve been doing this for years instead of dancing around each other for months.
“So this party,” you say eventually. “Your friends’ New Year’s thing.”
“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to,” he says quickly. “I know I kind of blackmailed you into agreeing—”
“I’ll come,” you interrupt. “Might be nice.”
His face lights up. “Really?”
“Really. But Hyunjin?” You level him with a look. “This counts as our first date, right? The party?”
“What? No!” He sits up, looking genuinely distressed. “No, I’m taking you on a proper date first. Dinner, the whole thing. The party is just…the party.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he insists. “I want to do this right, Muse. Take you somewhere nice, show you off, prove I’m not just—” He gestures vaguely. “I want to date you. Properly.”
The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tight. “Okay. When?”
“Monday?” he suggests. “I know this place downtown, really good food, and it’s quiet enough that we can actually talk.”
“Monday works,” you agree, smiling at his enthusiasm.
“Perfect.” He pulls you back against him, clearly pleased with himself. “It’s a date.”
“It’s a date,” you confirm, and let him hold you as you finish lunch, the show playing forgotten in the background.
He doesn’t leave until nearly evening, and even then it’s reluctantly, with promises to text you when he gets home and reminders about Monday. When the door finally closes behind him, your apartment feels too quiet, too empty.
You’re in so much trouble.
Monday—The Date
Hyunjin shows up at your door an hour early, flowers in hand and wearing a sleek all-black ensemble that makes him look unfairly good while you’re still getting ready.
“You look beautiful,” he says, and the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing in the world worth seeing—makes you believe him despite your half-dressed state and bare feet.
“You’re early.”
“I missed you.”
You hum, stepping aside to let him in but your eyes are still dragging over him from head to toe. That deep-cut silk shirt is doing traitorous things to your lower regions, the fabric clinging to his frame in ways that should be illegal. The top three buttons are undone, exposing his collarbones and a hint of his chest, and the way the material catches the light makes your mouth go dry.
“These are gorgeous, thank you.” You take the flowers from him—red and white roses, your favorites, which means he remembered—with a kiss to his cheek and move to the kitchen to place them in a vase with water. Your hands are steadier than you feel as you arrange them, hyperaware of his presence behind you, the weight of his gaze.
“Not as gorgeous as you,” he murmurs against your temple.
You roll your eyes but can’t suppress your smile as you continue to arrange the flowers carefully before placing them on the counter where you can see them.
When you turn back, he’s still watching you with that look that makes your stomach flip.
“Come on,” you say, gesturing toward your bedroom. “I still need to finish getting ready.”
He follows, settling onto your bed in that way he does; legs spread just enough to be distracting, one arm propped behind him, looking like he belongs there. Like he’s always belonged there.
You move back to your vanity, trying to focus on putting in your second earring, but you can feel his eyes on you in the mirror. Tracking every movement.
“You’re staring,” you say without looking at him directly.
“Can you blame me?”
Your eyes find his in the mirror, and something about the way he’s looking at you—hungry but patient, like he’s content to just watch you exist—makes heat pool low in your belly. Your mouth speaks before you can stop yourself.
“Unbuckle your belt and unzip your pants.”
There’s a beat of silence. “What?”
“You heard me.” You turn on your heels, the satin of your dress whispering against your skin as you face him fully. “Or are you going to pretend like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing, showing up an hour early and dressed like lust incarnate?”
You walk toward him slowly, deliberately, watching the way his throat works as he swallows. The deep-cut back of your dress matches his aesthetic perfectly—the two of you look like vampire royalty, all dark elegance and barely restrained hunger.
He smirks, but his hands don’t move. “What are you planning?”
“To suck your cock.”
The bluntness of it makes his eyes darken further, his pupils blown wide. You stop in front of him, leaning forward with your hands on his thighs, giving him a perfect view down the front of your dress. No bra—just you and the slippery satin and the promise of what’s underneath.
“Unless you’d rather just sit there looking pretty?” you murmur, your voice dropping to something darker, more teasing.
“We have reservations,” he says, but his voice is rough, strained.
“In an hour.” Your hands slide higher, fingertips grazing the buckle of his belt. “Plenty of time.”
“Fuck,” he breathes, and then his hands are moving, unbuckling, unzipping, giving you what you want because he always does. Always will. The metallic clink as he unbuckles it sends a thrill through you. He unzips his pants, lifting his hips just enough to push them down slightly, and the sight of him—already half-hard and straining against his boxer briefs—makes your mouth water.
You sink to your knees between his legs, and the look on his face—reverent and wrecked and completely gone for you—makes every second worth it.
“Someone’s eager,” you observe, trailing one finger along the outline of him through the fabric.
His hips jerk involuntarily. “You can’t say shit like that and expect me not to be.”
You smile, slow and satisfied, the carpet is soft beneath you, and the way he’s looking down at you—pupils blown wide, lips parted, chest rising and falling a little too fast—makes you feel powerful.
“We’re going to be late,” he manages, even as his hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing over your cheekbone with surprising tenderness.
“Then we’ll be late.” You hook your fingers into the waistband of his boxer briefs, tugging them down just enough to free him. “Besides, you showed up early. This is on you.”
Whatever response he has dies on his lips the moment yours wrap around him.
The restaurant he’s chosen is intimate and upscale, the kind of place with candlelight and wine lists that read like novels. You’re grateful you touched up your makeup in the car, though Hyunjin had watched you do it with a satisfied smirk that suggested he wasn’t sorry at all for the delay.
“Stop looking so smug,” you tell him as the host leads you to your table.
“I’m not smug. I’m content. There’s a difference.”
“Mmhm.” But you’re smiling too as he pulls out your chair for you, ever the gentleman despite what happened less than an hour ago.
Dinner is perfect. He’s charming and attentive, asking about your research with genuine interest, actually listening to your answers instead of just waiting for his turn to talk. He asks follow-up questions, remembers details you mentioned weeks ago, makes connections you hadn’t even considered.
He tells you about his classes; about the choreography project that’s been consuming him, the way movement can tell stories that words can’t. He talks about his friends with obvious affection, about his plans after graduation (vague and artistic and somehow perfectly him), about the contemporary dance company he’s been considering auditioning for.
The conversation flows easily, punctuated by his terrible jokes that still somehow make you laugh, by the way he reaches across the table to steal bites from your plate, by the comfortable silences that don’t feel awkward at all.
“This is nice,” you say over dessert, watching him fight with a particularly stubborn piece of chocolate cake after finishing your tiramisu.
“Yeah?” He grins, victorious as he finally gets the fork to cooperate. “Told you I could do dates.”
“Don’t get too cocky.”
“Too late,” he says, but his eyes are warm, crinkling at the corners with genuine happiness. “Besides, you like it.”
You do. God help you, you really do. You like his confidence, his humor, the way he looks at you like you’re something precious. You like how he makes you feel—desired and seen and worth the effort. You like how he remembers small details you’ve mentioned in passing, how he laughs at your sarcasm instead of being put off by it.
“Maybe,” you concede, stealing his hard-won bite of cake just to watch him protest.
He gasps in mock outrage. “Betrayal! Treachery!”
“Should’ve eaten faster.”
“You’re terrible,” he says, but he’s laughing, flagging down the waiter to order a second dessert, and when it arrives, he makes a big show of guarding it from you.
The drive home is quieter, softer. His hand finds yours on the center console, fingers intertwining, and you let yourself enjoy the simple intimacy of it. The city lights blur past the windows, painting streaks of gold and red across the darkness, and you feel oddly at peace.
When he drops you home that night, he walks you to your door like a perfect gentleman. Kisses you with a sweetness that makes your chest ache, all soft lips and gentle hands framing your face. He pulls back before it can turn into more, before either of you can get swept away, and the restraint in his eyes tells you how much it costs him.
“New Year’s Eve,” he reminds you, thumbs stroking your cheekbones. “I’ll pick you up at nine?”
“I’ll be ready.”
He kisses you once more, quick and sweet, before stepping back. “Wear something eye catching. My friends are going to love you but I want them to be a little jealous too.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “Goodnight, Hyunjin.”
“Goodnight, beautiful.”
And as you watch him walk away, hands in his pockets, turning back once to flash you that devastating smile, you realize you’re actually looking forward to it; to meeting his friends, to being by his side, to whatever this thing between you is becoming.
You’re definitely in trouble.
But maybe, just maybe, that’s okay.
Inside, you lean against the door, fingers touching your lips where you can still feel the ghost of his kiss. The flowers he brought sit on your counter, beautiful and bright, and your phone buzzes with a text.
Hyune🥟🥰: Already missing you
You: You just left
Hyune🥟🥰: Doesn’t change anything
Hyune🥟🥰: Dream about me
You smile, biting your lip, and type back:
You: Bold of you to assume I don’t already
Your phone rings immediately, his name flashing on the screen and when you answer you can hear the grin in his voice.
“Now who’s being cocky?”
“Learned from the best,” you counter, moving through your apartment, already starting your nighttime routine.
“I really did have a good time tonight,” he says, and the softness in his voice catches you off guard.
“Me too.”
“Even the part where you made us late?”
“Especially that part.”
His laugh is warm and rich through the phone. “I should let you sleep. But I’m serious about New Year’s. You’re going to have fun, I promise.”
“I believe you.”
“Good.” A pause. “Sweet dreams.”
“You too.”
After you hang up, you go through the motions of getting ready for bed, but your mind keeps drifting back to him—the way he looked at you, the way he listened, the way he kissed you goodbye like it hurt to leave.
Yeah. You’re definitely in trouble.
But as you slip between your sheets, your phone on the nightstand still warm from talking to him, you can’t bring yourself to mind.
New Year’s Eve
Hyunjin is nervous.
This is stupid—he’s not a nervous person. He’s confident, self-assured, usually has no problem with social situations. But tonight feels important in a way he can’t quite articulate.
He’s bringing his pussy fairy to meet his friends.
He really needs to stop calling you that, even in his head. But the nickname stuck after that first night back in spring, when he’d gone to your apartment thinking it would be like every other hookup; good sex, pleasant enough conversation, then he’d bounce and never think about it again.
Except he couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you.
The way you’d looked at him like he was more than just a pretty face. The way you’d argued with him about symbolism in The Great Gatsby while you ate shitty takeout at 2 AM, actually engaging with his points instead of just agreeing or trying to move things along to more sex. The way your thighs had felt wrapped around his head, soft and perfect, the way you’d tasted—
Yeah. He’d been fucked from the start.
He’d convinced himself it was just the sex. Just really, really good sex. That’s all. He wasn’t that gone after one night.
So he’d shown up again in early summer, making up some excuse about being in the neighborhood. Went there specifically to prove to himself that it wasn’t as good as he remembered, that he’d built it up in his head. That the way you tasted, the sounds you made, the soft give of your thighs under his hands—he’d exaggerated all of it in his memory.
Except it was better. So much better. He’d spent hours between your legs that night, worshipping at the altar of your body, drunk on the taste of you, the way you pulled his hair—that had started growing out—and gasped his name. And when you’d kicked him out the next morning with some excuse about work, he’d gone home and immediately started planning how to see you again.
The third time, late summer, he’d finally admitted to himself that he was completely fucked.
Because it wasn’t just about the sex—though christ, the sex was incredible. It was everything. The way you challenged him intellectually, never letting him coast by on his looks or charm. The way you laughed at his stupid jokes, this surprised little giggle like you didn’t expect to find him funny. The way you fit against him afterward, soft and warm and perfect, even as you were already planning how to politely kick him out.
Each time you’d basically ushered him out the door the next morning with some variation of “Don’t you have class?” or “I’ve got work to do,” and each time it had stung more. Like you were trying to keep him at arm’s length, to pretend it meant nothing.
But he knew better. Had felt the way you held onto him, the way you’d whispered his name like a prayer when you came.
After that third time, he’d tried to move on. Went on a few dates, let people buy him drinks at parties, even made out with someone in a club bathroom before his brain conjured images of you—the soft curves of your body, those gorgeous thighs, the breathy way you said his name—and he had to stop.
Not even his own hand worked anymore. He’d lie in bed trying to jerk off to porn, to memories of past hookups, anything but his brain would just slide right back to you. The way your stomach felt under his palm, soft and warm. The way you’d bite your lip when you were close. The taste of you on his tongue, better than anything he’d ever had, addictive in a way that terrified him.
He’d become obsessed. Started following your Instagram, saving your photos. That selfie in the library? He’d stared at it for twenty minutes, memorizing the curve of your smile, the way your hair fell. Started “coincidentally” showing up at places you frequented. The coffee shop where you did your grading. The restaurant near your apartment.
And yeah, he’d started sabotaging your dates. He’s not proud of it, but he also wasn’t about to let some undeserving asshole sweep in when he knew—knew with absolute certainty—that he could make you happy. That he could worship you the way you deserved, spend hours learning every curve and dip of your body, make you understand that every inch of you was exactly what he wanted.
Because it was. God, it was.
He knows you’re insecure about your size. He’s seen the way you try to hide sometimes, turning off lights or angling your body. Like he isn’t completely obsessed with your softness, with the way your thighs bracket his head perfectly, with how his hands look against the curve of your hips. Like he doesn’t dream about those thighs, about burying his face between them and staying there for hours, sipping the ambrosia you provide like a man dying of thirst.
If worshipping your body means getting on his knees and begging for the privilege of tasting you—well, that’s nobody’s business but his.
There was no one meeting him at that café all those nights ago and he knew you knew that. He’d sat there for over an hour, coffee going cold, watching you through the window with that forgettable guy who didn’t even make you genuinely smile. Waiting for the perfect moment to interrupt, to remind you that you already had someone who would move heaven and earth just to make you laugh.
His friends called it unhinged. He preferred “strategic dedication.”
But it had worked. You’d finally agreed to a real date and it had been perfect—you’d been perfect, laughing at his jokes and engaging with his questions and looking at him like he mattered—and now he gets to bring you to this party and show you off to his friends and maybe, just maybe, wake up with you tomorrow without getting kicked out.
He checks his phone: 8:47 PM. He’s early. Again.
chill, Felix texts him. she already said yes. stop spiraling
Hyunjin: I’m not spiraling
Felix: you’ve texted me 6 times in the past hour asking if your outfit looks okay
Hyunjin:…fair
Felix: just be yourself. she clearly likes you
Hyunjin hopes that’s true. He takes a deep breath and heads to your door.
When you opens it, he forgets how to breathe for a second. You’re wearing this skirt—black and pleated that hugs every single one of your curves before it flares out—and your hair is down and you’re smiling at him, actually smiling, and fuck, he’s so gone for this you.
“Hey,” you says. “You’re early...again.”
“Couldn’t wait,” he admits, offering his arm. His eyes trace over you appreciatively, cataloging every curve highlighted by that outfit. “You look incredible. Like—fuck, I don’t even have words. You’re perfect.”
You take his arm and he tries not to think about how right it feels, how natural. How much he wants this all the time; picking you up, taking you places, having you by his side.
The party is already in full swing when y’all arrive. Music thumping, people everywhere, the chaotic energy of New Year’s Eve in full effect. Hyunjin keeps you close, hand on your lower back as he navigates through the crowd. Possessive, protective, mine.
“You okay?” he asks, leaning down so you can hear him over the noise.
“I’m good,” you say, and squeeze his hand.
His heart does something complicated in his chest.
His friends are gathered in the living room—Felix, Seungmin, Han, a few others. They look up when Hyunjin approaches and he sees the moment they clock who he’s brought. Felix’s eyes go wide, Han grins knowingly, and Hyunjin feels his ears go hot.
“Yo!” Felix stands, grinning. “Finally! We were starting to think you ditched.”
“I told you we’d be here,” Hyunjin says, pulling you closer. His hand slides from your lower back to your hip, thumb tracing absent circles. Mine. “Everyone, this is—”
“We know who she is,” Han interrupts, amused. “You literally haven’t shut up about her for months.”
Hyunjin feels his ears go red. “I haven’t been that bad.”
“You literally have a whole folder of restaurant recommendations saved specifically for taking her on dates,” Seungmin points out. “And you’ve been planning this party outfit for a week.”
“You also practiced your introduction in the mirror,” Han adds helpfully.
“Traitors,” Hyunjin mutters, but there’s no real heat behind it. “All of you.”
You’re laughing though, that surprised giggle he loves, and it makes the embarrassment worth it. Watching you smile, hearing you laugh—he’d endure far worse for that.
“It’s nice to meet you all properly,” you say, and Hyunjin watches his friends immediately warm to you. Felix offers you a drink, Han makes room on the couch, and just like that you’re folded into the group like you belong there.
Like you belong with him.
Hyunjin doesn’t even think about it before sitting down and pulling you onto his lap. You make a small noise of protest, and he already knows what’s coming.
“Hyunjin, I’m heavy—”
“You’re perfect,” he interrupts, arms wrapping around your waist. His hand splays across your stomach—that soft, gorgeous stomach he dreams about kissing, about resting his head on—and something possessive and warm spreads through his chest. He loves this. The weight of you, the softness, how perfectly you fit against him. “Don’t start that shit. Not with me.”
He feels you relax incrementally, settling against him, and satisfaction curls through him. Good. He wants you comfortable. Wants you to understand that every single inch of you is exactly what he wants, what he craves, what he worships.
Because he does worship you. Has since that first night when he’d put his mouth on you and thought he’d found religion. The taste of you, the sounds you made, the way your thighs had trembled around his head—he’d been addicted instantly. Had gone back specifically to prove it was a fluke, that he’d built it up in his head, that no pussy could actually be that good.
But it was. You were. Is.
He dreams about it constantly. Dreams about lazy Sunday mornings spent between your thighs, about making you come so many times you forget your own name, about the weight of your thighs around his head and the taste of you on his tongue. Dreams about worshipping every curve, every soft inch of your body until you understand how fucking perfect you are.
If that makes him pussy-whipped, so be it. He’ll wear that label proudly.
The party flows around them. His friends chat and laugh, occasionally pulling them into conversation. Hyunjin keeps you close the entire time, unconsciously possessive, one hand always on you; your hip, your thigh, your waist. Under your skirt, his fingers trace patterns on your thigh, nothing obvious to anyone watching, just maintaining contact. Touching you. Claiming you.
He can’t help it. After months of wanting, of strategic “coincidences” and interrupted dates, of lying in bed alone wishing you’d let him stay; he finally has you here, on his lap, in front of his friends. He wants to touch you constantly, to remind himself this is real.
“So how’d you two actually get together?” Felix asks at one point. “Because Hyunjin’s been pining for months but he’s been real vague on details.”
“He stalked me,” you say, completely deadpan.
“I did not—”
“You interrupted three of my dates.”
“Strategically intervened,” Hyunjin corrects, fingers tightening on your thigh. “There’s a difference.”
“He also followed me on Instagram and started emailing me when I wouldn’t respond to his texts.”
Han chokes on his drink. “Please tell me you’re joking.”
“I’m not,” both of you say at the same time.
“You’re insane,” Seungmin tells him.
“I’m dedicated,” Hyunjin corrects, completely shameless. He presses a kiss to your shoulder, breathing in your scent. “And it worked, didn’t it?”
“Debatable,” you say, but you’re smiling.
“You’re here,” he points out. “On my lap. At a party with my friends on New Year’s Eve. I’d say I won.”
His hand slides a bit higher on your thigh, still hidden by your skirt, and he feels your breath catch. He knows what he’s doing—teasing you, working you up slowly. He wants you desperate for him, wants you to feel even a fraction of what he’s felt for months.
The conversation moves on, but Hyunjin only half-pays attention. He’s too focused on you—the weight of you against him, the subtle shifts as you get more comfortable, the way you laugh at Felix’s jokes and engages with Seungmin’s questions about your research. The way his hands look against your skirt, spanning your waist, claiming you.
This could be his life. You on his lap at parties, meeting his friends, being part of his world. Mornings waking up between your thighs, lazy afternoons watching shows together, nights spent exploring every inch of your body. Showing you exactly how much he wants you, needs you, worships you.
He wants it so badly it physically hurts.
“You know,” Han says during a lull in conversation, grin wicked, “I’ve never seen Hyunjin like this with anyone.”
“Like what?” You ask, and Hyunjin can hear the curiosity in your voice.
“Whipped,” Felix supplies helpfully. “Absolutely pussy-whipped.”
Hyunjin doesn’t even try to deny it. His hand slides higher on your thigh, possessive. “And? Your point?”
“No point,” Seungmin says, amused. “It’s just nice to see you actually care about someone.”
And he does. So fucking much it scares him sometimes.
His hand continues its path up your thigh, fingers now tracing the edge of your underwear, and he feels you tense slightly. He leans in, lips brushing your ear.
“Relax,” he murmurs, quiet enough that only you can hear. “No one can see. Just want to touch you.”
“Hyunjin—” your voice is strained.
“You’re so soft here,” he continues, fingers dancing along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He loves this—the give of your flesh under his fingers, the warmth of your skin. “Love how you feel under my hands. Love that I get to touch you like this.”
“We’re in the middle of—”
“I know where we are.” His other hand splays across your stomach possessively. He can feel the soft curve of it, wants to kiss it, worship it. “Just reminding you that you’re mine. That all these curves, this perfect body, it’s mine to worship. Mine to taste. Mine to make come until you’re begging me to stop.”
He feels your breathing go shallow, feels the way you press back against him slightly.
“You’re thinking about it now, aren’t you?” he whispers. “Thinking about the last time I had my face between these thighs. How I made you come three times before you finally pulled me up. How you tasted on my tongue.” Like heaven. Like home. Like everything he’s ever wanted.
“Hyunjin, I swear—”
“I could spend hours between your legs,” he continues, barely audible. “Have spent hours there. Would spend every day there if you’d let me. Tasting you, worshipping you, making you understand how fucking perfect you are.”
“Later,” he promises. “Later I’m going to take you home and remind you exactly why you agreed to give me a chance. Gonna spend hours between your legs until you forget your own name. Until the only thing you can say is mine.”
You turn your head slightly, meeting his eyes, and the heat there nearly undoes him.
“We either need to leave or find a room,” you mumble in his ear.
His brain short-circuits for a second. Then, “What?”
“You’ve been touching me for the past hour,” you say quietly. “And I’m pretty sure I’ve soaked through my underwear. So, unless you want me to sit on it right here and keep it warm…”
Oh fuck.
His cock, which has been half-hard for the past thirty minutes, goes fully hard in an instant. The mental image of you sitting on his lap, full of him, with all his friends around—
“Right here?” The words come out strangled.
You shift on his lap slightly, and it takes everything in him not to groan. “You can just slip it in. I’ll keep it nice and warm.”
Hyunjin goes completely still beneath you, his hands tightening on your thighs hard enough to bruise. He can feel his cock pressing insistently against your ass and the mental image you just painted has him seeing stars.
This is insane. You’re in the middle of a party. His friends are right here. Anyone could notice.
But God, he wants to. Wants it so badly he can barely think. Wants to be inside you, connected to you, claiming you in the most primal way possible while surrounded by people who have no idea.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Is that a no?”
His pussy fairy—his perfect, gorgeous woman—is suggesting they fuck right here, right now, with all his friends around.
The same woman who kicks him out every morning, who’s been holding him at arm’s length for months, who finally agreed to give him a real chance—is offering him this.
He should say no. Should take you somewhere private, do this properly. Prove he’s not just about the sex, even though his dick is currently screaming at him to take you up on the offer.
But the temptation is overwhelming. The thought of being inside you, of feeling you around him while he sits here pretending everything is normal—
“Han’s room,” he manages, voice wrecked. “Second floor, last door on the right. Go up there and wait for me. Five minutes.”
“Why can’t we—”
“Because if I stand up right now, everyone’s gonna see exactly how hard you’ve got me.” His teeth catch her earlobe. “And because I need a minute to figure out if I can actually do what you’re suggesting without losing my mind and fucking you in front of everyone.”
Heat floods through him at his own words. He wants to do this right, wants to prove he’s serious about you. But he also wants you so badly he can barely see straight. Wants to worship your body the way it deserves, wants to bury himself inside you and never leave.
“Five minutes,” you agree, and slide off his lap.
The loss of your weight, your warmth, is almost painful. He watches you excuse yourself—something about needing the bathroom—and tracks your movement across the room and up the stairs. His eyes follow the sway of your hips, the curve of your body in that outfit, and his mouth goes dry.
Felix leans over. “You good, man? You look like you’re dying.”
“I’m fine,” Hyunjin lies, discreetly adjusting himself. His cock is so hard it hurts, and all he can think about is you. “Just…need a minute.”
“Uh huh.” Felix’s grin is knowing. “Sure you do.”
Hyunjin counts down—four minutes, because he literally cannot wait the full five—before standing. “Be right back.”
He doesn’t wait for responses, just heads upstairs. His heart is pounding, blood rushing south, and he can’t believe this is happening. Can’t believe you suggested it, that you want him enough to risk this.
He finds Han’s room easily, slips inside, locks the door. You’re perched on the edge of the bed, and the sight of you sitting there waiting for him makes his mouth go dry.
His pussy fairy. His muse. His everything.
“You’re early,” you say, lips curving.
“Couldn’t wait.” He crosses the room in three long strides. “You’re really trying to ruin me, aren’t you? Sitting there looking innocent while suggesting the filthiest things.”
“Is that a complaint?”
“Fuck no.” He’s on you immediately, capturing your mouth in a kiss that’s all desperation. His hands slide up your thighs, pushing your skirt up. “Been thinking about you all night. About getting my mouth on you again, tasting you, making you fall apart on my tongue.”
He wants to drop to his knees right now. Wants to bury his face between your thighs and drink until you’re begging. Wants to worship you the way you deserve, show you exactly how obsessed he is with every inch of your body.
But there’s no time, and the promise of what you suggested—
He hooks his fingers in your underwear and, yeah, you weren’t exaggerating. They’re soaked through and the evidence of your arousal makes him groan.
“Fuck, baby,” he breathes, pulling them down your legs. He brings them to his face for a second, inhaling your scent, before pocketing them. “You weren’t kidding. You’re dripping for me.”
“Your fault,” you reply breathlessly.
“Mine,” he agrees, already working his belt loose. “All mine. This perfect pussy, these gorgeous thighs, all mine to worship.”
He lines himself up, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance and he pauses to look at you.
“You really want to?” he asks. “Want to go back down there and keep me inside you?”
“Yes, please—”
He pushes in slowly, both of you groaning. Once he’s fully seated, he pauses, forehead pressed to yours. Taking a moment to just feel you; the heat of your cunt, the tight grip of your walls around him, the way you fit him so perfectly.
His pussy fairy. His muse. His everything.
“Okay,” he breathes. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.”
He explains his plan; in ten minutes you both go back downstairs, you sit on his lap, keeping him warm while y’all chat with his friends like nothing’s happening. Your eyes go wide, dark with lust, and he knows he’s got you.
“You’re insane,” you say with a laugh.
“Crazy about you,” he corrects. “So what do you say? Think you can keep quiet?”
“Can you?”
Fair question. He’s not sure he can. The thought of sitting there, buried inside of you, surrounded by his friends while they have no idea; feeling your walls around him, warm and perfect, while he pretends to care about anything except how good you feel—
“Guess we’ll find out,” he says as he captures your mouth in a kiss.
This is insane. Unhinged. Absolutely fucking perfect.
And as he holds you close, feeling your warmth around him, Hyunjin knows with absolute certainty that he’s completely, irrevocably down horrendous for you.
Best decision he ever made.
“It’s been ten minutes,” you mumble against his neck when he still hasn’t moved.
“You feel good,” he whispers back. So good. Perfect. Like you were made for him. He never wants to leave this feeling—buried inside you, connected to you in the most intimate way possible.
“What happened to going back downstairs and having me sit on it? Don’t want your boys to know that you’re a simp?”
He pulls back to look at you, something fierce and possessive flaring in his chest. “Simp? Baby, I’ve been pussy-whipped since the first time I tasted you. They already know.”
“Then why are we still up here?”
“Because—” He rolls his hips experimentally and they both groan. “Fuck, because I’m trying really hard to behave and you feel so goddamn good that I’m about two seconds from saying fuck it and just pounding you into Han’s bed.”
“He would kill you.”
“Worth it,” he mutters but he’s already pulling out slowly, making them both whimper at the loss. He tucks himself back into his jeans, adjusting until you can’t really tell, then pulls your skirt back down. “Okay. Okay, we can do this. We’re adults. We have self-control.”
“Do we though?”
“No,” he admits with a slightly hysterical laugh. “No, we absolutely don’t. But we’re going to try anyway because I want to see if you can actually do it. Want to see you squirm on my lap trying to keep quiet while I’m buried inside you.”
He pulls you up, steadying you when your legs shake slightly. His hands smooth down your skirt, then slide around to cup your ass.
“No underwear,” he reminds you, voice rough. The thought of it—you walking back down there with nothing beneath your skirt except his cum when this is all over—makes him dizzy. “Lots of people down there and you’ve got nothing under this tiny fucking skirt except me when you sit back down.”
“Whose fault is that? You’re the one who took them.”
“And I’m keeping them,” he says smugly, patting his pocket. Another trophy. Another piece of evidence that you’re his. “Now come on, before someone comes looking for us.”
He leads you back downstairs, hand possessively on your lower back. A few people glance your way, but no one seems suspicious; just friends returning from wherever.
His spot on the couch is still empty, his friends still talking and laughing. The room is dimly lit, most of the light coming from colored LEDs and the occasional phone screen, the rest of the party having migrated to other areas of the house. Perfect. Dark enough for what you’re about to do.
Han looks up when they approach, grinning. “There you are! Thought you got lost.”
“Bathroom line,” you say smoothly and Hyunjin loves how easily the little white lie spills from your lips. How readily you’re going along with your insane suggestion and his plan.
He sits down first in the corner of the couch where it’s darkest, pulling you immediately onto his lap. You settle against him and he can feel your slight nervousness, your anticipation. His hands slide to your hips, adjusting your position, and then he shifts beneath you.
“What are you—” you start to whisper, but then he’s worked his cock free under you, hidden by the darkness and your skirt and then he’s guiding you back onto him with careful, subtle movements.
“Shh,” he breathes against your ear. “Just relax. Let me—”
The angle is different like this, and it takes a moment of careful adjustment; him lifting his hips slightly, you shifting your weight, both moving in tiny increments that look like normal fidgeting to anyone watching. The room’s darkness helps, shadows concealing the way his hand disappears under your skirt to line himself up properly.
Then he’s pushing inside, inch by torturous inch, and you have to turn your face into his neck to muffle the whimper that threatens to escape. He bites down on his own lip hard enough to taste copper, fighting the urge to groan at how fucking perfect you feel.
It feels like forever, this careful invasion, until finally he’s fully seated and you’re both trying to breathe normally. His hands settle on your waist, holding you still and he takes a moment to just revel in it; the heat of you, the tight grip of you around him, the knowledge that you’re doing this right here, right now, with everyone around you completely oblivious.
“Good girl,” he breathes directly into your ear, quiet enough that only you can hear. His hand splays across your stomach, feeling the soft curve there, grounding himself. “Now sit pretty and don’t move.”
He can feel your heart racing; can feel the way you’re trembling slightly. From arousal or nerves or both, he’s not sure but you settle against him, and fuck, you feel so good. So warm and tight and perfect around him.
This is insane. This is the craziest thing he’s ever done. And he’s never been more turned on in his life.
“I hate you,” you whisper back but it comes out shaky.
“No you don’t.” His lips brush your shoulder, innocent to anyone watching. “You love this. Love knowing that I’m inside you right now and nobody knows. That you’re completely filled with me while you’re making small talk with my friends.”
Felix is asking you something about your major and you have to focus, have to form coherent words while Hyunjin is thick, hard and long inside you, while every tiny shift makes you want to grind down.
“English Literature and Language Education,” you manage. “I’m—ah—” Hyunjin shifts slightly and you have to cover it with a cough. “I’m doing my Master’s.”
“That’s cool,” Felix says, oblivious. “Must be how you met Hyunjin then?”
“Yeah,” Hyunjin answers for you, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “She was the teaching assistant for my class. Couldn’t take my eyes off her.”
His hand slides up under your shirt, palm flat against your stomach, fingers splayed possessively. To anyone watching it just looks like he’s holding you, being affectionate. They can’t see the way his thumb is tracing patterns on your skin, the way every small movement makes him shift inside you.
“You okay?” Han asks, looking at you with slight concern. “You seem flushed.”
“Just warm,” you say quickly. “Lots of people.”
“Want me to grab you some water?” he offers, starting to stand.
“No!” You say it too quickly, too desperately, because if Han leaves that means attention on you and you’re not sure you can handle that right now. “No, I’m fine. Really.”
Hyunjin’s quiet laugh vibrates through you. His lips find your ear again. “Careful, Muse. Don’t want to seem too eager. They might figure out what we’re doing.”
“This was your idea,” you hiss back.
“And you suggested it first before I agreed to it,” he counters. “So now you’re going to sit here, full of my cock and be a good girl while I decide when I’m ready to take you home and fuck you properly.”
You’re going to die. You’re actually going to die right here on Hwang Hyunjin’s lap while his friends talk about nothing and he stays buried inside you like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
“Breathe,” he murmurs, rubbing soothing circles on your stomach even though his cock is literally throbbing inside you. “You’re doing so good, baby. So perfect for me.”
Another ten minutes pass. Then twenty. Conversation flows around you and somehow you participate, laugh at jokes, respond to questions, all while fighting the desperate need to move, to grind down, to get any kind of friction.
Hyunjin is iron control beneath you, not moving except for the occasional adjustment that makes you dig your nails into his thigh. His breathing is measured, his voice steady when he talks, giving absolutely nothing away.
“You’re evil,” you finally whisper when there’s a lull in conversation.
“You love it,” he whispers back. Then, louder, to his friends: “Actually, I think we’re gonna head out. It’s getting late.”
“It’s barely midnight,” Seungmin protests.
“Yeah, but we’ve got—” Hyunjin seems to search for an excuse, “—plans tomorrow. Early plans.”
“Plans. Right. Sure,” Han’s grin is absolutely knowing.
“Shut up,” Hyunjin mutters. He shifts you forward carefully, and you feel him slip out as you stand, biting back a whimper at the loss. He’s quick to adjust himself while you smooth down your skirt, both of you trying to look casual.
“Thanks for coming,” Felix says, and you manage a smile.
“Thanks for having me. Happy New Year.”
“Anytime!” Han calls as Hyunjin grabs both your coat and his jacket before he practically drags you toward the door. “Nice meeting you officially and Happy New Year too.”
The second you’re outside, Hyunjin has you pressed against his car, kissing you breathless.
“Home,” he growls against your mouth. “Now. Because I’m going to fuck you so hard you forget your own name.”
“Promise?” you ask breathlessly.
His answering smile is absolutely feral. “Oh, baby. That’s a guarantee.”
He fumbles with his keys, gets the car unlocked but the second you’re both inside he’s on you again. Kissing you desperately, hands everywhere and you’re crawling into his lap in the driver’s seat like you can’t bear even the distance between the front seats.
“We should—” you gasp between kisses, “—should drive—”
“Can’t,” he groans, already pushing your coat and skirt up. “Need you right now. Need to be inside you right fucking now.”
“Hyunjin, we’re in a parking lot—”
“Don’t care.” His hands find your ass, gripping hard, grinding you down against the obvious bulge in his jeans. “Need you too much. Been sitting there with you on my cock and I can’t, I need—”
You’re already reaching for his belt, as desperate as he is. “Backseat. At least the backseat.”
He practically shoves you off him, both of you scrambling into the back in a tangle of limbs that would be funny if you weren’t so desperate. The space is cramped but you make it work, Hyunjin pulling you back onto his lap as soon as he’s seated.
“Someone could see—” you start but he’s already pushing his jeans down, freeing himself.
“Tinted windows,” he says, pulling you up to position you over him. “And I parked in the back. No one’s gonna—fuck—”
You sink down onto him in one smooth motion and you both groan, loud and unrestrained now that you’re alone. The angle is deeper like this, the space forcing you close together and it’s perfect.
“Move,” he demands, hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise. His fingers dig into the flesh there, anchoring you. “Fuck, Muse, move…please—”
You do, riding him hard and fast, chasing the release you’ve both been desperate for. The car rocks with your movements, windows already starting to fog and neither of you care. His mouth finds your neck, your collarbone, marking you up while you bounce on his cock like your life depends on it.
“That’s it,” he groans, one hand sliding between you to find your clit. “Take what you need, baby. Use me. Fuck, you’re so perfect like this, so desperate for it—”
“Your fault,” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders through his shirt. “Your fault for—ah—for making me sit there—”
“Worth it,” he pants, his other hand gripping your ass, helping you move, guiding you down harder onto him. “So fucking worth it to feel you like this now. So wet, so tight—been thinking about this the whole time—”
Your thighs are burning but you don’t stop, can’t stop, chasing the orgasm that’s been building since you first sat on his lap inside. His fingers on your clit are relentless, his cock hitting deep with every bounce, and you’re so close—
“Come for me,” he demands, voice strained. “Come on my cock, Muse. Let me feel it.”
You do, crying out his name as pleasure crashes through you, clenching around him so hard he follows immediately with a string of curses and your name, spilling inside you while you both shake apart.
You collapse against his chest, both of you breathing hard, sweaty and satisfied and completely wrecked. The windows are completely fogged now, the car still rocking slightly with the aftermath.
“We’re never doing that again,” you mumble against his neck.
“Liar,” he says, but he sounds just as destroyed. “You loved every second of it.”
And God help you but he’s right. The thrill of it, the risk, the way he’d looked at you all night like he was barely holding himself back; it was intoxicating.
“We should probably get out of here before someone actually does see us,” you point out, still not moving.
“In a minute.” His arms tighten around you, holding you close. One hand strokes up and down your back, the other still resting on your hip. “Just…give me a minute.”
You let him have it, both of you catching your breath in the cramped backseat of his car. His touch is soothing now rather than demanding, and you feel yourself relaxing despite everything.
“That was insane,” you finally say.
“That was hot as fuck,” he corrects. “You, sitting on my lap with my cock inside you while my friends had no idea? That’s going in the spank bank for the rest of my life.”
You smack his chest but you’re laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”
“You like it.” He pauses, and there’s that vulnerability again, peeking through. “You like me.”
“Yeah,” you admit, because fuck it, you’re already in this deep. “I do.”
His smile is brilliant even in the dim light filtering through the fogged windows. “Good. Because I’m definitely not letting you go now.”
“Possessive bastard.”
“Your possessive bastard,” he corrects and kisses you soft and sweet, so different from the desperate claiming just minutes ago.
Eventually you do have to move, have to untangle yourselves and make yourselves presentable enough to drive. Hyunjin insists on taking you back to his place this time.
“Mine or yours?” he asks as he drives, one hand on your thigh. “Either way I want to wake up with you tomorrow. Actually wake up with you, not you kicking me out before I’m barely awake.”
“Yours.” You reply knowing he’s never going to let you live that down so you don’t argue, just let him drive you to his apartment. It’s small but clean, surprisingly organized for a college guy. He leads you straight to his bedroom and you’re barely through the door before he’s on you again.
This time is different. Slower. He undresses you carefully, reverently, pressing kisses to every inch of skin he reveals. Maps your body with his hands and mouth like he’s trying to memorize it.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs against your stomach, your hip, your thigh. “Can’t believe I get to have you like this.”
When he finally pushes inside you again, it’s slow and deep, his eyes locked on yours. One hand laces with yours above your head, the other cupping your face as he moves.
“Wanted this for so long,” he breathes, and there’s something raw in his voice that makes your chest tight. “Wanted you.”
You pull him down into a kiss, pouring everything you can’t say into it. He makes love to you like that—slow and thorough and achingly tender—until you’re both falling apart again, quieter this time but no less intense.
After, he cleans you up and pulls you into his arms, your back to his chest, his face buried in your hair.
“Stay,” he says quietly. “Not just tonight. Stay tomorrow too. Let me make you breakfast, take you on another date. Let me have you for the whole weekend and after that.”
You should say no. Should maintain some boundaries, some sense of self-preservation.
“Okay,” you say instead.
His arms tighten around you, and you feel him smile against your neck. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. But you’re actually making me breakfast this time. None of this ordering in bullshit.”
His laugh is warm and fond. “Deal. I make a mean omelette.”
“We’ll see about that.”
“So competitive,” he teases, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “It’s hot.”
“Everything is hot to you.”
“When it involves you? Yeah.” No shame, no hesitation. Just honesty. “You make me crazy, Muse.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” you admit quietly.
He shifts, turning you in his arms so he can look at you. His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone.
“I know you’re scared,” he says softly. “I know this is complicated and I’m younger than you and people are going to have opinions. But I don’t care about any of that. I just care about you.”
Your throat feels tight. “Hyunjin—”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupts gently. “Just…give me this weekend. Let me show you how good this could be. And if at the end of it you still want to keep me at arm’s length, I’ll respect that. I won’t like it, but I’ll respect it.”
You study his face; the sincerity in his eyes, the vulnerability he’s showing you. This boy who could have anyone, who’s choosing you.
“This weekend,” you agree. “But Hyunjin? I’m already in deeper than I meant to be.”
His smile is soft, understanding. “Good. Because so am I, probably been this way since before we hooked up if I’m being honest.
“That was almost a year ago.”
“I know.” He presses his forehead to yours. “Took me months to work up the courage to even talk to you outside of class. A couple more to convince you to give me a chance. I’m playing the long game here, Muse.”
Something warm and terrifying blooms in your chest. “You’re really serious about this.”
“Dead serious.” He kisses you softly. “Now sleep. We’ve got a whole weekend ahead of us, and I plan to make the most of every minute.”
You let him pull you close, let yourself relax into his warmth. And for the first time in months, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, this could actually work.
“Hyunjin?” you murmur, already half-asleep.
“Mm?”
“You better not fuck this up.”
His laugh rumbles through his chest. “I won’t. Promise.Happy New Year,Muse.”
You whisper it back to him, wrapped in his arms, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, as you drift off to sleep with a smile on your face.
Maybe Hwang Hyunjin being pussy-whipped isn’t such a bad thing after all.
pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader (no pronouns mentioned)
summary: when walking through your own art exhibition with a complete stranger turns into something way too emotionally charged and heated. a deep connection neither of you can deny
genre: strangers to lovers {~3.6k words}
warnings: reader is an artist, a lot of charged tension, mutual attraction
the gallery had been quiet all day. you stood near the far wall, half hidden by the angle of the space, watching people drift in and out with slow steps, hushed voices, polite distance. most of them skimmed. some lingered. none stayed long enough to feel heavy.
then the door opened again.
you noticed him immediately, not because he was particularly loud, but because he wasn’t paying attention at all. and because he looked absolutely breathtaking.
he stepped inside almost absentmindedly, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes unfocused, as if he hadn’t fully decided to be here. his gaze flicked around the room, like this had been a detour rather than a destination. you could tell he hadn’t read the placard outside. hadn’t prepared himself. he was just… here.
from his point of view, the gallery barely registered at first. white walls. soft lighting. quiet air. his thoughts were elsewhere, unfinished.
but then he stopped. simply halted in front of the first painting, as if something had caught him by the collar and pulled him back. his hand loosened at his side. his breathing slowed without him realising why.
the longer he looked, the more the rest of the room dissolved. the clean lines of the gallery faded, replaced by colour and texture. the painting didn’t shout for his attention, didn’t demand it. it waited. and somehow, that made it worse.
he leaned in slightly, head tilting, eyes tracing shapes he couldn’t yet name. there was a tension in his posture now, the kind that came from being caught off guard. he hadn’t expected to feel anything. certainly not this quiet pull in his chest.
you watched the way his expression shifted, how distraction gave way to focus, how focus sharpened into something almost reverent. the absentmindedness peeled off him layer by layer, replaced by stillness.
his lips parted before he realised he was speaking. “it’s fascinating,” he murmured, barely louder than the hum of the lights.
and that was when you turned your head, already knowing he was going to matter.
“what is?” your voice cut through the quiet gently, not loud enough to startle the room, only him.
hyunjin flinched, shoulders tensing as he turned towards you, eyes widening just a fraction.
he clearly hadn’t expected anyone to hear him, hadn’t realised he’d spoken aloud at all. for a split second, he looked caught, almost embarrassed, like you’d interrupted something private.
then you smiled. just a soft and curious smile. and something in him loosened.
he hadn’t expected that either, the way the tension slipped from his spine so easily, the way his breath evened out without effort. it surprised him how quickly his body responded, how instinctive the relief was. he stood there, momentarily thrown by the fact that a stranger’s expression could settle him so completely.
his eyes stayed on you longer than they should have. he didn’t mean to look the way he did. didn’t intend for his gaze to drift, from your face down to the line of your shoulders, the way you stood so comfortably in the space, like you belonged there.
it wasn’t hunger exactly, more like recognition without context. a heavy pull he couldn’t immediately name.
from where you stood, you could see it happen. the pause. the quiet gravity of his attention.
hyunjin caught himself a heartbeat too late. he shook his head slightly, barely noticeable, as if the movement alone could snap him back into place.
his posture straightened. his focus shifted, deliberately this time, back to the painting in front of him, back to reality.
but the air between you had already changed.
and he knew, even then, that whatever had drawn him into the gallery in the first place had just taken a different shape.
he cleared his throat quietly, as if grounding himself, then lifted his hand towards the painting. he didn’t touch it, never would, but his fingers hovered close, tracing invisible paths through the air.
“this one,” he said slowly, choosing his words with care, “it feels… restrained.”
his eyes followed the lines as he spoke, sharp angles cutting through softer washes of colour. dark blues pressed in on themselves, bruised purples layered over grey, everything held in a kind of tense balance.
“i think the painter’s a reserved person,” he added after a moment, almost apologetic about the assumption. “or at least someone who learned early on how to keep things contained.”
his hand moved again, outlining the harsher strokes.
“these parts, see how they’re rigid? controlled? it’s like grief that never got permission to be messy.” his brow furrowed, concentration deepening. “not the kind that breaks you open, but the kind you carry quietly. the kind you fold up and tuck away because there isn’t room for it.”
he shifted closer, leaning in just enough to catch details most people missed.
“and then there’s this,” he murmured, indicating the softer shading beneath the darker lines. “everyone would call this comfort. acceptance. but i don’t think it is.” his lips pressed together briefly. “i think it’s containment. like the emotion is allowed to exist, but only inside very specific borders.”
he paused, hand dropping back to his side. “it feels like someone who never let themselves fall apart, someone disciplined,” he said finally. “someone who decided early on that grief was something to be endured, not expressed.”
his voice was quiet now, as if he were afraid the painting might hear him.
you watched him as he spoke, the way his eyes stayed locked on the canvas, the seriousness with which he handled something that wasn’t his. there was no performance in it. no desire to impress. just honesty.
when he finished, he glanced at you uncertainly, as though bracing for disagreement.
“that’s just how it reads to me,” he added softly.
and in that moment, standing beside the man dissecting your pain with such care, you realised how dangerous it was to be truly seen, even anonymously.
you didn’t answer right away. you let the silence stretch. not out of hesitation, but out of respect. his words still lingered in the air, and you didn’t want to trample over them with something too quick, too decisive.
when you finally spoke, your voice was calm. “i agree with you,” you said, and watched the way his shoulders eased at that alone. “about the restraint. about the quiet.”
his eyes flickered to you again, attentive now, like he’d leaned into an invisible current.
“but i don’t think it’s discipline,” you continued, stepping a little closer to the painting yourself. close enough to feel its presence, not close enough to touch. “i think it’s fear.”
you gestured towards the softer areas he’d mentioned. “those parts aren’t comfort,” you said gently. “they’re hesitation. like someone standing on the edge of something they already know is going to hurt.”
your fingers traced the air, mirroring his earlier motion. “the lines don’t soften because the feeling fades. they soften because it hasn’t been named yet.”
you glanced at him briefly before returning your gaze to the canvas. “it’s not grief behaving,” you added. “it’s grief waiting for permission.”
the words settled between you. hyunjin didn’t interrupt. didn’t rush to respond. he just stared at the painting again, seeing it shift under your interpretation, like a lens clicking into place. something in his expression changed, not disagreement, but recognition.
slowly, he nodded. “that makes sense,” he said under his breath. “more than what i thought, actually.”
his eyes lingered on the canvas for another moment, then drifted back to you. this time, there was something different in his gaze, like curiosity sharpened by intrigue.
“you explain it like you’ve been inside it,” he said, not accusatory.
and you smiled carefully, already knowing how much you were giving away without meaning to.
he hesitated after that, like he was standing at the edge of something he hadn’t planned to step into.
you could see the shift in him, the way shyness tried to reassert itself, tugging him backward, even as curiosity pulled harder in the opposite direction.
his fingers flexed at his side restlessly. his gaze drifted briefly to the rest of the gallery, then returned to you, as if the space between the two of you had quietly narrowed.
“i, um,” he started, then stopped, lips pressing together in thought.
when he spoke again, his voice was steadier, driven less by politeness now and more by want. “would you like to walk through the rest of them with me?” he asked. “only if you want to. i just–" he exhaled softly, a hint of a laugh slipping out. “the way you talk about it. it’s… fascinating.”
the word landed differently this time. heavier. intentional.
he met your eyes fully now, and there was no mistaking it. the longing wasn’t just for the art anymore. it was for your perspective, the way you saw beneath the surface, the way you articulated things he’d felt but never named.
you felt a flicker of something warm in your chest. you hadn’t planned to walk through your own exhibition like this. hadn’t planned to hear it filtered through someone else’s voice. and yet, the idea of staying anonymous, of letting the work speak without the weight of authorship, felt suddenly irresistible.
you nodded. “i’d like that,” you said. “but only if you promise to tell me what you see, too.”
his eyes widened just slightly, caught off guard again, then they softened, and he smiled. genuine, almost uncontrollablly, like it had slipped out before he could stop it. it transformed his face completely, “i promise,” he said.
and as you turned together towards the next painting, you hoped quietly that the gallery would keep your secret just a little while longer.
you moved together slowly, as if the pace had been agreed upon without words. the second painting waited a few steps away, its colours darker, the composition more fractured. hyunjin stopped in front of it, hands sliding into his pockets as he tilted his head.
“this one feels louder,” he said after a moment. “not in sound, more like pressure.” he frowned slightly, searching. “like everything is trying to occupy the same space at once.”
you hummed softly in agreement, and his eyes flicked to you almost immediately, as if he’d been waiting for that small confirmation.
“it reminds me of losing something before you realise it’s gone,” he continued. “the chaos comes first. the understanding comes later.” he paused, then added quieter, “or maybe it never comes.”
you stepped closer, your shoulder nearly brushing his. “i think you’re right,” you said. “but i also think it’s about identity.” you gestured towards the fragmented shapes. “pieces of the self competing when there’s no clear center anymore. like grief doesn’t just take something away, it rearranges you.”
his breath caught, just slightly. he nodded, lips parted, eyes bright. “yeah,” he said. “that. that’s exactly it.”
you moved on, and with each painting, the rhythm repeated itself.
he spoke with care, never rushing, never claiming certainty where there wasn’t any. he noticed small details, repeated motifs, changes in texture, the way certain colours softened as the exhibition progressed. his interpretations weren’t academic, they were emotional, grounded in empathy.
“this one feels tired,” he said in front of another canvas, voice gentle. “like it’s already mourned too much.”
“or like it’s learned how to live with the weight,” you offered.
every time you spoke, his attention sharpened. he glanced at you as often as the paintings now, eyes searching your face for reactions, for additions, for more. sometimes he asked outright.
“what do you think this part means?”
“does this feel intentional to you?”
“do you think it’s anger, or resignation?”
and sometimes his questions drifted elsewhere.
“you think about things like this a lot, don’t you?” he asked at one point, almost shyly. “not just art. life.”
you smiled at that, “i try to,” you said. “i think it helps me understand people better.”
his gaze lingered. “it shows.”
with every step, the space between you narrowed without any of you noticign. just a quiet gravity pulling you closer. your arms brushed. your shoulders aligned. at one point, you realised your footsteps had synchronised without either of you trying.
he leaned in when you spoke. you angled towards him when he did. neither of you commented on it.
you were both too busy being drawn in. by the art, by the conversation, by the strange, undeniable feeling that this wasn’t just about paintings anymore.
the room shifted subtly as you approached the final piece. he felt it before he saw it, the way the air seemed warmer here, heavier, like something was waiting. hyunjin slowed instinctively, his steps faltering until he stopped altogether in front of the last painting.
he didn’t speak right away. this one didn’t demand careful decoding. it didn’t hide behind restraint or fragmentation. it simply existed, open and unapologetic.
the colours were warmer. deep reds threaded with gold, pale whites cutting through like breath against skin. the lines were looser, almost trembling, as if the hand that painted them had hesitated and surrendered at the same time. nothing was fully formed, yet everything felt intentional, intimate.
hyunjin exhaled slowly. “this one’s different,” he said at last.
you watched the way his eyes moved across the canvas, slower than before. the intensity in his expression had shifted, sharpened into something more visceral.
“the others feel like aftermath,” he continued. “like pain being processed. carried.” his jaw tightened slightly. “but this…” he swallowed. “this feels like want.”
he lifted a hand, then stopped himself, fingers curling instead. “there’s still grief here,” he said, thoughtful. “you can feel it underneath. but it’s tangled with something else. something physical.” his lips curved faintly, almost disbelieving. “the strokes feel almost… erotic.”
he glanced at you, checking your reaction, then back at the painting.
“overwhelming. like the kind of beauty that makes your chest ache. like standing somewhere too vast to comprehend.”
his voice dropped as he found the comparison. “it reminds me of those old nature writings,” he said. “where the land is described so intensely it borders on desire. not because it’s meant to be possessed, but because it makes you feel painfully alive.”
"william bartram." you murmured softly. "you know him?" hyunjin asked. you just nodded without looking away from the painting.
his gaze lingered on the canvas, pupils dark, breath slow. “it’s like the body remembers how to feel before the mind can catch up,” he murmured.
when he finally looked at you again, the distance between you had all but disappeared. there was heat in his eyes now, deeply curious, drawn tight with fascination.
and the way he watched you told you he wasn’t just looking for confirmation anymore. he was looking for permission to feel exactly what this painting had awakened in him.
the air between you changed without either of you moving. it thickened, like something had shifted just beneath the surface. you felt it settle in your chest, in the way your breath slowed, then deepened. when you spoke, your voice dropped only slightly, but enough to matter. “it’s want after grief,” you said quietly.
hyunjin’s attention snapped to you fully then, the painting forgotten behind him. his eyes were dark, unblinking.
“the frightening part isn’t the pain,” you continued. “it’s realising that desire survives it.” you swallowed softly. “that after everything, the body still reacts. still aches. still reaches.”
you didn’t look at him as you spoke, your gaze fixed on the canvas, as if the words needed somewhere neutral to land.
“it’s not about seduction,” you said, barely above a breath. “it’s about remembering you’re alive.” silence followed.
when you finally turned your head, you found him closer, far closer than before. he hadn’t meant to move. his body had reacted before his mind could catch up, pulled forward by something instinctive and unignorable.
his chest rose and fell heavily now, breaths deeper than they had been moments ago. his lips were parted, eyes locked on your face like you were the only thing in the room worth anchoring to.
you could see it written all over him, the fascination tipping into something rawer, the way your words had struck somewhere beneath thought. he wasn’t analysing anymore. he wasn’t interpreting.
he was feeling.
and the space between you had dwindled to almost nothing, charged with the knowledge that neither of you was untouched by what had just been said.
hyunjin didn’t answer right away.
instead, he studied you. really looked at you this time, like he was stripping away context, replaying every word you’d said, every certainty you’d carried so effortlessly. you could almost see it happen, the realisation clicking into place piece by piece. his gaze sharpened, no longer hazy with feeling but precise, searching.
“you know an awful lot about these paintings,” he said. his voice was deeper than before. dangerous in the way it vibrated low in his chest.
you inhaled quietly, the breath catching just enough to give you away.
before you could say anything, he turned. his eyes dropped to the small plaque beside the painting, scanning it once, then again, slower this time. his lips parted.
he whispered your name. it didn’t sound like a question. it sounded like reverence. like something fragile and sacred.
then he looked back at you. “that’s you, isn’t it?” he said, this time louder, steadier, though his eyes betrayed him.
you nodded. no words came. your throat felt too tight for them.
something in his expression softened instantly, awe flooding in where suspicion had been. he stepped closer, one deliberate step, and held out his hand.
“hwang hyunjin.”
you stared at his hand for half a second too long before whispering, “nice to meet you.”
when you took it, the tension finally snapped.
his touch was warm and grounding. and it lingered. fingers curled just enough to be intentional. electricity raced up your arm, and you saw the same jolt register in him as his breath stuttered.
neither of you pulled away.
the gallery faded. the paintings blurred. all that remained was the heat of his hand around yours, the quiet, impossible chemistry boiling over between two strangers who suddenly weren’t strangers at all.
something in his expression shifted. dangerously decisive.
his eyes darkened, pupils blown wide, the last trace of hesitation burning away as if he’d finally stopped arguing with himself. you saw the exact moment the choice was made, when fascination tipped into need, when restraint lost its hold.
without another word, he moved. his hand tightened around yours and he pulled you with him, steering you around the corner of the gallery, away from the open space, away from the soft lighting and the possibility of eyes. the world narrowed to motion and heat and the sound of your pulse in your ears.
your back hit the wall with a soft thud, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs. before you could inhale again, before you could think, before you could react, he was there.
his hands came up to either side of you, caging you in, his body close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the tension coiled tight beneath his skin. his breath was heavy now, brushing your face.
then his mouth was on yours.
the kiss was intense. all the careful analysis, all the quiet conversations and unspoken longing collapsed into that single point of contact.
it was charged, it was desperate, like he’d been holding this back since the moment he’d first stopped in front of your work.
his lips moved against yours with purpose, hunger threaded through every second, as if he were trying to communicate everything words had failed to carry. the fascination that had lived in his eyes became action, heat, urgency.
the tension you’d built together finally boiled over, spilling into the kiss, into the way neither of you pulled away, into the knowledge that this had been inevitable the moment he let himself really see you.
the kiss deepened without either of you meaning it to.
his hands slid to your waist, steadying you against the wall as if he needed the contact to ground himself. his touch was firm, thumbs pressing in like he couldn't refrain himself any longer. you felt the way his body leaned into yours, heat unmistakable, breath warm and uneven against your skin.
a soft gasp slipped from you before you could stop it. he felt it immediately.
his mouth stilled for half a second, then moved again with renewed intent, like the sound had unlocked something in him.
he kissed you harder, hungry to draw another breathy sound from your lips that he seemed to feed on, encouraged by every quiet noise you made. each one pulled a low sound from his chest in return, a soft exhale that trembled against you.
when he finally pulled back, it was only just enough to breathe.
you were both panting, the space between your mouths barely there. his chest rose and fell rapidly, eyes dark and blown wide as they scanned you, your expression, your lips, the way you looked utterly undone beneath him.
attraction burned openly now, tangled with awe. not just for you, but for what you’d created. for the way your mind worked. for the fact that you were standing here with him.
you swallowed, voice barely a whisper. “i have a few more works in the back room.”
the words hung charged between you.
hyunjin let out a sound that was almost a groan, his grip tightening instinctively as his eyes flicked up to meet yours again.
“show me,” he said desperately, adding a breathless "please".
and the way he looked at you told you he meant it.
summary: when your best friend starts dating someone, you're happy for him. at least you try to be. but when the distance continues to grow between you, it shatters both of you, and he starts realising who he truly wants {requested by anonymous}
genre: angst! with a happy ending {~5.8k words}
warnings: jealousy, hurt, miscommunication, mentions of food, (use of y/n once)
the kitchen smelled faintly like toasted bread and instant ramen, the kind of comforting mess that always came with spending too much time at felix's place.
you were perched on the counter, legs swinging as felix leaned against the opposite side, laughing at something on his phone. his laugh filled the space so easily that you barely noticed how natural it felt to be there with him.
it always did.
you were wearing the hoodie he’d left at your place weeks ago, sleeves a little too long, and he was absentmindedly fiddling with the thin bracelet around his wrist. the one you’d made him years ago, back when friendship bracelets felt like promises.
“listen to this,” he said, shoving his phone towards you. some ridiculous video played, and you snorted before you could stop yourself.
“you have the worst sense of humour,” you told him, smiling anyway.
“that’s a lie and you know it,” he shot back, grin wide. then, almost casually, like it didn’t mean anything at all, he added, “oh, by the way, i’m going on a date tonight.”
the words landed wrong. they felt absolutely… off. like a note slightly out of tune.
for half a second, your chest tightened, breath catching before you even realised why. your mind scrambled to keep up with the sudden shift, to shove the feeling down before it showed on your face. you forced your expression into something bright, something easy.
“oh,” you said, then quickly, “really? that’s great, lix. i’m happy for you.”
and you meant it. you did. at least, you wanted to. you cared about him, wanted him to be happy, wanted his life to be full and exciting and everything he deserved.
that didn’t stop the small, sharp sting in your chest, the one you pretended not to notice.
felix blinked. it was subtel, the way his smile faltered for just a moment before he smoothed it out again. his fingers stilled on the bracelet, hand dropping to his side.
“yeah?” he asked, like he was checking your answer. “you’re… happy?”
“of course,” you said, too quickly. “why wouldn’t i be?”
he hummed, nodding slowly, but something in his eyes shifted. confusion, maybe. disappointment. something unspoken settling heavy between the two of you.
he’d expected something else. he didn’t know what exactly, maybe surprise, maybe hesitation, maybe a crack in your voice that betrayed something deeper. anything that proved he wasn’t the only one who felt that strange, tightening pull when the idea of someone else entered the picture.
but you were smiling supportively. and for reasons he didn’t fully understand yet, that made something sour twist in his stomach.
“i should get ready,” he said after a moment, pushing himself off the counter. “don’t wanna be late.”
“right,” you replied, nodding. “have fun.”
he paused at the doorway, glancing back at you like he wanted to say something else. instead, he just smiled again, brighter this time, almost forced. “i will.”
when he left, the kitchen felt quieter. too quiet.
you stared at the spot where he’d been standing, fingers curling into the sleeves of his hoodie. the bracelet on your own wrist felt heavier somehow, the thread digging softly into your skin.
you told yourself it was fine. that this was something you knew would happen at some point. that you’d get over your iwn feeling like you always did.
you didn’t see the way felix, down the hall, glanced at his reflection and frowned, thinking about how much he’d wanted your reaction to be different.
you were still sitting on the counter when the door opened again, the sound of shoes being kicked off echoing through the hallway. seungmin walked in, hair damp, practice bag slung over his shoulder, radiating that tired-but-energised post-practice vibe. he headed straight for the kitchen, nodding at you in greeting.
“hey,” he said easily. “you’re quiet.”
“am i?” you asked, though your voice felt distant even to yourself.
he didn’t push it. instead, he grabbed his water bottle. the normalcy of it grounded you a little, the familiar rhythm of someone else just… existing.
“felix around?” seungmin asked, unscrewing the lid.
“yeah,” you replied. “he’s getting ready.”
seungmin paused, eyebrows knitting together as he looked up at you. for a second, you could almost see the thought forming behind his eyes.
ready for what? shouldn’t you have to get ready then as well?
his gaze flicked over you, your hoodie, your lack of urgency, the way you were very clearly not scrambling to leave. the confusion lingered, then something clicked.
“oh,” he said, eyes widening slightly. “wait, who’s he going out with?”
you shrugged, the motion small, almost careless. “no idea.”
seungmin frowned, clearly unsettled by that answer, but before he could say anything else, you pushed yourself off the counter.
“i should head out,” you said. “see you.”
he watched you leave, the quiet click of the door closing behind you leaving the kitchen feeling oddly incomplete.
down the hall, felix stood in front of his mirror, tugging at the collar of his shirt for the third time. he should’ve been excited.
instead, his mind kept replaying the same image. you, smiling. supportive. unbothered.
he swallowed, jaw tightening. it shouldn’t matter. it didn’t matter. you were his best friend. you always had been. the feelings he’d buried for so long were stupid, inconvenient, and clearly one-sided.
you didn’t feel that way about him, he told himself. so why keep holding onto it?
felix exhaled sharply, straightening his posture. fine. he’d go on the date. he’d really go through with it. he’d let himself try, let himself prove that he could want someone else, that he could finally get over this stupid crush he’d carried for way too long.
he grabbed his jacket, forcing determination into his movements.
this was for the best.
for both of you.
when felix came back later that night, the dorm was dim and quiet, the kitchen light still on. seungmin was there again, rinsing a plate, glancing up when the door closed.
“you’re back,” seungmin said. “how was it?”
felix dropped his keys onto the counter, shoulders tense as he shrugged out of his jacket. he hesitated for half a second, long enough to notice the faint, unfamiliar emptiness settling in his chest.
“it was nice,” he said finally, tone carefully neutral. “i thought i’d give her a chance.”
seungmin studied him, something thoughtful in his expression, but he didn’t argue. he just nodded slowly.
“yeah?” he said. “that so?”
felix nodded, even as his fingers curled unconsciously around his wrist, rubbing over the place where his bracelet sat, like he was reminding himself of something he hadn’t meant to forget.
days passed, slipping into each other the way they always did, and on the surface, nothing really changed.
felix still texted you the moment he woke up, half-coherent messages riddled with typos and voice notes where his voice was warm and sleepy. he still sent you pictures of the sky when it looked especially pretty, of his food when it looked especially bad, of anything that made him laugh because his first instinct was still you.
you replied like you always had. you teased him for his spelling mistakes, sent him memes in return, complained about your day, listened to his. sometimes you forgot that anything had shifted at all.
until it did.
a pause before he answered. a message left on read for longer than usual. a conversation that ended earlier than it would have before. you told yourself not to overthink it. he had a girlfriend now. things were bound to be different.
felix felt it too. every time his phone buzzed with your name lighting up the screen, something warm spread through his chest, and right after it, a sharp prickle of guilt.
his girlfriend would glance over, lips pursed. “you’re texting her again?” she asked once, not quite accusing, but close enough.
“yeah,” felix replied, instinctively tucking his phone closer to himself. “we always text.”
she hummed, eyes lingering on him for a second too long. “don’t you think that’s a little… much?”
the word settled uncomfortably between them.
after that, she started hovering. leaning against his shoulder while he typed, peeking at the screen, commenting on your messages.
“what’s so funny?”
“why does she need to know that?”
“can’t it wait?”
felix started angling his phone away without even realising it, fingers hesitating over the keyboard. he hated the feeling crawling up his spine, like he was doing something wrong just by wanting to talk to you.
so he replied slower. shorter. sometimes not at all.
you noticed and didn’t say anything at first, but the ache built quietly, every unread message and delayed reply chipping away at something you hadn’t realised was so fragile. when you did see him in person, he seemed distracted, his attention split, his smile not quite reaching his eyes.
the worst part was that he still laughed with you. still cared. just… less openly.
one afternoon, you caught sight of his wrist and your heart sank a little. the bracelet was gone.
you didn’t ask about it. you just swallowed the feeling and smiled like everything was fine, even as felix rubbed absentmindedly at the bare skin there later that night, a hollow sensation blooming in his chest.
the tension finally snapped the night the boys invited you over. it was supposed to be casual. food, games, too much noise and not enough space. the kind of thing that usually felt like home. but felix barely looked at you.
he laughed at jokes that weren’t yours, kept his answers short, his body angled away like he was trying to create distance on purpose. every time you caught his eye, he looked away first.
your patience wore thin. you waited until he stepped into the hallway to grab a drink, then followed him, heart pounding as you called his name softly.
“felix.” he turned, expression already tense. “what?”
you hesitated, then took a breath. “did i do something? you’ve been really distant lately and i just– if i upset you, i want to know.”
for a moment, he looked like he might crumble. his jaw clenched instead. “no,” he said, too fast. then, louder, “it's just... i have a girlfriend now, okay? i can’t be there for you twenty-four seven.”
the words hit harder than you expected, a cold shock spreading through your chest.
you stared at him, searching his face for something, any emotion, but you didn’t find anything.
“okay,” you said quietly, with a forced nod, “fine.”
you didn’t wait for him to respond. you turned and walked away, grabbing your things, ignoring the way your hands shook. when the door closed behind you, the sound echoed painfully through the dorm.
felix stood there, staring at the empty hallway, heart racing.
the second you were gone, the anger drained out of him, leaving only a sick, sinking realisation in its place.
he thought he’d just done something he wouldn’t be able to take back.
you went home, kicked off your shoes, sat on the edge of your bed and stared at the floor for a long time, replaying his words over and over until they lost shape and still somehow hurt just as much. you told yourself you were being dramatic, that this was what you’d agreed to the moment you decided to stay quiet about your feelings.
still, the ache lingered.
hours later, when the apartment was dark and your thoughts refused to settle, you reached for your phone. not to start a fight. not to demand anything. just to… make sure you hadn’t imagined it all.
your fingers hovered over his name before you typed.
« hey. i don’t want things to be weird between us. »
you hit send.
the message stayed grey.
you frowned, waiting. refreshed the chat. tried again.
« is everything okay? »
nothing.
a cold knot formed in your stomach, your pulse quickening with every second that passed. then you realised it.
you were blocked.
your breath left you in a shaky exhale. you laughed once, softly, like you couldn’t quite believe it. “wow,” you whispered to no one.
embarrassment burned hot, followed quickly by anger. you wanted to march back to the dorm and scream at him, wanted to slap that stupid, apologetic look off his face that he’d probably wear if you ever confronted him. instead, you tossed your phone onto the bed and lay back, staring at the ceiling until the ache settled into something dull and heavy.
fine, you thought. if that’s how he wants it.
back at the dorm, felix sat on his bed with his phone in his hands, screen lighting up his face every few seconds as he checked it again. and again.
nothing.
you hadn’t texted. not once. no memes. no sarcastic comments. no got home safely! like you used to send without fail.
his chest tightened.
maybe you just need some space, he told himself.
but the days dragged on, stretching thin, and the silence grew louder with every passing minute.
the memory of your voice earlier replayed in his head, softer than he’d ever heard it.
did i do something?
guilt clawed at him.
he reached for his wrist without thinking, thumb brushing over bare skin where the bracelet used to be. the absence felt wrong, like he’d misplaced something important and only realised too late.
maybe you were upset. maybe you were hurt. maybe, his stomach twisted, maybe you just didn’t care enough to reach out anymore.
the thought hurt more than he expected.
he unlocked his phone again, opening your chat, ready to type something, anything, to fix it. he stared at the empty space where your messages should have been, waiting for the familiar buzz that never came.
with a frustrated sigh, he set the phone face down on the bed and ran a hand through his hair.
you probably don't want anything to do with him anymore, he thought. the idea settling heavy in his chest.
and as he lay there in the quiet, felix realised with a sinking feeling that pushing you away had hurt a lot more than he’d ever meant it to.
weeks passed, each day blending into the next. felix threw himself into schedules, practices, anything that kept him busy enough not to think too hard about the quiet that followed him everywhere. he laughed when he was supposed to, smiled for cameras, nodded along to conversations, but it all felt hollow.
his girlfriend didn’t notice. or maybe she didn’t care. "we should go out again,” she said one afternoon, scrolling through her phone while sitting next to him. “somewhere nice. people love couple content.”
felix hummed noncommittally. “i’m kinda tired. maybe we could just stay in?”
she looked up, visibly unimpressed. “stay in? felix, that’s boring. you’re an idol, you can’t just hide. i want people to see us.”
us, she said, but it never felt like it included him.
another time, as he poked at his food, appetite long gone, he tried again. “i’ve just been feeling off lately,” he admitted quietly. “like… not myself.”
she waved a hand, already losing interest. “you’re overthinking. anyway, i was thinking we could do a couples shoot. it’d be great for my socials.”
his words dissolved in the air between them. whenever he talked about himself, about being tired, overwhelmed, lonely, she’d redirect the conversation so fast it left his head spinning.
“you’re so sensitive lately.”
“can we not talk about this now?”
“why are you making this such a big deal?”
once, when he went on for more than a minute about missing the things he used to enjoy, she scoffed. “why do you always make everything about you?”
the words stuck with him. around the studio, the others noticed.
chan watched felix retreat into himself, shoulders hunched, smiles shorter. jeongin whispered to changbin one night about how quiet he’d gotten. even hyunjin frowned when felix flinched at a joke that would’ve made him laugh before.
late one evening, the studio was unusually quiet, the kind of quiet that made thoughts too loud.
chan found felix curled into one end of the studio couch with his phone in his hands. he wasn’t really scrolling, just staring at the screen like he expected it to change if he looked long enough. chan lingered in the doorway for a moment before speaking.
“hey,” he said gently. “i haven’t seen y/n in a while.”
felix’s thumb paused. he didn’t look up.
“how is she?” chan continued, tone casual on the surface. then, more carefully, “how are you?”
felix shrugged, the movement stiff, practiced. “i don’t know.”
chan frowned, stepping closer. “you don’t know?” he echoed. “aren’t you two talking anymore?”
felix’s grip tightened around his phone. your chat sat at the top of his screen, empty, silent, mocking him with weeks of nothing. no good mornings. no stupid videos. no did you eat yet?
nothing.
“i don’t know,” he repeated, quieter this time.
chan raised his eyebrows, disbelief creeping in. “you don’t know how she’s doing? felix, she used to be here all the time.”
felix swallowed, jaw tightening. he hated how small his voice felt when he spoke again. hated how much effort it took just to keep it steady.
“people drift,” he muttered.
it sounded like something he’d rehearsed. something he’d told himself over and over, hoping one day it would stop hurting.
chan crossed his arms. “since when?”
silence stretched between them.
felix stared at his phone like it could save him, like if he kept his eyes down long enough, he wouldn’t have to face what chan was really asking. his chest felt tight, lungs burning, the weight of everything pressing in at once.
he hated who he’d become. hated how quiet he was now. hated how empty his days felt. hated waking up and realising the person he wanted to tell everything to wasn’t there anymore.
his life felt wrong. like he was living someone else’s version of it, smiling for the wrong reasons, holding onto the wrong person.
“i have a girlfriend now,” he said finally, voice flat.
chan scoffed, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “yeah,” he said, shaking his head. “but she was your best friend.”
was.
the word hit felix like a blow to the chest. something inside him cracked, breath stuttering as he pushed himself to his feet too quickly. he didn’t trust himself to speak, not if he wanted to keep whatever composure he had left.
he grabbed his jacket, keys jingling in his trembling hand, and headed for the door.
“felix,” chan called after him, concern threading his voice. “hey! where are you going?” felix didn’t answer. he didn’t turn around.
the door closed behind him with a soft but final click, leaving chan staring at the empty space and felix walking out into the night, heart pounding, the word was echoing in his head long after he was gone.
he was different around her. smaller. tense. nothing like the felix they knew. nothing like the felix he’d been with you.
you had always been his calm. the person who grounded him after exhausting days, who listened without judgment, who cared about the parts of him that existed far beyond the stage lights. with you, he never had to perform.
chan’s message came late at night.
« hey. random question, but do you think we could meet up sometime? »
you stared at it for a moment, thumb hovering. you hadn’t talked properly in a while, not to him, not to anyone from the group, really. still, chan had always been kind to you. safe.
« yeah »
« i could swing by the studio during my lunch break tomorrow, if that works. »
« perfect »
the next day, the studio smelled familiar, it made your chest ache. you barely had time to set your bag down before chan was pulling you into a gentle hug, arms warm and steady around you.
“i missed having you around,” he said quietly. “game nights aren’t the same without you.”
you laughed, the sound lighter than you felt. “please,” you teased, stepping back. “you should consider yourself lucky. now you actually have a chance of winning instead of constantly losing to me.”
chan grinned widely.
inside, the joke twisted into something sharper. felix hadn’t invited you once since everything happened. not a single text. not even a half-hearted “you should come over.” the realisation stung more than you wanted to admit.
“guess i’m not welcome anymore,” you added lightly, like it was nothing.
chan’s gaze sharpened immediately, like he’d been waiting for that. “hey,” he said firmly, “you’re always welcome. you know that.”
you shrugged, looking away. “i don’t know. i’m not so sure a certain someone wants me there.”
chan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “seriously,” he said, voice soft but weighted, “what happened between the two of you? if you don’t mind me asking.”
you shook your head at first, pressing your lips together. you didn’t want to open that door. didn’t want to say his name out loud. but chan’s expression which was genuinely worried, made your resolve crumble.
“i just…” you exhaled slowly. “i didn’t want to interfere with his happiness. he has someone now. i figured it was better to step back.”
chan scoffed, disbelief flickering across his face. "i think he misses you."
you let out a small, humourless laugh. “chan, he blocked me.”
that wiped the expression from his face entirely. “he what?” chan asked, brows furrowing. “blocked you?”
you nodded, arms crossing instinctively. “yeah. weeks ago.”
chan fell silent, staring at you like he was trying to piece together a puzzle that suddenly didn’t make sense anymore. something about this felt wrong. deeply, unmistakably wrong.
felix blocking you?
it didn’t add up.
felix missed you. the longing grew heavier with every day, until it pressed down on his chest and made it hard to breathe. until one night, sitting alone in his room, he broke.
he needed you.
without thinking, he grabbed his phone and opened your chat, fingers already moving.
« are you awake? i really need to talk. »
he hit send. nothing happened.
his stomach dropped. he tried again. refreshed the chat. checked his signal.
then he noticed. blocked.
panic surged through him. his hands trembled as he stared at the screen.
“no,” he whispered. “no, no, no…”
you'd blocked him. that had to be it. the realisation felt like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from his lungs. the thought of you wanting nothing to do with him, of cutting him off completely, hurt more than he thought possible.
his chest felt tight, vision blurring as he swiped through his phone, desperate for some kind of explanation.
he checked his settings. his blocked numbers.
yours was right there.
his breath stuttered to a halt. panic twisted into confusion, his mind racing as he stared at your number listed under blocked. his fingers hovered over the screen numbly, as the pieces slowly fell into place.
confusion hardened into something hot and sharp. rage.
the truth hit him all at once, heavy and unmistakable. his girlfriend had done this.
she’d taken the one person he needed most and cut you out of his life without him even knowing.
felix’s hands curled into fists, heart pounding as anger surged through him. anger at her, at himself, at the way he’d let things go this far.
and for the first time in days, his next move felt painfully clear.
the moment the truth settled in his chest, he pulled out his phone and called her. she answered on the third ring, voice sweet, almost lazy.
“hey, babe–"
“we need to talk,” felix cut in. “now.”
there was a pause. “we could meet at that café near–"
“no,” he said, already grabbing his jacket. “no more public places. i’m coming over.”
he didn’t give her time to argue. he ended the call and was out the door seconds later, moving on pure adrenaline. the drive blurred past him, streetlights streaking like lines of fire against the windshield as his thoughts spiraled.
you hadn’t messaged him in weeks. not because you didn’t care. not because you’d moved on. but because you couldn’t.
the realisation made his jaw clench so hard it hurt. you must’ve thought he’d blocked you on purpose. must’ve believed he’d chosen someone else so easily, that he’d cut you out without a second thought.
he gripped the steering wheel tighter, anger and shame tangling painfully in his chest.
how didn’t i notice?
how did i let this happen?
by the time he reached her place, his hands were shaking.
she opened the door with a smile, stepping forward like she expected a hug. felix walked right past her.
“did you block her from my phone?” he demanded.
he didn’t say your name. he didn’t need to.
her shoulders dropped as she sighed, already bored of pretending. “yes,” she admitted easily. “i did.”
something in him snapped.
“she was constantly texting you,” she continued, crossing her arms. “she was demanding way too much from someone who has a girlfriend. you barely have time as it is, don’t you think you should spend what little you have with me?”
every word felt like another knife. before he could respond, she stepped closer, fingers sliding around the back of his neck, trying to pull him down. “let’s not fight about this,” she murmured. “you’re just stressed–"
felix stepped back sharply, her hand dropping uselessly to her side. anger and frustration burned openly across his face, eyes bright with something close to fury. "we’re done,” he said.
her mouth fell open, but he was already turning away. he left without looking back.
he didn’t remember the drive to your place. he just knew he was there, heart pounding, breath shallow as he knocked once, twice, a third time. then he called your name, voice breaking despite himself.
“please,” he said softly through the door. “i know you’re home. just let me explain.”
inside, you froze. your heart slammed against your ribs, his voice sending a shock through your entire body. you stood there, staring at the door like it might disappear if you didn’t look directly at it.
minutes passed. too many.
finally, you reached out and opened the door and let him in.
felix let out a shaky sound of relief, eyes wide and desperate as he saw you. without thinking, he stepped forward, arms already lifting, needing you close like he needed air.
you pushed him away. harder than you meant to, maybe, but you couldn’t let him touch you.
the look on his face when you did was covered in hurt. he looked so devastated it made your chest ache.
but you held your ground, arms crossing over yourself as the space between you filled with everything that had been left unsaid.
felix’s breath was still uneven, chest rising and falling too fast from running up the stairs because he hadn’t wanted to wait for the lift, not when every second without you felt unbearable.
“i’m sorry,” he said, voice rough, hands clenched at his sides like he didn’t trust them not to reach for you again. “i’m so sorry. but i swear it wasn’t me who blocked you. i didn’t do it. i would never–"
“i don’t care, felix.”
the words came out sharper than you meant them to. a lie. a blatant lie, because of course you cared. but the damage was done the second they left your mouth. he flinched like you’d struck him.
“i messed up,” he rushed on, desperation bleeding through every syllable. “i know i messed up. and i hurt you. i’m so sor–"
“you didn’t just hurt me,” you exploded, the dam finally breaking. “you abandoned me.”
his breath hitched, shoulders jerking like the word had physically slapped him.
“you made me feel like i didn’t matter to you at all!”
something snapped then. because for once in his life, felix couldn’t stay calm. “that’s bullshit and you know it,” he shot back, voice rising despite himself. “you matter so fucking much to me.”
“you say that,” you fired back, anger flooding your veins, “but it certainly didn’t feel that way!”
the air between you grew hot, heavy with everything you’d both swallowed for too long. your words spilled over each other, tangled and sharp, and felix raised his voice too. frustration, fear, and hurt crashing together.
“then why didn’t you just tell me how you felt?!” he demanded.
“because it wouldn’t have mattered!”
“how could it not matter?!” he snapped. “of course it would have!”
you laughed then, short and humourless, the sound bitter. “i was blocked, felix. even if i wanted to, i couldn’t have reached out. besides, i thought you didn’t want that.”
that stopped him. his jaw clenched, then unclenched, breath slowing as guilt settled deep in his chest. when he spoke again, his voice was quieter, strained.
“you could’ve told me how you felt before. before our first argument. or during.”
“tell you how i felt?” you scoffed, arms crossing tightly over your chest. “about how jealous i was?!”
his voice softened immediately, confusion and something fragile threading through it.
“jealous?”
“of course i was jealous!” you shot back, even as your voice trembled.
his eyes widened slightly, disbelief washing over his features. “you… were?" his voice was gentle now.
“god, felix,” you said, the anger giving way to raw honesty. “yes, i was jealous. ever since you first told me about her. i’ve been crushing on you for years. but i just didn’t want to wreck what we had. i valued our friendship too much to ruin that. i thought i’d get over it. i thought–"
you didn’t get to finish. felix moved suddenly, like the decision had been burning inside him all along. his hands came up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks as he kissed you. fierce, desperate, breath-stealing.
the kiss tasted like pent-up longing and apology and everything he’d never said out loud. it said i’ve wanted this too without needing words.
you gasped against his mouth, fingers curling into his shirt, but he only deepened the kiss.
he pulled you closer before you could think, one hand sliding to your lower back, the other still warm against your cheek. it was messy and aching and full of too much feeling, like he was trying to tell you everything he’d failed to say with his mouth alone.
you felt it in the way his hands trembled, in the way he kissed you like he was afraid this might be the only chance he’d ever get.
you were the one who pulled away first. barely.
his lips chased yours for a second before he stopped, breath uneven, forehead dropping against yours as if that was the only thing keeping him upright. his fingers traced the sides of your waist, grounding, familiar.
“what are you doing, felix?” you whispered, voice shaking despite yourself.
“kissing you,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. his eyes were closed, forehead still resting against yours, breath warm on your skin.
“why?” you asked.
he opened his eyes then and looked at you, and something in his expression made your chest ache instantly. there was no confusion there anymore. just truth. raw and unguarded.
“because i’m a fucking idiot,” he said quietly. “because i’ve been in love with you too. for so long.”
his voice cracked, and he swallowed hard. “i thought you didn’t want me like that. so i tried to make myself not want you.”
he shook his head, almost laughing at himself, the sound breaking halfway through.
“but i can’t,” he admitted. “i never could. i want you so bad it hurts. it always did.”
his grip tightened slightly at your sides. “she was just… a pathetic attempt to get me to stop hoping for something i thought would never happen.”
the words hit you one after another, impossible to ignore.
"i’ve been miserable,” he continued, quieter now. “not just because of her. but because i lost you.”
his eyes shone, tears threatening but not falling. “every day felt wrong. like i was living someone else’s life. i hated who i became. i hated waking up and realising the first person i wanted to talk to wasn’t there anymore.”
you felt your own eyes burn. “i missed you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “so much it scared me.”
something in you finally broke. “i’ve been miserable too,” you admitted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “i tried so hard to pretend i was fine. i told myself it was stupid to feel the way i did. that i was selfish for being jealous.”
your voice cracked. “i watched you drift away and i couldn’t even be angry at you because i thought i was the problem. i thought you were happy."
you laughed softly, sounding broken. “every day i told myself to get over it. to stop hoping. but it just… hurt more.”
felix’s expression crumpled.
“i thought losing you was what i deserved,” you whispered. “i thought that was the price for staying quiet."
he pulled you into his chest then, holding you tightly, like he was terrified you might slip away. his chin rested against your hair, his arms firm and warm around you.
“i’m so sorry,” he murmured. “i should’ve fought harder. for you. for us. our friendship."
you clutched his shirt, breathing him in, heart pounding painfully but steadily now.
his arms were firm around you, protective, and he buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in like he needed the reminder that you were really there.
“can we…” his voice came out soft, almost hesitant. “start over?”
his breath tickled your skin as he shifted slightly. “or… start something new?”
your heart ached in the best way. you lifted a hand to his hair, fingers threading through the soft strands before you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head.
“we can start whatever you want, lixie,” you whispered.
he let out a quiet breath that sounded suspiciously like relief, his shoulders finally loosening. he smiled softly against you.
he leaned in again, lips brushing against your skin as he kissed slowly up your jaw, over your cheek, lingering like he was savouring every second. when he reached your lips, he paused just long enough to murmur, voice barely there, “i’ve always been yours.”
then he kissed you again.
this one was softer than before, unhurried, full of promise instead of desperation. his hand cupped your cheek, thumb warm against your skin, like he was grounding himself in the moment. you kissed him back just as gently, heart full and fragile and hopeful all at once.
This is also related to my SKZ Big Brother headcanons I did a while back. You don't have to read them, but you can if you'd like :)
SS Count: 28
A/N: I don't tend to get into the more negative side of things on my Tumblr, but in wake of some stuff that's come out today I wanted to post this Felix SMAU and remind ya'll that this man is genuinely one of the sweetest idols out there. He (and the rest of SKZ) deserve the world.
Photo Texts: Bang Chan - Lee Know - Changbin - Hyunjin - Han - Felix - Seungmin - I.N
